Newspaper Page Text
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<v—
VOL. 111.
■J OHN H. SEALS, fproprietor
ATLANTA, GA„ SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER .15 1877. TEEMS,
NO. 119.
GiRLf AUTUMN.
BT PROFESSOR POWDER.
If, as I sit here now In the warm sun.
Death came to me, and kissed my mouth and brow.
And eyelidi!, which the warm light hovers through,
1 should not count it strange. Being half won
By hours that with a tender sadness run;
Who wonld not softly lean to lips which woo
In the earth’s grave speech f Nor could it aught undo
Of Nature’* calm observances begun.
Still to be here the idle Autumn day.
It* leaves would circle down, and lie unstirr'd
Where’er they fell; the tired wind hither call
Her gentle fellows; shining beetles play
Up their greeD courts ; and only yon shy bird
A little bolder grow ere evenfall.
L OST.
A Great English Story.
BY JOHN C. FREUND, AUTHOR OF “BY THE ROADSIDE. ”
1
■4i !
CHAPTER XVII.
GEORGE HARROWS* IN THE WRONG.
11 , “But uncle, it is positively no use myreturn-
J Lng to Oxford this term.’,
f “And why?”
“Will you pay my debts?”
“ No; I cannot if I would; and I would not if
I could.”
“Then why return?”
“ To do your work.”
“ But I cannot work—it is hideous to go up
Coqimen term as a poor wretch.”
“I had to do it before you.”
“But you had such infernal cool pluck; then
imes were different—it didn’t matter.”
“Ohyes, it did; but my principle was, as long
■R your body put in an appearance, there was
something to catch hold of. I meant to pay
sometime—when I could. Look at that letter.”
“ By Jove, its come to-day from Oxford and
is a receipt for a last instalment to one of the
Proctors. By Jove! twenty-five years—I call that
cool. ”
“Do you? I don’t; and you want me to pay
’'l your debts. Do the same as I did, manage them
l' yourself.”
“But how. I have nothing to manage with
but your allowance; that’s so small that it does
not keep me in clothes. I can’t reckon on your
demise, my worthy uncle; I won’t count on a
rich marriage, and I’m not able to work.”
“ Why not?”
“Because I am not.
my throat.”
“Coward! ’
Jenny Lind, as she appeared while in America.
in some way, and to find the direction of that
leadership he must study and prepare himself
Before I'd slave, I’ll cut ' more than he could do in Eaton Square.” He
had spoken of Harry, of his guidance, and had
said that he might be able to produce a plan, in
which Mr - Darner would concur, and by which
Hand’s training would not become impaired.
“Don't say tfl^t again, uncle.”
“ I'm not afraid mon cher. Doddridge called
yesterday for me to pay him the 501. he lent you So honestly had this young man looked at her,
last year in France; I said I had not the pleas- | so clearly laid bare the motives of a noble mind
ure of knowing anything about it.” and an energetic will, that Mrs. Darner felt the
“You might as well; he would have waited . loss of such a friend for her boy And was this
any time if you had owed it; now he'll bother me hoy's temper not the skeleton in her home? Mrs.
