Newspaper Page Text
—
^Sss€S*i
UTERfi
ROMANCE:
VOL. VII j. H. & W. B. SEALS JfEM.
ATLANTA, GA., AUGUST 27, 1881.
Terms in Advance: {mm*?*.'*!:
NO. 315
Silent I.ove.
As. oftentimes, the too resnlendent sun
Hurries ihe pallid and re uctmit moon
Back to her sombre cave ere she hath won
A sing e ballad from the nightingale.
So doth thy beauty make my lips to tall,
And alt my sweeteBt binging out of tune!
And br at dawn, across some level mead,
On wings impetuous, somewind will come.
And. with its too harsh kisses, breek the reed
Which was its only instrument of song.
So too my stormy passions work me wrong,
And, lor excess of love, my love is dumb.
But surely unto thee my eyes did show
Why am 1 si ent and my lute unstrung;
Else it were better we should part, and go,
Thou Pi some lips of sweeter me ody
And I to nurse the barren memory
Of unkissed kisses and songs never sung.
SIR
PAUL BRADMIRE.
A Tale Founded on Facts which Excited
and Profoundly Agitated the Aristoc
racy and Gentry of all Britain.
BY ALFRED DIKE.
(Author o] “ Either, the Jewess.")
CHAPTER VII.
•‘Well/’ said Mr. Braxton to his wife one
morning, “what have you seen, or heard
about that letrer and the teacher?”
“No hing but that,” she answered, handing
him a note in a miserable scrawl, “and it
makes things look worse for she seems to be
m xetiup with the lowest vulgar.”
The note was as follows:
“ruistur bra non, ef that a r lettar I poked
under y er dore si z un barm ’ord about n miss
aliis, it be all a lie i nose who lit it and thof
i don’t no what wor insidin it seem i eudint
see incide cos it wor seled, yet i nose the gal
as rit it is up ter anytbink as he mean ef so
be sbe’s riled or g-dus on miss albs she lie the
ver divd any wav now don’t y r overrun
ther mark or go of ’ulf bent what i means is
•pi«in aouwtbink bad be in ther letter fur
iuis>.all>s i* a bangel and no mistake so don
y ,;t tliiu*ik ,k, jl, at pis
anc from yer lovin from Silent tung.
pnecrip keep dark and wacb who comes.”
“You see,” said his wife, “what kind of
friends she ’as.”
“No. no,” replied the husband, “as the fel
low says, you are overrunning the mark.
Don’t yon see he is only the tool of some en
emy, and does not know what the letter con
taiued, but seems to r» fl ct from the charac
ter of the person who wrote it, that it very
possibly nmy be slanderous, and is caunoii-
ing us to discredit any evil repoitof Mbs Al
ice. The letter itself, you know, is clever and
artful, and the writer "is no vulgarian.”
“Well, I wish it may be so. ’ she said with
a sigh, “but the thing must be cleared up.
We can’t afford to live in doubt of a girl that
’as ihe care and teaching of our daughters.”
“Have you watched her when she is by her
self m her room?” he asked, "for i tell you a
good deal is to be found out in that way.”
“1 peep through at her oust,”ebe said, “but
’av’n’i. ’ad the ’eart to peep at ’er auy more.”
“Why not:” he asked.
“B-cause sue was on her knees at prayer
and lifting up 'er ’auds and eyes towards
’eaven an t I saw the tears run down her
cheeks. 1 felt like an evil thing seeking to
flim evil in the holy. I will not watch her;
though I’ve seen people pray who were vile
Ijyimcrites ”
“You never saw a vile hypocrite when un
conscious that any eye but God’s looked upon
them, pray on their knees and weeo with
bands and eyes uplifted to Heaven. No, the
hypocrite don’t pray where io don't pay.
