Newspaper Page Text
VOL. XIX.
COLUMBUS, GEORGIA, SUNDAY, DECEMBER 23, 1877.
NO. 801
i will! rose, by the way si tlr hung
Iviv-glitteriug, on (hr morning air
\ mure scarce conscious perfume flung;
I looked, anil found theflowret fair—
Ho liiir 1 sought -with sudden zest
in wear ils beauty on my breast,
I'in- trembling pclals at my tourli
A sweeter, subtler fragrance shed;
I ts - trange 1 loved that flower so much.
And—it was dead,
la that high mood when thought hath
wilier,
And finds alone its speech In song,
J ttnicfc an old harp's slumbering strings
And drew an Idle hand along;
Nor deemed the careless chords had caught
ime life note that my spirit sought.
Till sudden on my st.-irlled car
Its dream-created accents woke.
Alack ! 1 1 jour, lit the rapture dear—
The string lind broke.
I lo .iid a wild bird on the shore,
tinging a wild s, ng to the sen;
And bold the burden that it Imre,
And sweeter than all else to me—
So sweet, I caged the bird to hear
His magic minstrelsy more near,
ITitamed, the captive’s swelling throat
lu one sad song his whole soul cast;
Tisi well I kt.ew ills loveliest note
Had been his last.
And yet while memory hath power
To iO nt the hours too vainly spent
The fragrance of that faded tlower.
That harp's last dying music blent
With the wild bird's weird, death song,
will
Haun* every waiting moment still.
Touching my heart the hitter cost
Of all the eye of ho|»e hath seen,
oi'all that life hath won and lost—
That might have been.
—Tintfty'a Magazine.
AXTHIPATIOS.
Slanting across the tields of snow.
Tin- westering sun makes linste to go;
This day, J know, is tried and sweet,
To-morrow tires my lagging feet.
With many a pause ofltnppy rest
I'vejourneyed with Today,’my guest;
His stranger brother cannot lie,
Melhinks, as goodly company—
Holding in his mysterious hand
(Jilts that will bless or blight my land !
Tarry yet longer, fair To-day,
That boding step an hour delay.
Wlial songs have told my spirit's cheer.
What sunlight warmed the glowing year.
What dear companions around me hung.
While life, and love,and hope were young!
These with to-morrow fadeapace,
bike bloom from a beloved face;
Anil trusting half, yet half with dread,
i question, “Wliat shall be instead?”
The sun drops deeper, night isi-bill;
The oracles 1 seek are still.
Yon herald star which glitters low
seems beckoning on the way I go.
To-morrow? Ah, tTiut door doth ope
A new celestial path to hope.
More than 1 ask or dream must he.
In (Jod's to-morrow kept for me!
—Atlantic Month!g.
THAT NIGHT.
neek|aml seem to listen for his voice
with her ears, with iter hungry eyes,
with her parted lips! And how
quickly and softly her breath would
come! But once he was near and
could see, site changed. She became
her old,calm self again,aml only for a
strange, deep, under-tnll in her voice,
and a certain wonderful lengthening
out of syllables until they acquired
new and deeper meanings, he might
have been old Tom the gardener.
Once in the dusk when the two
sisters had been talking of him, and
Marion had said something about her
being too cold, she had arisen and
flung up her arms and then drawn
them swiftly across her bosom and
held them fast, whispering;
“My love! my love! mv love! If
you only knew how wild I am about
you! if you only knew bow my
heart aches when you are not here!
how my very soul seems dull with
excess of pleasure when you are by!”
Then she had sat dow n and asked
Marion, “What- did I say? Some
nonsense, no doubt. Don’t mind my
nonsense, Marion. Let us go out
into the air.”
And after that Marion stood in a
kind of fear of Lisette, and let her be.
Lisette was now gone out into that
awful night, at that wild hour. She
had offered her company, but Lisette
would not hear of it. Lisette had
said:
“Tf I do not hear his footstep when
I have gone a mile, T shall return.
The walk will do me good, I shall
sleep lletter after it.”
“But there is no chance of his com
ing, of his being on the road at such
an hour.”
“There is something horrible in the
air, I am suffocating and must walk
Wait up for me, and have a light—
this dark is hideous.”
No one ever came by that road after
daylight was gone except those for
the Moor House, so that Marion felt
none of the ordinary uneasiness such
a design might cause.
After a little while she turned into
the house, leaving the front door
open, and sat down in the back room,
awaiting the return of Lisette.
A Story of Imaginary
Horrors.
From Heljriavto.]
CHAPTER V.
“Lisette! Lisette! do not go! oh, do
not go ! such an hour! such a night!”
The girl’s voice ceased, and to the
darkness of the muffled earth a deeper
•darkness seemed added by the dying
.of her tones. There was no sound
Abroad. No light came from the va
cant blackness overhead. No ray
helped the eye to an idea of distance.
There was no means of determining
any object outside the limits of touch.
The door step upon which the speaker
stood, the door jambs which she
grasjied as she leaned forward into
the formless void, were all for which
she had the evidence of her senses.
Hhe knew her younger sister Lisette
had passed through that door. .She
knew that door op-" ed on a short
garden patli terminating at a gate on
a long, bleak, straight road that ran
across a desolate moor. 8he knew
that for miles on either side no habi
tation of man, no tree, no tall shrub
was visible by day. At each side of
the road a deep drain lay mute, stag
nant. The drains had been dug to
afford inaiWinls for making the road,
and the waters of the moor had crept
stealtliily , into TEtomf-ranfl 'silently
filled them up, and crouched ten feet
deep, ready to seize ujion him who in
the dark might scale the low dyke
anil seek to gain the level waste.
Marion knew all this, and more.
She knew that upon the morning
of this day a message had come say
ing that John Maine would call to
see Lisette that night. John Maine
and Lisette were lovers. John Maine
liad made love to Lisette tor a year;
six months ago all had been settled.
.But somewhat of late Lisette was sad
a»<l John came rarely, and did not
long, .and sent messages blit sel
iloni. 8o«Vi v Thi«g was wrong. Lis
ette did w> * nomphdn. Hhe said there
was soineiNfftf fringe about John,
but that he *»* kind—kinder to
her than ever; iNf (seemed, how ever,
uueasj, and ab^t-Hiitidcd, and
changed; changed in Wftof, s he could
not tell; in general . m rather
than towanl her. And JIflrion of
this matter could learn no n?ort».
Marion thought a good deal, Sh e
thought-—Ah, my poor Lisette! tn.V
own, my only sister Lisette f it will
kill her if anything goes wrong, for
she is a deep, wild, passionate
nature. Few suspect that—she
is so quiet, so still, so ab
sent minded in her eyes. But
she loves John Maine. She loves
him so much that life is a skylark’s
song, but he the sun. Hhe loves him
so that the obscure waters lying out
there on either side of the road through
the sheer black would be the Lethe
of her despair. That Marion thought.
Why had he not come ? It was
close to midntgM7'»*ter eleven some
time. She and Lisette had sat up in
the back of the house waiting. Their
mother, and old Jane, the house
maid, and old Tom, the gardener, had
gone to bed early. Oh, why had he
not come? could it be be was tiring of
Lisette? could that be?
