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VOL. VII J. H. & W. B. SEALS
ATLANTA. LA., DECEMBER 10. 1881.
Terms in Adva
NO.iSo
(■KcrRoll'i iuwer.
By Father Byaa.
He stood before the multitude,—and spake
“ There ia no God. His name is but a Lie
To hang creeds on; and ministers and priests
Who preach His name are liars, one and all.
Wiser than all am I. and far more true.
Their facts are Actions, and their creeds are false.
1 speak the grandest Truth—there is no God ;
And that they call Hereafter is a Dream,
A dream of fools, and like a droam untrue.
There is no God.” And many did applaud.
• That very night how many mothers clasped
Thiir arms around their children's necks and
kJased
The angel lips, the while their own lips prayed,
As only mothers pray, that God might guard
Their little ones lrom harm ! in Pagan lands
Where hearts are hungry for the God half lost —
So hungry (woudrousinstinct!) that they call
On earth and sky to give them many Gods:
In Christian lands where is truly known.
The mothers with their Pagan sisters pray
ToOod Faith—known,—and givesublime protest;
To God Grace known—and give sublime rebuke
To him who dares to blaspheme all the Faith
And dares to trample on their very hearts,
To steal their little children's God away.
Like priestesses they stand with phalanxed hearts
All round the world-in one unbroken line
Pagan and Christian—and in one acclaim
They cry aloud : “ Our chi dren have a God,
And we, like Vestal Virgins, guard His shrine
And keep the sacred Ares forever bright
Whose hashes tell the world 'There is a God.'
And we will sentinel ourchildren's graves,—
We, who rocked their cradles—and look beyond,
Knowing as only mothers' hearts can know
That the Hereafter is no more a dream
Than the litre,-and that we will meetagaln
With our children and with ourchildren’s God J”
Blasphemer, hush ! The mothers of the world
Are God's own sacred guard, and on their breasts
They have their babes,—as tho’ on purestshields.
Blasphemer hush-the mother never yields.
ARCHIE BERTON:
—OR THE-
TREASURY CLERK.
By Harriet E. 8. Cresaj.
CHAPTER XIX.
A year after the retribution of being for
saken by his wife and suffering the shame
and pain that resulted from it had fallen
UDon Wellby, he lay on his deathbed at the
Palma, and Martba-tbe faithful and long
suffering bent over him—Martha, who was
now Ills wife In uu.L. he dad o
what amends he could for that great wrong
he had done in an evil and unguarded mo
ment, and for which he had suffered such
hauuiiug remorse. .... ,
He had made Martha his lawful wife and
given to her and his child hia still consider
able property. After this was done, and he
had seen the will duly attested, he drew Mar
tha’s face down to his own, kissed her fore
head, and said, ....
“Now, my dear wife, knowing that you are
legally mine, and that I have your forgive
ness for past offenses, 1 think I can die in
peace. But if God should permit me to live
1 would show yon how true and devoted a
husband I could be to you, the best and love
best of women, and with what tenderness
and solicitude I would watch over my pre-
cions boy. All I leave will belong to you
two. and I have no fear but you will make
good use of it. Do not part with the Palms,
1 want the place to be kept in the name.
“No, James, it shall not te sold, your
slightest request shall be heeded, said Mar
tha her voice choking with emotion, and
tears which she could no longer repress,
coursing down her cheeks, so that she had to
turn her head aside. At the same time
Ralphie lay beside his papa, pressing the
horning cheek with his Utile hand, and won
dering what hud brought about this new or
der of‘ ‘ *
oil things. He had not forgotten his
papa, by any manner of means, although he
had not seen him for more than two years,
for Welby had never been to Liverton since
Martha requested him to stay away. Oa his
return to Washington, two days after Archie
deserted him, and he was forced to meet the
quissing looks of those who once professed to
be bis friends, how he longed for the honest,
heartfelt sympathy of her he had so wronged,
for he knew, although it would seem almost
incredulous that Martha would condole, in
stead of gloat, over his lonely condition.
How he Uved through those terrible days,
and acted his part in the affairs of state, was
more than he afterwards could tell, but feel-
iDg It was a retribution, he determined to
place himself in a position as soon as possible
to atone for his past shortcomings. This he
did by procuring the divorce which gave him
a right to marry Martha.
