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ROBIN REDBREAST,
A LotcIj Legend.
"Dear mother, I've been playing in the meadows
Along the broek this summer holiday.
Over the grass are gliding swift cloud shadows
3orne by the wind away.
"Down by the brook are flaming sumach bushes.
The trees have put their brown and crimson on,
I sought the alder for the nest of thrushes—
'Tis empty,: they are gone.
"The crows saw from the top of oak and maple.
The squirrelmrisk about the hickory tree,
And as i rested by the great horse-apple ’
A robin came to me.
“You know a grapevine runs the old tree over,
And in the loopings I can sit and swing:
Above, the leafy boughs make shady cover,
And there he stayed his wing.
“He looked at me askance, bright eyed and ftar‘
leas.
And plumed his wing and smoothed his ruffled
breast.
Then broke into a strain so rich and careless.
As in content of rest.
“And as he sat there with the music swelling
His crimson throat anti breast, I thought how
good
He was in that sweet story you were telling:
‘The Children in the Wood.’
•‘How. ns they lay, the sister and the brother,
The robins strewed with leaves their forest bed
Now, prilhee, mother, tell me such another—
Why is his breast so red ?”
“My Willie, I have heard a pretty story.
That when on earth the holy Jesus stood.
They raised upon a cross the Lord of glory
And nailed him to the wood.
"The loving little robins came around him,
And strove’ with patient care and tender pain
To draw out from his hands the nails that bound
him
And free their Lord from pain.
“And when he, dying, fixed his eyes upon them,
And saw their pitying labor and their love,
He promised that the blood he sprinkled on them
Should nevermore remove.
"And so. they say, the robin bears the token
Of his sweet nature on his bosom still;
The eraciou^words of Christ that then were spo
ken—
But you are crying, Will 1”
A nd Willie rose up, flushed and bright and sob-
Mg,
The great taan to his carting lashes cling.
'’.iik'v’uw icj* —---t-'jr*,- .,V' 1 ,.
God loves the' little thing."
SIR
PAUL BRADMIRE.
A Tale Founded on Fads which Excited
and Profoundly Agitated the Aristoc
racy and Gentry of all Britain.
BT ALFRED DliKE.
(Author oj “ Esther, the Jewess.”)
CHAPTER IV.—Continued.
I was quickly by his side, and without pre
amble, confronted him with what I conceived
to be my wrong.
"Sir Paul Bradmire,” I said, with pointed
emphasis. “You are aware that you have
interposed between me and the woman I
adored, and by the factitious advantages of
fortune and the title lately arquired too,
have prevailed on her to take you, and dis
card me, her accepted and betrothed suitor:
and if you expect me to tamely, quit the field,
and leave it to your quiet, and exultant
possession, you are wofuily deceiving your
self: for I tell you”—
“Stop, my friend,” he interrupted, “your
premises being wholly wrong, your conclu
sions must be wrong also.”
1 was looking intensely in his open and
pleasant countenance, which reflected truth
and ingenuousness in every lineament, and
no emotion but surprise: aud though I was in
no condition of mind to listen to any extenu-
tion, I was unwillingly forced upon the con
viction that there was no guile or falsehood
in that face.
“I am utterly unprepared for your declara
tion,” he continued, “I have never had a
cause for a suspicion of even a partiality in
you towards this lady, much less of passion
ate love, and engagement of marriage. I
have seen you here but once, and saw noth
ing then, to excite such a supposition; nor
have I heard your name once mentioned in
all my visits here. How then, could I either
purposely or wittingly do you a wrong in
this case?”
I felt like one being disarmed, but the mad
ness of the distracting loss of Angelica still
fired my whole being, and I replied.
“Fine words and plausible logic, I tell you,
are vain remedies for harrowing dispair, and
the outrage that causes it.”
“You seek a remedy then for the horrors
of dispair? But will it be a remedy? Sup
pose you maim, or kill me, will that restore
the object lost, and banish dispair? It might
for a moment gratify revenge, the darkest
passion of the heart, but will it restore the
joy anticipated, or reconcile you to its loss?