to death-” Darner was convinced that repression would
“Let him.” ruin Harry, and her mind drifted away—drifted
“ Pretty, that. Good morning, my dear un- | into & chaotic sense of having not sufficient sup-
cle. I won’t go up.” I port in her husband—drifted into an uneasy
“Don’t. Manage as best you can—but man- longing to hold even by that young man’s help-
age. Pope says: ing hand—and drifted lastly into the desire,
Get place and wealth if possible with grace, | . Could my influence retain him here?” But
If not, by any means get wealth and place, instantiv came the answer, “ That wonld be dis-
I am very fond of Pope, and recommend him to honest.’ Her woman’s clinging nature sought
your notice.” ! or it stretched out its feminine emotional
“Damn Pope!” j ideas for sympathy, it began to ask where would
George Harrowby entered his uncle's study this estrangement between herself and husband
one morning early in May, having received an- j en d? Mrs. Darner bent down her head and
other notice to put in appearance at the College; clasped her hands; the temptation to exert an
the cynical old bean had neither money nor ad- j un due power over this young man passed; and
vice to give, depreciating still further George’s as never before there arose in her the conviction
faint powers of exertion, and letting him drift “ that she must help herself; that, as a woman,
on—where the stars of Fate would guide him to. 8 ' le ^ a< d to find strength, not in man, but in wo-
George left the study in a rage. If he had but man; because, where she might ask for that
one friend! Where to find him? Poor Ethel * 1 strength in man it would not be got, and where
had repeatedly bestowed all her pocket money could find it, the world forbade her to seek
upon him, and the Darners he wonld not have i Mrs. Darner lifted her head, and though a
asked for worlds. Mr. Darner had twice present- j tear glistened on her eyelashes, her heart was
ed him with a 501. note—drops in the ocean— filled with strong, stout courage, and she there
and Mr. Darner was rough, Mrs. Darner depend- an( l then resolved to send for aunt Sarah in her
ent on her hnsband. Other friends were partly j emergency. It is odd how seldom one woman
exhausted, and others he could not tell to keep will ask counsel of another. Man draws strength
up appearances with them; so George went to from man > y et woman never seeks for this nat-
the club and had brandies and sodas to strength- \ ura l support from her own sex. Might women
en his reflective faculties. After the first glass not ta k e a hint to close their own ranks more
George became courageous and thought go up worthily, to use their individual strength collec-
he would; after the second he felt humbled and tively, in this modern movement of female as-
believed it best to stay down; after the third he
became hilarious and didn’t care a hang. Work
indeed, at what? Scribbling and that sort of
thing, or teaching like that German fellow? Nev
er, coming from such an ancient family. That
was worse than dishonest, it was low.
George met friends and became more hilarious,
he became quarrelsome. He dragged about
town till night time, having enough grace left
sertion, and then demand its recognition from
man? If women did but know what a deep well
of comfort there is in the support of one’s own
kind!
Young Herrowby was announced, and stalked
in jauntily. He threw himself without much
ceremony into an easy chair.
“ Aunt, I am really quite astonished at your
extraordinary infatuation about that German tu
to know that he was in the wrong—wrong with t° r - Mr. Darner, as well as yourself, seem to ex-
himself and the world! “ My confounded luck a ^ him a bove measure!’
to be sure—never can get on like other fellows !
There I declare goes that German tutor. I put
him down—don’t think I ever pronounced such
a long-winded speech in my lile. Believe really
he looks at Ethel! I’d kill him or the girl. Look! [
stop!—a fine knight sans peur et sans reproche; \
he is talking to some low girl in the street. I
shall pass him. That i»' bold—he takes his hat
off to me and is still talking to her—I cannot see
her face. 111 go straight to Eaton Square and
open their eyes as to his character, the sneaking
Prussian! Humbugs the whole set!”
“ My dear George, he has been very useful
to us.”
“Very well; but I think you might stop there.
It is not necessary that my sister Ethel should
share in this general deification,”
“ What do you mean, George?”
“ I mean, aunt, that I know this man is be
ginning to make love to Ethel, and I will not al
low it He is a cursed hypocrite; besides being
of lower station than ourselves.”
“ George!”
“ Don’t mind strong language from me, aunt.
So soliloquised George Harrowby. He went [ Ycnl are a l a dy—a very beautiful and a very in-
home to his nncle’s, Lord Wharton’s house in telligent woman; but you are a little crotchetty.
Hertford Street, Mayfair, rid himself of the signs ^ otl are beginning to take up modern ideas
of the night’s carouse, and took himself to Eaton about women s right and such stuff, and I am
Square. Mrs. Damer was at home and alone sit- | afraid you would positively see no difference
ting after dinner in her low chair, near a win- between a German tutor and Ethel if I did not
dew crowded with exotics, Mills “Political show him up pretty strongly to yon as a moral
Economy” in her hand. Her eyes were a little
moist; she had just had a long conversation with
Zollwitz, who had unreservedly told her that
some change in his life became peremptorily
necessary, as his ambition vaulted high, his as
pirations were of the most daring, and that to
realize them he must bestir himself. Zollwitz
her—to this gentle female friend—said,
he meant to become a leader of mankind
hypocrite. I have come here for that purpose
and mean to do it.”
Yeung Harrowby was wrong. It gave Mrs.
