Newspaper Page Text
The Fifth artillery band give a concert at
McPherson barracks on the night of the Fourth.
J. W. Phillips & Co., the cheapest stove and tin
house in Atlanta.
209-31.
Mrs. 'William Henry Peck has recovered $10,000
for injuries received on the New York elevated
railway. A compromise was effected by the rail
road company.
Merchants would do well to get prices from
J. W. Phillips & Co. before buying their stoves and
tin ware.
209 yt.
On Monday night, July 7th, a concert will be
given at DeGive’s Opera House for the purpose of
furnishing the new Medieal College now being
erected. The programme promises a musical feast
and the fact that the pieces will be rendered by
some of the best musicians in the City is sure to at-
tract a fine audience.
J. W. Phillips & Co. can be found at 12 Marietta
street with the largest stock of stoves and tinware
ever brought to Atlanta. Send for price list.
20^-3t.
Ballard has added an attraction to his cool, pleas
ant eating room at the depot, by associating with
him that most polite and atten’ive gentleman, Mr.
Henry Durand. Henry’s extensive popularity will
be sure to draw custom, and the substantial merits
of the well supplied tables will be certain to retain
it. Every delicacy the market supplies will be
found there, well cooked, nicely served and at. mod
erate prices. Ice cream a speciality.
The Military encampment that took place at
Rome on the Fourth was a grand affair. The At
lanta companies attended in all the glory of their
showy and tasteful uniforms and Atlanta’s genius
of the drill, Captain Milledge, was a leading spirit
of the encampment. A number of Atlanta citi
zens went up to see the heroes in camp; among
them were a number of ladies, and no doubt the cit
adels of fair hearts were stormed, and blood was
drawn to the blushing cheeks of beauty. It takes
the brass button boys to achieve such bloody vic
tories.
A grand concert in honor of the legislative as
sembly took place at the Kimball House on the
evening of July third. The fine military band from
the barracks poured out quickst eps, waltzes and
galops in floods of melody to which dancers w hirled
like
“Roses on a stream.
Or angels in a dream,”
sighed one of our numerous Atlanta poets, who had
just returned from a Commencement tour where he
addressed the sweet girl graduates both in public
and private and was regaled on fried chicken and
cup custard.
The sympathies of friends and strangers alike go
out to Col. Reuben Arnold whose home of “Dear-
land” in the suburbs of the city has been desolated
by a succession of bereavements. Three times with
in four weeks has the death angel crossed his thresh*
«ld,hearing away, first his infant daughter, than his
’'wife and now his eldest son— Veruou—a l-rc|t fa iug
and talented youth in his sixteenth year. Tae boy
had just rallied from the affliction of bis mother’s
death and had entered hopefully upon his business
career in the banking house of his grandfather and
his uncle (W. M. and R. J. Lowry), when he was
stricken down with the disease (inflammation of the
bowels) that speedily terminated his life. *
What has become of our Atlanta Amateur Dra
matic Societies ? Cannot they reorganize and vary
the monotony of tie summer evenings with an oc
casional performance ? Not a prosy affair, full of
long, high-flown speeches, nor a tragedy of the
blood and agony sort, or of the stilted, heroic spe
cies, such as amateurs often insanely choose, but
something, brief and bright, full of comic flashes,
and lively dialogue, with a dash of tragedy just to
give us ‘a touch of the quality’ of the leading gen
tleman and lady. Elsew here the Amateur Clubs
are lively. In New Orleans a performance by am
ateurs lately filled the splendid Varieties Theatre
with an appreciative audience. In Baltimore,
there was an amateur performance of Pinafore,
fast week, at which Mrs. Carolina Richings w as the
Buttercup and an entire picked company of the
Fifth Maryland Regiment was Sir Joseph’s escort.
An amateur entertainment literally packed Odd
Fellow’s Hall in Westminster, Maryland, during
two evenings recently. Another in Catonsville
had a Sunday school superintendent for the direc
tor (Major Carrington) and so delighted the ‘im
mense audience’ that the company was brilliantly
feted at the house of a rich citizen and the trustees
of the library (for the benefit of which the play
was given) tendered the performers a complimen
tary excursion to Hampton and Fortress Monroe.
If Atlanta would show half so much pride in her
amateur corps it would be encouraging to the
young possessors of dramatic talent, several of
whom have shown more than ordinary ability-
Atlanta Buoyant.—To day the Capital City
of the Empire State wears a smile. The hopes of
hotel keepers revive and the heart of the soda-
water man is light as the bubbles of his effervescing
fountain. Fourth of July and the State .Assembly
coming together ! it is an inspiring coincidence.
