WE riflWERS COLLECTIOi-
TATTV TT QT?' \ T ‘v 1 EDITOR AND
JOHJN II. ferjAljo, -j proprietor.
ATLANTA. GA., OCTOBER 5, 1878.
! S3 PER ANNUM,
J -C-K.A1 •>. j 1:s ADVANCE.
THE DEAR OLD HOME.
O little house lost in the heart ofthe lindens,
What would I not give to behold you once more!
To inhale once again the sweet breath of your roses,
And the starry clematis that climbed round your
To see the neat windows thrown wide to the sun
The porch where we sat at the close of the day.
where the weary foot trav’ler was welcome to rest
And the beggar was never sent empty away;
The wainscoted walls, and the low-raftered ceilings
To hear the loud tick of the clock on the stair;
And to kiss the dear face that bent over the hi hie,
That always was laid by my grandmother’s chair!
O bright little garden beside the plantation.
Where the tali lleurs-de-lis theirblue banners un
And the lawn was alive w T lth the thrushes and black
I would you were all I had known of the world !
Jdy pink sweet-pea clusters! My rare honeysuckle!
Aly prim polyanthuses all ofa row!
In a garden of dreams I still pass and caress you,
But your beautiful selves are forever laid low—
For your walls, little house, long ago have been
Alien feet your smooth borders.!) garden,have trod
Andt hose whom I loved are at rest from their labors,
Reposing in peace on the bosom of God!
Tie Fancy Ball;
Which was the Hero?
COSCUDED SEXT WEEK.
BY MBS. M. E. B,
‘Will you go to the fancy balll to-night Har
‘Yes; I suppose so,’ answered the handsome
sybarite, throwing away the Gloire de Djion
rose he had boen smelling till all its odor and
' 3>'bress had ~cen aVicrboci.
‘In what character ?’
‘Adonis ! Upon my word that’s modest. I
suppose you think your personal appearance
will bear out the character.’
‘Oi course,’ with a languidly audacious glance
in the mirror that redacted hia perfectly propor
tioned form and handsome features in the uni
form of a Lieutenant of the U. S. A.
‘Then my dress is just perfect.’
•Undress rather. You’ll be sure to leave those
limbs of yours to the frankness of pink flesh
ings as much as possible. But who will be
Venus to Adonis ?’
‘Not Mrs. Belton suiely ?’
‘Why not? None but the rare and radinat
Maud can look the character.’
‘Why not ? why surely she and you have car
ried that nansense far enough. Maud Belton is
a married woman; you have paid her attentions
so devoted as already to excite gossip.’
‘A fig for gossip !’
‘Very well for you to say so, yon whom gossip
will not hurt—only put a feather in your
cap—add to your reputation as lady killer and
an Irresistible. But she—I never thought she
would be so reckless. She must be mad—or in
love with you, or she would not brave public
opinion as she does.’
‘Maud Belton is a disappointed woman,’
Harvey said as he pinched the silken ears of
his beautiful Esquimaux dog. She married
Belton to escape poverty and a shrewish step
mother, but all the same she expected him to
realize her romantic ideal; caught from Owen
Meredith, Balzac, Bniwer and heaven knows
who else. Belton is a plain, practical, money
making fellow. He understands nothing of
what women call their finer feelings, though
he would be sure never to let her lack for any
of the comforts money can buy, or for personal
kindness either for that matter. But he doesn’t
know how to pay delicate compliments, or to
look at her with a ‘world of love in his eyes’ as
k the novelists say; or to quote poetry and sing
‘And Lieut. Harvey Blair does.’
‘Just so. It is a gift from mother Nature,
and besides I have had plenty of practice.’
‘I should think you had; Harvey you’re twenty
eight; it’s time to settle down.’
‘Settle down for what? Settle down and
vegetate as you are doing, working day in and
day out to keep a woman well dressed and raise
a lot of troblesome babies. I beg your pardon
Hal, your wife is a dear little soul, but such
a monotonous life don’t suit me. I am
bound to live while I do live. It won’t be for
long; all my people die young. Ihavntasingle
one of my kindred left that I know of. As only
a short span is allowea me, I’ll cram into it all
the variety I can.’
‘It is for this reason I suppose that you are
making love to Belton's wife?'
‘Not altogether: Maud Belton is a glorious
creature. Romance is her natural element, and
love the homage appropriate to snch a queen of
beauty. Besides she is one of Shakspeare’s
beings of ‘infinite variety,’ and I am studying
her phases—her moods and tenses.’
