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VOL. V. . J. H. & W R SEALS,} KS? ATLANTA GA., NOVEMBER 22nd, 1879. Terms in advance: One Year, $3.5 0 Swingle Copy C« No. 228. DEATH OF THE PRINCE IMPERIAL. BY FATHER A, J. RYAN. Waileth a woman, “Oh! my God!” A breaking heart in a broken breath— A hopeless cry o'er her heart hope's death! Can words catch the chords of the winds that wall. When love's last lily liesdead in the vale? Let her alone. Under the rod With the infinite moan Of her soul for God. AU! song! you may echo the sound of pain, But you never may shrine, In verse or llue, X'ne pang ofa heart that breaks in twain. Yaileth a woman—Oh ! my God! *Vin<l-driv' n waves with no hearts that ache. Why do your passionate pulses throb? No lips that speak—have ye souls that throb ? We carry the cross—ye wear the crest. We have our God—and ye, your shore. Whether ye rush in the storm to rest: V'e have the heavens of holy prayer,— id we have a Hope—have ye despair? ti storm-rocked waves ye break evermore, hiK n the shores and along the years, -^.whitest foam of the saddest tears, surf a’ as ye ’ 0,1: waves < “ r; T waves ! largj el a sea more d ee P and wide, j5 OJ {iave sorrow a,.d we liave death, rolie. lave only the tempest's breath, profonave God when heart oppressed, and beautiful shore of rest. was « “Lys! sad waves! how you flowed between silcnrt niess Prince and the exiled Queen ! twentr father* woman—oh! my God! nothing are witliered—her heart is cruslied couragtov’e of her love is cold and de .d, tbbm lier Joy h£ith forever fled; marrv pitiless night hath rushed Tliis wat,°f her life—and far away a prop>sal. Id lies her poor dead child, offer in mar of her heart—let her alone some man str n j er the ro d ing to heal li ( ier infinite mo in, seemed t<> he: , „ • "Yes. I wi 1 m > God! ® l ^ le " .1, pure and brave, hands -with j* brigVtest " race shall be proi K a royai ~ The first is«.buta grave, with f<>ar o. Is 6tldiil'.f a lSSL—» Ah ! ‘ wiiat'o’Ai the cruel Zutu-spear* Care for the Prince or his mother s tears . What did the Zulu's ruthless lance rare for the Hope of the future France? Crieth the Empress—“Oh! hit soul’ He was her own and her only one. She had nothing to give him but her love. ’Twas kingdom enough on earth,—Abo\ e She gave him an infinite faith in God: Let her cry her cry Over her own and only one. All the glory is gone—is gone. Into her broken-hearted sigh. Moaneth a mother—‘‘Oh! my child And who can sound that depth of woe? Homeless—throneless, crownless, now She bows her sorrow-wreathed brow— (So Fame and ail its grandeurs go) Let her alone Beneath the rod With her infinite moan, Oh! my God MY FATHER WAS DROWNED WHEN I WAS AN INFANT. ville, and came back by Duncan's Cross-Roads. . her lap. and gazed steadfastly into the fire, waiting and came very near getting lost. We stopped at ! calmly to hear the whole bitter truth. Sally Baker’s grandfather's for supper, and there j Aunt Sophy took off her spectacle.-,, and resumed was a young married couple here from New York, j the polishing process. whom George was. acquainted with, and, oh, Aunt "Well." she said, with asi, hft /must inform you Sophy, George isn t going home till Thursday, be- j that, when you first came ied? • my notice you cause Sail}* Baker’s party comes off to-morrow . were in ti e Foundling’s H As it war, not the night, von know, and he is going to stay and take Lord's will that Jason and r e auld be blesse/’Xcf me. Do you carer” She had thrown off her lir out her loose, •golden rin coaxing inquiry, out of bre ' Jcort, ” ret hi - n fci l J l lie neck, Voung Mayiqari heart to the p vals.” , The little beauty, who \ had vorite rocking-chair, and. put out feet toward the tire, flushed rosily at rlns remai k. him that she could never be his wife. In vain he tried to convince her that her notions in regard to the matter were very foolish; that t?ere was no reason in her resolution