Damer a very violent wrench at the heart when
she was so plainly told that Zollwitz was in love
with Ethel, but she recovered herself instantly.
“ I shall not answer your accusation against
us all. If you have anything to say, yon had
better say it to my hnsband.”
“To Damer! what nonsense! he has never time
to listen to anybody. To you I will tell my tale,
and I think I shall even astonish your strong-
mindedness. If a fellow like me is rather fast
sometimes, you all cry out; aud yet I set up for
no model virtue; but to see that man, who is
petted and spoilt by the whole family, show his
real colors sub rosa—it drives me mad ! What
should you think, my dear aunt, if I tell you
that that young man had the audacity to speak
to a girl of low character in broad daylight, ac
knowledging my acquaintance at the same time
by bowing to me? Do you consider that gentle
manly or proper ?”
“George, yon have no right to mention this
to me. I tell you again to address my husband;
but Zollwitz doing so in broad daylight, as you
say, makes me believe that some grave motive
actuated him.”
“Grave motive indeed!—the girl was slight
and elegant in figure, but I could not see her
face. If you will not listen to me, I cannot help
it; but I tell you, aunt, that I mean Ethel to be
withdrawn from that man's influence, and that
I shall talk to our guardian and uncle, Lord
Wharnton, about it to-morrow morning.”
A servant entered the room and brought a let
ter. Mrs. Damer blushed at its superscription,
but did not open it. Young Harrowby rose and
took leave in no very happy frame of mind.
Finding himself out of sorts with the world, it
was some comfort to throw mud upon other
people.
Mrs. Damer opened the letter. It was from
Zollwitz.
“Dear Madame,—I had a chance encounter
with a very beautiful and unhappy young French
girl to-day; she spoke to me in wild accents, ask
ing if I knew where some Monsieur lived in Lon
don. On answering her that I did not, she
thanked me with such heartrending words for
the respectful way in which I answered her that
I felt much commiseration for her. She ran on,
addressing to other people the same question.
She seems, however to have followed me, and
the inclosed letter in French has just been gin
en to me by her, as I was going out after having
seen you. She fled the moment she saw the let
ter in my hands. What better can I do than
place the fate of an unhappy girl in a siste'ffs
hand? Can you, madam, suggest any mode of as
sistance ? She will, as you see, call for an an
swer in the morning.
Believe me, madam yours most respectfully,
HERMANN ZOLLWITZ. ”
The enclosed letter ran:
“ Monsieur,—Depuis trois jours, je cours les
rues de Londres; je cherche quelqu’un dont j’ai
fait la connaissance l’annee derniere en Norman
die. Ou le trouver? Jedemandea tout le monde
on demeure Monsieur Arbin, et personne ne le
sait; Jevouslai demande aussi. Tons, Monsieur
etes le premier qui avez repondu respectueuse-
ment que vous ne le savez pas. Les homines
m’ont regardee en se moquant, les femmes se
sont detournees de moi! N’y a-t-il pas un
coeur humain dans ce monde?Monsieur,Monsieur
votre figure me dit que vous avez un cceur. Ai-
dez-moi a trouver Monsieur Arbin, ou je me
tne. Je reviendrai demain matin pour deman-
der la reponse; je courrai encore les rues toute
la nuit, toute la nuit, Mon Dieu ! mon Dieu !
quedois-je faire?
Yotre Servantre,
Charlotte Dudin.
PS.—Savez-vovs ce que e’est d'avoir quitte un
pere et un petit frere pour un homme? Savez-
vous ce que e’est de chercher le bon Dieu par-
tout parmi les hommes et de ne le trouver ja
mais ?”
Mrs Damer trembled. What was her trouble- -
she secure of a dignified position—to this poor
girl’s ?
A shriek, a terrible shriek, rang through the
square. Mrs. Damer sprang up and rushed to
the window. Stepping swiftly on the balcony
she fancied she noticed in the twilight the flut
ter of a female dress round the corner of the
square. The servants were on the doorsteps;
all round to the right and left people came out
of their houses;a policeman ran along to see
what had happened; it was no use apparently.
