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VOL. V. J. U. & W K SEALS,}
A FTERVA K D.*>.
BY VIOI.ET FANE,
I know that these poor rags ot womanhood—
This oaten pipe, whereon the wild winds played,
Making sad music.—tattered and outfrayed.
Cast oil', played out—can lin'd no more of good,
Of love, or sons, or sense of sun and shade.
What homely neighbors elbow me .hard by
Neath tile black yews/ 1 know 1 shall not know,
Nor take account of changing winds licit blow ,
shifting the golden arrow, set on high
< *n the gray spire, nor mark who come and go.
Yet would i lie in some familiar ybace,
Nor share my rest with uncongenial dead—
Somewhere, may lie, where friendly feet would tread;
As though from out some little chink of space.
Mine eyes might watch them tripping overhead.
And though too sweet to deck a sepulchre
."••cm twinkling daisy-buds, and meadow-grass;
And so. ivou’d more than serve me. lest those pass
Who fain would know what woman rested there,
What her demeanor, or her story was—
Lor these I won'd that on a sculptured stone
/Fenced round with iron-work to keep secure
should sleep a form with folded palms demure,
T.i aspect like the dreamer that was gone.
'•'bli tlie-e words carved. ‘ I hoped, but was not
ATLANTA GA., DECEMBER 6th, 1879. Terms in advance
J ( >I1«S r.
t !“>ingle Of
No. 230.
STRANGE GUARDIAN;
OK,
Storm and Sunshine.
My guardian's name was Walden I.eigli. I had
known him as long as I could remember, and sat on
his knee many times while he tol l me stories of
other hinds, for lie had been a great traveller. Ho
was very handsome and noble-looking, and my
father had loved him as a brother.
We lived in a grand old house, with large, lofty
rooms, with richly carved panels and do rs of
, ./f m..,.. a;, tit .vi.lUi »• •« . _>v«wei with
superb paintings, the windows hung with costly
drapery: all boro the marks of wealth and refim*-
ment. On tic broad lawn wandered stately pea
cocks and golden pheasants; troops of doves came
fluttering down when 1 run over the stops of the
piazza with my little apron filled with corn. In the
field by the wood roved the speckled Ouiaea liens,
which mv little spaniel would chase in harmless
sport, only half-heeding my calls and chiding.
Madam Estmere lived, in a larger and grander
place than ours. That is. it once was grander. It
was near the sea, but though it stood on a bold
headland, it was so protected by thick woods and
crags, that it did not seem much exposed. It was
a half-castellated mansion that had been in the
family of the Selfridges for hundreds of years.
< fid Anthony Selfridge was Madam Estniere's
grandfather. He died when he was very old. al
most a hundred. His picture hung in the small g ti
lery. His old picture. I mean, for there was one
taken when he was young, an/1 so handsome! But
the old one was taken when he was ninety eight:
and he was all wrinkled with marks that ran criss
cross over his brawn skin, and his hair was white as
snow, even if lie wore no powder, and there was no
light in the blue eyes now In* was so old. 1 used to
stand before that picture with Anthony' Estmere,
and look Into his deep, large, blue eyes, ami wonder
if we children would ever grow old. and our hair
be white, and all the light faded out of our blue
eyes. Anthony was my playmate; ho was bold as
a lion; he would leap from the crags into the sea
and swim out fearlessly till I would weep and wring
my hands, sure he aouldlie drowned. He would
climb the tallest trees and look into the birds nests:
but he never took one, not even for me—for his
heart was tender and loving. He could run like a
deer, and his light foot left scarcely a print on the
satid. He did not laugh at fear, but stood bravely
up and faced the danger it was inevitable to meet.
His brow was fair anil open, and heavy curls clus
tered over it. Ills cheeks were ruddy brown with
health and happiness. His form was straight and
lithe and graceful. Whatever he wore became him
best for that time. Handsome and noble, he was
proud, sensitive, and somewhat passionate. He
called Madam Estmere grandmother. He did not
remember his father or mother. He came with his
grandmother to live at this place when he was an
infant, and he was two years older than I. It was
a gloomy house in which he lived. Almost all the
rooms were kept closed, there were only two ser
vants and they were old. but they all loved master
Anthony. Yet even child as L was, 1 thought I
saw .sometimes a look of pity as well as love, and
my bosom swelled in resentment. What right had
they to look so at my proud Anthony? Much as I
played and roamed with Anthony, I seldom went
to his house, for I was afraid of Madam Estmere.
