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VOL. 1.
GS OF BEAUTY.
The wild flower iu the shaded wood,
The coral from the sea,
The rosy-tinted singing shell,
The busy murmuring bee.
The snow-flake in the winter time,
Bright insects of the spring,
The rainbow in the summer sky,
The fruits that autumn bring.
The herd reposing on the green,
Beside the water's flow;
The reaper, with bis glittering scythe,
The ready grass to mow.
’ -i.l■.&.$,\J\ i<t._ • .>: f :
The twittering brood, the busy hen,
The pure and happy lamb
That nips (unconscious of its fate)
The green blade by its dam.
The hanging rock, the quiet dell,
The shepherd’s peaceful home
Beneath the hoary mountain shade,
Where safe Ids flock may roam.
While sheltered in the leafy tree
The tiny birdling lies,
Its grassy cradle zephyr rocked
Between the .earth and skies.
The morning, noontide, tvtf light hoar,
The evening iityl, the night.
How can I picture all the things
That give me such delight!
The moon, the stars, the rising sun,
And every living thing
Proclaim far more than I can do..
The glory of their King!
If things upon this changeful earth
So lovely are to see,
dli! in God’s Paradise above
What must the glory be?
x HEINE.
Before her lay the broad blue sea,
the white capped waves dashed nuir
inuring to her feet, and the light sea
breeze lifted the soft; dark rings of
hair that clustered over her stately
little head.
She was so beautiful standing
there with her lovely dark gray eyes,
■with #iat strange, wistful light in
their shadowy depth, the rose flush
Wwtng and gowgvon her rounded
cheeks, that AYilard Leigh, who
stood pleading for. her love, felt he
couhl bear all other losses in life if
she only loved him.
Years before, his ii ncle, (3 uy Leigh
the nnist^j- of the stately mansion
overlooking the sea, had brought
homhj\yith him a slander, dark eyed
child "of ten, and treated her exactly
as lie did his own niece and nephew,
Clare iind Willard ( Leigh, whose
guardian lie was.
When Koine lmd flrst come to
Oakland* she had been a rather pc
cnliar Gypsy-looking child, but giv
ing promise of beauty, a promise she
had now fulfilled. As a child she
had been stranglcly reserved and si
lent; as a girl, though sometimes she
could be very, gentle, even tender iu
her manner, she was still the same
her Reserve almost amounting to
hauteur; and now, when eighteen
summers had passed over her head,
Willard Leigh stood pleading for her
love, i
‘‘Cun you not give mp yonr love
Heine? If you knew how truly,
tenderly and well I would cherish it
you would not refuse me. Oil! my
darling, will you give me some hope
—will you?”
Slowly Heine let her eyes rest for
a moment on his handsome face, and
the wistful, pleading pain he saw in
their depths made him bend forward
witli an eager, questioning look, and
then her silken lushes drooped, and
when she raised them again they
wore the old look of silent hanteur.
“I onn never he your wife, Wil
lard,” she said, coldly; -and if yon
value my friendship you will never
refer to the subject again.”
And then she turned quietly away.
She went up to her own apart
ments, and locking the door, went
over to the window, white and tear
less, yet suffering such agony as on
ly passionate, repressed natures like
her could feel.
How long she stood there she
could not tell, only the bright after
noon waned and the evening shadows
began to fall.
A light tap at the door roused
her.
“May I come in, Heine?” said a
low girlish voice; “I want to speak
me
to you.”
Reiue turned and opened the door.
A young .girl entered, a slender
girl of seventeen, with fair, childish
face, soft blue eyes and waving, pule
gold hair; a girl whoso greatest
beauty lay in tho child-like innocence
of her fact.
“Heine,” she said piteously, “do
you know Willurd is- going away?
and Rcine,” breaking into tears, “it
will break uncle’s heart and mino!
Oh, Heine will you not keep him?”
Heine looked at her for a moment,
then all her-cnlmncss seemed sud
denly to desert her, and she burst in
to tears.
“Reine! Rcine! Oh, listen to
me, Rcine!”
