Newspaper Page Text
i.ul
VOL. VI.
J. H.. & W. R SEALS 1
KIUTOMS AND
PROPRIETORS.
ATLANTA, (LA., Al (U NT 7, 1SS0.
Terms in Advance;
TO Jl—.
(Lines on the reception of a bonnet of violets.)
By Niilonio,
Sweet violets blue
With their message from .you,
I fondly will cherish them ever.
ITceioos mem* lies they bi-ini'.
Sweet thoughts mumi them ’cling—
Tender thoughts full of love for the giver.
Ye flowers so blue.
Crowned with pearly dew.
Your fragrance and beauty remind me
Of days in the past
Pays too happy to last —
Yet their memories sweetly can charm i
While each dainty eup
With rich perfume tilled up.
Mnih s modestly Death its green leaves;
My heart bounds with pleasure,
And reaps in full measure.
The joy which their sweet presence give
Thro’ life's wintry hours.
How like to those (lowers.
Are friends who ore constant and true:
In dark daiys of sadness.
They bring rays of g'adncss.
As these beautiful violets do.
11au.vii n:, (ia., Aug. Isso.
ELSIE VANE;
— nit—
Apples of Gold.
r.v i.iiik.
CHAPTER 1.
K< IIM) WAXTIMi.
love
hi
“Like (lead sea fruit-- that tempt the eye.
But turn to ashes on the lips.”
“Coming at liist !*’
The heart 1 nit a moment before so heavy
-with long waiting, threw off its leaden
weight with the joyous hound of youth and
trust, and the girl sprang up from the gnarl
ed trunk on whie*h she had been sitting, her
eht eks id 1 ■/■■•. her soft brown eyes agloyv. jyv
tout parted her red-ripe lips, ringing with
e's full, exultant jubilate.
*Mh, Norman! here at last! How long,
w very long von have been away !
Only’ ten ilavs; and hav- they been so
yen long, lady bird ! Then kiss me, sw. et
e~t, and forget then;, and only remember that
J am with you now.
The stmiitf «rm> clasped her slight i< mi m ,
a close end .race, tin dark eyes grew misty ui h
tenderness, the (h ep. mellow voice rang with :
passion's sweetest music, and lips curved like
Cupid's bow, met the sweet lips upturned to
'They sat down silently at the familiar tryst-
ing spot under the dark shining branches 01
the old oak tree. The flowers around them
drooped their heads, heavy with their weight
the
j One Year. *$3.50,
L Single l«|»y, 5c.
NO. 263
“I should not reason thus—nor would you
if your love was like mine. Love is not love
that hesitates at anything, shrinks from any
thing, that will give a moment's pleasure
to the beloved object. Love does not weigh
and measure and ponder and calculate, it
loves—loves only, and that continually. To
set up this cold, calculating, mathematical
problem and call it love, is odious."
“I am sorry dearest,” the sweet voice quiv
ered and the soft, sad eyes filled w ith tears,
“that 1 fall so far below the measure of your
desires. 1 am sure no woman, even though
she gave up all heaven for your sake, could
ever love you more entirely than I do. But
1 cannot Norman—forgive me and do not he
angered—I nit I cannot sacrifice my sense of
right and truth and honor- no, not even for
you,”
Be drew his arm away coldly and stood
up. “Angered? oh no, why should 1 be
angry? You surely have the right to con
trol your own actions; ! hold no claim to
guide them. But"—looking at his watch
1 must go now, Elsie; I promised to drive
Sybil to the V, itches' Cave by sunset, so that
we might see its weird beauties in the twi
light's shadow and enjoy the drive home bv
moonlight. ’’
He stooped and k'ssed her, but the kiss was
cold and constrained. She looked up with
sad. beseeching eyes, hut he turned away
hastily, mounted Saladin, waved his hand
and called in a tone that would fain have
been gay but was not, “We have been bears
little one, we shall be turtle-doves next time,
good-bye my own,” and rode swiftly awav.
Again Elsie turned with slow steps toward
the house and sat down beside the little vine-
draped window. “Why should he go with
Sybil to watch the twilight shadows and to
enjoy the drive by moonlight; But I could
not ask him to stay, I could say nothing, it
would have seemed to him the offspring of a
mean and petty jealousy. And t am not
jealous—ami; Do I not know he loves me?
