Newspaper Page Text
THE SUNNY SOUTH
PICCIOLA
OR,
Power of Conscience.
BY MBS. JEANIE DAGG MA11ABY.
I will be measured for a conscience after the
newest fashion, one that wiU stretch handsome-
ly as occasion may require.—Schiller.
For so vital a necessity to all living men 1s
Truth, that the vilest traitor feels amated, when
treason recoils on himself,—Bulwer.
[Copyrighted by the anthor.]
CHAPTER XX.
Back to America they now turned their course.
But little time had passed since the discovery,
and but few questions had been asked Annie
Ola of her past life, for every thought had been
drowned in the one great event. Now upon the
steamer, Ola’s tongue flew. The cave with its
beautiful decorations was pictured with graphic
skill, her monotonous, monastic life, was de
scribed, and her childhood and girlhood spoke
of in pleasant terms, for she was indeed happy,
because the joys of freedom and the world were
unknown. Her companions were also alluded
to; but the parents noticed that the "young boy”
was never once referred to. “Old Git” had a
prominent place In her description, but never
at any time did she speak of the Prince, except
with love and respect. It was hard for her to
invest him with the paraphernalia of bis oflice;
and to her he seemed a man of strong mind,
strong affection and strong passion. The jail
scene was passed over in silence, for, since she
had never seen the "Confession,” she was igno
rant of the disclosure contained therein. From
her parents she first learned of his suicide, and
It filled her with sadness, for she knew full well
the cause.
The kindness she had received from the Jew
and Jewess was dwelt on with pleasure, and the
marriage of Adina to Lucian was detailed.
“What did you say was the young man’s
name?” asked the father.
“Mr. Lucian Raymond. They came directly
over to America.”
“We have a young lawyer in our city by that
name. Can it be possible that your friends are
living so near us?”
“Is his wife strikingly beautiful, father?”
“Yes, she struck me as being remarkably at
tractive. and I judge be is a man of good heart,
fine Intellect and uncommonly gay spirits.”
“It must be Adina and Lucian. This is too
much happiness for me. I am afraid I shall
sink under such a weight of joy,” and Ola’s
eyes sparkled as they had never done before.
The steamer at length entered the harbor,
and, after a lew more hours of railway travel,
the happy trio reached home. What a word to
Olal What a different home to her parents!
After enjoying this delight for a few days, her
next thoughts was to find Adina. By inquiry
she learned that Mrs. Raymond was a Jewess
from London, who bad lost caste by marrying a
Gentile. In great glee she hastened over to
their humble abode, and what a joyful surprise
it was!
Time flew with rapid wings, and each day
brought new happiness to Ola. Over the radi
ant brow of Adina a shadow rested, and Its
cause Ola tried In vain to unravel. The young
husband was loving and kind; there was no
withdrawal of confidence; this she could plainly
discover, and yet there were times when each
was silent and sad.
With a more tender gaze than ever would Lu
cian often regard his wife, and a sigh would
spring from his troubled breast as be silently
turned away.
Oppressed and distressed Ola determined to
go in his absence and appeal to Adina for the
cause, and never rest satisfied until It was dis
covered and removed.
“Adina,” she asked one day, “what is there
which troubles you and Lucian? You cannot
look me steadily in the face and say there is
nothing but joy in your heart.”
Adina tried, but failed; and her eyes were all
suffused with tears.
“Oh, mv friend, you do not trust me.” \
"Yes, Ola; yes I do. Do not think that.”
“Not as you once did, Adina, or you would
not now withhold your confidence from me. You
know I ask nothing from Idle curiosity.”
“I am well aware of that; but, Ola, I am hap
py. indeed I am. Lucian loves me so truly, so
ardently.”
Ola waited, for this did not satisfy her, but
with averted head, Adina gazed silently out of
the window.
“Keep nothing back, Adina. Your tell tale
face will not let you dissemble.”
“Well, Ola. the truth is, Lucian is not succeed
ing In law. We must nevertheless live, and be
has been compelled to go in debt. He has be
come inextricably involved, and all we have
must soon be seized, and we shall be reduced
to poverty and want. / can bear this bravely.
My powers of endurance are wonderful now;
want, privation, work, any and everything seems
nothing to me. But Lucian, dear, kind, loving
Lucian cannot summon the fortitude which
comes quickly to my c^.11. Poor fellow, he sinks,
and then, oh, then, Ola the wine cup. I can
bear all but this, for there is no fortitude that
can sustain a wife under this dreadful trial By
his side I will stand and breast life’s storm. I
can view the gathering blackness, and listen to
the thunder’s boom without a tear; but this is
worse than clouds and storms. He is not yet a
drunkard, Ola, and my poor heart finds a ready
excuse, knowing all that he has to contend with.
I see bis flushed cheek, excited manner and un
naturally bright eye, with many a silent tear,
but without a reproachful word. Sometimes my
heart and brain seems so surcharged they seem
ready to burst. Where the end will be, God
only knows.”
“Adina, my dear friend, cheer up. If pecuni
ary aid will relieve you, I can safely promise
that every trouble shall be quickly removed. I
have not yet forgotten how friendless I was
when you took me to your heart.”
“Dear Ola, how sincerely I thank you for your
quick sympathy and proffered help. This may
aid him, but, oh, Ola, it is not money I crave.
It is not relief from the hunger which we begin
to feel, but reclaim, him, bring back my Lucian,
dash the cursed cup from his lips, draw him
from the enticing saloon where he tries to win
for me, his poor weeping wife at home. Oh!
Ola, restore him, restore my Lucian as be once
was, and my life-long devotion shall follow you.”