That shriek—the last discord wrung from a
breaking human heart—that shriek died away
into immensity, searching there its resting-
Pl ZoHwitz had strolled out on handing the let
ter to the servant, and had been beyond the
square when that wail went forth. He had strol-
led on to Westminster Bridge, remembering the
first time he had seen the Abbey, whose sombre
masses now broke the dusky air. He had, as in
a dream, stood still, again and again thinking of
the poor delicately-featured girl that had regard
ed him with those wretched luminous eyes, and
had spoken to him that in despairing tone. Who
1 could she be ?—who was Monsieur Arbin ?
what was her story? On the bridge he leant,
looking down into the waters of a river that has
buried much human woe in its waves and is
again and again asked to bury other woes. There
was a scuffle on the other side, people rushed
up, boats were put off, and roughly the words
sounded, “A woman in the water ! Quick here,
lend a hand, man!”
Zollwitz ran across—the woman could not be
found. For twenty minntes they searched, and
at last met with her hanging by a hook into the
river. Life was quite extinct. It had become
dark, and some faint moonlight just struggled
out as the bargemen brought up that corpse.
Zollwitz looked over the shoulder of a drunken
costermonger. There lay, looking up with sight
less eyes, the young French girl still and dead
human misery gone, human love lost, and hu
man help of no avail. The German student took
up one hand and placed it gently upon the oth
er, turned, and was gone.
“A Woman Found Drowned” was in the pa
pers next day.
Some hours later there was a crowd before the
Alhambra—one of those modern places of recre
ation of our nineteenth century ideas. A young
swell had come out tipsy and fallen against the
railing, cutting his head open. Bright damsels
stood around; a boy, a precocious Loudon street
boy, had run for a doctor; two policemen were
holding up the young man, and trying to quench
the blood that flowed from his head. A brough
am rattled past, with a gentleman and lady.
“ What is the matter there, William?" said a
bright girl in evening dress to her brother. “Do
go and see.”
The brougham stopped, the young man got
out, and passed into the crowd, but came back
quickly.
“ Only think, Adelaide; it is George Harrow
by; he has fallen aud cut his head open, and is
quite insensible. Shall we take him home ?”
“Oh do, William it is so kind of you. That
young man is going the wrong way. and his cyn
ical uncle is driving him into it Poor lost boy
—poor lost boy !”
The gentleman gave his card to the police in
spector, said that he was a friend of the young
gentleman, tied up the wound, with the medic
al assistance now arrived, and got young Har
rowby into the brougham, driving fast towards
Kensington.
London life—London pictures. A romance ?
Be honest; yes, who would dare to write ro
mance—nothing more than the feeble reflex of
actual existence and its various phases ? What
romance writer dare paint the truth ? what ro-
mance writer gives his own poor experience ?
None. Cover it up, that humanity, and gloss it
over with decorum. It looks so much prettier,
that skeleton of ours, decked in silks and velvets,
deessed in evening costume, smiling, bowing,
and scraping thereat the West End, than there
at the East End, dressed in rags.
What says that anatomist Wolfgang Goethe ?
Whom to believe, my friend, I can easily show yon.
Believe life’* ee'f—more it teaches than tne word or book.
CHAPTER XIX.
AN ARRIVAL.
Christian had sent his letter at Christmas time
to Professor Holmann and had waited; Profes
sor Holmann had not come, but there was a fund
of stolid Prussianism in Sergeant Christian. He
knew how to wait for his opportunity. “ The
letter they had,” he thought, “or I should have
heard; so patience I must have, as a wrong move
might spoil all.” Christian had nnrsed his
landlord, had cheerfully done his work for him,
and had, in order to please him, gone twice a
week to the Discussion Society. Oh, if Chris
tian conld but have profited by the fiery denun
ciations of Russian, Prussian, And all other des
potisms, taking in that of Antichrist, represent
ed by glowing speakers as “ that man over the
way,” or “the Pope of Rome,” not alluding to
personalities nearer home. Imagination had
free play in the Discussion Society and produc
ed such a melange of incoherent religious, his
torical, political, and social ideas, that the dish
could only be digested by those who had inor
dinately strong stomachs and were not over-
nice about the logical arrangements of facts.
But Christian enjoyed it all the same, as well as
he could enjoy anything, having ever that faint
silhouette of the Chelsea street before him.