‘And how does the husband like that kind of
business. I did not think Belton would tamely
submit to seeing his wife taken up with your
society; either singing and reading to you in
her parlor, riding and walking with you, or
whirled about in your arms at balls, as no wife
of mine should be.’
‘Belton’s a good fellow; not very bright. He
thinks because he owns the woman, she is his
heart and soul. He has too much faith in her
and too much esteem for himself to be jealous,
though I own he seems a little nneasy, and I
have seen a flash in his eve lately when it caught
'Scared, yon did it?’
‘No, that roused the imp
of the perverse, and set me
to flirtiDg yet more desper
ately with his pretty wife.
If he were not so taken up
with his child he might not
be so obtuse to Maude’s carry
ing on. But bis little girl is
‘Yes he takes her to the
store with him every day,
Indeed I think the little one
would suffer from neglect, if
he were not more attentive
to it than the fashionable
mother. Where are you go
ing now ?’
‘I told you I had an en
gagement with ma belle, and
I am late. ’
But late as it was Harvey
Blair had to wait in Mrs.
Beltons parlor before the
mistress of the house appear
ed. There had just been a
stormy scene enacted in her
dressing room. Belton had
caught up town some faint
wfiisper of the gossip that
linked his wife’s name with
young Blair’s—a whisper
that was like a thunder bolt
to him, startling him to a
knowledge fo how blind he
had been. True, of late, he
had been amazed by Harvey’s
frequent visits and atten
tions to his wife, but he had
not imagined, there was
anything really wrong in
these attentions, and he had
given them little thought,
absorbed as he was in busi
ness cares. Now, however,
his eyes were opened. His
wife bad subjected herself
innocently, he felt sure. He
hastened home and going
directly to her room told
her gently that Lt. Blair’s
attentions must cease, that
they had provoved ill-natur
ed comment. To his snr-
.sae laughed «i u.
‘Comment from a pack of
envious gossips,’ she cried,
though she blushed scarlet,
and pulled savagely at her
curls as she stood before the mirror, dressing
her rich hair. ‘I will not suffer such a set to
dictate to me, and control my actions. I
sion that he was somewhat |
to blame himself. She was |
such a sensitive, ardent, so- j
cial creature, so fond of,
praise and petting; and he
was snch a home keeper,
such a plain, undemonstra- .
tive fellow, though he loved
her dearly and would have j
given his life for her. He in her words.
from her mother and altogether unlike her.
Please God, my daughter shall be a true and
His words cut her to the heart.
‘Pure! then yon think I am—’
She did not finish the sentence. She drop
ped her head on the table she sat by and sobs
shook her from head to foot.
He was touched by the ring of indignant pain
1 He stood looKing at her a mo-
resolved to be different in ! ment, then with his child in his arms, he left
future, to be less neglect- '< the room.
ful and reticent, to go with | That night he received a challenge from St.
her more into society, to
read such books and culti
vate such tastes as she admir
ed—even to try to like the
operatic music—all sound
and fury—that he detested.
He thought to find Lieut.
Blair to a duel to take place next morning He
wrote briefly declining to accept the challenge.
He said he held his life too sacred a trust,
and of too much value to him, for his child’s
sake if for no other consideration, to risk it in
any such way.
He went to Maude’s room with Blair’s note
Blair gone, and Maud alone, j in his hand.
and as he hoped, in a softer
mod. But lights were burn
ing in the parlor. Through
the half open door he heard
Harvey’s tenor singing to a
‘Would we had never, never
Or that this heart could now i
‘How bright, how blessed it
might have been
Had I-’ale not darkly frowned
He stood listening to the
last note, then he advanced
to the partially open door
and stood just outside in the
shadow. He saw Harvey
take his hat to go; saw Maud
pull a cluster of tube roses
‘Lt. Blair Las challenged me to a duel,’ he
| said to her.
She looked around white as death, her lips
! parted with terror.
‘Aod I have declined it,’ he added. The blood
| surged back to her cheeks, tears of relief rush
ed to her eyes, and yet with strange perversity,
; her lips curled and she said:
Like a coward.
He smiled with a deep sadness in his eyes.
