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••MEIN Lime iiacsenfkau." I
X>, ar little head with brown braids rippled
orer,
Soft<>kt brown eyes that are under the un,
Sweetest red lips as fresh as the clover,
Ah! when I praise I can never have done!
for straightway I think of her chin with its
dimple.
So canning it plays hide-and-seek in the
snow,
And her voice like a brook with its ripple and
wimple.
And her cheek like a rose in its exquisite
glow.
Her step is as light as the dswfall at even.
And her form, ah! so airily, dainty and
slight!
That she seems ike a star-maiden wandered
from heaven
To a home that without her were darker
than night.
As deftly her housewifely tasks she is piying,
A love song’s gay Lilt to her rosy lips springs.
And in t.m to the measure white Ungers are
flying
O’er a thousand wise, womanly, delicate
tilings.
But. ah! 'tis at eve when the day’s work is
ended.
And lieyond our closed doors lies the world
and its strife,
That I puzzle to know if a seraph descended.
Whether'Us an angel or woman I claim as
my wife!
Ah! bonny brown head! do you know that
your shining
Makes thelight of the world in ray worship
ing eyes?
i ..at about you each hope of my life is en
twining-
And that where you are only there my
heaven lies - — Rebtc-n Came run.
DEAN WHARTON’S DAUGHTER.
CHAPTER I.
AN OLD TUNE.
To commence with ;tn assertion. It is
au undoubted fact that cathedral towns,
likethe fat boy in “Pickwick,” can seldom
or never be said to be tairly awake. Fur
thermore, should some rare event or shock
galvanize by chance their centres into
some faint presentment of life or wakeful
ness, their relapse is, as with that immor
tal youth, sure, sudden and complete.
If you chance to know Postleton at all,
you know how very far that solemn city is
from being any exception to the rule. It
is indeed at the moment I take up its
peaceful records illustrating it to the full.
An event has occurred, the shock has been
given, and the city is even now hastening
—if anything so slow can be said to hasten
—into a respectable and dignified relapse.
Besides its cathedral, a grandly solemn
structure of which thecity is justly pioud,
Postleton boasts, just cresting "the hill,
and some quarter of a mile beyond its
prim but pretty outskirts, a goodly block
of gray stone buildings, known to all men
as the barracks. Here a regiment of cav
alry finds its quarters, to the advantage,
no doubt (.though over this heads are
shaken). social and otherwise of the
neighborhood. The event from which the
city is at present recovering, or rather re
lapsing, is no less a one than change of
regiments, with all the bustle and excite
ment indispensable to that proceeding.
The old regiment but yesterday played
itself dashingly out’ to the appropriate
strains of “The Girl I Left Behind Me;”
to-day the new one—doubtless to equally
appropriate strains—has played itself as
dashingly in.
Farewell sighs and wistful glances have
followed the one, and—such is life!—
bright faces and welcoming smiles have
greeted the other: and thus with a possi
ble ultra-faithful heart (feminine) here
anil there, things are, so to speak, squared
in Postleton, and affairs once more roll
placidly on.
CHAPTER 11.
A NAME.
It was the evening of the day on which
Postleton had welcomed the new coiners.
Rain was falling, streets were emptied,
silence and respectability, w r et through,
and in a forlorn state of dampness and
limpness, had the place to themselves,
bias dared wastefully in shops where for
the last hour never a customer had en
tered; where shutters were at last being
put up over windows into which nobody
looked. Eight o'clock had struck from
tower and steeple. A church-bell was
going ding-dong; from the barracks on
the hill, where the stranger red-coats had
settled down, the familiar tattoo came
faintly sounding. In the cathedral yard
the gray minster towers loomed in misty
silence. In the long, solt evenings ot
summer the Close was a tempting spot
enough to those for whom rest aud silence
iid not n.-cesarily mean dullness and de-
span-. Through nil the long procession of
years <>n which the old gray pile had looked
so calmly down, how many a one had
loved the quiet spot, how many a "hot and
restless heart had sought rest and peace
within its shadows—quiet nooks and cor
ners where glare of sun and turmoil of
the world never seemed to penetrate, and
where only the chirp of birds and the cool
rustle of the trees came, mingled, it might
be, with the tones of the great organ to
break tL# silliness! There was stillness
enough to-night, no sound even ol passing
footsteps in the place, only the dreary
drip, Uripot the fast failing rain. Through
the mist, here and there, stray lights
Jj!inked from the old red-gabled, ivy-eov
"Ored houses where the cathedral dignita
ries found shelter. At thecorner, the one
spot of real brightness, thedeauery looked
cheerily out through its red-curtained
windows, for Mr. 1 b an was entertaining
a party, principally composed of clergy
men and old fogies," at dinner. The Dean
was a tall, thin man, with white, scanty
locks and a great droop in his shoulders,
gained, it was said, by much stooping
over his beloved’cello.
i'ue Very Itev. Arthur Wharton. D. D.,
bad been a widower for more than tf n
years past, and was known tor many a
Inile beyond the l’recincts for his kindly j
heart, strange, shy ways, and his devotion j
T o his children and his violoncello. It was
his daughter Agatha, his first-born and
veritable right hand, who, such a mere
child when the poor mother died, had ever
since, with strangely old-fashioned ways
just at first, done tiie housekeeping and
•‘looked after papa.” And she it was—
alas, that possible faithful heart!—who
iia! looked w ith wistful eyes (though,
truth to tell, it was but in thought she
had trusted herself to follow them ) after
the departing heroes of the day before.
Poor Agatha! It was but an old story,
but iter experience of the world was not
very great, or she might have taken com
fort to herself in the know ledge that men
•ove and ride away every day,and if wom
en’s hearts are broken now- and then,
women's hearts should not be won so easi
ly. ‘-Had her love been so easily—too
easily won?” Agatha had asked herself
the question, how many times already!
She could not say, she could not tell. Just
now she only knew that she had let her
heart go from her, and she could not call
it back. It had been won from her by
what falseness, what treachery! and now
it was cast back to her, and she could not
take it up. How the red flamed into her
cheeks as she remembered it all! How
she railed against herself for the past!
What impossible vows she made for the
future! Poor Agatha! Her experience
of life, as I have said, was not very great,
and as she sat, sick and hiding
her aching heart as best she might in the
deanery school-room this evening,she kept
asking’herself if any one before her had
ever been so foolish, so unhappy? In the
cosy, old-fashioned room quiet was sup
posed to reign and lessons for the morrow
to be in progress. But it was a supposi
tion merely. The other occupants ot the
room were" but three, but one of them
al< ie contrived to make noise enough for
double ihe number. In vain Agatha
cried:
‘•Hush! they will hear you in the dining
room.”
• And a good thing, too —wake ’em up,
sleepy old ltip Van Winkles,” shouted the
culprit. Jack, aged fourteen, aud a gram
mar school boy.
“Ob, Arthur, do make him he quiet,”
implored Agatha.
