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TBE SUNNY SOUTH, ATLANTA, GEORGIA, DECEMBER 3, 1S92. n HT FIRST PATIENT. I had been in my new lodgings for a week. A week that had dragged itself aloug in an endless series of days, every one bringing to me the dreams and the hopes of an entire lifetime. Over the glass door of my neat little si>artment, the white door-plate with which it is customary to announce the office of a practicing physician, had shone for a week. For the same length of time my little reception and consul tation-room had waited with its dark curtaius and ftraight-backed chairs for the patients who were to coinc to seek the advice and help of Dr. Max Er hard r. After all, I had no cause to wonder that my room remained so empty in the first days, tor the neigh borhood had first- to get accustomed to my name, and to the fact that they could find good medical advice in their near vicinity. All this t said to my self comfortingly at that time. When by g >0'i fortune ! should be able to heid only one patient, then the situa tion would quickly change. My repu tation would increasej and soon the rush of people to my consuitation- r tom would proclaim" my success. I should soon g-> about in a pretty, little carriage, with a dark brown horse driven by a respectable coachman; then, indeed, then At last, a thought which completely overpowered me came into my mind. I was again ia spirit with my Cousin Marie, who certainly would make the prettiest of doctor’s wives that one could imagine. I loved my fair cousin. As a boy, I had shown her every little chivalrous service which in either house or garden is demanded of the stronger comrade. As a Junior in school, I had inscribed my first poem toher; and as Senior I had badly in jured my voice, which was just then turning to baritone, by singing inces santly of “the flaxen-haired girl.” When I returned home after pa sing tiie first examination, the first thing of all that the student noticed was that “the flaxea-Iiaircd girl” had come to love him as completely as he loved her, but neither said anything on tiiat subject. My University period parsed by. All the time I worked earnestly", and whenever I had under gone the tedious struggle of exami nations victoriously, Marie’s dear eyes seemed to express her lively interest iu the successful accomplishment of all my endeavors. And when Cousin Marie, greeting me upon my return, said softly, “Herr Doctor Erhardt,” J looked deep into her dear eyes, and said still more softly, “Frau Doctor Erhardt.” Then I saw a bright blush come over her face, as sbe turned has tily toward the window-seat. Now and then, during the next few days, I had opportunity to speak to Marie of ail the castles in Spain which a young physician could build in bis empty dwelling; but I dared not inform her of my dream in regard to the future doctor’s wife. There lay in the blue eyes of my dear est an expression which kept back my words, even when they almost found utterance. I had no doubt but that Marie would eventually be my wife, but it seemed ns if a lack of confidence in my ability as a ph\>ician lay in her glance. That increased my pride, and induced me to reinuiu silent and await the time when the report of my first professional achievement would pro claim my ability to Marie. With my thoughts absorbed in ail these things, T s t on the alteruoon of a dreary November d iy in iny consul tation-room, and.at first failed to no tice a faint ring at my bell. Then I arose to open the door iny.-eif, as I bad sent my errand-boy to market. I confess that, during the few steps which were necessary to bring me 10 the door, a flood of strange thoughts came over me. A caller was seeking my help. Very likely it was a patient of high birth, and 1 should certainly receive a rich reward and fame, and— I was already married to my dear Marie. I opened the door. In the half-dark of the late jViigud. day stood a poorly- clad woman i»e:ore me. Out of her haggard and charcoal-blackened face looked a pair of great, dark ejes be seechingly at me. “Doctor,” said the woman in a trembling voice, “Doctor, be merei ul, O, please. My little Marie is so sick.” The name atoned for the wo nan’s unpromising appearance, which coin cided badiv with my latest dreams. “Who are you? Who seut you to me?” I asked. “No one,” the woman answered quickly