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T i «. Ttff FlOWEHS GQmCHON VOL. V. J. H.&WB. SEALS,} ATLANTA GA., JUNE 7, 1879. Terms in advance:} §iif g TC e co P y 2 sS- No. 205. THE WFIi Ol' FIFE. Backward my memory wanders to-night, Into the shadows of by-gone years. Parting the curtains, and bringing to light The past, with its gladness and tears. Tilings long forgotten, memories hushed, Dreams I had tenderly buried from sight. Longings unsatisfied—bright hopes crushed Of sunshine and gladness—of shadow and blight. < if a sister's tears, and a mother’s prayers— Of trials, temptations, and victories won— Of days of brightness, and freedom from cares, Or of striving to utter ‘‘Thy will be done." And I marvel much at the tangled skein The parted curtains have left in Sight, With threads of gladness and! threads of pain, All mingled and twisted, the dark with the light. Ah ! strangely woven, these lives of ours, With a warp of gladness, and a woof of pain, Yet the tlowers would droop in the sunny hours Wert they never refreshed by the cooling rain. We wonder oft-times at the broken threads, And murmur at trials, and crosses we meet, Xe’er thinking it needetli each fragment and shred To render the pattern of life complete. O, a careful weaver is watching the loom— And though the web may seem jagged and rough ) Whether threads of glory or threads of gloom He knoweth the reason, and that is enough. RALPH MEDWAY; —OR THOSE— Queer People at Ivy Hall. HI tl.f'Kf 1- UKfcAA. CHAPTER II. Yale watched the figure of the horseman out of rieht with a half plavful, half really wistful gaze. >'o Robin Hood had never looked so sad, so a. odds with fortune, as this cavalier. A\ hat was it in his face that tom-lied a chord of memory . ‘•But this isn’t finding wingina’s cabin, she thought, springing from her seat on the stile. After you get over the pasture fence, turn down EE WIPED THE BLOOD FK01I HE It TEMPLE VN'IAEXAMINED THE WOUND. terrible a way. But Vale lost sight of the horror that deatli had inspired in her strong rush of pity and tenderness for the man who had beer, so unfor tunate, who had, through one act, cut himself off from friends and fortune, fastened a brand on bis name and a burden of undying remorse upon his life. He was about to leave his native land forever, to slip away under the shadow of secresy; he was telling her good-bye in sight of the house that ought to have been his: he was the last of her kin, and he had been kind as a brother in the old, light-hearted days. No wonder she was moved. “We shall meet again,” she said, “I feel that we shall. I pray that it may be under happier circum stances. God keep and comfort you, my cousin.” Her eyes were swimming with tears as she slowly role on alone along the dim bridle path that wound around the orchard and led up to the stable door. When she was close to the tomb, she stopped short. She had caught a glimpse of a dark figure moving, down through the sloping orchard towards the tomb. A faint glow ot twilight still lingered to aid the light of the stars and of the young moon whose sil ver horn appeared in the west, und Vale could dis cern the gliding figure quite plainly. It neared the tomb, came round to the rear of the building near where Vale sat upon her pony, screened by a clump of tall hay hushes, her light dress hidden by the black hooded mantle Wingiua had thrown around her. Unearthly tall seemed that strange figure, and as it moved, it appeared not to touch the earth. She had a good view of it through the open vista between the trunks of the trees. It came round to the hack of the tomb and stood there for a breath’s time motionless: then disappeared utterly while Vale was looking at it. Where did it go! asked the mystified girl. Where could it have gone? It had not moved away, that she knew: it hail not entered the tomb, for the only entrance was on the front. She waited with her eyes fixed on the spot where she had seen it last, but it did not reappear, and she rode on at last, wondering over the strange phenomenon and recalling what Achilles had said of the ghosts that haunted Ivy Hall. (To he Continued.) Monument to Gen. N. B. Forrest. the right hand"path through the woods, and a hun dred or so yards will bring you to the house. These had been \ iney’s directions for finding the cabin and Vale proceeded to follow them. 1 he turn to the right carried her in the track of the horseman who had just passed lo put him out of h.