—me, only and always; But why does he
seek these subjects of dispute; It was not so
before she came. A»ul I could not say other
than 1 did. I cannot, will not give up m\
sense of right, no, not even for his love. But
how warm and ardent and impassioned his
words were and how cold and calm and cal
cularing they made mine sound. But did he
mean all that: would he Detray another’s
confidence simply to gra*if\ a wTem of one
• "* b v»d; is his idea of tru.hand h«-c.ir «**»
flam-.d
the cold iron han<Vwas again 1 ime
heart strings, and as sir* sat in long and sad
communing with the gray demon ot sus
picion, the old clock on the stairs again ticked
out its weird, fantastic warning, “Weighed
- wanting — weighed—wanting— weighed—
wanting.”
[To be continued.]
120 W 'S’SJI-’.Y
S5SSAYE» CATT
-m:\sro.
1 had only kn
vhv
IV, and flung out a sweeter fragrance
,veiling air, the sweet clover and tall
grasses Ilf the long meadow that lay beyo cl
them sparkled and flushed as if a shower of
diamonds had fallen over them, the -king
bird warbled bis love tale in the brunenes
overhead, and the silver rays of the r.smg
moon bathed each lace in that gloij of l.„nL
and beauty shed only from the radiance of
“love's young dream.”
W hat need of words between them, " hen
heart beat against heart, and lip answered
to lip in loVe’s soft, st, sweetest, most impas
sioned eloquence; A broken murmur now
and then, intelligible only to the heart that
throbbed its happy response, a pet nani- sof
ty whispered amid caresses. I lie subtile sped
the twilight hour stole over them. In the
id-ire of dav the cares, the troubles, the plans,
the ambitions of life fill the heart of man. the
iirneti.nl holds swav and shuts out dream.an.l
from his vision. But with the sunset he
shakes off the chains of early frets and toils,
and his heart beats keep time to those syren
songs that chime out their melody deep down
in the heart's coral caves, beneath the rtisli-
jnc surging current of everyday. Andes
the'rainbow robes that drupe the dying .-mi
fade into soft, pearly clouds, and the young
moon flings her light veil ot dreams and shad
ows over mossy dingle and darkhngglen. the
heart throbs to 111 ire melodious ryilnn, and
all the poetrv and passion in the soul awak
ens to take the crown and sceptre, and pro
claim itself omnipotent.
‘‘Blossom mine! vou must love me a \oj-
nine in each word, and a heart full in each
look, for 1 have only half an hour to stay
with you to-night,."
“Oh, Norman! ten days to everybody else,
and now only half an hour to me!
q'lie sweet, reproachful face [was raised to
his with a tear glistening in each soft brown
eye He laughed a low, mellow laugh, as he
pressed down the long lashes.
-Hu' Birdie, I have promised, and I ought
go. ’Don't look at me with dew y eyes, and
woo me to break my promise with the (pur
er of sweet lips, for you know my mother
says mi inability to say ‘no,’ is the rock up- ,
on" which I shall shipwreck at last.
“Don't talk to me about promises and du- \
ties to other people; all vour P>'o".ises s , .m d
l„. ,,, ,,l,. all your duties should he paid
t 0 me and vou never should, ‘so long as we
both shall live,' be able to say ‘no when I say
J His light laugh rang out on the summer
night, but there was a shade of nervousm-ss
ami constraint in its tones, Ins daik brows
contracied, and a cloud, half of m,patience, j
half (if regret, passed over his face; but his
<!nly answer was a kiss on bps and brow ,
nmla volume of pet names mummied with
verv soft modulation and sweet caress that i
passion knows. He spoke no more of going, ,
but sal by her Side sfcped in the mm it A - .
liriumand flashing out with ynitefu8‘ 1 > 1
et v all the bright, airy noth.ngs m the rata- |
higue of youth and love. The hours sped on,
and the midnight moon glin'ed throng i *«
oak I..,ugh- when at last lie rose, took out his
watch, and with a sharp ring of remorse m
his voice, exclaimed:
“Oil. heavens! Elsie, how could vou keep
me here so long? l promised faithfully to
go and sit up with I'hil Grayson to-night.
Be is dangerously ill of brain fever and rav
ing with delirium: the other boys are all ex
hnusterf ami I promised Mrs. Grayson to «><*
there by o’clock at farthest 1 he old
lady will have no one with her, and she can t
control him. God grant that he may not
have killed himself or her "
wouldn’t have
asked you f«» ay
didn’t Vou i -i “i ■ ;" , .. j
• I ifon t k“ v whv. Rose-bad.: unless it
W.-.S bee: is : ; -ared von wo.it 1 say ‘go.’ ami j
vou were so-wee . niy own. that, I could a t
leave you. Th-i • don't reproach im . w hen
the wrong was done ' T your sweet sake but
kiss me once more an 1 let me sty good by.
and go w hile 1 can—it ni iy not be too late.