Two days after this was done, be peaceful
ly expired. And it seemed as though never
another mourned as Martha mourned; for as
we already have seen, she had loved Welby
through good and evil report, even until the
last, and in her desire to conform to his eve
ry wish, she had promised to remain at the
Palms. After he had gone she felt that she
had done unwisely in this, as her work was
ready in Liverton. There were so many in
that place looking up to her for help, and
how could she be much use to them living
ten miles away. And could she endure a
separation from Louise and Dwight? It hard
ly seemed possible; and for that reason, and
believing they could work more _ effectively
together than separately, Louise and her
husband were induced to take up their resi
dence also at the Palms, going back and
forth each day, either by cars or other con
veyance, to attend to their school and church
duties. Martha’s house in Liverton at the
same time was in charge of a good woman,
where they could any day find a temporary
home. Thus the good work they had carried
on so successfully did uot suffer from their
change of residence, Martha’s great income
rendering it easy for her to do still more,
which she willingly did, although she could
not ' ften lend her presence to the suffering
poor, who so loved and revered her. But
there was one object upon whom she did not
feel inclined to lavish much money, and that
was Jack Ruggles, who. as soon as he read of
the death of James Welby, made a journey
to the Palms, where he was pretty sure of
finding Martha. Once there, his business
was to beg money. a-
“Money does you very little good, Martra
replud, “but I will give you “ 8 “ al \ a “ 0 h u l “*
to relieve your present wants, banuing him
a ien dollar bilL . . _ .
At this. Jack was greatly angered, and
g’Ving the bill a toss, and Martha a severe
blow*with his fist which felled her to the
fluor, he quicklv left the house. Martha was
insensible a number of moments, and as she
waa alone in the drawing-room, no one knew
of the occurrence until she recovered sum-
How would her friends receive her, if she
ALPHOXSO XI*.- King: of Bpaia.
ciently to call one of the servants, who lifted
her to the sofa and tended her as though she
were a baby.
“Oh, my poor, poor missus,” the girl cried,
“I rather had died myself than had you hurt
so, but do get better—do—do,” patting Mar
tha’s head and holding her close in her arms.
It was a negro girl that Martha had rescued
from a state of the deepest poverty and ig
norance, to learn her to read and give her a
home, since which her affection for her mis
tress was touching as well as characteristic
of her race.
“ Louise and Dwight soon returned from
their day’s toil in Livertoon, both of whom
were equally sorry for their friend, and at
the same time apprehensive Chat great injury
had been done her; therefore a doctor was
immediately sent for. The injury was a se
rious one, he said, and one from which she
might not soon recovery, the blow having
been inflicted on the temple—but would not
cause immediate death.
“That means she may live and suffer?*,
interrogated Louise.
“Most likely,” the knowing doctor replied.
And so it proved, as she became a victim
of the most distressing headachas and nerv
ous i Sections, making it unsafe for her to be
left alone for any great length of time. And
there seemed no reason why she should,as the
colored girl, Winnie, asked no greater heppi
ness than to constantly attend to the wants
of her ailing mistress. Then all the poor of
L'verton were ready to become her slaves if
she required it. Many walked the whole dis
tance of ten miles to see her; others better
able came on the cars,so the poor woman had
the satisfaction of knowing she was beloved
by olL
And what greater joy than that of
knowing we have been of service to our fel
low creatures who are living tests, that we
have heeded that Master who at last will de
clare, “For I was a stranger and ye took me
in, naked and ye clothed me, sick and in pris
on. and ye visited me,”
Then to one like Martha, what availed bod
ily pain, except that it rendered her lees able
to perform the more active part ia her ben
evolent plans? But as neither generous im
pulses nor funds were wanting.and Louise and
Dwight were at the head the good work did
not suffer materially. The aged,toe orphans,
the sick, daily attesting to that fact.
But there came a time when Louise and her
husband had to be absent a few days. Maud
had just died from an attack of pneumonia,
and they were expected at her funeral.
