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m 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.