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THE SUNNY SOUTH.
VALARIE;
— OR—
BLIND LOVE.
BIMARAfl.
CHAPTER I.
It was a dreary evening in tbe dullest week
preceding tbe London season.
Tbe log, wbicb bad lifted somewhat and now
bung like a funeral pall overhead, would have
bad a depressing influence on tbe merriest heart
In tbe united kingdom.
Tbe night air, surcharged with moisture, was
chill and penetrating; and the few pedestrians
drew their garments more closely about them as
they hurried over the wet, slippery pavements.
In Sir Roger flardwicke’s splendid town house
in Berkeley square, where all things had been
made ready for bis coming, tbe blaze of wax
lights and cheerful glow of fires dispelled the
gloom and damp of the night and gave a home
like air to tbe lofty rooms.
The mad train was delayed, and the look of
expectation on tbe gray haired, pompous butlers
fast deepened to one of anxiety as he stood on
the steps looking down the street shading bis
eyes with one plump hand, for the light shone
dimly through me murky shadows settling down
over the city of the Thames.
Presently, as the butler waited, a man—who
bad thrice passed tbe bouse at intervals of per
haps twenty minutes—stepped into the glare of
light streaming from the hall door. He was
small of stature, shabbily dressed in black, a
slouch hat half concealed bis swarthy face and
restless, black eyes.
“Is Sir Roger Hardwlcke at home?” be asked
In a dogged sort of way with half averted face.
“No,” ne answered shortly, deciding that this
Impecunious looking person was some miserable
beggar whom it would be as well to dismiss be
fore his master arrived; not that he feared Sir
Roger would object to seeing him there, but
Hopkins himsell was decidedly averse to all
mendiconts.
“When will he be here?” asked the smooth
voice with its slight foreign accent.
“Impossible to say, I’m sure.”
“MonDieu.'” exclaimed his interrogator, while
an angry flush rose to his dark cheek. “You
take me for a beggar! I have business of ex
treme Importance with your master. If he is
not here, tell me where 1 can find him.”
“Sir Roger is on his way to town, and you can
call to-morrow,” said the butler, shrugging his
shoulders.
The man moved nearer and began a passion
ate protest at being thus put off, but checked
bimself, and, swearing softly in bis native tongue,
turned away. Something in the long, careless
gait caught Hopkins’ keen eye.
“I have seen him before,” he said aloud.
“Dear, dear, it must be and yet ”
“Why, it’s nobody but Jacques, Sir Godfrey’s
old valet. What a turn he did give the master,
to be sure, the last time he was here,” said a
footman, who had stood silently listening.
Hopkins might indulge his own curiosity, but
it was gross impertinence in another, and he
turned on the speaker with bis loftiest air. The
timely arrival of the carriage checked the re
buke trembling on bis lips and sent him down
tbe steps with ills most obsequious manner.
Two men alighted and entered tbe house.
Their relationship was unmistakably that of
father and son. Both men were tall, stately
and commanding, of noble, haughty mien, with
features of the same aristocratic mould.
The locks of the one were 1 whitened by time
and sorrow, and intense melancholy shadowed
bis fine, dark eyes and left the impress on the
stern month.
The other had his mother’s own fair hair lying
In sunny waves above bis broad, white brow,
and his eyes were heaven’s own beautiful blue,
witn never a shade os sadness or trace of tears
in their unclouded depths. A silken mustache
but half concealed his mouth, without the stern
ness which characterized Sir Roger’s; yet its
rare sweetnesss was unmarred by even a sus
picion of weakness. A noble, true English gen
tleman was Sir Roger Hardwlcke; and Captain
Reginald Hardwlcke, the only solace and com
fort of his lonely, declining years, was in every
respect worthy to be his son and heir.
They were a proud, imperious race, (these
Hardwlcke’?) of great and generous natures,
brave and honorable in every fibre of their
beings, statesmen and warriors—-every one of
them men of whom England might well be proud.
81r Roger had married early in life a lovely,
Scottish maiden, 'good and sweet as she was in
telligent and sensible. A son and daughter bad
blessed this happiest of unions; but the frail lit
tle lassie, with her father’s dark eyes and her
mother’s rare smile, bad only gladdened their
hearts live brief summers before time had soft
ened the bitterness of their grief at her loss. Sir
Roger—then Colonel Hardwlcke—received the
news that his elder brother. Sir Godfrey, had
been lost- on the coast of New England while
boating . , -
The sad death of this noble young Baronet had
taken place some seventeen or eighteen years
prior to the date of our story; and, as he had
never married, Colonel Hardwlcke had succeed
ed him as master of Hardwlcke Court, one of
the fairest domains in all England. It was situ
ated in an Inland county, ana had been the fam
ily seat for countless generations. Its revenues
were princely, Its beauty and splendor second
to none.
- Those who knew Sir Roger best spoke truly
when they said he had regarded this vast inher
itance as dearly purchased, and it was months
before he could be prevailed upon to take pos
session.
Tbe loss of his fair child, the cruel death of
bis beloved brother had no power to rob life of
its sunshine and sweetness so loDg as his darling
Jean was left. But when she drooped and faded
before his anguished eyes the midnight of grief
darkened his great, loving, tender heart.
As the years passed and Sir Roger did not en
ter society, even the worldly-wise slowly relin
quished all hope that tbe Baronet would ever
bring another Lady Hardwlcke to the Court.
A few secretly admired his deathless devotion
to the bride of his youth, but the many wondered
and loudly condemned what they could neither
appreciate nor understand.
“Has anything gone wrong, Hopkins?” asked
Sir Roger. noting tbe ill-concealed anxiety in
the butler’s face directly he entered tbe hall.
