Newspaper Page Text
JOURNAL AND MESSENGER.
CLISBY & JONES, Proprietors.
THE FAMILY JOURNAL—NEWS—POLITICS- LITERATURE—AGRICULTURE—DOMESTIC NEWS, Etc.—PRICE $2.00 PER ANNUM.
GEORGIA TELEGRAPH BUILDING
TABLISDED1826-
MACOST, FRIDAY, JULY 9, 1880.
VOLUME XO—LV
at fifty-three.
My feet have on the stiirs remained.
My limbs have yet the strength to climb;
Just now another step was gained
Upon the steep, rough ledge of Time.
But cliDg and clamber as I may,
The strength must fail which fails to
all;
•Somewhere I know upon the way,
I’m doomed to stumble, faint and fall.
It may bo that the steps, alas,
Now severed from the broken stairs,
Which stood but till my feet could pass,
Then crashed into the vanished years.
It may be those, so brief to count,
Though others onward endless stretch,
Were all that I was sent to mount,
And more, one more I cannot reach.
All, be it thus or otherwise,
To Thee, O God, for help I call
Help, less that I may higher rise,
Than be prepared to rise or fall!
L. E. Bleckley,
Mountain Cabin, Rabun county, July 4.
TOSSED ON THE BILLOWS
FATE.
BT SPRING LEAVES.
OF
Written for this paper.]
chapter II.
‘‘Sit beside me, Mr. Rabau,” began the
sick man. “I have called you here to ask
a great favor; one that may seem incon
sistent with your being a stranger, and yet
I feel an unaccountable confidence in
your readiness to comply, and never be
tray the trust I impose. It is this: I am
dying, and my daughter is among stran
gers—going to a strange land; will you be
a friend to her, and help her to find her
father’s old friends, who I am sure will
be kind to my orphan child. She has
never known the real disease from which
I suiTered, and though consumption con
tended for my life, I hoped to keep death
at bay until 1 reached my native laud and
renewed my old friendships for her sake.
I have steadily been growing weaker, un
til tbd final suffocation has seized me, and
I must go.”
Here his voice choked, and a convul
sive shudder over the girl’s frame was all
that spoke of her consciousness.
“My daughter is not penniless. In that
trunk,” pointing to a trunk in a corner of
gie room, “is a box which contains her
money—sixty thousand dollars; this I
also entrust to your care and manage
ment. Now, Mr. Rabau,” lie continued,
looking steadily in his eyes, “will you
promise, in the presence of God and the
spirits that arc to bear my soul from
earth, that yon will fulfill my dying re
quest conscientiously?”
“With God’s help, I shall do as you de
sire,” said Raban, taking the trembling
band that was extended to him. “I
know that it is a sacred trust, and that
you hesitate to confide it to one whom you
have known so short a time; yet I call on
God to witness my sincerity in making
this promise, and as I deal with your
daughter, so may He deal with me. All
that can promote her comfcrt and happi
ness shall be assiduously attended to.
This shall be the object of my future
life.”
“May God bless you for the peace of
mind with which my dying hour is bless
ed. Providence must hare sent .you to
be my friend in this hour of need. Ad
mit no one, please, until ail is over.”
The weary lids were closed, the trem
bling vc ice was hushed, the tired breath
grew fainter, until the soul shook off its
mortal garments, and took to itself wings
of immortality, and leaving its house of
clay, soared upward to realms of bliss.
Tliesstrong, brave spirit of the daughter
grew faint. The sudden appearance of
death to a heart so full of hope was more
than the brain could bear; so that when
she was raised by kindly hands from her
kneeling position by the side of her fath
er’s cold form sensibility had flown,
and she sank “unconscious of the daylight
or the darknes.”
On their arrival at Liverpool the house
of a warm-hearted friend, who had been
the friend of his childhood, opened to re
ceive his beautitul and seemingly uncon
scious charge.
Nothing was spared that could possi
bly be beneficial. • The tenderest and
most vigilant care was lavished, and every
effort made to restore life to the appar
ently inanimate form of Eugenic.
During this time Ernest Raban suffered
also. The weary hours were spent in
earnest and sincere grief for the hopeless
condition of one who claimed a double
share of the great., tender heart that now
beat so heavily.
How he longed to see the fresh, bright
face raised to his, 03 he had seen it dur
ing their early acquaintance, and yet
thought how pale and death-like that face
must now be.
The physicians told him how near
death hovered.
Could she die—so fair a creature?
Could fate snatch her just as she had
keen given? Too true; she is human, and
subject to tbe established laws of God,
and He
“Acts not by partial, but by universal
laws.” *
And she, though lovely beyond earth,
must die, as all others do.
——‘‘Tremendous thought! That frame,
So costly in its workmanship——,
is doomed to break;
And fall in pieces like a common vase
Of perishable clay.”
Raban sat several long ho.urs, indulg
ing his dying hopes with these sad reflec
tions; when, suddenly rising and going to
the door, he exclaimed:
“I must see her once again, ere death
claims her. I must look upon her calm
sweet face, if only a moment, ere it puts
on its rigid coldness.”
He passed through the door into the
passage, softly up the stairs, and, listening
one breathless moment at the door, en
tered quietly and went to the bedside,
where the nurse and Mrs. Garnet, his
kind hostess, were seated. They resigned
their places as though it were his perfect
right.
He looked upon the pale, silent face in
anguish; her breathing the only indication
of life. •
One delicate, white hand lay motion
less by her side. He touched it gently
and pressed it to his lips with reverence;
and then, as if he were calling her spirit
back, he cried, “Eugenie," bending over
her as if to implore her to stay.
Oh, joyous moment! she opened her
eyes and looked into his, at first with a
vacant stare, which was followed by a
slignt smile. Raban’s heart was now fill
ed with hope, and not in vain; for gradu
ally she awoke from her lethargic stupor;
and when her mental faculties became
more comprehensive, the past came to her
memory, and she recalled each circum
stance up to the time of her father’s
death.
.JS&fy father *is dead, is he not?” she
asked the nurse, hopeful, perhaps, that it
was a dream.
“Yes,” replied the nurse, not trying to
■conceal the truth, “but you are with
friends.”
“What lriends? I didn’t know I had
any friends here. This is not the Ship, is
it?” she asked.
