Newspaper Page Text
VOL IV
J. H.;& \V J3. SKALS,' 1 EDITOi 8 ‘ N0
PR JPKIJS r JRS’
ATLANTA, GA„ SATURDAY, DECE.UliER 21, 1878.
TEIIMSIS1o**n' ! k m
NO. 183
FLIGHT SCHTHWAItll.
BY MAIiV F. BItYAX.
Wild are llie winter skies,
Drear is the winter earth.
Yet the sunsh'ne in your eyes
With shirting shadow lies,
And steeps its golden worth
In those rings ol warm-brown hair
On your temples, marble fair.
And the summer stays, I know,
In your soul—the grand, the free;
I can warm rnyseifat its glow
When all else is cold below—
When liic seems a storm-blown lea
And the days drift coid to me.
Butoursummerall must go
NVitli you, who soon will be
In the land where never the snow
t hills the sweet winds that blow
Fresh from the kiss of the sea.
Warm be the skies that shall fold
You with their blue and their gold.
Though you leave us the gloom and {he rc3<5
Go, where the sunlit waves
Are opalline like your eyes.
Tour tropical nature craves
The sunshine that soothes and saves,
The loveliness soft as sighs.
Whose spells may still the unrest
That beats its wings in yeur breast.
Go to the land of the sun,
Thou of ttie summer soul;
When our days ure dim and dun
We will trust that yoursare spun
Of the Farcy's sunniest gold
When the birds tly South through the blue,
NVe will waft them a message for you.
(Complete iu one number.)
THE
TELE^ A TV
AS SW7 rfx9 <au iu vnuilil'UI
BY E. !• H....
I.
Three years ago, in coining home at night, I
found on my table a telegram which had been
running after me all day from one place to another.
It came from Strasburg, and was sent to me by a
friend of mine, an actor, who having lost all his
money while in Baden, was now completely penni
less. He wanted me to send him some monet, so
that he conld pay his bill at the hotel and come to
Paris.
It was too late to answer him on that day;
besides, having a great deal of leisure and plenty
of money, I concluded to go myself to Strasburg,
and liberate my friend.
On the next morning, I took the express train
towards the river Rhine. When I arrived at the
hotel indicated to me by my friend, I was greatly
surprised and badly disappointed to hear from the
—formerly rosy—lips of the landlady, that Zed,—
I will call him Zed—had disappeared after break
fast leaving nothing behind him but a note full of
promises, among which was the expectation of a
letter—mine 1 suppose—that would bring enough
money to pay all his expenses. Through respect
for Zed’s last wish, I paid the small sum asked by
the—formerly pretty—lady 1 had the honor of
speaking to; then 1 called for a room and a dinner.
Although much disappointed by the absence of
the man I expected to meet, I resolved to spend a
couple of days in the capital of Alsace; so after
eating 1 took a walk iu the adjacent streets while
smoking a cigar, aud 1 retired to my room. Eleven
o’clock was striking in the belfrey of the celebrated
cathedral.
From rny window on the fourth story, where my
fate and the waiter had perched me, 1 could see
the lights of other windows iu the neighborhood,
shining like so many stars in the darkness of the
night, for the night was very dark, the moon hav
ing gone I don't know where. The sight of j my left.
‘I have a confession to make yon/ she said, throwing her arms around Zed’s neck,
he will kill himself; let me
‘Let me go,’ I said,
go, quick 1’
‘Kill himself!’ echoed the man I had come in
collision with, growing pale, as far as I could tell
by the dim light of a lamp post.
‘Yes,—just now .'—a pistol .'—he will kill him
self! Let me go.’
‘You shall not go. He will not do anything be
fore to-morrow morning. We have four hours yet
before day-light. Come with me, sir, and we will
save him.’
‘But,’ said I, ‘he has a pistol in his hand- I have
seen it. Run, run.’
‘I tell you we have plenty time. Here, read
his letter, if you dcubt.’
