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VOL IV.
J. H. & W 33. SEA-ljfc', ] PKOPKIk'tcjKs'
ATLANTA. GA., SATURDAY, MARCH 1. 1879.
VW Ms: ) $3 PER ANNUM
lJblY.UO} IN ADVANCE.
NO. 191.
OIB !»Y OXE.
(SeeB saving.)
BY MAJ.Y E. BBYAN.
My love is fair as lilies in their prime,
And sweet as dew in folded jessamine cups;
15ut she is coy; no,coy is not the word
For the fine, delicate reserve, half like a child’s.
Half like a queen’s, that sits with such quaint grace
Upon her tenderness and holds me back,
At lien i would meit the snow of her white bands
With my hot lips, or crush her flower head
yV'itli all its'tendril curls, upon ray breast.
I chide her, call her cold, say that she is
My icicle, my statue, carved of snow, i
3 hat J, unlike Pygmalion, may not warm;
My Tantalus cup of amber, fragrant wine
That I must sip, not quaff; and she will smile
A playlul smiie, and yet pail sad, and say
“Youare not happy in your similes;
The wa.med snow statue would' buf melt and vex
You with its gushing, and the cup if quailed
I Is emptied soon, and likely thrown away.
1 have a different pniiosophy.”
“Ay? And what is it? tell me;’’ but she shakes
ller shapely head and says “I’ll paint it rather,”
For she—this love of mine—when s%ie has thoughts
j oo deep or sweet for her shy lips to tell,
Put* them iu gracelul, allegorical shapes
Upion her canvas ; so, one April day
blie met me, took me by the hand and drew
Me into her tiny studio, and there
Bade me look ai tier latest picluie, fresh,
Scarce finished on the easel—a y oung n aid—
(1 knew the arch, frank lace > a fruit girl whom
My Florine petted, taught to read ai d sn g—
j hue bat m an alcove, anu her crestod dove—
She had hatched in liei bosom when the mother-bird
j Pierced by a cruel shot, died in the nest
I Kre yet her brood had bteiken their ivory prison—
Perched on her arm and led her parted ups
W ilii grapes trom a bjoud saivei heaped with ted,
Ripe trial belore her. Daintily the bird
Held one l ed giobuie in his sliver beak
And with lteiuoy severed d.e reueler lips.
That gnuied m him. so a tiower-fay might feed
j A bud v. niie.n pa oi coliu to make it red,
t teaithny, .nu sc< u only by the moem.
•*'iis pieuy, eoi la,lily," r said, aneishe:
* j “uas il no men...ng e-.se ? i.ciasi sthe sense
Ol Ibae polios i i.y 01 mine you wi lied
'io know ui-uui. i he iruit-iilleJ silver there,
Tlie v> iheioui iiial reiiains ireim emptying it
\\ ill. eage-l gi .e-u ol aii its iusciou* store,
Anu i«.ti.o-i vneiosee that the w Ate-winged hours
; bnouiu imi n. r siowly,jeiy hi joy; even llieiugh
'J he joy wile .e,\c—the sw -testjoy of all,
] The snuueot to lomeluhe' "lion tis 0 eme.
“Love little and lov. tong” so that’s your creed,
\\ t.o taugiit you - ach giay wisdom, Ooldeu iieau?”
•‘Love iaugiii ue, so i think,” she said. “Love sure
I W• » the fo- i-iuden fruit of knowledge eaten
dy our fair nn tiler; love- makes us wondrous wise
Us women; and we see you prize us me>st
j Not when we pour out heart's w ine lavishly
Down at your l'eet, but w lieu we hold the cup
Back from your eager quaffing, Buttering you
To taste, not drain; so though my salver here,
| (Touching her heartj holds store of royal grapes
I I fain would crush in one rich draught for you,
i will he wiser, and like Ai; i i lia’s d<^e,
Give, one by one, and Seem to stint the store
. That is exliaustless, lest you hold the gift.
Too common, dearest, as is your man’s way.
THE
wsiif! w minim.
An Autobiography,
Fj Rett Wiirwood,
Author of ‘jVi body's Wife, ’ ' The fir then Mur-
riaje Bond,’ ‘Ethel Dreeine,' 'The White Spectre.
‘Sicettheurt and Wife,' ‘The Chilton Estate,’ ‘The
M’ronged JJeiress,’ etc., etc.
CHAPTER I.
‘Sir Lacncei.ot. ’
When the IoEg-< xpected letter reached ns at
last, my pretty little mother and I sat down and
cried over it like spoiled childien. Only the night
belore we had cried because it wi s so long in
coming. But such is human nature !
