Newspaper Page Text
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BECAUSE.
••Vow, John." the district teacher says,
*WUh frown that scarce can hide
The dimpling smiles around her mouth
Where Cupid’s boats abide,
“What hare you done to Mary Ann
That she is crying so*
Don’t say 'twaa nothin*:—don't, I say,
For John that can’t be so.
“For Ms nr Ann would never cry
At nothin*. I am sure.
And if yon have wounded justice, John,
Von know the only cure
Is pun.sbment. So, come, stand up;
Transgreadftm must abide
The pain attendant on the scheme
That makes it justified.”—
So John steps forth, with sunburnt face
And hair all in a tumble,
Hu laughing eyes a contrae* to
His drooping mouth so humble.
“Sow Marv, you must tell me all—
I see that John will not.
And if he's been unkind or rude
ni whip him on the spot.”
“W- wc were p—pUrin’j>—prisoner's b—baee,
An h—be is s—such a £-*••*, ,
An' vr—when I w-wssn’t I—tookia ma am,
H—he k—kissed me—if you please.
Upon the teacher s face the smile*
Have triumphed o’er the frown,
A pleasant thought runs through her mind,
The stick comes harmless down.
But outraged law must be avenged!
Begone, ve smiles, !-egone!
A wav. ye little dreams of love.
C ome on. ye frown*, come on.
“I think 1 11 have to whip you, John;
Sa-h conduct breaks the rule;
No boy, exeept a naughty one.
Would kiss a girl—at school.”
Again the teacher's rod is raised,
A Semes is she stand*—
A premium were put on sin
If punished by such hands:
A- when the bee explores the rose
We see the petals tremble.
So trembled Mary’s rosebud lips—
Her heart would not dissemble:
“I wouldn't whip him very hard—”
The stick stops in its fall—
“It wasn't right to do it, but—
It didn't hurt at all!”
“What madeyou cry, then, Mary Ann?
The school noise makes a pause,
And out upon the listening air
From Mary comes “Because
—Philndeluhia Record.
MORMON ISM'S SAD SIDE.
The Woes That Are Suffered for the Most
Fart in Silence—The Effect of Poly
gamy Upon Original. Lawful Wives—
The Wretched Condition of Affairs.
Salt Lake Letter.
The sad side of Mormonism is not very
often touched upon. Many observers see
its ludicrous features, and others dan
gerous political tendencies of the hier
archy, but fevr discover the heart-break
ing sorrows so closely vailed in hundreds
of homes by fanaticism and terror. When
Joseph Cook was here the other day he
received a letter from Mrs. Paddock of
this city telling the following story: “A
short time ago an educated young news
paper man came to Utah from England
with his young wife. They had fallen
under the influence of a Mormon mission
ary, ana were devout believers in the
teachings of the Saints. For a time they
lived here unmolested, but the priesthood
at length exerted their influence on the
husband to lorcehim into polygamy. The
wife, finding opposition in vain, at last
gave her nominal consent. A second wife
was brought into the house. In a short
time the first wife became a mother,but the
infant never cried aloud. It came voice
less into the world, but it wept in silence
all the time. Sleeping or waking the
tears flowed from its closed eves- and in
three or four weeks it died. The mother
said it died of a broken heart. Every day
of its life it shed the tears that the mother
had repressed before its birth. The
mother nerself soon followed the child,
and both rest together on the hill.”
Isaac Langton and wife have grown
gray in the faith. For years they have
resisted the appeals of the priests and
have lived for each other. They nave
been poor all their lives, and both have
had to struggle hard to keep their home
and rear their children. A happier old
couple could not have been found m Utah
until last week. Both being near the end
ol their earthly race, the fond old wife had
long ago given up worry or apprehension
concerning her husband's loyalty. In his
old age, however, the wiles of the priests
caught him. It was represented to him
that the hard lot he had experienced
through life was due to Goa's displeasure
because he had not followed the teachings
of the prophets, and that if he hoped for
better things in the world to come he
must quieklv take another wife to his
home. The old fellow tried to communi
cate hie determination to his aged partner,
but lacked the courage, and finally con
cluded to surprise her. He went through
the Endowment House with a vouthtul
woman, and, presenting himself at his
lowlv home, informed his first wile of
what he had done. The old lady was
•taggercd by the blow, but, restraining
her feelings, told the newly-wedded pair
that she would soon be out of the way.
Langton and his bride went off on a visit,,
and on their return on a streetcar Mrs.
Langton No. 1, in abject despair, threw
herself under the wheels of the vehicle.