‘I came here for no more bitter words,’ he
said. ‘I came here to say to you that I have
determined for the child’s sake and for the sake
of the love I still bear you, ^o wait longer before
taking any steps to secure a divorce. I will wait
and see if you mean to change. I have heard
that you intend to go to the fancy ball Thurs
day night with Lt. Blair, and in a dress that no
modest woman would wear. If you do this, all
is at an end between us. I will separata from you
With his child in his arms he left the room.
old enough and have sense enough to mind my
own business. I can take care of myseP.’
‘Maud, you talk like a girl; not like a wo
man who is a wife and mother. It is time yon
became less of a butterfly. It is time you re
alized your duties more fully.’
‘What duties Sir ?’
‘Duties as head of a home, as mother of a
child, as wife of a husband who has given you
every comfort you desired, gratified every wish
you have expressed and who has a right to
some consideration in return.’
‘You are generous to remind me of what you
have done for me.’
‘I do it only to recall you to a sense of right
and justice. If such considerations do not
move you, surely a regard for the world’s
opinion should. Will you let your name be
smirched by scandal.’
‘I defy the pack of nosing busybodies. They
shall see I do not care for them. Wait till next
Thursday night. I will go to the fancy ball
with Harvey Blair; he is a gentleman, the son
of my father’s triend. I know no reason why I
should avoid his society. I am not afraid of
his saying or doing anything to hurt me.’
‘You m ust not go to the hall with him Maude. ’
‘Must not Sir?’
‘Must not Madam.’
It was the first time she had ever seen this
calm, self-controlled man excited. She admired
him. He was almost handsome with that flash
in his eye. But it passed in a moment, he
quieted down and talked to her in a gentle,
reasoning way, and then he seemed again plain
John Belton—a thoroughly honest, honorable
man, but no hero, incapable of entering into
her feelings, incapable of the fervent, impas
sioned love that her admirers and her mirror
told her she should inspire—a cold, common
place man, nay a kind of tyrant, who wished to
restrict her pleasures, to deny her the intellect
ual gratification of communion with a mind that
was congenial to hers—a soul that could sym
pathize with the yearnings that filled her breast
—^yearnings that reached beyond the dull round
of domestic duties and such social recreations
as the envious, spiteful town afforded. To think
he. should throw up to her the gossip of these
small, groveling minds—gossip she despised,
and would show them she cared nothing for.
But she did care for it, and she felt keen
twinges of self-rebuke as her husband talked
and this helped to irritate her, so that tears and
bitter words came fast, and in the midst of it
all, came Harvey’s ring at the door.
Her husband hit his lip, but he said:
‘Go in and tell him you cannot go with him
Thursday evening. Let him know that his vis
its had best be discontinued. You can do so
without making him an enemy. He has some
sense I take it, if he does play the fiddle and
A scornful look was her only answer; she was
bnsy removing the traces of tears. Flushed and
agitated, she had never looked lovlier than when
she entered the parlor. Harvey rose from the
piano as soon as the rustle of her dress was heard
at the door He came forward to meet her.
‘Something has troubled you,’ he said, as he
took her hand and looked down into her face.
‘Your lashes are wet with tears; who could have
been so cruel as to make such eyes Bhed tears ?’
She colored deeply. She knew that glance
was all too ardent for a wife and mother to re
ceive. She oast down her eyes and withdrew
‘Yon will be pale at the ball, and Yenus must
wear all her roses.’
‘I am not going to the ball.’
am | ‘Not going? Dear Mrs. Belton, tell me what
from a vase and give it to :
him; saw him bend his 1
head and kiss both flowers
and hand, and heard him |
‘I am glad you have assert-
ed your independance and J
will go to the ball. I had
something tc ask you about j
my costume, but it escaped j
me. I will ask you to-mor- !
row when we drive. Don’t i
ic enr drGb a' five 1
o’clock. You will be sure to i Basques are again in the world of dress.
g 0 1‘ ' | Long cloaks will be worn this winter, plain
John Belton could not aD( l trimmed,
stand any more. He strode | AH wool suitings come in light and dark coi-
into the room and stood be- ; ora
fore the military AdoDis.
No sir, Mrs. Belton will not go with you ei-
Her eyes flushed defiantly. He was dictating
to, threatening her. He should not humble
‘Nevertheless I shall certainly go,’ she said.
