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the (lowers cnuEcnoV
VOL. III.
J. H. & W. B. SEA LS, (pnopMiToas.
ATLANTA, GA„ SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 1. 1878.
mpiJAfrC! I $3 PER ANNUM
I hiKMb,1 IN ADVANCE.
m ft
MEETING THE OLD LOVE.
They told me that my love drew nigh—
My little love of other years; —
My breath came, heavy with a sigh,
1 crowded back my tears.
Oh, memory—the torturer—
Was busy then; the years unrolled;
Again I walked and talked with her—
I saw her locks of gold.
Blown by the hreeze across my breast,
As np the hill we loitered slow;
I, all my boyish love confessed—
She did not say me no.
I kissed her on her dimple chin,
I kissed her eyes like flax-flowers bine:
Unto love’s courts I entered in—
What else was there to do f
Bnt trifles came between us twain:
“ The rift within the lute.’’ von know.
Will sadly mar the sweetest strain.
And check, at last, its flow.
We parted, then, and went our ways;
Bnt that was twenty years ago;
She wedded in the olden days.
And I forgot xuy woe,
Bnt when they whispered, ‘‘That is she,’’
My heart seemed carven out of stone;
I turned—and, if yon'll credit me,
I never groaned a groan.
Was the maid I used to love'(
She of the sylph-like face and form?
She weighed two hundred pounds above-
You should have heard her storm 1
She shook her olive-branches five;
She never paused to wipe their tears,
Bnt vowed she'd skin ’em all alive—
My love of other years.
RIGHT AT LAST;
OR,
Treachery Outwitted
COMPLETE IN TWO NUMBERS.
BY A. M. DAVIS.
“Good sight, darling mama. I don't like to
go without you one bit, but I shall only stay
two hours, and papa will take good care of me. ”
And my dainty Elsie pressed her fresh lips to
mine, and then, taking the hand of the tall,
handsome gentleman fcLe-called “papa.” She
tripped from the room, turning to make me an
airy enrtesy at the door. A veritable fairy she
looked, in her white gauze and blue ribbons.
Well, I knew she would be the prettiest girl at
Mrs. Hampden’s Christmas fete, and I rebelled
against the headache that kept me from seeing
how prettily she would flit through the dance.
She was as dear to me as though my blood ran
in her blue veins, yet Elsie was no child of
mine. I had nev. r rocked her on my bosom as
a babe; no, she was large enough to known suf
fering, and hunger, and weariness when I first j
saw her. That first time I saw her! how vividly j
I recalled it. What a wan, large-eyed little j
thing she was, and how passionately she stretch- j
ed her anus to her poor mother as the doctor
lifted the woman’s dead form in his arms. Lit- j
tie Elsie’s history is a romantic one. 1 will tell
it to you; but first I must go back to a page of
my own past life, which is so closely woven w i h j
Elsie’s story, that it must be knowu in order to j
understand how my darling came to her rights :
and how a wail life myself came to be moored j
in a port of peace.
Slowly I ran my eye over the list of adver
tisements—there were live, and I thought,
surely, that out of them all I should find a situa
tion. Two for a daily governess, one for a
nursery governess, one fora companion to an
invalid lady a short distance in the country,
and the last a young woman to write in an of
fice, “must be quick and correct in figures.”
All hut the nursery governess were to make ap
plications by writing. So I directed four notes
and posted them.
My lancy was for the companion’s or the ac
countant’s position. My education had been
unlike that of most girls, since my father had
been my tutor.
Those feminine accomplishments for which I
evinced no particular aptness had been almost
en irely omitted. Four years before this period
he bad died, leaving me in very comfortable
circumstances, consigned to the care of a friend.
Within the last six months my little fortune had
been swept away, there had been many changes
in my guardian’s family, and now I "felt com
pelled to undertake my own support.
I found the next day that the positions of
daily governess were neither of them desirable.
For the companion’s place I was to call upon a
Mrs. Mercer in a fashionable locality at the hour
of eleven; for the other a Mr. Ruricson at three
in the afternoon.
So a mere chance decided it. I went to Mrs.
Mercer s partly out of curiosity. The invalid
was her grandmother, living at an old country
seat called Oakdale. Her mother and two sis
ters were in the honse, there were plenty of
servants and a nurse, but they wanted someone
to take their place to read, t ilk, be agreeable,
patient, some one who would not objeot to a
quiet life.
I read for her, and she professed herself more
than satisfied. I had a good, clear, well-trained
Yoice.
“You sing, of course ?” said the lady.