Hhe turned her head from right to
left In the direction of the clefts of
stagnant water, and shuddered.
The village of Barrowleigh, where
John Maine lived, was only tour
miles distant down that road. They
both, she and Lisette, bad often seen
him a mile off as he came toward
them waving his hat, or his handker
chief, or both. Oh, how Lisette’s
face would brighten when she saw
him! How her dark eyes would
light up! How her pale cheek would
flush! How her bands would relax
on anything she held, her hat or a
itower, letting it fall to the ground!
Ho* she would bend forward her
CHAPTER II.
Along the straight road lying be
tween the two clefts Lisette
jwalked slowly with her head
thrown up so that any sound
in front might reach her quick
ly. Hhe knew the road well, had
known it from her earliest childhood.
She could have trodden it blindfold.
8he was now treading it by the aid
of blind tradition in her memory. To
right and left the stolid darkness
reached from the invisible earth to
the sightless heavens. The darkness
opened before her ami closed behind
her, folding her round as strictly as
water folds round a stone falling
through sea depths in a cave.
Hhe did not know it was dark. Hhe
did not know it was still. Hhe felt
that if he were approaching she
should hear his tread. Hhe knew that
when he had come she should know
his voice. Oh, it was too bad he
staid away! Wliat a change had
arisen in him! How' was this cruel
change to he accounted for ? Hhe had
done nothing to cause it. There had
been no quarrel. But worse a thou
sand times worse than any quarrel,
he had of late grown reserved. He
no longer spoke out to her freely and
joyously, as in the delicious bygone
time. In her presence he seemed
nervous and ill at ease. When they
met he scanned her face hastily, fear
fully, as though lie dreaded some
thing. What was it he dreaded!
Not that she hail altered toward him.
He knew her too well that. But why
did he shun her? Of old, no evening
passed without his coining. Now,
for the past month, he had stayed a
week away at the time. It was ten
days since she had last seen him. This
morning Tom the gardener had
brought news he would be with her
that night. It was close to midnight
now, and he had not arrived. Oh,
iiow- sunny-faced housed to lie! How
his blue eyes softened when lie looked
into hers! How his strong arms
wound slowly and surely round her,
holding her tenderly, but as though
no power on eartl'i could steal her
from his embrace! How his lips had
lingered! How lie had shaken with
sighs as he released her and went!
And now what had all this faded to!
He was still tender, but a lialf-con-
cealed fear seemed to come between
them. An airy dread appeared to
unnerve his embrace and kill the
sweet purpose of his eyes. An invisi
ble hand drew litfn back from her,
and tlieir lips met but hastily. Why
should this be? Was not all ar
ranged ? Were there not to be deep
kisses now,while they were lovers?
Surely he might not fear she objected
to the delicious mystery which the
lips of lovers knew.
In her no alteration had taken
place. Wliat had caused it in him ?
What could be the reason for his
keeping away ? Why did he seem to
stand in continual expectation of
something direful?
She still kept on. She had only a
misty, half-defined hope he would
come. He liad never before broken
a promise made to her. Hhe walked
and listened mechanically. Her spir
it was busy with the past. It had
not yet gained the courage of desper
ation requisite for looking into the
future.
Why had lie broken his promise
and not come?, Could it be ?
Hhe put aside the thought that
threatened her turned her head rapidly
from one side to the other to distract
her mind, and prevent the swoop her
reason had begun to make upon her
peace. The house wiffi now nearly a
a mile, behind her, fit no footsteps
sounded. A frozen silence held the
earth; darkness stood up like an ebo-
jiv wall on the nioon
‘Would he come to-morrow morning
early and explain ? Oh, if he would
only come and teil her, open liis
whole mind to hor, and put an end
^ J
She stooif suddenly still as though
the air had grown solid, and she were
cased in a shroud of bronze. Neither
sound nor light had reached her, but
she had trodden, on something soft,
lying right in the middle of the road.
A" moment she stood in numbed
horror. No thoughts formed in her
mind, her discovery suggested no
idea. Her foot rested on something
soft, that was all.
With frigid slowness she stooped
forward until her hand might touch
the ground. TlteM she stretched it
tardily forth, listening with all her
nature as she did so. Her h#nd dis
covered nothing. Hhe drew it back
towanl her feet and encountered a
garment of‘some kind. Hhe raised
this, stood erect once more listening
with all her nature—but no sound
came.
Then handling the garment cau-
tiousip,as jf it were a living thing and
a rude touch might kill it, she made
out that it was hut lirifa garment-
had only one sleeve—thrieft sleeve-
half a man’s coat—torn from the beplc
of the neck downward—tAvo pockets
in tfip button-hole a flower—in the
breast pocket two letters—one letter
sealed with wax—#- small seal—and
near the seal two small rqupd spots
of wax—exactly corresnqndiogto two
small spots of wax whieh had fallen
on a she had jsealed two
days ago—she sealed no letters but
those to John Maine—her letter to
him—the texture of the coat such as
lie liad worn when she last saw him
—a light summer dust eoat—in the
other pocket a small leather ease such
as she had seen with him—in the case
a ribbon such as she liad given him.
Hhe replaced the portion of his coat
where she had found it, crossed the
road, and stepping slowly and cau
tiously over the low dike, stood be
side one of the clefts of deep, still wa
ter. There was not a ripple washing
in the rushes—not a breath of wind
stirring. She felt her way to the edge
of the water and leaned forward and
listened. After a little time she
stooped down and softly thrust her
hand into the chill, mute waters. Hhe
drew her hand out slowly. The drops
falling from it made sharp, clear, his
sing whispers as they touehed the
surface. Have for this, all was hush
ed. Hhe rose, regained the road, and,
taking up the portion of the coat,
walked deliberately in the direction
of the house, holding what she had
found in both her hands clenched on
her bosom. Hhe scarcely breathed.
Hhe moved as though she feared by
sound to wake something—to wake
some hidden spirit that could tell a
hideous history, or to wake her own
benumbed faculties into active deal
ings with the terrible discovery she
had made.
She did not move her head to the
right or to the left. Hhe kept the up
per portion of her body rigid. This
might be a nightmare, but the wak
ing might be still worse. What when
there was light to see ? There was a
flower in the button-hole. A rose. If
it were a red rose, would that be the
only red thing on that eoat! Hush !
Stop all thought. Hold all conjecture.
Dismiss all temptations of imagina
tion. Hold the coat fast, and yet not
too tightly. Something might he
crushed by holding it too tightly, and
nothing of his ought to be crushed.
Cherish the thing—the relic—no! no!
"Oil, God! not that thought. But
how ?
Hush! Stop all thought. Hold all
conjecture. Dismiss all temptations of
imagination.
There was no use in going quickly.
She would be at the house in time,
and then there would be light, and
she could see. See what ?
Away ! away! away with such fan
cies !
There was no use in hurrying, for
nothing could be done—nothi ng could
be done but look at the coat and see
if there was a red spot!
