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THE SUNNY SOUTH.
The youngsters looked at one another with I “You shall hold the bridle yourself,” con-
tell-tale eves; there evidently was truih in tinued Tom.
uncle Jacob’s accusations. But if their moth- I “May Flint ride, too?”
er stayed at heme, v» hat w<uld become of! “Yes, but not to-day. I'll come after him
those much coveted treasure?—the new hat l sometime."
and shoes? Both of their mouths chanced at ! She meditated a moment,
that moment to be stuffed with buttered bus* i “I can’t leave,” she said at length quite de-
euit, yet they broke forth simultaneously cisively. “Mamma said we must stay to-
ing in the easiest manner possible, w hen one ; with explanations, apologies, and promises. J gether.” .
of them at least was startled by seeing the ' “I put the glass back right away, mother, j Mr. Brantley had approached and listened
" " ■ 1 ' • * ” spectacles are good as new to the conversation. He looked puzzled and
1 irresolute,
ing displayed the graceful outlines of a once- i
beautiful foim.
The Countess of Creveldt addressed her I
host in Italian. Lady Ina replied in pure j
English, sweetly tinctured with the Tuscan
accent. It is never difficult for well-bred
people to dispel the stiffness of formal eti
quette, and the two ladies were soon convers
ing in the easiest manner possible, w hen one
of them at least was startled by seeing the i ym me w
figure of a man step forward from behind and uncle Jacob's spe
one of the curiouslv-carved cabinets that i now” exclaimed Gus.
occupied an angle of the chamber.
“After your asserticn that you received no
visitors, signora, I may be pardoned for the
rw.se I have employed to gain admittance to
your enchanted castle in the shadow of my
mother's name,” said Lord Creveldt, extend
ing his hand, and wearing bis irresistible
smile that few vfomen would have cared to
turn away from.
“Ask him what made him sure his mother’s
name would have proved the magic word to
secure access to your presence, signora?”
said Lady Helen, in a bright, winning way,
as the countess gave her hand to the clasp of
her undreamed-of visitor, a child-like look of
• pleased wonder in her eyes, and a soft colour
suffusing her face. Lord Creveldt answered
his mother while retaining the lady’s hand,
and smiling beningnly down into the blushing
face.
“Lady de Montferra will remember that
she spoke of my mother in terms that left no
doubt upon my mind on that subject. We
have freely discussed our romantic adven
ture, signora, my mother and I.”
‘ ‘Was it not providential he should have pass
ed that way just in time to save me from a
dreadful night of distress, madarne ?” said
Lady Ina, turning once more to Lady Helen
and resuming her seat.
“Indeed I think it was. But how could
you have ventured alone so far from home,
signora s”
There w as gentle reproof as well as surprise
in Lady Creveldt’s tone.
“It was foolish of me, not knowing the
localities hereabout.”
Lord Creveldt, w ho tcok the whole of his
mother’s meaning better, hastened to say:
“You forget mother, that foreign customs
sanction more entei prise in fair pedestrians
than ours do.”
“Is it considered wrong to walk abroad
alone here ?” askec the signora, timidly.
“It is imprudent, as your late experience
proves.”
“I at leastshall not blame that imprudence,
signora, since it made us acquaintances, and,
1 hope, friends; but, like my mother, 1 would
advise you not to repeat it.”
“Oh. I shall not—be sure of that. I found
the stillness of this place so oppressive on that
day that I followed the voice of the sea in
stinctively. Its innumerable tones woo and
soothe me as I think no earthly sounds ever
can.”
“You must often be lonely and oppressed
in this desolate place, signora,” said Lady
Creveldt, sympathetically. “It is wild and
deserted enough to be the aviary of Sultan
Maliniond’s owls.”
“Yes, madam, it is solitary, but not always
oppressive. Sometimes 1 find a strange fas
cination in its weirdness.”
“Can we not persuade you to forsake it
occasionally for the more cheerful if not less
quiet charms of Rochelle ? It is to ask you
to be one of some friends whom we expect at
Rochelle to-morrow that Lord Creveldt and
1 have come to-day, signora.”
“How very kind of you! But—but”
“We do not understand that word,” inter
rupted Lord Creveldt, playfully, at the same
time crossing to Lady Ina’s side on the pre
tence of examining a small bronze that stood
on a pedestal behind berebair. Ashe reach
ed up his hand for the bronze, he cast his
eyes down and drew her glance up to him.
His look said » hat his tongue wisely refrain
ed from: “It is / who want you to come to
us.”
“M by should you bury yourself out here ?
No w under the country 'folk call you the en
chantress!’’ was what he did say.
‘Do they indeed; 1 wish I were anything
half so delightful.”
She laughed a little nervously as she spoke,
for the sad dark eyes of Lord Creveldt were
working their strange mag c in her soul. He
said:
“Yes, but if you continue to immure your
self here, they will call you ‘unco uncanny.’”
Lady Ina flushed scarlet, remembering
how unreservedly she had spoken to Lord
Creveldt of himself on the former occasion of
their meeting incognito. He laughed, but
made no other allusion to that part of their
interview. Lady Creveldt said:
“You must not let such stories get afloat,
signora. Our English folk are wonderfully
shy of f/iseer people, especially if they are
foreign as well Take my advice, and come
to Rochelle, if only to make good j our claim
to healthiness of nature.”