We had no legitimate c'aiio, utter alt, to that
n orsel of cieam-tinted paptr scenttd with
patchouli. Jt was not addi< ssc-d to us, but to
M s. Livingstone, my patroness as she chose to
consider herself, tbongh Leaven knows she had
done little enough up to this time to deserve the
title. Her tco’.man brought it to our humble
abode up amorg the clouds, v ith the compli
ments ol bis mistress; and then mamma and I
had read it careiuliy over with our aims about
each other and a deluge ot my foolish teats soil
ing the immaculate sheet.
The world is big and cold’ and we had only
each other ! That made i; hard for us to part.
‘The situation is jours’,’ said m. mma, in a
very doletul voice. ‘T1 e letter says so in black
and white. We needn’t be worrjir.ganj longer
for fear you will not get it.’
•That’s one comfort,’ 1 replied, secretly flip
ping two big tears from iny cheeks. -“• -
•Mrs. Fanshawe wislus ;<n io come to mor
row. It is very s<-.nn, Mail, u.’
Here mamma br< ke down again. andjdippiDg
cut of her arms, I ran up to the window where
the canary was sinking jubilantly in the sweet
sunsbine, and protend, d U be very busy feed
ing him a fresh lump of sugar.
An exclamation from mamma called me back
again, presently.
•Why, this is odd.’
She was at the letter again, re-reading it with
halt-blinded eyes. I stole up and peeied over
her shonlder.
‘Have yon made a discovery, mamma?’
‘I’m puzzled, dear, that's all. Mrs. Fansbawe
does not even mention your name. It looks as
if she -did not know it. She speaks of you as
'the young lady.' ’
I am afraid my lip curled a little—bat not at
mamma.
‘I suppose Mrs. Livingstone did not trouble
berself to give me a local habitation and name.
No doubt she spoke of me in the correspond
ence as her protege. It would be like her.’
‘Don’t be satirical, child. Mrs. Livingstone
has certainly lnen kind to us.’
•Yes,’ I muttered, ‘the sort of kindness that
cosls nothing.’
‘She got yon the situation as governess in Col
onel Fanshawe's family.' m
‘And plumes herself greatly on Waving done a
benevolent action, no doubt.’
•Now, Marion, you ought to be . shamed of
yourself.’
■I am, mamma, so please, don’t scold me,' said
T, kissing her, and crying over her in the saint
breath.
It did seem as if Mrs. Livingstone, with all
her wealth and influence, might have found me
a situation in New York, and th«u my sweet lit
tle moiher and I need not have been separated.
But Cedar-Cliffs, the country- eat of the Fan
shawe’s, was more than a huudrtd miles away.
Very few happy meetings would then be between
ns when my duties were fairly begun.
It was this thought that n.a le me bitt«r and
ungrateful. But wh-n I hinted at my trouble,
mamma said ‘beggars shouldn't be choosers.’
Which was all very true, but not iu the least
comforting.
‘What idiots we are to grumble so,’ she coo^d,
when we were a little more composed. -This
will be a new thing for 3 on ! You w ill get away
from this esazy oid wren's Louse, perched in the
air, live iu a tine house and have every comfort
imaginable,’
‘But I like the wren’s house, and my heart
will be he re if I leave yon behind.’
‘Little goose,’ laughed mamma, heroically try
ing to cheer me, though I krtt-w w hat an >ff .rt
it cost. ’Yon will send me a part of your earn
ings and I sba : l live here quite like a queen un
til our si ip comes in and you can return again.
‘Oar ship never will come in.’
•Yon don’t know that, dear. At any ra‘e, we
must both starve if you stay here, and thal
wouldn t be pleasant. I have no vocation that
way, for my ow n part. ‘
Then we both laughed, and set about packing
my few belongings in t much mere cheerin'
frame of mind than might have been expected
Then after our tears were shed behind each
' o'Ler s backs and dropped into cambric band
. k- rchiels when we found a chance to steal into
i some out-of-the-way corner, under the pleasant
; delusion that we were hiding our grief quite
I successfully, though I now remember how often
I mamma glanced at my red and swollen lids and
i I know hers were every whit as much inflamed.
When morning came, and with it the hired
carriage that was to convey me to the station,
we were both very calm, very brave. We had
been schooling ourselves for the parting, and so.
w ith a few hysterical kisses and embraces, it wae
all over, though neither of us could And voice
for those tender last words that are sometime.-
so comforting.
It did not matter how weak and foolish I was
when the carriage door shut me in, where no
eye could witn- ss my grief.
Half an hour later, I stood chilled and raiser-
ble on the platform ot the wide, roomy station,
waiting with a crowd of other impatient mortals
for the train to make np ttat was to take me to
my destination.