to make herself and him unhapDy for life, simply because she happened to know so little of her origin. Daisy had her own opinion concerning the question of right and wron; Aunt Sophy’s heart leaped into her throat, anil Daisy turned ashy pale. But the girl drew back with a perfectly skeptical air. "My father was drowned when I was an infant,” she said, coldly. “You mistake; at least, you shall hear my story,” and Mr. Farnsworth retained possession of her hand while he proceeded: “I am a native of England; when a young man I was a midshipman in her Majesty’s service. I married Margaret Hampton, of Hampton House, a beautiful heiress, who was disinherited by her father because she insisted on accepting my hand in marriage. A friend of mine, who had settled in Australia, and was making a fortune there, urged me to give up my sea-faring life and join him. I consented. So I commenced my last voyage on the staunch brig. Yarmouth, accompanied by my wife and child. The latter was only three months old. A storm overtook us: the Yarmouth was driven toward some rock-bound islands and wrecked. I tried to save my wife and babe. I lowered them into a boat, and was de scending by means of a rope to join them, when the frightened sailors pushed the craft from under me, and I was left dangling over the stern of the vessel. A moment latt-r I saw the wild waves capsize the boat: I saw my poor wife struggling in the stormy sea: and my senses forsook me. 1 awoke to find myself lying on the solid earth. The waves had thrown me up on the island, and my life was ! spared. I supposed everybody else on the Yar- | mouth was lost. After living "three weeks on the | island. I hailed a passing ship and went to Australia. I went into business with my friend, and got rich. I A few years ago I came to New York, and started j a branch house. I never dreamed ofa possible I'hance of my wife or child surviving that horrible ' disaster, till mv book-keeper the other day related ! a story that filled me wire hope. I know now that 1 you are my child. You are the exact counterpart I of your mother.’’ Daisy clasped her hands and looked pleadingly at : Aunt Sophy. "Oh. can this be true?' | "There is one way to prove it." said Mr. Farns- I worth, standing up in his excitement. “If you are | my child, there is a small crimson spot on your 1 right shoulder, in the shape of a heart. Your j mother had one like it. She told me that all the i females of the Hamilton stock were born with that mark on their shoulders. It was called the 'Heart of Hampton House,' and was said to signify that those who bore it would be early and happily mar ried. ” Aunt Sophy started up frantically. "It's there, sir—it’s there! I’ve seen it a hundred times.” Daisy’s white shoulder was instantly laid bare and.there, sure enough, was the crimson birth s ark ’ rind even in <w' Heart (if Hampton Hi^x'i'Y’ Net , iDaisi thr w# ! You like George, don’t you. aunt: "Why, yes, lie's a worthy young man. know.” •‘Because—you see—when George i i,e to 'oe his—to be engaged to h in | ]_i referred him to you. and he is I row to ask your consent." neighbor- asked me to you know, ming to-mor- suddenlv.for the old I to aec iadv’s voice was husky. "Daisy, mv eliill. 1 hav e ! m a stoim. I no objectionsfo George Maynard: I believe him to | be a true gentleman, and one who deserves such a wife as you will make him: hur befoiv 1 grve my in America. For some reason or other he was re- an ,ll R * P Yf illisI will arrive in your „ moving his small family to Australia f t tbe ^ ln ^ hoQll 'to-morrovt evening by the 6:30 tram and the terrible calamity occurred which left vouan t . houseon m y wav to the hotel, orphan. Perhaps lie designed giving up his sea- | vwii ^ ^ Daisv „. m both beat hom e. I will and settling permanent!