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TflE SUNNY SOUTH* ATLANTA* GEORGIA 1 SEPTEMBER 30
TEE COUNTRY EDITOR'S PLAINT.
The lives of great men oft remind ns
Honest men won't stand a chance.
The more We worn there grows behind ns
Bigger patches on oar pants.
On oar pants once new and glossy
Now are stripes of different hue;
▲11 because subscribers linger,
And won’t pay as what is dae.
Then let us all be up and doing —
Bend your mite however small,
Or when the snow of winter strikes as,
we shall have no pants at all.
— Exchange.
FOR THEKLA.
A Realistic Tale of Human Hearts
For The Sunny South.
N THE HEART OF
Southern Florida there is
a lonely, beautiful lake,
whose translucent waves
hold fast in their silent
keeping, a tragedy, dark
as human passion, pitiful
as hnman weakness.
There is no stain on the
rippling water to tell the
story. The white sand
that gleams far beneath
the surface, seems an
written page in the dark
history, but that crystal
flood, and smooth quick-
sand beneath it, have swallowed up two
lives, joined in outward seeming; lives
that had not fate so joined them, might
have escaped the sorrow and the sin that
wrought their pitiful ending here on
earth.
Was it fate ? Or was it that reckless
tangling of life’s threads that impatient
mortals work with their own rash fingers?
Call it what you will, it alters not the fatal
ending, nor lifts the shadow cast on other
lives, all guiltless of the wioag.
* * *
To young eyes, when they look through
the glamour of love and hope, all scenes
are fair, but it needed not these magic in
fluences to lend beauty to the view that
charmed Karl Werner, as he looked from
the deck of the crowded steam-boat that
was gliding swiftly up the St. John’s.
The short December day was over. The
sun had scarcely disappeared below the
horizon, but already the tall palmettoes
on the shore were shrouded m dusky
shadows. The sky overhead, full of dap
pled, fleecy clouds, was tinged with rose
color, and shot with long lines of pale
gold, while low in the west hung a bank
of dense clouds, purplish black except
where here and there a jagged rent showed
edges of vivid flame color or dazzling
{ told. A keen wind roughened the water
nto foam, and the tossing waves caught
the ruduy glow on their white crests till
the broad stream seemed a river of red
wine.
Through the gathering darkness, the
colored lights of the steamer flashed like
sparkling jewels, and the brilliant rays
were reflected a thousand fold from the
water beneath.
As the rich colors faded from sky and
wave, and the stars shone out in the pur
ple gloom, Kiri was roused from his 'ab
sorption by a voice beside him, as he was
joined by a fellow-countryman named
Gunther, whose acquaintance he had made
during the day.
Ganther had lived in Florida for several
years, and beix* a hard-working, perse
vering fellow, hbd succeeded in making
himself a comfortable home, and accumu
lating a little ready money.
Karl, on the other hand, was a new
oomer to the State, although, as he told
Gunther, he had left Germany two years
before. During that time he had been in
the north, pursuing differ ent sorts of work
as the opportunity was his, but always
failing to achieve the object for which he
had crossed the ocean, "a home for
Thekla.”
Now, persuaded by a smooth-tongued
agent, he had come to Florida, sure that
here, at last, he was to make his for
tune,
Ulrich Gunther shook his head doubt-
fnlly as Karl spoke so exultingly of the
bright future, and reminded him that
though an orange grove might indeed be a
mine-of wealth to its owner, there must
be years of hard work and patient waiting
before the golden harvest could be gath
ered.
But Karl smiled dreamily as Gunther
talked.
Wait—yes, of course there must be a
time of waiting, but were not Thekla and
he used to waiting ? And who would not
work hard and wait patiently for snch an
object as his, to win a home for Thekla,
Thekla the beautiful?
He was up eerlv in the morning to watch
the sun rise. On one side, where the shore
was low, the water stretched away in a
wide, gray plain, noro tiled by the slightest
breath of wind. On the other, the bank
was lined with woods; the gnarled and
twisted oaks were thickly hung with long
gray moss, while here and there a grace
ful palmetto reared its slender trunk and
picturesque head above its fellows. It was
a sombre picture, painted in ghastly tints
of gray.