Thera would not be more than time enough to
purchase a ticket and secure a comfortable seat,
so I hurried to the ticket offito, and thrust my
hand into the pocket of my gray travelling dress,
only to withdraw it the next instant with a mut
tered exclamation of dismay.
My purse was gone—lost or stolen !
The discovery turned me sick. I ran back
and forth along the platf ;rm, searching every
where for the missing ol j ci, with a faint hope
that it might turn up again. I even looked out
side for the carriage, thinking I might have
dropped it on the way to the station.
At least a score of vehicles were drawn up at the
stand. But they ail looked exactly alike to my
dazed eyes,an-i I had not the slightest idea whioh
among them was the one I wanted to flud.
f':e utter hopelessness of all search struck a
chiil to my heart. I leaned against one of the
stone piiiars, quite faiDt aud breathless. Aloue,
penniless among strangers, my situation was far
from being a pleasant one.
Matnm i bad divided ber little stock of ready
money with me, that morning. Thera were
tweuty-dollars in all, aud she had given mo ten
to bear the ixpenses of the journey. Should^ I
go back and rob ber of the remainder? No,
no ! But what eottl-1 I do ?
Suddenly a hand touched my arm very gently,
8Dd the most musical voice I had ever heard said
somewhere in tLe air hbove me :
'Can I be of service to you, joung lady ?’
j G taping ones or twice I looked up to find ft
fa r frank, blonde-bearded face bonding oyer
me and a pair of languid blue eyes scauning
me from head to foot.
‘I beg your pardon,’ said that grave, sweet
voice ‘But yon seem to be in trouble.’
‘Was it the blue beautiful eyes, or the honest
fees, or both together that inspired me with
such sudden trust? At any rate I answered
readily;
I have lost my purse !’
You were going out on the train ?’
Yes. But I can’t, now. I have do money.’
Out had come the very thing I should not
have said to the straDger. I saw his eyes sweep
my face keenly, and colored up to the roots of
my hair in confusion at my own boldness.
•Poor child,’ he said, and with a sadden move
ment had thrust a well tilled pocket-book
into my hand. ‘Please purchase your ticket,
'ake what yon Deed, and return ihe r< st. Nay,
not a word.’ for I was about to refuse his
kindness. ‘You can repay mi sometime. Make
hfste.or you will he too late for the traiD. Have
yon a trunk ?’
•Yes.' I stammered, and pointed it out te
him. ‘I am going to Blankviile.’
Oh.’he said with another glance, this one
more curious than the other. ’That is my des
tination.’
Tam so glad, sir,’ was my impulsive exclama
tion. ‘I hiive no further hesitation to avail
l myself of your kindmss. Colonel Fansbawe
; of’ Cedar Cliffs can repay you from my salary
when ’
A queer expression flit’.ed over his face, and
was gone.
•And so you are going to Cedar Cliffs ?’ be
interrupted.
■Y- a.’
‘You were never there, I should presume?’
•Oh, no. lam a stranger to them all—only
the new governess.’
‘Indeed !’ smiling down upon me very kindly.
‘It is fortunate I fell iu with you, and could be
of service.’
He was just as kind, just as polite and con
siderate after u.y acknowledgement as he had
been before it. What a grand, kingly man hi
loole t, a d how glad I felt that he did not
shrink coldly away ! I had known him less
than live minutes, aud yit it would have pained
me already, to be compelled to think ill of him.
•Take back your purse,’ Isiid, alter having
deftly extracted a crisp ten dollar note from its
contents. ‘And I thauk you from the bottom
of my heart for your goodness.’
•You are sn r e yon have enough ?’
■Oh, yep. This is the amount of my loss,’
blushing, in spile of myself that I must confess
to such < xtreme poverty.
•You had better secure a ticket at once. I will
look after your trunk.’
He went away hurriedly, for the bell had al
ready sounded its warning; but returned in
season to slip a check into my hand ae I stepped
on the platform of the nearest car.
I found a seat, and had just established my-
s»lf thereon , when the handsome stranger
stepped past me. and sat down on the other side
of the aisle. He had st veral of the morning
papers and soon seemed absorbed in their con
tents.
I had a good view c-f his face ss he sat por
ing t vor the new s items, utierly obi;vious of my
very txistence, to all appearance. He was ex
tremely handsome, but a subtle languor brooded
in the deep blue eyes, and hovered about the
exquisitely chi eled lips. One felt iDs'antlv that l
be u nst have known sorrow and h art Oie of !
no common kind.