The opening day of the general assembly was last
Wednesday—July 2d, and the members promptly
responded to the roll-call. ‘Bet your life, they
did,’ said one of them—a splendid specimen of the
ol«i time planter and politician—as he dropped in
and shook us by the hand in hearty oid fashion.
‘Four dollars a day was a mighty small drop in our
ante helium bucket, but it’s a big bonanza to most
of us now. We’re here to deliberate, we are. For
my part, I shan’t go home till it rains. Haven’t
the heart to. Hasn’t a drop fallen in our section
in six weeks. Cott< n yellow as a Floridian with
the shake’ems, and corn stiingy as a mother-in-
laws’s neck. Put four dollars a day by the side of
such a prospect as that!’ We don’t wonder at the
Colonel’s disgust, but can’t account for the bad
luck of his section in the matter of. rains. It used
to be a great Camp-meeting and Association sec
tion. We hear of timely showers and flourishing
crops in other parts of the State. Maybe they’re
back sliders from the Temperance Society in the
Colonel’s locality, and the Manager of the upper
water works intends they shall appreciate the im
portance of the fluid of which somebody (an M. C.
most likely) confessed that he knew nothing except
that it took two spoonsful to a mint julep, and
then the julep would be better without it. *
RALPH MEDWAY;
—OR THOSE—
Queer People at Ivy Hall,
BY MARY E. BRYAN,
CHAPTER VII.
Hennessey had been striding up and down the
hall for ten minutes waiting for Mrs. Medway to
come out of her room. She had gone into it. and
closed the door upon leaving the dining room after
her sharp rebuke to Achilles.
‘I’ll be hanged if anybody can understand that
woman,’he muttered. ’‘She’s a puzzle. What the
devil makes her take it so to heart, that the fellow
is caught and about to be put out of our way? Sbe
didn't seem backward in fixing that busiuess upon
him. She was savage as a wolf at him that day he
quarreled with his father, but now, she’s ready to
tear the humpback in pieces for catching up with
him. It was a smart trick in Achilles, and I’d ’ave
thought she’d been proud of it, but it’s plain she’s
the other way’
The opening of Mrs. Medway’s room door and the
coming out of this lady cut short his muttering.-;.
She wore a riding habit, and without noticing Hen
nessey, she ordered Toby, who was loungingat the
door of the hall waiting for his breakfast to be car
ried below, to saddle her horse and bring him to the
gate. ‘And be quick about it,’ she said.
Hennessey looked at her in surprise; she often
rode about the place, hut not in that habit of rich
black cloth, closely fastened with ruby buttons,and
that hat of black velvet overswept by snowy
plumes.
‘Did you know we were summoned to appear at
court at nine o’clock to-morrow?’ he asked tier.
‘At court? For what purpose?’
‘To testify in the case of tue State against Ralph
Medway. Here are the papers; a deputy brought
them just now.
‘So soon,’ she muttered, laying her hand on a
chair-back, as if to steady herself.
‘Court is in session and the trial is to come off at
once. Likely the prisoner petitioned through his
counsel for it to be. Ralph Medway’d rather be in
purgatory than rotting in jail; and no blame to him
for it. Or maybe the move came from the other
quarter. The old jail aint thought to be secure I
know. Any how the case is to be brought up to
morrow. You’ll have to make the priest stand up
to the rack; he’ll never do it, unless you keep your
eye on him. He’s a cbicken-livered creeter as I ev
er see. And if he fails our case will weaken. They
may pin a suspicion of self interest to us—or foul
play even. A talk’s got about that I am to marry
you.’
A quiver passed over the lady’s white face. She
looked at him strangely for a moment, then she
said:
‘And if I refuse to testify that I saw Ralph Med
way strike his father? if I say he did not strike
him, only pushed him from him and that in self
defence?’
‘Then you would be a fool, or stark crazy. If vou
did that be would l>e set free—free to look into that
will business, to prosecute you for forgery, yes, and
perjury, for did vou not swear at the inquest that
he killed his father in a quarrel about-property, and
didn’t you bribe me to say it and cajole the priest
into doing the same? Damme if I don’t let the whole
cat out of the wallet if you go back on me, even if
I have to swing with you. I’ll invite the public to
a peep at the secret room of the tomb—and its con
tents. '
He hissed the last words close to her ear, his head
emphasizing his words by spasmodic jerks, his
strong yellow teeth displayed by the up-curled lip
like a bull dog’s. She looked at him with disgust
and fear. And she had put herself into the power
of a brute like this!