Time and a manly rectitude of life, will in
fallibly restore to you peace of mind, resig
nation, and possibly prove to you that this
bitter cup which you now find so distracting,
is to you a blessing, and not a curse. But
vengeance thus gratified, without a cause,
must add remorse to iriepsrable disap
pointment, and deprive you of the conso
lation that time and a fortunate con
currence of circumstances, would other
wise give. Be wise then, and be just, and at
least take time to judge and to act rationally,
and to be assured that you are acting wisely
and with manly honor: consult your most
t-us ted and experienced friends, and act ad
visedly, and n t from blind and reckless rage.
I am much your senior in age, and am thus
warranted in counseling you. \ ou perceive
I have said nothirg ot the irrationality of
dueling, or of its unchristian spirit; for it
cannot make a dishonorable man an honora
ble one, nor prove a disparagement of char
acter to be a false accusation, and is often
made a passport by the most unprincipled
men to an association with the most honor
able- but I have endeavored to show you
how inconsistent is your demand upon me
for satisfaction in deadly combat, even upon
the code of honor, as a rational, and justifi-
able method of settliDg difficulties.
OFF THE FLORIDA BEEFS.
Sir Paul’s manner, voice and expression of
countenance, left not one shade of suspicion
of his benevolence, truthfulness, and honor,
and whody disarmed me. I therefore said:
“Well, Sir Paul, though not satisfied, I will
not be accused of reckless precipitancy, and
as you ask it, and it can be no derogation
from an honorable spirit of resentment, and
its accompanying demand for satisfaction,
to consult with friends before coming to a
final arbritament, and as this is even the
usual course, I will suspend my demand for
a short interval.”
“That is a wise determination, my young
friend,” he replied. “Let not the prince of
evil add to the complication of things by in
volving you in other difficulties as culpable
as new, like the spider that encircles its en
tangled and coveted victim with new chains.”
“And thus we parted.
“With detestation and rage I sought the
publican and said through my clenched teeth
as I threw down a £10 tank bill before him;
“I have had accommodations at this inn,
sir, for which 1 have not paid. There is your
money. Take it.”
“I have been paid all charges, sir,” he an
swered, “and have no part in that money.”
“Take it,” I repeated, “and mind, take
every penny required of any other person,
nor think for a moment that I could be so
mean as to pocket one farthing of your usual
charges.”
“I meant to be cutting and contemptuous,
but I knew not my man, and was doing the
only thing that could give the«lnishing touch
to his satisfaction. He looked upon the note
as a cat upon an unexpected mouse and said
with imperturbable coolness:
“You are in an ill humor, sir, and as gen
erally happens, vent it on mankind in general,
and in this case, on the unoffending in par
ticular. Did you ever see a mad bull that if
he failed to catch the man with the red cloak
on, did not pitch into the next most conve
nient man, though without a cloak.”
“But in this case the next man is not with
out a cloak and a scarlet one too,” I retorted.
“That is, you suspect so; for a blind man
cannot see and thinks every man is pinching
him though it is one alone. You have been
badly treated, sir, and no man is more ready
to concede this than I am, but wherein have
I merited your wrath? Would you marry
the girl even if I could force her to marry
you, after reading her note?”
“I am not here to hold a discussion of the
matter,” I answered, “but to pay your bilL
By the way, you need need not suppose me
so blind as not to know you are the prime
mover in this deadly wrong. Your specula
tions, and your practice, both, are too sharp
not to have suggested to you that Sir Paul
Bradmire, as to wealth and position, would
make a more eligible match for your daugh
ter than L”
“Well, my friend,” he coolly replied, “if
the wealth and position of Sir Paul make him
in a worldly point of view your superior,
even you being judge, who disclaim all sharp
ness of speculation or of practice, is it a
crime in me, or does it need shar ness ot
speculation or practice to suggest that fact
to me also? This fact, however, I freely ac
knowledge is well calculated to excite suspi
cion of motives, even though it impeach the
truth; and therefore it proves nothing. All
then that I can think or say in this lamenta
ble affair, is, that since the girl determined
to break her engagement with you, I think it
fortunate that she has not given up a supe
rior for an inferior match. Then to accuse
me of being the p<ime mover in this matter,
argues very little knowledge of the girl, for
I tell you she is not to be moved against her
own will by a prime nor a second, nor a hun
dred movers all together.”