She was very stately: she was richly dressed in silks
that would staml by themselves: her laces were fine
and costly; on her thin hands she wore mits, and
one diamond blazed on her third finger. She wore
also another ring, a large oval glass, under which
was some soft, brown hair. Her eyes were blue
also, her nose lightly aquiline, her mouth firm and
proud. She v.as pale, sad. and haughty. She re
pelled me. I did not love coldness, but rather what
was warm, rich, and glowing. I found myself
tiniid and ill at ease, and though she spoke mildly
to me, and was kind, i shunned her. 1 asked An
thony if he loved her. He said—‘‘Yes, to be sure
he did.”
“But do you ever kiss her. Anthony f"
hy, no: that is not often. What a funny little
puss you an- to think of that. But I shall kiss you,
though. 1.'mne, now, we will godown to the beach,
and I will get shells to finish our fairy pal ice.
Here, let me tie your hat, Ali ta, you must not get
brown—it is not pretty for girls.”
g Anthony could play anything better than I. but I
could tell fairy stories best, and ramv days he
would come over to our house, and we would sit, in
the library and tell stories. We both sat together
in the great chairthat w smade for Uncle Walden,
and we were very happy. It happened oneday
that I, who ns somewhat wayward nd wilful,
bad teased Anthony till I really vexed him. At
length he gave mean angrv push, I fell, striking
against an elegant vas. . which fell and was broken.
I cut my head in the fall. The sear is under my
hair across my te- pip, but it is not deep Anthony,
pale as death, lifted me tenderly, uttering a bitter
self-reproach M\ father entered at the moment.
“Wlmt's tins?' he said, excitedly. “What has
happened to Alida?” and lie took me mil began to
stauin h th- blond hat flowed from the wound.
Anthony -too l pale .and resolute.
“1 did it. sir. 1 alone am to blame—I was angrv
sad countenance and much troubled. Madame
Estmere had refused to give her consent to our en-
■ gagement.
"And why ?’* said I, with all my pride aroused.
“What lias she to object? In what do I fail that
she should require?"
"It is no failure of yours, my dearest, no objec
tion to you—how could there lie? It seems rather
to point to in/-. You she praises, to you accords all
honor—say- J scarcely deserve so much; and that is
true, too, darling, but yet we must wait. I asked,
i fear somewhat impetuously, 'why and how long?'
The 'why' I had no answer to. but the how long’
she said must. lie til! I came of age. That, thank
heaven, is near at hand, and yet 1 tremble lest it
should Icing some obstacle with its coming. I must
not disobey: yet, Alida. our engagement is as sa
vi'eil as if we were free to acknowledge it at once,
i • it not ? And even if. when the event comes, the
fault shall be with me, you shall be free to reject
me, if that must be. Oil. Alida, how could I bear
it ? Vet for your sake I eoulil, I would.”
“It is time only, Anthony, it is not any fault.
There can lie no obstacle on your part. It is prob
ably something about property. Let us not heed
it: 1 have enough, and though it is doubly valuable
to me as yours, it would be of little worth if it cost
me you. If it tie only time we can wait. If it be
oe.lv a whin: of Madam Estniere's. let is indulge it.
path,
the In
Mt forbid our present happiness. Letit not
■ shadow over our future, Anthony.”
ke two children, we linked our hands bi
nd wandered away down a long rose-lined
'./•re the Icating of our own hearts made
1 SAW THE FUiEUE OP 4 MAN ON IMKSEISACK ON A .H'lTlNU I.ElKiE .Hi- l.OcK jlA ill i. H.
n 1 pushed Alida. It is mv fault that the vase is
broken and th >t sh > is hurt. I a n very s irry, sir."
“If such is your tamper young man,” sat 1 my
1 father, very sternly. "1 must forbid you to come
here, or to mik-'.o c unpanion of mv child."