“This is Liverpool,” answered the
nurse, “and, although your friends are
strangers, they are friends for all tnat.”
“Where is Mr. Raban?” she inquired
with slight hesitation.
‘•He is in the house. He has been very
anxious about you.
Eugenie remembered her father’s dying
request to him, and realized her position
as under obligations to him and his
friends. How could she feel otherwise
than grateful for this kindly care from
strangers in a strange land.
chapter in.
As the bright days of summer came
Eugenie improved so rapidly that the
sick-nurse was soon dismissed, and Mrs.
Garnet, with the tenderest of motherly
care, took her in charge.
Mrs. Garnet’s married life had not
been blessed with children, and all the
love and tenderness pent up in a heart
loving and affectionate, she now bestow
ed on Eugenie.
Every thought was for her comfort or
pleasure, and she addressed her by tlie
sweet epithets, “my child,” “my darling,”
and declared that Eugenio should never
leave her. Each morning she brought
fresh beautiful flowers to the room, and
adorned the walls with bright, interesting
pictures. She would wheel Eugenie’s
chair near the window, where she could
lookout at the flower garden beneath,
and then read aloud from the books which
Raban bad sent up; among others all
of Irwin Muller’s, to while away the tedi
um of convalescence.
Eugenie Hargarth’s was not a heart to
look with calm indifference on such man
ifestations of interest; being naturally an
inpulsive creature her heart was full to
overflowing with gratitude and love that
her lips were constantly trying to tell.
At length she so lar recovered her
strength that Mrs. Gar.iet, one evening at
the hour of tea, led her to the cozy little
parlor below, where her husband, a great
jovial man, sat recalling to Raban’s mind
the pleasant reminiscences of the past.
The laughing blue eyes were bright and
pleasant; his countenance open and frank,
and the whole expression was that of a
person to whom care was almost un
known, who defied melancholy and em
braced mirth and happiness with Ills
whole soul.
As they entered the room he greeted
Eugenie with greatest cordiality, and ex
pressed pleasure at the recovery, and her
ability to leave her jail, as he termed her
room.
Raban’s pleasure was not so boisterous
or noisy, and she was aware that he felt
more deeply; for, as she laid her hand in
the one he extended and raised her eyes
to his, could she not see what unbounded
gratitude was speaking so eloquently
from his soul?—gratitude for her restora
tion. How her heart went out to him
wheu she remembered all that had been
told her of his deep concern during her
illness.
The evening passed pleasantly and rap
idly.
Mrs. Garnet seemed rapt in her new
devotion, and her husband, partaking of
ills wife’s enthusiasm, felt him3elf called
upon to make the time rass pleasantly;
while Raban sat noting the changes that
grief and suffering had wrought in their
combined and terrible forces. The eyes
retained their original thoughtfulness
which was deepened by sadness, her man
ners had lost the -vivacity that character
ized them, and all her movements seemed
mechanical, as if sorrow had mastered
every nerve; the cheeks had not yet re
gained their fresh color, yet the heart was
surely in possession of all its noble quali
ties, and was still warm and appreciative.
“I hope, Miss Hargartli,” said Raban
as they were about to separate for tlie
nigbt, “that you will recover your strength
speedily. I have awaited your presence
to examine the contents of the box that
contains your money, and consequently it
has lain idle when it should have been ac
cumulating.” .
“To-night then," exclaimed Eugenie,
brightening visibly, “let us open it to
night.”
Her eagerness silenced all objections;
and a large trunk was wheeled into tlie
room, from which was taken a box, which
was placed on a table between Eugenie
and Raban. Their host and hostess
would have left them, but Eugenie press
ed them to remain.
Raban unlocked tbe box and opened it,
aud they beheld—not the bright gold, oli
treacherous world! but only an iron
weight and a folded sheet of paper ad
dressed to Howard Hargarth. For one
moment they sat transfixed with the in
tense and horrible surprise that such a
circumstance only could call forth; then
Eugenie seized the payer and read aloud:
“New York, Mag 5th.
“Hoicard Ilargarth—No doubt you
have heard of ‘Vituroy,’ a name that
thrills the cities of the North with terror.
He now writes to inform you that it is he,
who, by means of a most ingenious strate-
gem, has made himself possessor of your
thousands, and leaves you a beggar with
no scruples whatever. As I learn you
are an invalid, and can, therefore, make
no exertion to maintain yourself, I tender
you my sincere wishes tor a comfortable
life in the‘paupers! home.’” _
“Monster!” exclaimed Eugenie, all the
warmth of her nature aroused. “Would
I were a man that I might hunt the world
over for this villain.”
Raban arose to bis feet and began pac
ing the room with firm, quiet strides—vin
dictive thoughts rushing madly through
liis brain. He now more than ever felt
the importance of fulfilling his promise to
the dead father, and there was surely
none more competent to such a trust.
“Well,” said Eugenie, after a long,
thoughtful pause, “1 am glad that my
poor father knew nothing of it; as it is, I
am the only sufferer, and others, perhaps
less able than myself, have had to batth
with poverty.”
“Oh! Eugenie,” exclaimed Mrs. Gar
net, springing to her and folding her in
her arms, “how can you speak of suffer
ing? Are you not mine more than ever?
Do you think that I could give you up?”
“My dear friend,” she answered passion
ately. “heaven knows how well I love and
thank you for your kindness; God will
bless you for it, I am sure He will; and
yet I would loathe myself if I should be
come an object of charity.”
“Not you, my darling,” she expostu
lated, tears welling up to her eyes, “but
me. I would be the object. Have I not
prayed that heaven would give me just
such a dear child as yourself? And now
can you be so cruel as to spurn my love?”
“I do not,” said Eugenie, her whole
frame trembling in the contest-of her feel
ings with her indomitable pride. “It Is a
precious gift, and yet shall I forfeit my
self-respect? Qb, my friend, we might
have been happy but for this,” and she
crushed the hated paper. “As it is, ray
sufferings will be rendered ten-fold more
acute by the thought that I have wound
ed your dear, loving heart; therefore, pity,
but co not censure me?”
Mrs. Garnet buried her face on Eu
genie’s shoulder as if to stifle the sorrow
she knew was piercing her darling’s heart.