“I hope not, sir,” answered Hopkins, with a
glance in Reginald’s direction.
The Baronet, seeing that meaning look, for
bore to question Mm further in his son’s pres
ence; but when Reginald had passed up the
stairs, he turned and said:
“There is something important you wish to
tell me, Hopkins—what is it?”
“Jacques Dupre has been here wanting to see
^ou to-night, sir,” answered tbe butler respect-
Sir Rogers’ straight brows met in a slight
frown. “Did you tell him to come again to-mor
row?” he asked.
“1 did. But he said he had business of great
Importance with you, sir. I expect he will come
again to-night. Shall 1 admit him?”
“Certainly,” was the quiet reply. That told
nothing of the sudden storm of disquiet raging
so fiercely in Sir Rogers’ soul.
Hopkins felt relieved, after alL His master
had not cared for Jacques coming. The man
had feared, he knew not what. The wily French
scoundrel bad plunged Sir Roger into untold
trouble years before—and might be not do so
again? But his master’s cool manner deceived
him, and he went back to the dining room with
a mind at ease.
CHAPTER II.
Sir Roger and Reginald had come up to town
to witness the farewell performance of tbe cele
brated French actress, wbo bad been the rage
of one London season.
It was a notable fact that wherever Reginald
went the Baronet was sure to accompany him;
and the amount of chafing the young man was
forced to endure from his brother officers, in
consequence, would have exasperated a less
sunny nature.
Perhaps he would not have borne the endless
bon mots perpetrated at bis expense with the
same good humored equanimity if he had, for
one moment, suspected that under this guise of
slavish devotion Sir Roger—for reasons known
only to himself—was keeping surveillance over
his young life; but be did not suspect it as an
other might have done whose life had been less
pure and blameless.
Every man has his weak point, and Sir Roger’s
love for his son was certainly his, asserted even
the old family solicitor; and if he were ignorant
of the true motive which impelled this ceaseless
care and anxiety, how should any one else dream
of such a thing?
No life could be more enviable and bright than
the one opening to this handsome, courtly scion
of a noble race, a true Hardwlcke, courageous,
brave, self-reliant—a little hasty in judgment
and a trifle intolerant, as all his family had
been, but with a strong love of truth, a keen
souse of justice that held both in abeyance.
■Ah, ? e !^’ S‘ r Roger knew this noble son, who
was infinitely dearer than his own life, as no
one else could; knew that his hatred one might
overcome, but bis love would be deathless in its
intensity—would scatter all obstacles as the
whirlwind does the dry forest leaves, and there
fore wisely kept his silent watch.
Bir Roger and his son dined alone—the Bar
onet preoccupied and uncommunicative. Regi
nald was silent, too, but It was the silence of
-content. Everything was pleasant to him—the
warmth and glow of the room, the glitter of sil
ver and rare old china, the perfume of flowers,
and the music which came in fitful bursts of
sweetness from a neighboring house.
How often, in tbe months tnat followed, did
he recall that hour of dreamy quiet!
He was standing just inside the hall door,
waiting with almost boyish impatience for Sir
Roger, when one of the carriages passing by at
tracted his attention. There were three occu
pants, but he saw only one, a young girl, on
whose upturned face the light fell. He caught
his breath as tbe velvety, dark eyes met his
owil. Something in their lovely depths awoke
his slumbering heart. He might never look in
to those clear mirrors of the pure, sweet heart
again. But while life and memory remained,
those eyes, that face would never be forgotten.
One brief moment be gazed as one fascinated,
the next there was a break in the line of vehicles
blocking the street and the carriage rolled on.
The lovely face, with its setting of bronze gold,
passed from his sight.
Sir Roger coming down with leisurely step,
touched his arm, and good naturedly repeated
his sentence the second time before Reginald
could shake off the spell which enthralled him.
“I am sorry to say that I find it impossible to
accompany you to-night, my son,” he said.
“I hope you are not indisposed.” replied Reg
inald. “Snail I remain with you?”
“Oh, no, nothing of the kind, go and enjoy
yourself,” answered the Baronet, quickly. “I
may come later.”
Reginald smiled in a dreamy half abstracted
fashion that told his thoughts were elsewhere,
and descended the steps to Jie carriage.
The Baronet watched him with a yearning
tenderness in his eyes, until he was whirled
from bis gaze, then be returned to the stately
drawing room and passed the evening vainly
waiting for Jacques Dupre.
The curtain bad not yet risen when Reginald
entered the theatre; be was almost an entire
stranger to tbe gay brilliant London world, bis
life bad been spent almost wholly apart from
the social pleasures dear to those of bis age and
position, hitherto he had cared no more for the
delights a London season afforded, than tbe
eagle circling in the “fenceless fields of air”
cares for tbe Dovecote in the barnyard.
Whenever he was on leave—and as his Colo
nel was an old comrade of Sir Roger’s, that was
generally tbe greater part of the year—he pre
ferred to pass tbe time on Scottish soil, roaming
across the moorlands, climbing the rugged bills,
rowing over the picturesque lochs or loitering
through storied ruins, and dreaming of dearly
bought victories on battle grounds the bards
have celebrated.
His mother bad been a Scottish lassie, and he
loved her native heaths scarcely less than tbe
fair English soil that was his birthright.
Reginald looked about him heartily enjoying
tbe bright array of smiling faces, the handsome
toilets, the pleasant hum of voices, until, just as
the music burst forth, his eyes rested on the
box opposite his own; he forgot the play, forgot
all else, in the delight that thrilled every nerve
in his frame, as be recognized the young girl
who had passed, like some radiant visipn, be
fore the bouse in Berkeley square.
