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THE FlOWfctfS COLLECTION -'VOL. III. J. H. & W. B. SEALS, / SprStorS. t *3 PER ANNUM ATLANTA, GA„ SA'AY, APRIL, 20, 1878. TEEMS,! m *»»»» ONLY ONE HOI K. bt onxACvn. The day .with all its toil and care and sorrow. |I„ U , ,, J 1 um'ana sorr And now 1/ d, ' ep fo °*"Prints in my heart and brain, Tour™ Z. f COrm '-^ Mn thc ‘ drear to-morrow I wm B , me f" rw * rd ln my path of pain. 1 A n!) h! 8 . CC from klnd memory borrow. And lne one hour with liope and Joy again. is like the mystic Cerens flower. And i !,S "hen the midnight dews distill Oneni b ul J? r . eam "i * omt: enchanted bower, Win. h . , pa , Ie . cu !‘ ">r the moon to till P r° ft dr’PPiUffs of the silvery shower cd irom her pearly horn on plain and hill. K 1fno™ y dro °P my brow, pale and thonght-weary 'mrh iwpiVntss 1, b^vTsionwy’® Md thce - left to me, tie ail of joy that now is And J m.v breathe, when 'neath these shadows fc n( . 0 i. AgaSiteiS^^rdaddfcar, Like hooded nuns through the deep silence there It may be, that on this lone hour ai < and flow; ' s a cool wayside shrine, with mfl- 7 « , "tense's delicate p, ls, nl the traveler, weary 'bade worn and .jaded That kneels to pray within its tranm'iT On<* Kwonf i....... „ . loom, 'n!/ n . l! * l *V 8 2 ne swect hour, so nearh" faderT This lonely flower, thrown on A.emorj.“ B tomb. T A 0 b^ss n dr t ernro 0 ns°eeD ? s n,C8 'l ' tWiI j Pewn ;l vision Vet'twill have bath^ f° U ta f<v ' once more. And risen, THE DANGEROUS MAN; OR The heart breaker. AH ill VY O-Uix—. 1- very white -pee-wee cretnr.’a^ ^nobody ^er went to see her, nor solitary, so lonely in '“ T l e 1"! i” .TErUij lot,* u»., to . man in impatient soapenae, mort P“ l « he belongs to the dainy . j bo jived ened to tie voice of flattery and^ with that weakening of the c U almost the me.UUU. q m.t,thongh«n ; dn> J- ith life and its cares. that m..d sank oswa before her on his knees his armsestended with a passionate gesture.” prt# of in th . most g.orious •'hoid duties as Bimpiy™Tt£ 1 things in creation had tangled in her make dartnerts and a /<t( WetiSuiMs easei. Complete in two lumbers. up: at r'tthe mvstdrips of UIN' kPSftrm r.1.,1 ti,.- (.1 raven smiles ,ig “m‘“ “nTaaid that personal beauty, more ; « o, n» i •*'«-“» - • •* •- - • 1 feel “ produc 10 private chronicles er- i van merer. v ku.u~, * j, - l t«li- i sol-erest moments, that we to "tde- • powers or attractions have been given, will have were yet fortunate: f -~*#-x n‘*= of . perhaps, ft heavy responsibility, not been caught a™ 1 f OK ' a . tho 8tftte of-whose the It is perfectly clear to me now it all happened. — ~ - K ana been improved by three wi^ntet- ' 8 Unfortunately, on going out yesterday morning, l, [he Sb’verv .i.n’ ; n .rdr.rk and I left lying on a table in my room, an open let- -f ar down nl iuo#fod nard .y, in a dark ^ ^ ^ fro ^ yp yj. That letter was the d-eath war rant of the most beautiful creature I ever saw. Li— i «.nunnot stay lieiea day ionfun X™-* de- whom c.n usual i-np r«'ess*iay"a little lake % i»rn as biacK w-as on sea or land. &ncl s by b. a. b. CHAPTER I. A WILD BLOWEB. 23? MV| lS,ria ! cb»nd'»:.i I must .rest .be summS1™ b» 1- «» rounds of fe“hionable life. ‘My heart, my heart Is over the sea,’-or at least so it was supposed is, over me s , he t00 k his affectionate iare- often and sullen as a ^bottomless pit. The green moss es of its bank end the trees that leaned pictu- ere reflected but dimly m In that damp and cool ro daybreak, I leave, every gloomy picture that ever was seen Dunth bega^the mysterious confession which e arth, a “'^“ e ^' r wiiHamiTfolindTeasy tocaVry life too full of dav that Rachael it that some of us are un I would like to go to the uttermost parts of the A. IV. ended with her reign. . j Rachel Dunth was perfect now—even in one , year there would be a depreciation—her radiant beauty admitted of no change— -O^c shade the morcycne ray the less^ Had half impaired the .Tameless grace. But now her beauty was full, perfect, 1ns- Ci Our hero began the protection of this girl with iJ^ nhilosopbv. For many blissful days they were seldom Separated. Three weeks alter hm first letter Heny Nelson received a second Bom The closing lines were as follows: tree, very silent. ., _ . , ‘I have often thought, said Rachael, have told Kvtnigunde, who is r. great friend of ‘and Kunigunde, the old Dutch crone, who had lived in'the house as a sort of cook and house- SVVwtoW, that if I .... to have a «.«*. ! keeper for more than thirty year., met him on too great for me I would come here, and, and. be done wirh it forever.’ ‘What sorrow would be toe great for yon, asked Arthur softly.’ ,, . <jf i loved end were deserted, was the trm answer. . „ , , Arthur locked into her beautiful eyes, and a ■ ' but with an In a plain gold band on the , Jibing_ thought full of ^^ ^ the i, would be, .hen be iook j iSSS VSwS!*^’K £ut JSt^ SST 8 " -* Snnd | ^ -r^rtnifo-f I -Tio‘ntrtSfnThe Pit;, excitedly,, ^ thur Williams, I have wanted to tell you what— She got no farther. A heavy plunge in the „ ater on the ether side of the tarn, and a keart- -ti, ui w ithdrawing more and more into 1 rea Aing shriek told them that Undon, the fos- Isfif W?ha?ewSked g »nd talked, and ram- ! brother, was swallowed by the faithless rBel '• --- 1.,.* TT^jr.n 1 W aters into which he had fallen from an over arching bough. There was i moment of in tense agony, and the boy’s haad was seen above the water, but only to be lost again in a second. Arthur and licchel stood paralyzed with fright, heiress on for Liverpool, little finger of bis w.. wj-j-vf cold-lettered explanation of the text that r, .■ hoc nir. drf left hand was inscribed a j p a in. ltacheal Dunth loves me 4s ”“ t 1,ri,, “ 6 I SSjrthetiXnTgtnS; Shrinking and re- j „Ur”?nVide of theWn and a heart- tinn [ hied**together, with no company but Undon her little foster brother, until it seems to me that this life which at first was only a midsum 1 mer night’s dream, has become the sweetest sort «“ “J i •- tof « Le ! ? ^Euhlfelder^thev^all him, I fimf often j bntbetorehe rose the thud time, quickly from he certainly was, as to the requirement of ju. - hood, Lu . , - j or j n t h e hitch- t a c lnmp of trees sprang Euhltelder, and Wonde and Mile. La MM, and even that high lounging about-on the h face> but ? h e r e“ himself in the black waters. One mo- ! tBzrszi ; rs: s M iff; s hzs r - - ^ “ “ th0 *- the stairs as he was departing. -Stop,’ she said, like an avenging spirit. ‘Stop!’— . what to Arthur seemed a wild look— while chuckled hysterically. ‘This strange thing never w-as, and I can tell you. Dunder and blitzen ! She told me to tell you.’ Arthur turned pale with dread when she clutched her bony lingers on his arm, but shak ing her off, he strided past the horried old hag, stopping her awful utterances, as he thought, gied or is struggling ’‘“intment aad delay. knows how to brook disapp Qear ber door He thought of falha f. inte rview on the accidentally, or requesting an in supposition that she was a former^acqua ^ lor,finally, n everything none 0 f ! himself represented in y tion> when these plans had been p dnced him more ’S^aiy^dS^if « had heenpro- ^Here^then^shfwas 1 be"o°re him-talking. with him, weaving around him oh, "o ancons ^ —a fine gossamer web ^ pure as a had just risen from the sea fo , qiiphanous pearl in its shell H e r face wa^ bl(mde hair . ■ fairness, wreathed wit . & siml) i e white s 5S iss—* iih I ,i \r;^Srtg; °y5"“!S” •»«»-r ‘ ! visitor at the quiet iit^studio^ so d JJ® life and its uecessities had pttMS. - upon her that in her heart she thought God kau forgotten to be merciful—that He had left the shorn lamb to the untempered u inds. And jet even with a shaken faith, we do not often hud such characters as she. Coming do ^ n fro “ a high position without a complaint or a murmur, she had taken her place among the lowly toilers doing her work patiently and well, wearing her crosses with meekness and resignation. It was very pleasant to Marion to have forma such a friend as Arthur. He was so discerning in criticism, and altogether so sprightly and civil in his manners, with such a cordial admir ation of her worK, that she felt both her mma and heart helped by his presence andpidvice. He was never in the way, and, I may add, sel dom out of the way. Sometimes he grew- por- tentiously thoughtful, and for several hours would occupy her little sofa with a book in ms hand, never uttering a syllable, but drawing a sort of quiet inspiration from the busy little minature painter sitting at her table in the far ther end of the room, in a great Hood of light ,, , , , iii that made "her look like a saint with a halo. Af- and here her old bleared eyes_ took, : ^ & of a tew we eks in the correspond- ^ 1 ence, Henry Nelson, the trusty and tried, had received advices from his friend, which caused him not a few qualms of uneasiness for the lit tle artist, as he thought of her in the hands of, and exposed to, the all-powerful attraction of a dangerous man. Day after day the intimacy deepened. Marion made no company of him, but would go ‘Ilka blade of grass has its ain drap of dew ’ I wish it was in my power to saj that he was homely, but elegant and startlingly clever-it is so nice to be original in drawing a nero 1 u truth compels me as an honest cliomcler to throw contempt on my preferences. Elegan , with’a. timely live dollar note. The verdict he j wor jt ) while he read or made timely