Tbe driver chanced to have control of the
brake, and stopped the car before the old
ladv was crushed. Her clothing was
torn from her, however, and she was seri
ouslv injured internally.
A ileeldedlv different result was reached
in the case of Israel Pinkbam and wire,
another old couple,who moved from Maine
manv vears ago to this Territory. They
passed through Salt Lake the.otber day
on taeir way to their old home, and the
old ladv made no secret of the cause of
their return. To a reporter of a Gentile
newspaper she said: “My husband and I
have lived together these 43 years, and
though we j’ined the Mormons 20 year
ago, nothing was ever said about polv
gauiv until this spring. Then some
sneaking priests came around and got the
old man worked up with the idea that he
must have one or two more wives. ‘Not
much, Israel Pinkham,’ says 1; ‘we’ve
traveled together this far, and no Mormon
will separate us now. We’ve got two
sons and a darter back East, who sha'n’t
have acvbodv poking fun at them; and
there's the two little boys what we buried
back in Maine, who won’t have no occa
sion to p'int their fingers at us when we
cross over to the other shore. This tfiing
has gone just as fur as it’s going to.
Israel Pinkham, we’re going back to
Maine,' save I, 'and. whether we’ve got
one vear or ten to live, we’ll end this here
pilgrimage decent, as we begun it,’
Ain't that what 1 told you ?” said she,
addressing the old man who had been a
silent listener. He smiled in a faint way,
and nodded assent. “We’re going back to
Maine,” continued the old lady, “poorer
than wnen we came out here, but wiser
and no wuss. so far as I know. There’ll
be no more Mormon in this family.”
George Walker had two wives and mar
ried a third, a woman much handsomer
than either of the others. The first one
died in a few weeks and the second went
insane and was sent home to her parents.
Wife No. 3, who thus became the only
wife, led a verv contented life for a while,
but she is now' filled with rage and grief
because her husband has married another
woman, and is maintaining ber in good
stvle in another part of the city.
Young Clawson, a son of one of the
leading Saints, has just married his third
wife in two years. He is not yet 22
but promises to rival Brigham
Young In tbe number of his spouses If he
lives as long. He is rich, and his father
takes pride in pointing to him as an
example for all of the youth in Zion to
follow. One odd feature of young Claw
son’s operations in the matrimonial line is
said to be the fact that while the second
wife knows of the existence of the first,
and tbe third is aware that she has two
predecessors, the first does not know
there is a second or a third, and the
second is ignorant that there is one later
than herself. Some time or other it is
confidently expected that the yoaug man
will have to make a series of explana
tions.
The strenuous efforts which the leaders
in the church are making to stimulate
polvgamv. and the necessity which exists
for keeping plural marriages secret, have
induced many of the faithful to keep the
fact of their later marriages from even
their previous wives. Knowledge of this
state of affairs has driven many Mormon
wives wno are suspicious of their hus
bands to the verge of distraction, and not
a few of them adopted extraordinary
measures to discover whether their appre
hensions are well founded or not. Noth
ing makes the average Mormon woman's
lot harder than the suspicion that there are
wives of whom she kpows nothing. It is
bad enough to put up with her those whom
she is well aware divide with the honors
of wifehood, but the idea that others of
whom she knows nothing may be rolling
in luxurv somewhere is intolerable.
Nearlv all of this wretchedness is con
cealed. The most extraordinary devices
are resorted to to cover up any scandal
among the faithful, and were it not for
the fact that there are many keen-eyed
Gentiles here, suppression would be com
plete. A young girl named Annie
Elmore, wbo came here from England
awhile ago with a batch of convert*, was
immediately beset by several old saints
with proposals of marriage. She was
unusual] r pretty and intelligent, and the
rivalry or the elders was great. To all
she turned a deaf ear, however, and one
after another was flatly refused. Then
one of the Bishops called on her and
undertook to terrify her into marrying.
He told her that if she remained obdurate
he would be compelled to cut her off. not
only in this world, but in the next, and
explained to her that to be cut off was
eternal ruin. She defied him to do his
worst, and told him that in England the
Mormon missionaries had taught that a
woman should marry only tbe man she
loved, and that she was bound to do so.
The Bishop did cat her ofl, but learning
soon after that she had married a young
man whp had followed her to this country
aDd joined the church, the excommunica
tion was withdrawn. Just now this
true-hearted girl, who withstood the
blandishments and threats of ber elders
so heroically that she might remain true
to her absent lover, is a raving maniac,
because be,threemonths alter his marriage
with her, brought home another wife.