“Quiet, you, sir!” cried Arthur, thus
appealed to, looking up from his study of
ihe new army list.
“Oh, I say,” cried the irrepressible
Jack, as his eyes fell on the little pink
cover, “let’s see who these new fellows
are. I saw you. Miss Frank, hiding over
in old Townsend’s shop this morning when
they came In, and yesterday, too, for the
matter of that, when the others went
out.”
“I was with Miss Thorne,” Frauk be
gan.
“Oh, yes, I know —all right; but where
was Agatha ? Too proud to go, I sup
pose.”
Frances, otherwise Frank, Jack’s twin
and boon companion, shook her frizzy
bead.
“Agatha does not care about military
men—not as a rule; do you, Agatha? I
do, though Mrs. Tyerman does not think
they are satisfactory acquaintances.”
The boys laughed outright, and even
Agatha smiled.
“Most of the others were nice enough,”
said Arthur. “I don’t see why some of
these shouldn’t be.”
“Oh, I dare say they are all very nice,”
-aid Frank pleasantly, making a place for
hersell on Jack’s chair, “if only Agatha
ll ad not made up her mind not to know
anything about them. Now, then, Arthur,
Two Hundred and Tenth Red Royals.”
‘•Frank's in love with the whole lot, I
do believe,” cried Jack. ‘T didn’t think
much of ’em myself.”
“How disappointed they’d be if they
knew!” said Frank.
“Well, I shall hear their names first and
fall in love with them afterward. People
with ugly names are always so stupid.
Go on, Arthur.”
“I can’t very well go on until you let
me begin.”
“Well, begin then.”
“ 'Two Hundred and Tenth Red Royals
—Lieutenant Colonel Patrick Joseph Por
ter, V. C.’ ”
“And a nice little party he is,” inter
rupted Jack. “They haven’t got his
weight, have they ? Not room for it, per
haps.”
“Now, Jack, do be quiet. Never mind
him. Arthur.”
“'M ajors Walter R. Leslie, J ames
Browne.’ ”
Frank gave a movement of disapproval.
“Oh, James Browne won't do.”
“Why not, Miss Clever?” cried Jack.
“Now, I dare say he’s the best fellow of
the lot.”
“Oh, there are plenty of good Brownes
about,” said Artnur. “But what’s in a
name?”
“Ever so much. I think,” chattered
Frank. “Look at old Canon Crump; no
wonder he has never got any one to take
him, poor dear! Fancy being" Mrs. Crump!
Yours, sincerely, Frances Crump;” and
pretty Frances Wharton laughed, the
others perforce joining in, till the echo of
their young voices must have, almost
reached the poor old Canon himself, smil
ing in happy innocence over the Dean’s
old port down stairs.
“As for fine names, if that is what you
want,” said Jack, scornfully, “just look
at that Dr. Lacey fellow—a nice snob he
was; give himsell airs enough for the
whole regiment, and was less than nobody
after all.”
“By the way,” put In Arthur, “I never
thought much of vour favorite, Danhv,
Agatha.”
“My favorite, Arthur!” protested poor
Agatha, faintly.
“Well, he was always at your elbow
when he got the chance; not that begot
it here so very often, though 1 have won
dered at the governor having him even as
much as he did.”
“Asked himself, I expect,” growled
Jack, parenthetically.
“It was because he was musical, I
think, papa sometimes asked him,” said
Agatha, with a desperate feeling that if
ever “the boys” only came to suspecting
her secret she must run away aud bide
herself forever.
“He musical!” shouted Jack; “the
humbug! why, he couldn’t so much as
turn over your music for you, Agatha,
without someone to poke him up at the
bottom of the page.”
“Well, he will have to turn over some
one else’s music now,” put in Frank
cheerfully.
“1 think it is bed-time,” Agatha said
presently; there was a little tremor in her
voice, which no one noticed.
“Oh, but Arthur has not read half the
names; just another quarter of an hour,”
Frank pleaded.
“It is long past your time, Frank,” said
Agatha. “I am going, too, lor my head is
aching.”
And so, Fre nk protesting no more, good
nights were said. But there was no sleep
for Agatha that night—there had been but
little for many it night past.
The great belt in the cathedral tower
close by boomed out stroke by stroke the
heavy hours. From near and far the nu
merous church clocks one by one took up
the tale and clanged or chimed them forth;
still the weary head tossed on its pillow,
and the hot tears fell like scorching rain.
Happiness, forgetfulness even, it seemed
to Agatha, could be hers never again.
But youth aud pride are stronger than she
knew; forgetfulness nearer than she
thought; and love—well, it is Agatha
Wharton’s love storv that 1 am about to
tell.
CHAPTER 111.
THE KEAN’S JAMES.
Four o’clock had sounded from the ca
thedral; the bell had ceased to call for
service. Mrs. Thorne, Frances Wharton’s
daily governess, had passed from the
deanery aud disappeared with the other
dozen or so of worshipers in the old Nor
man doorway opposite. Up stairs in the
deanery school-room sat Frank, hcisell
li;ml at work on a inony lesson, lor
little M r - T’biip, the cathedral organist
ami Postletou music master. She had not
sat there long when the school-room door
was thrown open with a bang, and Jack’s
boyish voice proclaimed the intruder.
Jack’s face was very excited.
“Frank!” he cried: “Frank, just leave
oIT aud listen to me.”
“I can hear you, Jack—l really can, so
can the old jackdaws in the tower there, I
should say. if they haven’t cotton-wool in
their ears.”
“Cawk!” cried Jack, close to poor
Frank's pretty pink ones, and away went
Frank's book to the other end of the room.
‘Now, who is the old moustache the gov
ernor has got in the library? ‘No admit
tance except on business,’ you know; but
there the interesting stranger sits with his
hands in bis trousers pockets, calm as a
cherub on a tombstone. Agatha’s there,
loo; as for the dear old Dean, he actually
looks as if he wasn’t wishing the fellow
tiie other side of Jordan.”
“If you have quite done, perhaps you
will kindly bring me back my book,” said
Frank quietly.
“Now, Frank, don’t be aggravating.
Do you or don’t you know who the party
is?”
“Of course ldo? The ‘party,’ as you
call him, you very vulgar little boy, is
James Browne—my Browne.”
“Your Browne?”
“Oh, Jack, what a stupid you are!
Major James Browne, lied Royals, of
course.”
“Don’t see how that makes him yours,”
said Jack.
“1 should hope not, indeed?” retorted
Frank. “Didn’t i say at the very first I
couldn’t put up with any such" name?
James Browne! 1 can just see J. 8., short,
stout, hair a cheerful red, face ditto.”
Jack could stand no more; he broke into
a derisive shout.
“if you could only see him! Short and
stent is he? and red? Oh, Frank, you
duffer!”
“Thank you!” interrupted Frank with
much dignity.