It was a midsummer day when Louise came
home from her school to receive this dispatch
which had just arrived. A letter also, writ
ten three days previous, came at the -ame
time, stating that she had been attacked
with pneumonia,but was not then considered
in a dangerous condition. They had but a
few moments in which to prepare for their
journey as they wished to avail themselves of
the first northern train, but were ready in
time, and with sorrowing hearts started for
the scene that awaited them at Riverside.
Martha made Louise promise to use every
endeavor to prevail upon her mother to re
turn to the Palms with her. She wanted her
company very much she said, and then she
was sure the poor woman would be very lone
ly at Riverside as Maud was gone.
On reaching the place the first person Louise
8aw was her brother Charlie whom she had
not seen since she left P&rksdale. He was
looking well, and as Louise afterwards
learned, had entirely overcome the vile
habits that came so near destroying him.
“To Welby I owe everything,” he said to
Louisa “To his good advice 1 listened, and
with bis money I was relieved of my pecuni
ary embarrassments Only for his help I
should have been lost, for I was almost to
the bottom of the hill.”
“Did no one else try to persuade you to do
differently—mother, Maud, Archie, Will?”
asked Louise,
“Yes, but they did not furnish the means
to make me free of my importunate creditors
who harrassei the life out of me, causing me
to plunge still deeper into dissipation.
“How did yoH first become so involved?”
asked Louisa
“By my extravagant habita You know
I was brought up to think I could have any
thing I wanted. We all were, Louise.”
“But now you have learned to be more
prudent.”
“Yes, Louise, I have been taught by hard
experience that a young man of small means
cannot hope for success without the practice
of that virtua”
“How glad I am,” said Louise, “that you
have reformed, that mother can have a little
comfort in her children that are left her; for
Maud is gone, and then to think of our un
fortunate, erring Archie.”
* Not a word I sup. ohas i een’.e rl fr om
herisince she eloped with that scoundrel?”
“No, not a word,” said Louise tearfully.
‘ How strange she chould have done so,
when Wellbv was such a good hear ed, gen-
erous'man! Besides heiping'me. think of his
paying such a sum of money for Will, which
makes him the undisputed owner of River
side. Will, at first, thought he would some
time have the money to pay back to Welby, 1
but he tells me the good, generous creature •
destroyed the note a few months before his )
death.”
“Yes, be did, besides that he gave mother
and me a great deal Then the property he
left, and what it accumulates, is the means
under right management, of making many
comfortable; the good woman who has the
charge of it, mdng none of it in riotous living
for herself.”
“How Btrange,” said Charlie, “that
such a noble-hearted man as Welby could
ever have deceived her as he did. And in
deceiving her he of course deceived Archie.”
“It seems almost incredulous that he could
have done so, but he repented of it in sack
cloth And ashes; and died a Christian.”
“Do yon suppose, Louise, that Archie ever
beard of bis relations with Martha? I have
been thinking perhaps she did, and it might
have been the way she excused herself for
eloping with that popinjay.”
“She never heard of it that I know of,
although she might while in Washington.
But if she did I do not think it was the whole
cause of her going, for she seemed perfectly
infatuated with the fellow the winter she
was at the Palms.”
“You are sure he was the one she went
with?” asked Charley.
“Yes. Welby was given a minute descrip
tion of him by the hotel-keeper, when he
boarded in Washington, as well as by others,
who saw him.”
“It is astonishing how she could have
done so.”
“It was the work of the old Harry,” said
Louise.
CHAPTER X.
“My form, slas! has now forgot to please;
The scene of beauty and delight Is changed ;
No roses bloom upon my faded cheek,
No laughing graces wanton in my eyes.
But haggard grief leau looking sallow care.
And pining discontent. —Bows.
“I cannot part with it, Bart, I cannot. It
is the last of my jewels, and was the last gift
of my husband to me.”
“Your husband 1 a great husband he was; 1
with a living wife and child at the time he
pretended to marry you! A great husband
indeed.”
“Well I want to keep the necklace. Is
there no way yon can raise money without
pawning that?”
“No, there is noother way, and if yon will
not part it we most starve."
Archie burst into tears, murmuring, “can
it be that I have come to that T’
“Come, let’s have it, you silly jade; you
certainly don’t want to wear it on such a
scrawny neck, and then it would not corres
pond with jour present surroundings.”