No answer for some time, then
Reine rose slowly to her feet.
“Pity me! spare me, Clare! It is
because I love him I sent him from
me.”
“Because you love him? How can
.that be ?”
“Because l am not worthy to be
his wife—because—Clare, I will tell
you who my mother Was—nay, who
she is!”
There was a long silence.
“You do not ask who. Well, I’ll
tell, then judge, if even you, Clare,
would wish Willard to wed mo.
Would you wish him to be the firat
Leigh who married a Wonmn for
whose parentage he might blush? I
have heard the Leighs pride them
selves on the stainlessncss of their
name, and I will never be the flrst
to cast a shadow on its brightness.
Clare, my mother is one of gayest
actresses in the gay city of Paris,
and when a child of ten, in my hor
ror other and the* life she led, I fled
from my home. „
“The rest you know—how your
uncle found me dying, starving,
miles from Paris, and for some nil-
definable likeness I bore to one lie
had loved and lost took me to his
home. Clare, do you still wish
to accept Willard’s love?”
“I cannot tell,”-Clare answered,
hesitatingly.
“You mean you cannot tell wheth
er you would sooner be should stoop
to marry me or leave the home of
his youth, but you rather think you
wriald let him go ?”
Clare’s tender mouth was quiver
ing, but Reine only laughed bitter
ly-
“Trust me Clare,” she said; “lie
will neither do one or the other, 1
givoyou my promise. Leave me
now, Clare; I wish to be alone.”
Next morning Reine was ubsont
from the breakfast table, and, Clare
run up to her room.
In a few moments she came down
again, a slip of paper in her hand.
“She is not there,” she said “and
this was on the table.”
It was only a single line:
Good-bye. I go that Willard may
stay. I can do no more or no less.
Reine.
She had gone and left no clue be
hind her.
* * * -* * *
A fair, calm evening in Juno, the
sun sinking to rest amid billows of
purple and gold; its last beams shed
ding little rays of brilliant light in
one of tho windows of Woodland
Cottage.
With one arm leaning on the win
dow, her hand supporting her head,
the other caressing the soft, dark
hair of the girl beside her, Mildred
Graham sat looking out over the
qniot summer scene that lay before
her.
A tall, slender woman, with soft
dark eyes and hair, beautiful still,
despite hor thirty-eight years, despite
the silver threads among her hair,
the traces of unforgotton sorrow on
her delicate face, and the girl sitting
beside her was Heine Devere.
“Reine,” Mrs. Graham said, gent
ly, “I wonder how it was, in all my
life no stranger ever appealed to my
heart as you have done. Prom the
moment ray eyes first rested cn your
sorrowful young face I have loved you
as my own babygir), had she been left
DUBLIN, GEORGIA, WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 29, 1879.
to me. Oh! my baby, my baby! will
that one great sorrow of my life
never bo lightened on this earth?”
“Yonr little baby died?” Reine
said, softly.
“Died! No! Oh! had my dar
ling only died I would have been
content to bow to God’s will. No,
my little child was stolen from me.
Do you know, Reine, it is a relief to
toll you . of my pain; and, child, if
you would only tell me of your sor
row, my love and sympathy would
surely comfort yon 1’V -
Then poor sorrowful Reino, out of
whoso face all the bright bloom had
fled, told her own simple story.
When Reine had mentioned her
lover’s namo, Mildred’s face had
grown palo.
“Loigh ? I once knew a Guy Leigh;
I woudor ”
“That was his uncle,” Reine said.
“Do you look like your mother,
Reine?” Mrs. Graham asked after a
short silence.
“No; not in tho least. This is her
likeness.”
Mrs. Graham lifted the miniature,
and then a low cry left hor lips.
“Caroline Severn !”
“Yon—you knew my mother ?”
“Child, this is tho woman I have
searched the world tor—the woman
who—Oh, Reine, Reine! Does your
heart not answer mine?”
Reine rose to her feet and cried:
“Oh, mother! mother!” ana tho
next moment she was folded closo
in Mildred Graham’s arms.