“Not much,” I answered, hesitatingly. “I
have had very little acquaintance with Italian
opera music.”
“But ballads and hyms? Grandma is exceed
ingly old-fashioned.”
“I might do that,” I replied with a faint smile.
“I am so well satisfied that I shall engage
you. The salary is two hundred dollars a year,
and the duties are not arduous. It is princi
pally because mamma and sisters do not feel
willing to leave one so dependent entirely alone,
for the nurse is no company. I like your looks.
When enn you be ready ?”
I reflected for a moment. It seemed to me
that men's employments, as a general thing,
were more entertaining and less dreary than
i women’s. But here was a certainty. Then,
too, at Oakdale, I should not be wounded and
mortified by the slights of
those who had known me
in better days.
“I could go to-morrow,”
I said, slowly.
“The sooner the better.
I will telegraph to mamma
to-day. A carriage will
meet you at the station.
Miss Dandas, I think yon
said ?”
“Yes, Gertrude Dun-
das !”
“You see,” she said
fraDkly, “I am quite taken
by the fact of your being
so nearly friendless. You
will be much more con
tented as the place may
be a little dull after city
life.”
“I shall not mind that
change,” I replied truly.
“I will give you direc
tions. A train starts at
ten-fifty, and another at
two. ”
“ I could be ready at
two.”
“Very well. I will meet
j you at the station.”
1 I went home, announced
j my plans, and began to
' pack up my worldly ef-
j fects.
My guardian’s second
wife was not sorry to part
with me, I think, for she
i had never taken cordially
to me. The small wreck
! of my fortune, about five
j hundred dollars, was de
posited in the bank for
j safe ke* ping,
j I re-read Mr. Ruricson’s
: note. I could not tell
j why, but I half-wished
that I had gone to his of-
1 fice. I had an odd pre-
| sentiment that something
| in my life was destined to
! come from him or through
him. Was I losing any
i’ golden oDro-t'nnity ?
I put the note in my
writing-desk and packed
it, sneering rather dis
dainfully at myself for the
tendency to romance. I
was twenty-two and heartwhole. As yet I had j delightful,
seen no one to attract me very strongly. Per-
haps, on the other hand, I was not particularly
attractive. I had been called cold, intellectual,
strong-minded, hut I had aspired to nothing
higher than ordinary composition, and tht
“ woman question ” looked like so hopeless n
tangle to me that I had no courage to attack it
I had a feeling of being rather weak and com
mon-place.
I met Mrs. Mercer at the station the next day.
She gave me a ticket, and reiterated her direc
tions. At Oakdale I found a carriage availing
me.
The mansion was a grand, old-fashioned
country honse with some modern improve
ments. A spacious sloping lawn, clumps of
clustering shrubbery and vines, tLe tinkle of a
little brook, and miniature cascade, made of it
all a picture. It was a pleasant day early in
April, and I could imagine what it would be in
ripe, glowiDg summer. I was thankful that I
had thus decided.
There was a wide porch across the front and
the southern end of the house. A spacious hall
ran through the middle, with several doors
opening into it. Here I awaited Mrs. Rothsay.
A tall, elegant woman of fifty, with rather
condescending manner, came sweeping down
the stairs. I liked beauty, and she was still
handsome; but an instant dislike seemed to
shiver through my frame.
“Miss Dundas, I believe. Martin, take these
two trunks up to the room that Jane has been
arranging. Mrs. Mercer sent me word that I
might expect you. Sit down for a few mo
ments.”
There was a quaint old sofa in the hall, and I
modestly took one end while Mrs. Rothsay be
gan to question me. I think on the whole she
was favorably impressed by the time she dis
missed me to my room.
This was a corner room looking Southward
and Westward. One could have glorious sun
sets here. A large flowered ingrain carpet,
that had not been changed for years, an im
mense bureau and^bedstead, some shelves for
books, two corner brackets with vases, and a
few old-fashioned, but not disagreeable pictures
were among the objects that met my view.
There was also a wardwobe, near which was
another door, but opening it I heard voices, so
I prudently shut it again.
I began to unpack. The place had a home
like feeling already. I was hanging up my
dresses, when a tap at the door startled ,me.
It was Mr?. | Rothsay.
“It is grandmar's whim, not to see you to
night,” she said. “Make yourself as comforta
ble as posible, for you must be tired. Shall I
send up your supper ?”
“But it will be a trouble,” I stammered.