Deeply grieved, Ola hastened home, and find
ing her father she sank upon a cushion at his
feet, and clasping her hand over his knee, with
flashing eyes, narrated her painful interview.
"Father,” she added earnestly, "I have a few
J ewels left which I almost feared to speak of,
mowing your hatred of the Prince. The sale
of such articles was my sole means of support
for a while in London, and these few were all
that were left me when you found your lost
child. Can these baubles be put to better use
than to relieve the suffering? Can they serve a
better purpose than to repay, in part, the kind
ness which I have once received?”
“As you please, my child.” answers the fath
er, smoothing her hair. “Usethe jewels. I will
sell them for you, and when the sum is exhaust
ed, or should it not prove enough, come again.
. Kindness bestowed upon you shall be repaid
ten fold.”
The jewels were sold, and the proceeds ea
gerly carried over to Adina, who joyfully re
ceived the money, hoping that by removing the
cause she could as quickly remove the effect.
A few debts were then cancelled, but still credi
tors pressed their claims. The heavy purse of
Dr. Du Vail was next opened, and creditors si
lenced; but alas! a taste for the intoxicating
cup bad been acquired, and now Lucian could
not burst the fetters. Still loving, and always
repenting, be drank on, until at length he be
came accustomed to the fading bloom of his
beautiful wife, and it ceased to extort a regret.
Bravely she endured it all. gently she caressed,
patiently she bore every pang without one chid
ing word. Often and often did he resolve, and
as often would he yield to the temptation, and
then in perfect agony he would exclaim:
“My patient, suffering darling, how can I
drown you in such an ocean of grief. Far bet
ter would It be for you, were I in my grave. Oh,
I cannot, will not, live to tortue you so!”
It was then the wife smiled and whispered
words of comfort, love and hope. Siiently he
would often lie and gaze into her loving eyes as
she would picture days of future bliss In store
for both; but his lace, bloated and red, could
not reflect the smile, and rite eye, growing daily
wilder and wilder, grew also sadder and sadder.
She trembled, she could scarcely tell why, and
watched him night and day with the strict vigi-
lence of a mother guarding an erring child.
It was after a day of deep drinking when the
dinner hour had passed unobserved because he
did not come, that she sat waiting his return, in
the little ivy-covered porch of their cottage
home. From side to side she saw him stagger
up tne broad front walk, and every step was
like a heavy trample upon her heart. She tried
hard but could not smile, yet she arose to give
him the arm chair in which her wearied body
bad been reclining, and he threw himself within.
He had never spoken to her unkindly, but own
he seemed strangely transformed, and his breath
sickened her with its nauseous whisky odor.
In a maudlin tone be spoke :
“No smile to greet your husband, hey? Once
a smile and a kiss awaited him, but its quite
different now. Oh, yes! very different. You
are sadly and very unpleasantly changed, mad
am. Home Is no longer a happy place with such
a moping wife.”
“Dear Lucian,” and her voice was soft and
g entle, “I am sick to-day. You do not know
ow long I have been sitting there watching for
you, and now I am so delighted to have you
near me. The day has seemed interminable.
Do excuse me if I am not as cheerful as usual,
for I feel really sick this evening.”
“Sick, hey? Always the excuse. I hate a
wife forever sick, an Invalid wife is the greatest
bore In all the world. It was not so when we
were first married, you needed no excuse then,
but now you are not the same creature, and I’d
like to know bow you expect me to be forever
patient when you treat me this way. if I don’t
come home from morning till night, blame your
self, madam!”
“My dear husband,” and she clasped his hand
in both of bers, while hot tears scalded her
cheeks, “forgive me if I am the least changed
in manner. My heart is all the same. I will
try to be more cheerful for your sake.”
He threw her trembling hand from him, and
sprang from his chair, exclaiming with an awful
oath:
“Plague your tears! I hate a crying, swivel
ling woman, that I do, from the bottom of my
heart. If you’re so mighty sick, go to bed anil
stay there, and don’t trouble me with your whin
ing. The beds’ the place for you. and the soon
er you get there the better. Go your way, and
I’ll go mine!”
"Lucian, dear Lucian—”
“Oh, yes, it’s dear Lucian now! Go! I don’t
want to see you again! I’m tired of such a life
as this, that 1 am. No peace at home or abroad.”
He turned, entered an adjoining room, and
slammed the door after him with great violence.
Poor Adina! With a sad bursting heart she
turned to her own room, to pace the floor and
weep. It was a terrible night for the loving
wife, for her heart clung so fondly to the totter
ing besotted creature, her husband, who was so
unlike himself to-night. Upon the bare floor
she could hear his heavy tread, and she paused
to listen, for she dared not enter. Once, twice,
thrice be passed up and down, and then all was
still. She thought he slept, but now she shud
dered as she again heard his uneven step. For
some moments all was deathlike stillness. Pres
ently a dull, low moam, she distinctly heard,
then a heavy fall, and all was still again. With
a wild, loud, piercing scream, she Durst open
the door and rushed to his room. Upon the
floor was stretched the lifeless form of her hus
band, while the warm blood poured in a dark
red stream from his severed throat!
Wilder and wilder became her screams and so
loud that they seemed the united strength of a
dozen madmen. Friends and neighbors quickly
gathered, and when Ola and her lather rushed
in, the scene surpassed description. Upon the
floor sat the poor woman, while the mangled
head lay in her lap, and the blood still bubbled
from the gapping wound. Fearfully did the
glazed eym stare from their sockets, but with a
caressing movement her slender fingers toyed
with his clotted hair, while a low, walling He
brew chant came through her gleaming teeth,
interrupted now and then by a loud, long laugh.