Oh, madness! No—no! Down!
down with such thoughts!
Marion would be waiting up with
a light. With a light! Would it be
best to put away what she hail found
until morning, and then the day
light would give her more courage to
look. The fuller light would be let
ter, for all could then be seen at a
glance. But with a candle they should
have to turn what she had found over
and over, and who could do such an
appalling thing as turn that coat over
and over! Suppose, as she turned it
over in the candlelight, her hand
touched something damp, something
damp,and clammy!
Mercy! oh, mercy. Keep still!
keep quiet! whrft is "above the earth
there overhead, hell or heaven ? and
who reigns? and—
Should she now, as she walked
along, pass one of her hands down
it, and try to discover if there were
anything damp! No. If sire fell on
the road, before she saw tho spot, she
could not die satisfied in the dark.
Here was the house. She would
not call Marion, but enter at the open
door. What could be the meahing of
the sweetbrier having the same smell
now as it had a month ago—as it had
even an hour ago ? Tom must cut
down the sweetbrier in the morning.
i
CHAPTER III.
“O, Lisette! how long you have
been! I thought you would never
come.” Marion had risen, and was
standing face to face with her sister.
Lisette had paused in the doorway.
She still held what she had found in
her clenched hands against her bo
som. She did not look down at it,
although the light of two candles now
fell full upon it, She fixed her dila
ted eyes upon Marion without utter
ing a worn. Marion perceived that
something terrible had happened.
‘What is the matter ? Have you
seen him ?”
‘No, I have found this.”
‘What is that?” Marion shrank
back and covered her eyes.
“Part of his eoat; I found it lying
on the road,in the middle of the road.
It is torn in two.”
‘His coat torn in two! Did you
see him? Did you hear him?. Did
you find ?”
“No, nothing but the coat. • Mar
non, look! Is there anything red
upon it ? Can you see anything red
upon his coat ?”
Marion drew near. Her face had
grown deadly pale. She took up a
candle and looked.
“No, Lisette. Nothing red. It
may be all right. There’s a white
rose in the button hole.”
The two now approached theytable,
and placed the portion of the coat on
it, and looked at it cautiously, fear
fully. On the outer side there was
no stein. Marion turned it over. The
inner side was also free from spot.
“Nothing-red. Nothing red. But
oh, Marion! what can have happen
ed?” She sat down and buried her
face in her hands.
Marion proceeded to examine the
contents of the pockets.
‘There is a leather case, with the
ribbon you gave him, in one pocket,”
she whispered, “and two letters in
the other. One of the letters is from
you to him. The other is in a wo
man’s writing, also.”
“A woman’s writing ?” She rais
ed her head and looked at the envel
ope held by her sister. "“Addressed
to him?”
“Yes. But not to his own house.
Not to Daisy Farm, but to a house in
Barrowleigh.”
“A house in Barrowleign ! Marion
are you sure?”
“Read it yourself.”
Lisette read the superscription,
“John Maine, Esq., Cross House,
Barrowleigh.” There was no stamp
or postmark. It had been sent by a
private messenger. He had no rela
tive in the neighborhood. Daisy
Farm was his own place. Cross House
was the residence of a friend of his.
Why had he changed his place of
abode and not told her of it? Or
could it be that he was getting letters
from some one else addressed to him
at a friend's,lest—it was too bad of her
to allow such a thought to enter her
mind. Besides, what signified letters
with that tom coat lying there, that
black night abroad, and the dull,wea
ry inability even to wonder what had
oeocurred!
The two sat silent awhile. At
length Marion rose and said, “Let us
call Tom, and take a lantern and go
to the place where you got it.We may
find something else that will help to
expiate.'?
“No, no! What do we want with
Tom? Let us go by ourselves.”
But the chief sister would not hear
of this. So she roused the old gar
dener, and, without telling him the
reason, hade him take a lantern and
S.
accompany them. They left on the
table what Lisette had found.
In two hours they returned. No
discovery had been made. Traces of
a struggle existed in themiddleof the
road, but, although they went anoth
er mile nearer Barrowleigh, nothing
new had been seen. There were no
ml spots, but along each side of the
road there were two sets of footmarks
in the dust, footmarks of men. The
men had evidently kept as far apart
as possible. The*footmarks pointed
toward Barrowleigh. There was also
in the dust two sets of footmarks
pointing toward the Moor House. But
these latter had not been made at the
same time, for a slight shower, which
had fallen at eight o’clock that even
ing, had partly defaced the larger
marks, while the others were fresh
and perfect on the damp dust. It
. . was evident rile men hail come sepa
rately, with some interval of time
between the coining of the first and
the coming of the second. It was
also pit in they had gone back to
ward Barrowleigh together, for at one
point, aland half a mile from the
scene of the struggle, the footmarks
approached one another in the middle
of.the road. Both had stood here and
looked back toward the Moor House,
for tlie marks were reversed, but
there were no retrogressive steps.
“He is safe,” said Marion in a low
voice, as they stood once more in the
parlor. “He‘ liad a quarrel with some
man. They met and fought, an ordi
nary fight, and he got his coat torn
in the scuffle, and could not come on
here. Ho they went back to the vil
lage together and shook hands at the
place where the footprints are close
He will be here to-morrow, Lisette
We must hide the coat, pretend we
know nothing of it, destroy it and
the letters.”
Hhe took up the letters as she spoke
The fold of paper in the strange en
velope was much smaller than the
envelope, and as Marion raised it the
sheet fell out and opened partly. Lis
ette’s eyes followed it. At one glance
she conceived the meaning as if by
intuition. This was what was on the
small sheet:
Daisy Fakji, Wednesday Eve.
No matter what happens, I must
see you this evening. Come at once,
for pity’s sake. I have news’to tell.
Alice Henslow.
Alice Henslow! Alice Henslow!
Oh, had it all come to this? Was
this the key to the changed manner,
the lurking dread, the cold greetings,
the almost formal partings! Alice
Henslow, George Henslow’s wife!
Hhe who had lately runaway from her
husband, no one knew whither. Was
she stopping at John Maine’s house?
Had it ail come to this? If when she
thrust her hand into the chill water
by the side of the road she had found
something, could it be worse than
this?
Now she knew it was dark. Now
she knew the silence of the tomb held
the vacant night. Now she knew
the world was a waste, and life for
her was over. Marion and she occu
pied the one room. Nothing need
be done to-night. Marion had not
read the words on that note. Lisette
raised it, replaced it in its envelope,
took another envelope from a drawer,
wrote on a sheet of paper the words
“Good-bye forever. Lisette;” folded
up the sheet, anil put i% and Alice
Henslow’s note into theseeond envel
ope and closed it.
“Lisette, what did you see in that
letter? You have changed wonder
fully. Tell me.”
“It was a private letter to John. I
don’t think he would wish you to
know what it contains. I have closed
it up and addressed it to him. We
must send it to him to-morrow.”
“What did you write tohim ? Have
you asked him to come early to-mor
row?”
“No. Let us go to bed.”