“She will come for a better and pleasanter
reason, mother, because it will make us hap
py to have her. Is it not so, signora ?”
The ineffable gentleness of his tones gave
to his persuasive words a sweet emphasis
which Lady Ina felt thrill to her heart.
Scarce conscious of all that acquiescence in
volved, she answered softly, looking at Lady
Creveldt, but speaking to Lord Creveldt:
“I, too, shall be happy to come.”
“That is right,” said Lady Creveldt, in her
hearty, earnest way, so genuine and so warm
that Ladj- Ina felt her lonely heart yearn to
the sweet maternal being w hose iovelv aged
face beamed love and charity for all her
kind. “That is right my dear. I shall send
the carriage to fetch you in the afternoon
to-morrow, and you shall stay* with us as
long as you can be content.”
Ladj- Creveldt rose to take her leave,
Lord Creveldt still stood near Lady Ina's
chair, with one hand resting on its high
carved back.
At that instant a dreadful cry, like a
shriek of a tortured fiend, sounded through
the building. It came direct from the Monk’s
Tower!
(TO BE CONTINUED.)
‘I happened to be looking at some peas I
had in my pocket, and some of’m just fell in
to the shoes—I ’dare they did” cried Rufe.
“I crept under the bed after my box o’ hick
ory nuts. I didn’t mean to w ake uncle Ja
cob. I didn't know he was asleep.”
“What made you lift the bed on your back
and growl so then ?” cried the old man in an
ireful voice, while his watery eyes gleamed,
and his palsied fingers clenched spasmodi-
ically, as if he was inclined to shake his fist
across the table. “Answer me that you ly
ing rascal!”
“Thomas, really I can’t go,” said Mrs. Jen
kins. “I had no idea my boys were so ill be
haved.”
“IVe wont do so any more” cried Gustavus.
“Just try us to-day, mother. IVe are going
tosetthe rat-trap, and wont go near uncle Ja
cob, unless he calls us.”
No we wont" said Rufe swallowing the
“Let them remain together here for the
present,” pleased Mrs. Rambler.
“You are willing to be troubled with them
then,” asked the teacher.
“Yes sir: do not seperate them?”
“Very well. I will send a doctor down,”
Les Incomprehensibles. MAN C H,
She apparently had no appetite; so he did
not urge the matter, but put her into Ed
ward's arms, when the breakfast-bell rang.
The boy sat down with her in a low chair,
that stood in one corner.
“Etta,” he said when all had left the room:
“don’t cry so. Oda has gone to heaven.' -
“Where is heaven? I want to go too," sobs
bed the child. “Mamma said we must love
one another, and live together.”
“You will go some dav, if you are a good
girl!”
"Who will take care of Flint and me until
it is time for us to go?” asked the girl.
“God takes care of us all. God will take ! ing. 'The lm iiding had shutters at the win
care of us all; it does not matter much in The man was a Frenchman. Then
what world we are: we can t get out of His . -were other Frenchmen in the neighborhood,
universe or from under His protectin;
By Victor Hugo.
A man sat on a picket fence.
Picket fences were invented by Charle
magne and improved upon by Charles II. of j
England.
Still the man sat on the fence.
BOOK II.
The fence surrounded a tall, gloomy build-
MARY E. BRYAN.
From Paul H. Hayne.
My Dear Madam :
I never see a good, downright blow struck
in the listof literature, especially of Southern
literature, without feeling a thrill of sympa
thy and admiration.
So I must tell you with what profound in
terest I have read j-our “Manch"—an inter
est fully shared by my wife.
The little hero of your story is m my opin-
he said resuming his hat. “It is high time 1 He gives us wbat we eat, and drink, and \ ered bj- Oliver OomvVell, and subsequently far than the famous “I
boys we were in school,” and politely bowing wear.” ! patented by the author. | Dickens. Truly the concept!
to the ladies, he took his departure. “I never saw Him do it,” sobbed the child. It was night It was a dark night. Dark- ' character must'bave come toy
Tom was grievously disappointed but he
followed the teacher without another word.
Mrs. Jenkins sat bj- the fire after thej- had
left, and the two ladies discussed the village
news, the weather and fashions, as is the
habit of the sex, when thej- meet after long
intervals. She then proceeded up town to
make her purchases.
Esther and Flint followed her to the door,
and looked with covetous ej r es at the grey
ponj - : it certainlj- would be very nice to take
a ride on the animal. But the weak voice o '
last mouthful on his plate. ‘•'We’ll keep clear j Olive was heard calling for water. It arrest-
out o’ sight and hearing.” I ed the little girl’s attention. She hastened
“But I wish j - ou to stay with him” said the j away and was soon holding a goblet in her
mother: “I leave j-ou to wait on him.” j tinj- fingers to the parched lips.
“IVe will wait upon him—we'll do every- | A physician entered, shook his head grave-
tbing he asks’’ they said and as uncle Jacob | ly as he felt the patient's pulse, and examined
fancied he read sincerity- in their eyes, he fin- j her tongue.
ished his coffee, in silence.
“If you don’t do your best boys, you shan’t
have the hat and shoes after mother buys
’em.” said Tom frowningly.