“Well, I suppose it must be converted into
money, hot 1 prefer to effect the sale myself,
and get the money into my own hands. I
will see about it to-day,” said Archie with
spirit.
Fitsnoodle turned livid with rage.
“I must have a part of it,” he said, “or 1
may have to go to prison.”
“Well, you may as well go to prison as for
me to go to the work house. You have spent
all Hie money 1 had, and this, the last that 1
can raise, would not last yon a week.”
The fellow knew there was no use in his
saying a word more, so he took his bat and
went into the street to try his hand at his old
business, picking pockets. Archie soon fol
lowed, and in the course of an hour or two
bad pawned her necklace for about a quarter
of its cost, then came the work of doleing out
her money to procure the necessaries of life
for herself and Fitsnoodle. As he earned
very little at bis profession, having beoome
very cautious since his arrest in Washington,
he could not do much towards their support.
Indeed he had spent a large share of Archie’s
money in gambling since they came to Lon
don, where they had constantly lived since
they crossed the ocean. She would not be
lieve for a long time that it went for such
purposes, but she had finally become con
vinced that he was a lying, dishonest fellow,
and believed there was nothing too bad for
him to da
And so one day when the officers came to
their shabby little home and arrested him
for burglary, and took him off to prison,
Archie felt very little sympathy for him, and
in fact, was glad to be rid of him. How she
was to live she hardly knew, as she was re
duced to a few dollars. But she concluded
she would take what little she had and re
turn to America. She was willing to work
her passage or to do almost any way to reach
that desired haven. Three years had passed,
and oh, what years of regrets, since she join
ed her fortune to that of the spendthrift and
law breaker who she hoped she was now free
from forever.
But in wbht way would she return, alas, a
poor broken down woman, beauty, pride, am
bition all gone, a prey to remorse, and with
little hope of forgiveness from those who
once loved her. Husband, mother, sister, all
might turn coldly from her. Still she said,
“1 will go, and like the prodigal son entreat
their forgiveness, and beg to be taken into
their hearts and home once more.”
So the forsaken creature went to the ship
ping deck asking for service as cook’s assis
tant, chambermaid, or work of any descrip
tion, so she could be brought to America.
Sne was told at first, that no more help was
needed on the boat, but she then took on so
pi'eously. the captain told her she could take
passage as assistant chambermaid and table
waiter, without other remuneration than a
free passage. Archie then felt that she was
very happy, and meekly bore the gibes of
the smart waiters, who knew they were ex
actly in their own sphere, while she was not.
For in spite of her jaded appearance there
still remained enongn of high bred manner,
to convince them that she had not been
reared in their rat ks.
But Archie put on no artificial airs, she was
thoroughly subdued, and so dispirited that
she often contemplated suicide.
ever found them, was s question she was con
tinually asking beraelr. Sbe believed a
mother s love was equal to any emergency.
But her mother had no home of her own into-
which to admit her, and then she might be
dead. Nevertheless, sbe concluded to write
her, telling her all that had happened to her
since they last met, as soon as sbe could afti r
reaching New York. As sbe had no money
to proceed further than that place, she meant
to try to find work for a few weeks, and then
if she heard from her mother, find her way
to R yereide, where she supposed her mother
was hying.
After arriving at Castle Garden she knew
not what course to take.nor in what direction
to go; a poor, lone woman, with scarcely a
penny with which to help herself, pray what
would she do in the great city whose whir
was already in her ears ? Her first move was
to go to an intelligence < fflee, and er quire
for work. But meet'ng with no encourage
ment there, as the supply exceeeded the de
mand for servantn, she wandered aimlessly
about the city till nightfall, then procured a.
lodging with the few pennies she had left.
Before she retired, she wrote her mother a
long letter imploring her to send her money
with which sbe might come to her without
delay. The following day sbe begged for
work from house to bouse, aud as she had sot
a penny left, was compelled to beg for food.
But not until she was nearly famished with
hunger, and prostrated with fatigue, did she
obtain a morsel to eat, or get tny encourage
ment of work. From many a door she was
turned away, as though she was the vilest
b;ggar. But at last she was taken on trial,
lor a lew days, as the woman was ill, and in
great want of some one to help her. The
family were In straitened circumstances, and
Archie was expected to do the entire work of
the household, beside attending to the sick
woman She founa this very hard, but hoped
it would only be for a day or two, as she exr
pec ted to receive a letter from her mother by
ih&t time, with money to defray her expense*
to Riverside. But two days, three days, and
a week went by bringing her no letter.