In the dark, when she was in bed,
she could think of the past. The fu
ture—she need think little of it.
CHARTER IT.
On the evening that note of Alice
Henslow’s was written, John Maine
left the Gross House at eight o’clock
and walked to Daisy Farm.
‘Tliis is very awkward,” he mut
tered as he went. “This evening, of
all others. What can she have to
tell me? But anyway I shall be back
here at nine, and at the Moore House
at ten. I hope all may be well there.
I hope she has heard nothing.”
He was a young man, about five
and twenty. He had blue eyes, a fair
face and fair mustache. He walked
with head and shoulders thrown well
back. He was lithe, agile, and of
the medium height. Naturally
liis countenance was frank and open;
but now it was clouded and perplexed
and full of vague apprehension.
Before nine he once more found
himself at Barrowleigh. His face
wore even a graver expression than
on setting out. He went into the
Cross House, wrote a note and sealed
it. The night had fallen, and, as he
passed under the infrequent lamps of
the village, on his way to the Moor,
his brows were knit and his mouth
squared, like one who had firmly
made up his mind to do something
which will cost a painful effort, and
require resolute courage. As he took
the bleak, straight road, so familiar to
him, he mused:
“Alice’s news wan important—des
perately important. Ho he hAs fouiid
out where she is, where she has been
since she fled from him, under whose
roof she now lives. If this discovery
could have been averted for a week
longer, something might have been
done. Now there is no knowing
what may oecur. All Barrowleigh
will hear of it to-morrow; and by the
day after the news will be there.” He
pointed with impatient anger into the
darkness ahead. “Perhaps he has
already written to Lisette’s mother.
That would be like him. What am I
to do ? I cannot back out now. I
must stand by Alice—and I will.”
It was impossible to see two yards
ahead. Indeed, no object presented
itself to test the darkness bv; the
night was Cimmerian.
He walked on rapidly for more than
half an hour. No one had passed
him, nor liad he overtaken any one,
although the rate at whieh he went
was far quicker than the usual one of
pedestrians. Suddenly a voice com
ing from a few feet right in front of
him called out his name. He knew
that voice, and before he had time to
bring himself up he was in arm’s
length of George Henslow, Alice
Hensow’s husband.
John Maine could see nothing, but
he knew that a much more powerful
man, a man taller by a head, stood in
his path and barred his way. He could
hear the heavy breathing of the oth
er. Before he bad time to reply a
strong hand was laid on his arm, and
Henslow spoke again :
“I knew you would come this way
to-night,and as is the place quiet,and I
had something to say to you,I thought
I’d wait for you. I’ve been here two
hours and have got a wet coat.”
“We shall talk more freely If you
let my arm go. I am not accustom
ed to be held in that way.”
■“Do you suppose I am accustomed
to talking to men who deeoy my wife
away from me, and hide her in their
houses, under my own nose?”
Maine felt the hand tighten on his
arm. With a sudden wrench he
sprang backward. The sleeve of the
coat slipped, ran over the hand and
remained in Henslow’s grasp. With
a sharp, strong jerk Henslow drew it
toward him, the coat, yielded at the
collar, and lie seized Maine, with his
hand he flung behind him half the
eoat, saying as he did so, “No, you
are not going to run away. Yog will
hp cooler without that.”
For a while the two men stood face
to face breathing hard. Neither could
see the other. Htill by a tind of in
stinct the eyes of each were fixed up
on the eyes* of the other. At length
the pause was broken by Maine.
“What have you to say to me?”
“I do not know that there is much
to say. There may be something to
do.”
No rejoinder.
“This is a very quiet place for a
meeting, and therem hamMl*a quiet
er place in the world than the bottom
of one of these drains at the side of
the road.”
“I don’t wonder at your thinking
of suicide. But I advise you to con
sider.”
“Thank you. I’m thinking of
nothing of the kind.”
“Henslow, you’re a fool!”
“Maine, you’re a villain!” The
grip on the young man’s arm tighten
ed, and Henslow shook him slowly
and significantly.
“Will you listen to me and try to
keep your temper?”
“Goon. I’ll keep my temper, and
I’ll keep you until you are done.
Don’t be long or I may part sudden
ly from both.” He swayed the young
man slightly in the direction of the
drain.
“I knew you some years and you
know me. I know your violent tem
per, I know' your suspicious nature,
and from my soul I pitted Alice Hill
when ,she married you.”
“Go on!” muttered Henslow in a
warning voice. “Go on fast. Skip
that kind of thing. ”
“Hhe and I were friends as chil
dren. Hhe and I were friends as wo-
mau and man. Hhe and I have nev
er been anything more than friends.”
“Ha-ha-ha! Nice friendship indeed!
Go on, John Maine! Go on, my boy!”
There was sardonic incredulity in his
tone.
“I had known her lather and her
mother before you came to this neigh
borhood. You never saw her moth
er. Hhe was dead before you came.
Her father wh« he was dying last
year, married to you though Alice
then was, made me promise that I
would always be a friend to her.”
“John Maine, my boy, mind wliat
you are saying !”•
“Iam saying what is true. He
knew your violent temper. He knew
your suspicious nature. He knew
she ami you were not living as happi
ly together as you might. He told
iiie he dreaded something like what
has happened, for he knew her quick
temper too. He knew her fiery, un
governable outbursts, and he told me,
George Henslow, that she would run
away from voii, and his prophecy has
come true.’ f
“And did he prophecy she would
run away to you ?”
“She has not runaway to me. The
night she left your ; house, or rather
the morning jJije cacAeto Daisy Farm,
I think slid was a nitre disturbed in
her reason. Hhe spoke wildly and
acted wildly; I implored her to go
back, I put* a horse m the gig to bring
her back; but she went down on her
knees and begged of me by all that is
sacred to let her stay, or if I would
not let her stay to let her go free, but
not to compel her' to go home. I
think she was mad. I think she is
not quite responsible for her acts.
Poor Alice! I let her stay. I called
up old Nellie, gave Alice in charge to
her, and from that moment Daisy
Farm has been her home, not mine.
For I left it then, and have not enter
ed it. since, or seen your wife since,
except for a few minutes this evening.
Take your hand off my arm. I am
not accustomed to be held,”
“You’re a liar!”
“Take your hand off;. I don’t like
to be helcl.”
“You’re a liar! I say.”
With a sudden backward spring
the younger man drew the body of
Henslow forward; then, throwing
downward all the weight of his own
body lie succeeded in bending almost
to the ground. Seizing an ankle of
Henslow’s in each hand, with a su
preme effort of the muscles in the
back he raised the man bodily in the
air, two feet off the ground, sprang
a pace back, so as to swing the man
clearof him, and held the ankli
til the head had swept ha'
round in the arc, let go, and a^pne
other fell heavily on his back with a
sound half-gelatinous, .half-metallic,
Maine leaped upon him, and, before
recovery from tne shock was possible
secured his hands behind liis back
with his braces.
Henslow was lialf-stunued, and did
not struggle. When he recovered he
sat up. Maine assisted him to his
feet, and for a long time neither
spoke.