—and ng ber ii[ - with a long, lingering •
kiss, he darted across the meadow like an ar
row sped from a bo w. an I was soon I -st to
her watching, tea -.or eves.
Elsie turn,-. 1 with si ,w. lingering steps to
ward the !,. u-t. The ho;ir»ba.ll a dream
, of l'ar.Lilis -ill Norman's arms, but they were
not rightfully hers, they belong,; 1 t . Ins sick
friend, aiel tie-moments spent in the mviue
luxury of 1 -e should have been given to aid
aiid comfort the aged mother. Some thorns
will grow among our sweetest, roses, and Elsie
as she lay beside her vine-draped window,
dreaming tlie elysian dream that conies ill
all its beaut -- and freshness but once to any
. of us. siglic i with a vague sense of foreliod-
i iug and unrest. The consciousness of power
is sweet to ah. and in love's llrst and hrigut-
e-o dream, tee best and strong'-s. ate weak
and often guilty ot injustice: we c -u forgive
"t 1111 os - any wrong lone to allot h-r ii we toil
that it w as done through love for us tao i".I-Ie
Vane's cheeks burned an 1 her eyes sparkled,
and h-r full, bounding puls--s tiirobbel with
tin- w it!, timniltuous pa-sjon of youth, and
the proud. ( xultant consciousness of po wer,
as yours too. have done in old dead days, and
chime tint struck on her half waking senses
w ith the dread foreboding of a prophecy—
“weighed — want ing — weighed — wanting—
weighed wanting.
CHATTER II.
THE MOTH AND THE CAXllLE.
“Mam- tilings in this wo rid that hmk bright,
i.r-ttv iti-i-.h. mi’.v -1 •/./. e to end u- astray "
1 - OI.lisiiNil.
•r mine, how long is this
ake us thrice blessed by
mine. But through all the golden visa,.;s, all
niii
“Oh, Norman, darling, why didn’t you tell
You know 1
me this at first;
disquietude, the chill foreboding, still crept
through her veins and re-ted on her hear;.
Her lover was young, gay and gitted
with manlv beauty, graceful bearing, and
a generous'heart, and the soft, I,.'gliding
tenderness • f his impassio nature was
lnvMv ;:s a poet’s dream. But Elsie, though
hi years. «»ii!v standing on the brink ot v. n-
immhno.L was in heart ami nature, a 1ml,
roundetl. ai d perfect woman, and rtqmred a
firm, strong manly heart to lean upon, Khe
did not want a waxen image lo mold to her
wdl. but an honest heart, a noble soul, a lum
determined will, “strong to do the right
and swift tile wrong to flee. a husbuid
who was “every inch., a man.
This was not tin* first time slit? had Been
conscious of a weariness in the character ot
Norman Dave-nant. Time and again had
“trifles light as air” forced themselves before
unwilling eyes, until they wen- strengthen
ing into •vontirnmtion strong as holy wilt,
that Norman Davenent’s wife would never
1,1- able to rest up m him with that trust, and
confidence ill his cool impartial judgment,
firm, unwavering integrity, and manly
strength, requisite to mike “the heart of
every l.appv wife echo t . the sound ol h-
hiisb'tn.I s tre 1.1, “It is I. he not afraid
She lav wi'h half-closed eyes, vainly tiying
to remember only the beauty of his tace the
grace of his form, the soft tenderness of his
eves, the proud curve of his lips, the loving
murmur of his voice, the dose clasp ot his
;inns the passionate sweetness ol Ills kisses
But the demon of unrest kept, watch beside
her pillow, calling up the unwelcome phan
tasm of a voting man m the liyn/.y ol ih liis
him and t.n age.l mother, agonized with mt-
p deuce, now creeping i» terror around the
bed of her son, now trying with dim eyes to
nierce the gloom, and calling in feeble .uni
dispairing tones, “oh! if Norman would but
C °And all these weary, waiting hours. No.-
man had sat with his arms around her lapped
'"The wearv^iTyes closed'at last, ami a fitful
troubled sleep Stole over her; bu i the ibdl
still rested on her heart; and as the ohl U » a
“Your cousin Sybil is com'ng to-day Nor
man; I hope you will make no engagement
for the .-veiling. I am Id and staid to
entertain such a little but.tei !ly, and besides,
ji would look rude and inhospitable, if you
should leave I the llrst evening she is
with us.”
