J. H. & \v B. S
SA [>’ -f ®>rrors A ^o
" 1 proprietor*
ATLANTA, GA., SATURDAY. XOVE.MIiER !). 1878.
by anna cleaves
I’ve seen a face to-day
1 have not seen in years •
Strange that so sweet a fare
Should till mine eyes with tears,
As spirit of one dead
It beamed upon my sight ■
And with it all the past
Came back in vivid light.
Time had not spared its marks
}>on that cheek and brow;'
what I saw was not.
What other eyes see now.
A beauty undefined—
A smile surpassing sweet:
1 he which to gain I would
Have fallen at his leet.
as no good an ire I near 0
To whisper of mv need’"
To point him where I stood
And with his heart to plead ?
hav e louched hishand-
1 ut something at my heart
T vv ,n , < ';. altll " u -l' *<> near,
vv e still were worlds apart.
■And so I turned away
Ah "weiYA' 1 U,e ? 1 ' , > r)i,i Pain;
A.i well I know that face
l 11 never see again.
TER U S \ ANNi m.
U1 I .FI Q ) INA.DVANCK
OUGHT M THE MlUm
Complete in one Number,
BY MAJOR F. GRANT,
‘I Khali answer plainly Mr. Richardson w
h8 ( t vd^iPiphl - 1 vaet/it-r ui y ‘nanif
U1V JV. A -
has been promised to another, and I reply with
the frankness which I trust has ever character
ised tny speech in yonr presence, that it has.’
The tall, dark-faced, bnt handsome man, who
was the beautiful girl’s only auditor, turned his
face partly away at her last words and clenched
‘Yon need not mention his name, Irene,’ he
said bitterly over ashen lips. ‘It is known to
me—known too well.’
‘Long ago we met, before I first encountered
yon,’the girl continued. ‘You cannot blame
‘No, poor child, when I know that yon do not
know the truth.’
She started, and the color left her cheeks.
•Tell me what yon mean?’ she said, implor
ingly, and her hand touched his arm.
‘No, I would not clond your young life for
the world, though I feel that 1 do you wrong to
keep back what I unfortunatety know.’
He took a step down the garden walk, but
found the white-faced creature at his heels.
‘Tell me Henry—Mr. Richardson,’ she cried.
She did not see the expression that sat en
throned on Henry Richardsons face as the
monosyllable dropped from his lips. She could
not know that he was eager to convey the in
telligence she sought; bnt that he was keeping it
down till the proper time.
Again her hand touched his arm and held him
■it you ever expect to win the love of Irene
Waring, tell me the secret which you withhold!’
His time had come; his dark eyes flashed with
the triumph of a cunning man, and drawing her
quickly to him, he pressed his lips to her ear.
One moment there they stayed, when Irene reel
ed from him with a startling cry, and fell in a
swoon upon a bed of mountain flowerB.
‘She would know it,’ the man said, gazing at
the deathly face, fairer than ever in its pallor,
and withont another word turned on his heel
and heartlessly walked away.
He had sowed the seed of a harvest which he,
sooner than he had hoped, would reap.
Without looking back to see if the servants
had heard the cry of the swooning girl, the dark
faced man passed from the garden and lost him
self among the tortuous streets ot the western
Everywhere excited crowds discussed the
news which had lately arrived from the outly
ing districts. A band of desperadoes which had
long infested the mountains had committed
some bold robberies, and several wealthy peo
ple had suffered to the extent of their entire
money possessions. An organization of vigi
lantes had operated to no purpeB3 ; the haunts
of the rascals were not revealed, and the people
despaired of seeing a single one brought to
Henry Richardson did not avoid the groups
of people ; but lie was not inclined to disems
the important state of affairs. He was known
as a rich man who took care of his own money,
and did not care what became of the possessions
of others. He passed to his own home in the
suburbs of the city, mounted a horse and rode
away. On, od, beneath the few golden stars
that glitter in the sky the man urged his steed,
unmindful of the spectre that almost noiselessly
Henry Richardson led his pursuer a long
chase ; but it ended at last, and at the break of
day a solitary horseman rode into Belmont City
a smile of satisfaction on his rough tace.
It was the man who had followed Irene War-
ing's rejected lover through the night.
It was night again, and once more Irene stood
in the garden with a man, but not he who had
sent her reeling to the earth with a word.
Her companion was yonnger than the dark
faced man, and each seemed created for theoth-
' ®r, while they stood faoe to face in the ambient
moonlight, j-itb. -cut, y«atif5 mnu said, 8
flush cf indignation on his cheek. ‘1 never in
all my life, said twenty words to Henry Rich
ardson. He slanders me now for a purpose too
dark to think ot without indignation. I, a rob
ber—a member of that lawless band that infests
this newborn State? Irene, yon do not believe
Then he stooped and kissed her, to start sud
denly at a sound which the night winds bore to
his ears and to hers.