Adina, the suicide's wife, was a hopeless ma
niac I’ Nothing couSd draw her fr'om his side.
No human hand dared touch his body, for her
eyes glared like balls of fire at every approach.
All tried but failed. What was to be done?
Dr. Du Vail had often noticed the power of a
kind word and gentle voice, even upon one be
reft of reason—had noticed that even then love
was a potent power, and, bending over Ola, he
whispered:
“Summon up your courage, my child, and go
and speak to your poor friend. Nothing can
harm you, and perhaps vour influence may do
more than all medical skill.”
Quivering in every nerve, Ola approached.
At first the red eyes glared upon her like those
of an infuriated wild beast In the last pangs of
starvation. By her side, upon the floor, Ola
took her seat, and in a soothing voice said:
•‘Dear Adina, you are not well to-day. I have
come for you, and you must go home with me.”
A low laugh was the only reply. Reaching
over, Ola took one of the small, thin hands; and
though it was all smeared with blood, she press
ed it gently between her own, saying:
“Come, Adina, father is here waiting for you.
Won’t you go with me now? You know we have
been friends a long, long time, and you will not
refuse me I know.”
"Who are you, you pretty child?” asked the
poor, demented woman. “How sweet you talk!
You’re my friend? I’m glad.”
“Yes, 1 am your friend, Adina. Won’t you go
now?”
"Go where, child?”
“Go home with me and stay all day. Father
is waiting for us.”
“Such a pretty thing as you are! Why, yes, I
would go, but there’s so much company, and I
can’t go, you know. They have come to my
party. Didn’t you know it? We’re going to
dance to-night, and I told him I would laugh a
longtime. Ha! ha! allDight!”
"You go home with me, and I’ll help you pre
pare for your party to-night.”
“Thank you, I will call sometime. Lucian will
come, too, you know. We would go now, but
you see it would be rude for us both to leave our
company.”
“Friends!” called out Dr. duVall, “will you
not all go with us?”
“Yes, certainly!” all exclaimed.
With a few more gentle words, Ola enticed the
poor woman from the dreadful corpse, leaving a
few friends to arrange for the sad funeral rites.
Adina was perfectly harmless, and like a spoiled
child she sat pouting and crying, then laughing
and singing. Illness followed, and friends
watched anxiously, feeling sure that if life was
spared reason would resume its sway.
One night, as the clock struck the mldDight
hour, the low, wailing note of a new-born babe
was heard in the house of Dr. duVall. It was
the suicide’s child. And as it lay suffering in its
terrible deformity its plaintive moans reached
the ear of its mother. Opening her lustrous
eyes, now soft with the light of returning rea
son, sbe asked for her babe. It was brought
audheld that it might receive her dying kiss.
With a melting, touching tenderness her eyes
lingered upon its poor little emaciated frame
until death began to blur her vision. Turning
then, she raised the tiny fingers and placed them
in Ola’s hand and gasped:
“Your promise—remember! Name her Ma-
rah, for it is bitter, so bitter.”
She sank, exhausted, upon her pillow, and all
thought that death had come to her release. In
a moment her large, black eyes opened, her lips
parted, and, with a wild shout of “Lucian! Lu
cian!” her spirit fled.
CHAPTER XXL
On a dreary winter afternoon, when the sky
was covered with a gray pallor and all nature
had taken a sombre hue, Ola sat in her room
alone. There was a strange commingling of
emotions visible in her face, for before her lay
the “Confession of the Black Prince”; and now,
for the first time, she had learned the full par
ticulars of her life. There was a light rap at the
door and her mother entered.
“My child,” she said as she took her seat, “I
have long desired to find a favorable moment
when I could converse with you undisturbed;
but your friend’s sad death and the constant
care of our little pet have prevented it. I am
glad to find you alone ana unoccupied this after-
nooD, for I must unburden my thoughts. Have
you read this “Confession?”
“I have just finished it, m’am.”
“I alone, dear child, can explain it, and it was
for this purpose I came this evening. I have
come to tell you of my life. It will not be a
pleasant recital to you or me. Pride may bid
me conceal some things in order to throw a veil
over the frailties of my youth, but I shall not do
it. It is not to please you nor to excite your
admiration that I draw aside the curtain of the
past. It is your good only that I seek; and by
relating some of my own sin and my own bitter
experience I trust to keep you from the path in
which I, your mother, walked.
“My maiden name, as you know, was Anna
Gray. My parents were immensely wealthy,
and I, their only child, was caressed and petted,
with every wish anticipated, until I grew »sel
fish creature—thinking and cariDg for little else
than my own gratification. It is now, without
an emotion of vanity, that I refer to my personal
appearance. My parents called me beautifnl,
the world pronounced me so, and I smiled com
placently at my mirror feeling that the term bad
not been misapplied. I knew that I was beauti
ful in form ano feature, and allied to vanity
came a jealous fear that some one might become
my rival. Wealthy, prepossessing in appear
ance, and with a mind upon which had been be
stowed great care and expense, it is cot wonder
ful that 1 soon drew around me a large circle of
admirers. My love of admiration and desire for
conquest knew no bounds. All of the arts of a
heartless coquette I practiced, nor did I use
them in vain. To every declaration of love I lis-
tenee proudly, and every offer was accepted. I
was betrothed to many at the same time, and
only dismissed an admirer when wearied of his
insipid expressions of undy ing attachment. You
may suppose that my deception would have been
easily discovered, but it was not; for when it
was suspected I disarmed every fear in every
mind, making each believe that he was the spe
cial object of my regard and preference. And
vet once I was thwarted. I was engaged to two
friends. They confided in each other, and each
one was so entrapped by my arts as to believe
that he alone was the chosen one. To prove
this more conclusively, each began to describe
my affectionate manner towards him, and to re
peat my professions of regard, until bath be
came exaspdrated. Instead of turning against
me, as they shoald have done, they turned
against each other and became sworn enemies.