-r mind, Vale gathered a yellow Saracema and its queer tuberlar, insect trapping leaf. It was a strange plant to her and she became interested m examining the flower. So occupied, she wa.ked tlr.wlv along coming at length to a sharp heml in the road, which following the line of the fence took a turn so abrupt that it described almost an acute •unde She was tearing open the crimson-spotted, - tuberlar leaf to see if the Saracema were realIv an insect-feeder; her ears at the same time were filled with the strong sweet singing of a mocking bird in the husl.es beyond the fence. She did not hear the sound of hoofs, she had no warning of the proxim ity of a horse until it was upon her as she was tuni ng the sharp angle of the road, with a cry of warning the rider jerked the horse back upon liis haunches, but a blow from his head upon Tales forehead had been unavoidable. She sprang aside hlindlv her ankle turned in the awkward leap, and she struck her head against a sharp projection of the fence. But she rallied, staggered a few steps and fell fainting with the pain of her ankle and the stunning effect of the hurt upon her temple. Tlif* stranger, who had instantly leaped irom his horse, caught her as she fell. Bareheaded and pale as herself, he supported her, wiped the blood from her forehead and examined the wound, it seemed only a small cut. hut it was in a dangerous spot, and, thoroughly alarmed, he tried to restore her to consciousness. He sat down, and taking her in liis arms, rubbed her hands vigorously and tann ed her with liis hat. Then, he bethought himself of a flask of brandy in his pocket and poured a small portion of the liquid between her lips, She shuddered, a quick contraction passed over her brow and she opened her eyes. Surprised and be wildered she saw an anxious face bending over her —the face of a stranger—of the man she had seen on horseback Recollection of what had happened flashed upon her, a smarting sensation sent her hand up to her temple, and she felt the warm blood. She raised herself from the support of the furtively" and puzzling over an expression, a tone a movement that were s rangely familiar. And he seemed to regard her with a kind of perplexed m terest, now half assured, now baflled. “And so you have never seen the old Indian wo man ?’’ lie asked as the cabin came m sight. “No I an. a new comer to this neighborhood. And you—you are not a stranger here; you nave friends here ?” „ T “None hut old Wingina—if she be still m mg. 1 could not leave the country without ssaj mg gooa- bye to her. Yonder she comes ! Thank God . the faithful old creature is still alive.” Thev were near the house—a two room log cabin. “1 have been hurt,” she said, sitting up, “hut not | badlv I think. 1 am better. I can stand, I believe. I thank vou for your kind assistance.” “You have me to thank for riding over you and half killing you,” said the man with self-reproach ^“Oh ’ 'itwas my fault, being so absent-minded. I was examining a flower; I remember—a queer Saracenia. Oh !” . , This last, little ejaculation was one of pam as she attempted to step. “I am afraid there is something wrong with my ancle. It is a little strained. It will wear off ^The stranger regarded her with concern. “Really you are not equal to walking. Don’t attempt it Let me put you upon my horse; he is perfectly gentle and will take you safely home,” “To have him take me home would he too much out of your way. If I could get to the cabin of an ol 1 Indian woman, who lives quite near here—” “Does she live here still! The cabin was fastened np just now I went there to see her and found no one and heard no answer, to my calls so I thought she had moved away or was dead, and rode hack to inquire of you.” T , “I think she still lives here. I have never seen her, hut I start,ed this evening to find her house. ? I thought I must lie near tt.” “You are. It is just around that sharp bend, will vou mount my horse and ride there ( ' “Yes, since it does not inconvenience you, ’ \ ale answered, and suffered herself to be lifted upon the back of the strong, handsome horse that had stood r by eyeing the two intelligently. Hei newacquaio- grey squirrels. She walked in a slow, stately way her coarse dress seeming like drapery. because o the majesty of her step and op i >ed young man, seized bi/extended hands and bowed her head over them for a minute m silence. 1 h( oi . fie put a hand on each of his shoulders and_ stoodHook ing at him. Anguish and tenderness btoke up the immobility of the bronze face. ’ “My child,“ she said in her deep guttual utter ance/ “VVliat made you coine ? Aou know it is da “St"ithe ^' he answered, his moustached lip curling, hut trembling too. “What, is hie teat I should want to keep up the misery of hv mg. Let it end. “ “Hush !