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THE SUNNY SOUTH. ATLANTA. GEOBGIA ‘OCTOBER 14 1893
3
for T>* Suin'* SOOTH.
* u mpraorv f
VnT i
^ p jo a memory fAir*
folded away' ^ with golden hair;
d flbe *f 0 trv form-an image gay,
’ T,n flit!edaDd danced the live-long day!
„ holds an image fair,
ytnd ® ,n) f ( jfni chi d, with golden hair-
Of» « folded to rest,
‘“the’mwble brow, and silent breast!
i rt Hpath with gentl© touch,
Toe aD ^® n le Woom we loved so much!
H^Uc that lived in those azure eyes
y^flown fo beautiful fadeless ekiesl
mnrv sweet as the breath of spring
£ Dt a vT“ly heart doth fond.y cling!
To IB} lonmy paints the summer skies
»“ f ' um ■ Babj ' 8 ” esMl
1 —Mrs. Mary Ware.
our society.
If we are to judge of it from the Society
rolumns in the daily newspapers we must
conclude that Southern Society ia a huah
machine in this decade tf the Nineteenth
Century. In fact it seems that everybody
und every one else is “in Society” now-
Sve AS for iinancial distress that is a
mere 'imaginary thing. How can it be
nn/aihle for so many people to be on the
in the movement of the swim, at
receptions, 4 o’clock’s,balls and dinners, if
E; IS so much “distress,” such very
•‘hard units?"
* * *
Then everybody has gone to Chicago, or
i* going whether their board bills are
paid or not, and the weddings are as nu
merous and as magnificent as ever, and
the trousseaux are even more elabo*
rtt te than ever. Those who are
puzzled alout why brides must
Lave so many dozens of everything ana so
many gowns, aud hats, and cloaks, and
“things” are more mystified than ever.
The wild tlurry and excitement over the
getting up of all those dozens of “things”
always had a suspicious look to me.
Oue would suppose the bride-elect had
never before had any clothing, nor ever
expected to have any again.
Silly as it stems, however, I have ob
served that even the moat sensible women
are not proof against this troassean ma
nia.
# « *
Then the bridal presents, what a load of
social obligation do they entail upon the
young couple. For does not “noblesse
oblige" compel a return, in one form or
another, of each and every one of those
costiy gifts?
Poor little bride 1 You did not think of
this when they came pouring in on the
weddiDg day. Poor young husband I How
you win be taxed in the future to return
all the gifts for which you and your
young wife have really little or no use.
» » »
For it is to be presumed that everybody
knows the unwritten law of return of
conrttsies, of hospitalities, of favors, of
gifts accepted. But do all who receive
know these unwritten laws? Have allot
them parents who have had the time, the
culture, the traditional knowledge of that
magic social “open sesame” “noblesse
oblige?"
* * *
It is to be hoped that the regal magnifi
cence of the new fabrics for ball and re
ception gowns for this winter, reported
and described in the New York Herald,
will not tempt our Atlanta bells, or the
belles of any Southern city, to vie with
New Yorkers in extravagance during the
present financial anxiety which pervades
our part of the country.
Remember, dear girls, what the Virginia
grandmother said to her granddaughter,
when that little lady said she “couldn’t
go to church in the old carriage.” “My
aear, a Fairfax can go to church in a
wheelbarrow.”
The daughter or the granddaughter of a
Confederate veteran can go to a ball in a
calico or a hopsacking gown—if she cannot
afford anything better without going in
debt for it or putting a deeper cloud on
her papa’s a 1 ready anxious brow.
* * *
One of the latest fads of fashion is very
sensible. It is to substitute white, plain,
pure white for mourning in place of black
when the mourner is youthful.
There must be no lace, no embroidery,
no guimp nor trimming of any kind, ex
cept soft fails and frills of hemstitched
mull, crepe of woolen fabric.
For manied and older women some
leaders are trying to introduce shawls of
gray instead of black for the garb of be
reavement.
* # *
I was last week at one of those charm
ing musicales of Mrs. John S. Prather
which have become one of the features of
musical talented society.