“Henslow,” at length began the
younger man, “don’t allow your tem-
*per to lead you into any more trouble.
Surely I owe you no grudge person
ally. She is one of the best women
in all the world. I know her failing.
It was the terror of her parents.
When I heard you and she were to
be married, I felt inclined tocqme be
tween you.” /
“But you waited until after we h
been married, you. cowardly scoi
drel. Untie my hands ! Loose
hands, J say! or ! shall throw my
self upon you and grind you to death
on the road.”
He struggled wildly to no purpose.
“I did not come between you and
her. Your own shameful violence
caused all the evil. Do you know
what she raved of that night she
came? Do you know the bar you
have placed between her and you?
Do you know what made her fly
from your house that night? Or
were you so carried away by your fa
tal tem[>er as to be unconscious of
what you did, unable to recall what
you have done ?”
The bound man shuddered slightly,
but made no reply.....
“She was a sweet girl, Henslow
when she married you, and if you
had not an infirmity such as hers, if
you had been a more gentle man, you
might have stolen the dangerous fire
out of her nature. But you two were
fire and tow. You fanned one an
other into violence, and in the end,
on that dreadful night, yon so far for-
to raise your
if the suspicions which were in my
mind when I lay in wait for you here
had proved true*I should have killed
you, and then myself. But I should
not harm her. Now, if what you
hint is true there is no cure. Nothing
can undo a Mow. I am everlastingly
in the wrong. I could easily bear
the thought of dying, but dying will
not undo this. Dying will net undo
this.”
The younger man untied the hands,
and the two turned back towards the
village. “I can go to the Moor House
in the morning,” thought Maine. “I
can explain all and get rid of my hid
eous burden.” As they walked on
at different sides of the road, he said
aloud when they had gone some dis
tance, “I wrote a letter to you to
night before leaving Barrowleigh.
Fortunately it is in the right pocket
of my coat. Will you have it now?”
“Yes. Maine, you are a good man.
Wilt you shake'hands with me ?” ,
“Most gladly.”
Each crossed half way, they met
and shook hands. Henslow held the
other’s hand a long while. “You
were going to see her to-night—Lis
ette?” they both turned round.
“Yes.” *
“You are a noble-hearted fellow,
Maine, and I am a pitiful wretch, a
heartless scoundrel.”
“Hush ! don’t say such things. All
may be well yet. I will tell you the
contents of that letter. When I learn
ed from Alice that you had discover
ed her hiding place, I made up my
mind to two things—to send her
away to some distant place in the
morning, and to see you in the course
of the day.”
“What did you want to see me
about? Don’t spare me. Tell me
all.”
“I would not then have thought it
wise for her to go home, after being
so long away from home, after being
so long away, until something
like an explanation had been
made, anything like a recon
ciliation effected. Henslow, h'
you only could make up your mind
to see her and treat her tenderly at
the meeting, I think ail might be for
given. I know, after the horrible
lesson you fhave been taught, you
will give way less than of old.”
•‘Maine, you do not know how I
love her still. We have quarreled,
and when I lose my tcmjier nothing
that is good remains with me ; but if
this could only be made up! If she
would only forgive and conic home!”
“I think she will.”
He pressed the other’s hand pas
sionately, and sobbed. Then they
separated, and keeping different sides
of the road, walked back with few
more words to Barrowleigh.
got your manhood as
hand and str n
“No, no! not that! I did not. Don’t
say that. Maine, you know my
curse. Forget what Lhave said. For
get and forgive. Tam sorry, deeply
sorry, for all that has happened here
to-night. I will do anything you
wish, I will make any apology you
like. I swear to be a better, a kinder
husband to Alice?* if she will only
come back to me. I’m not hard
hearted, but when my temper is
roused I see nothing, shear nothing,
count so chances, remember nothing.
Do what you will with me, Maine,
but don’t tell me I did that. Don’t
unman me forever. Say you wanted
only to frighten me into better beha
vior.”
Maine was mute.
CHAPTER V.
When Marion awoke the next
morning, it was broad day. She look
ed toward her sister’s bed. It was
vacant. In sore alarm site arose,
dressed herself hastily, and sought
Lisette in the house. No trace of her
sister was to be found. Where could
she he ? Why had she got up and
gone out stealthily ?
She went into* the garden, and
opening the gate, looked along the
road. Nq figure was in view either
an road or moor. The clouds which
obscured the heavens last night had'
floated away, and the morning sun
blazed high in the east, flooding the
level landscape with glory. Plovers
called to. one another, flies in brilliant
mail buzzed and flashed hither and
thither, the two placid clefts of water
reaching away toward the sun seem
ed like discarded swords of gigantic
nature lying peacefully out of use.
But where was Lisette?
Marion stood and listened. Pres
ently, she thought she heard sobs,
proceeding from an arbor beside the
liouse. She listened again. There
was no doubt some one: Lisette was
sobbing in that arbor. Ob, poor bro
ken hearted Lisette! Poor afflicted
sister!
She hastened toward tin* arbor. As
she approached there were sounds of
movements, and ere she gained the
threshold, a pale, dark eyed girl came
to the entrance and beckoned to Ma
rion. The latter stretched out her
hands, and cried as she drew near:
“Such a fright as I got! 1 did not
know where to find you. Why did
you go without calling me?”
“It was so early, and I could not
sleep. I am so glad, Marion, that I
came out.”
‘‘So glad !” she looked at her tear
ful face. “Soglad! Have you heard
any news?”
“Yes, good news.'” They were
now standing a little outside the ar
bor.
Where did you get it ? Who
brought it ?”
I,” answered a man’s voice from
inside, and, with a look grateful for
deliverance, John Maine stepped out
on thtojxinlit garden path.
“I IHfcv h e was safe, Lisette.”
“Ainmie has told mo all. I may
not tell any one for it is not his se
cret. Butj Marion, kiss John. You
must kiss him. I will not be jealous.
Kiss John. T have l>een crying for
happiness, and no wonder, after that
night.”
“On the lips or on the cheeks?” he
asked.
“On the lips of comjggHV
“Then I’ll kiss^^Wfoo elsdlbf-
ter.” r m IP
i he was bidden, he
ad threatened. In the
proceeding the latter, she
:1 you have liad too many
breakfast.”
I’ll stop for breakfast. Come
along. I want to begin again,” he
whispered back.
tkhexk’ii Mandrake Pill*
Will'be to possess those qualities
necessaffijfaie total eradication of all
bilious pPpR, prompt"to^it&rt the se
cretions of tne liver,atfgjjiye a healthy
tone to the entiie sy^^K? Indeed, it
is no ordinary discMBf in medical
science to have invenfea a remedy for
.these stubborn complaints, which de
velop all the results produced by a
heretofore free use of calomel, a min
eral justly dreaded by mankind, am
acknowledged to be destructive in t~
extreme to the human system. Thai
the properties of certrin vegetables
comprise all the virtues of calomel
without its injurious tendencies, is now
an admitted fact, rendered indisputa
ble by scientific, researches; and those
who use the Mandrake Pills will be
fufiy satisfied that the best medicines
are those provided by nature in the
common herbs and roots of the fields.
