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