“Oh, no,” she answered, with a peculiarly
soft and gracious voioe. “Miss Dundas, I hope
you are patient by nature, for though there
will be no hard work required of you, the ser
vice may often be trying. Grandma had a se
vere fall, some twelve years ago, and since then
two strokes of paralysis. She is entirely help
less, though her physical health is wonderful
for a woman of eighty. I have attended to her
a great deal myself, until I was really afraid of
being ill. My eldest daughter is not strong,
and my youngest cannot endure confinement;
so we are obliged to share this d'lty with a
stranger. We shall try to make it as pleasant
as possible for you.”
“I shall try to perform every duty to the best
of my ability,” I made answer.
The tea-belj summoned her. My supper was
brought immediately, and was certainly very
grew quite confidential. ' I pressed my lips again to the soft, withered
The loneliness was exceed- ones. Her breath came feebly,
ingly irksome to her. “ Miss Dundas, ’’ she began after a while, “
“For I feel as if you wish you would write a letter for me.”
were quite one of the fam- 1 brought my writing-desk,
ily, ” she would say. “ Begin simply, ‘My dear friend
“ You are a person of such
good sense, Miss Dun
das. ”
Through February old
Mrs. Sydenham had some
days of being unusually
feeble. Sometimes she
would doze for hours to
gether, then start up sud
denly and appear to wan
der in her mind. I men
tioned this to the physi
cian.
“It does not seem pos
sible that she can last
much longer, ” was the
reply.
I confess that it gave
me a great shock. It was
partly selfish. I cunld not j It must have been a blessed exchange for her
bear to think of leaving when the poor tortured, misshaped body put on.
Oakdale. I felt that my J imnmrtality, yet I grieved sincerely for my kin l
frien(|[.
The day after the burial the will was read
Mrs. Mercer and her husband came, and some
distant cousins were present. Oakdale was. left
to Mrs. Rothsay while she remained a widow,
and a certain income; at her marriage or death
selection had been really
wise. I had hardly touch
ed my year's salary, so few
had been my wants. Then
there were not many dis
comforts in the home. I
She stretched out her arms passionately to her dead mother.
Afterward I was called down stairs
and introduced to Miss Sydenham, whose name
was Helena, and Miss Lottie. The elder was
twenty-seven, though I thought her beyond
thirty that night, and the younger about twenty
—showy, fashionable girls, who were dull
enough when alone at home, captious and crit
ical, and apparently dissatisfied with nearly
everything.
Mrs. Rothsay had been married a second time,
but the gentleman was dead, and his daughter
had made a most imprudent marri.gp. No one
knew what had become other. And this invalid
was an aunt of Mrs. Sydenham,s, an unmarried
woman, who insisted upon being called grand
mother and introduced as Mrs. Sydenham. She
had some sort of life right in the place, and her
income was used to keep it up, for Alfred Syd
enham had been an economical man. The old
lady had been much incensed at Mrs. Syden
ham's second marriage, but upon her being
left a widow she had received her back again,
though she had now a fortune of about ten
thousand of her own.
I learned these matters by degrees in the
course of a few weeks. I was well-treated, made
comfortable, and found my duties not unpleas-
was treated with a certain
respect;indeed Mrs. Roth
say had made a sort of
confidant of me. In sea
sons of great tribulation
in dressmaking, I had
offered my assistance,
which had been gratefully
accepted. Indeed Miss
Helena came to have quite
an exalted idea of my
taste, and not unfreq-
uently consulted me be
fore her shopping exped
itions.
I was standing by the
window one bright March
afternoon, glancing over
the far hills, and listen
ing idly ‘o IV pa wing cf
the horses' hoofs on the
graveled path below. One
of the windows Lad been ‘
thrown up for air, and j
through it I heard the ,
voices, one of which was
it was to be divided equally among the three
girls, after several legacies were paid. Helena
and Lottie had five thousand apiece now, airs
Mercer nothing, because the testator thought
her suffieently well off to wait. The faithful
nurse, a gaunt Scotch woman, was kindly re
warded.
But I was adrift again. What was I to do?
“I wish to see you at your earliest conven
ience,” said Mr. Barton to me before he left
So I walked over on the following day.
“I have some papers for you,” he began,
“Airs. Sydenham entrusted a little business to
my care, as she wished to have no stir about it
Here is a letter of explanation.”
The very one I had written myself.
“At her desire I placed to your account five
thousand dollars in the bank on deposit. She
grew to have a very warm regard for you. I was
clad to serve her., and T think yon may enjoy It
with a clear com .‘ience. No one will suffer
the small bequest. She had enough for all. But
it was her wish that this should be our secret.”