These Pills jomm the bowels and cor
rect all bilioppierangenients without
salivation or any of the injurious
effects of calomel or other poisons. The
secretion of bile is promoted by these
Pills, as will he seen by the altered
color of the stools, and disappearing of
the sallow complexion and cleansing of
the tongue.
Ample directions for use accompany
each box of pills. Prepared only by
J. H. Schenek & Son, at their principal
office, corner Sixth and Arch Streets,
Philadelphia, and for sale by all drug-
a dealers.
Papular Sarlapi—Thr Authors.
In the language of Montaigna “I
have gathered a posie of other men’s
flowers, alul nothing but the thread
that binds them is mine own.”
Sir Philip Sidney:
“Sweet food of sweetly uttered
knowledge.”
“High-erected thoughts seated in
the chair of courtesy.”
“They are never ‘alone that are ac
companied with noble thoughts.”
“My dear, my better half.”
“Have I caught my heavenly jew
el ?”
Lord Brooke:
“O, wearisome condition of hu
manity !”
“And out of mind as soon as out of
sight.”
Marlowe:
“Who ever loved, that loved not at
first sight ?”
“Come live with me and be my
love.”
‘ “Oh! thou art fairer than Ihe eve
ning air.”
Chaucer:
“He must have a long Spoon, that
must eat with the devil.”
“To see and to be seen.”
“He taught, but first he followed it
himself.”
“One ear it heard, at the other out
it went.”
“Nature, the vicar of the Almglitv
Lord.”
Emro:
“Confidence is the tap root of love.”
“Doubt is the dry rot of love.”
“A lazy man lias always an ex
cuse,” * *
Rabelais :
“I was just going to leap in the
dark.”
“By robbing Peter he paid Paul.”
“Hoped to catch larks if ever the
heavens should fall.”
“TJie devil was sick, the devil a
monk would be, etc.”
“Look a gift horse in the mouth.”
“Moon is made of green cheese.”
“To make a virtue of necessity.”
London Mtrcet Manners.
A painful feature in London, writes
Julia Ward Howe, is the rudeness
shown to women in the streets. Du
ring the hours of fashionable driving
it is usually Assumed that no lady
will show herself on foot in the thor
oughfares of fashion. If, however,
necessity or convenience should lead
some lady to transgress this tacit or
dinance, she will at once be made
aware that the attribute of modesty
is not supposed to belong to her. The
undisguised stare, the insolent ex
pression of countenance will make
her blood broil with the thought that
this rudeness, ottered by mistake, is
intended for women, if not for women
of her own class. We have heard
from some male opponents of woman
suffrage moving proheeiesof the time
in which the emancipated harlot
should walk the streets, and drive
honest men from the polls. But in
London decent women are driven
from the streets, and that not by low
bred brigands and ruffians, but by
men of bigli fashion and position.
No excuse for this can be imagined.
The cause of it needs no explanation.
If one wishes to behold a hell upon
earth, one has only to visit Burling
ton Arcade at certain hours in the
afternoon, when one will find it
thronged with gay men of fashion.
The Arcade is a favorite resort for
shopping, and any one nray visit it
in the forenoon without discomfort.
But in the Afternoon it is supposed to
belong to theqpPn of whom I have
spoken, ami to women of the demi
mondeq whom they expect to find
there. Supposing that a modest wo
man should be caught there by acci
dent, unaware of this state of things,
she will escape as quickly and quietly
as possible, but she will carry with
her an impression of horror. Those
eager eyes, those flushed, sensual
faees tell their own story. It is one
of woe to womanhood. Here are the
wolves, w&iting for the sheep!
BOOTS AND SHOES.
btT
The Greateel Medical Triumph
of Modem Times,
Bacommendod by Physicians.
Indorsed ay Clergymen-
Thai* Pill* hav. gained a popularity unparal*
Mad. Druggiata av.rywh.ra say
fiwir tal. i. unprecedented.
The Reason is Obvious.
* They are no worthless nostrum. putfed
up to deceive tho credulous, hut are the
result of long research, by a chemist
and physician of thirty years* experi
ence, who values his reputation more
than sold.
What Tuffs Pills will do.
they
CQi £StoaM
mj-u e\■ iee Sic^Heaaaehe. Foul Breath,
THEY CURE Jaundice, Flatulence, and In
digestion.
THEY OIVE ‘J§S!£f s *S,K “**•
THEY ACT
Tmnnrl'
Spirits,
and remove all
Impurities.
outnnienmatism, and Kid-
THEY CUBE^j^r
THEY CURE gS§ u * eartlmro ’ aQd
THEY CAUSE anJ
THEY CURE gl¥e re *
gists an
Price 25 cents per box.
dect eodlm
eshin^Sleei
Turv IRC invafiSEIeTby Female Irregu-
inci ( Anc taritl^^
THEY ARE thc *>esTT!EaUy Medicine ever
THEYARE harmless^and always reliable.
Sold everywhere. Us CctUs a Box. Office
— Street, Jr«w Torfc.
■ .A.
yCOUGH, COLD,
ISorc Throat
REQUIRES
Ml ATTENTION
igth of time causes
ir some chronic Throat
imes result
BROW
hare proved tie
aaay years, and will mint
immediate relief. Obi
i BROS DUAL TROCHES, and do not
iyofthe worthless imitations that may
<le2 dim
TIGNER, Denlist,|
Over MASON’S DRUG STORK,
Randolph Street, Columbus, On. ja2i ly
FOR SALE:
27 Shores Eagle & Phenix Fac
tory Stock;
30 Shares Georgia Home Insu
ranee Company Stock.
JOHN BLACK MAR, Broker.
IRJ8T
NEW SHOES
—AT THE-
Old Shoe Store.
1.oJ-
FALL AND WINTER STOCK
JUST RECEIVED!
New and Attractive
STITIjBS
WAtLNOAPR.
“Oh, this ks the woret of all! Maine
—The Telephone will not l»e of
much account until it is perfected to
such a degree that a church tenor can
sit over his beer in a saloon and tele
phone his part of the binging to the
church choir in another part of the
Gents’ Shoes
Brown (Toth.Top Button
“Fifth Avenue*
And all other Styles. In Hand and Machine
Sewed, ami Fine Pegged Work.
Ladies & Hisses Fine Shoes,
Kid ami Pebble-Button,
Side-Lace and Foxed Work!
A large lot of Ladies’ Kid Foxkd Button
Shoas—very stylish’ at $2.25 to $3.60.
The best Misses’ Protection Toe School
Shoe ever offered in this market.
AN EXTRA LARGE STOCK OF
Brogans, Plow Shoes, Kip Boots,
Women’s Plow Shoes, «fcc.,
For Farmers. Our stock for the WHOLE
SALE TRADE is being daily received, and
in tjuautity, quality and prices is unsur
passed in tlie city. We Invite the attention
of COUNTRY MERCHANTS.