} m that new H l d by Mr. Fansworth. my employer, h, was not permitted be h to introduce to you. 1 to d him the - • affair-how it ended and all faring life. A DESPERATE GAME; OR Murder Will Out, Be that as it may. Daisy, iny child." said Aunt Sophy a«*ralon § 1 ‘the vessel was caught it is mv duty to Iriven a long distance out of its wav, and wrecked off the coast of some island the ship was literally dashed to pieces 011 the rock, and bv s' une strange freak of Providence, e verybod} onboard was lost, so far as known, except }om NO NAME; —OR THK- been lowered tell you something concerning your past me wmeu 1 our ” father. The boat was full of lia "Oh. h do,'Aunt .Soldi}': 1 al ways thought there j sailors and pa^engere and you eie Hie _ast - •* * “»'““2a ■ssras s !'»irt ras •loser, and !■ iir. lookm ;er longing ot a 011 the arm of Aunt Sophy s i ing to join\ou. into that kind < child to hear an mterestinj. by H. H. D. particulars of my lov Mfe-ldstorvf as*1 related it to him.'' He wants to see j an expe ri e iice of many years as a detec her■ he thinks he can tell her what she most desires , j have se ldom met with an exception to the to know • indeed, he is so confident ol it that he 1 often-repeated adage, that sooner or later murder ' business to take this trip with me. ' 1 ~ ••• - leaves his Yours truly, "George Maynard.’ •ill out Still, it n<at untrequently ., .ilioui. .-u . , , u taken to conceal the hap; that Aunt Sopliv removed her spei at Daisy "This Mr. Farnsworth evidently lias something of importance t., tell or he wojUd his business to come and see us. r« 1 naps lie .... ..1, precautions have bee— crime that human ingenuity would be powerless to icctacles and looked ; the Hof Pmvi.lence Heart of Hampton House. BY G. W. G. . , ,i, v cat in her cosy arm-chair before t::e Aunt Sophy sat „i assps with the cheerful fire-place, ponsr corner of her silk apron. " -AYliat I am going to tell you will grieve you, nivdear,"s id Aunt Sophy, solemnly, as she laid her hand on her head. It is uo pleasant talk to reveal the secret to you: 1 liad almost decided once to keep it from vm even at this stage ot e\ ents but a sense of duiv forbade me. Something might occur—the whole' truth might, through some un foreseen accident, be brought.to light years benea th t you would probably blame me tor not having told you all before the occurrence ot certain events. Daisv. I am not your aunt—you are not my niece Daisy’s blue eyes opened to their widest and the color began to fade from her cheeks. “Notmy aunt—not your niece— she talftied. scarcely able to believe that she had heard aright. “We are related by no ties of blood. Daisy, Aunt Sophy, firmly. “Notrelated—what do you mean? You never hinted at such a thing before, aunt Sophy •‘No, child, I couldn't bear to. e-in tell vou who your parents were. Daisy,’ “Oh if he only could!” and the little white hand were closed tightly, p jUt tlle nex t mo- head sadly. "‘No, Aunt 1 was the only one who e j saffors had "'grasped the oars and pushed the boat to- j awav from the wreck. The poor woman was fiant- i jc She even tried to leap out of the boat heisel , ' but one of the seamen pulled her ruuelv back. •■The last she saw of her husband, he w as stiff ^ U p with a hungry dangling 011 that rope above the boiling; ment Daisy shook hei sTys: nstrs.5w s | rax. u* sek, with her babe hugged close to her bosom, w as | have re i ano ns 111 the woiId, but I \ m sieved i S'" wori<l " h01 was saved: and even your mother was sonear dead j alll> and 1—1 can t teli tnem. nnt«tretche<l to bring it to light. Such a ease is the one I am about to relate. (me morning, shortly after the close ot tli the war, • r u-is brought to the police station of a m f° U onmiitted in one of the most aristocratic v. The victim was a widow lady of lai'fe wealth, and widely known extent few hour while the oft blue eyes lit murdei parts of the named Arnold, as a gener< No clue whole affair was a most mysterious had evidently been opei . 