‘Af no venr, we no hurt you.’
I was determined to offer no resistance. They
blindfolded me again ; went out of the house, walk
ed through the garden again and got into the car
riage once more. When we had traveled about
half an hour, the carriage stopped.
'Gum town,’ said my guard, ‘no vear, no hurt.’
Having now the free use of my hands, I pulled
off the handkerchiefs from around my head, aod
saw the carriage driven off as fast as the horses were
able to go.
111.
II.
As I took the
about to read it, I heard the step
running towards us. In less time than it takes
me to write it, 1 found myself blindfolded and my
mouth tied up with towels, handkerchiefs, and I
don't know what else, while a rough voice was
telling me with a strong German accent:
‘Afno vear, we no hurt you.’
They led me, or rather carried me I don’t know
where, in spile of my vigorous resistance in kick
ing and boxing iu every direction.
While t was so kidnapped, I heard the man I
had met by running against him, swear and curse
with the strongest expressions iu his vocibulary,
against the men who took me away from him.
After about a minute or two, 1 was deposited in
a carriage, with one man on iny right and one on
It was almost day-light, and a square monum
ent. which I recognised for Gpn. Hesaix’s tomb,
u r as near by. Being not very well acquainted
with the locality, I looked around to see which
way I could go back to my hotel, when I perceived
back to Marseilles, which I left on the same day,
so anxious I was to see Baris again. The train was
running at full speed towards Lyon, where I ex
peeled to eat a good dinner, when I heard the
signal for applying the brakes. Looking through
the window 1 noticed that we were coming to a
cros-ing on which some men were vvorki ng, and,
standing on the road, there was a carriage in
which I recognized the vindictive lady who so
willingly had given rae her hand—upon my face—
in such a cruel manner.
I resolved immediately to follow to the end the
thread of Ariadne that had fallen in my hind, and
through it to get out at last of the labyrinth 1 was
in. I waited until we passed a station in order out at night, and they caught Mr
to read the name of it as we went by, which I did.
Certain now to find back the crossing, I remained
calm until the next stopping place. There I got
letter handed to me, and was ' at a smalldistance, three men, twoofwhom coming j out of the train, leaving my baggage and taking
of several men | rapidly, bowed politely to me. They were very j with me only my indispensable valise and inevit
able spy glass.
I waited a short time for the train going down
and after one hour on the rails, I landed at the
those lights suggested an idea very indiscreet
indeed, but very tempting.
I Lad, as I always do, taken along with me my
spy glass and I expected to use it for admiring tht-
scene^y that I might see in my journey; hut 1
yielded to temptation and impudently directed
my spy glass alternately towards the different
luminous spots before me.
This investigation—not very proper, I acknow
ledge it, but very interesting, — was fruitful in
exciting remarks which I shall not mention, some
of them being of too private'a character.
All at once, a sight that I was not expecting
almost froze my blood ia my veins and caused me
to drop my spy glass. In a room poorly furnished,
I saw a man, the collar of his shirt open, his hair
almost erect on his head, directing a pistol towards
his forehead. A single candle lighted this terrible
scene, which the man repeated two or three times
as if hesitating.
‘There is not a minute to lose,’ said I to myself,
trembling with fear fthe unfortunate.
Still I picked up my instrument and looked at
him again. He was gesticulating like a lunatic
with the deadly weapon in his hand. I then
uttered a loud exclamation, leaning out of the
window, so as to divert his attention. It seemed
to me that he was looking in my direction as if
listening, but it was only for a moment; resuming
his work of destruction, lie took another pistol and
cocked it.
Without thinking of the uselessnesss of my in
terference iu this affair, I ran down stairs. Where
was I going. I did not know. It was as difficult
for me to find the house, or even the street, as it
would have been to name the day of my death
I ran, however, without looking before me. Of
course what I ought to expect did happen ; I ran
against the only— see my luck—the only person in
the street at that time.