“Enough, sir,” I contemptuously replied;
“take your fare I say and let me go.”
“Well,” he quietly replied, “a willful man
must have his way. But I may remark that
1 have often heard of suits for damages in
breaches of marriage contracts, but never
before heard of the man who of his own ac
cord insisted on paying ten pounds sterling
on the spot to an alleged particeps criminis
in such a breach.”
“Is the sum sufficient, sir, to cover every
charge according to your rates.”
“Much about, sir,” he said.
“I then wheeled off and left the room with
out noticing him further, but he vociferated
aft*r me:
“In paying off what you are pleased to
think due to others, my friend, never forget
what is due to yourself—the courtesy and
good breeding of a gentleman.”
"I now knew infallibly that any attempt
to excite shame, mortification, or compunc
tion for a mean act in such a man, could pro
duce no more effect than a boy’s popgun
playing on the hide of a rhinoceros.
“Notwithstanding all this show of anger
and resentment, I was crushed, utterly mis
erable. Nothing in life seemed to be woith
living for: for though I felt now thoroughly 1
convinced of the hollowness, guile and false
heartedness of Angelica, yet a passion so in
tense as mine, was a thing of itself, a disease
that could not be cured by learning the vile
ness of the producing cause. A hideous and
aching void was formed which nothing—not
even herself—could now fill; for the halo and
the glory I had attached to her were gone as
well as herself and left me in desolation, as
the mirage leaves the thirsty traveller in the
desert. In such a case, reason, philosophy,
learning, commonsense, pride and self-resptct
are all mock* ries and just as ineffectual as
they would be to cure a deadly wound by a
sword. I am even now, though healed by
length of years, like a man maimed for life
who can quietly tell how it hapieied.
“But when I recounted my troubles to Fe
lix Beattie, his face brightened up. He
caught my hand and wrung it forcibly, ex
claiming:
“I congratulate you—felicitate you and joy
in your deliverance; for though I was re
strained from the expression of my convic
tions, I swear to you most solemnly, I feared
the worst consequences from a marriage with
a girl who I am forced to believe, is made
up of selfishness, guile and falsehood under
the most artful and specious address. Aud if
so, would she scruple to be false to you! A
wife without principle, and more especially a
beautiful wife, is a a dangerous possession;
and by yiur own showing, she has been act
ing front 1 worldly and ambitious motives
without regard to principle towards you, and .
Sir Paul both; and if an earl should now of
fer hor marringe, she would discard Sir Paul.
Love with such a woman is out of the ques
tion. Self is the only motive power and
what reliance could you place upon such a
wife in any contingency when gratification
of self presents a strong temptation to go
wrong?”
And this girl I tell you, is not only unprin
cipled, but envious, vindictive, even towards
the purest and best, when their very excel
lences outshine her subtle enunterfiets of
them. I did not tell you, for I saw your
hopeless infatuation and knew I should onlv
offend you, that she artfully planned, and
but for me, would have succeeded in retiring,
and keeping out of view her guileless and
confiding friend Alice, at Burton’s ball: and
in the event of the failure of her scheme to
hide Alice’s loveliness from the admiration of
beholders, she induced her to make a compact i
with her to give no music to the company
under the shallow pretence that it would ex
cite the envy and dislike of other ladies, and
that her father was exceedingly anxious that
every soul should be joyous and delighted.
She knew that Alice was to be feared in a
rivalry of personal beauty, grace, and intel-
lige ce, aud immeasurably her superior in
musical talent, and skill of performance,
and by an artful address under the show of
benevolence, she wanted to hide her pure 1
light un*Cer a bushel, that the glitter of her
tinsel might suffer no eclipse by comparison.
This is not all. Maddened at the failure of :
her plan she became merciless toward her
unoffending friend, and schemed to destroy
her. l saw through the|plot and intimated the
treachery to Alice, tut she rejected the sus
picion of so mean a capability in her false
friend. Yet she moved her father to deprive j
Alice of her school, and to deny her room m
his house. She was determined to get her
wholly out of her way; and I could see she
hated her with a mortal hatred, while she
twined her arms around her neck and kissed
her. Such is the woman whose unfaithful
ness you lament, but I tell you it is a mercy.”