Then a yellow light leaped flame-like
from the eastern sky, and shone across
that wide gray water. It deepened into
orange, and the ruddy haze veiled the sil-
very gleam of the morning star.
The orange glow burned into a line of
red tire, geaming across the broad ex
panse or water, and in an instant the
smooth river was like “the j taper sea.”
Flashing athwart this marvellous tide, the
opal rays touched the sombre forest, and
lol every tatted palm, every pennant of
moss, gleamed with countless flashing
jewels—gems of purer lustre than ever
glittered in a royal crown. Then the full
rou °d ®un swung above the horizon; not
gradually, but with a startling sudden
ness, and the dazzling flood of light
streamed over the whole splendid scene.
As Karl stood entranced at the fair pict
ure, he was joined by Ulrich; and the two
chatted together in a friendly way as the
bo^t steamed on her winding course up
the river, they had now reached a nar
row part of the river, and sometimes they
could almost touch the branches of the
trees that lined the shores. The channel
was very crooked; now they were close to
the right bank, and again close to the left,
doubling back and forth like a hunted
fox.
Karl was in high spirits, and Gunther
listened to his castle-building with a half
amused, half-pitying smile, until at length
the boat was fairly into Lake Monroe, and
they could see the docks and houses of
SaBford, far up on the Southern shore.
•‘You say you left Germany two years
ago?” said Gunther, "And you have done
no heavier work than book keeping. Yon
will find it harder on you here than you
think, I fear.”
Kiri smiled brightly. “You do not
know what I am working for,” he said,
softly.
Gunther looked keenly at him, and
laughed.
“Ah," he said. “Is it for ‘Minna’
then?”
“No,” said Karl, laughing too, “but for
Thekla.”
And then the signal whistles dro wned
their voices, as the boat drew near the
wharf.
After the landing Kiri had little time
for gazing about. He had signed an agree
ment to work for a stated time, for the
manager of a large grove near Sanford,
and his employer was looking out for
him. He parted from Gunther with friendly
good wishes, and ere long was on his way
to the grove.
Karl Werner was not of the peasant
class, and he had hitherto never done any
hard manual labor; and only those who
have gone through his experience can re
alize how hard his life now was. How
keen was the smart of his blistered hands
—hands that were used to no heavier im
plement than the pen, and now must be
come familiar with the hoe, the axe, and
the plow; how intense was the ache of ex
hausted muscles and sinews. And harder
for him was it to rouse from his natural
dreaminess, and putting aside his beloved
brooding reveries, bend his sensitive
poet’s soul to the yoke of stolid labor. So
it is not strange that when the contract
time expired, Karl found himself stranded
in idleness, having in his possession the
little money that was due him, supple
mented by his late employer’s recom
mendation as the very epitome of “tnflin’-
ness.”
“He ain’t lazy, Werner ain’t, but he’s
jcist naturally no ’count.”
So another desponding letter crossed the
sea to Thekla ; but it closed with hopeful
words, and begged her to be patient yet a
little longer.
Ah, three years is a long time to trust a
maiden, young and fair, with the wide
ocean ’twixt her and her lover and a rioh
suitor at her side!
With alternating encouragement and
failure, the remainder of the winter
passed. Karl had drifted from place to
place, gro wing more and more despondent
—earning barely enough when at work to
tide him over the intervals of idleness,
and at length the day came when his last
dollar was gone and he had nothing to do.
Then a kind fate brought him face to face
with Ulrich Ganther.
“And have you made your fortune and
brought your Gre’oben from the Father-
land?” asked Gunther, when the cordial
greeting was exenanged. Karl’s face red
dened, but he smiled bravely.
“Not yet- But I shall succeed at last I”
“When Gretchen is old,” said Ganther,
slowly.
“She will wait. I have her promise,’’Karl
said eagerly. “You must not talk like
that.” “Why, lad, I said nothing like
that,” answered Ulrich, laughing. “But
I thought it hard to keep a pretty maiden
waiting so long. Listen, I have a plan for
yon. Have you any money ?”