amt in a low voice. “O Doc tor, do come! I have b is he a man who has learned to do his duty. Bo I went with her, after I had gathered together the necessary instru ments with a pomposity which aston ished and hair shamed even myself. Across the street we took our course, into a great courtyard lying behind a mar of houses. Then she led me up five flights of stairs, each one darker and stee|»cr than the last, and flually through a badly-fitting door into a li - tie room withslanting ceiling and very little windows. Oh a miserable but neatly-arranged bed lay a child of per haps" fourteen months. Her limbs were fever-heated, and her eyes were wandering and inexpressive. The woman bent down to the bed side. “She does not know me! Site does uot know me!’’ she moaned. The child coughed ; it was a croup ous cough of tiie worst sort. I tore a leaf from my book, and wrote my first prescription as a practicing physician. “To the nearest apothecary,” 1 said Tiie woman looked at me, embar rassed. “Cun T take it to the one in the Ivon- igstrasse?” she said. “No, no,” I cried, “it requires the greatest haste; why will you not go to the apothecary iu this street? ’ The woman reddened perceptibly, in spite of the charcoal dust. Finally she stammered, “The ajKithecary iu the Konigstrasse knows me; I carry coal there, and he will perhaps—I have no money.” A heavy tear dropped on the paper iu Irer hand. “These people, who ran pay no phy sician and no druggist,” said J, angrily, but inaudibly. 1 took out some money, and said aloud, “There, take that, and go quickly.” Tiie woman kissed the hand of her child, and then, before I could stop her, she kissed mine also, and hastened away. 1 looked around the room for a seat! A rickety chair, a red chest, an old table, some miserable dishes on a poor, cold oven, which occupied the place of a hearth, comprised all the furniture. Hanging on the wall iu a corner was a threadbare woolen gar ment, and also a . child’s cloak aud a little hat with a ribbon around it a fin- ger’s-breadtli wide; on a bracket hang ing next to the little window was a wi tiie red myrtle tree, a red geranium, and a hymn-book, with disgusting yellow edges. That was everything the room held. I sat down beside the little girl. She was apparently well eared lor. Her limbs were round and pretty, her golden hair was soft and curly. She was unconcious; lier blue eyes stared straight before her, as if she was look ing into the far, unknown distance. The room w T as cold. I went to the oven and found only some splinters of wood. There were so few that I did not attempt to build a fire. I sat down and waited for the woman and the medi cine. Ever and anon my glance would wander around the miserable room. Here was a poor hard-working woman who carried charcoal on the street, while her child lay in want aud sick- uess, and yet she loved her baby ten derly. Suddenly the thought shot through me that I could not save the child. 1 had i*ecu called too late. I had not resolution enough to try any doubtful, energetic effort to save her, to snatch her from thearins of Death. My heart w T as heavy. I sprang to the door and listened lor the lootsteps of the mother. She came finally; my reproachful look met her downcast one. “There were so mauy many people in the store. A woman like myself did not dare to press forward.” An hour of torment went by. The meubduo availed nothing. Little Marie could not swallow it. An oper ation oa the throat w’as of no use. The child died, died before my eyes on the bonoru of the mother, bowed down by gii -f. „ , {She finally looked up in a terrified manner; a tear had fallen on her hand but she had not wept. “You are wet ping, doctor,” she said sofily. “Ah, don’t w*eej» sir, you will stand before many a sick l* d as you have stood here, where the Lord wid not help.” She looked fixedly at the little corpse. “I have loved her very dearly. I h »ve done for her w’liat I could iu my pov erty. Whenever 1 cauie home Irorn my work I found her so pretty, so charming! For hours she would lie in tied or on the floor and play with almost nothing, and she laughed for joy when I came home. God has taken her from me. He loves her more than I do, bu«, oh I shall be so lonesome!” I pressed the woman’s baud, but could not speak. I dropped some v.