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i * 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.) Ira 5