“Don’t mention it,” returned Jack po
litely. “All I can say is, if that is your
Major, he's taller than the governor and
just as thin; as for his hair, it’s all but
black; moustaches likewise; to conclude,
his face is a pleasing bronze and he's got
eyes like gimlets. He knew all at out the
book I wasn’t looking for, bless you! Oh,
Frank, you are a muff !”
“Never mind,” said Frank, “there are
Brownes just like that, I know. I wish
Agatha would come up and tell us all
about it. But don’t talk any more, please;
1 have my lessons to do.”
“So have I,” said Jack, “worse luck,”
and was silent for two minutes.
Down stairs in the library James Browne
still sat. Five came booming from the
cathedral. The quarter sounded, then the
half-hour, and at the 6ame moment the
library bell rang.
“At last," cried Jack and Frank to
gether. Jack wag out of the school-room,
with all but his heels over the banisters,
by the time Ruffles, the butler, bad got to
the library door. Jack went back to
Frank, too astounded for speech.
“Well?” cried Frank. “Well?”
“He’s going to stop!”
“What! Who?”
“James Browne.” Then Frank and Jack
sat and looked at one another.
The Dean ot Postleton, whatever he
might be to outsiders, was no'enigma to
his children. No father was better loved
or more loving, but his odd, shy ways, his
misery and discomfort in the presence of
strangers, were fully known to them. Ilis
old triends—and he had many—were wel
come enough, but to the making of new
ones he was not given—certainly not in
this sudden and altogether unlooked-tor
manner. And here was this mysterious
.Major, who had barely been in Postleton
a week, and who had never crossed his
threshold until an hour ago, made free of
the house at once! However, there was
nothing to be done but to sit and wait
with what amount of patience they might
until Agatha should be available. This
was not until the first gong sounded, when
the library door was heard to open, and
Agatha’s solt footsteps came up the stairs.
At the school-room door Jack and Frances
pounced out upon her.
“What does it mean!” they cried, and
dragged her into the room.
Agatha looked at them with an amused
smile. A faint rose bloomed on her cheek,
her soft brown eyes were shining. Frank’s
sharp ones noticed it all.
“Why, Agatha, your headache is gone.
Is it the wonderful Major who has done
thab—has he bewitched you and papa
both?”
“I think it is you who aTe bewitched,”
laughed Agatha". “As for Major Browne,
he is nothing more wonderful than the
son of papa’s very oldest friend—the
Browne we have heard him so often talk
about.”
THE SAVANNAH MORNING NEWS: SUNDAY, APRIL 13, 1864.
“Oh, that is it?” said Jack; “then I
hope he is one of the right sort, for I sup
pose we shall see plenty of him.”
“But, Agatha, you didn’t care about
knowing any of them, don't you remem
ber?” and Frank looked up at her sister
in honest perplexity.
“But this is different. Papa seems as
if he had known him all his life, indeed,
he has seen him before, though it is years
ago. Besides, he is not a young man", or—
or anything of that sort,” Agatha added a
little vaguely. “It will be only as if we
had suddenly found anew relation. Papa
is calling him James already.”
“Uncle James! Yes, that" will do very
nicely,” said Frank. He can take us skat
ing and ail that sort of thing when Arthur
is gone to that horrid Woolwich.”
“You just tell him so, Miss Frank. If
he doesn’t think you a cool young person,
I'm a Dutchman.”
“He will think me a‘ most charming
niece. Come, Agatha, let us go and put
on our best frocks for 'our uncle.’ ”
It was the good Dean’s fancy to have
his four children round him at his late
dinner. Without some such arrangement
he would have seen little or nothing of the
two younger. It would have been worse
than useless quoting “custom” to the
Dean in such a case, so when the Major,
descending from the Dean’s dressing room,
entered the drawing-room, he found his
host and children already there.
Frank looked up and saw a tall,soldierly,
dark-faced, dark-moustached man, “quite
middle-aged,” as she afterward declared
to Jack, "aud every inch an uncle.” The
Major saw the Dean, his kindly face look
ing more kindly still, as he stood before
the tire—for, though August still, the day
had been cold and cheerless —one hand in
Agatha’s, the other laid on Jack’s young
shoulder. Aud the Dean’s eldest daugh
ter, he saw her now, as it were, for the
ffrst time. In the dim light of the low
ceilinged, dusky library he could scarcely
have been said to see her at all. But he
saw her now, tall, fair, white-robed, lamp
and firelight full upon her, a little queenly
looking, a little stately; dark, smooth,
rippling hair, a broad, smooth brow, a
calm, rather sad, sweet face. The glow
from the tire lent a flush to the soft,cream v
complexion, and lighted up the soft, dark
eyes that were raised to greet his entrance.
James Browne was not quite the sober,
middle-aged individual the Dean’s child
ren deemed him. At tive-and-thirty a inau
has scarcely outlived all the fire and pas
sion of youth, and,even as this man looked,
his heart was stirred, his pulses throbbed.
The old-fashioned, fire-lit room, the Dean,
the little group surrounding him, faded.
Time had rolled back; once more goddesses
walked the earth—one was smiling on him
now. But it was only tor a moment. To
whatever wild flights'tbe outwardly calm
Major’s fancy might have wandered, he
was speedily recalled by bis host’s voice.
“Come,” the Dean was saying, “come
to the fire and let me introduce the rest of
mv youngsters. This is Arthur, ail em
bryo brother in arms, and this is Jack. I
really don’t know what we shall do with
Jack. Never make a Dean of him, 1 fear
el), Jack?”
“Make a lawyer of him, papa. He can
talk, can Jack,”said Frank, with a friend
ly nod to their visitor.
“Poor Frank!” said the Dean. “Look
at her, James; doesn’t she look like a
young lady who can never get in a word
edgeways?”
"31y name is Frances, if papa would
only remember,” said the Dean’s youngest
daughter.
“And 1 am to try to remember, too—eh,
Miss Frances?”
“Of course; why, you could not call me
Frank, you know. You are neither papa
nor Jack.”
“Certainly not.”
“Imagine you calling Agatha Aggy!”
James Browne gave a genuine shudder.
“1 can imagine nothing so horrible.”
“We used, you know, years ago; but she
didn’t like it, so we gave it up. I don’t
think she looks a bit like an Aggy, do you ?”
Frank went on confidentially, glancing
over at Agatha, who, with the Dean, had
gone over to a side table and was at that
moment turning over some music that lay
upon it.
“Heaven forbid!”
At the exclamation Agatha turned.
“What is it?” she asked, coming for
ward.
“Oh,” cried Frank, “I was only telling
Major Browne that he had better not call
you Aggy, because you didn’t like it.”
“Oh, Frank,” cried Agatha, with a lit
tle flush and lauttb
“l don’t thing there was much fear,”
me Major said—he was laughing, too.
“How could they do it?”
At this moment, happily, the door was
opened and Ruffles announced that dinner
was served. As James Browne ielt the
Dean’s daughter’s hand within his arm, as
he looked down upos the face so near his
own, he told himsell if he only might come
to call her Agatha he should be quite con
tented.