She now began; to comprehend her rare
nature; how impossible that she could
stoop from a wealth of pride that was in
surmountable. It was her natural dow
er, and all her joys or sorrows, her pleas
ures or pains must bow before this usurp
ing power. The hardships and toils of
the world sank into nothingness before
the thought of clinging, like an incompe
tent suppliant, to the charity of friends.
Degrading thonght! take refugo in obliv
ion; for there is no indulgence for thee in
the lofty chambers of that proud heart.
Raban was immersed in thoughts of
justice to the demon thief, yet Eugenie’s
words smote on his heart like an agoniz
ing weight. After a pause he advanced
toward her and looked appealingly into
her eyes.
“Miss Hargarth, do you remember your
father’s last request to me?”
“I do,” she replied firmly.
“And do you think that the sincerity of
my promise can be altered by circum
stances ?”
“I have no idea of such a thing, and I
cannot express half the depth of my ap
preciation of your kindness; yet my father
did not intend to leave you "a beggar to
care for; and your friends shall not he
burdened with one. You arc now relieved
of all trust and responsibility. In as short
a time as possible I shall begin the task
that fate has assigned me.”
“Surely you would not cast yourself on
the mercy of a world so full of treach
ery !” exclaimed lie, becoming more ur
gent. “You could not forsako this kind
friend,” referring to Mrs. Garnet, “whose
life seems to have become centered in
you! You would not thwart the best and
dearest wishes of my heart to be of some
service to you. Every effort shall be
made to recover your lost fortune, and,
in the meantime, can you not be happy
here ? Oh! do consider the pain you in
flict, and the annoyances you will incur.”
Here Mrs. Garnet left the room, leaning
on her husband’s arm, leaving her cause
in the hands of a ready advocate.
“You do not know how utterly wretch
ed I slieuld be to know that you were bat
tling with the hardships of poverty, when
it would be tlie greatest pleasure earth
could give to lay my heart at your feet,
and devote my life to your happiness.
May I not, Eugenie, shield you from this
impending struggle; will yon not bless my
future life with your sweet presence ? Al
though our acquaintance has been brief,
you do not understand how dear you are
to me.”
She stood listening to the words that
held out the prospect of continuous hap
piness with him whose image was impress
ed so sensibly on her heart from the first
moment she saw him.
Why shonld she not fly to his arms and
take refuge iu his love from the storms of
life ? but, no, inevitable fate decrees oth
erwise.
“Forgive me,” she said, her voice trem
bling With her emotion, “if! distress you,
but I cannot deviate from the path that
seems duty. God must have intended
that I should pursue this course, or I
should not have been so afilcted. Do not
lament my destiny, and if I grieve you 1
ask you again to forgive me.” And she
rushed from tlie room ere another word
could issue from the heart she had bruised
and tortured.
chapter iv.
After her painful conversation with Ra-
ban, Eugenie went to the room, aud al
most the first thing she saw before enter
ing, was the morning paper, which Mis.
Garnet had brought there during the day.
She seized it and began rapidly reading
over tlie advertisements; Finally she
read:
“Wanted.—A companion for an old
lady aud instructress tor a small girl.
Come to Dently Hall or address Mrs. A.
L. Dently, Gtenco, England.”
She caught at this opening, and deter
mined to hasten to Dently Hall in person,
and thereby put an end to all efforts to
dissuade her.
entered the room,
She w&3 arrayed in fawn-colored silk;
gay and flashy ribbons and bows decor
ated her person in vulgar profusion, and
large, heavy jewelry, in a like quantity,
added to the absurd appearance. This
alone was sufficient to suggest the plebian,
without contrasting the aged and wrinkled
face, whose artificial beauty was too per
ceptible.
All of Eugenie’s strict ideas of modesty
were shocked, and she scarcely gathered
courage to make known the object of her
visit.
“Oh, yes,” she said, when Eugenie had
spoken, “you are to be my companion.
Then we must be the best of friends from
the beginning. Come to the window,
dear,” she continued, taking Eugenie’#
hand, who felt that the very touch of so
coarse a creature was contaminating,
“Oh, how lovely!” she exclaimed, as
she stood with one hand on her shoulder,
scrutinizing her face, “beautiful as a fairy-
goddess!—a perfect Madona! And what
did yon say was your name, my peerless
little witch?”
“Eunice Haugood,” said she, scarcely
able to repress her contempt and aversion
to such unwarrantable familiarity.
She realized the contrast between this
woman and Ertgenie Hargarth’s standard,
and felt that since she had willingly aban
doned a home fraught with love and re
finement, that the name that had known
naught of coarseness should also he re
linquished, and she would now enter a
new life with different hopes and pros
pects, different associations and a differ
ent name.
“Then come with me, Eunice,” said
Mrs. Dently, passing her arm around Eu
genie’s waist as they left the room.
chapter v.
Eugenie now- considered herself in her
new home, with the resolution to adapt
herself as much as possible to its eccen
tricities.
When she had had more time to study
the nature of her employer, slie discovered
a hidden something in the depths of her
blue eyes tliat seemed ever restless. Could
it be evil or guilt that distracted her
thoughts so at times, and made her start
with a frightened look when addressed, as
if some important secret had been betray
ed. This mystery was so perceptible to
the young companion, and awakened so
much interest that she liked for these
moods to come over her that she might
study to discover the nature of her
thoughts and emotions. However, noth
ing was explained. She never referred to
her past life, and this silence caused Eu
genie to conclude that some unpleasant
ness of the past constituted the mystery.
All her surroundings were costly, and
yet little taste was displayed either in the
selection or arrangement. It was too
evident that she had been debarred from
refining influences in lier early life. “Per
haps,” thought Eugenie,” she has been
raised from privation and want by an in
heritance she does’nt know ho|T to use.”
The little pupil proved to be a bright,
interesting little girl of only six years, an
orphaned grandchild of Mis. Dently’s.
Tlie youthful instructress entered into
this duty with zeal and interest. She de
termined to instill a refined taste .and
pure and correct ideas in this young mind,
and, if possible, shield it from tbe grand-
Eugenie’s lips involuutarily culed as she house unperceived, and found her way to
the garden. She had been seated only a
few moments on a rustic bench, which
wt» sheltered by the drooping brandies
of an elm, when Lionel Dently came and
seated himself beside her, as if it were his
perfect right to thrust himself on her at
his pleasure.