had passed on kimsell was bad enough, but to j „ est j ong or bent over her as she worked with hear it from another, he felt was more than he j. iad ij n g ey es. Her beauty had on him the ef- could bear. , , , . I f ec f 0 f the misty Indian summer, or of some Settling his bill, he took a hasty leave of the . jj dreamy day when yon drift with old farmer and his wife, but it was not until he | . e ° eg into t h e sweetest impossibilities, had rode twenty miles in the cars, that he began j ..yyqy - ' don’t you leave your little faces, and to breath freely. ■ your ivory;” he had said, “and take to your ea- TT ; sel? You might go to Italy and lead a life at LE1A1 tii.lv ii. , once poet j ca i an d congenial. Then you would | be more truly appreciated, and your work more ! enduring.” I Shs shook her head. “I have no one to rely SEA FOAM. The house was long, old and deserted looking, a litde out from the seaside village. It suited Arthur Williams in his present state of mind, i bu t myself, and without means and patron- to be a little apart from the crowds that frequent | SUC R an undertaking is not to be thought fashionable watering places so he chose this n althou „h l confess it has in other days haunt- quaint little village, and further more the ramb- j ^ to real unrest .» oui sue For one mouieui e. m. U m. gU v —, , ling loneiy oW house, whmh for several years had It w a8 on a day when Arthur was in one of his ur first meet- j Vrthur found himself aloae with Rachel that | been sought out by a lew quiet persons of limit- tenderest m00 ds that she told her story. He arill through ' • bt fj e bent very gently over her and took j ed means, and contemplative turn. 0 y h ad sworn fidelity to her as a friend, and had s of pleasant I y® lllin d but she withdrew it hastily and left other tenant—they were not boarders occupied | o£tered 8erv i ce s in any and first appearanoe-and last, for that matter,-at am I to dot Samuel Dunth’s, as a summer boarder, m one of the early days of Jane, in the year of Our Ij< A < codfidential epistle to his warmest friend HeDry Nelson, was dated the first night o. his “Vuear Hal-Nine o’clock p. m. Here I am onietlv installed, resting (three beats to a ^ eaB ure) in the quietest country farm house outside of Holland. There is plenty of ozone, flowers and fruits, a plain, solemn old couple, and a girl as lovely as-well, I don t know what perhaps I might say a fine horse or a peach tree in full bloom. 1 have seen her twice, once when she was gliding through the trees, un conscious of me, and for a moment on the porch. Her mother says she is only fifteen, though she looks much older, so superbly is she developed. If it was not so d—- stupid writing, I would tell you exactly how she looks but to me a pen is not much better to talk with than a ruling whip. I look forward lor some entertainment in her company but shall, believe me. be very guarded and discreet, and shall no suffer her little heart to be hurt. I am not a knave or a scoundrel, as you can certify, Hal, but I will admit to you, old boy, strictly under the rose, that I consider myself a ilatujerous man, and do not care to throw myself in the way of every susceptible girl—and besides, you know, 1 wear a chain. . •I shall get the papers regularly, and with the help of your letters, may be able to stand two or three months. , • Ever as ever, A. >V. Thus, and so moderately he wrote, but the truth of the case might have been expressed sententiously. He had seen the girl twice, and biB breath taken away each time. give. For one moment of moonlight and silence, ner to me is maidenly and modest but she can not control the tell-tale eyes. At our first me inu her beauty sent an electric thrill thron mv’heart, and I thought a few days of pleasant I , ae ^ band, bat - f Arcadhm life with such a being, could not harm him Then she was wtunded-sbe felt the " But while I was dreaming, her heart | 8 ting of love unrequited He went to sleep filiing with the untold fancies and hopes which tha t nig ht determined to talk calmly and dis- pome g someti-nes to craze and sometimes to kill. pa8S i 0 nately to her on the morrow, and to say Whnt am I to do? must I renounce all my plans goo d-bye forever. and unweave the web of my life ? Maggie More- wa fc e d up on the norrow determined to tin ii True Rood, aid tbe —- i „ tbixe with bar, hi. her it Deed b., ami (or this eirl is perhaps not love, out simply at ^ow any other friendly’ attentions the situa- ... pity i» added for ‘h» P?“ i »7ght »eem to demaid.-bbt to po.tpODD the oblld-beart. ^‘^.