CHAPTER IV.
GOSSIP.
Wise Jack was right. James Browne,
being James Browne, the deanery, unac
customed though it was to throwing open
its gates to strangers, saw a great deal—
a very great deal—of this one. He fell
into his place in the quiet household in
the most natural manner possible. After
that first astounding afternoon no one
seemed to see anything at all strange in
it. He was “James” to the good old Dean,
and it was indeed only fiis absence that
was at all likely to bo commented upon
by any one in the old corner house. The
Dean’s Agatha welcomed him, his boys
made a hero of him, while Frank, waxing
more friendly and confidential still as the
days went on, called him “Uncle James”
to his sunburned face, and in return gra
ciously rescinded her earlier decision,
and permitted him to hail her “Frank”
without remonstrance. Indeed, before the
friendship was many weeks old, she had
kindly confided to him Agatha recently
expressed views regarding the new ar
rivals; her present friendly and unre
strained reception of him, James Browne,
being, as she insisted, entirely on the
“aged relative” basis, but for which Fran
ces was furthermore careful toassurehim
his present footing at the deanery would
have been a simple impossibility.
“So you see,” Frank added oh that oc
casion", with a charming candor intended
to be reassuring, “it’s very lucky you are
papa’s friend, and rather old, or we should
have never known how nice you are, and
you would never have known how nice we
"are, so it’s all right.”
But the Major did not look altogether so
satisfied. Whatif chattering Frank were
right? aud he saw no reason why she
should not be. What if the smiles and
welcome with which the Dean’s daughter
was wont to greet him—that had even now
become so dear to him—were only for her
father’s friend aud nothing more? Her
father’s “old” friend! Was he really so
very old? For the first time in his" life
James Browne sat counting up his years
and wondering if his youth, in these
young girls’ eyes at least, h 1 really fled.
Bic whatever might be i ie effect of
Frai Vs little confidences,the did not de
ter i e steadfast-taced Maj r from his
purp> >B. It must be somei lilng more
than : ie fifteen or sixteen years between
them, be told himself, that should rob him
of his heart's desire. This being so, as
the days went by, the deanery saw more
of him rather than less, until at last there
were those in l’Ostleton who began to be
think themselves that they ought to have
something to say in the matter.
That Postleton cathedral-shadowed
city as it was— possessed its fair share of
gossips and busvbodies, I dare not deny.
Some, indeed, went further, and said it
had, indeed, more than its share; but these
were always understood as casting no
particular reflection on Postleton gener
ally. There was, 1 may say, no doubt at
whom their remarks were leveled, and
eertainly if ever mortal woman was—in
her own’belief—born to set the world to
right, to take i: by force aud mend its
ways, whet! e - it would or not, that
woman was the Rectoress of St. Swith
in’s.
Mrs. Tyerman was a lady of majestic, 1
may say'awe-inspiring, appearance, and
was wont, when holding forth for the
benefit ©f any victims she might have cap
tured, to address them in a fine deep voice
that added greatly to the terror of the oc
casion. Parishes marked no boundary
for the Rectoress of St. Swithin’s; she
would not only bounce from one end to
the other of her own half a dozen times a
day, but she would bounce into neighbor
ing parishes, to the mutual dismay of
priest and people. Aud then the Rector,
as might be expected, would he appealed
to. Poor little Rector! what could he do?
He who was himself never really sale
from that overwhelming presence even in
his own pulpit, save on those days, it
might be, when as a mark of high dis
pleasure Mrs. Tyerman would betake her
self to the cathedral, and there loudly lift
up her voice in behalf of the miserable
sinners around her.
She it was who now felt herself called
on to remark upon the Major’s intimacy
at the deanery. “And It is not only
there,” she said, “it is the same every
where; he isforever at Agatha Wharton’s
elbow. What can her father mean by al
lowing it? But l shall speak to him—l
shall certainly speak to the Dean.”
“If you will take my advice you will
certainly do nothing of the kind,” said
Mrs. Dorman, the invalid Indian Judge’s
wife, on whom the liectoress was calling.
“It is by no means the first time,” Mrs.
Tvermau went on, not noticing the inter
ruption; “but if you will, go on with j our
work—your knitting, or whatever it was
you were doing.”
“I don’t knit—l was doing nothing, in
fact. You were saying?”
Fat, round-about little Mrs. Dorman
cared notone brass farthing for Mrs. Tver
man nor her awe-inspiring voice. She sat
with calmly folded hands and placid
smile; an unmistakable twinkle was in her
rather sleepy blue eyes.
Her visitor eyed her silently for the space
of half a minute, then, I think, the futili
ty of anything she might trouble herself
to say in that quarter dawned upon the
Rectoress.
“About Agatha Wharton, yes. It is
by no means the first time either. There
was that Captain Danby, he was always
there.”
"Men will go where pretty girls are,”
interrupted Mrs. Dorman.
“Pretty girls have no business to get
themselves talked about.”
“Who talks about her?” Mrs. Dorman
was sitting up in tier chair; she spoke
quite sharply.
“Who?” echoed her visitor, and for a
moment actually appeared unable to say
more. “Why, everybody.”
“Then everybody ought to be ashamed.
Is a girl bound to send a man away the
moment he begins to make himself agree
able to her?”
“She is bound not to allow herself to be
talked about.”
“But if, as you yourself seem to imply,
people will talk?”
“They never talked about me, Mrs. Dor
man.”
“No,” said Mrs. Dorman, “really! Well,
t hey did about me, a good deal "on the
whole, I’m afraid. You see there are a
great many men in India, and they make
themselves very pleasant.”
“At any rate'l hope you will not speak
on the subject in that decidedly flippant
manner to Agatha Wharton.”
“I hope 1 may be allowed to speak to
Miss Wharton on that or any other sub
ject as I may see fit,” said Agatha’s de
fender, quietly.
“By all means,” Mrs. Tverman acqui
esced" with a little flutter of her bonnet
strings, rising as she spoke; “but I have a
duty to perform. I shall most certainly
speak to the Dean.”
“Which I don’t believe even she will
have the face to do,’! said little Mrs. Dor
man to her husband when giving—as she
did with much gusto—an account of the
interview.
CHAPTER V.
COME BACK.
Mrs. Tyerman’s threat was never carried
out; even she, I suppose, as little
Mrs. Dorman Had prophesied, not caring
to face the quiet, courteous old Dean on
such an errand.
So time sped on. Autumn had sighed
itself somewhat blusteringly out, and
winter, like old age, had stolen quietly, al
most imperceptibly, in.
As time went on, and the Major became,
if that were possible, a still more frequent
visitor to the deanery, his confidence did
not increase," and he saw no way to
speaking what was nearest to his heart.