For some time he sat silently watching
the play of her countenance, and he must
have seen the repulsion she could uot
conceal.
“Miss Haugood,” ho at length said, not
withdrawing his gaze, “what do you
think of Heneibuign’s sentiments with re
gard to pre-existence ?”
“I think them the result of a fanatical
brain,” she .replied with ardor, yet-won
dering at the question.
“I differ with you,” he replied with a
Here he paused, and then, with a sort of
triumphant grin, continued: “I believe
that I have lived before, and that you
were my wife.”
She could bear no more; her pride and
contempt leaped over the barrier which
had guarded them.
“How dare you address me in this
manner?” she exclaimed, rising to her
feet in her indignation.
“Oh! as far as that’s concerned,” he
said coolly, “I feel no hesitation in ex
pressing myself. I have seen your indif
ference, or dislike, but that is of little con
sequence to me; however, had it not been
for that I should have come to you and
asked you to be my wife in a respectful
Mrs. Felton took from her pocket a card, Extract From Ex-GoYOrnor Joseph
on which she wrote. Eugenie, by acci- -- T „,_
dent, read “Come to the park iuunedi- E. Brown s, Atlanta, 4ta. ot July
ately.” This was sent into a large build- Oration.
Wa3 ’ “ Te,esrai,h ° mce ’” I Independence day was celebrated with
Asrssw asttasgJBSSft
^XSSSaSiM^ 5 por ‘
this they emerged into a broad, smooth **Won »■
Suddenly the carriage turned into an afiairs. In my honest opinion the best
enclosure, and Eugenie perceived that thw'fifnSrf
they were passing through an avenue of
lofty elms, whose branches were so inter- j™ Mbertle#cf tba tpdtnkfp
ssssstzsJffurA aSMpa:aa&*daa
peculiar smile, “and my sympathy with a mansion of pleasing'dimensions stood, IWPJ . * !“-"
him is based on my own experience.” proudly grand. ’ P*?*™sense. I believe that tbcinter-
-- - - ParforJo. „„„„ ests of this whole country require it. And
nlots moon and wavin'* prvsf*) fnmiS you have tills great point to encourage
sprinkfin'* their silvervsnrav in all dhec’ you ’ Durln ? the reconstruction period,
K5sS«££Si S&E&S&SBs
Eugeneslrnart iwrant- in fl.iPW, d leans and to exercise it iu Louisiana and
hkf hr.antv^.Un v^v t Texas. What was the result? While
with heave y nlv breeres laaen , there, clothed with all the plenitude of
Shft fplt ihat thn wnriii nraa I military power, with tho right under the
nr^/inD.u law •» dojust ks he pleasedln this matter,
Itanrv^limno n subject only to the will of tho President,
i°“lH Jfeani . "’ho left everything to him, he refused to
“Doyoulikeft?” asked Mm* Felton, 1 pennit the supreme power to be military;
smiling as she sat watching her evident
manner; but since your aversion for me' delight.
but placed tlie civil over tbe military.
[Applause.] Cau you not trust a man in
135 a perfect paradLse! ” excIaimed ' times like 6 those?’ 'iUu.Tyoumay^tA^
every power that exists. I don’t expect own?” she asked. | wld aSj* feelbU if
you to love me. Heave such silly stuff “I would not wish to deprive you, even General Hancock lives to’the fourth of
as that to scliool-cMIdreu. I hope you’ll if it were possible,” answered she, won- T kIarcIi ' nex , Jie wi]I be president r Great
make no attempt to baffle me.” dering at sueh a question. ! Siisel Wew ULele-thimhi Norem
“Villain,” she exclaimed, burning with “It is my brother’s home,” she said, ber! We will have no electoral commis-
rage, “do you think I am powerless to re- smiling significantly. “He is now absent. sion n ” s to “ aud we wiI \ inaugurate him
sent your insults? I have a friend who, I reside in the city, but his home is always on tbc fourth ^ March . [Applause.]
with a word from me, will avenge my at my disposal, and I think it so lovely j Attbe late convention hi Cincinnati
* ™“ ld *■*“• death - ’ , . f 1 a “ 3 ^ rea -, deal Wlth , the f h,! - there was diversity of opinion, and natii-
“Aud death is all that can avert it. dren, who enjoy it quite as much as my- ^Hy so. There were those of our South-
Resistance is useless. Ihere are too j self. J ern friends who were anxious to take.a
many says to subdue tha stubborn; — 1 11 ? v—— »...*
please understand, you shall be my
if the whole world should try to
The night was spent in earnest medita- mother’s corrupt and vulgar judgment,
tion. Plans were arranged for future j She kept tbe little Daisie almost constant-
pursuance, resolutions were formed to [ ly with her, and won the child’s heart so
banish all weakness of purpose, and all
the strength of her nature was called into
requisition to nerve her for future action.
Hurriedly in the morning she attired
herself, aud, without delay, crept silently
down the stairs and sought out Mrs. Gar
net’s room. Lightly she stepped across
the thresholds Her benefactress was re
clining on the violet cushions of a large
easy chair. Her eyes were closed aud
her regular breathing told that she slept.
Softly Engenie stole to her side, and gazed
for one moment on the unconscious face;
then stooped and pressed one light, loving
kiss on her brow, and sped quickly from
the room into the streets.
She hastened through the strange and
unfamiliar streets, her thick, black veil
drawn closely to conceal her emotion
from curious eyes. -
Onward she sped, regardiess of whither
her footsteps tended, speedily as if some
power would force her back.
She finally recalled her absent thoughts,
took a seat in a passing cab, and was con
veyed to the depot, from whence she
must begin her railway journey.
Soon the pulling engine was rushing
with lightning speed through hill and over
plains far away from the city. Eugenie
sat as one in a dream, trying to imagine
the character of her future life, thinking
of tlie different circumstances of tbe recent
past, and dwelling with tenderness and
deepest feeling on the love that had been
bestowed so lavishly on her. This love
was the great obstacle to her happiness.
She sorrowed ior the grief she had caused
those two loving hearts; tbe one so pure
and gentle; the other so true, so noble,
and so brave. However, as these thoughts
progressed the train was speeding along
with great velocity, and soon the sad
dreamer was awakened from her reverie
by the call, “Glenco,” and she arose and
quit the train to behold a small, but neat
and flourishing town.