That’s trouble for not bing. Now nnnd 1 did
not tell you to watch only for evil, but for
the truth, tie it good or bad; tiut tiecause you
found g‘iod and not evil you stopped. D in’t
you see I was right? You saw in secret what
you could not have seen otherwise—the true
piety of a heart unconsciously laid opeu to
your gaze. And if you could have heard her,
I feel as certain as 1 am here, you would have
beard yourself, and myself, aud our little
children too, included in that prayer. She is
naturally amiable and fai hfuliy pious, for
no hypocrite could keep up aupeurauces and
so long act a part so perfect by art flee.
Toe common-piace hypocrite may deceive for
a long time, but where such gentle, amiable,
and exquisite quali ies as this girl shells forth
as rays out of her inner self, aud as a natural
part of herself, are merely assumed for a
purpose, they will soon betray their counter-
feii character. The tinsel of iheouiside cov
ering is too flimsy a disgusse. The very
countenance with its vary ing expressions and
the eye will tell the tale, it notuing else. We
must treat her just as we began, and as
though we had heard nothing’. Watch though,
and it you s e only good, it will be auadvan
tage io her to have it discovered, and if there
be evil, we shall be justified iu spying it out
in se f-defenee.”
“I've 'ad ’er watched,” she said, “for she
bnvs a large bunch of fl iwers ev'ry Saturday
m.,ruing and carries them out somewhere,
but never brings them back; and 1 »&scu-
rus to know what she did with ’em. Tbegirl
1 s>-nt to watch to see what she did with ’em,
says she went on till she came to a garden
walled in. and staid in there some time, aud
when she came out, she is certain she saw a
man Lurry away through another gate, and
she had no fl iwers ”
“Wnere was the garden?” asked Braxton.
“A long ways off,” Slid his wife, “as the
g rl said she got tired of following her. though
the streets she took were mostly empty of
passengers.”
“Well, that don’t look exactly satisfacto
ry,” he said musingly, “for wtiac does she do
with the flowers, aud who is it she meets?
Yet there may be no real harm but oulv some
innocent fancy or freak, for I will not believe
till 1 am forced to it, that there is auy harm
in the *iil But keep youreyesopen and tell
me all you see, the good as well as the bad, if
anv.” „ ,
“But the girl, Flora, that I sent to find out
what Alice did with ’er fl >wer«, says she saw
a boy dodging to keep out of sighr, yet fol
lowing and watching her also, both as she
went to the garden, and when she returned,”
said Mrs. Braxton, “and that she tried tolol-
1 >w Alice into the garden, but that a man
within, orderel her off.”
“Hal” he exclaimed, “what sort of a man
was iti”
THE LETTER WHITER.
“The man opened the gate wide enough to
see her when she tried to open it, and she saw
it was a very old man bent ’ale double, lean
ing on a cane.”
"Ah,” said Braxton, but in a very differ
ent tone, “there it is. Tais looks much like
crime before a witness, don’t it?”
“But why did be let Alice in and refuse the
othei ? ’ she asked.
‘ Can’t yeu see. that as Alice had been go
ing there, she knew him and he her, .but that
he did not know the other. Ail may be in
nocent, and I am sure, that however we may
regard it, she is unconscious of any evil pur
pose or imprudence.”
“But don’t you see that somebody suspects
hei ?” asked his wife, “else why did that boy
watch her? And even if she is hinuocem,
but suspected, and talked about, and watch
ed, and letters are poked under our doors,
cau we keep her as a teachers of our daugh
ters? We may pity ’er and even believe ’er
to be hinnocent, but can we hafford to be
scandalized by our neighbors?”
“Well, well,” he replied af -er a minute’s
troubled thought, “I’U take the matter up,
aud watch too; and just let me catch man or
woman playing a devil’s part to ruin th s
poor girl, and if they don’t rue it, my name
is not Braxton. Just c insider It now, here
is a poor orphan girl without father, mother,
or friends, who has charmed the whole house,
parents, children, aud servan is by her gen
tle, amiable and cheerful conduct, and who
has labored and so lovingly labored to do her
duty to our children, tnac we are astouishe i
at their progress, and yet without a warning
aud without one word of evidence from auy
visible witness, we are to bid her leave as uu
worthy of a place in our cii cle on the evi
dence of words hissed under our door fiy a
serpent that gl des only iu daik iess and hide-
frorn the light.” Thus concluding he depart
ed to his counting-house.