The next weokGuy Leigh received
letter, and his face puled at the
sight of the delioato Italian hand.
“Prom Mildred !” lie said.
It was only a few lines:
Come to me at once, Guy; I wish
to see you. Lot no memory of the
past prevent ypui"-*Bring Willard
with yon. Mildked Graham.
Two days later Guy Leigh stood
before tho woman he had loved in
his youth—the woman ho loved still.
“Why have you sent for me Mil
dred ?”
“Guy,” she said, “do you know
why years ago, I broke my faith and
married James Graham—do you
know? Oh! Guy, you refused to lis
ten then—will you listen now?
James Graham held my father’s hon
or—nay, his life, for my father
would not live disgracod—in his
hands, and to save my father I mar
ried James Graham—married him
“Thunk God!” he said, and Reino
know how much pride love hud con
qnered.
Six months later there was a doub
le weddiug, and Mildred Graham
married the lover of hor youth, while
beautiful Reine married hor first,
last, and, she said herself hor only
lover, Willard Leigh; and pretty
Clare was bridesmaid to both.
Why Grunt Was Snubbed.
“Loving another, Mildred ?”
“He was kind to me,” she said,
“and when he died I wept for him,
and yet ”
“You never loved him as yon lov
ed me?” Guy said bending forward.
Mildred, darling!”
She raised her eyes to his face.
“My own at last,” ho said as he
bent and kissed her tendorly. “The
past is forgotten forever.”
Por some time Willard had been
forgotten, and he lmd been discreet
ly looking out of the window, and
now ho came forward.
“You must excuse me,” he said,
smiling, “if I leavoyou for a while?”
Mildred looked thoughtfully at
him, then held out her luind.
“Come,” she said, and lie followed
her to an inner room.
A girl stood near the centre of it
—a girl with dark gray eyes and
wistful mouth, with soft dark coils
of hair coiled round her stately little
head.
“Reine! Reine! my darling I have
you at last, and nothing will part us
again.”
“My mother! Willard do you
know?”
“I-kuow all and it will not part
ns. It is you I love, Reine.”
She smiled softly.
“You do not understand. Willard,
my mother ”
“Your mother is here, darling,”
Mildred Baid, advancing.
Willard looked from one to the
other.
“This is my mother, Willard. I
was stolon from her when a child.
The actress ”
Giant’s minions and flunkoys in
this country, who sot afoot the plot
to have him renominated by the re
publicans,'have-been busily engaged,
since his advent in Ireland, in en
deavoring to create the impression
that the slight put upon him by tho
municipality of Cork was due to an
impression that somewhere or some
how be had insulted the Catholics ;
and it is oven given out in the grav
est manner that ho was snubbed bo
cause ho was a Protestan t. Tho fol ly
of falsehood could not bo more effec
tually elaborated. Cork is a Catholic
city, hut hor people do not hesitate
to vote for Protestants to represent
them in parliament, a fact which
shows that they are not by any
means givon over to the sort of fa
naticisin implied in the charge that
they gave Grant the cold shoulder
becauso he was not all'll vowed Cath
olic.
The truth of tho whole matter is,
that in 1876 Grunt grossly insulted
Ireland and the Irish. Ho was in
the zenith of his power then, and
hud become as arrogant as ho is ig
norant. It was onr centennial year,
and Ireland, bubbling over with en
thusiasm for a country that had
given shelter to so muny of hor dis
tinguishod sons, and -homes to tliou
sands who sought refuge and fortune
in the liihd of liborty, concluded to
send a greeting to America, and for
that purpose Messrs. Parnell and
O’Connor Power, members of parlia
ment—tho ono a Catholio and tho
other a Protestant—were commit
sionod to bear tbjs friendly greeting
to the United States. It was an
Irish movement—a token that u; on
our hundredth birth-day, tho Emor
aid Isle desired to wish us Godspeed
and good luck. Messrs. Parnell and
O’Connor Power were tho represen
tatives of the Irish us a people, nnd
they came duly accredited. But
when they canio to call upon the
boor, who at that time occupied tho
white house, and who is now airing
his ignorance and guzzling grog in
Europe, they met with an unexpect
ed rebuff; in fact, they were snubbed
—more effectually snubbed oven than
the boor was at Cork. They were
coolly informed that Grant would
not consent to receive them us rep-
resontati .os of Ireland and the Irish,
and they were furthermore told that
the congratulations Ireland had seen
fit to extend to America would only
be received through the British om
bussy. For this ho was snubbed a
Cork> and for this he ought to have
been snubbed by every Irishman who
has any respect for his own country.