For one moment the smoking engine
stood panting as if impatient to be off,
then darted away and was lost in the dis
tance.
Eugenie walked slowly and sadly, as if
all ber movements were in keeping with
her heart, into the little hotel whose
doors were thrown invitingly open.
She entered the office where a pleasant
lqoking, gray-eyed gentleman sat writing
at a desk. He arose as he noticed her en
trance, and began rubbing his hands to
gether and smiling quite blandly.
“Can you tell me how far it is to Dently
Hall?” asked Eugenie, taking no notice
of his gracious bows and smiles.
“It is only two miles,” he replied; “will
you have a conveyance to carry you out
this afternoon, or remain here until morn
ing?”
“I will go immediately,” she answered.
“The carriage wijl be at the door in a
few moments,” and he left the room.
She had, indeed, only a few moments
to wait ere the same obsequious gentle
man returned to announce the convey
ance in readiness. He also'conducted ber-
out and assisted ber into the carriage with
pleased gallantry.
She sat in the same dream-like sadness
to the end of her journey; all her eager
ness for new scenes lay buried in the ob
livion of the past.
She was aroused by the stopping of the
carriage, and, raising her eyes, Dently
Hall stood before her. A large, awkward
structure, which presented so weird an ap
pearance even from the outside that it
instantly reminded one of ghosts. The
gray stone was shaded densely by lofty
cypresses that sounded mournful dirges as
tlie breeze sighed through their branches.
There was an old-fashioned court, the
gate to which was opened by an old man
who stood with his hat off as the carriage
entered.
Eugenie quit tbe carriage and proceed
ed up the broad stone steps. She touched
the bell and the door was thrown open,
as ifeager to swallow her, by a servant
whose costume was strikingly pretentious;
brass buttons and stripes vying with
each other for notoriety.
She was ushered into a private parior to
! await Mrs. Dentiv's appearance, who tar-
j ried as though making ready for some
gala reception. However, she came, and
completely that slie treated her wishes
and commands with the greatest respect
and sacred obedience.
Though Mrs. Dently, perhaps, did not
understand the feeling ot tenderness that
existed between them, still she looked on
with approval, and they were permitted
to w alk, ride, or sit together as they
pleased.
Daisie was continually talking of an un
cle whom she seemed to love passionately,
and whom she learned was a member of
that household, indefinitely absent, as he.
often was. She heard so many accounts
from the child of “Uncle Lion’s” love for
her and goodness, that she learned to
think of him with favor, although the sou
of a plebian mother.
There was a garden at the hack sf the
house, where choice fruits and rare flow
ers abounded, owing to an experienced
gardener having full control. Here Eu
genie and her little pupil loved to linger,
surveying its winding paths, gathering
flowers; or, at eventide, to sit under the
heavily laden fruit trees and enjoy the
gorgeous sunsets of an Indian summer.
It was on an occasion of this kind that
Eugenie sat relating to Daisie some story
she had heard in her childhood, and at
the same time arranging the flowers they
had gathered, when she was startled by a
voice near her. “Whew!” it said, “what
a stunner!” she sprang to her feet to con
front a stranger with his eyes fixed on her
face.
“It is Uncle Lion,” shrieked Daisie,
bounding toward him. He caught her in
his arms, and as her little arms were
clasped around his neck he kissed her re
peatedly.
“I am so glad you have come back,”
exclaimed the delighted child.” I wanted
you to see Miss Eunice.”
With this he looked toward her, with
the flowers all scattered at her feet. The
rich blood mounted to her cheeks as he
stood gazing at her with embarrassed
boldness. She would have fled from tbe
sight of those daring, withering eyes; the
mother’s own blue with that chief ex
pression, brought out in such bold relief
that demon and villain were stamped on
every line of Lis countenance.
“I Lave jusl^eturaed from a long voy
age,” he began with an impudent smile
on his face, “and hearing voices in the
garden, I came, expecting to find my
mother instead of so fair an enchantress.”
“Excuse me, sir,” she said, indignantly.
“I dare say you will find Mrs. Dently in
the house.” With this she turned and
left him standing there.
When she knew that ho had gone she
looked back and saw his retreating figure,
bearing Daisie in his arms and listening
to her innocent prattle.
“What a Hercules,” she exclaimed as
she watched his giant form uutil he en
tered the house; “strange that such a
creature is capable of such love for a
child. I cannot live here and come in
daily contact with such a being.”
After a few moments she returned to
the house and sought the seclusion of her
room. When tlie hour had passed for
them to assemble in the library, as was
their custom, a servant came with tho
message that Mrs. Dently desired her
presence, as usual. She obeyed the sum
mon with reluctance, and yet It was a
duty.
As she entered the room the mother in
troduced her with due form to Mr. Lionel
Dently, who was surprisingly polite and
kind, considering his former unpleasant
conduct; yet, despite his gentlemanly
manner on this occasion, there was that
lurking expression to remind you that the
villain was still there.
Although she made every effort to avoid
him as much as possible, he was constant
ly crossing her path or requesting inter
views, and so long as he remained re
spectful she had few excuses for not doing
so. In this way she saw more of him
than she wished; for she recoiled from
him with implacable horror; and his at
tentions, which were becoming too point
ed, were not only discouraged, but re-
E ulsed as much as possible, not to excite
is ire; for she knew that tbe qualities of
the fiend were only dormant for a season.
One evening Eugenie stole out of tbe
vent it.”
The unfortunate and lone girl was filled
with intense fear when he spoke those
daring words, and those demon eyes
glared with such fiendish determination,
ahe turned and left him standing there,
and hurried mto the house.
A headache excused her from the
nightly gathering, and the hours of dark
ness were spent in serious thoughts as to
some means of escape from the snare
that threatened. She knew that she had
a villain with whom to contend, who
would not shrink from the most atrocious
deed, hence her extreme anxiety to es
cape without delay
ure, to seek the children in the grounds, f erre d together on that subject. And I
feeling sure of finding them there. ' a m glad to say that we generally agree in
[To be continued.] our line of policy. And we determined
FARM AND HOUSEHOLD.
that it was better to take a man whose
Union record was above reprpach and let
the South rally to him. And we did not
T la. r n t¥T ' » uo wuiu lull) iu UUUt XXIJU »YC U1U AJUb
Letter from Gen. \\ m. M. Browne, pro- 1 throw our influence in favor of any candi-
fessor of agriculture m the University of date who did not have that qualification.