These hatefnl charges were new to me, but
they carried conviction along with them:
yet they gave no relief to the desolation of
a bli?hted life. The suffering was now ideal,
isolated, and no longer a yearning towards
a real personage yet a desperation not the
less real, and overwhelming that the loss felt
was imaginary and delusive. The tenderest
effections of my being, had been called out
to their uttermost tension, and buoyed bv
hope in its brightest colorings; and though I
discovered I had mistaken a counterfiet for
gold, or a shadow for a substance, I had no
power to demand those affections and the
engrossing passion to which they had grown,
back to their normal state of quietude.
CHAPTER V.
ATce had quietly settled down in her new
home in the family of the Braxtons in Lon
don, and though she found her employer’s
illiterate and unrefined, yet she found kind
ness and true benevolence surrounded by the
display of wealth and elegance, and felt
really tranquil and happy. Her school made
up of her employer’s children and a few
pupils from neighboring households, gave
her pleasant employment; and her amiable
diligence and sweet temper endeared her to
botn parents and children. View her now
in this hidden life of innocent usefulness,
thinking only of doing good without envying
the more fortunate, or repining at her depen
dent condition, but deeply grateful for the
privilge of supporting herself by her own ex
ertions; and can you imagine that one so
sweet, so loving, so void of offence, or the
thought of offence to man or beast, could be
the object of a diabolical conspiracy, not only
to cast her out of her new home, but to ruin
her by blasting her reputation?”
Felix Bea'tie who had cautioned the Brax
ton’s against giving the slightest hint to Alice
ot his agency in getting her present situation,
managed it so as to meet her on the street
as if by accident, and then?e became a not
unfrequent visitor at the Braxton’s; and his
genial fl ow of spirits, his wit and funny sto
ries, told with a drollery and inimtable
humor together with an open, merry and
really beautiful countenance acc Dmpanied by
high good breeding and ease and elegance
of manner, constituted him a delightful guest
and an ever welcome one. Alice and he had
converted the dull and monotonous home of
the Braxton’s into a comparative Paradise;
but evil was hatching for it.
[ Felix was of all men I ever saw, least given
to suspicion, but when onoe aroused none
were more sharp eyed and watchful- One
morning while taking e long stroll simply for
exercise and amusement along Leadenball
street, he heard a porter curse another who
had roughly jostled him In the crowded
thoroughfare, and turning to look, saw a sun
burnt youth, coarsely dressed and evidently
a novice in such a place, dodging and push
ing to get out of harm’s way as speedily as
possible. Felix laughed at the bumpkin’s af
fright and went on. But in Cornhill, Cheap-
side, Newgate, Skinner, Holborn, and Oxford
streets, he saw the same youth, and evidently
wishing to seem unconscious of Fel.x’s exis
tence or presence. Felix upon looking care
fully at him thought he had seen that face
before somewhere he could not remember
where: but again dismissing the boy from
his thoughts, he turned into the strand and
looking around, saw the boy following him.
And so he continued to follow him up Regent
street, Piccadilly, Cockspur and into Pall-
Mall till be reached Mr. Braxton’s residence,
and entered it, and then he saw through the
window, the boy had stopped and was look
ing fixedly at the house.
"What does this mean?” thought Felix;
“that boy had evidently a purpose in follow
ing me, and perhaps was too timid to make
it known.”
Thus persuaded, he hastened back towards
him, but the boy, seeing him, hastened on
and hid himself in the crowd. Felix, though
at first perplexed, concluded at length that it
was only the action of an ignorant country
bumpkin. For why should any one dog his
heels? and if there was any possible cause for
an inimical espionage, he would have been
cautious to keep as much out of view as pos
sible. But Felix did not consider that a man
may be unconscious of any earthly cause that
a spy should be placed on his actions, and
may nevertheless afford a cause to another of
keeping a vigilant watch over him, and that
the spy may be a novice and unskilled in his
business: and this seemed a case in point. The
fact that he visited the house where Alice
dwelt was ir.falliblv ascertained. It was ev
ident that he knew where she dwelt, and
that he visited her: and this was what was
sought to be found out, if per chance it should
be so. But what if he did visit her? you will
ask. Or why, if any one had a sufficient
cause to ascertain the fact, was it done se-
scretly. This is answered by what follows.
