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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