Georgia: i As I say, my honorable colleague and I
, . , , , , UAY : , , . i agreed on that subject, aad as I do not
A few days labor devoted to cutting see him present, and shall not ofi'end his
auu curing ail the crab grass and crow- ; modesty, allow me to say I was proud to
foot hay that can be possibly saved, will agree with him, for X consider him the
prove time well spent by furnishing an grandest orator in the Senate of the Unit-
abundance of “roughage” at very small c d States. [Great applause.]
. - cost, which will prove a valuable auxilia-| Men had their different favorites there;
Thus another night was spent in sleep- ry to tlie fodder stacks. The hay should but when Hancock’s name was mentioned
lessncss, and another dawn witnessed her be cut or pulled when it is in bloom. It the callerv on one side organized for one
should not be left until perfectly dry. ; candidate, and the gallery on the other
_ , , , clover. I side organized for another candidate,
. “ 18 wonderful how nature keeps her were unable to retain their silence. The
rich treasures stowed up until our necessi-; mention of his naiue, ihough placed be
lies oblige us to search for them. - The fore the convention by an individual, as
fertility accumulated in tbe virgin soil has his State was divided and they would not
been sufficient for one wusteiul generation, present him, caught like wildfire iu the
and now the little brown clorer seed galleries and descended to tbe floor and
comes to the front to • furnish tlie means the scene was an electrical one. And af-
by which the elements of fertility may be ter the nomination was made, it caught
absorbed from the atmosphere and out among the masses and it is going all
pumped out of the earth to supply the over the North.
needs of another and, we hope, less im- j i have said Hancock is stronger than
provident generation. On most of our , bis party. He commanded a hundred
clay lands, five or six pounds of clover ' thousand men at the end of the war and
seed and two or three hundred pounds of they all like him. And you know how It
gypsum will, in a little more than twelve : is when it comes to a soldier’s voting
months—if the soil be not entirely ex- ' against his general. He is not very likely
hausted—be converted into upwards of. to do it. [Laughter and applause']
two tons of good hay; and this material Well, I think I may predict with safety
has been chiefly derived from the air by that we shall have a change of adminis-
the plants which have changed carbonic ‘ traiion. And when the Democracy get
acid and oxygen into solid matter in their , hack into power we will return to the old
stems and leaves, and which, when they paths of our fathers. Then it will he
have completed their growth and decay, ■ right that the Republican party watch our
they deposit this fertilizing matter iu the evsry movement closely; and when we
soil just where it is wanted by, and in the . abuse our power let the people set us
best condition for the use of the next crop, i aside and place them, or some other party,
active preparation for escape,
She crept slowly and cautiously from
the house, lest the unconscious sleepers
should be awakened. She carried noth
ing with her save a small purse, which,
fortunately, Sirs. Dently had replenished
only a few days previously. f * *
She reached the gate; it was tried and
found locked, but,' with unembarrassed
zeal, she endeavored to climb over; and,
with almost superhuman exertions, bouy-
ed by the sense of her danger and a brave,
strong heart, she finally overcome this
barrier and reached the other side with a
few bruises and cuts from the iron bars.
She hurried on to the little town just
two miles distant, and arrived in time to
meet the London bound train. What a
sense of security she must have felt as she
took a seat and the train moved otf. How
ever, she believed he would defy her ef
forts to escape, and should he find her
place of refuge, he would, by some un
principled means, endeavor to once more
get ber in his power.
But where would be that place ot
refuge ? What au appalling situation for
a young and inexperienced girl; alone, no
friend, no kindred, being hurried on to
♦he great metropolis, destitute, unprotect
ed and unknown. She was possessed of
dauntless courage, aud yet these reflec
tions so overcome her that she buried her
fair, thoughtful face iu her hands and
wept bitterly, forgetting her surroundings
in intense lamentation for her sad fate.
“Can I be of any assistance to you?”
she heard a soft, sweet voice say close to
her ear. She did not move. Perhaps
those gentle tones were mistaken for the
soothing notes ef a guardian angel come
to minister words of comfort to her droop
ing heart.
“If you will allow me perhaps I can
alleviate your grief to some extent,” it
said again.
This time Eugenie raised her sad, tear
ful eyes to a kind face that was looking
anxiously into hers. There wps some
thing Iu the face that gained her confi
dence.
“A home,” replied Eugente, “that I
may obtain by my labor, is what I desire.
I thank you very'much for your kindness,
and if you have acquaintances in London,
I will feel deeply grateful if you will tell
me where to find employment.
“Would you like to teaifii children—be
a sort ot governess for them ?”
“I should like it very much,” she an-
swered.
“Then I will be glad to have you go
with me to my home, and act in this ca
pacity to my little girls.”
“Howl thank you,” exclaimed Eu
genie, impulsively grasping her hand.
“Perhaps I can tell you iu the future from
what a fearful dilemma you have rescued
me, and you will then know how grateful
I am.”
“1 am glad that I was enabled to be of
service to you; and the accommodation
will be mutual; for I have desired an in
structress for my children for some time.
1 do not question your competency; your
face tells of culture and refinement.”
“I shall appreciate the trust of your
children to my care, and I assure you I
shall endeavor to discharge my duty faith
fully. A life of usefulness is, after all,
the happiest life.”
“Yes, it is decidedly so,” answered the
strange lady. “I believe this pari of our
introduction has been neglected,” she
added, handing Eugenio her card, on
which was printed in gilt letters—“Mrs.
L. E. Felton.” She wrote on the back—
“Eugenie Hargarth,” and handed it back.
She had wished for some time to resume
her own name, hut could not consistently
do so where she had assumed a different
one.
When Mrs. Felton read that name her
emotion seemed almost uncontrollable.
She seemed overwhelmed by some emo
tion entirely unaccountable to her com
panion, who sat conjecturing with regard
to its significance. However, no word of
explanation was spoken, and the strange
lady sac immersed in thought; so Eugenie
concluded that the name recalled the
memory of some deceased friend.