Karl shook his head and answered,“not
much—enough to pay for a bed tonight.”
"Oh, well, I have some,” rejoined Gun
ther, ooolly “There is a piece of land next
to mine, which can be bought very cheap;
indeed, I was thinking of buying it. Now
suppose I loan you the money to buy it,
and take your note, with the land as col
lateral security. If you succeed you will
take up your note, and if you don’t, I
will either extend the time or pay you for
all the work you have done, just as you
decide, Will you agree?”
Karl looked at G inther astonished.
“ Why do yon do this for me—a stran
ger?” he said, at last.
“Perhaps I am less of a stranger than
you imagine,” answered Ulrich, gazing
down into the young man’s puzzled blue
eyes.” I am twenty-five years older than
you are, Karl, “he added,” and—with a
little quiver of the lips under the grizzled
beard—“you have your mother’s eyes.”
Then Karl remembered the questions
Gunther had asked him, as they were
coming up the river together; questions of
his German home and friends.
He remembered that when be spoke of
his mother’s death, Gunther was silent for
a long time, and had questioned him no
more.
Well!” said Gunther, at last, inquir
ingly, “will you go with me Karl.”
“Yes,” Werner answered, “yon are very
kind to me, and I will do whatever you
advise. I don’t know how to thank you,
but ”
“Tut, tut,” interrupted Gunther—“leave
that for ‘Gretchen.”
“Yes,” said Karl, “ Thekla shall thank
you for me.”
Now followed months of hard work, but
this was a happy time for Karl, for he
felt that every stroke of his axe
and hoe was so much more accomplished
towards Thekla’s coming He wrote her a
long, hopeful letter, telling her of all his
new plans and prospects, and gently re-
proacaing her for her long silence. For
he had heard nothing from her since that
most desponding letter of his, written al
most a year ago.
But despite this cause for anxiety, this
was a pleasant time for him. It was a
keen delight just to breathe the spicy air
of the piue woods; to note the infinite
changes in the bending skies, where al
ways, somewhere ’twixt zenith and hori
zon, floated masses of clouds, sometimes
piled like snowy mountains, and gleaming
whitely against a bluer, softer sky than
ever smiled on sunny Italy; sometimes
flecking the blue like a flook of milk-white
birds scattered in ceaseless flight; some
times looming black and grand with por
tent of a coining storm.
And then his keen eyes spied many an
exquisite, dainty blossom in the cool
depths of the forest, and his deft pencil
reproduced many a bit of sylvan beauty,
to send to Thekla over the sea. Now a
tangled hummock, with twisted vines
climbing over the tall, gnarled oaks, the
glossy-leafed magnolias, and stately pal
mettoes—now a broad savanna, circled
round with dark, solemn pines, and hold
ing in its emerald expanse a crystal lake,
where gleamed white water-lilies—now a
cypress swamp, wierd and ghostly, with
its brown waters laving the broad roots of
the tall, dead trees, all shrouded in long
gray moss.
One scene that he sketched many times,
from different points of view, was the lake
that lay a few hundred rods back of his
house. It was circular in form, and its
banks of white sand rose up round it like
the rim of a giant’s cup. Tall pine trees
grew close around it, and their dusky
shadows lay forever on the still, transpar
ent waters.
The bed of the lake could be clearly
seen, although the water was quite deep.
It sloped down towards the middle of the
lake to a deep, hollowed-out space, wh*re
the sand was perpetually shifting and
crawling, as though some unseen monster
were stirring beneath.
There were many places of more varied
beauty for Karl to sketch, but this wierd,
still lake drew him to its banks with a
strange fascination. Was it a fore-shadow
ing ofthe awful me xory that was to be
come his in after life?
His friendship with Ulrich Gunther was
a source of pleasure to both; in spite of—
or perhaps because of—the difference m
their ages. Whatever was the tender
memory enshined in Gunther’s heart
whether of true love spoiled by hasty
words, or by a woman's fickleness, or of
an unspoken, because hopeless passion
was never told more definitely than in
those few words, “Karl, you have your
mother’s eyes!” But it nourished in the
heart of the elder man an almost idola
trous love for the younger. And had
Karl been indeed his son, the affection
could scarcely have been more heartily
returned.
