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TIS ROWERS COLLECTION 701. III. J. H. & W. B. SEALS, fpRorRntTOBs. ATLANTA, Gi., SURD AY, MARCH 23, 1878. -|—, -» rrt 1 $3 rKlt ANNUM TEEMS, 1 IN ADVANCE. ACROSS THE GVL.fr. BT MARY E. BBYAH. Near her, and yet hew far, Watching her move among the festal erowd, Distinct in her dark beanty, pale and proud. As I would watch a star— A cold, far star, upon whose glorious beam I may but gaze and gazing idly dream. Anear her, oh 1 so near That I may see the rich depths in her eyes— The smile that on her red lip dawns and dies, And hold my breath to hear ' The voice, whose thrilling sweetness bids my cheek Plush with a transient joy I may not speak. And yet. a f* *r, so far 1 A gulf between us, hope can never span; Gazing across it love's bright cheek grows wan. I see thee shine, my star. I hear thee sing my bird, aloft and free. And know that beam and song are not for me. I gaze, and scarce can deem That proudly-smiling lip can be the same That once in low, sweet whispers breathed my name. It seems a strange, wild dream. That that red lip has once, to mine been pressed— That jeweled hand has my dark locks caressed. Or that the regal brow, That crowned with ebon braids, where jewels shine Like purple clusters through the foliaged vine, Seems never made to bow, Has drocped in trustful fondDess to my breast. Like some rich jewel with sweet dewB opprest. But this is with the past; I will not touch the slender hand again, Dpon whose whiteness fell my tears’ hot rain. On that wild hour—the iast— When we two looked into each other’s eyes. And said a buried love no more must rise, Does its ghost haunt her yet? I ask it, when she falters in some song, She sang with me in days gone by so long; And when our eyes have met, And hei’s have darkened, and their smile has passed j As though by some brief memory overcast. The Belle’s Abduction. — OK,— THE EXILED CRIMINAL. BT MAJOR A. F. GRANT. CHAPTER I.—The Hut on the Coast. Towards the close of an extremely sultry day on the southeastern coast of Africa, a strange event was transpiring. A singular-looking human being was standing under a giant tree, toying carelessly, as it seem ed, with the coil of a stout lariat. He appeared to be expecting the approach of game for he glanced anxiously through the poor foliage that stretched from his right. He was half-savagely clad, strange-looking knives and pistols protrud ed from hia belt, and his gun looked like a dangerous weapon. His face was swarthy, bis limbs strong and active, his eyes dark and full of low cunning. All at once a series of noises far to the right made him uncoil thh lariat, and his eyes flashed. A troop of zebras was approaching, as the sounds plainly indicated. Stepping from the shadow of the tree in order to give his strong arms play, the man kept his eye fixed on the wild animals that were neariDg him at a break neck gallop, closely pursued by two wolfish-look ing dogs. The thunder of hoofs seemed to shake the earth, the air resounded with the mingled cries of dog and zebra. It was a thrilling sight, as the beautiful animals, with heads erect, dashed on, and ever an anon aimed furious kicks at their panting pursuers. The man selected one of the finest members of the band, and with a precision that stamped him no novice in the art, the noose dropped over the striped neck. The zebra, brought suddenly to a stop, made desperate attempts to free itself; but the victor had passed his lariat around the tree, and the prize was securely held. On, still on rushed the remainder of the troop, and their tramping were soon lost in the distance. At last the captured beast lay on the ground exhausted, and the swarthy man, after making his rope secure, turned from the spot. He seemed elated with his victory, and chuc kled to himself while walking away between the two fierce-looking dogs. Nothing appeared to dampen his spirit, and as he reached the coast and looked far seaward, he exclaimed: ‘ No sail! I wish a ship would never put m here! This is the land for me. Here no officers of the law Uve to hunt a fellow man down—here I can breathe the pure air with nothing to fear and hate.’ After a good long walk he entered a substan tial though roughly-built hut, and the dogs threw themselvs down before the door. The structure looked like the labor of one man, as indeed it was. It was built of such timber as the tropical coast afforded, and the roof was covered with a profusion of gigantic palm-leaves. The interior of the singular abode was not very prepossessing. The ceiling was low and dark, and the few articles which the single apart ment contained consisted of several stools a rough table and a cot. ‘I want to end my days here,' the man said, surveying his home with a sense of gratification. ‘I sincerely trust that no American vessel will ever sail iDto the harbor. They know that I have sailed irom New York; but they don’t know where I am.’ He talked like a criminal, and his eyes were those of a had man; but he did not appear a hardened wretch. He set about preparing sup per, after having communed with himself as above. The cuisine was not elegant, but it in cluded many ol the delicacies to be found on the delightiui African coast. He partook in Bi- lence, and with an appetite sharpened perhaps by a wearisome hunt. While he enjoyed his evening repast in the little hut, a young man in the city of New York was reading the following advertisement to a fashionably-dressed gentle man of hia own age : ‘ 7en thousand dollars reward I The undersign ed will pay ten thousand dollars for the appre hension of one Bolivar Box, who is snpposed to 1 ---i left the city ol New York between the 10th. 26th. of April Said Box is a dark-complex- The morning revealed the labors of Bolivar ^Iseveral tall signal poles stood along the shore, and he was straining his eyes to see if a sail was insight. The very man who, a few hours beiore, was hoping that no ship would ever disturb his retreat, was hoping aud praying for a sail. At last a sail caused him to shout tor joy, but alas ! it passed by, and another night settled down upon land and sea. Hecei Bloomfield held out better than Bolivar Box She felt that deliverance would assuredly come, as she had so miraculously been preserved from the sea, while the heart of the impatient man began to sink within him. It was getting late one evening several months after the events narrated above, -when three per sons confronted a well dressed man, who stood in one of the reception rooms of a well known New York hotel. , . , ‘Mr. Horace Ware, we want you, said one of the trio, who looked somewhat like an officer of The face of the person addressed turned slight ly pale. .... „ , ‘May I inqure into the oause of this. he ftskodi ‘Certainly. Miss Eecei Bloomfield has re turned and Bolivar Box has turned state's evi- The man’s face grew suddenly white. ‘Returned ?—state’s evidence?’ he gasped. He was taken into custody, and the law sent him to prison. Bolivar Box was happy to escape with but a reprimand, as he had turned against the chief criminal, and Edgar McCann, believing him an honest man at heart, took him into his employ. When the city was prepared to hear of it, Recei’s wedding took place, and she at last found herself a happy bride in the home from which a scheming lover had torn her. Bolivar Box’s repentance has been sincere. He is trving to forget his one error, and let us hope that he will succeed. A GIRL’S SUICIDE. The noose dropped over the stripd neck. ioned man, with jet-black eyes, long, dark hair, and stout-limbed. He has, moreover, a scar un der his left eye. As he has bean a saiior, it is probable that he may have shipped. He is want ed that he may be punished for his crimes, as he is supposed to be concerned in the recent mysterious disappearance of Miss Recei Bloom field. Any information that may lead to his ap prehension] will be liberally paid for. Edgar McCann. No.—Broadway. Second Floor.’ •It hasn’t caught him yet ?’young McCann’s companion said, when the last word of the ad vertisement had been read. ‘No; and, what is more, I fear it will avail me nothing.’ ‘But, after all, Edgar, may you not be hunt ing tor the wrong man ?’ ‘What! the wrong man ? Do you suspicion—’ ■I suspicion nothing,’ was the reply. ‘Theu what do you mean when you talk about the wrong man ?’ ‘This Bolivar Box never was Miss Recei’s lover, I believe? ‘Bless you, no! Why I thought he was the last man upon whom the girl would smile. He was homely, stoop-shouldered, and no fit mate for an American woman. No, sir ! he is not the wrong man !’ ‘ Then what had he against the young lady ?’ ‘ I cannot say.’ ‘Could he have been hired ?’ ‘I never thought he could. People in the vicinity of his cobbling shop were wont to say that Bolivar Box was as honest as he was ugly and misshapen. His action mystifies me.’ ‘Then I suppose I shall have to give it up,’ was the response. ‘I hope that Miss Recei will return unharmed, but I fear that Bolivar Box will prove too shrewd for you. He will see that no person secures an opportunity to catch up your liberal reward.’ Edgar McCann did not reply for a moment. ‘ It is a deep plot,’ he said at length. ‘I fear we cannot unravel the mystery. I sent for you to help me, as you have been a detective. Miss Bloomfield has been spirited off, but by whom? I am confident that this Bolivar Box is the active person in the affair; but he may huve had abet tors.’ ‘My opinion is that he had,’ the young man’s compamon said. ‘ While we hunt secretly for them, we should not forget this Mr. Box.’ The foregoing conversation took place in the counting-room of one of the largest business houses of New York. The strange disappearance of Reoei Bloom field, one of ihe handsomest young women in the city, still remained the topic of conversa tion in certain circles. She was the betrothed of Edgar McCann, the young merchant, and, at the time of her disappearance, she stood in the very shadow of the altar. Miss Bloomfield had been the victim of a clever hut well-laid scheme. Oue evening a carriage, purporting to be her lover’s, halted before her home, and the driver handed her a message purporting to come from Mrs. McCann, the merchant’s mother. The yonng lady was requested to hasten to the McCann home, as her betrothed was declared to be very low. Suspecting nothing, Recei hastened to comply, and was driven rapidly away. It was the last seen of her, for days had lengthened into weeks, and no tidings concern ing her true situation bad been returned. The driver was believed to have been Bolivar Box, the shoemaker, whose shop had not been opened since the night of the dastardly deed. This is the story of Miss Recei Bloomfield’s disappearance in brief. Now let us return to the inhabitant the hut on the Naval coast, for he is no lei a person than the badly wanted Bolivar Box. We left him at supper. He finished the repast and pas8« from the hut. The wind was blowing strocjy from the sea, and betokened a storm on the liters. The night was settling down upon the tile’s home, and his dogs were seeking their ’St, when a strange cry came from the Hea. Bolivar Box started ajsd listenecwith all his might. ‘ A repetition of the cry startle? the wolfish dogs. ‘ Help ! help ! or I shall drown !’ The next instant Bolivar was funding to ward the sea. CHAPTER II. — ‘A MAN FO] ,’ THAT.’ The waves were already highvhen Bolivar Box reached the shore, but he lunched a boat which danced on the foam-tippj waves, and pulled away. No star appeared to show thenan the way through the waters, and while h rowed hither and thither through the gloom, e listened for the cry that had roused him to dring exertion. At last he shouted at the top ofhis voice. It penetrated the night lite the tors of a speak ing trumpet, and floated aiar t< sea. But no cry responded, and the would-b rescurer was about to return to the shore. Hhad perfected his resolve when somithing stick his bout. Dropping an oar, he seized theibject, which appeared to be a small yawl apprently empty. ‘It has been capsized,' said Bovar Box, ‘ but I will take it ashore, as it may p>ve of service to me in the future.’ The next moment he was pullig shoreward with the captured boat J dlowinjin his wake, aud at last drew up with’ an exclmation of sat isfaction. But what was his consternatior when he dis covered a female form lying pron in the bottom of the craft which he had wretiaed from the grasp of the sea? He rubbed lb eyes as if to assure himself that he was no! dreaming, then bore the insensible being to nil hut, where, with the help of a candle, hegaled upon her features. They were pale and heautiul. Her fragile figure was arrayed in spotless wiite, and her rich hair was bound with band of beaten gold. In short she looked like a brio tc Bolivar Box, who had seen many brides in »e great city Irom which he was a hunted exile. But strangest of all,he startd violently when he had gazed for a moment upn the white face that lay up turned to the lifafc of his candle. He looked wildly about hirn.md then permit ted his eyes to fall again t the unconscious one. ‘I had not expected to see er again !’ he said, like a criminal. ‘I wonder aow she came to find me here. He said thatffie should never recognize me; but here she iin a stupor from which she is waking as fast aihe can. My heart! this is a pretty go. But the) is a way to get rid of her forever!’ and as .he speaker’s eyes flashed he laid his hands ujfl the waif from the sea. ‘No, I dare not do it!’ e said, shrinking back at the touch. ‘She’s to pure and sweet for Bolivar Box. I've wronpd her enough al ready, heaven knows, and Iioght to be think ing' of reparation.’ The last word was stilljnivering his lips, when the eyes of the sleetr opened and fell upon his dark and guilty fbe. ‘Where am IT she criet ‘I remember tbe forced marriage, the boat sd tbe storm. Did they succeed? Tell me! ami Horace Ware’s wife.’ ‘No, thank heaven !’ said Bolivar Box. ‘At least I hope you are not, gentle lady.’ ‘Then I am content !’ was the reply, and the eyes closed as if to shut from sight an unpleas ant, scene. ‘But I am not on the ship now ?’ ‘Indeed you are not. This is the home of Bol ivar Box.’ ‘What !’ ‘I live here, my lady. You are Recei Bloom field, hd d I am ’ ‘Bolivar Box ?’ ‘Bolivar Box, at your service ! answered the quaint man with a smile. ‘Do not fear me now. I rejoice that I have been able to save your life. Do you know in what part of the world I found you adrift on the ocean ?’ ‘I do not.’ ‘This is the southeastern coast of Africa. As well as I know, I am the sole tenant of this part of the world They are hunting me in Ameri ca; but I think they are far from the right path. I exiled myself. I hate the crowded cities, for in one of them I committed a crime—I left my cobblers’ bench to do a villian’s bidding, for his gold.’ ‘I know it,’ and the eyes of Recei Bloomfield fell pityingly upon Bolivar Box, ‘Let me tell you what has happened to me since we part ed company. I never knew until I found my self in the hands of Horace Ware that I was loved by two men. He knew of my betrothal, and hoped to make me his wife at all events. I was conveyed to a vessel in the harbor of New York one night several weeks after my abduc tion, and sailed on the following day. Once at sea, Horace Ware appeared and renewed his pi ©testations of love. He grew excited when he met with a firm refusal,and refused to restore me to my relatives and friends. Our voyage was long and tiresome. I did not know whither we were bound. At last he determined to suc ceed. I found assistance in an old sailor and pretended to accede to his importunate de mands, for I knew that he had bought the cap tain over to his designs, and intended to force a marriage. ‘The hour came, hut I did not appear at the obnoxious altar. With the sailor’s assistance, I managed to escape to the boat in which you found me, and we pushed from the vessel. But the winds struck us and careened the boat. My companion was swept away, and I lifted my fee ble voice for help.’ ‘And I heard you !’ cried the exile with joy. ‘I thank fortune that I have been able to save your life ! He will not think of looking for you on this coast, which is supposed to be uninhab ited. Now listen to me, Miss Recei Bloomfield. I am not going to be an exile any longer.’ The youDg girl's eyes flashed with exultation. ‘I want to avenge nnself. He drew me from my bench with a golden hook.' ‘Yes,’ exclaimed Recei. ‘Bolivar Box, if you help me to reach my friends, which would be the graudest revenge for you in the world, you shall net need to cobble the remainder of your life. ‘But I am worth ten thousand dollars now. Mr. Edgar McCann thinks enough of me to offer that sum for my apprehension. ’ ‘He thinks you will disclose my whereabouts,’ the girl said, smiling. ‘I fancy I could.’ Half an hour later the belle of the avenue was sleeping quietly in the exile's humble hut, and he was down on the beach. All throngh the night he worked while Recei dreamed of the home which she had not seen for many a weary day. ■ HT MEET \ i. “TjTCXDEr. Til XT S'-YE AXV'THEF. SUICIDE — TWO REMARKABLY PLAYFUL letters from the victim. Correspondence Evansville Journal. Boonville, Ind., March 7. — The bell tolled this morning announcing the death of Miss Nancy Lee, aged 15, who committed suicide last night by taking a teaspoonful of morphine, and died this morning at 8 o’clock. Suicide must be “catching,” for there must have been no less than five in this county within two months. Especially does it look that way in this case, as it appears to be caused by the death by suicide of Fannie Dillingham, of which a full report was given in the Journal at the time. The act has caused much inquiry and excite ment, for it is an almost unparalleled case — that a girl as old as she should be so attached to one who was not a relative and only a friend, that she should commit suicide for the sole pur pose of “going where that friend is.” For sev eral weeks after the death of Mrs. D., this little girl grieved very much, and scarcely ate any thing, and at one time asked her mother whetfier she thought she would go where Fannie was if she should die. This soon wore away partially, and no signs of any rash act were given until about three weeks ago, when she asked for mor phine at one of the grocery stores. Yesterday evening she ate supper, and appeared as lively S as usual. She was seen taking a tin cup of water with her to her room as she went to bed. No more was heard of her until 12 o’clock, when a i curious noise awakened her father, who at once I saw that she was in a stupor, aud sent for three | physicians, who worked hard until morning, | but without effect. The tip cup and some of the powder was found on the bureau, and in one of the drawers was found the following: letter no. 1. “Well ma, you and pa need not be frightened, I for this is nothing but morphine that makes me sleep so good and sound forevermore; and I will tell you, if I never wake up, I want you to lay me in the new graveyard, just right against i Fannie’s grave, to stay with her forevermore and ' eternally; for I am going to see her and stay with : her, and do you reckon that her and me will I have as much fun as we did here together ? I hope we will, if not more than here;and I guess • that we will, if old “Hack” Dillingham does not ; come and call her away, like he did beiore, aud [•if he does he had better not, for I do not like him no how, for he caused her death, and that is enough for him, I think. Well, bury me at j the new graveyard; put my grave right against Fannie’s grave, and if ever you go to Terre Haute, call for Fannie and I, and then if you see us | together, and at the same time, you may know | that I am with her. Well, ask Alice if she is ; mad. Tell her that I am not mad at her, and if she is mad I can’t help it, and tell her that she I wanted to know where I was going the other j' day, when I told her that I was going to see | somebody that 1 had not seen for a long time, ! and tell her that Fannie and I like her. i Well, now I will give you my rings mi, and you ! must wear them, and go out to aunt Mary’s and stay as long as you was going to; and be sure to bury me at the new graveyard, and do not leave room between me and Fannie to bury ‘Hack’ Dillingham, her pa, her sister, her aunt, or any body, and take good care of her things that I had and keep them in my little bucket, and keep it to remember me by forevermore, and if aunt Mary does write a letter to me, put it in my bucket, and keep it too,’ Tied to her bed-pfcst and supposed to have been written after the drug was taken was letter no. 2. “Oh ma, let me sleep this morning, fori do not think you can wake me, for I took a tea spoonful of morphine to go to rest forevermore, and I do not want yon to disturb me from my nap. If you find my letters in the safe drawer, you must read them, and keep them and mind them.” No other causes than those in the letter are known to anyone. She was a bright young lady, but reason must have been partly dethroned. She will be buried according to her request to morrow forenoon. It is not known where >hej got the poison.