They looked into each other’s face and invol
‘What does it mean?' Irene said. ‘I hear yonr
name above the imprecations of the crowd.
They are nearing ns Hark ! the voice of Dick
Swayne, the captain of the vigilantes.’
Despite his efforts to remain calm, Nathan
Bertbold's face became very pale, and he would
have started from the fair girl if she had not held
him with a frenzied grasp.
•Stay ! stay !' she cried. ‘Guilty or innocent,
do not desert me here.’
He did not reply, but looked at her as if he
half believed that she deemed him guilty.
Meanwhile, the cries of the rapidly increas
ing mob of exasperated men grew londer, and
its destination soon became plain. The name
of NathaD Berthold was bandied from lap to lip
like a ball, but threats and curses, invariably-
accompanied it, aDd the young man clenched
his hands as he listened.
The mob swayed and pushed its members be
fore Jndge Waring’s residence, and soon drew
the dignified gentleman to the step.
Loud cries of “We want him!” “bring him
out!" and other threatful sentences, greeted the
jndge, aud when he had quieted the excitement,
he addressed the mob. He declared that he did
not know where Nathan Berthold was, that the
youth was notin the house, that he had not seen
him for several days. The Jndge uttered the
truth in his reply to the mob ; but he was not
believed, and a committee was appointed to
search the premises. Bowing to the indignity
which he eouldjnot resist, Jndge Waring stepped
aside and the committee, six burly men, who re
ally had the best interests of the community at
heart, walked into the house.
The domicile was quickly bat thoroughly
searened withont result, as the reader has al
ready guessed, for the man for whom they sought
stood anxious in the garden, clasping the whit
est hands ever seeD in Belmont City.
All at once he started, for cries of “ the gar
den ! the garden !” greeted his ears.
A moment later the hnnters ponred into the
paradise of flowers, and Nathan Berthold advanc
ed to meet them.
« Here I am, gentlemen,’ he said. ‘ I beg that
yon do not trample any of Miss Irene’s flowers.’
The mobocrats were amazed at the youth’s
calmness. In a moment he had banished fear
and nervousness, and met them like a man.
* We want you !’ said the spokesman of the
party. ‘ You know for what.’
‘ Yes,’was the answer. ‘But he has basely
* Who has lied ? Come, Mr. Berthold, do not
commit yourself by counter accusations. Re
ally, we do not know to whom yon refer.’
4 'Tis easily told, sir. I mean Henry Richard
son. He has accused mo for a purpose which I
will not name hero.’
4 You are laboring nnder a mistake. Henry
Richardson has not accused you. He has not
been in Belmont since yesterday, and he is ab
sent now. No, sir The evidence of your guilt
consists in certain stolen valuables found in
your house, your night rides to the canyon, your
—bnt enough ! W- never dreamed that you
were leagued against the people who have re
garded you so favorably. Come ! our folks are
exasperated. If we can, we will shield you from
their righteous indignation.’
Irene Waring stepped between her lover and
‘Give him time to reply to your charges,’ she
opened, and two -
1M®ared with pistols.
l seese<l a ecu
came the strange goods to'^ohr house ?’
The answer was quick and very firm.
*1 do not know !'
Th3 spokesman of the party turned with tri
umph upon Irene.
‘It is a plot—a dark plot!’ she persisted. ‘The
light will Rurely reveal it to the eyes of honest
| people. Do not make yourself a party to it by
she ading his blood.’
j ‘We never hang the innocent in Belmont!’
I was the reply.
‘Enough ! Na'han will come out of this tri-
j nmphant. Gentlemen, consider him your pris-
; oner, and l shall hold you individually respon-
| sible for his safety.’
; The last speaker was the judge himself who
! had lately arrived upon the scene.
I Nathan Berthold bowed his thanks to the dig
nitary, for he knew that in him he had a friend
whose influence was vast and powerful. He
therefore placed himself in the hands of the cit
izens who conducted him to the impatient crowd
withont the garden.
Loud cries greeted his appearance, and a rnsh
was made upon the guard; but the show of weap
ons oti the part of the six determined men kept
them at bay.
It was with extreme difficulty that the prison
er was lodged safely in the city jail; but thanks
to the presence of the judge, ana the firmness of
the guard, this feat had been accomplished.
But the danger that menaced unhappy Nathan
Berthold, had not yet passed. Indeed, the hours
seemed to increase rather than to diminish it.
Excited people everywhere discussed the situa
tion; there were men who added fnel to ttie
flames, and a guard was placed around the not-
over strong jail.
‘They will storm the jail before day !’ Judge
Waring said to his wife upon his return from the
‘What will happen then !’