He must have been thirty-five or six years of ,
•ge, for his Fature had that fined, mellow ex- f
orsociion whioh only comes with mature man- j
hood.
iio interested me strangely. It seemed as if j
| some subtle affinity was linking onr destinies j
I together. In vain I sought to throw off the i
spell, it held me in bonds not easy to be broken. J
I was thankful he did not know how often j
j my eyes wandered in nis direc ion, or how
| many foolish castles in the air were builded, j
! half unwittingly. I blushed at my own folly. !
We would separate, most likely in a few hours,
mver to meet again, and he would never think j
of the poor governess, when she was once out of 1
his sight.
Nearly an hour must have elapsed sinoe we [
had begun to be whirled away over the snnny, !
open country, when glanciDg at him ratLer fur
tively and for the L st time, as 1 secretly ri solved,
1 saw a sudden pallor overspread his face. He
gave a low moan —so low as to be inaudible j
above the rumble of the carR. but 1 knew by the
motion of his lips that he did moan, and the [
next instant his head fell back upon the velvet
upholstery of the seat.
Ail my timidity vanished in a moment. I sprang i
to his side, lifted his head until it rested against
my shoulder, and turning a very pale lace upon j
the good people who came crowding up from
every portion ef the car, ga> ped out the single |
word:
‘Water!’ |
A gentleman who seemed to retain greater pres
ence of mind than the rest, pmshed a brandy
flask over the Lack of the seat, where it fell into
my lap.
i thanked him with a g'arice. Please open
the window,'I said, hurriedly, ‘and persuade j
the crowd to stand back and give us plenty of
air.’
•Yes, miss, that’s wbat ought to be done,’
He obeyed my i; strnoli >ns, and then comiDg
I back again, with Lis own hand poured a few
! drops of the brandy b-ttv<cn the cFnohed teeth j
| of my poor Sir Lannoelot, The t fl ct was mag- j
! ctl. A L ug. sobbing s gb heaved the broad j
chest, ana the languid blue eyes slowly an- i
closed.
Where am 1?’ were the fir.-d words he uttered, j
Then it ail seemed to come back to him, for
he slightly averted his face, aud a dark red
surged into bis cheek, and even mantled his j
marble-like brow. |
‘i suppose I fainted- for the first time in my
life. I feel ashamed, humiliated.’
•You thought that the special ptivilege of my j
own sex?' I could not fotbear saying.
A sad. sweet smile hovered about his lips.
‘I am surprised, at let st, at my own weakness.
It must Lave been the heat.'
‘You are better ?’
‘Muoh better, thank you.’ He planced at me i
furtively. -You are taking a great deal of trouble
for a stranger, he added after a pause.
‘I always was taught that one good turn [
d<serves another.’
‘Weil you have cancelled any obligation you j
tray have felt, and I thank yon for it.’
His expressive face was fuller of gratitude
tl an the words. I bowed in reply, and went back J
to my seat again.
I had made one little discovery that gave my |
fervid imagination abundant material to work
upon. Clutched convulsively in his hand when |
1 reached his side, I had found one of the morn- j
ing papers, with the stiffened fingers closed
about this paragraph.
•Airived, yesterday, in the steamship Flying
Star, from Havre, Mr. Louis R-emington.’
Even in the agitation and distress of the mo
ment, these words had met my eye, anil seemed
to have branded themselves upon my brain.
Reason with myself as I would, the conviotion
stole over me, growing stronger and stronger !
every moment, that this simple paragraph, and
not the heat, fatigue, or any other cause, had
occasioned the weakness to which my new-found
iriend had succumbed.
CHAPTER II.
CEDARCLirrS.
Some hours wore on, and in the sweet, mel
low twilight we stopped at a little station-house
close by the sea, from whence tne salt air blew
tip full of tonic power that put new strength
into my weary limbs.
I thought Sir L iu celot would at least come
and say good-bye at part’ng; but he did not.
With a dreary sensation of disappointment, 1
crept out on the platform qui e by myself, und
waited there until a man in livery sought me
out.
‘I suppose. Miss, you must be the lady who is
•xpected at Cedarcltffs by this train? * 1 * * * he said,
lilting his hat.
‘I am the new governess.*
‘I thought ro. This way, Miss, if you please.
I will go back for your baggage.*
The next insla: t I found myself seated in a
luxurious carriage, and when the coachman had
strapped on my trunk behind, we drove thiongh
a landscape of snrprisii g boanty, wrapped as it
was in the purple veil of twilight.
A grove of noble old trees led up to the man
sion itself, It was quite dark when we drew up
before ihe house, but I could see it was quite
a stately affair, extensive enough for a mmtern
palace, and in perfect keeping with the oharui-
ing landscape.
A maid met me in the hall, and I was at once
conducted to a pleasant chamber, where two or
(continued on 8tu page.)
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