“And pray, in
preri* mis cousin l
iier airy prcsm-M-.'
“As ! *»n^ as sin* s«‘ *s lit. my lord .* .istidiou<;
four or five ni“t!is at l**a^t. She a \<*i\
lad v-likc and s\v»*ct tempered “irl, and j> »ss»*s-
si-s both beauty ami aecompiisliments, and
as nobody is imploring you to marry her, I
s.-e lio occasion for the assumption of such
lofty airs on the part of your Serene High
ness." . , , ,
“Be ,r pardon, Chore Mere. I lul l no de-
sitv to be either lofty or fastidious, and
when Sybil ri mes. I promise to play the
agreeable, to the best of my poor skill and
ability; but with all due deference to her
manifold charms and virtues, might 1 he
allowed humbly to suggest that dancing duty
attendance, oil’ll cousin for half a year may
occasionally prove a trifle wearing—especial
ly when a fellow I as a fairer face, and more
yes, and sweeter words, waiting for
itliiu a. mile of her!*’
“veiling sun threw his level oars
branches of the old oak tree,
Norman stood beneath it, one arm
mover the neck of his dappled grey,
Saladin, while wi»h the other, lie drew Eisie
toward him.
“Please, Norman, don’t go yet y° u ean
at least come in, and slay until after tea.
Surely tin* evening will be long and lonely
enough forme, after that, and this S\ bil
don’t care to have you with her the one
thousaudeth part as much as I do. ’
“No, M iv rose, 1 know it; and you know l
don't care tile If.ist infinitismal atom abom.
seeing her, and 1 heartily wish she was in
Jerrieho, and that my 1 dy mother had been
“doing her du; y in that estate of life inti
£
right, ami came dancing acro-s t he grass to
meet him. How lire a mid uinmer tairy
slic looked, w.th her snowy dress, her azure
ribbons fluttering in the breez--, her eyes
bhic as suminer skies, and her bail falling
below her waist like a shower of sunbeams. _
“Ah! truant knight, here have I watched, .
and waited, and wept for you all the long
hours since noon. Don't I look pale, aim j
wan. and love lorn;" And sir- stood before j
him ..n tip-toe, laid her little white hand mi ■
his shoulder, and held up her rosebud month j
temptingly, with an arch coqattsh, inviting J
CHATTED ILL
■I’ilgriin'!. I’rogress and
iiilise i.ost.*’
I*a r«
look in her a/.nri
Whv yes, litt.li
loving i
him v
The
at,wart, the
and
thre
■ her
more agreeabie manner, than by writ ill
that detestable invitation to come down here
and stav forever and a day. But 1 swore by
the lieard of Mahomet that I would he home
before supper, and make myself there amt
thereafter as entertaining to her little lady-
ship as a fellow- well eati who is anatlieiuatiz
ng hi.a guest with every heartbent, and
A’ishi
>wAi.ing from the very centre t>f lii^ uugallant |
anil inhospit:i\)le soul that the <loV‘l u‘Minl ,
come in />/• >/>ria persona, anil fly away u ith I
her. But 1:1 he as tiresome as possible: I I !
talk logic, and matliematies, evolution, and I
the origin of the species, until her iioor little |
head will swim, and site will pray devoutly
to be delivered from my presence, aud con
versation, henceforth and forever. now,
my mocking bird, give me your most loving
kiss, that it’s sweetness may linger round me
through the long evening, and color all my
dreams.” ,
He sprang into the saddle, and soon i
ring of his horse’s hoofs died away on L
I soft, green turf. Reaching home, he threw
; the briildle to the waiting groom, and same
! tered slowlv tip the walk, absently switcfimg
! off the heads of the tall flowers with his
I riding whip. Suddenly a little sprite ui
| robes of gossamer and floating blue ii "i
sin-ang out of a vine-covered arbor at s
( lltt , you’re the very-
identical “maiden all forlorn,’Wind I’ll play
“the man all t ittered and tom with-til the
pleasure in lit'-', lirst prem singthat I inim.ily
be" vour pardon for iny failure t<> meet you
at tlir station, which was ow ing to “a press
of business,” and other “ei-eimistanees over
which I had no control:" <>f course you II
grant it, and we'd seal the reconciliation
with a cousinly kiss.”