“ said the Indian woman. That is cow ardice. Have courage: live; bear; suffer. I his is what the Great Spirit demands ‘ He made no answer; suddenly lie seemed to re member Yale, who sitting on the horse at a little distance, had caught detached words ot tbisshoit colloquy and immediately tliougnt: “Can this be Ralph Medway ?“ ^ , A He turned to her, lifted herefrom the horse and half supporting her weight upon one strong arm, said to Wingina: “This lady, a stranger to me, was hurt just now by an accident that was my fault. I know your skill in cuts or bruises, Wingina, and I don t tiiink she could be in better hands than yours “It was unwise to bring her here * muttered TV n- o-ina in an undertone, hut she spoke to T ale and in vited her to come into the house, whose interim though poor, was clean. She listened without com ment to the storv of the hurt and the probable sprain. Taking Yale into the room she drew off her shoe and stocking, and examined hei S' tt.™ .-.ttU! yS-fer; tlmt l was tba most erime-blnckene.1 wretch a],on earth—that the hand 1 will not offer you has— His voice choked and he turned away. “Yes, I have heard all, but—“ T “Do not force yourself then to tolerate me. 1 know you look on me as a monster. It us right y on should. Don't let kinship or pity make you do otherwise. Sit down, child, he quiet or your ancle will not he restored. Go home and forget that y on have seen me, or that a drop of the same blood is m ° U “That I can neverdo,“ cried T ale. “I remember I you as kind, tender, noble.. It you did that deed, it must have been through stress ot tern ue passion, though it is strange you should nax e been angry withvour father for such a cause. ‘ “What cause ?“ he demanded, wnat have they told you ? Tell me truly. “ Yale hesitated. u “Tell me," he urged. They saul—— “That the cause of your striking your father was a quarrel about property. “ A spasm crossed liis face, Ins eyes flashed lu e. ^Tliey lied/ 4 be said between his set teeth, i ne> lied so’ from the first, and I had no recourse-it was but no matter. The deed was done- no mat ter what the cause. The crime drowns everything elS He was silent, a look of stern endurance in his close-shut month—of hitter pain in liis eyes. But I feel presently, lie turned himself towards her and said: 1 “As you are my kinswoman and cared for me once, 1 may tell you this much: There was no quar rel about property, and 1 did not strike my tatlier. “Did not? Oh"! I knew it.“ “Stop: I killed him all the same—I will tell you— jf j ca ., “ speaking hoarsely and with difficulty . “I had told him—something—a discovery that stun ned him—stabbed him to the heart, as it were; Oh . I can feel it now. “ “He resented it he said it was false—threw the lie in my face: I laughed scornfully, fori was shamed and sore. Another goaded him on, whispered a subtle lie in his ear, and he came upon me in white rage, he who hail always been so kind, who had lately been ill and unnerved—ah ! why did I not remember all this ! he struck me, in the f ace _it was the first time he ever toucher! me m anger—and he hurled that slanderous falsehood at me 5 My blood boiled, I pushed him from me, his h«-ad struck against the stone mantle piece and— he fell I saw him lying there—saw the blood on his gray hair, saw his eves turn reproachfully upon me Saw ! Merciful God. I see it now; I see it al ways And I still live. I fly from the scaffold, lit ho of some value if given cause. I knew the danger of coming here, indifferent to it—If they take me, if I die a felon s death, it is right, all right, 1 am glad though that mv mother is injher grave.” , . lie was walking the floor of the cabin and speak- in- as if to himself. A sob from T ale recalled him to“a consciousness of her presence. He " ent up to her auicklv and stooped over her. “Little cousin he said, “ilont cry aliout me. I am a poor kind of kinsman, who brings nothing but sorrow and disgrace to the only one of is Wood that lie knows to he alive. I meant it to be diftei e ,t I hoped to have shared what fortune should be niiite with you: to be your friend, your guardian, ~ ]{ e stopped abruptly and drew back his hand he had laid on her hair. . ... “I am exciting you and doing you an injury, lie said. “I have already been the cause of harm enough to you today. Are you sure that bruise on vour temple is only a trifle ? Here comes TV ingina with a pot of smoking tea and a cup