‘I have no intention of going back on my word,’
she said at last. ‘I could not if I wanted to. I am
going to ride a little way now to see if the fresh air
will help me.’
She passed on hurriedly, and mounted her horse.
Hennessey saw that she rode in the direction of the
town. He looked after her with a heavy scowl on
biv-fsAe... - - «i_ , _
‘Vvu Wi9 .„ _ _ju,t H'htft is she aimihg to-do!
I caur She’s awfully cut up for
some cause. She looks as if she’d had her death
blow. Before she came down 011 Ralph so, I used
to havea kind of idea she liked him a .dumed sight
better’n she did the old man. What if it was a
right guess! This here looks like it. But what
made her tarn against Ralph so suddenly? And
there’s that priest. Does she love ’em both and
me in the bargain! She said last night she loved
me. and today she looks like she could freeze me
with her eyes. Bat let her dare to go back on her
promise. ’
He shook his head threatningly at the graceful vis
ion of Mrs. Medway disappearing in the distance.
She rode fast to keep pace with the feverish throb
biiig of her heart. In half an hour she had reached
the seaport town, with its marshy outskirts, its dis
colored houses.its streets flanked with great water-
oaks hung with moss, its half decayed wharf against
whose barnacle-crusted posts, the tide was throb
bing in the bright hot sun. She rode up to the
jail—an old building, from whose walls the plaster
had dropped in places, leavinggreat unsightly spots,
like scars upon a body, while other portions of the
wall were blotched and s'reake-i by damp and
mould. A group had collected in front of t le jail
no doubt through curiosity concerning the newly
incarcerated prisoner.
They stared at Mrs. Medway as she dismounted,
gave her horse to an idle negro to hold, and came
up to the jail. Her stately bearing, her proud, pale,
beautiful face and her rich habit impressed them,
however, and they made way for her with respect.
The jailer came forward to meet her, hat in hand.
She said to him graciously but with an air of com
mand.
T am Mrs. Medway; I wish to see the prisoner,
Ralph Medway, if you please.’
Tho man hesitated an instant, but her cool, steady
eye commanded obedience. He bowed and taking
a key from his pocket, unlocked the outer door,
locking it again behind him an 1 his visitor, who
found herself in a narrow passage with a row of
small rooms on either side. Before one of these
cells, the jailer stopped, and again applied a key to
the lock. Mrs. Medway touched his hand with "her
gloved fingers:
‘I would like to speak with your prisoner alone a
few moments,” she said sweetly. ‘It may be I can
persuade him to confess his crime and throw him
self on the mercy of the court. It will be better
fi r Atm, and I cannot bear that my husband's son
should meet death upon a gallows.’
Her voice trembled, and her lip quivered as she
ended. Was she only acting? Tue explanation of
her visit was satisfactory to the turnkey; he
thought she must be as noble as she was beautiful.
He ojiened the door saying:
‘I will return in half an hour,’ and when she had
passed through into the cell, he closed the door
and left her alone with the prisoner.
Ralph Medway had looke 1 around eagerlj" when
the key grated in the lock. When he saw, instead
of the slight form of his cousin, the blackrobed fig
ure of the mistress of Ivy Hall, he stared at her in
amazement for a second, then he turned his head
away and would not look towards her as she ap
proached him. She laid her hand on his arm: he
shook it off and turned upon her.
‘What, brings you here Madam ? Your presence
is as unlooked for as it is unwelcome.’
‘I came lor your good Ralph: I came as a
friend.’
‘A friend, (with a short scornful laugh) your im
pudence would divert me if I could forget vour
villainy for one moment. I warn you to leave this
room. Your presence is an insult, L will not
stand.’
‘Ralph, I implore you to be reasonable. I did
not come here to insult you, but to save you. You
know that if your case comes to trial, it is almost
certain you will be convicted.’
‘Through the lying testimony of you and vour
hirelings.’
‘It does not matter through what means; it is
enough that you will be couvicted. But the case
need not be brought to trial- You can escape this
very night—It is known the jail is insecure, and the
fault can rest'Upon that. You can bribe the jailer:
I have brought you money, and once out,—’
‘Did you think I would take it from vou ? If the
hangman stood there waiting for me, 1 would not
accept my life as a gift from you.’