He threw his arms around her, raised her
from the ground, and ki=sed her. as she intend
ed he should though die covered her tace. and
made a feeble struggle to lie free, it- daring
he was “a horrible monster, and shed go
right away- and tell aunt Emma.
-No use, Beautv: Pm only practicing the
creel She has taught me, as a dutiful son
should. She says it’s orthodox, and pmas
for cousins to kiss, mul it's only wic^c.. iittl**
cousins who refuse, so she will expect you
til accept, and return your cousin’s kisses
wi; lithe same exemplary piety with which
you repeat the creed and tiie general confes
sion, and will he sorely sorrow-stricken
should vou fail in your religious duty. And
fairy I wouldn't have remained in outer
darkness so long, if I had known that the
gates of Taradise stood open for me here.
All through the evening, she chattered her
light, society champagne,all foam aud sparkle,
an y nothings witnout form or.sub-tanc ; but
sounding sweetly- Irom such rosy lips. She
played the merriest waltzes, sang the light
est, frothiest songs: her voice had none of the
soul and'eiulertiess that thrilled and vibrat
ed through Elsie Vane’s; but when Norman
looked into her sumiv eves, and held her soil
litile hands in his, he forgot to compare or
criticise. And when she came up to say
.moil night, she stood again on tip-toe before
him. w-ith one hand on Ins shoulder, and he
! threw his arm around her. lifted the spark-
; ling face to his, and kissed her unreproved.
- His step hail an impatient ring, as hecross-
i ed the corridor to his own room, and as he
leaned against the window seat, lie puffed
; awav at the fragrant Havana as if there
w ere some idle fancies floating through Ins
i brain that he would fain send aloft with the
j smone wreaths.
i “Weak—common-place—vapid—not one
! tithe i f my Elsie's genius—deueedly pretty
i though—not half so lovely as Elsie, of course,
I but very graceful, anil fairy-like. Heigho!
i what the Diabola does ray mother mean I
j wonder, by holding such stimulants to a fel~
I low's lips; These cousinly privileges are not
very nauseous doses—wonder il the litile
witch was aware how sweetly she answered
that goodnight kiss; Wonder, too. how Id
like it if I thought Elsie could receive a kiss
from some confounded ups'art of a cousin,
with a thrill through her veins like this?
Tshaw! she’s a woman, and you re a man;
that makes no end of a difference. Let your
fine-spun theories alone, Norman Dav; liant,
and go to bed, and to sleep, aud don t be a
fool!”
THE KIEV.
• The little rift within the lute,
That by and by makes nil it- music mute.
“I saw Mrs. Grayson and Thilip outdriv
ing to-day, Norman. How wasted and
ghost] v he looked.
••Yes. Birdie: the rosiest among us would
look ghostlv after such a battle with the
King of Terrors. By the way, EEi-mine,
why did you never tell me that Phil loved
you ?"
“How do vou know he loves, or loved me.'
“Found it,'out bv accident. It isn't always
safe to trust to a ' fellow's fever dreams, but
when hi' raves for days and nights, calling
one name a thousand times, and talks of the
II endow" brook and the old chestnut tree, and
calls on Elsie to take back her words so heav
enly kind and yet so deadly cruel; well, 1
think it. prettv safe to presume she said them.
loved in vain, but my
of you to keep such a
irse I knew he
life, it was not kind
secret from me.”
“lam sorry, how sorry I cannot say, to
hear that he so betrayed in- secret. I trust |
no one will ever be thoughtless and cruel
enough to let him know w hat he has said.
But, Norman, whv should I have told you?
••Why; What a question! One would j
think I Was a mere casusl acquaintance in-
steal of your promised husband. My love,
that is so soon to be my wife, do you think it I
kind to keep such a secret from me;"
“1 had no alternative. It was not my j
secret, it was his. Suppose 1 had loved him
and rejected you, would you have been well
pleased to know- that I hail to!il him how; you
had wooed m-> and how I had repl-el; Would
vour pride have been gratified by such u hu
miliation?”
“Not <i suppos'iLlt? c.*iso, my blossom, tiuit
yon should have loved anybody else and re
jected me. Could 1 imagine you guilty of
such supreme folly, 1 must perforce believe
you ‘ clean gone daft,' and rejoice at my ; s-
eape from such a demented damsel. But
seriously, my love, do vou wish me founder-
stand that as your husband 1 am not to pos
sess your unlimited conii lenc- ! ’
“If bv that phrase you mean that I am to
tell you everything, whether it concerns my
self or others, most certainly no. In all that
relates to mvself you have and shall always
have inv freest, fullest, confidence. There is
not a thought, a word, a dee 1 of mine that
shall not be fai- and open as the sunlight b>
your gaze But w here another eonhUes to
inv keeping a secret that concerns neither
voti nor I, what right have I to entrust it to
any one, even though it be the one dearest on
earth to me?”