At that moment &lr . Braxton heard A1
ice's merry laugh ring through the house aud
so j iyous seemed her laughter at all times
and so bright aud beauteous was her counte
nance when iaugbing, that it was a real pleas
ure to look upon her: so having her tbuspre
Rented to her imaginanon, she. unconscious
of auy motive but to look at her, rose aud en
tered the room wnere she was aud found her
playing with her youngest cbil i, a beautifm
infant a year old, which she bell standing in
her lap. The mother stoo i an 1 1 inked oil i s
the cmld would pi ess both its 1 ctle hands i n
Alice’s cheeks and then peep inquisitively into
one of her eyes, aud ihen iu o ,hi other, and
then k ss her and try its best to ta k to her;
aud all her troubled thoughts about Alie
ned away as long as she gszsi upon tbi-
double picture of innocence Sue could .see
no m ire guile, nor shadow of evil in thesweet
mantling face of the beautiful girl than in
that of the sm ling and chirping infant. Sh
then held out her arms to the child, but it
turned away with glee f ul laughter and clung
to Alice’s neck with both arms.
“Everything here loves her,” she thought
as she returned to her room. “Even my lit
tle lap-dog that I have petted so much, loves
her better than me. How can 1,” she spoke
out to herself as i h9 tears blinded her eyes,
“how can I speak one word to cast sorrow
over that sunny, beautiful face that has shed
nothing but light on me and mine. God help
us and lead us rignt. But why—why is evil
spoken of her?”shecontinued, gazing thought
fully at the wall as she suspended her work.
“Can that bright face and that merry, joy
ous laughter that seem a part of her sweet
self, be the offspring of guilt and shameless
ness? What is it she has done and why is it
th it evil is spoken of her?”
These questions however, need not have
troubled her, if she could only have known
enough of human nature to embrace the
humiliating truth—that not only external
advantages, but the brightest virtues often
excite envy and detraction bv their very ex
cellencies. Men and women hate in contem
poraries and especially in equals, whatever
by contrast, or comparison iu joxta position,
adjudges them to an inferior position
especially too when there is anything Lk i
rivalry; even though a higher appreciation,
be the consequence of a just discrimination
without competition, or the expectation of
the preference given. The successlul party
in any much coveted ohj-ct, is generally
hated by the defeated party, and with a bit
terness in proportion to tue greatness of the
disappointment. It matters not bow blame
less the succe-s ul rival may be, the very ha
tred will make crimes, if he finds none, and
do so almost unconciously, for he wilt judge
his very virtues to be only blinds for corrup
tion. Hamlet tells Ophelia—‘ Be thou as
cnaste as ice, as pure as suow, thou shalt not
escape calumny ”
And so it was with Alice. It was her very
excellencies which sat as aturally on her as
it was for her to breathe, that impressed
others when she was making muff >rt to do
so, and was unconscious of the effect: and it
was for this appreciation an i admiration,
that she was hate 1 and calumniated by an
other, who had failed to secure this end
though calling in every art to her aiii. Sue
ce?s, too, often extorts an unj 1st judgment
iu the opO’isiCeextreme. Wasnington would
have been the same, if a superior force after
tne cap ure of C >rn wall s an t his army, ha i
defeated and c p ured anl ex cuted h m, yet
would be have had the meed of praise aud
i nmortal glorc that cling 1 ke an unchange
able halo of effulgen’ light around nis name?
No! h s virtues would have been dwarfed if
cney had not falleu into oblivion. Success
often makes immortal heroes, while ihe rte-
feaied, though superior in every quality that
exalts human nature, or constitutes human
greatness and though they suffer def-at only
from paucity of means which no prudence or
wisdom c uld have supplied, pass down the
tide of t me in comparative obscurity.