“Well, now I reckon ii’U not be as you say
mister,” said Rufe, knocking over bis chair
in an attempt to rise hurridly from the table:
“If mother buys ’em, she’ll give ’em to us, I
know.”
“I shall wait to hear brother's report” said
the lady mildly.
A half hour after, the grey pony was led
to tne horse-block, and Mrs. Jenkin's proceed
ed to mouuf. She was preceded by Tom,
and followed by Jacob, who hobbled out on
his stick to the horse block.
“Now, Hannah,” he whined for the half
dozenth time, “don’t stay- long.”
“No, brother,” was the patient reply, as she
drew down the veil so as to keep the snow-
wind from blowing too keenly- in her face:
“try and make yourself contented: I shall be
back by eleven o’clock. I filled your pipe
and left it on the mantle-peice: you will find
cold victuals and a pitcher full of cider in
the cupboard. The cover on your bed is
turned down too, should y-ou wish to take a
" The old man leaned heavilv on his staff, and | sald with a touch of tenderness in his voice,
atched her as she rode awav: watched her an . d \ could not rest: so I extinguished my
“I am afraid it will be sometime madam,”
he said “b -fore we have her up. IVhat has
she taken?”
“Nothing but sage tea and Number Six.
She calls continually- for water.”
“Ah; ah! madam, a bad case.”
CHAPTER VII.
DEATH IX THE COTTAGE.
It was ten o’clock on the succeeding night.
Mrs. Rambler sat alone by the sick girls bed.
The children were asleep: all except the one
she knew to be dying. She looked at the
emaciated face over which the clammy pal
lor of death was creeping, and felt in her ner
vousness that she could not watch much lon
ger alone. Why had not Mrs. Quack or Mrs.
Jenkins return, d?
Just then she heard the click of the front
gate, and a firm step upon the frozen walk-
Perhaps it was the doctor.
The widow glanced out through the star
lit-night, but there was a hand upon the door
knob, and immediately- the teacher’s tall form
stood on the threshold before her.
“I knew you were watching alone to-night,”
Uncle Jacob’s Legacy.
By Jlrs. ('. M. Burlier Towles.
Author of Briarbrook, Fireside Tales, Three
Golden Links, etc.
CHAPTER VI.
MRS. JENKINS ABROAD.
The two younger boys were quite surprised
the next morning, when Mrs. Jenkins an
nounced at the breakfast table, her intention
of going to town. Tt m looked grateful, and
uncle Jacob indignant.
“Now. Hannah,'’ be began in that weak
queiulous voice which so often accompanies
a feeble old age. “is it possible you're goin’
to leave me here alone all the mornin’ while
you are gadding around up town?”
This speech called an indignant flush into
Tom's tanned cheek, and an unusual light in
to his grey eyes. He knew his mother had
been for years a slave to all her old broiher's
caprices and whims. She seldom left home
for any purpose. How could he accuse her
now of “gadding about!”
“1 shall not be gene leng. brother,” she
said in the mildest of tones, “and the boys
must stay with you until I return.”
“That's what you always promise, but vou
do stay away forever.”
“II hy, uncle Jacob,” Tom exclaimed, una
ble to longer restrain himself, "when did
motLer leave heme lefcre. 1 thirk none of
ns cculd name the day. I'm sure she has'nt
left the farm three times this year!”
“I shcvlo'ijt go new,” continued the ladv
“if I was notobliged to. Gustavus Adolphus
needs shoes, and Rufus must have a new
hat.”
‘‘TlieyVe alius {earin' up tlieir things*
growled the old man. “I never saw two such
youngsters in my life. Gustavus took one of
'the glasses out o’ my best pair of spectacles,
and used it for a sun glass. Rufe put peas
in my shoes, and then craw led under the bed
to scare me up, when you went away before."
“Oh, boys! boys! why do you behave so?"
exclaimed the mother in a distressed, expos-
tuating tone. “I am afraid I shall be obliged
to stay at home after alL”
watched her as she rode away: watched her
far as his dim and watery- vision would allow
him to discern her receding form, and then
turned with a sigh, and stumbled back into
the house. Poor old man! he was in his sec
ond childhood and felt almost as weak and
helpless as the babe at its mother’s breast.
“I think uncle gets more and more queru
lous every day,” said Tom, who was walking
with long strides by- the pony’s side, swinging
his school bucket in his band: “he’s almost
eighty-four, isn’t he?”
“Yes, quite. His birth-day came in last
month. I seldom leave home now, and
when I do, it almost breaks his heart.” •
The sun was shining very brightly upon
the stubble and old corn-field near which
they passed, and the snow reflected its rays
with dazzling brilliancy. To Tom, every
broad acre was familiar ground, for he had
them plowed, sowed, reaped, and garnered
ample and abundant harvests. The summer
past bad been a prosperous and busvone, and
he thought with a sigh of relief, how- that
troublesome mortgage would soon be paid off,
and the rich prairie farm become an unin
cumbered possession. Next year he, and
Rufe, and Gus, would workharderthan ever:
the two younger boys could go to school the
year after. He could then hire laborers.
Surely little Esther ought to be adopted at
once.