1 knew it, but it only gratified me still more to
think that I could part blends—that one soft
word, one smile from me could sever the ties
of friendship. In an ill-fated hour a challenge
was given and quickly accepted. I heard it and
a tremor seized me, but it was quickly passed;
for what cared I for the lives of these deluded
men? Then, too, I thought such unfortunate
scenes occur in the life of every belle—why not
in mine? They met one morning at sunrise.
Preliminaries for the duel were passed through,
the seconds, surgeon ail stood by. The still air
was broken by two pistol shots. One man fell
covered with blood. Most happpily for ms, it
proved to be a flesh wound, though it was se
vere. From that time they again became warm
friends and my bitter enemies.
“Still I reigned supreme in many hearts.
What cared I for losing two when every week
was adding fresh laurels to my already loaded
brow? As one by one were turned away I saw,
with ill-conceited pleasure, the chagrin of some,
the rage of others and the deep feeling of others
as they left me. One clung to me on through
years. Oh! I well remember him. His sad,
f ale face rises reproachfully before me now.
can never forget it. Would that time, in mer
cy, would blot it from my memory! He was
young and inexperienced, and hence he proved
an easy captive. Innocent and truthful, he
thought all others were like himself. He was
too prone to dissemble, and never a shadow of
a doubt of my sincerity crossed his mind. I led
him on, and willingly did he follow. I cared
not then for his holy calling, for be was a min
ister of the gospel. Often as I sat entranced
by his deep, earnest eloquence as he besought
sinners to fly to Christ, and my cheeks would
flush and my eyes grow bright while I would
almost hold my breath—and why? Was it be
cause my own soul was stirred to its utmost
depths? No. Was it because my heart leaped
forth in love towards him since he was so good,
so full of zeal tor the Savior? Alas! no. It
was because I was proud that one so gifted,
so eloquent swelled the list of my admirers.
As he left the puipit he was always sure tqrap-
proach near enough to hear my whispered a»m-
mendation, and then his dark, tender eyes
would meet mine with a loving look and a smile
would play around his expressive mouth. -His
heart was not inflamed with vanity, for I knew
that—as he looked into my upturned, tearful
and :
He’
gaze as I drank in his burning eloquent
as he listened to my low, tremnlons woi
praise—his look was one of compassion, yi
of anxious love, believing that I was in 1
mourning over an unregener&te heart,
power over him was great, for he loved me
most blindly. There were times when I relent
ed ; and I felt that, though I might act most
heartlessly towards all others, I should spare
him. But by a strange infatuation I went on,
respecting him far more than any other, and
really at heart feeling for him a tender "
near akin to love. But I could not stop to
a poor preacher; the heiress and belli
never doom herself to such a life of sei
and thralldom. I feared that I might It
love him, for my heart grew strangely
when 1 thought of his nobleness of soul,
even his deep piety made me regret my
I was alarmed at my own feelings; a
another was caught in my meshes, I del
that the minister must be dismissed. I
the hardest task that I ever undertook,
was accomplished.”
There was a pause, and with
she continued:
“The othertcamera ,man of Jirlllii
handsome face and prepossessing addi
was very popular; and lest he might be capti
vated by my rival—a young girl of great beau
ty, though poor—I determined to entrap him.
He washy nature impulsive, almost vehement:
and when he bowed before me an acknowledged
admirer his professions, flowing so impetuously,
almost frightened me. He was rich, aDd the
world pronounced it a fitting match. I lured
him on until he loved me with all the intensity
of his nature. My calmness only seemed to be
like oil to the flame of devotion, for he was
madly in love. I was not altogether satisfied to
unite my destiny with this man; it was not tril
liant enough to suit my ambition, and I deter
mined to hold him in reserve, and, unless a
better presented himself, to listen to his re
peated entreaties and appoint the marriage
hour. He waited impatiently, with many a jeal
ous pang, as he saw me lavishing smiles upon
another. I laughed and felt triumphant; and
when I tried to dr£w him nearer, by accusing
him of faithlessness and coldness, he saw
through the mask. 1 knew it when he severed
my note in two and returned it to me. I was
surprised that he consented to be dismissed
without one effort to regain my favor, but he
made none. 1 immediately accepted my new
lover and appointed the time for marriage. I
sent an invitation to my old lover, hoping to
see him writhe in torture as I uttered the mar
riage vows. Even then my desire for conquest
did not die. The night came. I was married to
one who loved me and to ope I really loved in
return. In my happiness during the evening I
had quite forgotten my old lover; and as I stood
apart, leaning against the window lookibg upon
the gay scene, a voice hissed in my ear:
“ ‘My graduations I reserve, fair bride, for a
fitting hour.’
“The ‘confession’ you have just read has al
ready mentioned this event, ana these words. 1
knew who it was though I could not see him,
and I well understood that his gratulations
would he presented in no pleasant form. I knew
that in his veins Italian blood flowed, and I was
well aware of the revengefnl spirit that boiled
up within him when injury was inflicted, and 1
feared him.
“Time wore on, and I almost forgot the threat.
You, my child, were born. I loved you with a
love never felt before, and I watched your bud
ding beauty with a gratified pride and vanity. I
determined my baby should be peerless, and
everything was tending to inflame this inordi
nate vanity, when, alas' I awoke one morning,
and you were goneYour pillow still bore the
impress of your sweet, baby bead, hut you were
gone, and years of search and enquiry brought
no ease to our suffering hearts. I knew well in
my own bosom who committed the theft, for my
engagement ring, this baselisk that you wear
here, I 'had never returned, and that disap
peared on the same night. In sleep my darling
was stolen from my side, and I awoke to find
myself childless and wretched.