How beautiful she was; there was not another
in tbe house who would not lose by comparison
—be did not think there was anywhere in ail
the world a face so sweet, so expressive* as hers,
he could only think of Murillo’s Madonna’s—
her hair alone would have been a priceless
dower; bronze in tbe shadows, pure gold where
the light fell on its silken ripples.
Not a single jewel marred tbe artistic simplic
ity of her dress, pearly tinted like some summer
cloud it floated around her, and above it the
bare shoulders gleamed white and polished, as
if sculptured in marble, a modest heartsease in
a “human tulip bed” she looked sitting there,
her dainty hands folded in her lap.
“In that unconsciousness of self that comes of
gentle breeding.”
Wholly indifferent to tbe lively interest she
was exciting amongst her neighbors who leveled
their glasses at her with audible murmurs of
curiosity and admiration, she gave her undivid
ed attention to tbe play, its passion, its pathos
and humor, were true to nature, and Reginald
saw the faint rose tint deepen on her cheek, and
the dark eyes grow luminous, as with the- im
pressibility of a noviee she yielded to the witch
ing spell in which the little actress enthralled
every sense.
The young creature’s absorption was not
shared by her companions, the stately lady in
black and the stern looking gentleman whom
Reginald decided were her parents. After a
time he became conscious that tbe gentleman’s
penetrating eyes were scanning him from under
the bent shaggy brows, and he had the grace to
remember that bis own steadfast gaze was be
coming obtrusive, not to call it by a harsher
name.
He leaned bis cheek upon hts hands, for him
the curtain had but just risen on the drama of
his life, and what mattered the love scene,
learned by note upon the stage, or the by plays
acted with no less earnestness about him, by
those wbo had never set foot on the boards.
Reginald had intended as a matter of course,
to sometime leave the army and settle down at
Hardwlcke, for he loved every turret and tower
in tbe grand old pile, but he had given the all
lmportantisubject of marriage, little thought—
except in a vague way, as a duty Incumbent up
on all old men in general, and himself in partic
ular—tbe last of that proud name tfls noble an-
* ut now *
became possible in this duty.
He began looking with impatience for bis
father, be could not let this beautiful unknown
pass from his sight without making some effort
to learn who she was, and he had seen Sir Roger
walking with the autocrat looking father more
than once—only he could not by any possible ef
fort of memory recall when and where.
There was a degree of familiarity in their man
ner, he remembered that no mere acquaintance
would have sanctioned, he wished he had not
been so indifferent to his father’s friends.
The evening waned and Sir Roger did not
come. When the play was over and the enthus
ed audience was giving its last long farewell to
the pretty favorite, Reginald left his seat, bare
ly glancing at tb6 little queenly mademoiselle
gracefully bowing her adieus, he hurried out of
the house intent on seeing the lovely stranger
enter her carriage, and learning if possible her
destination.
The surging crowd elbowed and jostled him
as he stood near the foot of the stairs, but he
was indifferent to tbe petty annoyance, and at
last be was rewarded.
She passed so near where he stood that the
airy folds of her dress swept against him, and
at that moment a couple of plain, freckled faced
country girls, hanging on the arm of a stout,
good-naturned looking person, brushed rudely
by with half-suppressed titters.
“Look, my daughter!” exclaimed the old gen
tleman as her fan was thrown from her hand.
Reginald took instant possession of tbe pretty
costi v toy, and returned it with quickening pulse.
“Thank you.” she said simply enough, as she
took it from his hand, but the low, sweet smile
—the sound of the flute-like tones, sent all the
blood back to his heart with a sensation he had
never known before.
“St. James Piccadilly,” he heard the order
given as the carriage door was closed with a
most unnecessary bang.
Some one touched his arm, he turned his head
impatiently, grudging even a glimpse of that
golden head, nis momentary vexation vanished
when he looked into the dark handsome face
beside him, and exclaimed joyously:
“Wyncot, lam delighted to see you; where
did you come from?”
“I have been near enough you all night to
know that you have regularly succumbed to
beauty’s eyes, knew it must come sometime, a
fellow can’t always live on the heights of indif
ference. Who is that little lady you have been
staring out of countenance so persistently?”
asked his inquisitor, twirling his moustache.
“Was I rude?”
“Unpardonablyl Insufferably! that old gen
tleman glowered as if he meant to demand sat
isfaction. I say, Hardwlcke, who is she?”
“I was just going to ask you that question. I
never saw them—that is, the young lady—until
to-night. Don’t you really know them?” asked
Reginald.
“I really do not, but I think you are in danger
of learning their name at least. How you did
stare!” and once more Lord Wyncot burst into
a merry peal of laughter.
“She has the loveliest face I ever looked up
on,” says Reginald, equably.
“Come and breakfast with me, old boy, I am
stopping at St. James myself, only run np for
the night, you know. I will take care that this
“beautiful unknown” does not vanish like an
ignis fatnus this time,” said Lord Wyncot.
“You have seen her before, then?’ asked
Reginald.
“Yes, several times, but she is elusive as a
shadow. I would give my best hunter to know
even her name, her hauteur and high bred beau
ty are wonderfully attractive. One would fan
cy Psyche.— Be sure to come,” and with another
cordial hand-clasp, the two parted.
CHAPTER III.
It was late when Sir Roger entered the break'
fast room, he was a trifle paler than usual, and
there was an expression of half concealed anxi
ety in bis face.
“Where is my son?” be asked glancing around
the room. “I thought I heard him comedown.”
“I was to tell you, sir, he has gone to break
fast with Lord Wyncot, at St. James,” answer
ed Hopkins.
“Ah!” said Sir Roger, with an air of relief.