1 ", . • -- tli.. murderer re-locking it again dl ! I>ll »^ », ,?i ;-ommitted the crime. The odor of chloroform* in the room showed it had been the as- . ^ •. jntoMtioii to take that painless means ot ac- words cut like a knife Aunt | ^lDhing his eml: but^ theviedim erous donor to all benevolent purposes ,, .-oui.lbe found to the assassm. and the • was a most mysterious one. The door ,f her room had evidentlvybeen opened by means ot It is Hill', her overcharged bosom: dim with tears that she she gazed _ sigh struggled iff) from once her eves became so . . self. her now smee she is ^ klR , v _ IwLsh x knew! r "O' J , > 1 — 1......... to sav 110th- of the lit- it would not bei'ight to keep «je truth .J^m Sometimes. I think it would be better \vhile her knitting lay V", T,: - , u „. The old brindle cat lay in led about something to-night, toi . t ha ff“ t jfl e d i of vour life that I now tell you slie gazed thoughtfully mto the fire, b It ‘-But how came my home to be witn } ■ u. “/ adopted you because I had no children ot 111; “Then my name is not TV illis. the same as yours'” . , .. ‘*\o dear, your name is not vv inis. “Who am I then? What is my real name “There, Daisy: don’t look so. Vou mast tr> to to l *e calm.” . „ , “You evade my quession. Aunt nopii}. tell me what my true name is." .. -My poor child, I cannot, for I donot know.^ “Oh! dont say that! no name!” "No doubt youhava a name heard it.” . . , , “No name! Oh, tins is cruel—cruel. The girl was deathly pale now. lbe the rich bloom bad fled from cheeks and Ups, leay ing an ashv pallor that made her startled eyes look a fthe wilder. One of her little hands was raised to lier head in a pitiful, bewil.lered way. as if she had bwn stunned by a blow and she repeated " a .fK-1,1 lierself the words: "No name—no name! * Aunt Sophy was deeply touched. Putting her arm around the slender, child-like figure, she drew fudose and imprinted a motherly kiss on the white forehead. . T —,„ t)ear to see you look ould hurt utter you We tie delusion .»d "»■ B&i that George Maynard is a mce >ouug r,,od deal of impudence, and no is no denying borhood. Please |W." Don't tell me that I have Daisy, but I never ■uel !" The last trace of A iwt Sonin ’s cottage: Then there was a c<mfusion of masculine voicesand feminine screams—a run of nlavftff raillery in a much higher key than was nec- essay—a profuse exchange of good-byes . a »<l good nights—and away went the party again, nn 0 lin^ an ^ laughing as they had come. Then the door of the cottage flew open, and the young girl entered the cosy room, bringing with her a curreiitol wm- trv ah and a sprinkling of snow. Her blue eyes siiarkled like diamonds, her cheeks were all aglow sxiarkled like health, and her pretty mouth was*w reatlfed with smUes, disclosing two even rows of pearly teeth. •Oh. Aum Sophy. i-eliave had suchanice time!’ “Daisy mv darling. I can’t bear to see } like that. I surely did not t hink it won you so. If such is your wish. 1 will ne\ei “^Na'l^vantte hea/afl/^returned Daisy quickKg on,* AuiitSo'phyT tell n'l'e all d that j^ouklmw about i'—where you found me. am uui. p ke hennas in That, Daisy, is all I know of your story. V took you into our hearts and home, and taught.you to call us uncle and aunt. It v as because of 0111 great love for you that we deceived you. Jason used to say, before he died, that; it would be time enough to tell the truth of the matter when you began to think of getting married, and leaving us. Are you crying. Daisy?” Yes slie was crying softly but bitterly. “I can’t help it," she sobbed. “I will have to re lease George trom his engagement now." “Surely not, my child,” said Aunt Sophy, in a consoling tone. “George is not the man I believe him to ne. if a knowledge of your true origin m the least affects his desire to possess your han.t. “Xo r replied Daisy, drying her tears and looking up with a momentary flash of pride: “no. Aunt Sophv George would be too generous to give me UP on that account.” She made a little gesture, as it she