for each of us we will take our supper together one time more.] remember Yale what nice tea you used to make. Strange I did not know you at fiist. But joui height and vour darker hair and brows misled me. Now vou look wonderfully like the child V ale. ! * He was talking cheerfully in order to raise her spirits Yale knew. He poure 1 the tea for her and insisted upon her eating a piece of the nicely-broil ed souirrel. Wingina sat by looking at them. Hei face had an anxious expression and she rose more timn once and went to the door to look out and lis f The sun was setting when Yale rose, and trying the strength of her strained ankle, sanl: “1 believe that queer application has almost worked a cure. 1 am able to go home now, and T'liiust go before it is later.” . ‘“No.” said Wingina in a low, significant tones. nresentlv returned with a skin she had just drawn From Se ofthe squirrels she had killed, and wrap- it all reeking around V ale s ancle. 1 “Keep it on for two hours, and be quiet; then you will walk without pain,“ she said as she proceeded tn substitute a richly worked moccasin for the shoe she hml removed! '“The fresh skin will take away ‘he soreness; your ankle is only strained. “But in two hours it will he quite dark/ said Yale uneasily, “and I must return home should not like to go through the wood m tbejnuht^ “I will go with you: you will have to ride of course “ said the strange traveler, who had just come in from putting up liis horse. He made of attending the girl through a lonely woo ff hf v as though he were an old acqua anee nor did it seem audacious to Vale so much is there in an eye, a voice to inspire confident e. there man v , different reason than ] thaTcaused Wingina to dissent. She made a strong gesture of disapproval, and said sigmhean * “T think this young lady lives at Ivy HR/ “At Ivy Hall !“ the young man repeated quick- re che—she must he little “I am Yale Medway, “ the girl saul, returning his look with one as earnest, ife made no response but turned his hack quickly, upon her and walked to the whidow. Wingina left the room. \ ale rose mitering m his lace, vresenuy, siieim™ “U <“/* saw him leaning against the rough frame of the window, liis head upon his crossed arms. Lvery other feeling was lost in compassion. She rose from the seat where he had placed her, approached him and laid her hand gently upon Ins arm. “Dont repulse me,’ she said, “what you did was more an accident than a crime. Let all mere allegi ance of blood he set aside. You are unhappy and you need a friend, let me he one to you, for the sake of old times—for aunt Margaret’s sake.” She had a sweet, childlike voice and a gentle touch; and such earnest, candid eyes. Thev were filled with tears now. The man s face softened as he met her look. “Kindlittle heart.” he said, a sad smile breaking up the stern lines about his mouth. “You were al ways over pitiful, Vale. Dont I remember how you rescued the old clog that had been convicted of sheep killing and sentenced to he drowned—watied in the pond in spite of mud and moccasins, and managed to untie the weight around his neck. And how you kept the secret of the convict that hid in the gin house, and carried him your dinner, and cried and begged for him when he was recaptured. Yet he was a murderer, as I am, and he wears the ball and chain now as I may do, unless they are more merciful and give me a rope.” He ended with a hitter laugh that jarred upon Yale more than his words. “Oh!” she said, Ler mouth quivering and the VOU lllllhb Vilili lauci ii. '«•*> ^ ^ - - ‘Yale, suddenly comprehending the danger to Ralph of being seen by any inmate of the Hall, protested that she was not afraid to go alone or w ith Wingina. But Ralph would not agree to this. “I"will ride,” he said, “and no one will be apt to take me when I am on Moro’s hack. Aou have your pony Still, I see, Wingina Yale will find him excellent under the saddle, and lie can he sent hack l ' ''fheV" sat by the window, watching the twilight thicken and the larger stars appear- From the creek at the foot of the hill came the plaintive croak- in- of frogs, and the fantastic note of the L buc k will's-widow sounded in the thicket. Great velvet- winged night-moths flitted about the vines with which 1 the little window was festooned, and lire flies flashed their tiny lanterns across the dusk. V ale m ■I-lieht dress, with her sweet face half in shadow keeping with the scene. The sweet peace of ihe hour fell like dew on the fretted and fevered heart of Ralph. He did not again refuse A ales hand when