He made the merest pretense of eating, scan
ning an item here ana there in the morning pa
per, as he trifled over the delicacies on his plate
—listening all the while expectantly to every
footfall. As he was rising from the table a foot
man entered—the man Jacques had come, would
Sir Roger see him.
“Yes, in the library,” quietly answered the
Baronet, though there come the look of a hunted
creature in his eyes, and it was some minutes
before he proceeded thither.
“You want to see me, Jacques?” he said,
bolding out his hand as he spoke.
The man seemed not to see the outstretched
row a hap- to
•oreuoe&r
band, his agitation was painful to witness—be
hesitated while bis swarthy cheek flushed, and
be made a deprecating gesture as be stammer
ed:
“I would not have come but for the old moth
er and children.”
Sir Roger sat down, his clouded brow clearing
perceptibly. After all, Jacques’ coining meant
no ill to him, he even smiled at tbe fears that
bad racked his brain since the previous even
ing ; the poor fellow only wanted pecuniary aid,
perhaps a recommendation, and it was perfectly
natural that be should come to him, after the
years he had been in his elder brother’s service.
“I will do anything I can lor you. Jacques,”
he said kindly. “Wnat do you need?”
“I need money, Sir Roger,” answer the man,
struggling to regain his composure.
“I thought as much,” said tbe Baronet, glanc
ing at the thread-bare suit of clothes, long since
beyona the pale of respectability, then looking
straight into die man’s bloated disfigured face.
“You have been drinking too hard again,
Jacques, I hope you are in no serious trouble.”
'“I did not want to come, but if I keep silent
some one else will not, and its hard work living
with Celeste helpless and the children ailing, I
have been forced to pawn everything but the
beds ” and he stopped, as though loth to
proceed.
“And what, Jacques, what is it .you hesitate
to tell me?”
“A thousand francs—pounds, is a great temp
tation to a poor devil like me, and I was to get
half for coming to you. A thousand pounds.”
“What money are you talking of Jacques?”
asked Sir Roger in husky tones.
“The reward offered for proof of Sir Godfrey’s
marriage.”
“You have found proof then, you think,” ask
ed Sir Roger, growing pale even to the lips.
“I have tbe marriage certificate.”
Sir Roger sprang to his feet, his eyes blazing
with intense excitement.
The two men looked at each other a moment
in silence, then Sir Roger broke out impetu
ously:
“It is a base forgery! Had there been a mar
riage, his widow would long ago have claimed
her rights. I was crazed with grief, or I never
woula have listened to you at first.”
“1 told you only the truth, Sir Roger. My
master married as soon as he reached America.
1 don’t know why Lady Hardwlcke never has
been heard from, but I have the certificate! saw
him give her at the hotel,” answered theotnan,
doggedly.
‘ Give it to me. I will never believe one exists
untU I see it for my own self,” said Sir Roger
still more warmly. _ . I „
“I had to leave it at home, Sir Roger,” said
the man, dropping his eyes to the floor.
“Jacques!” saia the old soldier sternly, “I will
let you nave a certain amount on conditions that
it is used for your family, but if you attempt to
swindle me, 1 will hand you over to the police
at once.” „ „
“1 am not trying to swindle you, Sir Roger,”
answered Jacques Dupre, paling with auger.
“The certificate was found by a friend of mine
the year after Sir Godfrey was drowned, ana he
will not let me have it in my possession until
you promise the thousand pounds.”
“Do you expect me to believe he has kept a
paper he knew to be worth that much, all these
years? It is eighteen years next Monday, since
poor Godfrey sailed for America, ana three
short months from then, he was dead. No, Jac
ques, it is not possible Sir Godfrey should have
married. Either you are deceived, or you are
trying to deceive me. I have taken infinite pains
and spared no expense to learn the truth of your
story, when you first came to me years ago; ad
vertised in aU the leading American papers, and
employed the most skillful detectives, all to no
purpose. Why did not your friend claim (be re
ward then? answer me that.” '*■»
Jacques moved restlessly under the searching
grey eyes fixed upon him; rubbed his hands
thoughtfully as though deciding bow much it
would be prudent to aivulge. ^
“He went to Australia airectly he fouufMlt,
and the money could do him no good there, he
said at last.
“He was sent there, you mean,” said Sir
Roger. “Yes,” as Jacques dropped his eyes,
"sent there from the United States, probably.”
“No, Sir, he was in England, down at Bgxiy.
There had been a storm at sea and a wreck, and
next day on the sands he picked up a gold chain
with a little oil-skin bag on it, and in that is the
marriage certificate,” answered the man.
"You say he found it at Baxley? Do you know
the name of the vessel that was wrecked?” said
Sir Roger. .. „ . ,
“No, sir; he may, but I do not,” replied Jac
ques.
“You can tell this man What did you say
his name was?” suddenly asked Sir Roger:
Jacques Dupre hesitated a moment, then an
swered in a low voice:
“Parr—Jonas Parr.”
Any policeman could have told him that Jhnas
Parr was the most adroit of pick-pockets. and
tnat he had but recently served a term at Bota
ny Bay, but the name had no meaning to Sir
Roger, and he asked no more questions concern
ing him.
Well, if I find the certificate Jonas
is Parrihas, Jh>
ssjb.fi
to be genuine, I Will pay tbe thousand
Ant Ml
said Sir Roger, forced to admit Jacques straight- •
forward story was a very plausible one.
“We will come at once, 8lr Roger, if you like,”
said Jacques, with ill-suppressed eagerness.
“That will suit me best; yes, come at once. I
will have the checks ready for you; stay! per
haps you would prefer sovereigns?”
“If you please, Sir Roger, 1 would,” said the
delightful JaCques. , . ,
“Then you need not return for two hours. 1
must go to the bank,” said the baronet, touch
ing the bell. „ ,
Jacques Dupre withdrew, as a footman en
tered.