Chr stian studied the English faces, marked
their way of countenance, and came to the con
clusion that they we-e do vnright brave fellows
and would disgrace no Prussian sergeant, if he
conld but drill them his own way.
Christian had still wandered about, now and
then drawing near to Chelsea and the forlorn
street: he had stopped as close as he dared op
posite that house, and it seemed to him as if the
air carried past him the sad breathings of a brok
en spirit whose early reminiscences clung to it
like the sounds of childish harmonies. A form
flitted by now and then of a man’s shrunken fig
ure, clinging in hopeless agony to that corner of
thfr earth which held a mortal shrine somewhat
connected with his own existence. Great God !
who of us in our daily avocations think of the
odd fantastic shapes that the “spiiit” will take
in the “flesh;”and who ever dares to analyze
their musings but some such searching genius
as Snakspeare in “Hamlet” or Goethe in
“Faust”
One day Christian had seen Zollwitz in Hyde
Park, had quickly tried to evade him, and had
iollowed him at a distance to Eaton Square.
When Zollwitz went into the house, Christian
had marked the number and came at eventide to
stretch oat his gaunt arms after that cherished
figure as Zollwitz went forth on his usual stroll.
This uncouth Prussian soldier, looking as if
he could swallow up half a dozen ordinary mor
tals, proved the truth of the saying :
Happy the man whose heart of such a sort is,
As holds more buttermilk than aqua fortis.
But the wary Sergeant betrayed not himself—he
had orders to wait, and a Prussian when he has
orders can wait or move—fide Blucher and Wa
terloo—you may trust him through thick and
thin to fulfil orders.
George the landlord fumbled out a letter one
evening in early May—a letter the postman had
given him in the morning, but which he had
lorgotten over a social matutinal glass cf ale with
the postman. Christian swore a good round
“Donnerwetter” when he saw it. That was not
obeying orders to delay a letter! The letter
came from Torgau, and announced the Profes
sors’s, the Major’s and Mary’s arrival in London,
within a few days; Christian was to meet them
at the station, as they would avoid the longer
sea voyage by Hamburg. Christian dashed the
tea-things over, broke two cups, hugged George,
kissed the missis, and upset Jemima with con
sternation. His joy would come out in broken
German morsels of “GottseiDank,” “Endlich;”
and as fluent speech was denied him, showed it
self in vigorous action.
Christian was restless till another letter came
to meet the paaty that evening. There he stood
bright and smart, but thinner, and with a weary
expression round his eyes; people smiled to see
a big tall old man on guard at the station. The
train came in—ah, have you ever felt your heart
thump at the sight of a train, bringing yon all
your worldly joy, all your earthly possession in
the shape of some human creature, belonging to
you in one way or other, perhaps all your own ?
Such moments are glimpses of existence almost
beyond earth’s ken, reaching higher up. A puff,
a stop—the train was in, and people rushed up
to meet those they expected. A film came over
Christian’s eyes as he approached one of the first-
class carriages and saw those three beloved faces.
So simple in contour, so refined in expression,
so undemonstrative in action; three people,
whose appearance had “nobility ” impressed on
it, and whose dignified bearing showed that
Boileau was right when he said:
Jamais, quoi qu'il fasse, un mortel ici-bas
Nepeut aux yeux du monde etre ce qn’il n’est pas-
No fine dress and no swaggering exterior
would have accomplished what the quiet man
ner of these strangers did. Every porter touch
ed his hat and the policemen made room, as if
some great swell had arrived from the Conti
nent.
To Dover street, Piccadilly, they drove, Chris
tian on the box. Here they were installed in a
private hotel. The new comers made the same
impression upon the hotel people; they were
treated as grand folks, and most likely would
have to pay accordingly. Christian was in his
element, the old, discreet, respectful military
servant, biding his time till Professor Holmann
should be ready to interrogate him.
Sleep rested that night on London; it envelop
ed millions. Eere and there a solitary watch
er had it not, here and there the brain would not
be quieted and the nerves stilled. The want of
pecuniary means, the waste of them, the decay
of moral force, the indulgence in undue exces-
es, the depressing influence of evil desires, the^
yearning of human love, the consciousness of
INSTINCT PRINT