would wring her hands, and then, suddenly rising to her feet, she stood calmly before the old ladv. “But I would not do him a wrong tor the world.” she added, in the low monotone that cov ered so much agony. “So long as I have no name —so long as my parentage is shrouded 111 mystery —I will never marry George Maynard, or any one e * S “Daisv, this is not right. There is no need of causingVourself so much unhappiness.” “Perliaxis I am over-sensitive and proud, but 1 am determined. Our engagement will be broken off to-morrow. Good night, Aunt Sophy. ’ And before Aunt Sophy could utter another word. Daisy had kissed her and left the room. And sure enough, on the following day, when George and Daisy met, slie sobbed out the whole story oil his breast—the story that Aunt Sophy had told her—and in spite of the young man's earnest entreaties and expostulations, she firmly assured arn , reUirned'’ tlierot’ore , ft'was'Aiiiit Sophv herself who answered the knock, and invited the visitors m. Maynard presented his companion to the old lad}, and Mr Farnsworth acknowledged the introduc tion by a c«mrtlv bow. Mr. Farnsw wth was a tall toe looking gentleman, about forty five years of a’ e-a man with the true p<dish of Christum courte- sf and one who would be singled out m a crowd ns'-i person to be trusted. His black hair andbeard were slightly sprinkled with gray, and bis handsome features bore unmistakable signs ot suffering. HDfirst act upon entering was to cast a quick expectant glance around the room; then he accepted the proffered chair by the ol'l-fashioned fireplace, and made a few commonplace remarks about the weather. After a little he looked squarely at Aunt ^°“Mrs a vf illis" I presume Mr. Maynard’s letter ex- plained the objec? of my visit. You have a mece ••“TjiSitar., for just then .Sir“o& ...J Dal«y qrtfj; the rooni Vs Mr. Farnsworth looked at her he started*visibly, and the color came and went 111 his f „ He did not wait to be presented, but held out his hand toward Daisy, and said, in a trembling keys ti 1 the street-door woinau-s sl ^f w ^. a \ RR ,,f‘the motive for the crime? Ttmt it .‘".u o"t have been robbery seemed cer- That it coma “ k . legof valuable jewelry lay un dressing-table. Further search, however, sin >wt This was a broi >c ing the portrait of her only sou. The intrinsic tain, as many touched upon th^ ;; ue ;trti rle was missing •h set with diamonds, anvl contam- of her only son. The intrinsic value of the brooch was probably 1 ...1 hV.o.lrd dollars: but it had been especially prized bv thl murdered lady on account of the por trait. which was the only one she possessed ot her SO, Why Ce then 1 .‘had t ‘ t this been taken and the rest of the iewelrv left untouched? It might have been that the assassin had not intended to kill her, and be- tne as. : , 1 w jj en lie found he had done so. toThi! nerve, and made haste to escape, only seiz- -Girl, come here: I want to speak withyou. Daisv was amazed at the abrupt request but at ter a moment's hesitation she approached and al- to his hand. This might ac- coui 11*f'ir 1 it,°butTt \vas not probable Had he really been in such a state of agitation, he would never have waited to so carefully lock the doors belund him as he made his escape. The more the affair was looked into, the more mysterious it beanie. In the murdered woman s desk was found . « ' . leaving all her property, which amounted to near y a miLion, to herson. Letters from her * » were also found, which showed that a -flia rel hart taken place between them on account '* a | lady, about five years before; since wmeh me he bad been absent from home, and she, had not teen self: "Margarets eves Margaret’s liair. Margaret’s ]| 0!U ,‘ m'th" expression! My iear girl, you are tne vei> .mage -v* mother I know’ now that there can be no ol tlit tl -a; ftk.. w «WWl/*» »o„rfa l k,r,’ ■1 iurse of a month or two. \ was at once sent him, informal-, " Concluded on 8th pa;