“Call a hansom,” said Sir Roger, “and bring
my top-coat. I wish to go out immediately.”
Five minutes later he was rattling over the stony
streets.
“After all these years,” he said to himself,
over and over again. . .
“That story, which years before had been
proven but the fabrication of an evil brain to ex
tort money, was really true. Godfrey had mar
ried ; his young wife had doubtless been on that
ill-fated vessel and perished in the storm, and
the child (Jacques had declared there was a
child) did it, too, find a grave beneath the cruel
waves, or was it being reared by strangers?”
The thought was absolute torture. Godfrey’s
son and heir, living the sad, miserable life of a
sea waif. He mnst be nearly a young man now.
Sir Roger determined to leave for Baxly at
once, if tne certificate should prove genome,
and make every possible effort to learn tbe
truth, at whatever cost to himself and Reginald;
he would do justice to his brother’s cnild. He
drew the money and returned home at once.
“Has my son returned?” Sir Roger asked, as
he entered the house.
“No, sir,” answered the butler, who was wait
ing there.
“If Jacques comes again, bring him to my
room, and say that I am at home to no one to
day,” he said, and passed on up the broad
stairs.
The hands of thoOrmulu clock marked fifteen
minutes to the appointed hour, anti Sir Roger
seated himself to wait. Resting his head wear
ily against the velvet cushions, he watched the
dial plate until the silvery chime of the hour
sang out, then he started to his teet and paced
restlessly to and fro for a half hour.
“Duped again,” he said to himself as he er-
sumed his seat, “that villain had noped to make
capital out of my credulity the second time. It
is simply impossible that poor Goafrey should
nave married. I know he never loved anyone
save Ursule St. Pierre.”
All day Sir Roger waited, listening anxiously
to every footfall, a prey to contending emotions.
Reginald came in to luneneon. He had gone
to Lord Wyncot’s rooms as early that morning
as he could hope to find his friend stirring, only
to learn that the beautiful unknown had already
taken her departure. ..
Lord Wyncot’s rooms were directly opposite
those she bad occupied with her friends, and he
had instructed his valet, a keen, sharp-witted
fellow, to watch their movements, and quite
early that morning they had gone away to the
railway station, and there, as always before, she
bad been lost in the crowd. They could do noth
ing, absolutely nothing, but wait and hope for
another chance meeting.
After the seven o’clock dinner, as the baronet
and his son sat in the drawing-room, the one
scanning the pages of a late review—the other
absorbed in Tennyson’s Princess—Hopkins came
to Sir Roger:
“Jacques Dupre is here,” be said, so gently
that Reginala never even raised his eyes from
the book.
“Send him to me; 1 will see him in my room,”
said Sir Roger, when he had gained the hall.
“Well, Jacques, yon have kept me waiting a
long while,” said Sir Roger, as the man entered
his presence.
“Oh, sir,” broke ont Jacques, in real distress,
“Parr is gone; the police traced him to my lodg
ings, and he left before I could get there this
morning, and I have been hunting him all day
myself.”
Sir Roger’s stem penetrating eyes could de
tect no dissimulation in Jacques’ manner. He
was, without doubt, most bitterly disappointed.
“If you are telling me the truth, Jacques, you
have no cause to fear the loss of the reward. I
shall make inquiries concerning Parr myself.
His arrest is only a question of time,” said Sir
Roger, speaking wearily. This protracted sus
pense weighed heavily on bis spirits. He
opened a drawer in his desk and took out sev
eral pieces of money, giving it to Jacques.
“This will keep the wolf from the door for the
present, and remember, Jacques, any informa
tion you possess, which will assist the authori
ties m finding Parr, it is your duty, besides be
ing greatly to your own advantage, to make it
known,” he said. „
“I know nothing, Sir Roger, nothing about
him,” answered the m » n ; but his sudden tre
mor, and tbe palor overspreading his face, be
lied Ms words. li
Sir Pi >ger dismissed him and returned to the
drawing-room.
On the morrow he drove to his solicitor’s and
laid the whole matter before him. That good
man and shrewd la wyer only saw in this visit of
the ex-valet a repetition of a clever ruse to ex
tort money, which'Jacques Dupre had skillfully
attemnted fifteen y&ars before.
Sir Roger was forgive himself not another mo
ment’s thought or care. It was an utterly false
and groundless tale, this of Sir Godfrey’s marri
age. Reluctantly the baronet accepted his old
lawyer’s advice, i
He lingered in London until after the season
opened, but no Jacques appeared, and every day
that he waited in vain, he breathed more freely.
Truly after all these years, it would not have
been pleasant to find himself a usurper; yet it
was not of himself he thought, but of Raginald,
his lost Jean’s pri<*e and darliag.
Not until many Months had elapsed, was he to
settle the vexed muestlon of his brother’s al
leged secret marrilge.
[TO Uffl CONTINUED."!
HON. DAVHI W. LEWIS.
The First President of the North
Georgia Agricultural College.
A Tribute to His Memory. *
“GainsvIlle, Ga., Dec'. 28th.—[Special]—
Hon. David W. Lpwls, President of the North
Georgia Agricultural College, died here this
morning at 8 o’clock.”
Such was the brief telegram announcing the
death of one of Georgia’s most talented and use
ful citizens.
In this busy whirl-pool of life It is Impossible
to recount the many virtues and do .full jus'
tlce to the memory of the loved and illustrious
dead. Let us noUdoubt that in due tlnie every
fitting honor will p paid to the memory of this
distinguished Ge^gian. But let those who love
him most rest assved that he needs no extend
ed eulogy, “no storied urn nor animated bust”
to keep alive his preciou. memory among man
kind, for he has bitilded a monument unto him
self far nobler thajflkny the genius or art of man
could make for hC—the record of a well spent
and useful life, c»wned with good deeds, and
love for his fellow men.