-„ v„..,v. - ..ave been carrying, — . coal all day from the wagou into a i money on the table, and silently went house near by. 1 live over there ini out. At home I laid niy instrument the courtyard. My child has been sick j case away, and sat down disliearu since yesterday. I found her so much j cued. I could eat no supper. 1 went worse that I came to you at once.” I hesitated somewhat; the disen chantment was so great. The woman wiped her face with her blackened hand. It was a face which already showed many furrows caused by sorrow and “I should have gone for the charity- physician,” she said, wearily, “but your servant, Doctor, is a child of the shoemaker iu our courtyard, and he has told everyone that you are such a good man. Ob, do help my little girl!” I decided to go with the woman. to bed and tried to get to sleep. Hut the picture of the gloomy attic, of the dead child, of the submissive and pa tient woman, kept me less from sleep than the tormenting self-reproach with which I thought over everything that I had doue. My first patieut! 1 sim ply groaued, and then the words of the poor woman came to me again • “Don’t weep, doctor, you will stand before many a sick bed as you have stood here, where the Lord wid not help.” • I had been summoned too late; I had not been able to save the child. “You will stand before many a sick bed as ace In the pillow. It was a terribla night; tiie torturing thoughts which made me so restless were very different from the pleasant dreams which had encouraged me in both my wakitigaud my sleeping hour*. Early on the following day an old college fiieiul came, who had sought me vin his way through the city, lie dragged me over ihc crowded streets, Into the mu«ueius, into all sorts of res taurants. He complained of my tael turnity. I feigned a headache and escaped the necessity of having to seea sensational play at the Court Theatre. Tired and worn out, I went at la-1 alone to my room. On my way there l passed the window of a brightly lighted flower shop. I walked iu and bought a costly, white camellia and some sweet-smelling violets. I went up the five flights to the room of the poor woman. I found the door war unlocked. It was faintly lighted, and a little coffin stood in the middle of the room. In it lay I lie child dressed in a white gown. The ribbon < n the hat on the wall hud been made into two little bows, the myrtle wreath lay on the blonde hair, and tiie geranium was laid upon her breast. On tiie table stood a lamp, and the open song book lay near by it. I laid the beautiful white flowers in the lit tie motionless band, and put the bouquet of violets on the qui d breast: then I looked at the open book. Tire page w r as turned at an old song which I had learned at school, aud had soon forgotten. I bid the book away sighing. Tire words which I had read, the awful stillness, tire penecefully-resting child, oppressed my heart; I went home, after asking in the house for the hour of the Interment. I went to bed early*. I was very tired, and all disquiet left me. And a- if called forth by a strange power, tin words of an ardent prayer flowed over my lips; the prayer that God migh bless me in my difficult position, ami might change iny conceited as-lira net iu my own skill into a submissive trus> in Iris protection, whenever my little knowledge and my earnest wishes would not avail; that I might hope fur God's comfort at all siek beds, where I must, as on yesterday, stand helpless. Early in the morning, I awaited the little coffin iu the courtyard. A man bore it; the mother in her poor, black clothing followed. Site pressed my hand, and gave inc a thankuil look when she saw that I joined tire little procession. Tiie way was not long; the streets were almost empty; the aii was very mild for November. As tin iron gate of tire burial ground opened, tbe weeping woman dropped her heu“ upon lier breast. Deside the open grave stood a clergyman. “ I have made it my duty, as long my strength lasts, to give a last bless ing to all the dead of my parish,” sai lie, softly, as my astonished look men his. Dear, kind priest, you did not suspect how the plain, homely words of bless ing which you spoke over the litth coffin gave comfort to the poor woman and to myself as well! “In God’s hand everlasting rest I? found.” “ I know it, I know it,” sobbed tlv woman, aud she beut her pale fac. over the hand of tiie young priest. On the evening of the same day, 1 went to my relatives. All the oldt- member of the family were absent Only Cousin Marie was at homo t receive me. We sat at t lie window am let tiie moonlight shine upon us, am then I told her how I lmd visited in; lin-t patient and what I had learm« thereby of value to my calling. Mari -aid nothing during my confession, bu suddenly 1 felt myself embraced by lie arms. She looked at me with inois eyes. “ Look, Max! ’’ she said. “ Now yoi know well iu what respect you fnilet in your profession. Thunk God tint you have gained Ibis kuowltdjn through your lir.