Great disappointment and chagrin make
the success of a rival proof of corruption with
mule or female; because w Late ver crushes in
tense hope, is intensely hateful. But a suc
cess which is shared by a whole people and
i ealizss the hopes of a whole nation, exalts
the hsro of it, and immortal'zis -bis name
upon the same principle of self love: and the
exultation and the glory, in which each man
fecis he is a Copartner, ascribe the success to
the exalted qualities and superior greatness
.if the i ero alone, though it often happens
chat his superior in all the elements of great-
ne-s cf skill, activity and science, suffers de
feat by him from some accidental, or facti
tious cause only.
So that success as an effect, without weigh
ing the cause, carries along the judgment
with it. From the girl or man in love, to the
statesman and hero as well as to the artist
and literary student, the main-spring is self
love, and succes ful rivalry is hateful, anti
where the principle of ingenuous truth is
weak the hatred degenerates into meanness
and revenge. Ne 1 -on’s celebrated monologue.
“A peerage or West Minister Abbey” just
as he was going into battle, proves that self-
love—his own fame, was uppermost in his
myid, however great his patriotism might
ht re been.
Iu Alice’s case the complication of things,
whs thickening to a head, or crisis. Yet she
was as unconscious of it, or of evil to herself,
as of plotting it against others.
But while she was yet bolding the infaut
on her lap, and as cheery and as guileless as
the infant, a splendid carriage dashed up to
the Braxton’s door, and a splendidly dressed
lady of marvelous beauty jumped out, and
dashed up the steps crying out, “where is
she? where is Alice—my dear little darling
Alice?” and rushing in before Alice could get
clear of tbe infant, threw her arms about her
ne k and kissed a half d. zen times. Then
pushing back her face with her hand, and
gazing in her eyes that wept for gla iness.
soe continued—“my own pet, my sweet
darling Alice, how beautiful you are! (and
she spoke as she felt, DUt with bitterness )
What a picture of health and what a bloom
cf loveiiuess.”
“O, Angelica!” said Alice as soon as she
could soeak for weeping. “How kind this is!
woo could have expected this delightful sur
prise. You cannot imagine what joy it giv s
me to find you have not forgotten to love
me ”
“Forgotten to love you! you dear litt’e
dc-e! why how dare you talk so? Can 1 for
get myself.”
Susan Beazley, her maid, was with her.
and looking on this scene and hearing what
was said, sne contracted her brow and turned
awav her face with a sniff of her nose, and
au expression that made a small boy who
was staring at her, back off quickly.
“Com“, let’s go to your room,” said An
gelica, “for I have but little time to stay
and a thousand things to talz about.”
Thither they at orce went,and when cosily
ensconced with the door shut, Alice said:
“Now tell me when did you get to London
and what lucky circumstance drew you
here so as to afford me the delight of this
visit.” ZHZ.
“Why, I have been several days In Lon
don,” she answered, “but so absorbed in
pressing tngagements that I have not had a
moment’s time to call on you before. And
•is to what brought me here, can you not
guess? U, it gives me queer feeling, 1 can
tell vou. and much buoyant hope as well as
speculative pleasure in tbe anticipation.”
“Whai ? is it your wedding you are pre
paring for? Tell me—tell me all. Don’t con
ceal one thing from me.”
“Yes, then, you cunning little querist.”
“Ob, 1 am so glad,” said Alice laughing
aBd smacking her bands with glee. “But
why didn’t you write me this when you
knew 1 was so anxious to hear all about you.
Where is Mr. R ght? I have not heard one
word from him, nor of him since I left Kent,
but I was sure it would be a match.”
‘Mr. Right! Are you dreaming, girl?
Did you do so foolish a thing as to suppose I
would marry him?”
Alice opened wide her beautiful, blue eyes
with wonder, and asked, “Who is it then?”
“Why, Sir Faul Bradmire,” she replied.
“Ob, he is so noble, and grand, and rich, and
of such an old and distinguished family. He
will have me to be dressed like a queen at
our mairiage.”
