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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.