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4 <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