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rcr FlOWERS COLlfCTIOi
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VOL. V. J. H. & W B. SEALS,} gggg&Sg ATLANTA, GA., AUGUST 23, 1879.
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No. 215.
ROMEO AM) JULIET.
Graceful as the willow bough,
Beauty traced upon her brow.
Artless in her open truth,
Lovely in her budding youth.
True and,tender, lair and young.
Such the Juliet Shakespeare sung.
Every winning charm combined,
Loveliness of form and mind;
On her cheeks the rose's dyes—
Darkly glowed her starry eyes,
Every soft, bewitching gia;e
Met and mingled in her face.
Need we we wonder, Borneo,
At the love thy glances show,
Kosaliue remembered not?
All thy enmity forgot?
Is she not a Capulet?
Ah.butslieis Juliet!
Though an enemy, slieseeins
All the f .irer to his dreams;
Brighter blooms the blushing rose
That in thorny thicket grows.
What is his ancestral hate
To his love, his life, his fate?
Love recks not what may befall,
Cupid laughs at locks and wall.
All in vain the friar warned,
Romeo, his counsels.seorued,
And in Friar Laurence's cell.
Weds the maid he loved so well.
Old and sad the story grows
Of the lovers, erstwhile foes.
At the tale of hapless love
Youthful hearts to pity move,
Mourn the touching fate they met—
Romeo and his Juliet.
Macon, Ga.
DIES IRaffl.
OR
Under the Stars and Burs.
HH BOWED TO C8, SAVING, “YOTNG LADIES, LET N'E ANNOLNBE AN ARRIVAL,"
BY CEI.ESTE II ETC HISS BARKSDALE.
CHAPTER I.
Tramp, tramp, tramp! I look up from the crim
son dress, which I am making for Ellie, my
youngest sister. She does not heed me, but con
tinues walking to and fro,up and down the room. I
settle myself comfortably in my easy chair and fix
my eyes upon a copy of‘Nicholas Tulp,’ study it
awhile. ... ,, ....
Nicholas may understand dissecting the body but
he affords me no solution to the mental trouble just
now affecting Eve. Nicholas and I are great friends
but he wearies me this morning, so I turn my at
tention to the sad and ineffably lovely face of
Dante’s Beatrice as conceived by Alston. She
gazes sympathizingly from out her gilt and ebony
frame at the girl pacing before her.
It is getting somewhat monotonous to sit ana
stare at Eve, and Nicholas and Beatrice. I cough
slightly to attract attention. The flower-like face
is not raised, the beautiful grey eyes do not cease to
watch the intricate mass of flowers on the carpet,
the"vermilion lips do not smile as is their wont. Red
as a rose is she’ generally, but this morning ltllies
outvie roses oil her polished cheeks.
All this I take in at a glance, and I revert to the
unsvmpathizing face of Nicholas. My eyes rove
to Laudsuer’s 'Chief Mourner.’ I am not thinking
of art or artists, but I continue to Iook around the
room seeking something to divert my attention
from the painfully monotonous tramp, tramp, and
the tall, slender girl, carrying herself with peculiar
grace across the room.
It is a pleasant room, divided from another by
a low, gilded arch, adorned with flowering con
volvulus and airv white muslin and lace curtains,
drooped at present, hiding the interior from
view, looped usually with blue ribbons. A net woik
of blue convolvulus and delicate green leaves up
on gray form the carpet; a Steinway piano near
tlie bay window, which is redolent with the per
fume of opening violets, roses, lillies and _ hya
cinths. As I sit lazily in my comfortable chair be-
lore tlie glowing oak lire, their fragrant breath
comes to me, the winter’s flower-children, m com
pensation for the outward cold and snow.
Pictures dot the walls. Busts of Beethoven and
Mozart stand upon brackets over the piano. Busts
of Schiller and Goethe smile at each other across
the lapsis lazuli inlaid table, holding handsomely
bound copies of 'Maid of Orleans,’ and Faust.
Heine looks triumphantly from out his oval
casing upon his wonderful and awful ‘Book of Laz
arus,’and ‘Das Buch der Lieder.’ This Teutonic
Voltaire is the vis-a-vis of the greatest of poets, By
ron; Poor, derided Keats and De Musset outvie each
other for the most melancholy face. Shelly, the
(Quixotic, the admirer of Keats, looks pleasantly at
his friend.