‘Ah! do yon not know? What happened
when the mob battered down the jail doors and
dragged Tom Morgan out ?’
Mrs. Waring grew pale and cried:
■Not so loud ! Irene might hear yon, and not
for the world—’
The judge's wife paused abruptly, for the door
had been flung wide, and the lovely daughter
stood on the threshold.
‘Storm the jail, will they ?’ she cried, with
flashing eyes. ‘Not so long as Irene's hand can
send the leaden messenger of death from this re
The stern judge started forward, as he caught
sight of the silver-mounted weapon clutched in
Irene’s right hand, and her name fell from his
‘Irene, my child, yon know not what you say!'
he cried. ‘You must not face such a set of fu
•I will! I will do anything for him. Why,
they would take his life for the plot of such a
man as Henry Richardson, whom I rejected last
night with scorn.’
‘You did, Irene ?’
‘Thank God ! I felt that yon would never give
him yonr hand, and I, too, believe that he is at
the bottom of this work.’
The last word was still quivering on the judge's
lips when he was summoned to the door by a
loud, imperious rap,
A rough and bearded man stood on the stoop.
‘You are Dick Peters,’ the judge said, recog
nizing his late caller.
‘That is so,’ said a hoarse voice. ‘Do you
want to save him ? They will begin on the jail
‘Do I want to save him? Certainly!’ said War
ing, starting at Peters’ last sentence, so full of
dread import. But what can we do?’
‘What we do must be dons within four hours!
There is a certain man whom we want here in
Belmont City—the chief of the robbers.’
‘But to get him here before they storm the jail
—that is the difficulty.’
because the moments are flying amt they art
precious. Your daughter once did me a favor.
My family were starving, and no one would suc
cor them because Dick Peters was a shiftless
cuss. But your daughter carried food to them.
I want to repay her. Say nothing. Keep them
from the jail as long as you can. Two of us are
going. Good-bye, Judge.'
‘God bless you, Dick Peters’ was the fervent
response, and the vigilante sprung from the
sten and disappeared.
The judge took bis bat and weDt out.
The little city swarmed with people. A large
crowd filled the square before the jail, and
threats to lynch the prisoner at daybreak were
freely indulged. Jndge Lynch held court not
unfreqnently there, and the record that Bel
mont City owned was dark and bloody.
A search made by several for Dick Peters and
another vigilante named Call Jeffrys, revealed
the fact that they were not about,and much spec
ulation followed. But no one saw the two steeds
that were flying fom Belmont carrying two stal
wart men far to the South. One led an extra
They did not hesitate to use the keen spur,
and word and whip helped to urge the horses
on. They seemed to be going for life.
On the interior of a large and strongly built
cabin, sat a party of men around a large table,
well laden with mugs and glasses. The major
portion were rough lookiug fellows, but there
were some whose faces bore looks of refinement,
and who would have passed for gentlemen away
from the place.
The company was hilarious, and rough toasts,
jests and songs went round the board.
Suddenly, the door was flung wide,and before
the half drunken wassailers conhl recover, two
giants pointed four pistols at them.
Chairs were overturned by the startled robbers
and many prepared for escape or assistance, when
the voice dl the twain fell upon their ears.
‘We want but one man,’ said Dick Peters, for
the speaker was the redoubtable vigilante. ‘We
are going to take him. Ha! there he is! Mr.
Richardson, you will please come with us.’
The face of the man at the table grew deathly
pale, and with great emotion he got upon his
•You are the man!’ said Dick.
‘Don’t ‘sirs’ us, Mr. Richardson. We have
no time for parley. We will argue the case in
the Square at Belmont. No resistance, men. We’ll
drop the first one that raises a weapon.’
The threat had the desired effect, and Henry
Richardson, much agairst his will.st.epped from
among the outlaws. He was conducted to the
door by Dick Peters, while Jeffrys awed the
crowd by two revolvers.
‘Mount!’ said Peters, pointing to the horse
which had been led from Belmont, and the cap
tured man suddenly filled the saddle.
Then the vigilantes sprang upon their steeds,
and with a ‘good-night’ to the few robbers who
had followed them to the door, gave the spurs
fair play, and were off like the wind.
No shots were fired, no pursuit followed.
It was evident that the robbers were not sorry
for Richardson’s departure.
‘It was a pretty plan, but it failed,’ Peters said
to the captive bat once during the ride. ‘I fol
lowed you last night, and found yon out.’
Henry Richardson did not reply,but his down
cast look and guilty face betrayed him.
‘Hark!’ said Dick suddenly, as he turned to
the prisoner. ‘Do yon know what that means ?’
‘They are storming the jail. YVe mast get
along faster, else we will be too late.’
The day was breaking when the trio dashed
into Belmont City. The mob were already bat
tering away on the jail.