It did not take long to traverse the two
miles which intervened between Mrs. Ramb
ler's and Pi airie farm. To Tom, who walked
over the ground every day, the distance
seemed short to the head of the bayou. He
was surprised to see Mr. Brantley opening
the little white gate, as his mother rode up in
front of the widow’s cottage. It w-as almost
! time for the first bell at the Academy, and
the teacher was a punctual man, but after
the morning salutations that gent'eman ex
plained matters thus:
“I found the little girl very sick last night,”
he said, “and concluded I must come down
this morning, and see if she needed a physi
cian. I left Mrs. Quack here, and she has
some reputation as a nurse, I believe, Mrs.
Jenkins.”
“Yes. Mrs. Dolly’s remedies are sometimes
thought to be very- good,” she replied, enter
ing the gate which he held open. “But Mr.
Brantley, what is to become of the poor little
creatures? Thomas seems quite distressed
about them. He has almost pursuaded me
into adopting one.”
“Indeed I wish you would, Mrs. Jenkins.
I think it would be one’ of the best acts of
your life. I have been greatly- troubled
about them, and slept very badly- last night.”
The door was opened from the inside by-
Edward, who stood, cap in hand ready for
school. His arms were filled with books: he
too was surprised at the sight of Mr. Brant
ley, but a smile instantly came to his bright,
florid face, and he ushered them in with the
frank easy politeness, which is so charming
in a boy-.
Mrs. Quack had gone home at break of
day-, attended by Jhe ever faithful Dave, and
Mrs. Rambler was busy with her little
charges.
Esther and Flint were up and dressed, but
Olive lay, white as death, upon her pillow,
and persistently refused to partake of any
nourishment. The teacher looked graver
than ever, as he approached the little couch
and counted the languid pulse.
“Did she rest well?” he asked.
“No, she called incessantly for water, and
talked incoherently sometimes. She saw her
drowning father, and shrieked and stretched
out her arms, and loudly called his name.”
“Poor little one,” exclaimed the master
compassionately. “I must send a physician
down! How are the others'”
They- seem quite well: the little boy espec
ially is very lively.
“The oldest one evidently suff.-red more
exposure than any of them. Her whole aim
and desire was to shield them from all harm.”
Mrs. Jenkins seated herself by the fire.
Tom stood near her on I he hearth. They- had
called Esther to their sides, and were much
study lamp, took my hat, and come down to
join you in y-our vigils. How is our little pa
tient? - ’
“I think the end is very near, Mr. Brant-
lsy. Come and look at her!’’
The Preceptor took the lamp from the little
table, and approached the narrow bed. He
saw at a glance that medical skill could do
nothing more: the waters of the cold river
were already laving her feet; the shadowy
boatman was approaching to ferry her over:
sbe would soon be the denizen of another and
brighter shore for she lay- perfectly uncon
scious.
“You are quite right,” he said gravely:
“she is dying.”
“Shall I call the children?” asked the lady a
little excitedly-.
“No, they will learn the sad tidings soon
enough. Their cries to-night might arouse
and distress her. Her brief life has been sad,
poverty-stricken and tempestuous. Let her
die calmly and unconsciously, like a tired
babe going to its cradle-sleep. There is a
kind Shepherd waiting to fold this little lamb
to His bosom, and henceforth shield her from
all harm.”
He replaced the lamp, and walked slowly
away to the fireplace.
“Neither Mrs. Quack nor Mrs. Jenkins has
returned,” hesa d.
“No sir.”
“Perhaps it would be well for me to go af
ter someone: we shall soon need assistance. I
dislike to leave you alone with the dying. I
have thought about y-ou ail day. Shall I go?
I will not be long absent.”
“Yes,” she said, but it was not without an
effort. The idea of again being alone, face
to face with the Grim King of Terrors, in
spired her with dread.
He took his hat and went out quickly, but
returned soon, accompanied by two elderly-
ladies, and a gentleman. The entire party-
entered softly, and spoke in subdued tones,
as if afraid of disturbing the dying child.
Needless caution! The ears deaf to all earth
ly sounds, could not be penetrated by the
rumblings of an earthquake—the ey-es, blind
to all terrestial scenes, could not be attracted
by the most gorgeous spectacle.
She however continued to breathe until
the clock struck twelve, and then passed up
ward without a struggle or a groan. Her bit-
life had ended. The elderly ladies prepared
the body- for burial, and when the children
awoke the next morning, the first thing
their ey-es rested upon, was a long slim object
covered with a sheet, near the eastern wind
ows. The sunlight was streaming brightly
over it, but it was wintry sunlight with small
heat in its beams. They rubbed their sleepy
eyes and looked at it, sitting erect in bed.
IVhat could it be? Their sister’s couch too
had been carried out, and was no where to
be seen. Esther was the first to resolve to
solve the mystery. She slid softly out of
bed; ran to Mrs. Rambler, and hid her face
in her lap.
“IVhere’s sister?” she asked. “Where’s
her bed?”
The kind hearted lady could not immedi
ately- reply. She bent down and kissed the
face y-et rosy from refreshing slumber, and
smoothed back t he sunny- ringlets that clus
tered over her forehead.
“Put on y-our clothes,” she said at length,
“and then I will tell you all about it.”
“Did the woman carry her away-last night
on the grey pony ? If she did, Flint and I
must go too. Mamma said sister must take
care of us.”
“No, Mrs. Jenkins has cot been here: your
sister did not go with her.”