Anthony stoo l silent an l self-condemned; but I
slid down an 1 kin-lt til mv father's feet.
“Do not be angry with him. father—I was to
| blame. I annoyed him. I tormented him. because,
because—it amuse 1 mi. I was wrong. Do not
■ blame him."
TIion mv father lifted me to his side and drew
Anthony to him by the h md also—and he talked to
us earnestly, but not long, ami his words were nev
er forgotten by us.
That was our first trouble.
When Anthony was almost eleven, he and his
grandmother went awiy, for she said Anthony
must be educated. Our parting was full of pas
sionate grief. He left in ■ his p*t spaniel as a part
ing token an 1 reminder of our happy days togeth
er. and when Mirtha arranged m v curls next day,
she missed one thick, fair hi -k. Before ever 1 saw
/Anthony again I was orphaned of my father's
| love, and my life's soon 1 heavy sorrow had come
I upon me.
him: lie see me 1 to be devoid of vanity, devoid also,
I thought, of hope. Yet in his intercourse with me
he was ant only instructive but entertaining and
even cheerful, though I fancied ho was so only
through strong self-control
I often longed, but dared not, to break in upon
his gloomy moods, with some effort at lifting
him out of them—some attempt at consolation, or
rather at diversion, for 1 could never have attempt
ed to console this proud, reserve l man. < )nl v once
did I ever intrude upon his solitary self
grace was to have I e-n around me as an atmos
phere. Now—with flushed cheeks, eyes downcast,
a hand that trembled as it felt itself "imprisoned in
a close but immien ary clasp, an awkward stam- Must
nicring introduction to niy guardian, a conscious
ness mauvaisp honte, a feeling that this man had a
power whi -h I could not subdue, but which might
subdue me—ali this was not pleasant to my pride,
my s“lf-love. We three walked back to the house
differently from what we had gone from it.
And yet our words were light and careless.
Laughing allusions to scenes of ol I bv-gone spur
CHAPTER II.
The slant rays of the golden autumn sunset light
ed up with a rare, sweet beauty the old wood of
oaks anil bee; hes, where I had so often wandered
with Anthony. This wood, in my childhood, was
mv enchanted land. Here was the scene of all my
fairy stories, and here took place all imaginable
wonders. But its deepest and dearest enchantment
came to me in after years, for here Anthony and I
planned all our future, while yet lapped iu the bliss
of the present. It was dearer to me here than on
the sea-shore, greatly as L loved the sea. The em
bracing and protecting arms of the forest t/i"k me
lovingly into their folds and let me rest, while the
soft, whispering voices of the leaves soothed me
with their murmured songs.
This : ib lei> afternoon f sought the - >thinfg of
1 saw utlnmv. and I began to feel restless.
1 wandered on slowly, and, at length, a little
weary, -at down on a fallen tree, which lay a little
out of the pathway. I was amused to see that the
color of the moss and bark closely resembled mv
dress, and 1 thought of the ilryailes and wood
nvmphs. and how strangely haunt d the groves and
forests must have once been to those who believed
iu that old faith. While 1 was musing, the shad
ows were deepening around me, and suddenly I
heard voices, i marked them but little, however,
till they drew nearer, and then a sudden pain dart
ed through rue. It was the voice of Anthony Est
mere, and I saw him approaching with a lady of
fair face and graceful figure leaning on his arm.
He was bending down with a protecting air over
her, and she lifted her eves to him, full of tender
I regard your interest as my own." I heard him
say, “and no exertion shall be wanting on my part.
Dearest of all to me
I heard no more. They passed on, murmuring
softly tender words, no doubt, though 1 did not
hear them. I did not taint. 1 sat as one benumbed.