We have no ‘Last Suppers,’ no ‘Ascensions,’ no
‘Infant Christs.’ Father believes it an unpardona
ble sin for mortal bands to fashion a likeness of
Christ. Instead, we have bits of glowing land
scapes of peaceful lakes, ruined towers, deserted
castles, moonlighted deserts,stormy seas, barren is-
Eve seats herself at the open piano, and begins
one of those tear-laden pieces. I turn my head
slightly that I mav see the perfect contour of her
face clearly defined by the blue and white muslin
curtains Two Bohemian vases stand on either side
of the piano, their fragrant blue violets and white
hyacinths nod at each other at every sound of the
instrument. Not a muscle of Eve’s face changes
until the last chord is struck, and she buries her
face in her hands and sobs aloud. I have not ex
pected this outburst, and I sit m dumb astomsh-
nl 'p,o well I know the cause of those tears. I long,
vet dread to break the silence Rising, I leave the
room softly. Passing along the wainscotted hall, I
lesurely examine the portraits of my relations,
the last of which, had been added only a few days
a Co, and is our only brother, John. ...
We are very proud of John. He is a manly fel
low of two and thirty, with a handsome prepos
sessing face, sound, well cultivated mtellect Seven
years abroad, and constant friction against the great
minds, with a keen appreciation of the true, good
and beautiful. He is our encyclopec.ia^ He is placed
upona pedestal, raised in our loving hearts to the
highest nlace in our household, and worshipped ac-
c&X ^ Our ^ay-haired father, himself a well
informed and cultivated man, bows to him. Our
gentle, sweet-faced mother has broken her alabas
ter box of precious ointment to pour on his feet. I,
Helen Ross, his eldest sister, bow daily before him
as my Delphian oracle. Barbara, our second sister.
• ~-j ...» I-—- —*—
Eve, otvL youngest, less reverential by nature as
uame, looks upon him after an absence of seven
years, is quite an addition to our family circle. In
the hatfl meet mother.
‘Where is Eve, Helen? Bert has sent to ask if
she will go sleighing with him.’
‘In tlie parlor. Shall I tell her? I hardly think
it worth while however.’
I go to the parlor. Eve has dried her tears, com
posed her features, and stands over the flower pots
in the bay window, inhaling odors that rival those
that are wafted over Sicilian meadows.
‘Eve,’ I say, as I come to her, ‘Bert wishes to
know if you will go ’
‘No,’ she replies shortly.
‘Why not? Only yesterday you were wishing to
go.’
‘Oh, Helen, you weary me! You pursue me as
relentlessly as the Eumenides did Orestes,’ she says
pettishly.
‘Pray,’ I cry warmly, ‘what possesses you to
liken yourself to that crime-dyed individual? Do
you follow his illustrious example? Do you sacri
fice your mother’s heart upon the altar of self-love?
Who is the accompanying Pylades?’
She bends lower over her flowers. They are not
lovelier than her flower-like face.
‘Eve,’ I say, after a pause, ‘do not give way to
such sickly sentime italities! It is deleterious to
the mind, to the heart, to the soul. If you have a
cross, and I doubt it not,bear it bravely. Crucify self
love; let filial duty be the brightest gem which will
one day adorn your crown. Remember what Ep-
icterus has said: ‘Man is but a pilot; observe the
star, hold the rudder, and be not distracted on the
way.’ It is you, my dear child, who must pilot
your barque through the breakers of temptation: it
is you who must hold the rudder with a strong un
wavering hand: it is you who must fix your eyes
upon the star which shines from afar, like the star
of the East, to guide you into the haven of Rest. If
your shallow barque is engulfed in the seething
waves of temptation, if the rudder falls from nerve
less hands, if the beams of the star come not
through mists of irresolution, you alone will be
censured for the wreck.’
Lower and lower bends the pretty head with its
mass of brown hair as I proceed, and the heart of
the purple violet nearest me bears a burden that is
not heaven’s dew. I turn away, to tell mother that
Eve has declined Bert's invitation.
Scarcelv has the servant disappeared down the
snow-covered street, than a crimson clad figure
comes flitting up to the gate.