-t patient! Now j think that yon will become an abb physician, who will always do good even when his own skill shall no. avail.” I kissed my cousin. “And now, what do you mean?' I sail. “Have you the courage to become the wife of such a doctor ? ” Hire smiled in the mid*t of her tears, ami we were betrothed at last. Fortune willed it that on the next day 1 should again be called to attend a child, who was very* sick with t.h« croup. I was also fonuna'e enough re be aole to save it. Much grace ha God since then allowed to be bestowed through my hands to the sh k amt the poverty-stricken. My profession l*e- came dearer and dearer to rue. The mother of the child who had been my first patient soon moved into my house to attend to the management of the household until my dearest one became my wife. She then staid with us us cook, until later she became nurse to our first-born daughter, Marie. She wept over the child for joy, and iu thankful remembrance of the little blonde girl who bad shown me what it is to be a physician. Marc Doyen. DETECTIVES w*at*4 la lien coui.tr to act io the Sieret S.rvlan under (aotraotloun Iron Caiit. • rannun. es-Chief IMtetlm of Ola- daaari. Zap-mac uot nocro-uir. KnubHih-d J1 ycur*. Par** SaSw. uSwtbmn fMaHtreBwwa« C» 44a* A Brief Mention OC Oao of Atlanta's Noblest Insti tutions. The Beautiful Building of the Atlanta Young Men’s Christian Association that stands on the cormr <■( Wheat amt Pryor streets, next to the Eq'iitable Building in Atlanta, is always an cbj*ct of interest to visitors to the Capitol city, not only on account of its architectural beauty but be cause associated witli it is the name • f ilie lamented and much loved Il nry Grady—having been an important factor in the conception of the work. It may be interesting to tbs many read ers of the r.iJXXY South to know whet it furnishes tbe young men, amt lias fut- i,ished them in tbe past nine months, two hundred and rifry persons a day vis t its rooms on an aggregate of (>8,850. So- (daily it has furnished to young m m 15 high class entertainments aud receptions. It is difficult for those who ei j >y the privileges ( f happy homes to realize what a boon-ru eh soeni i nt« rtaiumi-nts are to \oung men who c.-me from distant places seeking to lay the foundations oi their fonuui s in Atlanta. During ti e p.-riod mentioned the As«o ciatiou has furnished toils members 25 000 bariisand nine classes a wet k iu systematic hod/ 6011(11111:, Im i jg supplied with an ix ceilent gymnasium. Class* s in stenography, penmanship and book-keeping are conducted each eve ning ai the w«ek. Pupils are taught by pud teachers and instruction is free to all members. Situations have been found in good business bouses for quite a number of young men. lJuu«!r*ds have been itcro duced to good hoarding I oases, and many nave been viebed by numbers aul aided financially by tbe benevolent in our rauks. , While tbe At sedation looks after tbe sociil, physical and intellectual interests of youug men, it does nut forget tbe more important want, tue spiritual, as the fol lowing figures show. One hundred and six y-oue sp«cial religious meetings have beeu conduct id by the Associ ttion. Two huudred aud oue yettug men have requested prayer, eighty-three who were coal abd form el in their spiritual life, have promised to lire better, and sixty have pro'efsud Christ as a personal Savior. The building is open every week day from 9 in the morning to 10 at night, aud on Sundays from 2 to 0 o’clock. Any young mm of good moral character can become a member by paying £10 for tbe privilege. The reading room is opeu ev ery day and tbe tas.lea are supplied with latest magazines and dailies; if you hav’nt visited this elegant home,—providt d for Atlanta’s youug men, without regard to religious belief, do so. A warm welcome awaits you. LOST THE OPIUM HABIT. Story of a Man Who Conquered It After a Struggle. Aterii"i'onVbVnian,”«>iimostiSiii'yoataTOhjo.