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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.