‘Good morning, Miss Helen,’calls a clear, sweet
voice. ,
The little figure comes from under the shadowy
arch made by the overlapping deodars’ heavily la
den branches. They are thickly powdered with
snow, and adorned with pointed, glittering icicles,
sparkling and flashing where an adventurous stray
sunbeam pierces the white and green screen and
falls upon it. It is a vivacious, childish face of a
girl of seventeen, f ramed in a hood of crimson, with
large, glowing brown eyes, daintily-shaped crim
son lips, a nose inclined to be retrousse, adding
piquancy to the dark face, a full brow, shaded by
dark brown curls, arched eyebrows, like an evenly
penciled line.
‘Is it not delightful weather?’ she asks, as I return
her salutation.
* Wo have had heavy snowing,’ I return, drawing
her into the hall, and looking into the face that
would do for an Atalanta.
•Is Eve going?’ she asks, abruptly.
‘I believe not,’ I answer.
‘Good morning, Penelope,’ Barbara says, sailing
toward us, magnificent in black silk and jet orna
ments.
Pen takes Barbara’s greeting calmly, answers her
profuse questions concerning her mother's health,
the state of the weather, her latest magazines and
novels, and asks for Eve. Penlope and Eve have
been friends until a year ago.
‘It is the little rift within the lute,
That by and by will make the music mute.’
and Eve’s indifference toward Bert was the little
rift that first severed them. I lead Pen into the
parlor. Eve is standing before the fire, her brown
head laid upon the mantlepiece.
‘How fragrant!’ Penelope exclaims. ‘It is like a
breath from some flower-covered Florida field.
Eve turns her head listlessly as we enter, greets
Penelope kindly.
‘These,’ Pen points to a slender azure colored
vase, bearing a solitary double camellia, and edged
with purple hyacinths, while over the scalloped
border of the vase double white violets peep, nest
ling upon a downy green bed >f apple geranium
leaves, ‘remind me of some flowers Bert brought
kissed me, cause I sembled Eve.’
Eve crimsones, turns her face resolutely away;
And highl y appreciated.
Bert’s pictures come yet, Pen?’
‘Some of them. One is equal to your friend
Nicholas for ugliness.
‘How does your mother withstand the fever of
the day?’ I ask in a low tone.
‘As all the rest of us do. She is it constant fear
lest Bert be ordered off to war,’ Penreplies.
War!’ Eve starts up. ‘Did you siy war, Pen?’
‘You know that glorious little state, South Caro
lina, seceded in Decemlier, and sill maintains her
determination to come out from the pseudo union.
Brave little state! The first to issert her rights, to
throw off the galling bondage.’
‘But, Pen ’
‘Remember, please, how theynave intruded upon
us ! Remember that outrage ol the South, on hu
mankind, on God who made Jam’s descendants
our slaves, in that very trutfnl ‘•Uncle Tom's
Cabin !’ It is a slanderous, mlicious representa
tion of our conduct toward thee who are depend
ent upon us. No one wishes ore heartily than I
do that ever}* negro was safe upon the burning
sands of Africa, but I will n< relinquish my in
heritance because a pack of sgry fanatics howl
day and night.’
In the middle of this speech trbara sails majes
tically into the room, waves hehand and asks;
‘Have you heard of Mr, Jerae's speech, Penel
ope?’
‘I heard it,’ the girl answers
‘ IFus it what Mrs. Newman as represented it to
mama ?’
That depends upon how she^presented it.’
... ‘Was it much of a—an—glancing apprehen
sively at Eve -
‘It was an abolitionist's fiatical raving over
tlie servitude of the negroes, e publicly avowed
his intention of urging on ffar in order to set
them free. By the by, Miss Jen. he was partic
ularly severe upon your fath. He was discreet
enough to call no names, biit was palpable to
every one.’
‘Did papa hear him V Eveioks up as she asks
this; her face is very white,
‘He was not there. I must) now as I have an
engagement. Miss Helen, 111a told me to ask
you to come this evening, if tsible;’ she bent her
pretty head to kiss me, andith a word at the
others ran out of the room.