Neither Dublin hor Cork extended
hospitalities to the typical American
boyr. He invited Jiimself through
the medium of a convenient lackey
connected with the consular sorvicc
—and this is tho true history of the
snubbing at Cork.—Atlanta Consti
tution.
Tlic Asiatic Trip n Mistake.
N. Y. Sun.
There is no unfriendliness to Gen.
Grant, and no one objects to his re
turn. What difference docs it make
to anybody whether lie be in Asia or
America—whothor ho bo tanning
leather or hauling wood? The hos
tility rests upon something more sub
stantial. It is to having all the
usages and traditions which have
controlcd the elections of president
set aside. This objection will remain
remain permanently, and will apply
to General Grant as a candidate at
all times.
SUNRISE IN AMERICA.
Gorgeous Times Coming.
For thirty yearn England 1ms on
joyod an amazing prosperity. The
repeal of tho Corn laws enabled her
people to buy food cheaply, and her
enterprise made her mistress of the
commercial and financial world
This dominion was challenged by
tlio United States. Twenty years ago
the United States was steadily ad
vancing on England, especially in
maritime supremacy. Then came
our civil war, uiid in ten years Amer
ica fell from her high rank ns a com
mercial and fluancial nation into the
lowest rank. England in the hour
of our trouble did all she could to
help the Southern people destroy tho
commercial amWhmnoinl supremacy
of the Union. Wo should not com
plain, as there is an adago that there
is no affection in business. If Eng
land, through tho folly of our poo-
plo, could take away our trado, it
was not in human nature to suppose
shb would not press her advantage.
Tho civil war left England tho mis
tress of the seas—arbiter of the
world’s financo ; supreme in such
groat industries as iron, cotton, clay,
wool and woods ; prepared to sell the
world everything at a profit, carry
everything at a good freight rate,
and exclmngo money at a fair com
mission.
If tho world could have gone on
in this fashion, England doing all
tho business and tho rest of mankind
providing food and raw materiul.
thingH might huvo turned out other
wise. But America did not mean In
remain in the subordinate relation
imposed upon hor by tho win*. It
will bo. a matter of-snipriso to dema
gogues and Communists to know
that since tho war America lms boon
making such strides in enterprise and
prosperity-(is to menace tho suprem
acy of England. In other words,
while those dotnugoguos lif.vo boon
blathering and lying and going about
the country trying to make mischief
and ruin our credit, the honest, pa
tient, hard-working masses have boon
steadily lifting tho nation into its
proud, supremo position.
What a commentary upon tho
insincerity and rascality and imbecil
ity of so much that is known as
“statesmanship” among our public
men! In iron wo have multiplied
onr product twelvefold. Wo now
sond iron abroad, whore before we
wore the principal importer of iron,
This underlies tho depression in tho
Englidi iron trade. In cotton we
are beginning to dispute England’s
supremacy. Twenty years ago, and
England monopolized this trado.
India, China and the United States
wore her great markets. Now we
make our own clothes. In China
wo are driving out England, because
we make better and cheaper goods.
India makes her own cloth and raises
lier own cotton, and soon will bo in
the Chinese if not in tho English
and American markets. As a con
sequence the cotton trado in England
is depressed. What is worse, it is a
depression from which there is no
recovery. English business men see
that their boasted invincibility was
a sham, and . that once American
enterprise met them in a fair field
there was no donbt of the result.