But in all these months there came no
word from ThekU. He framed all sorts
of explanations of her silence, but stoutly
refused to listen to a word from Ganther
implying in the least that she had grown
tired with waiting, and so, faithless.
Yet that dread larked in his heart, an
unrecognized agony. Not even to himself
would he countenance the thought. Rath
er would he believe her dead. And at
last he came indeed to think of her as
dead, and blamed himself bitterly for so
wearing out her sweet young life with
cruel waiting.
Gunther found him one day, lying be
neath the trees that shaded the lake, burn
ing with fever and so prostrated that it
was with difficulty that he was taken to
the house. For days and weeks Guntber
tended him faithfully, relieved occasion
ally after the first two weeks by a neigh
bor named Kronheim, who lived on the
other side of the round lake. Kronbeim
was lately married, and when Karl was at
last slowly recovering, he said.
“Now I shall bring you some of my
wife’s good soup, and we shall soon have
you strong again.”
“Bring Mrs. Kronheim with you to see
him,” said Gunther. It will brighten him
up a bit.”
“I will bring her tomorrow,” answered
Kronheim. “You had never seen her?
Ah, no., we had not been here long when
you were taken ill.”
The next day Karl seemed curiously in
terested in what Ganther could tell him
of theKronheims. He knew already that
such was the name of the owner of the
grove across the lake, but the place had
heretofore been in charge of a manager
and the owner had brought his bride
thither only about a month ago. Ulrich
had seen her at a distance once, but could
only remember that she had pretty fair
hair.
While they were talking, the expected
visitors arrived, and Ganther went to the
door to meet them. Afterwards he re
membered wondering what was the cause
of the shrinking terror that looked out of
theyoung wife’s eyes.
He brought them presently into Karl’s
room. Kronheim shook hands with the
sick man, and then introduced his wife.
She stood with eyes downcast, trembling
from head to foot. Karl looked at her,
and gave a cry.
“Thekla! Oh, God!”
A convulsive shudder ran through his
gaunt frame, and then he lay motionless.
Ganther laid his fingers on the pulseless
wrist.
“You havejkilled him!” he said .hoarsely.
Thekla flung herself on her knees beside
the bed, in an abandonment of passionate
grief, calling on Karl to forgive her faith
lessness, carsing the money that had
bought her from him; and lavishing terms
of fondest endearment on the man she had
betrayed, clinging to him, and covering
his hands with kisses and tears. Her
husband strode forward and grasped her
roughly by the arm. His face was ghastly
in its pallor, and his eyes burned like
flame.
* Come!” he said, in a thick, stifled
voice, “this is no place for yon. Come
with me!”
He dragged her to her feet She looked
up at his livid face, and shrank back in
stood still, watching Ganther bending
over the still, white face on the pillow.
“God knows I never dreamed—” he be
gan, huskily, when a lo#d cry from Gun
ther interrupted him. “He is alive 1 Give
me that flask, quick!” •
He had snatened it up himself, almost
as soon as the words were uttered, and
was busy moistening Karl’s lips with the
liquor. . . „
Presently there came a faint, flattering
breath, and soon he succeeded in forcing a
few drops down Karl’s throat. So ab>
serbed was he in his occupation, shat he
was unaware when Bsrthold Kronheim
left the room, and only found him gone,
when the negro servant came and said
that the visitor had sent him to wait on
Mr Ganther.
Karl came slowly back to life, nursed
with untiring care, by his frieni, bat it
was many days before he was able to talk;
and even then, it was long before he made
any reference to Thekla One day after
he had been lying silent for a long time,
he said, abruptly:
“You would have been kinder had you
let me die, Ulrich. The hope of my iife is
gone; what is left for me to do?'*
“Tliis,” replied Ganther, laying his
hand on Werner’s arm, and speaking
earnestly; “First thank the good God for
yonr escape trom marriage with a woman
who reckons a long purse, better than her
own truth, and then face the future, lone
ly tbongh it seem, with a brave heart and
a clear conscience.”