‘Why didn’t you go with rt, Eve ?’ Barbara
asks, settling the head of tljet asp around her
plump arm where the diamc eyes will attract
the most attention.
‘I detest Albert Revere !’ o Eve, vehemently.
‘Why, Eve,’I say ‘you hathanged much since
last winter. Then you thou; Bert’s brown eyes,
brown hair and mustache, Gk features, tall fig- ‘
ure the handsomest ever seeiHe has not changed
one particle: just the same hsome, goodnatured
Bert.’
‘He has changed ! He iery disagreeable !
Uncouth—’
‘Uncouth !’ Barbara and I in concert.
‘You are mistaken, dear, ’ utinue, with sever
ity. ‘To the contrary he i98 of the most pol
ished and intelligent mem have. You see
through distorted lenses w you look at him.
Il'hy he should change so nrially in your eyes
and opinion is, of course, oa matter of conjec
ture to us. You must remer that you cannot
assail him with impunity be us, for we like
him as much as you detest F
Mother coming in quiets and I resume my
sewing: Eve leans her headinsther pink palms
staring in the fire: Barbargusts and readjusts
her bracelets and headdressther knits upon the
lflnih’e wool cfrinl-inor intpnfnr thft I’Fflo T
littlegips}* peeped into Eve's averted face
saucily. Unable to bear the laughter we give vent
to, Eve hastily leaves the room. Mother's face
clouds, and she looks with wistful, compassionate
eyes after the girl.
‘I cannot see,’I say, ‘what induces Eve to be so
foolish. Last year, though not her declared lover,
Bert was par exellence; now she barely tolerates
him,’
“Woman’s perversity,’ Barbara says senten-
tiously.
CHAPTER II.
Am 1 mad that I should cherish that which bears
but bitterfruit?
I will pluck it from my bosom though my heart be
at the root.
To-day (March 5th, 1S61) is Eve’s eighteenth
birthday, anil as usual, we have made a little festi
val for her. I superintended the arrangements of the
little oblong table set in our cosy crimson-papered
dining-room: grouping around a vase of geraniums
and hyacinths, the rich fruit cake that had I teen
•seasoning’ for the past few days, a basket of hot-
house grapes sent by Mr. Rogers, some bottles of
Oid Sherry wine, ail artistic Charlotte russe (my
own composition) and some superb oranges
and pineapples. Bert and Penelope had been in
vited, and Mr. Rogers—a beau of Barbara’s—1
guessed that another would come to do honor to
our lovely sister's birthday, though he had re
ceived no invitation from us, and was by no means
sure of a welcome except from her. Eve was si
lent on the subject, but I thought spitefully as I
watched her dressing, that it was for the sake of
this Yankee lover that she made such a caref jl toi
let- She looked lovely in her dress of moonlight
blue silk made with cuirass basque and train, with
pearl ornaments in her delicate ears and at her
throat.
Sue came to mein the parlor after she was
dressed. I was standing before a portrait of my
father s youngest sister—the beautiful Evangeline
after whom Eve;was named. The picture bore a
strong resemblance to my sister, and as I looked at
it. I wondered if Eve’s future would be like hers of
the portrait—unhappy, broken-hearted wife who
had early found peace in the grave. It was while
I was thus thinking that my sister came in. I
turned at the rustle of her dress and said:
‘Come here. Eve darling ; I was thinking how
much you resembled aunt Evangeline, and hopino-
your destiny might never be like hers. She mar
clouded, but he only kissed her again in silence.
The twilight falls and finds us all assembled in
the warmed and lighted drawing-room. At John's
request Eve sits playing at the piano. There is a
little stir in tlie hall, and Penelope glides to my
side. She shakes her head to command silence,
and noints toward Bert. He stands in the door
way, totally oblivious of everything save Eve,
whom he watched silently, while into his grave
brown eyes, sweeps a tide of passionate longing
and love. His handsome head is leaned carelessly
against the walnut facing, his whole attitude show
ing entire forgetfulness of every one save that fig
ure at the piano, over which tlie rose-colored light
from the globed chandelier throws its witching ra
diance.