‘Do not say that. Do not be so rash, so unreason
able. Is not life worth having—even from me f
‘No, you have robbed my life of everything
worth living for.’
‘Is not Vale Medway worth living for ?’
She watched him as she put the question. He
looked at her quickly, and the veins swelled on his
forehead.
‘Do not take her name on your lips,’ he burst out.
‘She is another of your victims. You have robbed
her of a home and a protector. But for you—Wo
man you have insulted me enough. You shall tor
ture me no longer—My hands are free, you see; you
have sworn they are stained with blood; go, or I
shall be tempted to make good your oeth.’
He took her by the shoulder and pushed her to
wards the door.
‘It is locked. I told the man not to come in half
an hour,’ she said calmly.
‘I will call him then.’
‘You shall not’, shesaid clinging to his arm. ‘You
shall listen to me: after that I will go away. I
have resented none of your bitter words, I have
born your abuse, for I deserve it. I have done you
wrong: I acknowledge it. Would to God I could
undo it.’
Ralph looked at her in amazement. Tears poured
over her white cheeks, her eyes were full of pas
sionate entreaty, her voice shook with emotion.
‘Is it possible"this woman can be sincere in any
thing she is saying ?’ he thought. He isaid at
length:
‘If you repent the wrong you have done,’ why do
you not make reparation* Will you swear the
truth, when you are called upon to testify in my
case tomorrow ?’
‘Alas ! it is too late. I am not free to make rep
aration. I have put myself in the power of an
other. I dare not testify in your favor. It would
not only 7 in r e, it would be ruin, yes death to
one who . sf* 18 cent of anything but weakness of
will. I h* ,vl X^ w Yolved myself and that other in a
net of evil, Cue strings of which are held by a cruel,
a relentless band.’
‘ Why did you involve yourself in the evil at first?’
Ralph asked wondering.
‘Why ? Do you ask that. You, who know that
it was done through an impulse of blind revenge.
Mv ungovernable passions! they are an inherited
curse—a poison born with me in my blood. You
scorned me, and I was mad to revenge myself upon
you. In a weak moment, I betrayed my heart to
you; you scorned me, how witheringly I well re
member. While I was sore with your contempt,
vou dragged me before your father and laid before
him a discovery you thought you had made—a dis
covery that meant ruin to me. You said,’ turn the
woman from your house,’ you—’
‘I discovered that the priest was your lover—
that you were decieving a doting old man and pol
luting a home my mother had made sacred. I told
my father; he had never doubted roy word; he
would not have doubted it then, but your deceitful
words and looks came between him and belief in
me. When he hesitated, you whispered in his ear
the vile falsehood that I made the accusation be
cause you had refused to listen to my love. Then
it washe turned on me and struck me, lifted his
hand to strike again, and I—Woman, devil you
were the cause of all! I tell you to leave me.’
‘I will not leave you until I tell you all, I am not
so vile as you think. The priest was not what you
believed him to be. He was—but let me tell you
mv story in as few words as I can. My mother mar
ried me off whtnl was a child of fourteen. She was a
widow, }oung r ?nd handsome: she wanted me out of
the way; I hindered her chances of marriage. She
gave me to a gambler who frequented her boarding
house—a man more than double my age, with a
fierce, tyranicsl temper, farther brutalized by
drink. What a life I led with him! sensual, cruel
wretch that he was! I had been his slave nearly a
year, when he came home one night, maddened by
losses at play, cursed me, and flung me from the
bed to the floor. When I recovered consciousness,
he was in jail for his brutality and a wailing babe,
deformed by it’s father's act, lay by my side. He
broke jail and fled the country; his conduct gave
me a legal release from him and I was free to earn
a living for myself and child. I was starving when
at last my youth and beauty won for me the help
that would not have been given to my suffering
A popular writer heard of me, saw me, and made
my case the theme of an eloquent appeal in the col
umns of his paper. People came to see me, a fash
ionable lady offered me a place as governess to her
children. While there her son, delicate from
his birtbifelljn Vive with me. He was gentle, fair-
aK V themagn.....^cr‘l.^asiirhrt--V -
1 liked ,lifts. - j .elded to litis entreaty* i_._ * 1
There is only one (thing you could offer me that
would move me to turn to you. If you could give
me back my father alive, I would serve you on iny
knees. I would be your slave all my life. But that
you cannot do.’