To parody tho favorite * Jingo song
that has been ringing in the English
music halls for tho last two years—
We’ve got tlic fond, we’ve got the brains,
and we’ve got the money, too."
So far as this affects the happiness
of the working and business classes
in England, bringing distress and
depression upon them, it is not a
pleasure to our peoplo. We would
much rutltor that our triumphs were
not won. at the expenso of othor na
tions. Distress in Lancashire throws
a shadow over prosperity in Now
England. But it is not our fault,
aTld wo had our own period, and it
was a long and dreary pel iod of sor
row and distress and depression. It
is pleusunt to feel, os our correspon
dent points out, that if America is,
inadvertently, and from no wish of
hor own, the chief cause of the dis
tress in England, she may happily
bo olio of the means of England’s
recovery. Emigration is the panacea
and our correspondent bids ns pre-
pare for a large emigration from
England and of the best peoplo of
England. Lot thorn cotno—workers
in iron, and ore, and cotton, and
wool, and wood—workers and think
ers of all classes, lot them cornel
“Uncle Sam,” as the old song says,
“is rich .enough to give us each a
farm.” A German writer says that
all tho soriesof ovents which resulted
in the culture of miiid in Greece and
tho Empire in Romo only “have
purpose and value when viowed in
connection with, or rather as subsid
iary to, tho great stream of Anglo-
Saxon emigration to tlio West.” Dar
win in a remarkable passage, says
that “the wonderful progress of tho
United States, as well as the charac
ter of the peoplo, iiro the results of
natural selection, for tho more ener
getic, restless and courageous men
from all parts of Europe have emi
grated during the last ton or twelve
generations to that great country
and have there succeeded host.” If
emigration will help England in her
trouble, relievo her of a million or
two of good worthy men that sho
cannot support, lot these men come.
It will be a benefit to us, to England
and to mankind.—York Hor-
aid.
Tlu? Man Who Boated Dickens.
Old Major ■ Throckmorton, keeper
of the Galt House,; in Louisville, .itr
dead, llo was a good old man and
Kentucky to the hone, AVhen Dick
ons came to his house, in 1846, tho
Major gracefully and hospitably ud-
dreieod him thus while the assembled
orowd looked on arid listened with
admiration akin to enthusiasm: “Mr,
Dickens, wo tire glad to welcome
jot*. AVo know you and admire you,
and will reckon it a privoligo to bo
allowed to extend to you
the hospitalities of tho metropolis
of Kentucky. As your especial host
I bog that you will command mo for
any sorvico in my povvor to render.”
Mr, Dickens received this with a
frigid stare. “AVlion I need you,
landlord,” ho said, pointing to tho
door, “I will ring.” The next mo
ment tho distinguished author was
half way out of the window, the
Major's boots undor his coat tail, and
Humorous Kontuckians holding tho
Major’s cout tail, for the Major view
ed insults from a strictly Kentucky
point of view, and tho only montion
of this incident in tho “American
Notes” is that Dickons saw, a pig
rooting iu the streets of Louisvillo,
which proves that great novelists nre
more careful about their fiction than
their facts.— Washinf/ton Post.
A citizen vvas arrested on a charge
of shooting a neighbors dog. Hie
defence was that tho animal was a
nuisance, continually barking and
biting, as is its nature to. “Oh J”
said tho justice; then you shot the
dog in self-dofenco ?” “No !” was
tho rejoinder; “I shoots him in do
licod un’er do fence!” Ho was ac
quitted.
Anybody can catch a cold now.
The trouble is to lot it go again, liko
tho man who caught tho bear.
Mrs. Wells and Mrs. AVilliams, of
Utah, addressed the IIouso Judiciary
Committee on the 17th inst., and
prayed that tho recent decision of
tho Supremo Court ho not enforced
against those already living in pol
ygamy thoro. They claim that if
husbands are forced to give up all
but ono wife, those who are aban
doned will, with their children, bo
left in destitution.
Four presidents of the United
Stutos graduated at William and Ala
ry college, Virginia.