At times it had seemed to him indeed that
the time for speaking would uevercometo
him at all. Was he, as the days wenton,
becoming less to the Dean's daughter in
stead of more? Were her smiles, her
welcome, really losing sometiiing of their
warn\th and retftliness? Was she a
goddoss still, but a goddess freezing into
marble as his own tire and ardor in
creased? Latterly there were days even
when he thought she shunned him, and
when the remembrance that another had
been beforehand with him would force it
self upon him and haunt him with a per
sistency that made the outlook very dark
indeed. For of course he, too, had heard
of Captain Danby. Mrs. Tyerinan,
for one, had taken care that he should not
be in ignorance on that subject.
That the Major eluded tffat lady in
every possible way I need not say. At the
first sound ot that dreaded voice he would
turn and flee. But this was not always
possible. Calm and impassive as the
M ajor could be, the Rectoress knew well
where the shoe pinched, and pertinacious
ly insisted whenever they met at social re
unions, street corners, she cared not
where, upon trying it on.
“The unfortunate part of it is,” she
loudly declared oiie day under the very
walls' of the deanery, where she had cap
tured her victim coming out—“the unfor
tunate part ol it is the girl cares for him
still—any one can see it. Oh, she is very
much altered—very much. But, as 1 was
saying the other day, the man may cfnue
back yet. Y'ou military men seem to think
you can let a girl down and pick her upas
you please.”
Mrs. Tyerman came to a full stop. The
Major’s dark face was quiet and impassive
as usual, but there was something in the
keen gray eyes, which Jack had likened to
gimlets, that she had never seen there be
fore. What was it the owner of the eyes
was saying?
“Say what you choose of us, Mrs. Tjer
man, hut I must ask you to understand
for the future 1 utterly decline to hear you
discuss Miss Wharton or her affairs.”
The Major raised his hat and was gone.
Mrs. Tyerman stood looking after him,
almost doubting her own identity. This
w as worse than 31 rs. Dorman.
And the victorious 31ajor! The Rector
ess might have taken comfort to herself
could she have heard him, as he strode bar
rackward, repeating her lately uttered
words: “She cares for him still; the man
may come back yet.”
It was already growing late, but he re
peated them to himself a good many
times betore the day was done. They
haunted his dreams, they were on his lips
the first thing when he awoke the next
morning.
It was not the custom for the troops at
Postleton to attend the cathedral, though
a red coat or two, with its accompaniment
of gold lace, was generally to be espied
gleaming here and there at morning ser
vice. One of the stray red-esats on the
Sunday following Mrs. Tyerraan’s rebuff
was tbe Major himself, but he, as you may
suppose, was often to be found there. This
morning service had already begun when
he entered. Tbe Dean’s family were loijg
since in their places, and the Dean’s
James, who was wont to find a seat with
them, had to content himself with a mod
est place among the crowd of general
worshipers, from whence, however, he
could catch glimpses of the face for which
lie hungered, and which, I fear, was, on
this particular morning at least, all that
he had gone there for.
Jack’s fresh young voice rang out from
his place in the choir; the Dean himself
preached the sermon, but neither Jack’s
fresh young voice, nor the Dean’s silvery
tones, reached him. For James Browne
just now there was only one voice in all
tbe world, and he was telling himself, alas!
that it would have been better for him,
perhaps, it he had neven heard it.
But other eyes were upon the Dean’s
daughter this morning and upon the Major,
too. The Rector of st. Swithin’s was
breathing freely in his own pulpit. He
was in disgrace, and his very much the
better half was proclaiming it aloud, as
was her wont, in furs and rustling winter
garments, to the best families in Pos
tleton.
Service over, choir and clergy were
filing from their places, then Mrs. Tyer
man, scarcely waiting for the last sur
plice to flutter and disappear, elbowed her
way out w’ith a nod here and there, reach
ing the great west-door just in time to lay
a detaining hand upon a soldierly figure
leaving it.
“Captain Danby!” she said.
When the Dean’s daughter, one of the
last to leave, came out some three of four
minutes later, she came straight upon the
two still standing there.
Poor Agatha! She saw at once who
Mrs. Tyerman’s companion was. A flush
came to her cheek, a little throb to her
heart, but that was all. Then she i>ut out
her hand.
“How do you do?” she said, quietly, so
quietly that the Captain, who was loo’king
lor something quite different—surprise,
pleasure, agitation—lost some of his own
coolness and began a hurried inquiry af
ter all at the deanery.
Frank and the Major were not lar be
hind. As the three—Agatha, Mrs. Tyer
man, and Captain Danby—turned down
the path between the leafless elms, these
two appeared at the big door.
“Good gracious!” cried Frank, coming
to a stand-still at sight of the retreating
figures, and Jack, who had just come up,
made a face of disgust.
It was not much either to say or do, but
the Major had seen enough. He needed
to ask no questions; he knew at once
what had happened. Mrs. Tyerman’s
words had fulfilled themselves and “the
man had come back.” For a} moment or
two he was conscious of nothing else; then
Frank’s voice recalled him.
“She will never ask him in, Jack.”
“By George!” cried Jack, with a sav
age dump, “but she has, though! Oh,
coniA along, Major, and let's turn him
out,”
The deanery door, through which the
three had disappeared, stood hospitably
open still, but the Major shook his head.
“Not in all this war-paint and feathers.
What would Mrs. Tyerman say ?” and with
a farewell wave of his hand he was gone,
spurs jingling, chains ratling.
The two young people stood look ing after
the brilliantly clad figure.
“Well,” said Jack, “to think he should
be as afraid of old Mother T. as all that!”
Frank looked at Jack a moment, a fun
ny litttle look had stolen to her eyes, then:
“Oh, Jack,” she cried, “who is'the duffer
now, 1 should like to know?”
CHAPTER VI.
‘ SUL TOUT.
When Guy Danby turned his back on
Postleton and upon’the I)au’s daughter,
as he told himself, forever, he was o.uite
couscious of his own perfidy and dis
honor. But the knowledge, as you may
suppose, troubled him but little. The
onlj" thing that did trouble him, and what
he was not at all prepared for, was to
find that, having so turned his back upon
it, he was wishing himself back in the
quiet city once more. As tfie weeks
rolled on,"and the far-away beautitul face
continued to haunt not only his days but
his dreams, ha could combat the spell no
longer. Postleton was to be revisited,
the dropped threads taken up; it was to
be a simple thing enough. But the Dean’s
daughter met him, as we have seen, and
suddenly the dreams in her behalf seemed
to melt and vanish, now he clung to
them then, how more and more dear she
became to him as he found her slipping
from him!
In the days that followed on that Sun
day, although he got no invitation to
enter the deanery, and although his wel
come there was of the scantiest, lie could
not keep away. The love denied caused
his own passion to rage and burn with a
fierceness he could no longer control, and
avoid, repel him as she might and did, he
told himself that he would speak and she
should listen.
During these (lays the Dean's James
cam o *°t a t AH to the old corner house iu
the Close, aud the Dean’s daughter, who,
too, had her secret, was thankful to re
member that she had kept it so well.