“Happy, happy Angelical” said Alice,
“G «i bless you, dear girl, and make you a
blessing to husband, friends and people. O,
Ai gelica, strive to bless and be blessed. Re
member, dear girl* j our own happinesses is in
great measure placed in your own hands.
You will have great facilities for doing good,
but you will be subjected to great tempta
tions toe, in this delusive coil of life,especial
Jy in exalted life where means combine with
inclination. But you will be good, and
benevolent, and merciful, and God never
forsakes sucb while tbe wicked are a sure
mark for utter desolation even amidst daz
zling splendor.”
A cloud came over Angelica’s face as she
gazsd silenJy into vacancy—and then re
plied :
"Ah. but who can shun their fates? Our
tasks are given us when at school, and so in
the school of life; and we do them as each
day turns a leaf of the book of destiny.”
Alice gazsd at her in wonder, and said
softly:
"Angelica, Angelical shun and abhor the
doctrine of tbe fa'alist. It leads to evil, and
« hen it does nor. directly lead to it, it excuses
it when done. It is a device for stifling the
reproaches of conscience.”
"Suppose it lead to evil as you say,” she
replied, “that itself is an item in our fates.
And, strange as it may seem, your censure
of fatalism opens the very business that
specially brought me here to-day: Now tell
me what have you to fear from tne maebina-
tions of the evil—you do no evil, if you ever
think any? You who have hidden yourself
in a little, quiet nook like tbe timid dove,
supposing yourself secure from envy, from
hatred, and from malice, by your very ob-
rciirity and seclusion? Yet even you, dear
Alice, have enemies, w ho are seeking to bunt
on out of even this retreat, though so much
umhler than your early fortunes and your
family abhors held out to you at your birth.
Was it not then in your fates?”
“Wbat is it you mesnl” asked Alice hur
riedly—but almost choking, as a deadly pal
lor spread over her face—“for God’s sake,
tell me in mercy what you mean.”
“Calm yourself, dear giek” She said,throw
ing her arms around her neck. *1 have had
to pass through a mighty s> ruggle on your
sect unt, and it was only after 1 bad consid
ered and reconsidered tbe matter for the
hundredth time that I could assume tbe
courage to startle you from your innocent
repose by giving pain to one so dear to me,
and so \ oid of evil either in practice or
thought. But 1 was forced to it at last by
all the memory of our former intimacy and
sisterly Jove. Tnett when, I said we cannot-
escapeour fates. I was tbiukinpof you. and
h> wlshould break the cruel calumny to vim ;
for even you. mv pure and beautiful Alice,
have not escaped calumny.”
“1 implore and beseech you,” said A’ice,
“do not keep me in suspense, but tell me the
worst at once.”
. “Well, then,” resumed Angelica, ‘‘1 was
sitting near an open window in tbe parlor of
my hotel writing a letter while two young
men, both, as I learned, (entlemen of bigti
position, nere silting on ihe pitzza directly
under the window smoking their cigars. One
of them utked the other:
** ‘O when did > ou see Felix Beattie? What
has become of bin,! 1 haven’t seen him’ f r
au age.’
“ ‘1 suppose,’ said tbe other laughing, ‘he
is ton much taken up with his girl to go auy-
wLero else ’
“ ’Wnatgirl?’
“ Wny, haven't you beard of bis intrigue
wiih a beautiful governess employed l»y
Brsx'on, the •hardware merchant in Poll-
malif’
“ ‘Not a word,’ said tbe other.