‘Stop !’ he cried, with an oath, at the same time
catching me by the eoliar of my coat.
Judging by the elasticity of the cushions, the
crave, and the points of two swords were prolrti 1
ing below the long coat of one of them. The other
had in his hands a small box that undoubtedly
contained pistols.
They looked around, as if expecting to find some
body else with me.
‘We feel it our duty, sir,’ said one of them. Mo let
you know that our friend, the baron, is a first class
shut aud an expert with the sword.’
‘What is that to me?’
•Offer some excuse«]or you are a dead man 1’
‘Let me alone! I have bo need to make excuses,
I have not saida word for the last five hours, con
sequently I could not offend any one.’
1 was about to demonstrate that they were evid
ently mistaken, which the absence of arms and
witness on my 6ide proved sufficiently, when the
jour place.’
I conversation I learn from him that, when in
Siraehurg, he was in trouble on account of impa
tient creditors on one side, and a certain baronem
on the ctlier. The creditors threatened to have
him arrested, and the lady, mistaking bis polite
manners lor another sentiment, had become jeal
ous ns a tiger. He had no other alternative but
to hide himself or leave the country, so he left
without, of course, giving his future address. ;
As soon as he hail left, he realized that he was
mistaken, that the baroness held in his life a
larger part than he expected. Absence increased
his passion, and after a few months he came back,
made his peace with the lady, and as her husband,
Uit Baron Stuffel, had been killed in a duel, the
baroness consented to become Mine. Zed, whan a
reasonable time for mourning should have passed.
‘Now,' he added, 'we come from Italy, where
we have spent a long time. We bought this
e\atiau a few months ago. You understand, dear
friend, that in the midst cf the different situ.tions
through which I have passed myself, I am almost
excusable for my neglecting you. Last year I read
in the papers that you had gone to Africa. I
thought you was there yet. and not kuowing your
audress, I trusted in Providence to make us meet
again and so give me an opportunity to beg your
pardon for a negligence that came so near being
fatal to you.’
I assured my friend Zed that I had not the least
resseniimeDt of what had happened; that all those
events had left in my mind only an excessive curi
osity about the mysterious personages between
whom I had played unconsciously the role of an
hyphen.
•I would give a great deal,’ said I, Mo know
what ha3 bt come of the different actors of the
drama in which I took a part in Strasburg. To
every chapter of the events that transpired then,
i: seemed to me there was a ‘to be continued,’ and
I am after the following chapters. I have the
greatest desire to read them, but don't know
bow to get hold of them. Which way must I start ?
How to unravel the entangled skein of my advent-
j ures ?’
j While speaking, I intensely looked at my
I friend’s wife, whose silence, after our mutual
j confidences seemed strange to me.
‘Hear friend,’ she said at last, throwing he r
arms around Zed’s neck, ‘I ha»e a confession to
make, I waited so long, and I would nave never
mentioned it, because I did not believe it par
ticularly interesting to von ; but your friend's
presence heremakes it a duty forme lo be frank.
Besides I am anxious to make him fvrg ttbe un
deserved castigation he received at my hands, a
castigation that was intended for yourself.’
•By Jove !’exclaimed Zed, merrily, ‘what shall
I hear now ?’
‘It is I who slapped, and so cruelly scratched
your friend’s face. I am jealous, I own it; I
thought that you was not sincere with me. True,
I had no claim upon you then, but an offended
woman does not think of that. While you was
in Strasburg, somebody had been appointed by me
to spy you, and I received reports far from being
iu your favor. I resolved to chastise you so
severely that you would never forget it. Unfor
tunately the servants sent to jour hotel, which
had been discovered at last, did not know you.
According to my orders, they waited for you to go
instead of
I thought to myself,
you.
‘Atrocious coincidence!
but it is my luck.