And now it wanted but a week to
Christmas. Winter had already set his
seal on earth, air, and water,
ponds hidden away in unfrequented hol
lows resounded w'ith the ring oi skates
and the shouts of healthful voices. By
white, wind-swept roads the tall trees
stood black ahd barearmed, and over all
a leaden sky gave promise of winter's
crown—a fall of snow. A few feathery
flakes were already softly floating here
and there as Agatha Wharton came
walking briskly along the high-road some
two miles beyond Postleton. She bad
been lunching at a neighboring rectory,
Arthur had promised to meet her, but as
yet he was nowhere to be seen. Present
ly a turn in the road brought an approach
ing figure in sight—not Arthur’s slight,
trim figure and light, boyish step—this
was that ot a man. tall, square-shoulder
ed, well set up, with a soldierly swing and
tread.
Agatha recognized it at once. (>ne look
at his face, and she knew what he had
come for. One look at hers, and he knew
the litter hopelessness of his errand. But
it did not deter him.
“Don’t send me away,” he said, sharp
ly, as after a word or two she once more
put out her hand. “I came out here pur
posely to meet you, to speak to you.”
Then Agatha Wharton knew that she
must submit herself to her fate, and has
tened her homeward footsteps as the only
thing left her to do.
“I think you must know what 1
have come out here to say, what 1 must
say?”
“No, uo,” she interrupted him. “If I
know what it is, don’t say it—better not,
far better not.”
“Why not?” he cried. “What is it has
changed you ?”
“Who changed first?” she asked, quiet
ly, her eyes not on him. but looking
straight away along the dull, gray line of
road stretching before them.
He caught at her words. *
“Is it that?” he cried, eagerly; “is it
that? Forget it, only remember that I
loved you more than I knew, that I love
you still. You cannot doubt it?”
.She did not doubt it. She could not look
upon his face, she could not hear his
voice, and doubt it. But she only shook
her head.
“Too late, too late!”
It was little more than a whisper, but he
heard it.
“Too late,” he repeated, “and you eared
for me not so long ago? You loved me
do you deny it?” *
He had caught her hand, aud they stood
facing one another, two solitary figures
on the bleak bare highway.
“No, 1 do not deny it,” she said, quiet
ly; “why should I attempt to do so? Y'ou
knew it well enough, and you could leave
me.”
They were the first bitter words he had
ever heard from her lips. Too late, in
deed!
She stood fronting him, a little shade of
pain, of pride, upon her face, but, as he
knew, with not a throb in pulse or heart
for him. But he could not give her up
even then.
“Can you not forgive,” he began,
hoarsely, “or is there someone else, some
one—”
A little pale flush had come to Agatha’s
cheek, a startled look to her eyes. There
was the clatter of swift horse’s hoofs
upon the iron road; another moment
horse and rider, swifter and swifter yet at
sight of them, were dashing wildly past;
another, and in answer to the spur, the
horse had swerved, and his rider, stunned
and senseless, lay almost at their feet. It
was the Dean’s James, the man who at
that moment had been in both their
thoughts.
Then Guy Dauby’s punishment began.
He saw the woman who no longer loved
him throw herself by his rival’s side, for
getful of bis very presence. He saw the
look upon her face that might have been
lor him; he saw her take the unconscious
figure to her clasp and hold it there, pil
lowing the wounded head upon her lap,
careless alike of whether he or all the
world looked on, so only she might guard
and shelter him.
Guy Dauby had taken off his great
coat, and would have thrown it over her
shoulders.
“No, no,” she cried, when she found
what lie was doing; “here, here on him,”
and covered the white, still figure as best
she could.
Her companion went back to the mid
dle of the road, and looked anxiously up
and down.
. “If only someone would come by,” he
said, returning to Agatha. “I cannot
leave you here, and see, the snow is fall
ing.”
But Agatha heeded neither Guy Dan
bv nor the falling snow, save that she
strove to cover the prostrate form more
closely. Only once she looked up at her
companion.
“Is he dead, do you think?” she whis
pered with white, trembling lips.
“Only stunned, I think,” he answered,
letting fall the listly hand, aud went back
to his watch once more.
But Guy Danby’s ordeal was nearly
over. A sound of distant wheels that,
growing nearer, presently car
riage close upon them. At sight of them
the coachman drew up sharply, a familiar
head was popped out of the window’; an
other moment, and the Rectoress of St.
Swithin’s was standing by Agatha Whar
ton’s side. Perhaps, on the whole, itcould
not have been any one better.
Mrs. Tyerman gave one glance about
her-a glance took in all three, and the
state of affairs as well as if she had been
there from the beginning. Then she
asked a question or two, felt the Major’s
pulse, and in three minutes from her’first
appearance on the scene had him safely in
her carriage with Agatha sitting opposite,
find the Captain on the box, under orders
for Postleton, “and carefully, mind, or I
Shall get out and drive myself.”
CHAPTER VII.
Christmas eve, but early morning, so
early that day is only just "stealing over
the city, and the happier half of Postleton
slumber yet. The air is sharp and still,
and snow lies thick and white on every
thing and every where—over quiet fields;
over small country towns and busy cities;
over the but half-awakened city of Postle
ton itself; over the cathedral, gray and
solemn in the winter’s dawn, where in
their niches the saints stand grim and
white, sheeted like sinners at their pen
ance; thick and white about the quiet
Close, where the stiff red houses stand
like whited sepulchres, and where in the
deanery itself Agatha \\ harton’s eyes are
just opening, and the w r orld is beginning
for her once more.
For all the merry Christmas-tide her
heart is heavy, and the short winter’s
day drags wearily to its close. The
Dean’s James had taken farewell of Pos
tleton, his broken head has been mended,
and he is off to-day on sick leave,
and has hinted of India and exchange, so
the deanery scarcely looks to see him
again. As dusk fell he should have been
many a mile away, and yet who paced
with restless steps the snow covered flags
of the cathedral yard? *
Frank Wharton crossing it came upon
the well-known figure. It was quite dark,
but she recognized it at once, and even in
her surprise, I think, what brought it
there.
“Why, Uncle James,” she cried, “I
thought you were miles away!”
The Major gave a little guilty start as
she touched his shoulder.
“So I am,” he said—“supposed to be,
that is.”
“What are you here for, then?” said
Frank, bluntly".
“Can’t you guess?” the Major asked,
quietlj’. "I have heard something and I
cannot go till I have seen her.”
“If you mean Agatha, and I suppose
you do, she is in there, and oh, Uncle
James, she is very unhappy!”
In the cathedral, afternoon service was
just concluding. Lights shone here and
there through the stained windows. Pres
ently the doors were thrown open, one of
Handel’s choruses came rolling from the
organ. Then the little group of worship
ers came quietly out.
