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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.]