‘Cannot ? A light leaped into her eyes to die
out as suddenly; she remembered Hennessey’s
proposition of the midnight visit to the tomb.
There was a sharp rap on the door.
‘In a moment;’ she called out. then she went up
to him.
‘Is this your final decision?’she asked.
‘It is.’ he answered, standing before her with
folded arms, and looking at her with cobl, resolute
eyes.
‘Then you must bear the consequence of your
choice,’she said. ‘You have chosen a prison cell
—or worse. I would have risked myself to save
you, if you had accepted what men of prouder sta
tion have sued for. I leave you to your fate.’
Sbe gathered up the dark mass of her hair, re-
placeu the fallen hat and stood ready to smile gra
ciously on the turnkey, who opened the door at her
signal.
‘ Was your visit successful, madam?’ asked that
functionary as he respectfully conducted her out of
the old building.
T am sorry to say it was not. He resolutely
refuses to confess, or to see a minister.’
‘He is given up to harduess of heart.’ said the jail
or. ‘The trial will go hard with him. Public feel
ing is mightily against him. The old man, his fath
er, was only too kind to him it is said, and for the
son to quarrel with him and kill him because he
didn’t will his property to suit his notions was just
too dreadful. I’m afraid they’ll make it hanging,
msati.’
Sue made no answer. She turned from the jail,
and, when the town was passed, she urged her horse
to a swift gallop to get the relief of rapid motion.
Into what a labyrinth of sin, from which there
seemed no escape, had she plunged herself by that
step of blind folly! She, who, through all the dif
ficulties and misery of her life had not been betray
ed before into guilt. But the seeds of it were in
her—the seeds of passsion that would not be con
trolled. They cropped out in that mad fancy for
the son of the old man whom she had married. Up
on his admiration for her beauty, her music and
the charm of her society, her vanity had built false
hopes, that were dashed to the ground when she
saw the way he met the impulsive betrayal of her
feelings. His astounded, pained look, his few with
ering words, they were a greater blow than she
had ever received.
It was their rankling smart which had made her
accuse the son to his father that unhappy day,
more than her fear of the consequences that might
follow, should Ralph’s exposure of her relation to
the priest be believed by her husband. It was the
sting of his scorn and the impulse of revenge that
prompted her to cry out that he had struck his
father down, when the servants and others rushed
into the loom at the sound of the fail and saw the
old man lifeless on the floor. And the priest had
tremblingly corroborated her words. He was un ler
her influence, as he had been from the first time be
knew her, and he could not falsify her statement.
And to her surprise, Hennessey had come forward
and testified as she did. She did not know he was
a witness of the catastrophe. She thought he had
rushed in with the others, but he had come in be
fore—in time to see the old man strike the son,
though he did not know the cause of the quarrel.
He had his reasons for swearing as he did: he asked
his price. He had lieen the chief suggester of all
the wrong that followed. . id his strong nerve had
helped to carry it through. Of a part of it, the
priest was innocent. He had lent himself to par
ticipation in the forgery of the will with reluc
tance that with difficulty was overborne by the
woman he loved, and the man whose coarse
strength of will paralyzed his feeble power of resis
tance. But his sensitive though weak conscience
stung him continually with remorse and dread,
and he found no relief except in the society of
Reine Medway. Sitting by her, looking at her,
holding her hand and being alternately chided and
soothed by her was all the happiness, known to
this being, who with the keen moral sense of a
religionist,the learning of a scholar, and the tem
perament of a poet, had the weakness, the timidity
and want of purpose of the veriest child, and held
to but one thing steadfastly through his life—his
love for the woman that had enslaved his senses in
his early youth, and had made herself his fate
through the controlling {ind shapjqg influence of
self; snmmoD np all your fortitude and ohris-
tian resignation.'
‘Great heavens ! what is it ?’
‘Be composed, Mariar,' all cried; ‘be com
posed !'
•But what is it?'
‘A telegram, my love.'
Mrs. L. seized it. She was assisted to her
glasses, and then to open the fatal envelope; for
her poor bands shook so she could scarcely use
them. bhe glanced at the message, saw “sex
ton and “church,” and screaming out ‘Zebe-
diah is dead !' fell in a dead faint.
She was assisted to bed, and all sorts of Dasty
smells put under her nose. They always no
that. "If there is a bottled stink bandv about
the house, said old Bogan once, ‘it is clapped
under a woman's nose when she faints or has
lii.8. The doctor ol the settlement was summon
ed, and the neighbors gathered in.