Miss Carobel He kit and Mrs. Leftwick
in Empire gowns of lovely materials, color
and dtsign sang some of the most delight
ful duets and solos I ever listened to. The
perfection of the rendering would have
been appreciated by a New York audi
ence, while Miss Clio Prather as pianiste
gave two finished “morceaux” in a style
that would have made Alida Topp, or
E«ipoff, or even old Rubenstein cry
“bravo.”
The degree of musical culture in some
•luiet circles in Atlanta is beyond all con
ception to the uninitiated in that sort of
thing,
Emily Verdkry Battky.
An agent of the English firm that is
constructing the extensive system of
drainage canals near the city of Mex
ico told an American tourist that
when they first employed native
workmen their methods seemed too
slow, for they put the earth and rocks
in|baga, placed tne bags on their
heads and marched off with them. So
the firm ordered a large number of
wheelbarrows. The natives filled the
barrows with earth and put them
upon their heads, too. It was of no
use—they hadibeen doing business that
way for too many centuries.
HER CORRESPONDENT.
AISY FARM, Aug. 30.
I am almost sorry I came
with Aunt Fletcher. Her
eyes are so sharp; she is
so different from dear
little Aunt E oamie. I'm
a little afraid I shall have
rather a bad time send
ing and receiving my
letters. But I have gone
too far now to give it all
up. That correspend-
ence has become a real
necessity to me. Some
times it fiightens me a
good deal to think about it. It was so
easy drifting into itl I remember now
j ist bow I felt when the editor sent me
that first letter from Austin Liliington. It
was just when people were raving over
the brightest serial of the season, and I
was quite flattered when the author of it
wrote to me.
It is amusing to compare that firjt let
ter with those that come every week.
How I should miss my correspondent,
and how strange it will be to meet him
next winter in Washington! That was
the one consideration that induced me to
let Aunt Fletcher take me in tow for a
season.
Dear little Aunt Emmie would never go
anywhere, bat this is nearly nowhere. I
don’t see why, just at the last, Aunt
IT .etcher should have felt that need of
rest that she says brought her here.
To be sure, I shall have unlimited time
f )t writing stories and letters, bat she will
hive unlimited time for watching me;
and well do I know that if she detected
any bluestocking tendencies, my allowance
from her would be cut off Jike
Jonah’s gourd vine, and Aunt Emmie’s
“offering,”as she calls it, even supplement
ed by my earnings with my pen, would
hardly keep me in paper and stamps!
I’ll have to manage so she will not sus
pect it. ~
I wonder what she would say if she
knew that I am actually engaged to this
great writer whom all the world is prais
ing? If she knew that I wear his ring on
a chain about my neck?
Once I believed in love at first sight;
now I go farther and believe in love with
out any sight at all! And why not? It
is our souls that love each other. How
much purer is such a love than one fostered
by the coarser senses. Our souls ci mmu-
nicate with each other and we are satis
fied. Only—well, I don’t mind confessing
io myself that I hope he isn't ugly, and
tLat l should like a handsome husband,
not b ecause that would make me a oetter
wife, but because other women would re
spect me more.
I am glad that I’m pretty. Tears spring
to my eyes when I think how glad he will
be; and if my name isn’t Rose Thorne, as
he thinks it is, I'm sure that he will like
it, for every one says it is pretty.
They say a wom«n can’t keep a secret.
What a mistake! Why, not one of my
friends suspects me of writing the verses
they read and praise; and I nearly died
last night when that grave Dr. Lawrence
read aloud my last poem in the Banner
and commented upon it. Why, his eyes
were so soft and tender that I nearly for
got how very grave and thoughtful he
really is.
I was reading the latest installment of
Mr. Lillington’s story this morning when
the doctor passed along by my hammock.
I was greatly surprised when he stopped,
and with one of his rare smiles asked if I
liked the story. Of course I knew that
he, so grave and learned and thoughtful,
could not admire a society novel, but 1
looked up fearlessly and said:
“Yes.”
“You should not read in a reclining
position,” he said, and passed on.