With an instinctive love of the beautiful in his
tender, chivalrous heart, an artist's eye for coloi
and effect, he notes each detail in the lovely tab
leau before him. With a face like a pure Madon
na, she sits, gazing at the marble bust of Beetho
ven. As she ceases he advances to her side. She
greets him coldly and resumes her seat beside fa
ther, Bert sighs as he sits down beside me. Bar
bara goes to the piano and plays innumerable va
riations and waltzes until Mr. Jerome and Charley
Rogers are announced, then she condescends ti
chat with Mr. Rogers, who is a slave to her wid
owed charms.
Eve is coaxed into the bay window by Mr. Je
rome. Pen chats with father: John sits toying with
some geranium leaves Pen has given him: I talk to
Bert, who replies in monosyllables, watching anx
iously the bay window. Pen turns to John in her
quick, graceful way, saying:
‘As you are just from" Richmond you can tell us
the news. What are they doing ? What are the}
going to do ?’
‘He hope to preserve the Union at any cost, ’ he
replies, crushing the fragrant leaves between hi-
hands.
‘At any cost !’ cries the girl, scornfully. ‘Aye.
with the sacrifice of valor, of patriotism, of liberty
God forbid ! Do you, can you, one of Virginia’s
sons, say that ? ‘At any cost !’ ll’iH you let the
rabble, the horde of barbarians, the modern Goths
and Huns, sweep down upon you as a hawk upon
his legitimate prey ?’
I had never thought Penelope beautiful until she
stands liefore John now, her crimson lips parted
over the even, white teeth, her luminous brown
eyes flashing with excitement, the bright blood liv
ing her polished cheeks. So must have looked Jean
D’Arc as she stood before her weak, irresolute king.
fi'wn are of different mnlfWal from others
another man than John would have She warm
blood leaping in his veins at t’ sight'of the be
witching face bent above him, Ud not conceal
the admiration in his eyes for the s .aceful prettib-
outlined figure. Not so with John; he barely re
represses the smile hovering under his heavv mus
tache as he says:
‘The Union must be preserved at any cost. Miss
Pen. \irginia is now wavering, irresolute, wheth
er to join her sister states who have seceded or tr
remain in the Union. As she goes, I go. for’l will
never take up arms against mv native state ’
‘How coldly you talk !’ she" excla-ms. ‘if upon
you, John Ross, depended the safetv of the South
she would be to the North what Poland is to Rus
sia, what Ireland is to England, what Cuba is to
Spain.’
Penelope, \ ou must not attack John in this man
ner, Bert sa\ s.
‘And you, Bert ? Are you thus cold
swiftly upon her brother.
‘My dear little sister,’rising and encircling her
in his arms,‘you must not permit Impulse.to canter
away with Reason. You forget that you are not
talking to mother and vour most humble servant
and brother.’
'Leave Pen to me, Bert.' I sav, rising and laving
my hand on his arm. ‘Let her speak. It does
one good to hear some < >ne express their real opinion.'
l \\ hat’s that, Helen ?' questions father,
‘l fear it would be sentiments not altogether loy
al, father,' with an exoressive glance at the bav
window.
‘It is politics all the time,
‘I am so tired of it.'
‘Perhaps you would be more pleased, Mrs. Crof-
ton. if we would discuss fast.ion,’ cries Pen with
that intense disdain of a girl of her ideas for a less
enthusiastic woman. -Ere long the word fashion
will be looked upon as obsolete.'
Pray, Miss Pen, has Apollo bestowed upon vou
the gift of prophecy ?' asked John, teasingly.
‘Y es; and like Cassandra has denied me believers."
the girl replies, mournfully, looking at him searcli-
ingly, as if to note the effect of her words.
‘Don’t prophecy anything evil,’ calls Mr. Jerome,
showing his florid face.
‘If my prophecies would come true, rest assured.
I would spend my latest breath against your native
state, and dying, like Author, would remember mv
sweet Argos,—my Virginia.’
‘Aon tali aujcilio nee defensoribus istis
Temjms eyet.—’ ’’
John quotes, laughingly.
‘Let us be friends, Miss Revere, until the hostili-
turning
pipes forth Barbara.
ried against her father's will y ou know, and a curse | ties you anticipate commence,’ Mr. Jerome savs.
followed the union as it always does a marriage un- I advancing and offering his hand,
sanctioned by a parent’s blessing.’