Tears sprang to Karl’s eyes. He was
very feeble
“Lonely! Ah, you cannot realize how
lonely ! To live all my life without her!
You don’t know what that means to
me.”
He covered his eyes with one wasted
band, and turned his face to the wall-
Guntner answered:
“It is hard, I know, to give up the wo
man yoa love, though she has shown her
self unworthy of a true man’s heart. I
will tell you what is harder—to give her
up when she is fair of sonl as of face, a
woman so noble and good that to love
her once is to love her all yonr life
through; that is a pain that lives through
years 1’’
Karl made no reply, but he shook his
head.
It is the young who cry oftenest “there
is no sorrow like unto my sorrow!” And
yet, had he realized it, the healing process
was begun already. The wound was cau
terized even as it was made. For the re
alization of Thekla’s treachery had given
the death-blow to his love for her. It was
not the real, selfish, shallow Thekla for
whose loss he grieved; it was for ttiat fair,
sweet, tender woman that he had deemed
her.
Slowly his strength came back to him,
and bye and bye he could take short
walks about the place.
One day he went as far as the bank of
the lake, and being tired, fell asleep as he
lay on the grass When he woke, with a
start, Thekla was standing near.
He sprang to his feet, and for a moment
both stood silently looking into each
other’s eyes. Then the woman spoke, in
slow, faltering accents.
“You are quite well? Oh, Karl, if you
had died, it would have killed met”
Once it would have thrilled him to hear
her speak thus. Now it astonished him
that his only feeling for her was one of re
pulsion.
“Such words should be for your hus
band,” he said sternly. She winced under
his look and tone.
“Karl,” she murmured, I sinned against
yon deeply; but oh, heaven, I have been
punished bitterly. If you could know
what my life now is, you would say I have
atoned for all the wrong I did you. You
would pity me, if you could know how I
suffer 1”
•You have taken away my right to com
fort your sorrows, Thekia,” he answered
pitilessly. “Were I to offer you pity or
consolation, it would be an insult to
Berthold Kronheim’s wife.”
“Let me tell you how it was,” she cried,
coming nearer to him, and laying her hand
on his arm. “They laughed at me for
wasting all my youth in waiting for a
dreamer like you. And at the festival no
one asked me to dance, beoause I was
tro th-plig hted—’ ’
“False plighted, say rather,” interrupt
ed Karl, scornfully, “but there—wfiy
should I upbraid you, poor butterfly ? If
your love for me was so light a thing that
a little laughter out weighed it, you did
well to listen when your rich wooer came.
And for me, it is well also. Better to be
betrayed by sweetheart than wife!”
He shook off her hand from his sleeve,
and turned away, leaving her standing
there beside the lake.
g
eyes
tresses was lost behind the intervene
trees. He little thought that he had lnnl 8
ed for the last time on those !- ’
hehfdrl tw r -n® Ver again bumau
behold that ill-mated pair.
Only the wild birds in their rimn
flight looked down and saw the iJ
struggle, the sadden plunge * to the n * ry
water where the shiftFng q^S-wid%
The’emPty boat drifted to the shore
and the clear water rippled calmly ol '
the crawling sands, as though no awf!
mystery were hidden there. * Iul
And of all who joined in the fruitless
search for Kronbeim and his wife 0 n>v
two guessed the real truth. Others ’nffi
call it a sad accident, but Karl and ririeh
felt that it was the dark sequel to a
man’s double faithlessness.
And in their eyes there remained alwar.
on that sUent lake, the shadow, not alon«
of Death, but of Crime.
H. N. Adaib.
Three Cheers for Cteorgtu :
terror, gasping
d!
She watched him until he disappeared
behind the trees, and then flang herself
down in a passionate flood of tears. She
was roused by a heavy hand on her shoul
der, and looked up to see her husband
bending over her. She began to tremble,
and it angered him the more. He broke
out with bitter upbraidings, nor ceased
his harsh words when she had seated her
self in the boat he had brought, and they
were skimming across the lake, towards
their home.
From far away, in an upland grove,
Ulrich Gunther saw the little boat and
and two figures in it.