The girl went to the bed—treacling very
softly with her little bare feet—and brought
her dress. She stood very still while Mrs.
Rambler tied her strings, and fastened her
buttons. This finished, she commenced
whimpering aloud: “I want sister!”
“Come with me Esther,’’ said the lady,
taking her gently by the hand and leading
her toward the white object: the child drew
back: that ghastly sheet inspired terror:
something dreadful must be hidden under it:
“You have seen the wheat grow, the beans
and cabbages. They are for us to eat: it is
in this way God feeds us. He also makes
cotton grow in the fields, and wool on the
sheep. It is in this way He clothes us. Fy!
Etta, how can you say you never saw Ilim
do it? You are seeing it all the time.”
The girl caressed his face with her tear-
wet hands.
“You are a good boy,” she said, “and know
a great deal about everything. Can He give
us our suppers, and wrap us from the cold
when the wind blows, and put us to bed, and
tuck us in snug and warm as she used to do?”
“He can make somebody do it for you: so
don’t cry any- more. I expect mamma will
let you stay here, and be my little sister.
Don’t you want to be my s'ster?”
I think I’d rather go with the boy who has
the pony. It is very- warm and comfortable
here, but it would be nice riding on a pony.
Don’t you think so? He said he'd buy- me
candy too, but, ” she continued softly sm ooth-
ing his face with both hands as if afraid her
words might wound his feelings: “I shall
come to see you almost every day, and Flint
can live with you: he isn’t big enough to ride
ponies.”
"Tom is a good fellow Etta, and I can’t be
hurt with any one for loving him. I think
more of him than of any boy in school.”
They were conversing thus, when the fam
ily returned from partaking of the morning
repast. Flint had eaten as heartily as usual:
the grief of childhood is shallow and evanes
cent.
It was a small band that went out that af
ternoon, and stood beside a i'ttle y-awning
grave, which bad been dug near a tree not
far fj-om the bead of the bayou. Snow min
gled with brown earth was heaped upon its
edge, and the wind blew with a dirge like
sound through the naked limbs overhead.
Flint, closely- wrapped in a shawl, was
borne in Edward’s arms, while Esther walked
slowly and sorrowfully by Mis. Rambler’s
side. Sbe stood very quietly- until the last
shovelful had been thrown in upon the coffin,
then she stole to Tom Jenkin’s side, and slid
her little hand into his.
“I will go home with you now,” she said,
looking into his face. “Sister has gone to
heaven and won’t need me auy more. Take
me home with you, please.”
The boy stooped and gathered her up in his
arms. He wrapped his old blue camlet cloak
around "her tenderly, as if she had been a
baby, and looked smilingly, lovingly- into her
inflamed eyes and upon her tear-wet face.
“IVe’ll take good care of her, Mrs. Ram
bler,” he said in a low tone to the lady who
bad approached to lead her back. “She has
chosen her home: henceforth she bel >ngs to
us. I w-ill carry- her home to mother.”
He turned and was about bearing her off,
when she reached out her arms, and clasping
the woman about the neck, kissed her.
You’re a good lady,” she said, “and if Flint
cries, I’ll come back. Ic will be very nice to
ride on the pony to see him.”
The widow smiled, and Tom trudged along
with her in his arms. The sun shone redly
over the snow, and had quite set behind the
western hills, when he sat her down on the
clean sanded floor of his mother’s kitchen.
Mrs. Jenkins was getting supper before a
ruddy- fire, but uncle Jacob sat in one corner
and ey-ed the new comer sharply from under
his gray, shaggy- brows.
“And so you’ve brought another here, to
pester around,” he said growingly. “Them
boys ’ll be the death o’ her in less than a week.
Gus is over there in the corner, making faces
at her a’ready-. Nobody can live in peace
where they is.”
“I hope not, brother,” said Mrs. Jenkins
shaking loose the child's sunny ringlets.
“They must regard her as a sister.”
“Humph! you’ll see,” said the old man;
you’ll see.”
To be continued.
All heroes are poor.
Lippiatt was poor,
BOOK IV.
Maronette opened a window and shied an
old boot at Lippiatt.
“Is that you. Lippiatt ?” she said.
“Yes,” said Lippiatt.
Maronette laughed.
“My- father say-s I must marry- the man
who will bring him the Norwegian mael
strom,” said Maronette.
Lijipiatt got off the fence and walked away.
BOOK v.
Like all tailors in France, Lippiatt was a
good sailor. He stole a boat and started for
the coast of Norway. A fearful storm came
on. The world drew on a heavy cloak to pro
tect it from the storm. The sea opened a
thousand mouths to swallow Lippiatt. It was
hungry- for him. His beard and hair were
filled with salt. Great grasping hands of
darkness reached down to snatch him.
Lippiatt only- laughed. ■
The scene grew wilder. Monsters of wa
ter crowded against the boat. They- were
reaching for Lippiatt. He steered his boat
to avoid them.
A wave averages twenty feet in hight. It
contains 40O tons of water. It is thicker at
the base than at the top. In that respect it is
like a py-ramid. But it is not three cornered.
It is oval in shape. A round wave is a wa
terspout. A w-aterspout is thick at the top
and bottom and slender in the middie.
L’ppiatt knew this.
He was afraid of waves. He was fearful
of waterspouts.
BOOK VI.