‘And I shall as certainly do as I have said,,
(concluded next week.)
has happened? You will Dot speak? then I
must guess. I feel morally certain that some
foolish gossip has reached your ears; is it not
‘Yes—I—that is my husband,heard that—that
‘That ‘they said I was paying too much
attention to you. Well I expected nothing bet
ter, only I did tnink you had too much sense
and soul to regard their envious tattle. Bat—
it has caused you tears; it must come to an end
—my pleasant intercourse with yon—the one
woman in this town for whose society I cared a
straw. The one woman who has a soul above
flounces or puddings. It must end. I will not
be the cause of sorrow to you, who are so de
I mean whom I esteem so highly !’
Harvey walked about the room as he talked,
and tumbled his dark hair and looked like an
ideal Claude Melnotte or Ernest Maltravers-
And Maud felt herself a wronged and misun
derstood woman—only appreciated by this noble
nature, who was now to be debarred from her
He came up to her, where she sat pale and
•Dear friend,’ he said, ‘forgive me for having
been the cause of those tears. I will go away
from you and never trouble you with my pres
ence any more. I thought that my solitary life
might be blessed with one sweet friendship, but
it must not be. I do not blame you that you re
gard the gossip of an ignorant few more than
you care for my society. I know you have your
position to sustain and your husband to please.
I am nothing but an idle, profligate fellow, fit
only to amuse a leisure hour, and to be tossed
aside at will. Fate has always denied me a true
friend, I ought not to have hoped for snch a
boon. I will say good-bye now, and come no
He held out his hand, hut Maud did not take
it. She could not give him up—this handsome,
gifted young visitor, who only asked for her
friendship. His delicate, adroit flattery was so
sweet to her, who had been accustomed to men’s
praises from her cradle. He flattered her with
his eyes, his rapt attention when she sang. Then
he was such a hero, so brave, so gallant. Did
not the papers praise his heroism in that fight
with the Indians over in the far Territories?
And was it not because of his wound that he was
here in barracks for the time, with a regiment
that was not in active service. He would go
back now, he would go away—her handsome es
cort that all the girls had envied her. He had
said she was the one woman in the town whose
friendship he cared for, and she was turning
away from him, as good as driving him from her
presence, No, she could not do it; she was like
a charmed thing under the gaze of those dark
eyes, and she said breathlessly:
‘No, don’t go away; I did not mean it I don’t
care, let them talk.’
‘But your husband ’
‘He is not my master—I am no slave, for him
to dictate to.’
‘No; but I should be your slave if I were your
And Maud knew that speech was wrong, bnt
it was so softly murmured and it was uttered as
if involuntarily. She forgave it and gave her
self up to the charm of his sooiety.
An Lour after, John Belton came back from
his store, where he had been posting his books,
for times were bard and he had been obliged to
dispense with a book keeper. He had thought
over Maud’s conduct and come to the oonclu*,
ther to-morrow or at any other time; understand
Do you think so ?’ queried Harvey, insolent
ly arching his eye brows,but taking care to move
nearer the door, for Belton's eye looked dange
rous. Maude was terrified for a moment, then
she laughed sneeringly:
‘At five, Lieutenant, I will be ready,’ she call
ed out, and he bowed low aR be left the room.
She ran up to her own chamber and closed
the door. John did not seek to speak with her.
He felt he could not trust himself. He went in
the nursery and slept, ns he often did, with his
little child in her trundlo bed.
As the clock struck five the next afternoon,
Lt. Blair’s horses and buggy were at the door.
Throwing the reins to a servant, he ran up the
steps, rang the bell and was admitted just as
Maude came down the steps, trailing her ashes ^
of roses silk behind her. She was pale and cast i Q ar f ai jji on reporter has had a peep into such
nervous glances at the closed library door, sue , an 0 p en j n g > aD) j itemizes as follows concerning
knew her husband was in the room. Lt. Blair ; ^0 maaner 0 f garments the masculine world
met her with outstretched hand and eyes a-beam : wi jj ^ on season>
with admiration. i ‘The black dress-coats in which husbands,
‘My sweet, brave friend, he exclaimed in his k ro th e rs and lovers martyr themselves in order
ot moinitnunatin vninfl. fhe librarv door open-i to form a background for the many colors of
The leading fashion in suitings is
grounds, with shadings of red and blue.
Plaids will figure largely in the arranging of
toilets, both for ladies and children.
The famous Scotch ginghams, with various
plaids, are expected to make quite a show in
A dress from Pingat, the famous man-dress
maker of Pari3, has the skirt formed of dark
plaid gingham. The princess composing the
top garment, is made of plaid a shade or two
lighter. The vest, sash, cuffs and collar are dis
posed in velvet.