Eugenie, being now relieved of her
care, became interested in the delightful
scenery through which they were passing,
and once again all her old thirst and en
thusiasm was aroused. However, the
train soon stopped and mighty London
was before them.
She was aroused by a touch on the arm,
and arose to accompany this new friend
to where a brilliant equlppage stood wait
ing, and the dashing bay* were pawing
the earth impatient with dfl»y.
When they were seated in the carriage
The advantage of clover as a renovator , back in power. It will be better for this
of our worn lands, is not understood or ! country when issues are to be determined
appreciated as it ought to be. Here in 1 upon their merit aud the merit of the ad-
middle and upper Georgia is the field for ; ministration, no matter which party is in
its development, where tbe fertility of tlie ' power. If one abuses power, let the other
soil is becoming less and less every year, : supersede it for a time, just as they do in
and where tbe capacity to restore it by J the English government. It will be bet-
the application of manure is wholly insuf- • ter when the day comes that we have no
ficient. - j longer a solid North and a solid South.
Throughout all the cotton States, the ; it is better now that tbe South stand solid
number of head of stock kept is vastly less ! during the election, but whenever the
than the number of acres in cultivation. I North will divide upon issues of finance
Of the few that are kept, far the greater i and tariff, and other issues, then we can
number arc allowed to run in the fields ! afford to divide upon them. At present
nearly if not all the year. Very, few are j we must stand solid, and stand together,
stabled. Therefore but little manure is When we have tlie Democracy inaugura-
saved, and eveu that little is not sheltered J ted, I think we shall be able to move for-
so as to preserve all its fertilizing ! ward on a wiser line of policy, leaving the
properties. The remedy, inexpensive and ! war issues behind. And every man in
efficient, is clover, if we only have the future will go then for the candidate ac-
patience to try it. The clover roots pene- | cording to his estimate of the wisdom of
trate the soil three, four, five, and, often, their policy. That is what is needed in
six feet, burrowing through it in every this government.
direction, loosening it, pumping up moist- j One tiling more: We have had to aban-
ure from it, as well as the various mineral don one of pur old creeds. Before the war
ingredients of plant food in solution, and we were utterly opposed to internal im-
depositing them in the stems and leaves of provement by the general government as
the plants along with the materials drawn now practiced. We took none of the mon-
from the atmosphere, thus furnishing a ’ ey; we took the honors, and tlie North al-
compost exactly where it is needed, which ( ways got money at every Congress. It
contains silica, lime, potash, soda, magne- 1 turned out, when the struggle came, that
sia, iron, etc. These clover roots are great the money weighed a great deal more
workers. They do not ask for any “eight- 1 than the honors did. [Laughter.] In the
hour” law. They are the very best of all future we must change that policy. We
manufacturers of fertilizers, asking for no pay our part of the money necessary to
liens, factors’ acceptances, or cotion option run this government, and we are entitled
at 15 cents. And not only do they collect, to our part when it comes to a division,
compound and apply the fertilizer, but Our rivers and harbors need improve-
they prepare the ground for tlie coming meat, as do their rivers and harbors. But
crops. They subsoil it in a manner which we need it most because they have long
no subsoil plow can even feebly imitate, had the advantage. When we go up there
They bore and loosen it in every direction hereafter we must go earnestly and hon-
and to a great depth, so that the air can estly and faithfully for the old flag,
penet-ate and warm it and make available but we must ask * for ' the
the mineral elements which it contains. : appropriation also. [Laughter and ap-
And besides this, the growing clover plause.] And, gentlemen, from what I
crop is of great benefit to the laud by tlie have seen duriugthe short period cf my
protection which its dense growth affords service, if we meet the Northern Senators
the soli during the scorching heat of sum- and Representatives in the proper spirit,
mer. This clover not only enriches the they are ready hereafter to give us our
soil by gathering for it the fertilizing ele- pari and make a fair distribution. We
ments which the atmosphere is always ought to encourage it. We ought to take
supplying, and the mineral elements of our share in every improvement; and es-
the earth, but it shades and protects the peciallyto urge them to make such appro-
ground—a channel of fertility. And any priations of the proceeds of the public
one of the advantages to which we have lands as will give us for the time the li-
referred is, in itself, of sufficient value to on’s share, because we have the heavy
pay ten-fold the cost of cultivation. ; task here that they do not have there, of
WEEDS.
All those who cultivate the soil desire
to destroy weeds, but it would seem that
the weeds were “whipping the fight.”
This is attributable to the insufficient
means taken to destroy them. It will
educating the colored race. This is right,
and it is what we should contend for.
[Applause.]
1 have said a great deal more than I in
tended. There are other topics that un
der other circumstances I would like to
not do to pull them up when they are be- discuss, but I will not take more of your
ginning to ripen their seed, or have al- . time at present. Allow me to say that I
ready uone so, and leave them on the sincerely thank you for the kind hearing
ground or give them to the hogs. This is I have had and for tlie order and atten-
the way to disseminate them. The best tion you have observed while I have been
way to get rid of them, in our opinion, is speaking. And let me say, in conclusion,
to pjill them up, sprinkle them liberally that I trust when the election comes we
with quick lime, make compact heaps of will all be at the polls, all ready to do our
them, and they will toon heat and decom- duty and to see Hancock and English
pose. This is better than fire. If the home triumphantly into the position
weeds are green they will only partially where they can hold the balance equal
bum, and :f they are dry there is nothing and liave justice done to all in tbe future,
gained by burning, because they have [Prolonged applause.]
already matured and scattered their seed, p w T, mJtnoer of Atlanta
to, ..1 a,IM.• p™». JSStgiJi “ to™',. Vl“rS
William M. Browne. . pian03 ^ organ!} ln the South> wi n
—The Lancaster, Pennsylvania Intelli- main ln the city a few days for the pur-
gencer says it is able “to state, on perfect pose of attending those requiring the ser-
authority, that Judge Jere S, Black never vices of an expert In his line. He makes
saw General Hancock's celebrated Order fine repairing aspeciality,and furnishes the
No. 40 until it was published.” This dis- best of references and testimonials. Those
poses of the silly report recently started wishing estimates made on work can ap-
that Judge Black was the author of Gene- ply to L. W. Smith & Co., No. 25 Cotton
ral Hancock’s order, &c. avenue.