I he first thing the doctor did was to pour
down Mrs. L s throat some old Rye disguised
under a Latin name. The consequence was that
she went from the faint into a fit of hysterics.
The second move of the old bald-headed, med
icated son of man was to pick up the telegram
and read it. The fatal message said:
‘Mrs. Ledger, tell the sexton to open and air
the damned old church. z Ledger ’
The operator had rendered damp into damned,
and the man of pills, not knowing this, gave it
as his opinion that Mr. Ledger could not be
dead, as his name was to the telegram; but he
certainly must be drunk to send such a profane
message to his wife.
The emotions of the family passed from grief
to indignation, and when poor Mr. Ledger
reached home that night he was sat upon, and
refused any explanation for having first nearly
frightened them to death, and then disgracing
them in the eyes of the world by his intoxicated
conduct.
Mrs, Joblink’s New Bonnet.
How She Wore it at the Theatre and the Effect it
Produced.
a private marriage; but our secret became known,
and he was fairly crushed with the anger of his pa
rents. They were for turning us out of their home
at first, but more politic counsel prevailed. They
made secret overtures to me; and it en<led in my
going away South and leaving my husband no clue
to where I was. It was best so, I thought. He was
too frail to work, he was sensitive, delicately rear
ed, unfit to be thrown upon the world. I would
only bring poverty and misery upon him if I stay
ed; if I went, I was promised money to support me
and my boy for a time and to help me cultivate the
musical talent I possessed. I came to New Orleans
and devoted myself to study. I was dreaming of
triumph on the lyrical stage, when a suiden fever
prostrated my strength. A month before this I had
received knowledge through a marked paragraph
in a newspaper sent to me, of the death of my ^hus
band. He had died, so it was stated, of consump
tion. When the fever quit its hold I went to the
Sulphur Springs in Virginia to recover my lost
strength and energy. There I met your father,
and wear} and despondent, I yielded to the temp
tation to find rest from care and anxiety by mar
rying him. But even in the shades of his isolated
home, my fate found ine. Solitude and rural qu el
could not kill the passions whose poisonous seeds
were planted in my being at ,ts birth. For the
first time in my life I but f will not speak of
that any more. Turn yourscornful eves away from
me. You can never understand my heait.
Another thing befell me. One day I came face to
face with the man I had married; 1 he man I thought
dead. The notice of his death hud been false: at
least it referred to a relative of the same name and
was so worded as to deceive me and sent marked for
that purpose. In an almost similar way, be had
been deceived about me. The meeting between us
was not accidental; he had followed me here. H"
had found out ihe trick practiced upon,him but not
until he had taken holy orders aid become a pries .
I had no dream of ihe hold I ban upon him until
then. If he was weak in some things, it was not in
his infatuation for me. I could not keep him away
from me; he claimed that I was his wife in spite of
all, and he pleaded with me to go with him. You
overheard’ him and mistook the relation between
us.’
‘Why did you not. confess that relation to my
father? It would have spared all that sin and ag
ony ’
‘Why did I not? Why do we not alwaysdowhat
is right? Why does evil always present itself—al
ways coil itself round our wills? Why did I put
the climax'T-f sipful madness on my life by loving
your
‘That maoTiVs is past; why do you speak of it?’
‘I must sp-axof it It is not past. It is what
brings me Here t. > try and save you—to urge you to
escape. You shall not go alone.’
‘I will not st-al away like a felon. I do not care
for life with di-boti r. 1 am sick of it. I would
not lift a finger to save such a life ’
‘But if 1 remove the dishonor; if I testify that
you did not strike your father, will you then ac
cept my love? Do not answer me yet. Remem
ber, I can give you liberty, life, remove the stigma
from your name; remember that I have money, and
that is yours, it you will accept my love—a love I
cannot stifle—that, all your scorn has not killed.
Look at me? Am I not fair? Men’s eyes tell me so
wherever I go; yours have said so. Few women
can love as I can. Ye- 1 never had loved till I met
you. Do you believe it? Look in my face and
see it there.’
Pale to the parted lips, that face between its dark
streams of loosened hair. Pale as white flame, and
as intense with that whte glow over brow and
cheek and tha wistful, subtle light in the eyes. She
looked the spirit of pas-ion.
The blood rushed to his head, he caught his breath
quickly, then he fcurrii dly withdrew his eyes from
her face and his hand from those white finger tips
that touched it pleadingly.