“ ‘Indeed,) and where have you been not to
have bet-ra vt it? 1 have been trying my
best to get • sight of tbe girl but she is nrei-
ty sby and keeps done. It is Mtttklt Brax
ton and his witu bar* f
»Tt- ther
■ I at is tbe truth of tbe case,' for you know
Felix *s famous for such things 1
‘“Yes,’ replied tbe other, 'and girls are
▼ery sby of turn; for bia attentions to any
gin, w betber proper or improper, are alwaj a
regarded with it jurioua suspicion to the
girl ’ ”
‘0 my Godl” exclaimed Alice “protect
ana d fend mel”
AnAdicr, whose eyes bad been bent on tbe
floor, looked up in bet face and strrted at the
oesthdike pallor of her face,
"Uh, what bast less calumnvl wbat merci-
Irss ctueliy 1” continued Alice, burying her
face in ber bands on a table. "Ob, why
should I have an enemy, and such enemies,
who am not c nsci< us of tver having done
harm to man or beast 1 ’
A dark smile curled tbe lips of tbe other ac
sbe gloated on ber bent figure, and said.
‘ Y ou torture me nearly as much as your
self, dear Ai ce; but do not be paralyzed by
despair. Courage is ind spensable iu such
trials. You ask justly why you have an en
emy who have neither it jured nor i ffended
any me; aud ihe only answer I can give ie
that it is in the fates. But I c-me here tc
serve you, knowing you to be innocent, and
pure ta tbe driven snow: and I am sure I can.
1 must see Mrs. Btaxionand ascertain if I
can, whether a calumnious letter bas been
sent her; and if so, 1 can extinguish any cal
umny purporting to have bad it8 origin in
K-nt. But bas Mr. Beattie been a fi i quent
visitor here. Start not at tne inquiry, for it
is only lor your sake—I, as you know, am
about to be married, and cannot care as tor
mystlr » here be visits. But if yon continue
here, after bearing wbat I have told you, I
should advise you strenuously not to see him
egain, and even to ri quest Mr. Braxton tc
forbid bis visits. This, more than anything
el-e, would arouse a conviction of your inno
cence aud feminine delicacy. This thing must
be stopped some wav.”
Alien w as so confounded as to be perfectly
mute under a leaden, crushing weight.
“Come: cheer up—cheer up, my own gen
tle, loving dove,” sbe continued; “and re
member 'the darkest day, live till to morrow,
will have passed away,’ and that every cii ud
has somewhere a silver rim or o silver lining.
Now, you must do me a favor Alice; do you
see this? (bolding up a sparkling ring wh ch
which sbe had slipped from her flogs r). You
mu-t wear this for my sake, and as often as
you look at it give one thought for 'auld lang
sine’ to your own Angelica.”
So saying, s”e slipped tbe ring on Alice’s
finger. But Alice was mute still, aud spoke
not one word, like one stupefied with anuzt-
ment or fixed by catalepsy. Tbe shock wag
stunning, and horror chained ber to silence.
“Oal I am sorry 1 mentioned it to you,
since you t»ke it so badly,” sbe said.
“No, nol” replied Alice, rousing herself.
“It is all right. 1 must have heard it sooner
or later, and the sooner the better.”
“You mU't go with me now,” said Angel
ica, “and present me to Mrs. Braxton, and
'ben leave us together for a few minutes; for
I must disposse-s her as much as possible of
any Croat she may have given to these
things, or cf any prejudice she may have
contracted.”
“I cannot—oh! I cannot,” said Alice—“I
am too much discomposed, and cannot as
sume conipi s ire when I do not feel it. A
servant will show you to her, if you wish it.”
She was accordingly shown into Mrs. Brax
ton’s room, who received her with much ap
parent confusion and many apologies for
wbat she called the disordered state of things.
Angelica saw at once the simple and uil-o-
pbistica'ed nature of tbe woman before ber,
and rattled away in the easiest and most
agreeable manner on familiar and common
place subjects for some minutes, and then
said.
‘ 0, your governess is an old acquaintance
of mine. That is”—she interjected—“she was
necessarily known to me as sbe boar led at
my father’s house when teaching the village
seboo’. How do yoa like her, Mrs. Brax
ton?”
“O, we liked her extremely,” she said,
“and ’ope we shall be hable to continue to
ike her.”
Angelica noticed the past tense, and re
sumed ber queries—“I hooe nothing unpleas
ant has happened, Mrs, Brakton.”