“As you know, the Black Prince, as you call
him, was my wronged lover—was the one who
has kept us mourning on through long, long
years. From the hour I missed you, my child, I
liecame a different woman. Changed i certain
ly was in appearance, for my former beauty fled
and I became pale and emaciated; and, to re
store my health, I was compelled to travel
abroad and endeavor to divert my thoughts and
soothe my shattered nerves by change of scene.
So, too, was I changed in feeling. As I sank
beneath the dreadful shock, I for the first time
saw mys6lf in my true light, a vain, sinful wo
man. Then I turned in full contrition of heart
and prayed to Him who has never yet turned a
guilty suppliant away. My guilt appeared so
great that it seemed impossible for God to be
able to forgive, and yet most graciously did He
jardon me. The peace and rapture that fol-
owed was worth far more than ages of exulta
tion from a vain heart because of vain triumphs.
Even though my child was gone, still my bosom
was filled with a blissful calm, and often and
often did the verse force itself upon me:
“ ‘What I do thou knowest not now, hut thou
sbalt know hereafter.’
“Dear child, my prayers followed you. H you
had in infancy suffered death, I knew that you
were safe, but I feared that if living, you
would be reared by him and led into the ways of
vice. What a mystery is here! My Savior saw
how totally unfit 1 was for the duties of a
mother, and in love removed you from my reach
that my unhallowed influence might not reach
you. And while He removed you from me, He
also held the robber’s hand. As he entered our
room he must have gazed at me with intense
hatred, hut he spared me for a wretched life, he
thought. Had his dagger been plunged then
into my guilty bosom, what an eternal woe
would there have been for me I But God, in
mercy, prevented it, that my future life might
be a better one than my past, and with His help
It) shall be.
“From the ‘confession’ which yon have just
finished, we learn that his conscience would not
allow him to destroy an unoffending, unresist
ing child; neither would it allow him to train
you up in ignoranoe and guilt. Thank God that
conscience is Immortal! Thank God that He im
plants a principle within ns which the darkest
die of sin cannot conceal, and the Hood of mur
dered thousands cannot wash out!*Conscience
saved you; conscience kept you pure, and con
science restored you to our glad hefrts.
“Thus, my child, have I given you a little in
sight Into my life, for I wish to hold myself up
to you as an example unworthy your imitation.
I have told you the worst—not all; there Is one
thing—”
She paused deeply moved, and then pro-
C66d6dI
“Bitter as it is, I will unmask the whole.”
“8pare yourself, dear mother,” said Ola,
deeply moved.
“No, I must confess alL I have nearly done,
and yet there is one thing more I wish you to
hear. That young minister, so noble and gifted,
sleeps in our church-yard, a victim to my neart-
lessness. Crushed by the blow, be never re
covered. His pale, bloodless face reproached
me, and more and more unearthly his sermons
became, until he was unable to leave his room.
There was no disease of body, the phisicians
said, hat he suffered from a mental affection
which none could explain, since he uttered no
reproachful word, made no accusation against
me. I knew well what preyed upon his vitals,
and when he died I felt branded with the corse
of Cain. Just before his death I received a note
from him written with a trembling hand. It
contained only a lew words, but they filled me
with poignant grief and compunctions of con
science. Here it is:
“ ‘Dearest Anna—
I loved you too well, and now I
am suffering punishment. I have prayed to God
and He has forgiven my idolatry, and now I die
resting upon the evenasting arms. My heart
freely acquits you, for if you were deceived and
did not love me, yon did right to undeceive me.
Better for me to be the victim than for you. I
am dying, but do not reproach yourself. I would
not cause a tear to flow from your eyes, and yet
when they lay me in the church-yard, and I am
numbered with the pale sleepers, will you not
sometimes come to my grave and drop a flower,
in remembrance of one who died loving and
blessing yon? C. M.’
“This note was a dagger, bnt I have kept it to
remind me of my guilty past. And now I am
done, the worst has been confessed. Would
that every young girl in the broad earth might
be warned to beware of that excessive vanity-
love for admiration—so displeasing to God, and
which is the bane of our sex. This ‘innocent
flirtation’ is a heinous sin in the sight of
Heaven.
In his ‘confession’ the Prince accuses me of
being a partner in his guilt, and feels that if pun
ishment in the world to come is meted out to
him, so should it be to me, and so it might nave
been if God had not graciously forgiven me. He
confesses here a life of guilt. In this particular
I claim no superior excellence. I, too, am a
guilty sinner, equally exposed to tue just con
demnation of the righteous Judge of all, and I
adore the mercy which saved me from eternal
misery. Through long years my conscience has
sorely upbraided me, and never until it was
sprinklea with the blood of my Savior did it
cease its bitter reproaches. If tears could have
atoned for my sins, years of weeping would have
washed it out, but all these drops of grief availed
me nothing until I brought a broken and con
trite spirit and laid it at the foot of the cross.
That you. my child, may be kept from ail this
evil, is my constant prayer.”
Mrs. duVall paused.
The heavens had been dark and lowering, and
cold, drizzling rain had- pattered gently
against the window panes ail day long. Now
the clouds were suddenly riven, and the whole
west was a scene of ravishing splendor. Ver
milion and orange and blue were blended until
the Occident was spanned by a gorgeous rainbow
zone. Tnen the dark leaden masses all gold
dnsted and crossed by brilliant rays, rolled hack
and the sun burst forth in dazzling splendor,
lingered a moment and then sank behind the
western hills.