Col. Lewis was a man of fine physique and im
posing presence, and his mental qualities par
took of hts physical. There was nothing small
about him—large limbed, large brained and large
souled. Fitted by nature to adorn the bar and
the forum, be reaped large honors in tbose fields,
and there were others still higher in store for
him, bad he continued in them. As a lawyer, he
was able and successful, and as an advocate,
his ability was t Aialled by few and surpassed
by none. He (recently represented his county
In the Legislature, and during Gov. Gilmer’s
term, was Secretary of the Executive Depart
ment, and for maiB years, and until his death,
one of tbe most ldfuential trustees of the State
University, from waichhe graduated with much
honor to himself. For some years he was a
member of Congress, where he ranked with the
first men of his party. During much of his lire
he was a member of the State Agricultural So
clety, of which btawas at times secretary or
president. a
He cut short hliStrofesslonal and political life
to enter upon on« far mor9 useful and honora
ble. He chose tA dwell among the Academic
ians and to teach »e yonng those studies he de
lighted in—to bvflid up and engraft in tbe stu
dent the trees ofknowledge, and what nobler
or grander work could man pursue? His books
he loved—It was at once a pleasure and a pur
suit to commune with them—to recall the glories
of the classics afld impart them to the young
with whom rests the prosperity and honor of
the State. He bad drank deep of the Pierian
spring—was well grounded in that which is the
foundation of ailf power and success—knowl
edge. He was by nature a master of languages
and it gave tone wid color to his life. A good
speaker; yea, a fine orator when in the mood,
his flow of language was unsurpassed and al
ways bad tbe diamond setting of some crystal
thought to adorn it,—the natural product of his
Imperial Intellect. Mathematics he didn’t care
for. save as an indispensable part of the educat
ed man. ’Twas iff the languages that he was in
his element, and more especially tbe Greek.
’Twas to him “the Delj)hio vale, the mecca of
his mind.”
Truly If Providence ever vouchsafed to mortal
to live In heaven here, ’twas when the dear old
Colonel revelled in Homer and other Greek au
thors. Then what a pride and pleasure be took
in lmpartlngittohls boys I—It added ten fold
wassomeS&fng'mtirethan themerescbolar."
Some teachers make machines of themselves
in teaching the text-books. They do not seem
to assimilate and enlarge their own natural fac
ulties or to Inspire within others a soulful ap
preciation of what they teach. ’Twas different
with Colonel Lewis. And so it Is always with
tbose minds which are naturally strong, com
prehensive and spiritual—with those great souls
who love learning for learning’s sake—with
those men who are born great and seek knowl
edge to serve them as tbe footstools of their fort
unes. The letter of the textbooks he mastered
and then with this key entered into tbe Eden in
store for those fitted to appreciate it, whilst
those wbo are not are content with the mere
letter, the mechanical which is dependent alone
on memory and void of all spirit and sentiment.
Tbe mere professional teacher has but little
love for books except as a means of support.
But ’twas not so with Col. Lewis. They seemed
a part of bimself, and be loved tbem with a love
something akin to that of his own children. I
remember wben tbe college building burned,
bow be nad to be actually forced out of it to
keep Mm from being burned up, so absorbed
was he in the effort to save tbem. They were
of every character; text-books, histories, ro
mances, literary—in short a complete and
handsome private library. He succeeded in
saving nearly all of them. And after all what
would tbe Colonel have been without tbem?
He would bave felt bimself alone, and, like
Rachel mourning for her children, could not
bave been comforted.
He not only taught tbeir letter but tbeir spirit,
soul and sentiment which he had Imbibed from
them. Take him all in all, he was a model pro
fessor and college president. ’Twas his chosen
calling and in it be was happy and usefnL What
to Mm were political honors, tbe laws emolu
ments in comparison?
With Ms large bfead covered with a cap, flow
ing heard and broad chest be was a patriarch in
appearance, and his, .entire personnelle was in
keeping and hartnow with the strong mind and
great soul within. There was something in his
very presence that inspired respect—one upon
whom authority sat well. Broad in judgment,
great in tact and executive ability, and with a
kind heart and genial disposition we boys all
respected and loved him, and liked to obey and
please Mm. With J.hose wityjHknew Mm, no one
can fill bis place, li ,JL
With a reputation as a teacher second only to
Dr. Waddell, at Athens, be bad for years con
ducted tbe well known Ml. Zion Academy; and
wben called to be the first President of tbe
North Georgia Agricultural College, in 1873, his
well known ability, added greatly to its rapid
growth and success. From a small common
school he rapidly built it up to a first class insti
tution of learning with a fall and complete cur
riculum, in addition to a splendid military sys
tem on tbe plan oi the West Point Academy
and under tbe control of a graduate of that in
stitution.
Like the classic poets and philosophers, he
had a great love for Agriculture. To have had
“cattle on a thousand hills” would have been his
delight. “The music of the waters as they rip
ple on their gladsome way,” the soughing of the
wind through the pines, “the lowing herd with
tbeir tinkling bells, tbe drowsy bum of bees, tbe
cock’s shrill clarion ^nd the echoing horn” were
sweetest music to hts sonl.