“What right? The right of supreme, limit
less, immeasurable, mutual love, that must
always go hand in hand with unlimited con
fidence. Can vou suppose for a iimmem that
1 could ever refuse to tell you anything you
asked of me. no matter what it was, Who it
eon -erned or who had entrusted it to me!
“1 sincerely hope you wouid, mi dm .mg.
if I should ever tempt you to * h.y
askin" you to reveal another i secret —which
God forbid' Think, Norman, for a moment.
Suppose a friend entrusts me with a secret;
It, concerns neither you nor I, anil the knowl
edge will in no way nenetit you but you
beg me to tell you—you are displeased that
1 hesitate—I yield. It is p easant for the
moment to know that my love can retuse
vou nothing, but when you are away from
me reason resumes her sway and you think:
■She has saeritieeil her sense ot right and
From Bedford Jail came “Pilgrim’s Prog
ress," and from a small house in an obscure
London street came “Paradise Lost,' the
greatest of English epics. Puritanism was
bitterly hostile to theatres, to amusements, to
all the lighter and more pleasing elements of
life. The Puritans rose to power by hard
lighting, and during the conflict and after
their ascendency was assured they produced
little or nothing in the wav of literature
After their fall the world of fashion looked
to tii 1 men of the new era for a literature re
lieved from the shackles of a liypecriticaj
asceticism. But the Muse that came with
Charles was, like most his companions, male
and female, a debauened creature at best,
who smacked more of intrigue and midnight
revels jlian of aught else; and it was from
the beaten adherents of a fallen cause that
the true poetry aud the gre.it literature of
the time emanated full of imaginative tire
and religious fervor. It was an uncongenial
atmosphere for such work: but while the
“Pilgrim's Progress" has passed through
countless editions and is read wherever the
English speech is known, and while "Para
dise Lost” has kept on issuing from the press
in new forms, and has attracted hosts of
commentators and readers, the literature of
the Restoration—the literature of Sedley and
Saekville. of Congreve and Wycherly. of
lvilligrew- and Rochester—has gradually
slipped out of sight, and is remembered only
for u few clever lyrics, and read only by
those who are curious in the matter of old
plays. The works of Puritans, born in ob
scurity and shadowed py contemp*- end de
feat, have thriven and grown from their
births, and struck their roots deep down into
the hearts of all Englsh-speaking people. The
literature of the Restoration, brought forth
in the sunshine of royal and court favor, has,
with the exception of Dry den’s poetry and
Butler’s “Hudibras,” steadily' waned. The
cause is not far to seek. The work of the
Puritans was the work of men who believed
in a great cause; and earnest genius is not
found among the supporters of such a mon
arch ns Charles, who represented nothing but
himself, was unutterably mean, and was
identified with a policy of w hich the most
conspicuous quality was falsehood. In a se
ciety with such a head and in such a court,
there could be no great literature: no thor-
I oughly fine genius could flourish or find an
I abiding place among such surroundings.
Puritanism suppressed imaginative literature,
but the Restoration had not the capacity to
produce it. When Puritanism fell, the im
aginative side of its character was no longer
hidden and repressed, but found expression
in tlte works of Milton and Bimyan.— Hexky
Caiiot Lodue, in International Reritw for
August iNSo.
But he shut the window with a hang, and
,\hic
the muttered exclamation with which he
strode away', was not of a benedictory na
ture.
••rsue nas sii-nuw.i - -
honor simply to please me. How do 1 know
that the .lay may not come when she w ill
sacrifice it again to please another Is it to
so frail a reed that 1 am to entrust my love
and my happiness? Is such a woman wor
thy' to be trusted as a w ift ?
If Deify sympathizes with us. He certainly
will answer prayer, unless restrained by the
law s of Nature, which in that case must be
stronger than lie!
The instinct of prayer is as universal as
the act of devotion, and cannot be accounted
for on any sort of atheistic hypothesis.
The sense of relief felt by Imrthened souls
that pour out their sorrows to God, is sttf
i ficient to perpetuate it to the “last syllable of
recorded time.”