My Anthony—false already I He whom 1 deemed
the soul of tru'li and of honor—he false! Then
pip perish earth and heaven! for in neither had I faith
11,
md took mv wav home
ir hone
After a long time, 1 re
nimu
niun. It was a lovely afternoon, and I was lonely
sitting solitary in the great house or pacing its I and childhood's adventures, exchanges of
echoing rooms. It was one of my guardian’s dark \ meats and friendly imp dries, wire all verv
days. He had breakfasted in his room and ridden j hut the furtive glares shot from under l<> w
away directly after. As the long afternoon went j lashes that ever and anon passed from each, showed ; as one in a dream. Mv feet stumbled, but 1‘ilid not
by I grew so tired of solitude that, taking down my ; that we desired M read each otli-w a little more . heed it. Only one thought ran through my mind,
hat, I went fora walk to the seashore. I did not . closely, lietore opening the inner il/ -or ot the temple, onlv one thought tortured my soul—Anthony was
n whose porch we were all met. ; false to me! All the bitterness of death was in that
It was strange how easily we slid back into our , thought. Somewhere in my way I heard voices
li intimacy. Not precisely in our childhood's calling me. but 1 turned instinctively away. L
ray, but in spirit. Anthony compared the golden j wanted to shun everv one. I wanted to be alone
»rl he had taken with him with my now darker i with this bitter thought.
yshow me how care- Soon I heard a step, felt an arni about me, and a
Flo found her happy voice—oh. how rich and sweet even then—said to
Id time was recalled. me:
take the more open road, but chose a path that led
through lone, grassy wills wooded with pine and
cypress and sea-mvrtle. Now and then vistas
opened, giving me a glimpse of the blue sea, that
here ran up into a narrow bay. Suddenly, as I
came upon one of these openings. I saw the figure, [ locks—possibly that he mi
of a man on a horse clearly defined against the sky, . fully he ha i treisured’it
standing motionless upon a bare, jutting point of j place between us. All tiu
1 rock. It was my guardian. I watched him silent-j 1 called that week on M tdain Estmere. I found ; "Alida, darling' Thank heaven we have found
Walden Leigh was a kind, a judicious and faith- j !.▼, my heart aching for him, there seemed to be j her very much as mv childhood recorded her. I you. We feared, we hardly knew what.”
ful guardian. He made mv home as happy for me | so much ilrcarv wisttulness in his posture anil in did not care to repeat my visit soon, though she I turned a look full of lierv scorn and indigna
as anv home could b: . unblessed hv a metlier's love | that long, intent gazing at the blank sea. What, was Anthony s grandmother. Yet onething pleased tion on the speaker Flashes "seemed to > r o out from
and a father's tender care. He increased my for- j ghosts of the* past rise before him, I asked myself, j me. She evidently loved him, and he treated her mv eves.
tune; he educated me in a sensible and practical j mv girlish heart; full of romantic conjecturing. Is, with deference anil honor, and thoughtful affection. “Leave me!" I said, hoarsely, a.- I freed myself
! from his clasping arms; “I want no traitor's aid.”
... CHAPTER II. ! He started as if stung. No doubt mv words
theless, it eoulil hanllvh* otherwise than that I j io their ha\en under the lull, j | startled him: vet he spoke tirmlv*
should he self-willed, arid s-»ui ‘times imperious and j i >h! for the touch of a vanished hand 1 J henevni him to he noble, truthful, and manly. 'Alida ' what does this mean r"
exacting. I think I read it sometimes in the looks And a voice forever still! I saw that he was proud of beauty, such as pleased “Itmeansthat I scorn hypocrisy and baseness
/f those voting companions whose visits I was per- | } meant to retrace mv steps and screen myself ■ my iancy. and lus hearing was so deferential, and j allr j f ;l l.-e, feigned love!”