I felt little irritated. Of coarse I am
very far beneath the notice of such a man,
and 1 wouldn’t give a pin fur his notice,
but—well, pigmies feel small among
giants. Gulliver was big enough among
the Lilliputians, bnt suca a little fellow
among the giants! And so when this
grave, handsome man stalks about I feel
exceedingly small and uncomfortable.
I’m sure I don’t know why, for I’ve seen
quite as grand men many a time before,
without experincing anything like the
same sensation. That’s why 1 believe he
is onoious of Lis superiority, and somehow
the concionsness forces itself upon me, as
the light from the sun refltc 1 s itself upon
the moon.
Bah, what am I writing? Who cares
for the stiff doctor and his airs ? not 1 and
now it is time for the mail, and I shall
tradge over to the village after it. How
fortunate that Aunt Fletcher’s bunions
keep her in doors!
—August 31.
There was a letter from Mr. Liliington
I really believe that Mr. Smytne is the
best man alive. He is always so kind to
forward letters—never fails, no matter
where I am. It must be a great trouble
to him, too; but we make it as easy as
possible by enclosing the letter in its pret
ty envelope in an outside wrapper, so it is
only to be addressed and sent on. I think
he doesn’t mind it.
The doctor overtook me coming home,
and walked gravely by my side. He had
several thick envelopes also, and we sat
down at the bridge and opened some of
our letters. I happened to glance np from
Mr. Lillington’s letter. I think the doc
tor’s eyes are very magnetic, and dr jw
mine—and he was looking at me with that
soft, tender look in his aeep gray eyes that
I have seen once before. He smiled a
queer, pnzzled sort of smile and then
dropped his eyes to the unfolded letter he
held, and I felt my face bnrn, for some
how his look was deep and strange, and I
felt as if he knew something of tbe words
I was gathering into my heart from the
letter in my hand. Sj I folded the sheets
and put them into the envelope again, and
after awhile we walked on.
Neither of us had much to say, still I
did not feel lonely.
When we came in Aunt Fletcher was
on the piazza, and the doctor stopped to
talk with her while I came up here to fin
ish my letter. And then I wrote a long let
ter to Mr. Liliington, and went to bed with
his letter under my pillow, in foolish,
school-girl fashion; but. all night I dream
ed about the doctor. Such silly dreams
they were.
Why, I almost blushed when I met him
at breakfast. He had gathered Aunt
Fletcher a bunch of dewy red roses, and
when he had given them to her, be handed
me a white bud all fresh and dewy and
fragrant. I fastened it in my pin, and he
said, “thank yon.”
Then, somehow, 1 wanted to crush the
pretty thing under my feet, bnt its fra
grance stole up to me like a soft reproach,
and I was Borry. I wanted to make
amends, so I just touched it gently as it
lay on my breast; and then ho w my face
did born, for I caught the doctor’s eye,
and there was that lock again.
I wish it was time to leave here, or that
the doctor would go, and yet—what a silly
fool I am! I hear voices now. Toe minis
ters and the doctors. They are talking
about “occult science.” I couldn’t under
stand one word of it all, I’m sure And
here am I thinking these foolish thong tits
when his mind is somewhere among—oh,
I.don’t know where, only of coarse he
sees I am a fool.
October, 2
We went on a little excursion yesterday
How lovely it all was, but wretched too,
somehow. Some of the people about here
came, young people, most of them, with
one dear old lady as chaperone. There
were only eight baggies, a pi ar.on, aud so
we went in pairs, the minister and chape
rone heading the procession.
“You’ll take good care of Myrtle, doctor,
and remember—”
How could Aunt Fletcher do it? I felt
my face burn, bat I turned laughingly to
Benny Brown, and in a whisper I begged
him to deliver me. Everyb >dy gets Benny
to help them, and we’ve known him a long
time; I have put him in at least a dozen
stories. He is staying oyer at the hotel
with his mother.
So we wandered off together, and pres
ently drove up in Benny’s pretty turn out.
I felt the doctor’s eyes on me, but I did
not look at him. I laughed and chatted
gaily and Benny seemed delighted.