X®“For anything you want in the Shoe
and Lesither Line, at bottom prices, call at
No. 73 Broad Street,
(Sign of thc Big Boot.) •
WELLS & CURTIS.
sep30 tf
Lawyers
ALONZO A. DOZIER.
Attorney and t'oituwllor-al-Las
Office Over 12ti Broad Street.
Practices in State and Federal Courts
both Georgia and Alabama. mills,’77 ly
~~ CHARLES COLEMAN, ’
Attorney.atdLavr.
Up-Stairs, Over C*. E. Hochstrasser’s Store.
febll,'77 tf
BENNETT II. CRAWFORD,
Attorney and Coumoellor-st-Eaw.
Office Over Frazer's Hardware Store,
jail,"77 ly
RKESE CBAWFOKX). J. Sf. M’NEILI..
CRAWFORD <k MeNEILIi,
Attorneys and Conusellors-nt-Eaw,
128 Broad Street, Columbus, Ga.
JalO.76 ly
U. E. THOMAS,
Attorney and ConnseUor-at-Eaw.
Office:
Over Hoelisirasser’s Store, Columbus, Ga.
JyO.’TG ly
MAKS'. H. BLANDFOD. | LOUIS F. QARRARD.
BEANDFORD A UABRAKD,
Attorneys and Cottnaellora-at-Eavr.
Office, No. 67 Broad Sj/reet, over Wlttich A
Kinsel’s Jewelry Store.
Will prael ice in the Stale and Federal Courts.
sepI/TS
Piano Tuning, Me.
E. W. BEAU,
Rapairer and Tuner of Pianos, Organs and
Accordeons. Sign {tainting also done.
Orders may be left at J. W. Pease & Nor
man’s Book Store. sep5, ’75
Tin and Coppersmiths*
WM. FEE,
Worker In Tin, Sheet Iron, Copper. Re,
Orders from abroad promptly attended to.
jyl, ’7t5 171 Broad Street.
Doctors.
DR. C. E. ESTES.
Office Over Kent’s Drug Stohf.
Ju3 ly
Watchmakers.
C. II. EEQUIN,
Watchmaker,
1. 0 >4 Broad Street., Columbus, Ga.
Watches and Clocks repaired In the be6t
manner and warranted. jyl, 75
REAL ESTATE AGENTS.
JOHN BLACKMAR,
Georgia Home Building, next to Telegraph
Office, Columous, Ga.,
Real Estate, Brokerage and Insurance
Agency.
LAND WARRANTS BOUGHT.
Refer, by permission, to banks of tills city.
nov3,’75-tf
WESTERN RAILROAD OF
ALABAMA.
c
|« th.fciftjtand th« best, b hutwtsaeoiM in it. action,
uni it produces th« nout mutant ohadcr <>f LlisL or
browu. don not stain the skin, and is easily applied. It
vquittioB, ftnd a favorite upon every
t toilet for Jady oryt ntltmuu For .ala
ind Hair Prewar*. JOSEPH
Proprietor- P- O. Sou
kOOEB PE ATE D WATCHES, Cheap-
lea ip the known world. Samplt Watch Free to
fAqltUi. Addiem, A. Coultxr A Co., Chicago.
F.J. SPRINGER
Under Springer’s Opera House,
CORNER OGLETHORPE aad CRAWFORD STS.
Wholesale and Retail Denier in
Groceries and Provisions!
Ail kinds
WOES,
LIQUORS,
TOBACCO,
CIGARS,
And General Stock of
Plantation and Family Supplies.
AS’-All Goods delivered in city amt vicini-
y free of drayage. uovl eod3in
WEST: MIDDIN
•s SONS’l SECURITY OIL,
The Best Household Oil in Use.
Warranted 150 degs. Fire-Test.
Water White in Color.
Fully Deodorized.
Will Not Explode!
HIGHEST AWARD AT
THR CENTENNIAL EXPOSITION
FOR EXCELLENCE OF MANCFACTl'BE
And High Fire-Test!
Endorsed by Insurance Companies!
Krail tkU Certificate— One of lu; :
Howard Fire Insurance Co. of Balti
more, Baltimore, Dec. 23d, 1S7I.—Messrs. C.
West & Sons—Gentlemen : Having used
the various oils sold in this city for illumi
nating purposes, I take pleasure in recom
mending your “Aladdin Security Oil” as
the safest and best ever used in our house
hold. Yours truly,
(Signed) ANDREW REESK, Pres’t.
MANUFACTURED BY
C^KST A SONS, Baltimore.
It, and You will Use no Other.
Slim
A PHYSIOLOGICAL
ley of Marriage!
DpffiMNRI Quids to Wadleek and
onftdcnrial Tnatiw M the
, Mitt of ourriagr and the
Icmiuci flat unfit for H the w-
ereti of Reproduction end
■the Diseases of Womea.
I A book for private, consid
erate nedisg. dW pages, price
ItOcts.
n v ■ ADYliCRl „ „
On ell diHinienof a Private Nature aruirir from Self
Abuse, Excesses, or Secret Diseases, vUh tke beat
meanaofenre, XSHinepazea.pnccMcts.
A CLINICAL LSCTtnUE on the above dleeasee end
those of the Throat and Lungs, Catarrh,Rupture, the
Opium Habit,kc.,price Wcfa
Either book sent postpaid on receipt of price; or ail three,
Uhutamed, lorTScte.
, Uhkt.it. Louis, Ro.
COLUMBUS, GA, December fl. 1877.
Trains Leawe CtiamJm DaHjr,
AS FOLLOWS:
SOUTHERN MAIL.
t:4S P. B. Arrives at Montgomery . 7:52 p u
Mobile- 3.00 a m
New Orleans.. 8:20 a m
•ACCOMMODATION.’'
8:00 P. M.. Arrives at Montgomery... 5:50 a m
Selma. fcto a m
Atlanta. 7:15 am
ATLANTA AND NORTHERN MAIL.
7:00 A. II Arrives at Atlanta.- 2:2u l* u
Washington... to r m
Baltimore e m
New rant nhs* m
ALSO BY THIS TWAIN
Arrfv» at Moutgiuiaery..-.-...—.—.—. M* ** »
TRAINS ARRIVE AT OOLUMBUH
From Montgomery and South west ..11816 a m
From Montgomery and Southvrfet.. THO P N
From Atlautaami Northwest P M
Af-This Train, arriving at Columbus at
7:40 p x, leaves Atlanta at 11:90 A X.
K. p. ALEXANDER, President.
CHAS. PHILLIPS, Agent. doelS U
MOBILE AND GIBARD R. R.
COLUMBUS, GA., December 12, lb77.
Double Daily PaoeeRfer Train,
M AKING close connections at Union
Springs with Montgomery and Kufaula
ns to and from Montgomery and Kti-
fitula and points beyond.