A few days afterwards Mrs. Braxton saw,
as she was dressing in the i
Ilia? evidently J„
door, for one end ot it was I
door. The note was directed
ton, and read as follows:
‘■Mrs. Braxton: One who is a stranger to
you, but who nevertheless owes it to the
wellbeing of society, and in the present case
to you individually, to warn you against any
known or suspected imposture, especially
when the evil of it may affect the good stand
ing of a whole family, indites this note. Be
lieve, then, that the writer is governed solely
by a sense of impassable duty in giving this
warning. You have a young woman living
with you as teacher or governess, who, if you
knew all about her, could -never have found
a home in your family. It is whispered here
even in London that the young man who
caused the scandal openly visits her at your
house. These things must come out if not
promptly stopped. Keep this note a pro
found secret, for if it is shown to the girl or
the man it will cause a clamor that will
spread it to every family around you. Give
no hint of any warning to a living soul, if
you would escape tattling.
“A Disinterested Well-wisher.”
Mrs. Braxton was so shocked as to be al
most thrown into hysterics by conflicting
feelings—the dread and terror of scandal in
her family while so eager to rise in the scale
of society goaded her to get rid of Alice right
away; but then her sweet and gentle nature,
her modest and winning deportment, and
her dependent and friendless condition (for
Alice had concealed nothing) caused a yearn
ing compassion towards her, so that she could
come to no conclusion, and only wept con
tinuously till her husband came to breakfast
“Why, what is the matter?” he asked with
wonder.
“That was shoved under the door last
night,” she answered, handing him the note.
“Read it say what is to be done?”
He did read it and uttered a fierce impre
cation.
“It is a lie, every word of it Who wrote
it? Why is the name kept back? ’
“But why should any one make and tell
such a lie?” she asked.
“Why should any one make and tell such
a lie!” he replied. “Tbere is always some
reason for every £e, if we could at once see
it, If such letters as this are to be relied on,
who shall escape? I tell you. the devil has no
such servants as this patient, amiable girl,
nor such a noble, generous fellow as Felix
Beattie. He can’t turn out such servants.
His servmts have his qualities, and they
will stick out from under any kind of livery.
No action of the hypocrite could so continu
ously represent the good and delightful qual
ities of these two young people that sit as
naturally upon them as their everyday
clothes. Why, their very faces tell you what
they are: and they make our house so pleas
ant, so delightful.”
“I have thought of all that,” she replied;
“but the letter shows that somebody else
thinks very diflerent things.”
“I would freely give ten pounds to find out
who wrote that letter, and it shall go hard
with me if I don’t find out,” said we hus
band.
“But what course must we pursue in the
meantime,” asked his wife.
“Well,” said he “don’t say one word about
the letter, but keep your eyes open, and no- .
tice everything. You may even peep into
Alice’s room at times, and see if anything
when she is alone may throw light upon the
subject. Notice her countenance and her
actions, for anything almost is fair under
such circumstances.”
Alice saw that there was a change in the
Braxton’s—that something had thrown a
damper over their usually cheerful spirits—
that they seemed more cold and restrained in
her presence, but iD her innocence she as
cribed it to any other cause than the right
one. But Felix’s suspicions were aroused as
to something sinister; for into whatever street
he went, and wherever he rambled, he inva
riably saw that gawky spy following him,
much more cautiously and stealthily than ou
the first occasion. Determining at length to
solve the mystery if possible, he stepped into
a shop at the corner of a street out of sight
of the spy and waited for him to come up,
and when he came opposite, looking and
eagerly peering in every direction to catch
sight of him, Felix came suddenly out and
stood very close to him, and said:
VOL. VII
J. H. & W. B. S~EA TjS } PROPRIETORS.
ATLANTA,
GA.
AU
13
1881.
Terms in Advance: {***—•*•.
Slagle,Copy, Oe.
NO. 313