Reckles-ly they rode into the square,and Dick
Peters, rising in his stirrups, raised hiB voioe to
the highest pitch.
»ob h fr£:sr.,r n r, d „ b, " : tbe z« ot ">*
powerful sledges HfJ ?„ °w" C - Cnmb to
ready to spring ’ I De "to was
ed into the P squ g aJe fcV ° 1Vferia band - raah -
‘ fA 7T BtJ . IuJOat « Wildest time
! the^man who i h t unVM gW ' 8 u h,1 u d ’ whpD
vigilantes. b *1 head, between the
A paler man n™ 1St m . ° t,je prisoner's face.
; rv ikZZ^tiZY! 1 8,irr "P*’
munaged to tell,1 f 6 tb<? crowfl ‘ bnt
listeners. * StarUed and exasperated his
j He nad played for Irene’s fair hand, and lost
! Diet r„t„» hi ’°° c, '“'i“ vod
'ter mcb ? ,dm
‘ Monte Ciisto’s Daughter.’
A writer in London Truth. Oct. 10 giving
account of Marie Alexandre Dumas, daughter of
; the eldest novelist of that name/or ?Mo n £
I Cmto s Daughter,’as she was foud of calling
i i h cotina n v?- ¥
i ^ri7L°r f !H e
i p™ ™bV,»5S n h "Lu°h“ h“
if, f R2° a ^d her illustrious half-broth,
the most pronounced features, and all out of
harmony with each other of the Jewish, negro
and Norman races. The eyes of pale turquoise
blue stood out from their orbits. They express
ed the faculty for learning languages, hut they
impressed the beholder with the painful idea of
strangulation. There was a patch of coarse red
in the yellow cheeks, which, in cold weather,
became bluish. The nose was heavy and aqui
line, and the mouth pure African. An even set
of white teeth were the one redeeming point.
The figure, which was separated from the head
by a virile neck, hirsute as that of the femme a
barhe, was grace and symmetry themselves, and
never lost elasticity or yonthfulness of outline.
‘ Marie Alexandre Dumas married, 28 years ^
ago, aM. Petel, who want out ot his mind the
day after the wedding. He was taken from the
bridal chamber to be confined in a lunatic asy
lum. When he came out he refused to see his
wife, and in speaking of her did not show the
reserve which was to have been expected from a
man of his education. It was his duty, accord
ing to the French code of gentlemanly manners,
to have kept silence about her neck, aud to have
stood to her in the relation of a friend whose in
terests were identical with his.
‘ A French gentleman rarely forgets that if he
is not to close’the eyes of his wife and bury her.
she will be called to perform those melancholy
duties to him. The hapless grass widow had
affairs of the heart which ended cruelly for her.
Charlotte's Bronte’s Jane Eyre inspired her with
a passion for a manufacturer of chemical pro
ducts, who was also a savant and nomine de let-
tres. His fortune was considerable, and he had
lost his eyes in a factory explosion. It was
this fact, coupled with his personal qualities,
which gave him value in her estimation. She
solaced him with her readings of Lamartine and
DeMnsset and with her sympathetic conversa
tion, Things converged toward a Rochester
and Jane Eyre denouement whan the wife came
back. This spoiler of the romance that was be-
iug built up was a pretty woman of the hussy
tribe, who had run away from the conjugal dom
icile to Mexico. The news of the husband’s ca
lamity called out a feeling of tenderness for
him and brought her back to Paris to claim him
as her own. The memory of her charms soft
ened the heart of the man she had betrayed, and
she had the address to make him believe that
he was falling into the hands of a sharp, mon
ey-loving woman, whom nature had expressly
created to afford amusement to peasants at vil
lage fetes. Religion chased away the suicidal
ideas into which the dame barbne fell, and
Victor Hugo, bearing of her cruel disappoint
ment, conceived the plot of L’Homme qui Rit.
How bright has been our home since we’ve
had a baby in it.
What a world of sunshine floods our pathway.
The flowers bloom all the brighter because
Baby loves their pretty looks, and birdie’s songs
are all the sweeter, because they are the lully-
bie’s to cradle him to sleep. We have no time
now, to be wearied, and worried with life, be
cause oar baby’s laugh chases away the shadows,
from heart, and brow.
Papa comes home earlier to tea, to see how
pretty the picture looks of baby, in her pretty
crib. The rough winds of our married life, have
all blown to somebody’s house where no baby
lives The air we breathe, is mild and sweet as
a June rose, just baptizsd in the glorious dews
of Heaven, and on our baby’s brow we read the
title page to all that is worth living for on earth :
While on his breast willlie
Sweet flowers of hope
To crown us till we die.
Some girls are like old muskets; they oarry
great deal of powder, but don’t go ofl.