He looked at her agaiu at length; his gray eyes
stern and sad under their heavy brows, their long,
pathetic lashes,
‘And you,’he said, ‘who have ruined my life, you
offer (fits as compensation. You will temant its
broken hopes with a love (you call it such) bora of
dishonor. Were you created without a moral in
stinct, as some beautiful women have been before
you? Neither that beauty of yours nor your mon
ey could make me buy safety at the price you ask.
It was pitiable to see his face, as Sue passed him
with hardly a glance, and went on so shut herself
in her room. She could not talk to him now; it
would irritate her to madness. His large, melan
choly eyes turned to her appealingly. He had felt
through his sympathy with her moods of late, that
difficulty and trouble were thickening around her.
His own nights were sleepless through his conscience
operating with reproaches and fears upon his
sensitive religious instinct and his morbid imagina
tion. And she, whose kindness made his only
balm, had hardly seemed to endure his presence of
late. Just now she had scarcely seemed to see him
aud he was longing ao for the comfort there was in
the touch of her hand. He sat with bowed head
upon the door step, and his quivering hal.'-iob-
bing sigh reached Hennessey’s oar where he leaned
against a post thinking over the situation and glow
ing with anticipated success.
‘The fool !’sneered the red faced giant. ‘If he does
boggle and slammer in the evidence tomorrow I’ll
break every bone in his flabby body. I’ll give him
a hint of tnat. He never can keep to a thing-straight,
always turning here and there, even when she
holds the reins. He does’nt know what he wants
10 do.
Hennessey knew what he wanted to do, and he
meant to do it too. He was tired of waiting and
shilly shallying. The game seemed to lie clearing
up now, the cards playing straight info his hand.
The obstacle that hud kept them at Ivy Hall was
out of the way. Ralph would soon be convicted and
Mrs. Medway had promised he should wait no
longer. He would not wait any longer, he was
determined on that. He wanted his price—herself
and the monej" she inherited through that will. He
would marry her next week, sell the old Hall draw
the balance of the money from the bank,go to some
place, where Hennessey the overseer hud never
been heard of, and play the gentleman in grand
style. So he decided as he leaned against the porch,
watching the priest with a sneer on his lip, while
he picked his strong yellow teeth.
(To be continued.)
That Telegram -What a Stir It Made in a Quiet
Family.
Mr. Ledger is a merchant of fifty years stand
ing, and for tbe last twenty years has been the
resident of a suburban settlement of gentlemen
who attend to business in the city, and run out
on tbe railroad some fifteen miles to roost.
Not long since, Mr. Z bediah, a deacon of the 1
chmch, after arriving at h s counting-room, re
membered that it was Saturday, and that be bad
negb cted to order the sexton to open and air the
church where he presided as deaoon. To reme
dy this neglect he telegraphed to Mrs. L. to tell
.he sexton to open the damp old ohnrch to air.
In due time tbe telegram reached the elegant
rural residence of the Ledgers, Mrs.L was in
dulging in her afternoon nap. Bat one telegram
had tv -r before reached that mansion, and that
brought, the startling intelligence of the death
of Mr. Ledger s father at the hopeful age of
i-ighty-four, and was ever to be rememberei, for
it brought to Mr. Ls bou-e his aged mother-in-
law, and two spinster s s‘e s-in-L. and an or
phan girl. This collection of‘sisters,cousins and
aunts' was, of conrse, startled by a death telling
message as the said s. s. o s and a.’s regarded it.
A solemn deliberation in whispered debate, with
! a'e faces, was bad, and, after dismissing this
telegraph boy and recalling him three several
times, to put him through a cross examination
on wbat he knew nothing about, it was resolved
to awaken the unhappy wife.
To this end the family filed in and formed a
hollow square about tbe couch of the sleeping
beauty—we beg pardon, the bereaved wife. Mr,
L. weighed two hundred if an ounce, and when
she sleeps she turns all her mind and body to
it. The first troubled shake prodnoed only a
snort. The second stopped the snorting. The
third, more vigorous, made the good lady open
her eyes and gaze wondetingly about her.