The Dean’s daughter was one of the last
to leave. She stood still a moment, her
face upturned to the starlit sky, then pre
pared to move away. As she did so a dark
figure came out of the shadows, a band
was laid upon her arm, a voice she knew
spoke her name. It was not five minutes’
walk from tbe cathedral to the deanery,
but td-night it took so much longer that
before it was reached the Major had
learned all he wanted to know, and India
was worlds away. Instead was only the
deanery door standing hospitably open,
with the Dean, who had just come up,
holding out a welcoming hand. The
soft light irom the lamp burning in the
hall streamed out, and fell warmly on the
three.
Then the door closed, and shut them,
the lamp-light, and the warmth safe with
ia. It shut out the winter’s night, the
darkness, and tbe snow. It shut out the
passers-by; it shut out one who lingered
there, and could not take himself away;
a man with a dark despairing face, and
wild passion at his heart; shut him out
forever from what might have been his
own.
As he turned away at last the cathedral
bells clanged out, and someone passing
wished him “A Merry Christmas!” —All
the Year Hound.
A CURIOUS SECT.
A Sketch of the Chicago Enthusiasts
Who Went to Palestine to Await
Christ's Coming.
Chicago people have almost forgotten
the commotion caused some years ago by
an evangelist of the 3loodv type who sud
denly abandoned the orthodox theories of
heaven of gold and sapphire and began to
preach Christ’s reign upon earth. This
man, Mr. 11. G. Spa fiord, who lived at
Lake View, and who had been a lawyer of
some standing, gathered about him a con
gregation of theorists amounting to per
haps forty or fifty, who subscribed to his
strange belief. In accordance with their
theory, Christ was to appear for His final
residence upon Mt Calvary, and in order
to be there on band at the time of His
second coming 3lr. Salford and his little
band converted all their property into
cash and sailedforthePromisedLand. A
traveler who recently visited Jerusalem
in the interest of one of tbe missionary
societies ol the East states that she visit
ed the house in which the Lake View com
munity lived, and that she found them iu
good health and spirits, still firm in be
lief, and waiting with hope and resignation
lor the Judgment Day. This young wo
man, sent out from Boston, returned to
that city a few weeks ago, and has written
letters to friends in Chicago describing
the way in which she was received, hav
ing been sick for several weeks at the
house in which these people lived. Their
dwelling is described as large and com
modious—& neatly but not elegantly fur
nished house—and fitted out with all the
conveniences whichtbe best civilization of
the country can furnish. She says that
about twenty persons are living under the
same roof, and that all property is held in
common. The house itself is perched up
on the side of the mountain just without
the walls of the Holy City and present a
most strikingly picturesque appearance.
3lr. Spafford, the leader of the community,
is nearly 60 years of age, but is still hale,
hearty, and happy.
The history of tjjis strange belief, so far
as this immediate colony is concerned,
dates from the wreck of the steamer Ville
du Havre in the ocean with a large num
ber of Lake View people, including all of
Mr. Spafford’s children. Up to the time
of this calamity Spafford had been re
gared as an evangelist of the orthodox
order, but very soon after he became the
author of a pamphlet on the subject of the
millennium, which was freely circulated
about the city, and even handed out at
the door of the Young 3len’s Christian
Association. By leading men in the
latter society it was pronounced the
work of an infidel, but it was, neverthe
less, read with great interest, and threat
ened for a time to create a wide rupture
within the association. Only a few.
however, accepted Mr. Spafford’s theo
ries, and these subsequently formed a
congregation, holdingjregularmeetings in
Lake View. A few of these believers are
still to be found in the city.
Mr. C. H. Adams, a real-estate agent of
Lake View, living at No. 1310 Welling
ton avenue, who has devoted much time
lo the study ol the Bible, is one of these.
Last evening, sitting in the midst of his
family, book in hand, he outlined the
whole theory upheld by this class of
thinkers, whose interests" are represented
by two Western journals, the Jiest, of
Chicago, edited by the Rev. Thomas
Wilson, and the Restitution, ot Plymouth.
Ind. Mr. Adams holds that when "men die
their spirits will return to the winds and
their bodies to the sands, and the dust
there to abide the time of the resurrec
tion. But before the trumpet shall sound
for the grand reunion of the blessed, a
battle shall be waged in the Y ale of
Esdralon, between the Euphrates and
the Nile, for the mastery of the world.
This battle, it is held, is to be waged bv
England against the Catholic Church.
The latter will be backed by the Great
Bear, or the Russian Empire, whose
bride she shall be and the Russians will
send down into the contest a numberless
horde of w arriors armed with shield and
buckler. As ail other warriors shall
have long discarded these implements ot
battle it is maintained that reference is
had to the Tartars, who refuse to lay
aside their; barbaric arms. After
Christ’s coming, labor, and death, the
two curses ot man are to be abolished
and the favored of meu shall live, and
love, aud abide in peace through all
time.
Using the symbols of the Bible the be
lievers of this class pretend to be able to
trace within the prophecies all the events
that have since become a part ot the his
tory of the world. The present troubles
in Egypt are regarded as a fulfillment of
prophecy and as preparatory to the final
epoch of the world. But the event which
needs most to he watched is a war which
Russia is to wage for the possession ol
India. Then all the good people must of
a surety buy through tickets for the Holv
Land, for soon thereafter comes the
struggle near the two great African
rivers, which decide the fate of mankind
and abolish sin and suffering forever.
A Growing Kvil.
Fort Keogh {Mont.) Letter in Xeic York Sun.
It is an astonishing fact that one-sixth
of all our herds are now owned by English
men. Every year the English come over
and buy cattle, and if they keep on at the
present rate they will soon own half the
cattle on the plains. Why our large capi
talists should allow so valuable a property
as native cattle to pass into the hands of
foreign holders is inexplicable, but they
are doing so. and the time will come when
they will bitterly regret it. It would be
a deplorable thing to have foreigners con
trol our home beef market and cattle ex
ports, but they will do so within the next
ten years unless our moneyed men wake
up and put a portion of their money into
herds.
What! Never? No! Never!
It never fails that on the second Tues
day of each month the Grand Drawing of
the lxiuisiana State Lottery occurs with
regularity and unimpeached honesty at
New Orleans. The 160th took place on
March 11th, last, and Gen’ls G. T. Beau
regard, of La., and Jubal A. Early, of
Va., sent to the destined parties large" for
tunes and small sums thus: ticket No.
11,467 drew the first capital, $75,000, which
had been sold in fractions, one-fifth of
which was held by G. Goldsmith, a well
known Jewish merchant of Columbus,
Miss., collected through the Columbus In
surance and Banking Company, of Mis
sissippi, another fifth, costing also sl, to
Henry Rivers, a well-known citizen of
Milwaukee, Wis., collected through the
Marine and Fire Insurance Company,
Bank of Milwaukee. No. 6,998 drew the
second capital prize, $25,000, sold also in
fifths at $1 each; James Wentzel, Port
Carbon, Schuylkill Company., Pa., drew
one piece, and C. 31. 3lcCormick, Charles
ton. Ark., were among the fortunate ones.
