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j 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.