she held it out to him sa\ Dig: “There is—there must be a power that under stands and rules all things. Standing here, front- ?ng these stars—his bright, mysterious haudiwork- et us ask him to deal mercifully with us-with you my cousin-to throw light on this dark path of y °And a £y prayed thus-liand in hand, facing the putp2 sky and the large, throbbing stars of twi- ll8 Then Ralph went out and soon had the horses at the door anil Yale, thanking Wingina earnestly foi her kindness, and promising to see her again, Mas placed upon the hack of Wingina’s Indian ponj. ( ‘“Remember that you must not go near the house Wingina said to Ralph. “Young lady, see that he does not ter^ it f/rk trees, marking the notes and devising a plan by which to raise the necessary means for erecting a monument to the greatest military hero which the war produced. The senior editor of the Appeal commences the subscription for a monument with one hundred dol lars, and twenty men can he named who will give a similar amount. The monument should not cost le<s than ten thousand dollars. W e see it stated that General James R. Chalmers has been selected to deliver the next annual address before the South ern historical society of Virginia, and that he has selected Forrest and his campaigners as his subject. This will constitute a theme for an eloquent and in- teresting lecturs, o.nd it is hoped the soldiers of General Forrest’s command will hold a meeting at an early day and invite General Chalmers to deliv er a lecture in the southern States with a view of raising means to build a monument to the name and fame of N. B. Forrest. MIDDLE AGE. As we glide into middle life the vague dreams with which we start out grow into earnest realities, and we find that as youth wanes the enthusiasm with which we entered upon new pursuit, thebouy- ancy of feeling that kept up our faith and hope in early years, grows less as disappointments, failures of our plans, anxieties and crosses that make up the average sum of daily existence, become also our portion, to hear with philosophy, or with fretful impatience, as we school ourselves. i outh has hope courage, faitli to do and bra\ e all things. middle age sees the earnestness of life and buckles on the armor of work, for hearing the still, sad music of humanity,” he knows it is the call for his broad sympathy and unceasing purpose; hut he may make something grand, beautiful and sweet out ot the days that are given him. THE OFFICE”5F SORROW. place of the 'totite,”came te right as the to»'nA along the same path Vale had traversed that day, she stopped and said: We must say good-bye here. I am not afraid t0 U° was a*sail parting, there in the sight of the tomb of the father who had come to his death m so There is something about deep sorrow that tends to wake up the child-feeling in all of us. A man ot giant intellect becomes like a child when a great grief smites him, or when a grave opens at liis fire side. I have seen a stout sailor—who laughed at the tempest—come home when he was sick and let his old mother nurse him as if lie were a baby. He was willing to lean on the arms that never failed go a Christian in the time of trouble is brought to this child feeling. He wants to lean somewhere, to talk to somebody, to have somebody love him and hold him up. One great purpose in affliction is to bring us down to the everlasting Arms U hat new strength and peace it gives us to feel them un derneath us : We know that far as we may have sunk, we cannot go any farther. Faith is just clinging to those arms, and nothing more. Mr. Beecher and the South.—Mr. Beecher’s new love for the South (developed after he found he could make money out of us by his lecturing) is characteristically gushing. “I love the southern people,” said the great denialist. “They are noble, kind considerate, enthusiastic. I never met more intelligent, and better people than you Southerners.” One may he sure he has an eye to Mature lectures and much raking in of filthy lucre from southern purses when he piles it on so thickly. He is play ing out at the North. Plymouth Church pews have gone down greatly in rent and new pulpit star? are eclipsing the old ones. The South is believed to he looking up in prosperity. Cotton is mounting the ladder, crop prospects are splendid and there is a chance we shall make something outside the taxes that have hitherto “sized our pile.” Consequently northern adventurers are scenting the air and will he winging their way “down South ” as soon as they think the money is coming in pretty freely.