“I’m making up for forcing myself upon
yon, Benny ?” I said when he had langhed
immoderately at what he called my wit
“I wish you’d do it oftener, then. One
doesn’t mind having the very prettiest girl
in the crowd show a preference for him.”
“And I do decidedly prefer you to any
one here,” I answered.
‘ Just make it to anyone any where, won’t
you, now?” he asked affectedly.
Tbe buggy had stopped as he spoke, and
I was just saying in a quivering voice, and
with down cast eyes
‘ I’ll think of it, BenBy,” when the doc
tor’s deep voice said:
“Let me help yon.”
I let him help me, and stood waiting for
Benny who in a moment came to me, and
we walked away
Usually Beany is very nice, bnt yester
day he was tiresome, and the way Lila
Reed threw herself at the doctor’s head
was perfectly awful. I b -lieve she
thought I was p’qued by it. I wonder
what she’d say if she knew that I would’nt
marry any of the men she knows ?
Mr Liilington’s letter will come today.
How I long for it! His letters always
rest me so. Sometimes I am almost
tempted to exchange pictures with him;
bat what would Aunt Fletcher say! No,
I’ll wait until we are at Washington. It
would be a pity to spoil our meeting by a
g impse of each other before.
Oct. 5 —Mr. Lillington’s letters are lon
ger and more interesting than ever. He,
too, is resting in the country and getting
up a plot for a new novel. Working
while he rests, he says, and here am I
idling the days away.
Tbe doctor has been with me very often
of late. He talks a good deal more than I
thought he could.
Yesterday he read me one of Mr. Lil
lington’s short stories from a magazine I
do not see.
“The heroine must seem very familiar
to yon,” he said, when he had finished.
“No,” I said, “she is quite new. I have
read a number of Jffr. Liilington’s stories,
bat I find his people all fresh and inter
esting.”
“But this girl reminds me of yon,” an d
be read again the description of the
boanty who figured conspicuously in tbe
story.
“Not at all,” I said. “I never could
break a promise as she did; neither could
I take another girl’s lover. I’m not much
II ittered that you should think me like the
heroine of that story ”
“But the man loved her, and she loved
him. Isn’t a tie like that more sacred
than a mere promise?” he asked earn-
estlv.
“We won’t go into it; bnt I couldn’t
break a promise, neither could respect
any one who could do so,” I said, trying
very hard to believe that I really meant it
all.
“Yon are right. We can’t help onr feel
ings, bnt we can Ynake our actions right;
we can control onr lives so far as our be
havior toward others goes.”
“The girl in the story has your face and
your hair; she hasn’t your true, steadfast
heart.”
“Nor my over-careful aunt,” I laughed
as Aunt Fletcher called to remind me that
the dew was failing.
October, 10.
It has been raining, and I should have
been lonely without the doctor, and my
much prized letters
I waded through tbe rain for these let
ters, and I have written to Mr. JLfillington
much oftener than I have ever done be
fore. I wish I could have a letter every
day, or else—I ma* just as well own it—I
am a coward, and I want the doctor to go
away.
Last night some young folks came, end
Lila Reed was singing. She really sings
very well. After a new song or two she
tamed td the doctor and said:
“And now, Dr. Lawrence, I’ll sing just
for you, the little gem you set to music
last winter when we were in New York.”
And then to my surprise she began sing
ing a foolish little love song that I had
written a year ago.
The doctor came over and sat down be
side me, and 1 trembled when he looked at
me. His face was white, and his eyes
very dark, but he said nothing.
After they were all gone I sat alone in
the parlor for a while, and then Dr. Law
rence cacie in.
He crossed over to me, but I did not
torn my head toward him. I was leaning
back in a great, sleepy hollow sort of chair
with my hands resting on the arms. He
sat down beside me and presently lifted
one of my hands half way to his face. He
held it only an instant, then laid it back.
“If you are going to ride wi r h the others
tomorrow, I think you’d better get to
sleep. Good night” he said in a matter cf
fact way, leaving the room.