She half recoiled from my embracing arm as I
lamb’s wool stocking intenfor the little feet I
hear pattering on the stair
This is our Puck, our mevous Robin Good-
fellow, who turns every thiipsy-tr.rvv with bu
sy, dimpled fingers all day, A baby face, set
with astonished, baby blue, two rose-bud lips,
little pug nose, dimpled reeeks, frowsy yellow
hair, comes peeping in.
‘Where have you been, P’ I ask as she comes
to me.
‘To see Oberon,’she ansi, smiling saucily.
‘How is Titania ?’ I saw we have learned
her this.
‘Her was in love with: Bottom,’ the child
says promptly, looking kigly over at Eve.
‘Where have you beeiie V Barbara asks,
seized with one of her ns of motherly solici
tude, drawing the little bad figure to her.
‘Talking to Bert. See 1 ved me this ring and
uttered these words, significantly.
;Parents often oppose without judgment,’ she
said at last. ‘They act from fanatical prejudice
as; in the case that is; in your mind now, Helen!
IV hy do you ail detest Jerome? Only because he
happened to be born in the Northern part of your
own country—of a union of States that has never
been dissolved, that never will be, and that are at
variance only in the minds of a a few agitators. If
the parents of my poor aunt yonder (pointing to
the portrait) had as little cause for opposing
She was interrupted by the sudden entrance of
our father. There was a flurry in his manner and
a look of elation in his face. He bowed to us with
joyous playfulness and said:
1 \ OUn ^ * a, ^ es i id me announce an arrival. Your
brother John has just come from Richmond. He
brings great news. War between the North and
South is every moment expected to begin. Ala
bama Georgia, Florida and Mississippi have foi-
Union ’ example of Carolina and seceded from the
^ ejssped my hands with an involuntary cry of
exultation—so fascinating in those days was the
dream of treedom from Northern interference anil
a government all our own. But my sister clutched
my arm convulsively and she grew deadly whit.e
At last she murmured.
^ holds out, and if Virginia does not I
secede, the Union is safe and there will be no war.’
lhe uext moment John came into the room, with
Elbe tugging at one hand, and the other arm'around
mama s waist. Barbara followed and we gathered
like satellites around this handsome, superbly
formed brother of ours, and received his affection-
ate caresses with the empressement of worshippers
When hehad kissed Eve, he put her back from
him and looked earnestly into her*changing face,
What he read there seemed to pain him, for his face
advancing and" offering I
‘Penelope says, witii cutting emphasis, drawing
away:—
‘ “Timeo Danans et dona ferentesd
‘Give us your opinion, Mr. Ross,’ Mr. Rogers
says, with that deference of manner remarkable in
the days of courtship toward the parent of his love.
Eve glided out from among her flowers, past Je
rome and Pen, Bert and me, kneeling before fatliey.
cries:—‘No. no, dear papa !’
Bert bites his mustache savagely, stoops to pick
up the half blown rose that has fallen from her
hair. Poor Bert !
‘Why not, Eve ?’ Barbara asks, as if she thought
Eve intended to deny Mr. Rogers the pleasure of
hearing her father speak.
Father declines to reply, and we feel to press the
subject will be a breach of hospitality, so the all
absorbing theme is dropped.
Later Eve unwillingly accompanies Bert to the
library. I am alrea :v there, having been sent by
John for a book, and await an opportunity to es
cape unseen to the parlor. I hear Bert’s eloquent
and tender pleading. It carries me back to a day
when a face and voice like his had power to stir the
deepest feelings of my heart—a face and voice that
have long since gone out into the great hereafter,
leaving me to battle with the desolate life before
me as best I might.
A remembrance of that long ago makes me won
der how Eve can resist that pleading voice and eag
er face. He tells her of a love that has grown with
his growth until it is a part of his lieing. Eve list
ens—nothing more—with her shapely head drooped
forward as if a burden had been laid" upon it heavi
er tlian it could bear. Lower and lower droops the
brown head, while the white fingers interlace each
other nervously. Suddenly she looks up and says,
iu a sad, tearful voice:
‘Oh, Bert. I am so sorry I can’t love you—indeed
I have tried.' She paused a moment, then: ‘Know-
all this makes it so much harder for me. I had
3E