«toodhari.” I Wd my'SSSSKl'SSKSSraWSa'iSUKS One day I realized, writes a former vic tim of the opium habit, that my word was no longer a sy mbo'. of truth, and the moral nature I had not quite drowned leaped up in the dark and called me “liar” to my face. Then I awoke, and for the first time for many a day I prayed. Then also came the resolve—the determined resolve, come what may—to be done with this damnable tyranny. At 0 o'clock that evening I took a hearty meal of meat (principally) and a little (eery little) red wine. It was June 10, 1808 1 hail determined to walk into the summer night, walk till 1 die if necessary, but walk till 1 won my battl", if I lived through the ordeal. 1 left my watch at home that 1 might uot pawn it far opium; I tick no moDiy with me; eveu as 1 ieit home, and struoa across the downs, l felt the * raving counug on ('lie hour uf my isuuitiittiie day (l.Sd wa* at hind), and f anew my temptation was with uiu, aud realiz d notv lung aud bitter the snuggle io Lo* Tue craving seemed to me a palpable shape mat walked inside mo—a pn a-.nce that outran tue an.I lost me, au>l c.iU! back to uie like a lailMut dog that would not iose or It ave me, that i coil'd not leave or lose! Sometimes L sung, some- liana 1 raved and swore, sumo limes I prayed auu wept, but iievtr onct*, thank Goa, dm my resolutions taller. Mucu oi that u.gut 1 ciuiKt remember. II in things cam j uuck to me at tiuivt eucu as a mu 1 had ouce, hutting my knee. 1 tuiuk J frightened seine oue who asked me some queotioas, aud i believe 1 can recvliei.l mat i rny.eif g«ew at oue tirno lull ol feat—iear of hurting myself, not others; aud men 1 suiLreu tuirsl— su jh thirst, such awfui thust, but l must uave slaked it a Anew hen , lor iu iLe mor ning my ciothcs aud necktie were aii wet, an iso Was my hair. At 7 iu the morning of the next d ty I tuunu uiy'se.i ieauiug oil a gale aud Jook- iug out on the landscape b I re me with a sort oi cum us womur as to how I cauie there; u*y heau mopped ou my bauds. I Si. pt lor (i teiaa) ouiy a sew m mates,aud awoke quite v* oil. Hiu e that day L have uever toucued it, aud have never b^eu leiuptod to touch it. Oi course, 1 aui weli aware that the doses to wnrcii 1 had become acoastouied were not very large, but 1 am also sure that luey were on ilia increase, an a having told my experience lately to a distiugUisUod ISuglisU physi cian, he btgged ure, for the sake cf oth ers, to put ou iec-*id these plaiu aud siui- ! pie facts. j Turn 1 now da, and if I do so anony- i muusiy, it is only because I believe that ! no iuitutr good could follow tim knowl* j edge of my identity or name.—The Sp c I THE DREADED BLACK BEARD A Firato who Locked Enough Lika Satan to bo Ills Brother. Pamlico Sound, now tbe haven cf the storm-tossed mariner and tbe home of peaceful industry, was once the theatre of far d.fferent scenes. In the beginning of the Isst century its plscent waters reflect ed a flag which stnu k ttrroi to tbonsands of In-aits and paralyzed the commerce of tbe New World; the thickly clustering vines and luxuriant growths fringing its shcres coi-cealed, like tbe original EJen, a biding devil, the foe cf God and man— Blackboard, the pirate. From a strange tendency < f bum »u nature the life of tbe pirate posei>ses a faiciu .ting interest, not only for th^fiu ill l.oy who devours tbe pa.es of bis half dime yellow-back novel, butalrofor tiie reader of stronger judg ment ai d better taste. Indeed, *• in* of ihe greatest writers have been unable to resist tbe fascinations of this wide and teiuptii g Held. . Sir Wa ter Scott, Marryatt and Cooper thought it uot unworthy their mighty I* us, and the genius of ltyron attached one « f its hijrii'St flights iu the description of tbe prisoner 0 »nrad, iu rile lonely tur ret, baring bis bosom io the midnight stonu and defying tbe lightning of ofTeud- ed heaven to transfix huu. Of ail this un holy t rood Blackboard was facile prin- c* ps, as Milton says of S .tan: ‘*By merit rr.ia*.d to that t»ad. en ineuce.” , It wa* an Arabic liadition, lelatrie t»tbe great un known Atlantic, lhat the gnaried and b uy hand ot the devil rose from out of the