Before the war be lived on a large plantation,
and enj jyed these and other pastoral pleasures
to the fMlest extent. While President of the
College it was of course otherwise, as the most
of his time was consumed by the duties of his
E isltion. His love for cattle was very strong.
e couldn’t have many about him, but It was all
the more fortunate for those he did have. He
seemed to be on tbe most affectionate and inti
mate terms with tbem. I remember one Inci
dent in connection with £hem that partook of
the lndicrons. He had afmuly headed cow that
was a good deal of a mule In disposition. Oae
afternoon, while the boys were being drilled In
front of the College, he sat on a railing that was
level with the ground behind him, bat some
three feet from tbe grofiud In front. He was
proceeding to feed her ,wlth something after
having petted her; but the, getting Impatient
and vexed, butted Mm over on the ground, bnt
not hurting him at alL The boys all raised a
terrific yell while In ranks. It was too much
for even West Point discipline, and everybody
enjoyed tbe fan, Including the Colonel himself.
Daring vacation he would go out to some se
questered spot he called ** Drumbeat” and dwell
with Ms books and nature. In that section the
lakes are her most sublime and beautiful fea
tures. The maj estic Blui? Ridge purples the sky
a deeper blue, oft capped; by a covering of fleecy
white snow, and it In torn adorned by the golden
glow of the son’s rays. Mighty cataracts rush
ing and pellucid streams filled with speckled
trout—clear, cold springs, and the woods all col
ored with the wondrous fines that nature gives
them. ’Its a land fit for poets and scholars.
Nowhere can dame nature be found more lovely
or better adorned than under the clear, blue sky
and by the bright waters of old Dahlonega.
In his quiet retreat the Colonel would rusti
cate for a few weeks, enjoying aU these natural
pleasures, together with those afforded by some
favorite books, and then return with renewed
strength and energies for the duties of tb e suc
ceeding collegiate term,
What a rich and sonorous voice he had! And
what a pleasure it was to him and bis bearers!
I can hear him now singing,
“My country, ’tis of thee I sing,
Sweet land of liberty.”
That was a favorite of his, and how he could
make it ring! And another, the best verse being
“Ail hail the power of Jesus’ name,
Let angels prostrate fall—
Bring forth tbe royal diadem.
And crown.him Lord of alii”
He had in him “the deep, religions
voice” that made it a pleasure for him
to worship and praise bis Maker. In pros
perity and happiness to return thanks to the
Giver of all good, increased and doubled his
pleasure and enjoyment. In adversity and grief
ne ever turned with steadfast confidence to the
meek and lowly Savior for support and consola
tion. No trouble could overtake him bnt he
could say with the sweet singer of Israel: “Thy
rod and thy staff they comfort me.” The Lord
was always his “good shepherd.” “He maketh
me to lie down in green pastures; He leadeth
me beside the still waters; He restoreth my
soul,” was the never failing experience of the
Colonel, when he went to Ms Divine Master for
advice, strength ana comfort in every trial.
He haa no toleration for those who presumed
to doubt or question the truth and wisdom of re
vealed religion. He was an adherent to South
ern civilization in this respect, and an eternal
enemy to that so-called “higher” civilization of
the North, which is full of infidelity and other
“Isms” equally as erroneous and injurious.
He knew that the civilization of ihe “provin
cial” South, “so-called,” based upon the ortho
dox Christian religion, had been proven by the
experience of mankind to be the highest, the
wisest, the best, and he could not brook the ef
forts of deluded theorists to destroy it, wbo from
the standpoints of atheism and a false philoso
phy, presumed to dictate to the South a code of
morals. As the soldiers of the lion hearted
Richard struck for the Cross against the Cres
cent until their .triumphant banners were plant
ed upon the wails of the sacred city, so we of
the South are enlisted under its standard and
pledged to forever maintain it and the religion
and civilization which it typifies. To be con
servative is to be sensible, and the S >uth has al
ways been noted for the former, and with her
will rest In the future the real safety and pros
perity of this republic and the preservation of
the only civilizition conducive to the welfare of
man—a civilization whose dawn religion, cus
toms and usages are based upon a loyal and un
questioning love and reverence for the Supreme
Being, as revealed in the orthodox Christian
word of God. Such was the civiliz ition and re
ligion the Colonel believed in, and in his day and
generation he- was a soldier worthy of the
cause.
■But this feeble and Imperfect tribute must be
brought to a close. Time would fall me were I
to endeavor to make it full and complete and
worthy of the subject. It must suffice as it is.
Fond “memory tbe warder of the brain” recalls
these and many more incidents and remembran
ces in connection with him, which if it were
possible I would be delighted to dwell upon.
Time seems only to have seasoned them and
made them all the sweeter! With him lile’s
work is o’er—the good that he did has not
“been interred with bis bones”—it still lives and
will continue to do so, a perpetual monument to
the virtues and talents of the man.
He bqre Ms part well in the warfare of life,
“and nature could well say to all the world this
wis a man I”
He has been called up bighor to meet the
bles8iugs and rewards of a well spent and wor
thy life. It was meet that he should “enter on
rest” after a life crowned with long and suc
cessful labors. Like Thackeray’9 mdoel gen
tleman he could well answer “adsum” cheer
fully and willingly when the Great Master call
ed, and go
“Like one who draws tbe drapery of Ms couch
about him,
And lies down to pleasant dreams.”
Clarendon.
What Mothers Say.
As tbe boys grow np, make companions of
them; then they will not seek companion
ship elsewhere.
Let the children make a noise sometimes
their happiness is as important as nerves.
Bespeot their little secrets; if they have
little oonoealments, worrying them will
never make them tell, and patienoe will
probably do its work.
Allow them, as they grow older, to have
opiniona of their own; make them individ-
jjnyBiuBi neaicn
mental attainment is worthless; let tbem
lead free, happy lives, which will strengthen
both mind and body.
Bear in mind that yon are largely respon
sible for your ohild’s inherited oharaoter,
and have patienoe with faults and failings.
