The sunny South. (Atlanta, Ga.) 1875-1907, July 13, 1878, Image 1

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Wc rL0WE "S COLLECTION VOL. IV . T o (. editors ajnu J. H. &W. B. SEALS, f PROPRIETORS. ATLANTA, G„ SATURDAY, JULY 13, 1378. ml1nl fr . J $3 PER ANNUM/ TERMS, 1 IN ADVANCE. ' .NO. 1(>0 SWINBURNE 1ST AMELIA V. VT I.DT. Master of mneical rhythm iB he, ’ But of svmbolB hie limit is readily reached •Brine’ -foam-and spray’ and -our mother, the eea, And the ship of hie muee is beached . Ard over and over he wades through waves. And scatters the •salt’ and the 'spume and -spray. And hands in the ‘mother, who rages and eobs ' Like the daughter-in-law of our day. \nd backward and forward through 'foam and 'spume And salt-sea daisies he dances and singe, And -bitter as death' is his love and doom, And 'salt’ bis imaginings. fnnld he write one poem without the sea ? ' could he rhyme at all should he lose the br ne ? ■We know that the easiest thing that could be, Is to rhyme that word with thine. W e are tired of the ‘sea’ and the ’foam’ and ‘spray, \nd the 'clear love' honeyed and ‘bitter as dea.h, Give us fresh food, for a while, we pray. Mental scurvy is shortening our breath. Throw out the sea and fashion a flower. Torrid and sweet, without slug or thorn. Sing of love, if you must in your passionate hour. Moore was fervid until j'cm were born. But tell us no more of the love that is strong, ) And 'bitter as brine and 'sweet as tbe sea. \nd bright as the -foam’ that whirles along The path ol the barque so free. Why the farmer could keep all the meat he d use, IChe packed iu his barrels thy briny rhymes, Give ns fresh water songs now, till we lose T he saltiest verse of the times. -AND- The Twin Sisters. C03IPLETE IN ONE NUMBER. BY J. F. H. of •CHAPTER L It was early morning in the iar-famed cuy Rome, and Carlo Yincenzi. the portrait painter, , sat in hiB studio aloDe. On an easel in fron : ° , him was the unfinished portrait of a beautiful girl, and from his position at a little dl8ta “ oe ‘ Carlo gazed upon it in rapt admiration. It was not however, the excellence of his own work that he wTadmiring, but thh divine loveliness ol the face that looked out at him from the canvas with the delicate month wreathed in smiles, and Be ^Da n rling ft BearticeThe murmured ‘Fairest of Rome’s fair daughters, the earth bolds not a , lovelier flower than you. First met at the Duke | of Poll’s ball and mnce used as a model tor this tance I saw through the unblinded window a picture that froze the blood m my reins, Ine picture was composed of you and her. bhe was in yon arms, and you were raining kisses upon masterpiece of mine, your smiles have steeped | her hp - e mnRt some mistake!’ d j, my rouI with love’s young dream .till now rather j ^rea-. £ df pR]p _ Ca would 1 forego my bopes_of^heaven «gn n^erer , cri ^ ^ disseuted Mazzajoli,_m wa cloth thatimeIcy tone, ‘Is it possible that I could mistake another face tor yours . Is it possible overher portrait, concealing it’entirely. And that I could mistake anotnerfoce for he^ the same moment sombody outside the door knocked loudly for admittance, ana he prompt ly cried out: ‘Enter!’ , • , The door opened, and a man, who was also an artist walked into the studio. He was about the age and size of Carlo Yincenzi, and was al most as handsome, though his features were sharper, his eves keener, and his face consider ably paler. He was evidently excited about something, for there wasa strange light in his small black orbs, and a nervous twitching ot the muscles about his mouth. •Good morning, Lorenzo!’ exclaimed \ incenzi, with a btightenmg countenance, as he recogniz ed his visitor. ‘This is uncommonly early lor know you as Carlo Yincenzi’s bride. one comes.’ ,, , Carlo rose hurriedly, and hung a black ^ ^There is a mystery here,’ declared Carlo, now thoroughly excited. ' -Look ! is this the picture ° f As heput the question he unveiled the portrait OD Mazzrtjoli started forward with clasped hands. •It is she !' he cried breathlessly; ‘it is her tace Do von think I could fail to recognize it ? And yet thfs is not a truthful likeness. Your brush has failed to impart the precise expression oi the eves and you have aimed at too much per- Section in shaping the mouth . I pamted a better one from memory. But this is she -this is my darling Signorita Riccardi. ‘Beatrice Riccardi—that is the name Ca ‘l>atrice!’ echoed Mazzajoli. ‘ ’Tis time I ever heard her Christian name. n °‘Yet iUs; and she is the same whom I have mentioned to you as the mistress of my fac tions—’he same who captivated all hearts at the Duke of Pali's reception, and with whom I have whiled away many a happy hour in Pincio. She has been in my studio day alter | day sitting for this portrait. She can hardly ed!