Not a word was spoken until the sun had set,
and then Ola in a soft, impressive voice mur
mured:
“ ‘Brigbtorb of glory! In the west of life
May I go down like thee, and leave behind
A gentle twilight, that shall bang in love
On some dark cloud of earthly pain and woe;
Shall drop a gleam on some lone orphan’s way,
Or deck a tear-drop in a widow’s eye!’
“Dear mother,” said Ola, after a pause, “at a
great sacrifice of feeling you have related to me
the events of your past life. My heart would
quickly find excuses for you, would you only per
mit it.”
No, my child, as much as you love me, you
must condemn me, nor wduid I have it other
wise. Think over my history, ponder well upon
iy guilt, and be warned thereby.” .
Ola sighed heavily, and her mother asked:
“My child, what distresses you.”
“I was thinking of the Prince. Poor deluded
man! I recall bis wores, ‘A future hell cannot
he worse than the hell which I now carry lu my
,’ If the present life be but a .begflnnjng.
itence, now hitter must the future be tor
him! If the poignant pangs of remorse which
he felt he the first drops, what must be the furi
ous storm of vengeance! Well may the sacred
penman exclaim, ‘Who knoweth the power of
Thine anger?’ Who that has felt the scourge
of conscience can doubt a future punishment!
If there be boundless progress in happiness in
the world of bliss, must there not bo boundless
progress in wretebness in the world of woe? The
guilty man who suffers the tortues of remorse
m this life, may imagine that he has experienced
all the misery which the power of God’s anger
can inflict. Conscience in his bosom is the in
strument of God’s anger from which he now
suffers; will it not perform the same oflice
throughout eternity? If so, no man can know
the full power of conscience until he drinks the
cup of God’s wrath without mixture.”
[TO BE CONTINUED 3
KeVrleSPa^
EMV°^-*®yria°anti S Persi^^^ n G^^®'® t ^j^j|
and Rome lent their wonderous beauty, wnue
ViennaS“vres and Berlin vied in claiming (and
withju\tfce)’something for “ ew werid "j
art. The master hand of Leys could be trace
by the eyes of a connoisseur on many a canvass,
if nwiincr with golden chords from the ire-
^ w^l. Medlls of the “Legion of Honor”
were represented by Delacroix touching Me^
with a broad band of fr^ e "®r^Vowhich
while the dark canvass of Gal alt (Into wmen
the painter declared he had put nhiivton
conscience) showed a looker on * The Oblivion
of sorrows” behind them all stood Hester
prone, with thei long, narrow, scarlet letter on
her fair white breast—looking down—though
not at the rude mob of relentless
at the thick white corncopia of J®*®” Pj”
strew the cream ground of the velvet carpet in
wanton capriciousness.
Baryes “lion in repose” couched in an adjoin
ing apartment witn his cfte/efoeuire Theseus
and Minotaur. A copper table picked with
cloisonne enamel, held a peach blow J**?’ rl,
yase was supposed to not only resemble the col-
or of pink flesh, but a legend ran that it moved
under certain conditions similar to natural bod-
les*
It was into this mansion of rare magnificence
that Miss St. Cyr met and become the secretaire
of Wilmer Trevelyn. He entered shortly after
her arrival. He was rather tali, with well pro
portioned manly limbs, a rather broad white
forehead from whose blue veined temples rolled
back clustering curls of snow-white hair. He
looked at her unflinchingly, with deep blue,
searching, honest eyes. Hauteur he had, but
just enough to convey to any one that he was
the master absolute of Walterlelgh. He bad
married very young, but had sadly and re
gretfully laid his fair young wife over in the
little churchyard five years previous.
Having with consistent dignity advised the
young aspirant of her duties, for the proper
maiutaiuance of her position, he rang and sum
moned the worthy housekeeper, Mrs. Delano,
into whose charge he committed the young
stranger, suggesting rest after her Journey. On
their way to the apartments allotted for Miss
St. Ovr’s comfort, they encountered young Mas
ter Wilmer, a boy of twelve.- The necessary in
troductions over, he fearlessly invited Elodle to
take a look at his Indian camp. It was a rude
teot stretched in the lawn, but like all yeung
Americans, he wore his war paint and feathers
galore, while his imagination aided his methods
of annihilating red men by the score. Yielding
to this boy’s adaptability, Elodie 8t. Cyr found
herself his “bon comrade” before the dinner
bell rang. What an adjuster of conventionali
ties a well bred child is in a house!
Miss St. Cyr was not required to work very
closely; a few hours each day in the library
ended her labors. Having espoused Master Wil
mer as her champion, she was soon on an estab
lished footing with the entire household. They
rode, walked and piayed lawn-tennis together.
Sometimes the master of Walterlelgh would join
them, but it was only for a short space. He
seemed to think E .odie was better mated with
his little son.
The summer days sped on; the roses opened
wide their pearlv petals then silently dropped
them under the pale Parma violets. Together
they wafted a wilderness of sweets up to the halls
of Walterieigb. The long gray evenings com
menced coquetting with silver twilight, and the
white voluptuous moon swept grandly over the
heavens, looking loth to bid Night welcome.
Leodie St. Cyr had learned so much since she
came here, her history might have been written
in letters of gold, had not death and war in the
South robbed her o? wealth, family and friends.
She was born for just such surroundings. She
had already learned how to discuss the paint
ings with that rapt enthusiasm of a connoisseur;
the bric-a-brac articles de vertu possessed for
her an inexhaustible study and delight for every
leisure hour; but among them all the peach-blow
vase haa a weird, unaccountable fascination for
her—a mysterious Buddhistic rapture. She
sought often to detect the Chinese superstition
connected with it, and once she felt confident
that an indefinable something resulted from her
investigations, but had she not beeu delving
that entire day in the great library, and was not
her brain whirling with Oriental legends strange
as unnatural?