LOCERANE OF GEORGIA,
HI# Season* WSy the Croat Hen
Will Support Hancock.
Judge O. A. Lochrane, one of the
strongest friends of Gen. Grant in the
South, being in New York, was asked by
a reporter ot the World yesterday why
lie had so suddenly changed his political
course.
The judge replied: “I have not been
identified with the Republican party cither
in its State «r nktional conventions. I
favored the nomination of Grant because
I believed he would have done justice to
the South, if elected, as well as fo other
sections.” 1
“What is your opinion of the chances
of Hancock’s election? I ask you this as
I heard one of the most distinguished
statesman of the country say, ‘It is a good
sign to see Lochrane ou the side of Han
cock, for he generally strikes the side of
the majority.’’
“From my information no nomination
since'1840 has been received with more
solid enthusiasm or more absolute confi
dence by the masses in its assured victory
than that of Hancock.” ,
“What do you think, judge, will be the
effect of this nomination ou the Republi
cans in the South ?”
Tlie Republicans will go into the field
at the South with a knowledge that they
are defeated from the outset. They will
have neither heart jnor hope, and Han
cock’s victory in every Southern State will
be so decided and overwhelming as to al
most annihilate all Republican resistance;
for Gen. Garfield has no following among
the intellectual men in any of the South
ern States. He. will uot receive the sup
port of the intellect or the capital of that
section, nor social or moral support, but
his followers will be worse than Fal-
stafTs men in buckiam, aud equally im
potent to breast tlie tide of Hancock's fol
lowers, representing the power, the intel
ligence and the honor of almost the entire
people of that section.”
“What is your opinion, judge, will be
the effect upou the industries—the agri
cultural, railroad and manufacturing in
terests generally, should the Democracy,
under Gen. Hancock’s leadership, assume
the political control of the country?”
“I think Hancock’s administration will
give a new impetus to not only the agri
cultural but the mechanical and commer
cial interests of the whole country. It
will restore confidence by healing tlie sec
tional feelings of the North and South,
and will largely develop in the Northern
section of this continent a confidence in
the integrity of the general government.
It will inaugurate a new era in this, that
for tlie first time since the war the people
everywhere will appreciate the fact that
the government has been united, that its
interests North, as well as South, have
been blended into one grand element of
national harmony, which will result in a
still greater amount of national prosper
ity.”
“What do you think will be tlie action
of tho majority of those who supported
Grant for the nomination since General
Hancock has been nominated?”
“My judgment is that the fight of the
Republican party iu tbe present campaign
is one of life or death to the organization,
aud no stone will be left unturned to har
monize the friends qf General Grant in
support of Garfield for the presidency, aud
X cio not doubt but UiAt la nmfor'ity of
those who were warmly for Grant will
yield to the appeal; but there arc many
Grant men—aud some of them might be
designated among the soldier element that
fought for the Union—who, feeling in
their hearts that Grant had been cheated
out of the nomination at Chicago—that
he had been meanly treated in the
■house of his friends’—that while some
would be active supporters of Hancock,
others would be indifferent, and plenty
rejoice at tbe defeat of Garfield, and this
element would not be inconsiderable at
its enumeration among the popular voters
in the Northern States. The action of
the Chicago convention was stnpid in its
hostility to Grant, as well as mean, and
they will live to regret their action when
regret will be embittered by the conscious
ness that it is unavailing to repent of their
blunder.”
“Well, judge, I suppose you are pre
pared to spell iyv from the ranks and pay
a penalty for foliowiiigMers-XalsiL^god' "
of Grantism, for you know it is said that
the Democrats, while welcoming all re-
cruits, may put you on probation.”
“As for myself I have never been accus
tomed to stand at the foot ol any class. I
want no office. Besides, you do the Dem
ocratic party injustice in supposing that it
places its friends upon probation. Its
principles are too pure—its liberality too
great—its sympathies and friendship too
warm—to make any classification of any
of those who earnestly espouse and sin
cerely support its cause.”
“Then, Judge, you think Hancock will
win ?”
‘There can be no question of Hancock’s
success. It is admitted thatif the election
came on this week or next that he would
sweep the continent. The hope of the
opposition is that tlie Hancock boom will
die out. In my judgment it will grow, for
it is founded on a rock—the rock of con
stitutional liberty, constitutional justice,
tbe constitutional rights of all sections
—prosperity [and peace and glory to
the whole American people, and the in
auguration of a new era of loyalty and
goodwill and friendship among all peo
ples and all sections, and all the interests
of our great American nationality.—N.
Y. World.
rKESEITATIOVTO CUE*. HANCOCK.
Tbe EaU*r Club Presents a Hand
somely Framed Testimonial to our
Staadard Bearer.
Monday afternoon people passmg in
front of Pelot & Cole’s gallery were at
tracted by a handsome frame, in which
was the article headed “The Man on the
Monument,” written by “X. I. E.,” re
cently published fat the Macon Tele-
GitArn and Messenger, aud copied into
the Chronicle. Preceding this was the
following caption, written by Col. C. C.
Jones, Jr.:
“The Eutnw Club of Augusta, tender
ing the congratulations of Georgia, and
saluting Gen. Winfield S. Hancock as the
superb chieftain, a3 the soldier-statesman
who, when the war was ended, subordi
nated the military to the civil law and the
constitution, and hailing him as the next
President ot the United States, assure him
that the following expresses the true sen
timent ot the solid South.”
Both the article and the caption were
beautifully engrossed by the skilled hand
of Prof. J. A. Pelot, and the frame in
which they were enclosed was exceeding
ly elegant. The testimonial was sent on
to New York Monday night, and will be
presented to Gen. Hancock by the Eutaw
Club to-morrow.—Chronicle and Con
stitutionalist.
A Murderer Hanged.
San Francisco, July 7.—At a town
In Arizona on the 21st of June, a Mexican
named Jose Morea Solascara, the disap-
S oiuted suitor of Miss Lubiate, called at
er residence, and after a brief conversa
tion shot her dead. The murderer fled,
but men scoured the country afoot and on
horseback, and soon captured him. A
lynch court was held, and, on the testi
mony of an eye witness to the deed, the
Mexican was convicted and hanged. Tbe
whole affair was carried on in a quiet and
orderly manner.