waves of the S-a «<f Darkness to seize the presumptions mariner, and in his dia bolic career Blackboard seemed to lie the impersonation of ibis mystic monster. Perhaps a great*r dtinun never piowled tbe seas or walked the earth iu human form. Even in personal uppearanco he was hideous and repulsive, nature having stamped him both as a physical and moral monster. The name by which lie was known throughout the wir'd was derived from asiug tiar circumstauce, which illus trates Li.s savage ferocity. His naturally dark aud forbidding face was covered al most to bis fierce, sensuous eyes with a shaggy black beard, reaching below tbe waist. This hirsute adornment, ol which he was very proud and which he culti vated with s«dnlous care, he was accustomed to braid with ribbons and to twist about bis ears until it stood forth like projecting boms. Into tbe ends of these he stuck small, slowly burning fuses whose sulphurous fumes enveloped him in a lurid hue end rendered him a uot unfit ting repretentation of the Satanic ideal whose character he so successfully emu lated. In time of action he slung around hia neck a scarf into which wi re thrust three braces of pistols. Our read* rs, even those who are not endowed with Dan- tesque powers of imagination, and espe cially our feminine lrieads, can readily fancy the impression such an aspect wonlu create when met upon the lonely ocean with the black flag fluttering above his head and bis merciless face lighting up with a gleam of demoniacal joy as his helpless victim! walked the fatal plank. The real name of this man was Edward Teach, and be waa a native of Bristol, Eugland. Of his early career nothing definite is known. He first emerged from obscurity as a common sailor on board a privateer commanded by Captain Benja min Hornigold, sailing from Jamaica and preying upon French commerce. In that humble capacity he distinguished himself hy bis skill aud courage, which attracted the attention of bis not over-scrupulous commander, wbo had intrusted Iimu with a prizs he had captured In 1717 these two choice spirits spread their satis from Provideuce (tuspicious name!) for Amer ica, captaring en vaysga tbree vessels laden with wine, flour aud miscellaneous cargoes, which they appropriated to their own use anti turned tbe crews adrift. Tue speed of their vessels being crippled by foul bottoms, they cleaned upon tbe coast of Virgmi« and sallied forth in quest of fresh booty. Ou this ciuise they secured tbe most valuable prizi yet captured, » large French Guineauiau.rt ihly freigh ed, bound f >r Mutinique. At 11ds ] incture lloridgnld’s avarice seemed to have been satisfied, or more likriy his heart failed bint, for, taking the two a osscls with » bich tbev originally sailed, lie ret urned to Prov idence and availed himself of a pardon of fered by the King to all pirates whoshould turreoder in a specified lime. . Teach, however, only emboldened by sn cess, now as-mined an independent character and b grn the eireer of ertm* which rendered his nami so tufatnous. Some Fanny Answers. totor. A writer in T!ie Deccan Budget give* some amusiug examples of mistakes made by Indian students in iheir examination papers. In an historical paper the qu-a- tion W->.s to explain tbe sentence, ''She (Q teen Mary) was not ouly bis wifei, bat Los friend.” Tue translator made the passage to ruu, ‘'dlad was nut oulxJrs wife, but the wife of all bi» friends. other stu leut h . givett au explanation of S*iic law wiiicb at ouce accounts for the fact that m »u*rchy b ts come to ait eu.l in Fiance, lie detiues Salic law as “a law m France by wind it» man descended trout ttir female sex waa to g^t the Fr*n n crown.” Oar student explained th it * the II tb -ans Gorpn Act was a very iu>p ertant act passed iu 1023 It declared ti.at tue bread and wiue taken at the L r I s Sup, per is tue real biood and body of Chri-t. Another who iintgiued the Act of Uni- finutty to tie a law said that it means ‘•that ail soldiers should dress alike. A youth:ul apostle ( f celibacy gives the to low tug example of a leg cal conclusion; -Marti gits a lottery—io.teties are ille- gai— ergj, marriage is illegal.” Tue fol lowing is a oetiuiiiou given of a sponging- hous.: “Iu England tbare are many peo ple w uo live by spongtqg on others, so there are h* ures in which%dme who sre so lazy to woxk depend on others.”