Saptember came with its star-lit nights and
delicate chilled breezes, and Leodie had en
deared herself to every one at Waterleigh. It
FOR THE
PELS AND CHILDREN IE*
Dr. Hisrirers* Huckleberry Cor
dial is the great Southern remedy for curing
Diarrhea. Dysentery, Cramp-
Colic and all bowel affections, and restoring
the little one suffering such a drainage upon
the svstein from the effects of teething.
For sale by all drMSffists. at 50c.
a bottle. Send 2e- stamp to Walter A.
Taylor, Atlanta, Ga., for Riddle Book.
Taylor’s Cherokee Remedy ot
Sweet Gum and mullein will cure
Couchs. Croup and Consumption. Price, 2ac.
andtla bottle*
THE SILER i SOWER.
BY LILLIAN ROZELL MESSENGER.
Who planted the scented clover bloom
In field and meadow, in lonely ways,
Wnen ail through night’s vague, sou udless gloom
None knew aught that mystery wrought
For radiant summer splendor days?
Who sowed the lands with waving green
The while our world unmindful slept,
Save Spring, with sunny bands unseen,
When through the light and dark she stept?
She trailed the rose and ivy vine
O’er Ruin’s stony, lidless eyes,
And made the sightless vision shine
With gleam of living prophecies ;
In pity touch'd lone graves of thine,
Made flowery steps to Paradise—
With rosy, pearly hand unseen
Wrote miracles in gold and green.
Cross gulfs of riven tbund’rous deeps,
Who flag the bow (and brush’d the rain),
Full of gold no hands bold, no miner keeps,
Nor touch assoU, nor mortals gain?
Save Spring who seals with mystic sign
That earth and Heaven are still divine?
Who saw these glories day by das,
And gathered truths like flowers, too?
The heart that walks through light alway,
The heart that feels noblest an J true.
Who claim these hearts as floweit and gems,
To plant them far from dark aim strife,
And crown with fadeless diadems?
Why, Life and Beauty, Beauty and Life.
THE ROMANCE
OF ,
A Peach Slow Vase
BY EMMA THACKER KAYE-
1
Nestling among the tall wiUowy cedars on a
gently sloping hill, stood a grand old mansion,
called for centuries Walterlelgh. The dark,
swirUng, storied Potomac sang a lullaby far be
yond the western side of the broad, fertile acres,
while the bright blue Chesapeake danced along
the eastern slope eager for the tryst, as they
locked arms and rolled together into the ocean,
glad, joyous and free.
Great tiger lilies drank from the rollicking
hiUs, tall, lank grasses grew in pictarr-»«iie lux
uriance on the humid shelving earth, _ : • tly
pines caught up scarlet creepers, and the dainty
pointed leaves of ivy wrote “welcome” on the
outer, grey walls of this noble edifice.
Blessed gladsome spring came with May
“Who from her green lap throws
The yellow cowslip and the pale primrose,”
and the master of Walterleigh concluded that
he needed a secretaire. Business cares bad
pressed heavily on him through the long winter,
he was immersed in manuscripts of all kinds,
what was easier than to Insert an advertise
ment in one of the great Eastern Daily’s and
relieve this crowding sensation? He had in bis
employ two formidable worthies, who piayed
the role of private secretaries, bnt a stenogra
pher—a lady—refined, intelligent and high bred,
was the natural adjutant necessary, hence the
elder employee found such a person in a few
days, as the great metropolis is filled with in
tellectual drifts from all states in the Union,
looking anxiously forward for positions with
remuneration sufficient to afford them a liveli
hood.
The Mayday sunshine seemed to melt its
golden beams into the brown and yellow throats
of the warblers that played an opera of “Na
ture’s Own” on the morning of the arrival of
the new secretaire. Her name was Leodie St.
Cyr. She was an orphan in the fullest sense o.
was with much regret she parted from young
Master Wilmer, whose term for cailege called
him off unceremoniously. Leodie stood iu the
east room alone trying to catch the fiteflys that
thronged midway into the darkness. She was
one ot those creatures that made a deification
of child and woman combined. Wilmer Treve
lyn could not fail noticing the girlish figure
standing in the mellow drift of moonlight that
fell across and silbronetted her plain white lace
dvess. -— » * (
Drawing near to her just as she entangled one
of those glittering little creatures in one of Uer
small, perfect hands, he said:
“You have caught more than a fire-fly, Elo
dle,” and looking into her great gray soulful
eyes, he was about to clasp the tittle band in one
of his own, when—a distinct wailing sound came
directly from the peach-blow vase. It sighed
like the sharp stroke of a restless, sobbing wiDd.
Eloidiewas startled; she dropped the fire fly
and fled to her room like a timid child. Sleep
was a stranger. The hours passed; her head
and temples throbbed. The sound of Mrs. De
lano’s voice reached her about mid
night; it seemed welcome but prophetic.
She hastened to respond, only to hear
the sad news that the master had a stroke
of heart disease, and was dying. Descending
quick'y to his room, she found the other occu
pants of the house already sorrowing. He
blessed his boy and called her name. Sobbing,
she left the still chamber of death and entered
the East room alone; the p9ach blow vase emit
ted its peculiar wail, ana to her tear-dimmed
eyes it trembled like a piece of human, writhing
flesh.