‘Mariar,’ aaid the aged mother, .prepare your
“How does it look?" demanded Mr. Joblink
last evening as she took a last glance over her
shoulder at the mirror before leaving for the
theatre. “It” meant the new bonnet, and Mr
Joblink, concealing his real feelings, replied
like a dutiful husband, “Splendid, my dear ”
The wind blew and the soul of Mrs Joblink
t0 u m fr i? ht ’ T a L n , d u hey 8to PP ed on the street
while Mr. Joblink carefully tied his handker
chief over the bonnet for the protection of the
Mirabeau feather, the Afghanistan bangle and
the Zulu bow. Before reaching the theatre a
place in deep shadow gave opportunity to re
move the handkerchief, and with one last care
ful feel to ascertain “if it set straight,” and an
anxious touch of her Montague curls, Mrs. Job-
link sailed torth into the opera house with head
erect and eyes vacant wtih a preoccupied stare
absurd under the circumstances. If the new
bonnet had been a tray of ohina dishes Mrs.
Joblink could not have been more conscious of
it nor held her head more steadily. Despite
that fixed stare of preoccupation Mrs. Joblink
was deliciously aware of the triumphant fact
that every female eye and lorgnette in the house
was fixed critically, contemptuously, angrily
admiringly or enviously upon that towering
twenty dollars’worth of trash on her summit
When sufficient time had been given tor the fe
male population to take it all in, the lady re
covered from her preoccupation, and suddenly
descending into a lightsome mood, bent the
bonnet toward Mr. Joblink and engaged that
secretly annoyed gentleman ii gay and fashion
able conversation, using her eyes for side ob
servation to discover the various tempers into
which the honnat. had link ,lh« two hundred
Pioking out those wS
showed fight Mrs. J. leveled her glasses and in
the most prolonged and insulting manner in
the world, surveyed the disgraceful head-
dresses of the eneruy. In the meantime tbe
play had began, and a nervous little man in
the seat behind began to swear under his
breath, for owing to the sudden descending
darts ef the bonnet toward Mr. J., the view of
the stage was frequently cutoff at the moat ex
cited moments ol the drama. The nervous lit
tle man said dammit, in a peevish tone, a little
too loud on one of the-e occasions, and the lady
turned and stared at him, and Mr. Joblink
turned and scowled threateningly at him. At
the close of the play Mrs. Joblink exchanged
glances of lofty scorn with several hostile ladies
in the vicinity, and ascertaing by sense of touch
and questioning her husband that it “set
straight," she stalked out magnificently on Job-
link s arm. That gentleman was much im
pressed by the play, and tLought silently over
it half the way home. Mrs. Joblink was also
occupied witti thought. Presently Mr. Joblink
said in a tone of warm approval:
“It held the attention ol the audience
throughout, didn’t it?”
“Yes, indeed,” simpered the lady, “there
wasn't one of them could keep their eves off’it
for five minutes ”
“It was magnificent,” cried Mr. Joblink.
“Gracious ! 1 didn t know you admired it so
much, Joblink. You see, though, if that hate
ful Mrs. Blinkenberry doesn’t go and get one
just like it.”
“Like what?” asked the foolish Joblink.
“Why, like mine.” replied the lady.
“Like your what ?”
“Like my bonnet, of course, you stupid
thing."
The strong man pulled out his handkerchief
and blew his nose.
In the “New Dundreary” that has been written
for Mr. Sothem, some very funny effects are
wrought out by giving Brother Sam and Lord Dun
dreary an opportunity to play their own version of
Hamlet.
And now the report is current that Arthur Sulli
van has again postponed his American tour until
next winter, on account of business in London. If
he postpones his trip much longer “Pinafore” may
be forgotten before his arrival.
On Monday of last week, the fascinating Lizzie
Webster, of the Evangeline Combination, became
Airs. Jacob Munnemacher, at the Westminster Ho
tel, New York. The husband is a Milwaukee mil
lionaire, and insists upon it that his bride shall
leave the stage.
Emma Vaders, who was so badly injured by fall
ing through an open trap on the stage of the Opera
House Louisville, Ky„ while playing with the Jane
Coombs party recently, intends bringing suit
against the owners of the building for damages.
In “Ruy Bias” Sarah Bernhardt wears a dress
costmg ll,4°o A leading Paris dressmaker says
that is delightful to make dresses for her as -he
never asks the price of anything she proposes to
Correspondent’TColumn.
W, .«two vo„„g l„ dies , df , M „ g , liMled
ber of gentlemen correspondents between the ages
of twenty-five and thirty-five ni,,'. h ®
to while away the summer hours ^o’ ZTT*
from Atlanta, Macon or Griffin need apply 6 ’ ^ **
Pansy is blue-eyed, and golden haired
Daisy has brown eyes, and.golden hair.
Addreos Pansy’ or ‘Daisy,’ Sunnt South office