In four day-s Lippiatt arrived at the mael
strom.
“It is for Maronette,” said he.
The maelstrom is shaped like a funnel. The
lower end is at the bottom. The mouth is at
the top, It is caused by- the tides. The Nor
wegians suppose it is caused by- a hole in the
earth. Lippiatt knew better.
He went down in the maelstrom and fas
tened a rope around the lower end. To this
rope he adjusted blocks and pulleys. Then
he climbed out of the pit # and fastened the
other end of the rope to the masthead. The
blocks gave him a purchase.
He rested.
BOOK VIII.
Having rested, Lippiatt pulled on the rope-
He pulled the maelstrom inside out. The
bottom was then at the top. It spun around
like an inverted top.
Lippiatt drove a staple into it and fasten
ed his line. Then he set sail. The maelstrom
followed.
“I shall marry Maronette,” he said.
BOOK VIII.
Another .man sat on the picket fence. It
was Goudenay-. Goudenay loved Maronette.
Maronette loved Goudenay-.
Goudenay saw something coming in the
harbor.
“IVhat’s that ?” he asked.
It looked like an inverted funnel. It was
l,o0o feet high.
“I don’t know,” said Maronette.
She was right. She didn’t.
ROOK IX.
Lippiatt disembarked. He took the mael
strom on his shoulders. Then he went to the
gloomy house. He hung the maelstrom on
the picket fence.
“How do you do, Goudenay ?” he asked.
He knew Goudenay-. He had disappointed
him about some trousers.
“I am happy,” said Goudenay; “I am go
ing to marry Maronette.”
Lippiatt looked at Maronette.
“Yes,” she said. “I marry Goudenay this
morning.”
BOOK x.
•Lippiatt went to the wedding.
He gave Maronette a silver card receiver.
Maronette smiled.
Lippiatt went back to the picket fence. He
ate the maelstrom up.
BOOK XI.
As the wedding party went home they
saw a dead body ly-ing beside the picket
railroad, was once general passenger agent of | fence. The point of the maelstrom was stick-
the Montgomery- and Eufaula railroad. Be- ing out of the mouth.
Thev were in bed. Frenchmen were discov- , jo,, a more interesting and natural character
. .. -- 1 —1 -1— 1 - - -1— »>— e— ous “Little Nell” of
onception of such a
^ „„ „ , „ ... ... you in some mo-
ness is a shadow that rises from the ground j n ient of real inspiration. Hardly, if at all,
the sun goes down.
The man on the fence was thinking,
name was Lippiatt
BOOK III.
Lippiatt loved Maronette.
a 'girl. She knew Lippiatt.
know L'ppiatt loved her.
Maronette lived in the _
Lippiat did not tell Maronette that he loved
hsr. He was contented to sit on the fence in
front of her house: He was a quiet man. He
was a tailor. A tailor is a man who prom-
His
Maronette was
She did not
arloomy house.
1 inferior is your presentation of the boy’s
| father; a martyr without self-consciousness;
| and a noble Christian, one might say, by in-
| stinct! Altogether, this novel of yours, (or
1 should we term it a dramatic romance.) con-
! tains such unusual elements of power,
pschychological; moral, and artistic—that it
stands out in bol l relief, even among the
most brilliant fictions of our brilliant age;
and should be a matter of pride to our whole
section and a source of equal reputation and
profit to yourself.
May the “should be,” take the practical
ises to have your clothes done Saturday, and f ; m J of fait accompli." Richlv do vour
then brings them around week after next. | ]abors merit - a substantial recognition; such
IMII.KOAlk SPAKKS.
Maj. W. D. Chipley, General Manager of
the Louisville and Pensacola railroad, made
a flying visit to Atlanta last week.
John Colvin, formerly passenger agent of
the Western of Alabama, is now pulling a
bell-rope on that road.
Which, while it does not concern this col
umn, the printer was unkind.to “Muzette” in
last weeks number, in making her say Hab
ersham for Havers ham. Were Muzette a
railroad man, instead of a pretty girl; the
printer would have been imprecated, provid
ed the printer is not also a pretty- girl, which
is not unlikely- in the Sunny South office.
Reau Campbell, now the General Agent at
Cincinnati of the Alabama Great Southern
a recognition, I fear, as could never come to
vou as merely the editor of “The Sunny
South,” brilliantly as your editorial duties
are performed.
If I have somewhat hastily expressed my
self in the present note, at all events believe
in the absolute sincerity of what I have writ
ten. And I believe too, that I am, dear mad
am, most faithfully yours,
Paul H. Hayne.
From Rebecca Cameron, Hillsboro, N. C.
Author of “Eealted by Fire.”
We have iately read a new l>ook, a good
book, a clever book—sound, sweet, healthy;
and it was more than that, though these are
virtues enough to flavor half a dozen of the
modern nineteenth century- novels. It is
well written, that is, in good, pure English,
good grammar and good taste. More than
that still, it was absorbing, thrilling, delight
ful. We began to read it after tea—say
eight o’clock, or a little later. When the
last page had been turned, and we came to
ourself, it was just half past eleven; we had
lost ourself completely- for nearly four hours,
being absolutely- absorbed into 1 he current of
the story. And it seems to us that is about
as much of a compliment as a reader can pay
a book. We do not say the book is beyond
criticism, but that ungracious task we leave
to others—if such there be—who have been
able to read it slowly enough to detect the
flaws. For our part, we were too well en
tertained to feel disposed to quarrel with the
entertainment.