I was deeply touched by this evidence of her
generosity and thoughtfulness. No one wonld
suspect me of scheming. Indeed I was very
sound of cheerful , „ , . ,
Helena’s laughing lightly and gaily. Something j much surprised by the legacy,
had pleased her unusually well. Mr. Barton offered me his hospitality until I
Helena looked bright and young. Her chest- should be able to suit myself, it I did not wish
nut brown hair was living in quivering ends ! to remain at Oakdale. I thanked him for his
and half-curls her jaunty blue velvet hat had a 1 kindness, and half resolved to accept it.
long white plume floating over her shoulder, j Airs. Rothsay was taken ill with nervous fever,
and her blue dress with its gilt buttons, fitted j and could hardly bear me out of her sight
her to a charm. It was one of her young days. ' Helena and Lottie were busy with their plans,
She could have passed for two-and-twenty eas- and grew quite confident. Lottie was as good
* ' as engaged to the son of a wealthy tradesman
His family, it seemed, had not welcomed her
very cordially until this accession of fortune
Helena was not so sure of her admirer, though
in all probability he meaDt marriage.
“ He is one of your slow-going men,” explain
ed Lottie, “a foreigner —Swiss or Swede, I've
forgotten which. I suppose he will not ask till
the last moment, but my’ advice to Lena is to
Lmake sure of him. She has flirted long enough,
“Who'is it, Miss Dundas?” asked Airs. Syden- j and begins to lade. Neither Lou nor I want to
ham’s peculiar voice, which of late had come to ! have an old maid sister.”
have a quaver in it. i The first of June I men ioned accidentally that
Aliss Helena and a gentleman. They are go- ! it was my time to make some future plans.
ind “I don’t know as I shall let you go,” deck)
Before they reached the gate her attendant
'urned to fasten a buckle or something, and I
bad a fair view of him. He was a tall, stalwart
man with the figure and bearing of a hero- fair
and ruddy, with auburn hair and beard that al
most matched the chestnut ot her hair. But the
face was so good and so grand; tender and smil
ing, but not a weak line in it. He was a man to
trust implicitly, a man to love well and long.
out riding. She is
her blue suit, and
looks well and pretty.”
“Ilumph ! I suppose so. I believe she has a
new admirer 1 hope she will succeed this
f.nt. Airs. Sydenham was a strange being indeed.
There was something remarkable in the fresh- i time.”
ness and keenness of her faculties. Her hearing I I was silent.
was perfect, her memory and reasoning facul- j “Helen should have been married years ago. ,— 0 —- ■
ties excellent, and her tastes had been modern- i At twenty she was tolerably good-tempered, and I there, lhere was a great deal ot shopping ana
ized to a wonderlul degree. After I became j might perhaps have loved some one.” dressmaking, and endless consultations. Mrs.
lared
Mrs. Rothsay. “Indeed, we need you more
than ever. The girls must b“ assisted in getting
ready, and I do not feel equal to any exertion in
the matter. Spend the summer here, at least.”
I was finally persuaded. Lottie was going to
Brighton with Airs. Alercer, who had a house
acquainted with her 1 learned to like her in
spite of her odd, fiery, and impatient ways. She
possessed a good deal of shrewd, good sense,
loved argument, and was a great talker.
I received one hint which I thought of many
a time afterwards. The old lady did become
very fond of me. She had not even the full use
of her hand, so she was entirely dependent upon
her attendant. I had not ministered in vain to
my father through his lung illness. I was quick,
gentle, and noiseless. Then I soon learned to
understand her glance.
Helena was one day speaking of a former
companion, a widow, whom they had all liked
very much at first.
“But she was a scheming, unprincipled
thing, as we discovered afterwards. She ingra
tiated herself with grandma, then began to pre
judice her against us. Mamma found it out,
and insisted upon discharging her, but grand
ma would not let her go. However, mamma did
manage to outwit them all, and my lady had to
leave. But she had the impudence to write
afterwards and begged grandma for a legacy she
had promised her.”
It seemed to me that Aliss Sydenham said this
with a purpose. She need not have been alarm
ed, however. I wanted no more than my just
due.
Every day I was sent out in the carriage for a
drive. I enjoyed that and all the other luxuries.
As the summer advanced the house was filled
with guests. I used to watch the beautiful
groups on the lawn, ladies in white, flittiDg
through mazes of evergreens, parties going out
for a morning horseback ride, and evening
companies that were miniature balls. Then
they would go away for a short tour. But it
seemed as if Mrs. Rothsay or Miss Sydenham
kept watch and ward continually. I soon found
that tfiey were counting on the time when they
should eDjoy undisputed sovereignty. They
had a feeling that poor old grandma had wronged
them by living.