wav, while lie omitted no necessai y accomplish- [ memory repeating
ment. He was proud -,s well sis fond of me. Never- j “The stately ships go down
•ant to retrace my steps and screen myself : mv fancy, and his bearing
milled to receive. 'Yet it was not from a weak r behind the palmettoes before he could see me. but vet pervaded with a sense of protecting power, “What have I done Alida that you should sneak
pride or a had heart, but because 1 had alvvavs been i as I watched him, he suddenly turned and saw me. j that 1 did not wonder at the homage so readily paid , thus to me - Or .mod heaven' it must lie you are
accustomed to so much deference and regard" to my I would have retreated, but ho rod'directly to- him. My intellect, my judgment, my heart, were ! jjp you are fevered In your ri-ht mind vou could
wish*?' * r ’ !• 1 C '.1 A- ... I ft'OVilc mo /.ollnwr “Ali.lo * i»» o lilonci lit tmi.l ii- i oil •illl.-ox c itutio.l •• I t’t tm'ifl, .. f.,1, - .,; * . .. 1 ~
m
fu
ishes Mr guardian studied carefully to train 1 wards me. calling “Alida" in a pleasant, tender I all alike satisfied, and it- was with a rare felicity no ’t L.eak to me so " "
y too impulsive spirit to a considerate thought- ! tone. He dismounted when he reached me, and j that after less than three months I received the "I am not ill ‘ l am sane Do not mock me with
i• ness. Rash and ardent, my life experience c. .st j came to my side | vows of Anthony Earner,- and pledged to him the I V(1U r presence. Follow m * no further!"
e many tears, as w*»ll :is mo inurh jov. i i <>u havt* had a long walk. he? said. lulllovnot a hithorto muon*died horirt. My guard- Anger gave me* strength and 1 walked on rapid-
fteu did 1 rebel against Walden Leigh, and call “It did not seem long to me; I was so lonesome j iau did not oppose our engagement. He did not, | j v> ,leaf to all he said. °I entered the hall door and
Oft . _
him cold, severe, unsvmpathizing. And alwav, I J at the house," I replied. | however, seem plea-ed, as I expected he would big
returned penitent from my self-banishment, weep- j “Poor child." he said. “I know ;t must be gloomy | and was vexed that lie was not. He too hail latter-
ingand promising amendment, and always was 1 ' for you: and J am but a poor companion. Never i ly grown variable and more moody. Sometimes
tenderly forgiven” When my guardian approved i mind, yon will soon have one better suited to you. | he would look at Anthony as if he would read his
of me and praised mo. 1 was so lrippv I walked as j Your old comrade Anthony is coining soon.” i every thought, and devour, as it were, all the
if oil air I felt as if I was borne along on wings, j He looked srarchingly at me as he said this, and ! former years of his life. Then again he would re-
When he reproved in- a*ii/l was stern, not the poor. | I felt my face covered with a quick, hot color. His god him with a sad, melancholy smile, as if he
tormented souls of Dante's vision walked more j eyes grew grave: lie took my hand and drew it l imself had lost something in these past years, and
weighed down bv their garments of lead. | through his arm j Anthony could help him find it. Strange though
Anthony Estmere won hhdi honors at school and j “You are too tired to walk back home just now. j it was, when wi three were together, I ever studied
at the nniVersit v. And I was nrouil and glad when I Come to the seaside, and let us sit on the rocks and m v guardian's face with the deepest interest. An-
I heard his name'praised, though 1 hid it shy!v and j watch the calm waters—so calm in spite of the ; thony did not seem to notice it, however, and I did
strangely in mv li-cun of hearts. Would he ever wrecks that lie beneath. Like maay a human heart,” not s(>eiik to him of it.
cometo 'his old' home again?' And how would he | he added in a lowered tone as if to lumself. Anthony was very frank. He told my guardian j downbeshTe^me. I turned mv eyes away from the
look on bis old playmate? Perhaps he had forgot- 1 U e went, and, seated on a mossy ledge of rock, I that ior all he had, h«* looked o Madam Estmere. razt . of h ; s . y,, ; he should not look intoTnv heart
ten me wholly, ft was long ago when wo were looked seaward, my guardian rousing from Ins nb- j that for some reason unexplained to him, he would | ’ "Alida, " said he, “either vou are ill or you are
children, and Flo. mv pivti v spaniel, that was so j strict ion now and then and talking tome, throwing j not be rich, but must give himself to a profession, unhappy. You will not trust me mv chill to do
fleet and graceful, now lay contentedly on her soft | out his suggestive utterances that, it sometimes ; and that he hail chosen the law. My guardian j all};ht p,,. v „ u that can in e/thercise help vou. You
cushions, and seldom ran frolicking before me. but i melancholy, were a Hi avs nob e and eloqueuj. ( came to me and said: i turn away your head. You forget. Alida, I have
moved stiffly, .is if it were hv an effort. Yet I was j A/rael cropped the short gra>s in a little fertile ] Alula, do you love this man? Lore him so well learned to read you from childhood by every sign,
full of youth ami life and joVous vigor. nook between the rocks close at hand, and Ho, my that il you were poor you would marry him? Bo I however slight, and I cannot be deceived now. I
Suddenly the old house i.v" the sea was opened, pretty spaniel that Anthony had given me, no v wellt.liat you would choose him from the whole think you are unhappy. I cannot divine the cause,
aired, reiiovateil Madam Esmi- re was coming barked at the s-a-gu.Is that circe,1 around us. anil wor d? Ho well that- you eoulil resign the whole but I fear it pro.-ee.ls‘from some misapprehension."