The book is called “Manch,” and is from
the pen of the gifted Mrs. Mary Bry-an of
Atlanta, and issued by- the firm of D. Apple-
ton & Co., in their usual perfection of style
and finish. The moral is perfect, the style
easy and graceful, the characters all ger-
main to the action of the story, none super
fluous. The action, always well sustained,
rises into actual dramatic effect towards the
close, when the some-time Captain Brown
recalls himself—like the blast of a bugle-
horn—to the memory- of his former compan-
ious-in-arms. We will not review either
plot or characters, though Melicent is so
sweet, true and womanly. Neil, beautiful,
almost unreal in his heroic self-abnegation;
and “Manch,” the boy-whose name (or lack
of one) gives title to the book, is the most
winning, dearest little waif in the world of
book-made people. We will content ourself
with very heartily thanking Mrs. Bryan for
a very enjoyable book, and praying her
please write another.
Rebecca Cameron.
engaged talking to her. Sbe was indeed a I her rosy cheek became pallid with dread.
lovely child, with curly golden hair, and vio
let eyes. No wonder Tom was struck with
her exceeding great beauty.
“Don't you want to go home with me, and
be my little girl?" asked Mrs. Jenkin’s laying
a fond motherly hand upon the sunny curls.
“If sister "11 go, I will,” said the child glanc
ing toward the pillow—“we got no papa now;
he's drowned.”
“You'll go and stay with me, until sister
gets well enough to follow, wont you?”
The child shook her bead.
“I'll makea little wagon for you,” said Tom
“and buy some candy and you shall ride on
the pony.”
All these were great inducements, but they
did not win her over.
“Will Flint go too?’’ she asked.
“No, we must leave him here w ith his sis
ter.”
‘•I'll stay,” sbe said. “This is a nice warm
room, and"that is a pretty, kind lady,” point
ing to Mrs. Rambler.
"YOU Ste bow it is Thomas r said Mrs. Jen-
kin's. ‘‘They cling- together: it would be
cruel to seperate them."
Olive now raised her head for the first time,
and spoke in a feeble voice.
“If Esther goes with the woman, she must
take me too. Mamma, darling mamma, told knees. He warmed her
me when she was dying, to take care of the i by the cheerful flame,
children. I hi Kr “'"" “ Tlr] ' nhh<
I'll bring her back tomorrow,” said Tom | to
coaxingly. I'll bring her on the pony,” but ' tie voice:
Esther still shook her curly head. 1 now,
_ overcome by applications for passes, he
had cards posted about his office upon which
was printed the following:
IN THOSE DAYS THERE WERE XO PASSES GIVEN.
. SEARCH THE SCRIPTURES.
Thou shalt not pass. Gen. xx:i8.
Suffer not a man to pass. Judges iii :2S.
The wicked shall no more pass. Nahom, i:
5.
None shall ever pass. Isaiah xxxiv:io.
This generation shall not pass. Mark xiii.
3°-
Though they roar, yet shall they not pass.
Jeremiah ii :-t—-
So he paid hisfar e and went, Jonah i:3.
BY THE
EUFAULA ROUTE.
Capt. W. J. Ballard, general baggage agent
at Atlanta of the railroads centering here,
has been in ill health for several months, and
will spend a part of the summer at some of
the resorts farther North. A host of friends
will keep him company with their kindest
wishes for a pleasant trip and entire restora
tion to health.
Capt. Ballard will receive a cordial wel
come from any member of the rail road fra
ternity who has ever had the pleasure of
meeting him. A gentleman in every sense.
“Good gracious!’’ said Maronette.
“Holy smoke! - ’ exclaimed Goudenay.
Ic was Lippiatt.—Brooklyn Eagle.
“I want sister,” she cried, “I don't want
to go there. ”
“lister is here,” said Mrs. Rambler turning
back the white covering: “come and look at
her.’’
The child gave a scared glance into the
upturned peaceful face, then uttering a
heart-rending shriek, fell prostrate with her
face to the floor.
The little boy seemed now to comprehend
for the first time that something dreadful
had happened: he jumped off the bed and
ran toward the window: first he looked with
curious troubled eyes at the corpse, then
turning, caught hold of Esther s sleeve say
ing: “dit up! dit up I say; Ollas sleep!’’
“Yes, sister's gone to sleep,” said Mrs. , . , . , , ,
Rambler lifting him up in her arms until he j cloth carpet hag m his left hand and a green
could better look into her dead face: “she cotton umbrella in the other,
will never be cold, or hungry, or tired any “Is you the clerk of this kyar, (car) he ask-
more.” I ed of me.
The child upon the floor did not move: her “I am the conductor.”
moans would have touched a heart of stone. “I want to go Cbattanoogy on this Rvar,”
Edward entered and tried to comfort her. but 1 he said.
In vain: did not hear, or if she heard did i . I told him to getaboard. He walked along
not heed his voice. She was lving thus, when ! side the ladies car looking for an opening
Prof. Brantley entered the room. He did j through which he could climb in
not speak, but stooping
sat down before the fire
Mr. W. D. Jenkins won the silver pitcher
in the rifle shooting match at Oswego last
week.