The summer passed pleasantly. Helena and
Charlotte went to town for a season of balls and
operas. Left alone to herself, Mrs. Rothsay
ight perhaps „
“I think love is the great waDt of her life i Rothsay demurred a little at the extravagance,
now,” 1 said. “It seems to me as if she needs a I “I expect to spend every penny I have upon
strong interest, something upon which she can this and my bridal outfit,” said Lottie, in her
fix her restless heart.” imperious mnnuer. And I mean to have the
“Heart! Stuff and nonsense! What little wedding in October if I can compass it. So
she did have she has fritted away. Now she is i make ycur plans for that,”
dreadfully afraid oi being an old maid, but still i Helena flushed, frowned, and bit her lip it
she wants some one to support her in indolence 1 was galling to have both sisters married before
and luxury. To do nothing but dress and go to
balls, parties and dinners, is her idea of happi
ness. If the man who marries her has any soul,
I pity him.”
“But a late lover sometimes develops unex
pected swee r nessand virtue in a woman.”
“She must possess them in her soul,” said
grandma, in a hard dry tone. The crops lrom
a rocky soil are generally scanty and poor. Still,
I hope she will marry.”
She paused.
“Miss Dundas,” she added, presently.
“Well,” I replied, and came to the bedside.
“Did you ever have a lover ?”
“No.”
Still I colored at the ridiculousness of the
question.
“You are not—have not been—’’
“Heart-broken? No,” and I smiled into her
eager eyes.
“Mias Dundas, if ever a good man should love
you, and you can care for him, take him as the
best gift of heaven; If he is poor do not be
ashamed to help him, to work for him, to com
fort him; if he is rich do not be too proud to ac
cept what his generous love desires to give. If
any doubt or misunderstanding should arise be
patient, do not refuse to give and take explana
tions. I wish I had known you before."
“ Thank you, ” I said, smoothing her pillow.
“ I am glad to have suited you. This has been
a pleasant year to me.”
“ Miss Dundas, would you mind—kissing me ?
There is no sort of interest or fawning in such
a caress. Thank yon, my dear. My long life
is coming to an end. I might have been hap
py, beloved, had children and grandchildren of
my very own. I was proud, jealous, impatient
of control. But I say now that love is the sweet
est thing in life.”
her.
Airs. Rothsay decided to go to Bournemouth,
and of course Helena would accompany her.
Later in the season they would go to Brighton..
The two younger ladies threw off their mourn
ing joyfully, and Mrs. Rothsay modified hers
sufficiently to give her a charming appearence
I had promised to stay at Oakdale tor the
summer, and look after the house. It was very
delightful, and I had become sincerely attached
to the place.
Helena was in high glee. Mr. Ruricson. had
promised to accompany them and spend a week
at Bournemouth. They were to meet there a
party of connections, Mr. Larabee and his fami
ly, among them a son and nephew just returned,
from the Continent.
But at the eleventh hour a note came from
Air. Ruricson to say that some important busi
ness might detain him. He would write again
and let them know.
Wedensday was the time appointed for= th&
journey. By Tuesday evening no word had
come, and no Mr. Ruricson. Wedensday the
same. Helena did nothing but fret and- fume.
She certainly had a most unami&ble temper
when crossed.
“We ought to go to-day,” said Mrs. Rothsay
on Thursday morning. “The Larabees wont
know wha* to make of it.”
“And Mr. Ruricson said that if he did not
come we must go on. He will meet ns at.
Bournemouth. Perhaps, as the matter is net <
permanently settled,” she continued, retifiotive
ly, “ it would give a rather pronounced aspect
to the affair. And I am not aura that Mr.
Ruricson is such a great catch, after all. Miss
Dundas, if a note should come, forward it imme -
diately, please.”
[Continued on eighth page. ]
Something in her touching, simpie words-
brought the tears to my eyes as I followed her
dictation. To this friend she bequeathed the
sum of five thousand dollars, to be paid by Mr
Barton after Id r death.
“Now, when you are out to-morrow ask AI*.
Barton to call in as soon as possible, rutthrs-
in the drawer there; he will attend to the rest.
Do not mention having written it. ”
“I surely will not, ” I replied.
Mr. Barton was the clergyman. He csiue the
next evening, and Airs. Sydenham saw hur-
alone.
I noticed after this she was less bitter and
satirical. An old memory appeared to have
softened her heart. She was very gentle to rae*
but I could see that she failed daily.
A month later she died, quite suddenly, hav-
been apparently stronger for several daya.
r t