Years passed; Leodie 8t. Cyr returned to her
ancestral home iu La Belle Louisians, but, find
ing her life unsnited to the brusque, every-day
world, she entered the Ursuline Convent as a
cloistered nun. Had she loved Wilmer Treve
lyn, the master of Waterleigh?
“The love that lasts the longest
Is the love that’s never told,”
so philosophical rhymesters say. Of one thing
we are certain—her penitence and prayers were
so deserving that they gained for her the came
of “angel of the cloister.” It was long after her
final vows when one day a large casket arrived
for "Sister Dolores,” that being the name she
was designated by in the Order. Upon opening
it she found a letter from her little friend of
former times, Master Mervyn, (now grown to
manhood) expressing bis high regard for her
and begging her acceptance of the peach blow
vase. He referred to her grace and loveliness
of character in the old'days at Waterleigh, and
concluded by adding that he intended traveling
for several years on the continent.
Sister Dolores read the letter with great in
terest; and as her chief pleasure was to adorn
the nuns’ Oratory with floweis, she wended her
way there shortly after with the vase; she car
ried great bunches of bearts-ease and golden
rod and placed them in it before the altar of the
Virgin.
The general custom of the nuns was to sing
seme hymns and say a few prayers every even
ing in this little sanctuary previous to retiring.
On this particular day they found Sister Dolo
res kneeling as it in prayer. The peach blow
vase lay shattered in a thousand fragments on
the bare floor. A celestial smile lingered on her
lips. Approaching her, their suspicions were
confirmed. Some guessed that in tbis final
prayer she remembered the master of Water
leigh—the wo'nld-ne lover—the owner of the
mysterious peach blow vase.
Hair Goods
By mail to any part of the United
States. Send for illustrated circular
of latest styles to
JoUxi Medina,
463 WASHINGTON ST.
BOSTON, HASS.
1ILINTAMABBLE WORKS
Walsh & Patterson, Proprietors.
IMPOSTERS AND DEALERS IN
Mai and American Marbles,
Scotch and American Granites.
NO. 77 WAVEBkY PLACE, Atlanta Ga.
Floral
Guide
Is a work of nearly 200
pajzea, colored plates,
COO Illustrations, with descriptions of the
oesi Flowers a?ui Vegetables, prices of Q
and Plants, and how to pet and grow
them. Printed in English and German. Price only
^ents, which may he deducted from the first order.
BUY ONLY VICK’S SEEDS, AT HEADQUARTERS.
JAMES VICK, SEEDSMAN, Rochester.
DB. J. G. WEST MORELAND.
Two years ago, a Georgia Legislator was un
able to attend his duties, in the State House,
from inflamed piles. A week after painless
treatment by t he above physician, he was at his
post, and most certainly will never suffer with
the disease again.
A CARD.
I suffered for fifteen years from complicated
Piles. I called on Dr. J. G. Westmoreland, at
South Broad street, Atlanta, last summer
ana I was promptly, perfectly and permanently
cured without pain or confinement to my room,
H. J. Sargent.
Newlin Feb. 10. ’85.
SAM JONES 9
SERMONS.
AGENTS WANTED.
SOWING SPRING GRAIN EARLY.
Summers are hotter and less moist in most
parts of this country than in Europe. This fact,
which is favorable for corn, is against the best
results witb other spring grain. For tbis reason
farmers are obliged to sow spring grain very
early that it may make as much growth as pos
sible before the hot period. It is not that the
grain will not grow in hot weather, it will grow
too fast, and make too exu jerant leaf, bat will
not fill well. Oats and barley sown after the
middle to the 20;h of May are always light
weight. In the South, where spring grain can
be sown during our winter months, the crop is
more chaff than substance. Barley, especially,
cannot be grown profitably except in northern
atitudes, an I this is also true of spring wheat
A Lovely Complexion.^
“What a lovely complexion,” we often hear
oersons say. "I wonder what she does for it?”
:n every case t" - parity and real loveliness of
the complexion depoods upon the blood. Those
who have sallow, blotchy laces may make their
skin smjotn and heaituy by taking enough of
Dr. Pierce’s “Golden Medical D.scovery” to
drive out the humoi s lurking iu tne system.
There are now published iu the United States
14,169 newspapers, an Increase of 686 over last
year. The daily newspapers number 1216.
* • • Delicate diseases ef either sex rad
ically cured. Send 10 cents in stamps for book
Address. World’s Dispensary Medical Associa
tion, Buffalo, N. Y.
David A. Wells says that “the annual agricul
tural product of South Carolina is from twenty
to twenty-five times as valuable as that of the
whole Northern half of Mexico.”
aHI£
Sam Jones condensed.
Over 500 pp. Illustrated.
Only subscription edition
authorized by Mr. Jones.
Steel portrait and fiae-
almlle Jones’ card de
nouncing pirate editions.
Address Mr. Jones’ pub-
’ pub-
iti, O.
Ushers, CRANSTON A STOWE, Cincinnati
LIST OF DISEASES
ALWAYS CURABLE BY USING '
MEXICAN
MUSTANG
LINIMENT.
OF HUMAN FLESH.
Rheumatism,
Burns and Scalds,
Stings and Bites,
Cuts and Bruises,
Sprains & Stitches,
Contracted JIuscles,
Stiff Joints,
Backache,
Eruptions,
Frost Bites,
OF ANIMALS.
Scratches,
Sores and Galls,
Spavin, Cracks,
Screw Worm, Grub,
Foot Rot, Hoof All,
Lameness,
Swinny, Founders,
Sprains, Strains,
Sore Feet,
Stiffness,
and all external diseases, and every hurt or accident.
For general use In family, stable and stock-yard, It Is
THE BEST OF ALL
LINIMENTS