Mr. George W. Childs, while in New York
last week, gave $100 for the library of the
New York Press Club.
Martin Battles, who, twenty years ago,
murdered a man through jealousy in Chau
tauqua county, New York, has lately become
insane through remorse, imagining 'that the
ghost of his victim continually follows him.
Zola, the novelist, lives like a Benedictine,
locked into his study, and never appearing
in public. His mode of work is a very
strange one. It consists in taking masses of
notes on the class of society he wishes to
paint: then, when his notes are put together
he composes his novel, page by page, never
casting his eye over the back pages, an thus
writing about five a day w
care.
From Hon. .4. H. Stephens to the publishers.
I think “Manch” is one of the most inters
esting and thrilling stories I have ever read.
Send me one hundred copies and I will remit
the price.
From Prof. Wm. Henry Peck, the popular
novelist and favorite story writer for the
New York Ledger-.
Atlanta, Ga., January 28th 1880.
Mrs. Mary E. Bryan:
Dear Madame—Permit me to congratu
late you upon the many excellencies of your
brilliant novel, “Manch.” It is indeed a
powerful and original work. The plot is
bold, the movement rapid and intense. I
began to read the story at 6 p. m.; I did not
pause in my perusal till I had read through
to the end—at midnight. Six hours of deeply
absorbed attention; six hours of literary
pleasure! I am much obliged to you.;
I am sure that vour work should give you
both fame and gold. Certainly you deserve
both; and much of each.
Your sincere friend,
Wm. Henry Peck.
From. Mrs. Mary Ashley Townsend, author
of “The Brother Clerks.”
New Orleans, Feb. 16.
Dear Mr. Derby:
I have just finished the thrilling and beauti
ful story of “Manch.” I was profoundly inter
ested from the first chapter to the last; I
find it full of vigor, originality and dramatic
power. I am too fresh from the magnetic
influence of the story—too much stirred by
the heroism, too much moved by the pathos
there betrayed to attempt to criticise it in
any way. In fact, my present impression is
that it is above criticism. The characters
are admirably drawn and well sustained, the
plot is novel, well laid and cleverly carried
out, the story is told wi’h much force; is un
clogged with dull description and the reader’s
interest is not once allowed to flag. I am
truly obliged to you for having recommend
ed to my notice so admirable a hook.
Sincerely,
Mary Ashley Townsend,
years the responsible position he hoi Is, and
is so exceptionally popular, must be possess
ed of deserving qualities of head and heart.
The following is related by Dick Hargis,
passenger conductor on the W. & A. rail
road:
“One morning at Aiatoona station, I no
ticed a tall, gaugling country boy. wearing a
blue jeans coat reaching to his shoes, striped
vest, “eoperas breeches,” flaming red cravat,
and country wool hat He had an enameled
From the Christian Index.
We have read the book with great interest.
The smooth, deep, rapid flow of the il ction;
ith the utmost the consummate ability with which the plot
® 1 is managed, its details worked out: the thnll-
ing, tragic situations; the perspicuous, elevat-
Anna Dickinson is like Beecher as a lec- ! ed style; the under-current of passion that
turer, emotional, and therefore uneven. I : hurries on towards the denouement; the start-
have heard her deliver lectures that were [ ling glimpses we have in the rush of the nar-
full of crudities and unequal in parts, not at ; ration as to what the denouement will he - the
" * ’ ‘ “ — “ -My contrasting and Rembrandt like toiich-
lat give us hits of Southern and frontier
ayg passages full ot nre ana rorce mat re- 1 scenery, glowing with the color and beauty
deemed them. She has a remarkably clear ! of poetic interpretation—these are qualities
head for political-discussions; her arguments \ that stamp “Manch” as the work of a strong,
are strong and forcible.
The Thomasvile Post gives an account of
the death of Gus Stephens, a colored man,
employed on the farm of Captain L. L.
Varnedoe, three miles east of Thomasville,
being struck by lightning on Tuesday last.
He had just finished his dinner and started
to the field v hen the thunderbolt fell and he
was seen to reel, stagger, spin around for a
moment and then fall dead. The unfortun-
! highly-gifted, original and imaginative mind,
| familiar with the artistic elements essential
to the production of works of this kind.
From the Louisville Courier Journal.
Its characters are made to stand out boldly
and distinctly; its plot is a strong one with no
minor parallel threads to detract irom its
, . - .| . , . , , 1 power. Arousing interest at the becrinninfir.
ate man had a piece of silver in his head, it sustains and increases it to the finale with
out 'elaxation. Its motion is consistent, and
at times intensely dramatic. In less skillful
j hands it might have been called sensational;
in those of^Mrs. Bryan it is an effective piece
" rni - " warm
having some years ago undergone a trepan
ning operation. It is thought that this at
tracted the electric fluid and caused the
catastrophe.
* : -.r- j. 0.. * T7 • 1 • u i in tnose oi oirs. joryan it is an effective
The coming Minnesota State Fair, which 1 0 f art xhe style is colqred with the -
Ml 111 1 l lC—.AAr.r.li* in Cftrvtnmhiii' k . > >1 1. < . .
Y\ e will forward a copy post-paid.
J address, on receipt of fd.5o.