Women are strange creatures. Yes, I
wish he would go away, or that Aunt
Fletcher would. I want to get that meet
ing at Washington over. I begin to dread
it, and yet, my only comfort is brought to
me bv Mr. Lillington’s letters! How
strange it is.
—October 15.
And now I have my wish he is gone. Benny
brought his pretty roan for me to ride, and
the doctor asked all sorts of questions
about ber. Benny was annoyed and so
was I, for I didn’t see what Dr. Lawrence
had to do with it, and I wanted him to
understand that I could see no reason for
the interest he manifested in what con
cerned me. So against his will I mounted
the loan, and rode gaily away.
I hardly know how to write the rest.
But never mind there <s no hope of evtr
forgetting it!
There was a quick storm, a fl*sh of
lightning, a crasu of thunder, and I was
flying through the pouring rain. Then all
was bark. After a while I heard a voice—
Ah, when would it not waken me?—and
the word's s«-t my blood flowing again I
opened my eyes, and they rested upon the
white, aDxions face bending above me.
I felt a smile warm mv lips, and then a
fl*sh of joy blazed down into my eyes from
those others.
No, I shall not write tbe two little words
that had a whole heaven wrapped np in
them. There is no danger—no hope, I
mean, of ever forgetting.
The rain pelted down, but a Jane breeze
might have bren blowing rose leaves down
upon us for all the heeding we gave it,
It whs a moment, and it was an eternity.
But the spoken words broke the spell.
We knew that rain drops, anil not rose
leaves, were falling. His lips had scarcely
framed those other words when he said,
quite coolly:
“Are yon hurt? I think not. Bnt this
rain will do you harm ; let me help you to
a little cabin I see in tne woods.”
We went to the cabin, I was only
stunned, and when my clothes were dried
I felt almost well. Only—well, never
mind, he is gone now, and tonight I shal I
have a letter from Mr Liliington. A
month from today I shall meet him. I
dread it, oh, I do dread i* so.
—Novemner 14 th.
We are here at Washington. Tomorrow
night I am to go with Aunt Fletcher to
Mrs. Oliver’s. In planning a meeting
place I mentioned to Mr. L llington tha^ I
should be there, and he told me that he is
very intimate with the family, and would
go also.
It is very romantic, but I don’t care so
much for romance now. Just before din
ner I am to go into tbe conservatory and
pin on my 1-dc shoulder a sprig of holly
which I shall carry, of course. He will
do the same, aud so we shall know each
other.
It is really very exciting, bnt I so. half
afraid. I can’t write now, I am too nerv
ous.
—November 16 h.
We went to Mrs. Oliver's, and there
were the Reed’s and B*nny Brown!
Lila came to me at once.
“Do you know Dr. Lawrence is here?”
Sll0 fth lCHfl
“N<»,” I said, my eyes following a
stooped, spectacled, scholarly looking man
who peered curiously about him. Could
this be Austin Liliington? I hope not.
N»-xt came a foreign looking man with
enormons side whiskers. He wore a tiny,
pearl handled pen in his cravat. A.gain I
hoped that this was not the man I was to
meet. Lila looked offended, and I began
to ask the names of some of tbe men.
But after a while a little sweet-voiced
clock somewhere near me chimed the
the hour. It wa* time to meet my fate. I
had only seen Dc. Lawrence oace, and
then he was across the room talking to
the side whiskered man.
With some difficulty I managed to slip
away to the conservatory.
My bands were cold and trembled as I
pinned on the holly sprig that wis to iden
tify me.
I felt too nervous and frightened to
look about me, but stood quite still under
neath a lowering oleander that grew near
a splashing fountain.
Presently I felt my hands taken in a
warm, strong clasp, and the words that
bad waked me to life out in the pelting
rain found their way to me again.
I looked up quickly, and there before
me stood Dr. Lawrence, a glad smile dark
ening his grey eyes and glorifying his
“Can it be!” be exclaimed, a happy ring
in his voice. “My little girl, do you really
belong to me—have you given yourself to
me?' ....