*,Sbae,7lo;»zo M^joh, in T..W.boilowi one^h?- J -‘ role. ■So,«al,i»g r b e e l "°b,j0Bd th e i.ll».. t>‘e city zinc. 1 said you to be out, is it not? How do you find your self this morning ?’ .,, , , j The intruder did not reply, but with clenched hands and a ferocious look, he simply stood and stared at the speaker. Carlo was overwhelmed with amazement. • Why my dear friend, what can ail yoii i he demanded, in a tone of keen anxiety. ‘Some thing has happened ! You are ill • Yps Carlo Yincenzi, something has happen- 1 CD ’ „ in o z.zx 1 zl hnlmw the first I did of sufficient weight to Wk ^ has not first held us together for so long. We were once friends, you and I—’ . Once!’ ejaculated Carlo. ‘ Why, we have for several years been as close friends as Damon and Pythias ever were.’ , • But it is all over now,’ said Lorenzo, bitteriy. •We are not only enemies to the death hence forward but if there is any manhood about you. one of us will have made room for the other by this time to-moroow.’ • In heaven’s name what mean you ( • That this world is not large enough to hold both of us. One must die !’ ■ Lorenzo you are mad !’ ‘What wonder if I am? Is it not enough to make one mad, to find the girl who is dearer to him than his own soul, clasped in the arms, ami receiving the caresses of the man who has been his trusted friend?’ > You speak in riddles. < What‘ v most perfectly you play your part, Yincenzi; but it shall avii yon nothing. You Lave heard me speak of the angelic creature -horn I encountered in my travels one year ago —she whom I first met at a ball in Munich, and afterward on the liquid streets of I emce. I told von that her name was—’ , 3 . pardon; her name you never divulged to me. ‘Never? Perhaps I did not, though I should had you usked me. Yesterday I received intelli gence that she had ^turned to Rome. 1 lost no time but as soon as darkness swept the earth last evening I went to see her at her father s house, i enter, for before 1 could seek ad mi t- -Shade of Raphael ’ Do I not know that she is the airne !’ gritted the irate lover. It is more than lively that she returned tw0 “°“ ths ^ though I remained unwarned of the fact until yesterday. She is the same, I tell you, and if you have formed an attachment tor hei yot have done wrong and must break it. ‘Never !’ said Carlo, firmly. ‘I love her, and have every reason to believe that she loves me I would rather exchange places with tne most wretched corpse in the Catacombs than be com pelled to li .’e without her.’ ‘And I am no less determined not to give her up !’ hissed Mazzajoli, fairly quivering with passion. ‘This can only be settled by mortal combat, and I challenge you to meet me. I he best man wins the prize.’ Carlo started. , , ‘But Lorenzo, reflect! YYe are trienda ‘Nay, we are rivals !’ cried the other hotly. ‘I don’t want to fight you—’ •Then vou are a coward, as well as a villian. ‘Enough,’ said Carlo as a flush of insulted pride mantled his handsome tace. ‘111 meet you when and where you please.’ ‘Then let it be to-morrow at sunrise, two miles out upon the Campagna.’ ‘Agreed. 'You may rely upon me. ‘What shall the weapons be ?’ ‘Pistols.’ , . , , j Lorenzo Mazzajoli turned on hiB heel, and left the studio.’ WatchUie Sunset. cter n. M' AT'BE' It was night internal City, and the full, round moon roscstically through a net work of silvery c shedding a mellow ra- iance on marblees and antiquated ruins. Carlo Y'incenzi, r and discontented, had andered aimlebout the streets for an hour or two, ansed near the crumbling remains of an a: tempie. Prorated by some whim or he ascended the broad flight of marble to the portico above, and there, leanainst a massive column of granite, he at the distant moon, and frowned in deeitaticn. ‘How will thi? he muttered gloomily. ‘I have given 1 my promise to meet him in mortal —Lorenzo, my trusted friend and broind the time is so near. Oh, Beatrice ! wer look upon your loved face again ?’ The restless 'of the artist at this mo ment fell upoit, moving figure below. It was comiDg up the wide staircase. ‘Ah ! some oles myself seeks the sol itude of this noted place, to be alone with his thong v ko can he be I wonder? that form has iar look. By the soul of St. Peter! i old friend and tutor, the Abbe Ignaaat brings him here?’ The tall, da form of an old man loomed up be in the moonlight. ‘Ignazio, tb meeting unexpected,’ said Carlo, as homer drew near. ‘If I may make bo at has brought you here at this unseen?’ •Well might? same question to you, my son,’ replie abbe, in a deep, impres sive voice, ‘lison when hard-working artists should dug that repose of mind and body that tains their vigor for per forming miramvas. As for me, I fol lowed you hit •Followed n ‘Aye; when you passing along the Corso with aitsteps, I saw that some thing heavy \ir mind, and I set out to follow. That am here. My son, you are sorely ti dark secret is preying upon your nvou not unbosom your self to me ?’ Carlo kesidropped his eyes to the marble flagais feet, and reflected for some momen? looked up and said : ‘Before tip’s sun has risen to the height of yo:, I will either be a corpse or a murdei The Abbe^arded him in horror and amazement. ‘What mee demanded. ‘That I b in love,’ replied Carlo, bitterly. *1 my dearest friend yester day, is my.aemy to-day.’ •You can) LoreDzo Mazzajoli?’ ‘I refer t He loves Beatrice Ric cardi.’ ‘I knew ‘Nor I, turning. I have olt-times heard him beautiful creature whom he met in a year ago, but her name he never : He has now discovered that she atre one and the same. He vowed h*r give her up to me, and in his massed a duello. I tried to refuse, hut he reviled me till human endurance ; was taxed to its utmost; then I accepted his chal- lenge.’ The Abbe Ignazio turned his face away, and stood for several moments in an attitude of the profoundest meditation. Then he slowly shook his head. ‘This must not be,’ he said, firmly. ‘Alas ! it is too late now to advise me,’ return ed the artist. ‘I have given Lorenzo my word, and I shall meet him promptly at the appointed hour. ’ ‘This must not be,’ repeated the old man, as if speaking to himself. ‘I must beg of you not to interfere,’ said the artist, anxiously. The abbe did not seem to hear. He walked slowly to the opposite end of the portico and back; then, with a simple ‘Good night, my son,’ he moved toward the staircase. ‘Stay,’ cried Curio; ‘one word before you go. Y’ou are a frequent visitor at the house of Count Riccardi. Will you repair thither to-morrow, and carry a message to Beatrice for me?’ ‘Willingly.’ ‘It is only this: if I fall in the duello, tell her I met my fate like a man, and died with her worshipped image in my heart. Tell her if she can love Mazzajoli with my blood upon his head, to marry him, and forget that such a person as Carlo Y'incenzi ever lived. That is all. Good night.’ ‘Good-night, my son. ’ The old abbe moved away, and slowly recced- ed down the wide stairs. with startling distinctness. ‘Two!’ trembled on his lips, but it remained unuttered. A strange and ominous sound fell upon the ears of that solemn group. It was the pounding of horses’ hoofs on the hard surface of the Cam pagna. • Down with your weapons 1’ cried one of the attendants. 'Someone comes." ‘ Go on ! ’ exclaimed Mazzajoli, fiercely. ‘ Why do you stop before your duty is done ? Count three, and let it be over ! ’ ‘Nay, Lorenzo; put down your pistol—’ ‘ Ha*! look ! ’ Two powerful horses, with riders on their | backs, suddenly burst into view on the brow of ! the neighboring swell, and came dashing down the slope at a terrific rate. The riders were both women ! Their faces were flushed with violent exercise, and their long, unconfined hair was tossed and tangled at the mercy of the wind. They were very beautiful, and seemed to be ex actly alike in form and feature. Galloping between the would-be duelists, they drew rein as of one accord. Down went the pistols, and two men stared in open-mouth ed amazement at the wild riders. ‘ Mother of God ! it is Beatrice !’ gasped Car lo, staggering forward. * Yes, Carlo, it is I; and I thank Heaven that we arrived in time to prevent needless blood shed,’ said the girl, breathlessly. ‘A minute more, and we should have been too late.’ * But who told you ?’ • The Abbe Ignazio. He came to the house before day had dawned, and woke us all, to tell of this prospected duello. My sister and I—’ ‘ Your sister 1’ interrupted Carlo, huskily. ‘Aye; this is my own sister who has accompa nied me hither.’ The astonished artist looked at the other fair rider. To his great surprise, he observed that she had slipped out of her saddle and was clasp ed in the arms of Lorenzo Mazzajoli! < Did I never tell you about my sister ? ’ ex claimed Beatrice. ‘ She has been abroad for more than a yeaj. Her name is Ginevra, and we are twins. YVe look so much alike that few people can tell us apart. It was she whom Sig nor Mazzajoli met at Munich and Y’enice.’ ‘ Carlo ! Carlo ! it was all a mistake ! ’ cried Lorenzo, rushing forward at this moment and ; dmi'pmg t>o ins kriios at Carlo's {eot ‘Can you | ever forgive me ?’ j ‘ I see how it all occurred, and I blame you j not. Here is my hand; I am glad to be once j more your trusted friend and brother, let us be ! thankful that it has ended so happily.’ Then he presented Mazzajoli to Beatrice, and ! Mazzajoli returned the courtesy by presenting | him to the blushing Ginevra. The twin sisters were almost exactly alike in appearance, except Beatrice’s beauty was a trifle more perfect than that ot Ginevra. The rival artists were bosom friends again— and it was a light-hearted, happy group that leisurely returned to their several homes. A few short weeks thereafter a grand double wed ding created quite a sensation in Rome, for two of the most beautiful ladies of patrician blood united their fortunes to those of two rising young artists. 3Irs. Shun Vs Marriage, CHAPTER III. Day glimmered in the east, and the moon in the western sky had begun to pale, as two car riages passed through the Porta del Popolo, and rolled out upon the broad Campagna. No other vehicles were abroad at this early hour; no other signs of life were visible anywhere. In the first carriage were Lorenzo Mazzajole, his second, and a surgeon; the other was occu pied by Carlo Y'incenzi, and a friend whom he had chosen to act as his second. The morning mist, like white cloud-banks, was beginning to rise gradually from the plain, dis closing here and there the half obliterated trac es of ancient architecture. YVhen they had reached a point about two j miles out from the city walls, the carriages stop- j ped and discharged their contents. This was the spot selected for the duel. It was close to a ruined aqueduct, and was in a sort of hollow, or depression, where the view toward the city was shut off by a low, barren ridge. The rival artists were both pale but calm. Neither of them spoke, but stood apart from each other, silent and haughty, waiting for then- seconds to mark out the distance, and load the i pistols. ! In a few minutes everything was in readiness, and the two men took their positions. Every face was grave and colorless—those of the rivals proud and determined. At a given word they leveled their weapons; their nerves were as steady as steel—their eyes untlinching and tierce. The sea of mist rose from the earth, and a burst of golden sunshine streamed athwart the plain. The pistols were to be discharged on the count of three. ‘ One ! ’ sang out the man's voice, The marriage of Airs. Shunk, daughter of Judge Jere lilaek, to Mr. Hornsby, of Louisville, took place at l'ork, Pa., upon the 20th of this month. Mrs. Shunk is a lady of about 35, with the ‘society gray’ hair that is so much admired when accompanied by bright eyes and a fresh complexion. Her eyes are dark, nose straight, mouth small, but firmly decisive. She is of medium height. She is one of the few women to whom the word brilliant can be properly applied. A better talker, a wittier woman, or one who is more au eourant in public affairs it would be hard to find. She is a favorite child of Judge Black's. He has often said that it was a great pity that she was not a man, because she is a better lawyer than he is. YVith all her intel lectual wealth Airs. Shunk is a skilled and fas cinating society lady. It has been her custom to spend her winters at YY r ashington, and it was here that she met Air. Hornsby. She used to divide attention at the hotel where she stopped with Airs. General AIcFeely, of the army. Mrs. McFeely is one of the handsomest ladies of med ium life that visits YVashington. She has an abundance of silver gray curls, that are set off by jet black hats, plumes and filmy lace, until at times you are ready to swear that she has just stepped down out of some old picture. Gen. Sam Houston’s First Wife. A letter written by Col. YVilloughby YVilliams, of Nashville, has created much discussion ir in Memphis as to the cause of separation of Gen, Houston from his first wife. Both sides have relatives in that city, an’, of course, both sides have their versions of the matter. Asa Jarman, of Texas, has just complete! a memior of the life of Gen. Sam Houston. Jarman’s version of the separation from his wife is per haps the true one. He says that Houston married, while Gover nor of Tennessee, the beautiful Aliss Lucy Dick erson, not willingly, but under the pressure of paternal influences. She had been engaged to Robert Nickerson, whom she desired to marry, and when Nickerson returned to Nashville, he- love for him remained as warm as ever. Housr ton, becoming convinced that his wife was more attached to her old lover than to himself accused her accordingly, when with much wo manly feeling, she confessed that it was true, announcing that she liked Nickerson’s little finger better than Houston’s whole body Houston thereupon informed her that she had better marry Nickerson, and without a word to the public he abandoned his gubernatorial office, and quietly left the Statb for the Indian settlements. Boston thinks about introducing the study of cookery in its schools for girls. A woman in Farfiedd, Alosouri, has a growth of natural hair eight feet and one inch and has refused, it is said, $2,000 for it.