He recognized Kronheim and his wife,
and wondered if the gossips told the
truth in saying that her life was one con
tinual dread of her husband’s evil temper,
for he was "jealous as a Turk.”
'Serves her right,” Ulrich growled to
himself, as the glint of Tnekia’s yellow
The Confederate Veterans of Louis
iana are endeavoring to obtain more
assistance from the state for the needy
old soldiers of the South who are now
in Louisiana.
Under its present constitution the
state can go no further than to pro
vide a home for the veterans. An
amendment to the constitution which
will allow pensions to disabled Con
federate veterans is being discussed
and meets with very general favor!
Most of the southern states are now
giving very substantial aid to the old
heroes of the gray who need it.
It is to the honor of Georgia that
she leads in this noble work. Last
year she paid $445,000 to 7,400 pension
ers.
Of this sum $185,000 was paid to
3,200 veterans, and $260,000 to 4,200
widows.
The state has a soldiers’ home, situ
ated on a tract of 119 acres of land,
which was built by private subscrip
tion at a cost of $42,000; but it remains
closed for lack oi funds.
Alabama comes next to Georgia,
with 4,955 pensioners, who received
last year $133,124,32. It has no sold
iers’ home.
North Carolina has 4,747 pensioners,
who received $103,000. It has a sold
iers* home with fifty inmates, and the
cost of its maintenance this year has
been so far $10,000.
Virginia has 3,450 pensioners, and
pays $99,205; and 181 inmates of sold
iers’ homes are supported at an ex
penditure of $15,220.
South Carolina nas 2,249 pensioners,
who receive $50,000, but has no sold
iers’ home.
Mississippi has 2,000 pensioners,who
receive $62,400, and has no soldiers’
home.
Arkansas has 787 pensioners, receiv
ing $31,375, and maintains 20 inmates
of a home, costing $10,300, at a yearly
expenditure of $2,500.
Florida has 374 pensioners, who re
ceive $37,841. It has a home which
cost $i0,000. and on which $2,500 was
expended last year, but it is not now
opened.
Louisiana has no pensioners, but it
has 50 inmates of a home upon which
last year $8,000 was expended.
Tennessee has 576 pensioners, re
ceiving $61,875, and 108 inmates of a
home costing $32,000, were maintain
ed last year at an expense of $7,500.
Texas has no pensioners, but it
maintains 108 inmates of a home at a
cost of $57,285.
The Maryland Hospital has 84 in
mates, and the Missouri Home 72.
Each home cost the state concerned
$12,000 last year. The first cost of the
Maryland Home is not given; that of
the Missouri Home is $60,000. Thus
we have a total of $27,211 Confederate
pensioners and inmates of homes, in
cluding Maryland and Missouri, and
a total payment to Confederate pen
sioners and for Confederate homes
last year, including Maryland and
Missouri, of $1,150,936.
It will be seen tdat Louisiana is be
hind all the other Southern states in
provision for Confederate veterans,
but the present agitation indicates
that Louisiana will soon come nearer
up to the measure of her duty —
Atlanta Journal.
The little island of Iceland, with
about seventy thousand inhabitants,
has the same number of newspapers as
the great empire of China.
Texas is large enough to give all the
population in the world standing
room, and it is said that if all the pen*
pie of the United States were crowded
into Kansas, California and Nebraska,
those States would not be more thick
ly settled than England is now.
Berthold! do not kill me!
“Berth ole
I swear-
You have sworn falsely already!” he
answered harshly.
“You told me you had never had a
lover! Yon were false to him and falsa
to me!”
“Do not kill me, Berthold!” she wailed
again, terrified beyond control at the
fierce anger in his face.
“And send you to join your lover? No!”
he cried. Ganther lifted his face, and
with a voice he scarcely recognized as his
own, spoke to Thekia.
“Leave me with my dead, whom yonr
treachery has slain! How dared yon come,
knowing how yon had betrayed him? Go!
Yon shall not weep over his dead body
when yon trampled on his living heart!
She turned and tottered from the room.
Her husband did not follow her. He
Highest of all in Leavening Power.— Latest U. S. Gov’t Report
ABSOLUTELY PITRE