Only tine running Sleeping Cars on night
trains between Columbus and Montgomery
Leave Columbus..— &2U r M 10:00 p m
Arrive at Union Springs 5cW P X A it
Arrive at Troy ffcOO P x
Arrive at Kufaula 10:10 r M 0:00 a x
Arrive at Montgomery... 7:56 r x «H5 a x
Arrive at Mobile 3:00 A M 0.-00 p X
Arrive at New Orleans... 8HO a m 0:40 a x
Arrive at Nashville 7:50 p m 7:50 p x
Arrive at Louisville 3:45 A n SB a h
Arrive at Cincinnati 8:10 A x 8:10 A x
Arrive at St. Louis 1:00 r x kOO r u
Arrive at Philadelphia... 0:50 r x 0:30 r x
Arrive at New York KkOS p x 10:05 p x
Leave Trqy.V.i. 1&50 A X
Arrive at Union ttprtn&v 2SU.t»-f
Leave Union Springs 3:10 a X 7:40 A X
Arrive at Columbus 7:10 A x LSOD a m
Arrive at Opelika 9:10 a x —;
Arrive at Atlanta. 2t20 P x —
Arrive at Macon 8:00 p x
Arrive at Savannah.. 7:15 A x
Passengers for Eufeula leaving Columlius
at 2:20 p x daily, arrive in Kubulu at 10:10 p
m daily) Leaving at 10:00 p x daily, arrive lu
Kufaula at 0:00 A X. W. L. CL.‘ ~
my® tf
W. L. CLARK,
Superintendent.
D. E. WILLIAMS,
General Ticket Agent.
CENTRAL & SOUTHWESTERN
RAILROADS.
SAVANNAH, GA., November 11,1977.
O N AND AFTFR SUNDAY, November
11, Passenger Trains on the Central and
Southwestern Katiroads, and Branches, will
run as follows*
TRAIN NO. l-GOiNG NORTH AND WEST
Leaves Savannah tdO a X
Leaves Augusta.- fcljj A X
Arrives at Augusta 4^5 p x
Arrives at Macon — 8:46 r x
Leaves Macon for Atlanta. ftlf * x
Arrivea at Atlanta — k# A x
Leaves Macon for Kufaula (Accom
modation tors
Arrives atKufauia. — Uc6o a x
Leaves' Macon for Columbus (Ac
commodation tftOO r x
Arriyesat Columbus. 4^8 a x
Making close connection sat Atlanta with
Western and Atlantic Railroad fornllpoints
North and West.
Eufbula Accommodation leaves Macon
daily except Saturday.
Columbus Accommodation train runs
daily except Sunday.
COMING SOUTH AND KAST.
Leaves Atlanta ..Trrr.... ..— .JShflr'p u
Arrives at Macon .1^:.. 5c45 a x
Leaves Eufaula (Accommodation)... d:06 p X
Arrives at Macon 8:45 a m
Leaves Columbus (Accommodation) 8:16 v x
Arrives at Macon... 5:16 a u
Leaves Macon 7:00 a x
Arrives at Miltedgevllle 9:44 a m
Arrivea at Katun ton 11:30 a k
Arrives at Augusta 4H6 p m
Arrives at Savannah to p x
Leaves Augusta 9:15 a x
Making connections at Augusta for the
North and East, and at Savannah with the
Atlantic and Gulf Railroad for all points in
Florida.
Eufaula- Accommodation Leaves Kufaula
daily except Sunday.
Columbus Accommodation Train runs
daily except Sunday.
TRAIN NO. 2-GOING NORTH AND WEST
Leaves Savannah.-,... 7 ; sg j» u
Arrives at Augusta a x
Leaves Augusta....:..! &05 p m
Arrives at MIMedgeviile 9:44 a x
Arrives at Eatonton ilso a x
Arrives at Macon g-fX a m
Leaves Macon for Atlauta g-jp a x
Arrives at Atlanta 2:1# p x
Leaves Macon for Albany and Eu-
fimla 8:20 a x
Arrives at Kufaula 3-48 p m
Arrives at Albany i ; a> p m
Leaves Macon fortatuQlNUi 11:45 a u
Arrives at Columbus— ^ ; oo p m
Trtiiwr vwrtnls schedule for Macon,Atlanta.
Columbus, Eufaula and Albany dally mak
ing close connections at Atlanta with West
ern A Atlantic and Atlanta A Richmond
Air-Line. At Etafaula. with Montaomerv A
Kufaula Railroad; at Columbus, with West
ern Railroad or Alabama, and Mobile ami
Girard Railroad.
Train on Blakely Extension leaves Albtuiv
Mondays, Tuesdays, Thursdays aud Fri
days. * x
COMING SOUTH AND EAST.
Leaves Atlanta - Uwr x
Arrives at Macon from Atlanta to p u
Leaves Albany ..VM» A X
Leaves Eufuulu 8:30 a X
Arrives at Macon from Kufeula and
Albany — 4:47 p X
Leaves Columbus H;ai a x
Arrives at Macon from Columbus.... to P x
Leaves Macon 7:36 rx
Arrives at Augusta mio a x
Leaves Augusta 8riS* p if
Arrives at Bavannab 7:15 AdK
Making connections nt Havannab with
Atlantic and Gulf KaHroad for all points
in Florida.
Passengers for MilledgevHte and Eatonton
will take Train No 2 lorHaVannalvkBdTrain
No. 1 from Macon, which trains couuect
daily, except Monday, for these points.
William kogkkk.
Gcn’l Sup’t Central Railroad, Havannab.
W. G. RAOUL,
Kup’t Southwestern Railroad, Macon,
ocastf
ENGLISH FEMALE BITTERS
Best Female Xetleine Cxtaat,
WILL CURE
All Female Com to l>e the only reli-
Ptaints. ible female mrula-
WILLCUKE
f i ILL vVltL tow in extensive
Monthly Obstructioof toe by Dkwoir-ianu
WILL CURE throufKut the
’Vv , country. For all
Old or YouugEemalei tpeeies of nnnatu
WILL CURE rml HtonW * 1 y ®b-
oSasJS SSSZ sis:
WILL CURE ftS5J r „TiY;
Pains in the Side and Womb, Ulceration
f**- „ of the fromb.Cblo-
WILLCURF rort *. or Green
Sickness, Narrou*
Hysterics and Nerv- Debility and Fros-
liUll l Oil DC
WILL CURE f char « a - «ii
Palpitation of the Y e « eU, ' lt ’
Heart Tome it ia unsur
passed, toning the
aiding di
OteiA-at-Wnmanhood.lS®®** 0 ??* exci tin g
iaf<H /V . lreer, acting
Will LUYC upon the bowels
By Regulating. and building up
Will Cure SMS
Cases of Teu YearsJtho whole system.
Large Bottle# ealy $1.00. Mali by all
Hnggtt8s.
*■ *■ bats so*
dAWtf
WILL CURt Jttonaat-h, aiding di
and X. It. UOOB a ( 0.
aug!41
TAX EXECUTIONS!
Muscogee Count)—IS;:.'
A LL who have not paid STATE AND
COUNTY TAXES, IW Will save costa;.
advertisement, lev* and tale by settling fl tea
uritArar fu fob days from this date (Dec.
13th, 1877), after which books will be closed,
„ D. A. ANDREWS,
sep2 eodlm Tax Collector.