back, they said, and the young In i. also. The news now laid her '/ean on mi lap to me o i aress her world tor him alone* “You are in error. I have misapprehended noth-
went directly to my room. I heard Anthony’s steps
at last on tno gravel walk I heard him say a few
words to my guardian, and he ird the latter s "good
night.” I locked my door, anti made answer to the
first summons, “I am not ill. I need no help. lam
going to sleep."
W ell, the night passed as till miserable nights
do, however long: and I even slept towards morn
ing a heavy, troubled sleep, and awoke to find a
dull sense of pain and loss deepening into a sharper
anguish of remembrance.
When 1 went down, my guardian came to me.
and. taking mv hand in his, led me to a seat and sat
made by lieu-1 beat. Bln I 1
the mil ror anil itedberateiy snrv*-\
was undeniably h mdsome. My Ini
golden, and m> eye- large, luminous and binck
making a singular contrast with a lair face am
lovely color.
My guardian, wit hall Pi- k mines- ami nobleness
of heart, was a mystery I could n *1 so ve. I’heri
were times when a dark spirit seemed to posses)
him, and he shut himself for hours in nis room, oi
mounting his black horse Az• iel. r >,I ■ aw y m th
direct ion of t,lie sea to 1k; gone the ent ire da v. H*
seldom went into t he societ that is courtly mart
liei-s anl line personcl would so wel a ve graeed
he declined the political honors ill t w•■re offerer
I? I went to siiKenou s. Stnl lenly she si artid up, looked eager- 1 i is solemn earnestness startled me. Yer. I looked
I myself. J i ly towards tlie pal li we had cone and bounded off deep into my heart, and calmly made reply:
was darkly with a joyous tiark. 1 turned hurriedly and saw a “/do.”
tall, handsome young man in an easy fitting trav- “That is well,” said my guardian, but his face
cling suit, coming towards me, while Klo was leap- was very pale, anil round his moinh there was a
iug uj) to his hau l as it to eiain. reeognition In tine oi ashy white. He went abruptly from the
si im-tively 1 k /cw it must be Anthony Estmere, , room, and in a few moments Anthony returned to
and his irst words confirmed it He had been to mo with a countenance radiant with gladness. And
our lions/-, learned we were out and where, and l, standing in that stately apartment, whose broad
had cimie to .-i>k us. i In i planned a meeting so windows framed in sueh a lovely expanse of land*
ipprer
ing. I am not ill. It, is useless to question me
further,” and 1 felt a hard, rigid expression settling
round my mouth.
“Alida, you have always been frank with me be
fore. 1 will not force your confidence. When you
can come to me, I am ever ready. 1 wait for you,
my darling; you know that my love has never
failed you: it never v ill."
Oh, if Walden Leigh had but been a woman,
eoulil have thrown myself into his friendly arms,
and
different from Discommon place, every-day way, sc ,pe where field and wood, mount and stream an ,i. weepin g, told him all. But he was a man, ;i
that I could not help smiling to see how my fine were nil mine, mine to give as well as to keep, I felt f could not
1st es in ,e a ir crumbled to ruin. I was to have l hat all this was slight to the true heart that 1 hail! I crushed the tears under in v eyelids; 1st lied
•icing a long-absent subject. My won
to have t><
A stately
That very evening Anthony came to me with a
the
pulsations of mv heart.: I compelled mv trembling
t •n’.inucd on Sth page.