What could it mean? Was that dear parent’s
heart closed against her, or did she no longer
live at R verside? Then she knew not where
to address a letter to her. Oh, the untoldi
miseries she suffered in this interval Only
for the work, the unending work that de
volved upon her, she felt she would have gone
detracted.
„ ler moth.., .
mind to remain in |ir
tion until she had earned ~nnWfc te __
to her friends. Tney might, and they might
not, be far away—she thought she could as
certain by going to Riverside. Bo she worked
on, doing the best she could in the hard place
that fortune had placed her, until she had,
earned the sum of thirty dollars. She thought,
she would not like to start with less. What
a fortune this now seemed to her, though it
once would have been considered a mere
mite. Thus it is; we are never poor if we
have enough for our bare necessities. With
less than that we are paupers.
Archie had toiled nearly four months like
a galley-slave to accumulate this small sum r
and she now started for Riverside, only a.
little way up the Hudson, and she would b»
th 're in a short time—and under what differ
ent circumstances from those of her former
visit to that place! It was about midday
when she got to the depot,a half mile from the
house. Leaving the cars, she journeyed
thither alone on foot, beneath the broiling
sun, and felt nearly prostrated by the time
she reached the marble steps of the great
mansion. She stood there for some time
looking disconsolately about her. The house
was closed; the window-shutters were aft
drawn, the door-bell removed, and there was
not the least sign that any human being ex
cept herself was on the premises. After be
ing convinced of this, she sat down on the
porch and cried aloud like a poor lost ritild
in a wilderness. A man who was r <| **i»iy
heard her. and asked:
“What is the matter? Can I do anything
foryou?’ *
“Only tell me where Mrat Berton and Will
Bhaw and his wife are gonei” said Archie
’’Mrs. Bhaw is dead,” replied the man,
Mrs Berton has gone to Texas, and Mr.
Bhaw is practicing his profession in Prisley.”
“Cau it be poor Maud is dead; and can
you tell me to what place in Texas Mrs. Ber
ton has gone?”
T think it is place called “the Palms.”
‘Then I am off for that place at once,”'
said Archie, springing up and starting for
the depot.
“Let me walk along with you and cany
your satchel,” said the man. “Yon look vers
tired.”
“Thank you, sir. Perhaps you can tell me
how my sister, Mrs. Bhaw. mim to die—waa
she sick long?”
“She took cold, I think, anditcaased pneu
monia. She only lived five or six days after
the attack. Tnen her sister and husband-
came on from the South to the funeral, and
Mrs. Berton returned home with them. ”
Archie’s spirits began to dampen. If her
mother was living with Lonise she was sura
she would not want to stay with her long.—
So she asked:
•‘Was it not to Liverton instead of the
Palms, Mrs. B-rton went'”
“1 heard no mention of that place. I am
qnite sure they called the place the Palms.” 1
“Then there is no doubt,” thought Archia
“Mamina has gone to keep house for James,
and perhaps be will welcome me baeki
and I can again be mistren over my beauti
ful old home.” In this buoyant state of
mind, most of her journey was made. And
we must admit, Archie had some grounds top
forming the conclusions she did. For hew
could Welby waut her mother with him if
her heart was wholly estranged from henelf,
probably be expected ber to return, and he
would willingly forgive her all after she told
him that the stories of bis intrigue, were the
cause of her elopement. Archie found great
comfort in visions like these during her jour
ney southward, though tnought of Maud's
°udden death would settle down like a great
shadow upon her, at fines But that Welby
was not living, she bad not the faintest idea.
Bhe did not so much as once think that ba
the strong, scarcely middle-aged man, could
have died during her absence. Bo sbe steft
ped from the train after getting to the en)
of her journey, fairly flying along to the
dear old Palms, when sbe expected at every
move to meet him. She was sure be would
not know her, she was so thickly veiled, be
sides, she had changed so greatly. But she
meant to ask him if she could see Mrs. Berton..
But onward she went, till sbe finally reached
Continaed on eighth pagn.