Fashionsfor Men J
It is a popular falacy that only the ‘female
woman,’ with her butterfly mind, concerns her
self about the changes of fashion. Not so; many
of the sterner sex aspire to be the ‘glass of fash
ion and the mould of form;’ and men have their
fall openings as well as women, only they don’t
make quite such a flutter and fuss about them.
best melodramatic voice. The library door open
ed; John Belton strode up to the two, a set, de
termined look on his massive face.
‘Come back to your room, madam,’ he said,
seizing his wife’s hand, drawing it through his
arm and holding it fast. ‘And you, sir, leave
this house and enter it no more. Go!’ He_ en
forced his words with a tight grasp upon the
Lieutenant’s shoulder and a strong push that
feminine dress will for this season fit closely to
the manly waist. The lapel, through which
runs a miuutely embroidered seam, must reach
the lowest button, and must roll towards the
neck as symmetrically as an ocean wave curls
around a circular stone. Overcoats are to be
worn loose, because it is ordained proper for
the manly form to grow stout; and the gayer
sent the lady-killer outside the door of the hall. ; colors and plumper folds are to aid garniture
Then he drew his wife into the sitting-room, de- j f or the throat. Trowsers are to show symptoms
spite her efforts to free herself from the strong ■ 0 f drapery, and morocco is to take the place of
He locked the door, then released her and
stood looking at her. She clenched her hands
and stamped her little foot in rage.
‘You shall repent this,’ she cried. ‘0h! you
shall repent it! You have begun your role of
leather for evening shoes, while in the street
men are to stalk in double-soled flat-boats; felt
hats are to be as much in vogue for men as for
young girls and the younger matrons. And it
is indispensible to remember that the walking-
coat, which may be as outre in fabric as is agree
A Southerner on Politics.
tyrant; yon think to make me your obodient : able to the wearer, must be cut according to the
slave, but you shall see what I will do.’ (especial choice of wearing the coat buttoned
‘You may do what yon like a few days hence,’ with one, two, three or four-bat never five-
he answered, coldly. ‘It will no longer be any- buttons, and so that no heretical wrinkle shall
thing to me. I will to-morrow institute pro- mar tbe smoothness of the chest,
codings for a divorce. I can no longer endure-
your conduct. I will leave you in possession of
this honse and will take my child and make me
a home elsewhere.’
A divorce! She had never thought of it be
fore. Was it possible he would separate from
her? Yes, she saw determination written on his
face. The child had been playing on the floor.
She left her doll honse and came to her father’s
side, gazing amazedly into his stern face. She
had never seen that loved face wear such a look.
Mande’s eyes fell upon the upturned face of her
He wished to rob her of^the child.
‘Your child,’ she repeated, in choked tones.
‘It is my child. Do you think I would give her
up ? Do you think I would let you take my child
from her mother?’
‘Mother!' bitter scorn was in his tone.
‘Yes I am her mother, and she loves me; she
will stay with me. May, my darling, come to
Bnt the child shrank back from the out
stretched arms and clnng to her father’s knee.
He canght her up in his arms and kissed her
‘The child knows her best friend,’ he said.
•She shall go with me. No jury would give her
to a mother who had proved so recreant to her
trust. She shall never be left with snch an in
fluence around her. She shall grow up away
Mr. E. J. Ellis, member of Congress from Lou-
esiana, known as an orator, said to a reporter at
the Westminster Hotel to-day that it would be
impossible to express the heartfelt gratitude of
the Southern people for the generous treatment
they have received from the North in the deep
affliction caused by the terrible scourge now
devastating so many once happy and prosper
ous Southern homes. Politics, Mr. Ellis said,
was almost, if not entirely, lost sight of while
the South was so afflicted. He touched only
casually upon the latter subject. The Maine
election, Mr, Ellis said, was a rebuke to the ex
tremists who usually controlled the politics of
that State. He thought Mr. Hayes had been
sustained and Mr. Blaine rebuked. The result
would also materially aid the Greenback cause.
Perhaps, Mr. Ellis farther said, that while the
Democrats' honestly believed they carried the
country and elected their president in 1876, yet
a dispute arose, and for the sake of harmony
the question was submitted to arbitration. Dem
ocrats and Republicans voted for a commission
to arbitrate. He did not see that any good could
result in reopening the question at this late day.
The next Congress Mr. Ellis thinks, will be
Democratic. The South will not be affected by
the National movement so much as the North
will. It will be solidly Democratic.