And I said: “I belong to Austin Lil
iington, and—ana. you have on the sprig of
holly.”
“I am Anstin Liliington Lawrence, ’ he
laughed, and I cl*im you It was hard to
give you up—; if only we had known—”
Bat I shall not write the rest of it.
Aunt Fletcher is nearly as happy as we
are, but she shall never know about my
correspondent.
Mary Wilson.
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We the andersigned, have known F. J.
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For sale by all druggists.
Debts of Honor.
Debts of honor, so called, are those
unknown to the law and which cannot
be collected by legal process. Among
them are debts contracted at tbe gamb
ling table or in other forms of betting,
and the security is simply that of in
dividual obligation among people of
the same kind. Wlutever the law re
gards as contrary to public policy
comes under this head, the law de
clining to assist in corrupting the
people by legitimatizing such transac
tions. In European countries the
debts which have only moral instead
of legal security are more numerous
than in this country. A series of re
ports from United States consuls on
this feature of the laws of foreign
countries has been recently publish
ed, in answer to a circular from the
National Board of Trade. This circu
lar asked the consuls to collect evi
dence as to what debts are not col
lectible by law in the various coun
tries and to state how they are gener
ally paid. Tlie answers reveal some
interesting local customs.
Tbe general summary shows that
though debts of honor are outside the
legal pale they are usually paid in
full, tne penalty for refusing payment
being tnat the delinquent debtor is
ostracised by the clubs and other or
ganizations which provide the means
lor contracting the obligations. This
appears to follow the general rule, for
in all parts of the world such debts
are ordinarily paid, even though the
debtor is execution proof and refuses
to pay what the law would otherwise
compel him to pay. In Sweeden doc
tors’ bills are debts of honor, as they
also are in Austria, while in the latter
country a lawyer’s fee that reaches
ine amount of tbe property in litiga
tion has no standing in court.
China has a long sched
ule of debts of honor, among them
being services rendered by physicians
dentists, priests, fortune-tellers, clair
voyants aud others and moneys loan
ed ac rates exceeeing the legal rate of
interest, it is regarded as a disgrace
to be a drunkard or to supply a drunk
ard with liquor, so that drinking debts
are extremely rare. On this point the
consul at Amoy says that when such
debts do exist the creditor is both
ashamed and afraid to acknowledge
the fact, and, as a natural consequence,
to take any step toward the enforce
ment of his rights : In both Germany
and France a man may be sued for a
drinking debt. Few European bank
rupts ever pay in full, perhaps be
cause those who can do so do not fail
in business. Bankruptcy does not re
lieve tbe Russian debtor, who must
pay whenever he is able to do so. In
Russia and Greece debts never outlaw,
iu France outlawed debts are seldom
paid, in Belgium, of six hundred and
twenty bankrupts in a period of ten
years only twelve were rehabilitated.
Though in many European countries
tbe winuer of a bet cannot enforce
collection in the courts, there are
some exceptions to the rule. In Italy,
the Netherlands, Russia and Spain
the laws enforce the payment of bets
made on athletic contests, such as foot
ball, cricket, racing, etc., the excep
tion being evidently maae to encour
age tbe athletic sports to which the
youth does not take very kindly. The
moral seems to be from all this, the
less law there is in some instances to
compel the payment of an obligation
tbe more scrupulous the debtor is to
discharge it. There are few instances
where gambling debts and others out
side tbe protection of tbe law are not
promptly met if it is within tbe power
of the debtor. It is this that preserves
the gambler’s occupation, since if his
debtors were not held by something
outside the law itself the debts would
never be paid, and gambling would
not pay those who win. It is a pecu
liar state of affairs which shows men
more willing to pay such debts than
they are to pay those recognized by
the laws.— Milwaukee Journal.
Tbe ocean contains several fish which
clothe or adorn themselves, the most con
spicuous of them being the antennarions,
a small fish Ire quanting the Saragossa Sea
which literally clothes itself with seaweed
fastening the pieces together with sticky,
gelatinous strings, and then holding tbe
garment on with its fore fins. __ -j