Ticket No. 1,282 drew the whole third capi
tal prize of SIO,OOO for $5, went to J. Kra
mer, San Francisco, Cal. The next draw
ing takes place on Tuesday, 3lay 13th,
and M. A. Dauphin, New Orleans, La.,
will give all information desired if ap
plied to.
iftmutrrq, srq @ooso, £tr.
niTIATER HI,
135 BROUGHTON STREET.
MILLINERYDEPARTMENT
MAGNIFICENT DISPLAY
OF
MILLINERY!
Our display of FINE MILLINERY' in all of the latest Parisian and America:,
designs has been acknowledged by the ladies of Savannah as absolutely surpassing
any of our past endeavors.
In our UNTRIMMED HAT DEPARTMENT will be found every style and shape
of Hat that will be worn this season—Mentones, Princess Ida Fairmounts, Superior
Graycourts, Millitaires, Zaras, Vernons, Fascinations and all the rest of them—in ali
the latest shapes.
Our FLOWER DEPARTMENT is well stocked with the most exquisite designs of
Branched Goods, Mushroom Sprays, Peach Styles, Rose Bunches, Water Lilies, Daisy
Bunches, etc., etc., and all at prices lower than any other house in the city.
Our FEATHERS too are worth examining, as our stock is large and varieties
extensive. We have Ostrich Tips in every color—Plain and Shaded. Ostrich Plumes
in every shade and quality. Pompons in an endless variety, and every other
description of Feather Trimming. We claim, and can convince any lady desiring to
purchase a Trimmed Hat or Bonnet, that we carry more different shapes and styles
than any House in this citr.
-=SHOE DEPARTMENT =■
When you are examining our Fine Mjllinery, remember, we have in our SHOE
DEPARTMENT a beautiful assortment of Fine Hand-Made Philadelphia Shoes,
comprising some of the best to he found in the city. We are Sole Agents in Savannah
for J. Bash & Sons’ New Y’ork city made Fine Shoes in Ladies’, Misses' and
Children’s. Also a complete line of Boys’ and Ylisses’ School Shoe, Slipper,.Newport
Tie and Button, Oxford Ties, Operas, Y’assars and English Walking Shoes. We
would also remind our patrons and call their attention to those Three Elegant Prizes
which will soon be drawn. The purchase of one pair of Shoes entitles you to a
chance. No misrepresentation of Goods is our motto.
A. I ALTMAYER k CO.,
135 BROUGHTON STREET.
I TRIUMPH OF SUCCESS I
PLATSHEK'S SPRING OPENING.
A Wealth of Fashion Displayed!
The public loudly proclaim us the leaders of genuine bargains. Once more we set
the ball in motion, commencing with a GRAND EASTER OFFER from our
vast assortment of FINE TRIM3IED and UNTRI3IMED
MILLINERY
AT PRICES THAT DEFY COMPETITION.
Ladies’ Straw Hats, in all the new
shades, 25c., worth 63c.
• Ladies’ Fine Pedal Straw nats 50c.,
worth 9Sc.
Ladies’ Coburg Straw Hats 75c., worth
ft 10.
Ladies’ Black Milan Straw Hats 75e.,
worth $1 25.
Ladies’ Leghorn Flats 60c.. worth S7c.
Ladies’ Real Chip Hats in black, sl,
worth $1 75.
Ladies’ Shade nats in all colors, 20e.,
worth 35c. .
Ladies’ XX Leghorn Fiats 75c., worth
$1 25.
Goods Shown as Advertised.
ALL-OVER EMBROIDERY!
Just received anew line of ALL-OVER EMBROIDERY', with Edgings to match,
and would advise all m need of them to call early.
JERSEYS! JERSEYS! JERSEYS! JERSEYS!
Ladies’ BLACK JERSEY'S at $1 85, worth $2 50.
Ladies’ BLACK JERSEYS (with ribbon bow) at $2 65, worth $3 50.
Children’s Lace and Mull Caps and Sun Bonnets!
Laces, Corsets, Ribbons, Gents’ Gauze Vests, Gents’ White Shirts.
Gloves, Hosiery, Jewelry, Ladies’ Gauze Vests, Gents’ Colored Shirts,
Hand-bags, Ruching Collars. Children’s Gauze Vests. Gents’ Neckwear.
PARASOLS! FANS! PARASOLS! FANS! PARASOLS!
F. GUTMAN, 141 Broughton Street.
illatrljro, Ctc.
SAVANNAH, CEORCIA,
Dealer in WATCHES, JEWELRY and SILVERWARE.
REPAIRING A SPECIALTY.
Rockford, 111., January 1, 1884.
This is to certify that we have ap- * fiA l
pointed A. L. DESBOUILLONS Sole ss . 'fro—.
Agent for the sale of the Rockford Quick v '>._ L
Train Watch in Savannah, Georgia, and &7tL' / J v-"
that we will, to the fullest extent, eua- ■' £/f'\ t X /Xlßt a
tain the usual warranty given by him to _ rhi’rcX Zirca !^>-% U <>
purchasers of our movements. No" iL o' apyjTK&AAbv
warranty whatever attaches to these Ljoffit -pg^jgSjTtiy
goo<lß when offered for sale by others . v** ■ -* a-,',
than our duly appointed agents.
Jgyortmcn’o <6ooDo.
Attention. Sportsmen.
Come and Examine.
JUST RECEIVED
Breech-Loaders !-*
P. O. KESSLER & CO.’S,
174 BROUGHTON ST.. SAVANNAH. GA. *
Easter Egg Dyes!
oe, A PACKAGE, at
Strong’s Drug Store,
Corner Bull and Perry street lane,
Ylisses’ Shade Hats in all colors, 15c.,
worth 25e.
Ylisses’ Trimmed School Hats 25e.,
worth 37c.
Misses’ Handsomely Trimmed Hats
50e., worth 73c.
Misses’ Trimmed School Ilats 35c..
worth 50c.
Misses’ Leghorn Flats 75c., worth fl 25.
Ylisses’ Leghorn Flats sl. worth $1 50.
5,000 Boys’ Hats in white, tan and
mixed Straw, from 25c. to sl.
Amcngthe Philistines
Another serial by the author of “Herzches.”
The Salami Weelly News
—OF—
SATURDAY, APRIL 26,
Will contain the opening chapters of anew
serial entitled,
AMONG THE PHILISTINES,
By MRS. NORA LIPMAN HUSSEY*.
OF FORSYTH, GEORGIA.
This story introduces among its leading
characters 'a wife who, loving one man.
marries another, and who finds to her con
sternation that she cannot “off with the old
love and on with the new'’ at her will. She is
conscientious and true, and at last, through
much trial and suffering, becomes a devoted
and loving wife.
In addition to a first-class newspaper at &
moderate price, we offer to each vearly sub
scriber a copy of any of the published novels
of the Mokniso News Library /rse.
Subscription 42 a year, always :u advance.
Subscriptions can be sent’ through local
agents and Postmasters, or direct to
J. H. ESTILL,
3 Whitaker Street, Savannah.