Talk hopefully to yonr ohildren of life
and its possibilities; yon have no right to
empress them because yon have soffered.
Teach the boys and girls the actual facts
of life as soon as they are old enough to un
derstand them, and give them the sense of
responsibility without saddening them.
Find out what their special tastes are and
develop them, instead of spending time,
money and patienoe in foroing them into
stndie8 that are repugnant to them.
As long as it is possible, kiss them good
night after they are in bed; they do uke it
so, and it keeps them very olose.
if you have lost a child, remember that
for the one gone there is no more to do; for
those remaining everything; hide your
grief for their sakes.
Impress upon them from early infancy
that actions have reeolte, and that they can
not esoape oonseqnenoes even by being sor
ry when they have aoted wrongly.
As yonr daughters grow op, teaoh them at
least the true merits of housekeeping and
oookery; they will thank you for it in later
life a great deal more than for aooomplish-
ments.
Try and sympathize with girlish flights of
faney, even if they seem absurd to you; by
so doing you will retain your influence over
your daughters and not teaoh them to seek
sympathy elsewhere.
Remember that, although they are all yoar
ohildren, eaohone has an individual oharao
ter, and that tastes and qualities vary indefi
nitely.
Cultivate them separately, and not as if
yon were tnrning them oat by maohinery.
Enoonrage them to take good walking ex
ercise. Young ladies in this oountry are
rarely good walkers. They oan dance all
night, bat are tired out if they walk a mile.
Girls ought to be able to walk as easily as
boys. Half the nervous diseases whioh af
flict young ladies would disappear if the
habit of regular exercises were enoouraged.
Keep up a high standard of principles;
your ohildren will be your keenest judges in
the future. Do be honest with them in small
things as well as in great. If you oannot
tell them what they wish to know, say so
rather than deoeive them.
Reprove your ohildren for tale-bearing; a
ohild tangbt to carry reports from the kitch
en to the parlor is detestable.
Send the youngster to bed early; deoide
upon the proper time and adhere to it.
Remember that visitors praise the chil
dren as much to please you as because they
deserve it, and that their presence is often-
ener than not an sffiiotion.
A friend of ours, hailing from Ohioago,
oame into the sanotnm last week, and know
ing he was a olever writer, we asked him to
“hurriedly jot” something down. He hand
ed ns'the following:
A little corner on a little wheat,
A little rise oh,’t was sweet.
A little fall, I had to sell
And ay little property went to —
Horsford’s Acid Phosphate
In General Debility.
Dr. E. W. Hill, Glens Falls, N. Y., says: “I
bave used it in cases of nervous and general de
bility, and always with success. I consider it
an excellent remedy for a tonic dyspepsia or
any low state of tbe system.”
Leas Springs, Grainger county, E. Tennessee,
(near Knoxville) is well patronized on account
of tbe great and superior variety of its natural
mineral waters—White Sulphur, Black Sulphur
and Chalybeate. Its mountain scenery is grand,
and it is a remarkably beautiful, cool and healthy
E lace. Season opens 15th of May of each year.
end for descriptive circular to the proprietor,
Mr. M. J. Hughes. 5W-3t
^CKLEBER^
CORDIAL.
FOR THE
BOWELS AND CfflLDRIN BBK
Dr. Diggers’ Huckleberry Cor
dial is the great Southern remedy for curing
Diarrhoea. Dysentery, Cramp-
Colic and all bowel affections, and restoring
the little one suffering such a drainage upon
the system from the effects of tektiunu.
For sale by all druggists, at 50c.
a bottle. Send 2c. stamp to \A alter A.
Taylor, Atlanta, Ga., for Kiddle Book.
Taylor’s Cherokee Remedy of
Sweet tinm and iMullein will cure
Coushs, Croup and Consumption. Trice, 25c.
and 81 a bottle.
Hair Goods
By mail to any part of ths United
States. Bend for illustrated circular
of latest styles to
Jok?i Medina,
463 WASHINGTON ST.O
BOSTON, MASS.
IlLIITmUBLilOHS
Walsh & Patterson, Proprietors.
IMPORTERS AND DEAXER8 IN
Italian aM Americas Marties,
Scotch and American Granites.
41
NO. 77 WAVEBLT PLACE, Atlanta Ga,
Guide
Is a work of nearly *00
paxes, colored plates,
't.OOO Tllnstratlons, with description, of the
oes! Flowers and Vegetables, prices of QT*TJf)C
and Plants, and how to get and grow wMAHr0
them. Printed In English and German. Price only 10
rents, which may be deducted bom the first order.
I1UY OSI.Y VICK’S SEEDS, AT HEADQUABTEBS.
JAMES VICK, SEEDSMAN, Rochester, N.*.,
DR.J.G. WESTMORELAND. .
Two years ago, a Georgia Legislator was un
able to attend hie dutjee, in the State House,
from inflamed piles. A week after painless
treatment by the above physician, he was at his
poet, and most certainly will never suffer with
the disease again.
A CARD.
I suffered for fifteen years from complicated
Files. I called on Dr. J. G. Westmoreland, at
6S)i South Broad street, Atlanta, last summer
and I was promptly, perfectly and permanently
cured without pain or confinement to my room.
H. J. Saboutt.
NeffL-L Feb. 10,’85.
Sam Jones condensed.
Over 500 pp. Illustrated.
Only subscription edition
authorized by Mr. Jones.
Steel portrait and fac-
simile Jones’ card de
nouncing pirate editions.
SAM JONES 1
SERMONS. ___
A6ENT8 WANTED, nouncing Pirate editions.
wutnio Tien nu. A ddress Mr. Jones’pub
lishers. IRANSTON A STOWE, Cincinnati. O.
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