Ah ! madame,’ addressing her, ‘lam very happy
that I did not follow in the path pointed out by all
romancers. After such treatment at your hand
I ought to have fallen in love with you. What
would be my sorrow, after three yeai s of absence,
station I wanted to go. I soon found the crossing, j to find you the wife of my best friend'.”
to the-
‘Not one more word, or I push it back into your
throat with the point of one of these swords.’
Well ! we fought that strange and for me unex
pected duel. A serious wound between the first
and the secon 1 rib was the reward of my rashness
in taking the defense of my country’s name.
I had fallen on the grass and fiinted. I cannot
tell how long I remained there. When I recovered | crossing, but hav
■softness of the cloth and the sweet fragrance all ! gentleman whom they had called the baron, came
around, it was a rich and elegant carriage. J to take part in the discussion, regardless of all the
Without being ra-h, I am not fearful; besides | admitted rules of duels,
my companions assured me that it was all ia my ( ‘I acknowledge,’ he said, ‘that we were both
interest. So I kept quiet. j drunk yesterday, at the theater, when I slapped
We traveled about an hour, after which I was j you twice—I see the mark on your face now—but
ak en down from the carriage, and walking through | you challenged me to a duel, and here I am, ready
a garden, we entered a house. The perfume 1 at- j to respond to your challenge. I don’t ask if you
mosphere that surrounded me, the thickness of i ure my man, I only say that you tire like all your
the carpets I was walking on, made me think that | countrymen, very fiery when speaking, but come
if 1 had arrived at the den of my robbers’ captain,
that chief must pay a big rent. This consoling
thought flattered my self-pride; 1 would feel worse
had 1 been captured by vulgar brigands.
I was left alone in the wealthy cavern as if I had
been a rich prize.
Astonished a what had happened to me-blind
folded still—I kept motionless, waiting for new
events. They soon produced themselves in the
form of sharp slaps rapidly repeated upon my face
with accompaniment of scratches made by razor
like finger-nails, together with a shower of angry
words, pronounced in an idiom familiar to my
boot maker, and w lich at that time seemed to me
the German of a mad woman. The handkerchiefs
were violently pulled off. and I realized that I was
standing in the middle of a gorgeous parlor, feebly
lighted by a bronze lamp on a table, A very
pretty lady dressed in silk and Valenciennes lace
—a nice costume for the executioner in a thief
organization—was before me, raising her hand.
All at once, the greatest surprise could be read
on her face. As for me, although bleeding pro
fusely, I stood looking at her in amazement.
‘He is not the oni !' she uttered at last with a
tone of disappointment. Then taking the lamp
from the table she disappeared with it, uncereinon.-
iously leaving me in the darkness.
A few moments later, the door I had already
passed thruugh was opened, and the rough voice I
had heard in the street told me again:
The men working there remembered very well the
cirrioge I mentioned to them, but could give me
no information about the persons in it.
‘Maybe,* saidoue of them, -they are the visitors
lately arrived at the chateau d’Estagnac.’
‘Where is the chateau d’Estagnac?’
‘If you take this road you will be there in ten
minutes.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
Fifteen minutes more, and I found myself in
front of a large iron gate. From there I could see
j the buildings at the end of a long avenue of old
trees.
A man, with his back towards me and a magni-
j fieent pointer behind him, was slowly promenad
ing ia the avenne. His appearance and way of
j walking reminded me of some one I had known.
J As I tried to find out who he could he, the man
j turned round and perceived me. My traveling
j costume and valise made him think I was a visitor,
j and he hastened to the gate.
A double cry of surpise went out simultaneously
j from our lips. We had recognized each other.
| Passing the gate I pressed Zed s hand, for it was
j himself, that faithless friend, who did not wait for
j me in S rasburg. We were going on with the ‘is
it possible?' ‘where have you been ? ‘where do you
come from ?’ and other such questions, when two
| ladies, accompanied by two gentlemen, came to
| join us from another alley. One of the ladies was
the one I had recognized in the carriage at the
my senses 1 was iu the house of a peasant who had
acted as a witness for me in the duel.