‘““j’^nfnot ^ncoum^^ex- ! disagreeable good-bye h a more eooveD.eDt miriH nii luv course, j. _ u , _ _ 4 . ® j aeason ! uucicu ^ all ways, until it the second floor with Arthur. '■ had become right hard to” find a new way of say- At the expiration ot three^ days, which our | ^ tbe 8am0 thing over* In fact this man of the mine on my pectations ami nurture hopes never destined to j ° ^ letter written at midiight to the faithful , o nmrrmv and never see ner again, ant the recollection of all this, even as it is, will cast j i>p realized. My resolve is taken. I will j H enry Nelson, explains low he came to leave be realizeu. a —^ ... her again.^ But | and m ^ re ^ruptli than he intended. I have to record to-nght, one of the most distressing circumstance of my life. I be- I am one of the mist unfortunate men in - . , . . The next aay , the world. When shall ibegin in the recital ? are capable ol being o • d : Q *bis I was obliged to observe he folly of the girl, in came and went, and many more followed in this | I wa absorbd in me, but I had no Williams loiterea a I idea to what desperatioushe was reduced, until Rachel llie X C vu.— , * S,r«°oS™ «e highly rt.peDt.ble and j • Lrilw but experience proves phat they lieve praiseworthy^ broken . The next day I the v many more followed in train, and yet Arthur f “ r HP knew that he was, compared to the boors He knew tnai tintod and odor- ° f he LT?he prickly pear-but she would be in ous, 18 to th®P and kindliness would D ° .S"her And above all, was he not solemnly protect her. d tru0j cultivated, so- en 1Iv fc distinguished: and finally ricA, which was ! L« more to the purpose with a young man, perhaps more i v r father was compns- philosopher, we will do him the justice to say, had passed in great lonesomeness, the door of his silent neighbor blossomed with a card. Marion Annandale, Miniature Painter. this morning. Of the aeident at the tarn, three days ago, and of the cicumstances connected with it, I wrote yon by esterday's mail. Ihe most exasperating intrruptions and events have prevented me fron having any private in terview with her since—me word might have saved her ! This mornhg at an early hour, it was fonnd that she haddisappeared! No one can imagine my feeling The old people are dull and apathetic, silet and morose. N° mat ter what their feelings re, they conceal them effectually under an eurior of sullenneas ana gloom. They seem icapablo of conducting, Here then was prospect of relief. Arthur had a taste for the Arts. At home, his walls glowed with fat Cupids, and saintly Madonnas, with su perb animals and beautiful flowers, with bril liant obelisques and very unspiritual Venuses —and besides he felt his penance had lasted long enough, and he was now entitled to some relief from this unbarable ennui. The card led him to speculate on the appear ance and history of the silent little painter. Marion Annandale is not a common name, and to be painting quietly in , at this time of the year, is not common. There was something attractive and fair sounding in the a's of the name. Was she dark or light? old or yonng— plain or fair? Two or three very tantalizing days dragged by. Generally Arthur’s door was accidentally open, in hopes of a passing glimpse of the little mys- tio, but it appeared that she never went out when he waa in. This much was collected from his washer, whom he questioned, showing great oonoern on the subject, however, that she was a world had been drawn without his leave, by the clever little pencil woman, and as his heart be- j g a n to beat faster, his tongue was less free and ! fluent. I wonder if a woman could believe in | a man who could make love to her without stam mering and shrinking and trembling:' Would not she think the despatch—sent on love’s elec tric lines—had reached his brain but not his heart? Every day to Arthur William’s mind, a new shade of interest seemed to settle on her. It was in answer to a very sympathizing remark of his that she had said. “Yon do not know what a lonely body I am, in this great world. One of the characters in i lm Day’s of Bruce, bore on his shield engraved a bro ken detached bough with the words, “Ai nom, ni parens, Issuisseul." Except thatlhave a name, I am as lonelj' as that knight of the broken bough. I never knew my mother, nor what it is to have a sister or brother, and when I was sixteen years old my father was lost at sea, returning from a visit to England. He had not been what the world calls successful, and when he died, I was left without relation or friends that could help me, with barely enough of means to finish my education.” Her eyes filled with tears and her lips trembled, and Arthur felt so painful ly sympathetic that he was rejoiced, that her usually cheerful conversation did not often re fer to the trials of her life. When he went to his room be mused on her beauty, on her lone-^ [Continued on 8th page.}