Four months 1 remained iu bed, and the news
went around the press that I was dead, and I was
then proclaimed one of the greatest poets of the
age.
After two more months’convalescence, I returned
to Paris.
My valise and spy glass were seat back to me ;
but I never received any news from my friend
Zed.
I was exceedingly weak, and my doctor induced
me to go and spend a long time iu Africa. 1 had
no desire of traveling; the suicide of Strasburg
had cured me of ray passion for journeys. Never
theless, as I knew that a few months spent in that
sunny climate would greatly benefit my health, I
left for Algiers, being careful not to forget my
valise and spy glass.
IV.
On6 year later, the steumer ‘Gange’ brought me
zing seen me only a moment and
by a dim light, she could not recognize me.
‘Let me present to you my illustrious friend,
the poet S., who comes here to surprise us,’ said
Zed, addressing her.
Then, turning to roe :
‘My wife will be delighted,’ he added, ‘to re
ceive you here and, will do her best to make it
agreeable for you.’
1 was also introduced to the other lady and the
two gentlemen.
Being asked how I had discoverad them in their
abode, at the sweet light of honeymoon, I narrated
to them, without suppressing a single word, the
story you just had the patience to read.
While I was speaking, Mme Zed, turned red or
grew pale alternately, but listened without saying
a word or looking at me. As soon as I got
through, Zed, half laughing, half crying, begged
me to forgive the way he had acted towards me.
•I am a wretch !’ he said, ‘I am the cause that
you were wounded and remained so long in your
bed ; I wish I could find an opportunity to tight in
All is for the best; you find agaiu a friend who
will do his best for your happiness. You said
you wanted to force tho sphinx to divulge the
mystery surrounding your sojourn in Strasburg;
maybe I can give you, if not the whole word, at
least the first syllable of it.’
‘How is that ? we asked simultaneously.
‘A letter was found iu the carriage that brought
you to my house, a love letter ’
•A love letter, you say? oh ! I underst r 1 ,
when I was seized by your servants, 1 hei 1 j?
hand a letter given to me by the heavy built I
who had hold of me at that time.’
‘That letter is in my possession.’
‘Anything may happeu in this world,’ ,j,i. ’ I. r
laughing, *go and bring that letter,’
Mine. Zed left us, but soou returned with a
letter that she handed to me. It was addressed
to a Miss Aline Schwartz by a lover who did not
sign. He was evidently ia the paroxysm of a
violent despair. The letter was a prayer and a
menace. It terminated by telling that, if during
the night, he did not receive the news that her
parents had consented to his happiness, he was
positively determined to bUw out his brains.
‘No doubt,’ said Zed, ‘that the suicide of Stras
burg is the writer of this letter. An extraordin
ary hazard—but in this world nothing is more
common than extraordinary things—made you
meet Miss Aliue’s father while, warned by bis
daughter, he was calmly going to the young man’s
house.’
‘Very likely,’ said I; ‘anyhow, I will know it,
and that next week, unless some new accidenj
happen to me.’
‘You shall know it,’ sententiously said Mme.
Zed, ‘God has made you an instrument for his
designs. Thus far you have not benefitad by it, but
others did-we, for instance.-H.ive confidence,
your turn will come. Happiness is the salary of a
useful life, and the later that reward comes the
more it enhances its value.
‘I believe you. madame, I find myself well repaid
if 1 have saved the life of a man aud contributed
to the felicity of two hearts like your“ ahd my
The same night I left the chateau de lE-daglnac
I remained onl” twelve hours iu Bans andtook
the cars agaiu for Strasburg, where 1 stooped at
the same hotel as I did three years before. im
mediately questioned the—formerly pret y— ‘
ady, who was yet at the head of that cat a an
■eraj,
[Ended on the eight page.]