Suppressed, denied, and made light of as
these things are by the Mormons, they
crop out occasionally, revealing the depth
of tbe woe which exists here for the most
part in silence.
AN ANCESTRAL ARTIST.
How a Denver Painter Furnishes Hl*
easterners with Ancestors to Order,
Den rer ( .V>ir.
A modest sign on a Larimer street build
ing reads: “Dr. I’aul Gurney, Genea
logical Artist.”
The observant eye of a reporter lighted
upon it the other day, and the rather sin
gular character of the term genealogical
artist rather attracted him. So he mounted
the stairs and knocked at a door marked
simply by the Doctor’s card, which was
not more' than three inches in length.
A rather poorly dressed man with a
good-humored face, and evidently of Eng
lish extraction, opened the door.
“Good afternoon,” said the occupant of
the room; “can I do something for you in
my line to-day f”
“Well, perhaps so,” said the reporter.
“What is your charge for services?”
“Weil, that depends on the matter in
hand. What sort of an ancestor would
you like?”
“An ancestor?”
“Yes. You want a genealogical por
trait, I presume. I can paint you any
kind of an ancestor you like—English,
French, Scotch, Irish. Puritan. New Eng
lander. Dutch, German, Swedish, Aus
trian, Russian or Italian. As for periods,
I can make them of any century or epoch
you like.”
“What do most people prefer?”
“A first settler of Jamestown, Ya.;
though lately, since dude ideas became so
prevalent, we are painting a good many
portraits of English ancestors of various
periods. If a person's an Episcopalian,
he wants a cavalier of the days of Charles
the Second. If he is a Methodist, a Con
gregationalistor a Presbyterian, he wants
a man of the days of Queen Anne or
George the Second.”
“Are men or women most preferred for
portraits ?”
“Men, of course, are most preferred, but
many just now are taking a pair of por
traits—male and female. You see female
costumes show up best in portrait, while
everybody wants a male ancestor—it
speaks better for a family’s morality to
have some male ancestor—one at least.”
“How do you do it?”
“Well, you see, this is the modus ope
randi—but for heaven’s sake, don’t give it
away: A man comes here who has sud
denly grown rich. He has never before
thought much about his ancestors, and
has never been quite certain whether he
had any or not, but he suddenly discovers
that he'has become and must necessarily
be blue-blooded. So be wants one or two
nice family portraits, or sometimes a
whole line of ancestors. How do I get
them, you ask ? Why, you just go into
my dressing-rooms, and my assistant, who
is ‘way up’ in costumes," picks out the
right rig, and you sit down in a chair, and
in a couple of hours 1 get the outline for
the portrait. The costume is fairly exact,
but the outline of your f&ce is the main
thing. The costume I get some idea of,
and my assistant c an sit for the filling in
of the dress. Now, here is a portrait of
the ancestor of a man up in Leadville.
The man suddenly struck it rich a few
years ago, and since that time his family
and himself have been flying it pretty
high. The man bore the plebeian name of
Smith, and liis ancestors were so numer
ous that it would be pretty hard to strke a
good, straight genealogical record, but a
portrait does the business better than a
book on the genealogies of the Smith fami
lv—so I paint a portrait of Capt. Reginald
S'mitb, of Smith Hall. I presume there
was such a Smith. It wouid be very hard
to prove that there was not. So, here is
Capt. Smith, who was a stanch Church
man and a Royalist in the days of Queen
Elizabeth, and probably knew Shaks
peare and Raleigh, and all those fel
lows,”
“Do you do anyting in the line of her
aldry ?”
“Yes, if people want it. There is a crest
on this Smith portrait, as you will observe.
Now, I don’t know much about heraldry,
and very few people have much of an ad
vantage over me in that respect. But if a
man wants a coat-of-arms, or a crest, or
anything else—don’t know much about
these terms —I can paint it for him.
There isn’t likely to be one in ten thou
sand to know whether it is a correct one
or not.”
“How does a man prove up on his por
traits?”
“O, I give him a genealogical chart if
he wants it very bad, but as a general
thing a man is contented with a
short history of his ancestors. Here is
one of the ancestors of ‘Doc’ Baggs. You
see the Doctor is very much stuck on
being considered a descendant of the Pu
ritans—whom he much resembles in char
acter—so I paint a picture of one of those
sombre, long-haired fellows in a black
jacket, who wears no powdered wig, and
whose face is a yard long. Well, here’s
the description: Charles Bajrgs was the
son of a well-to-do draper in London. He
was one ot the men who came over on the
Mayflower and was a godly man, full of
zeal for tbe church. The chronicles of
the Plymouth colony tell us that “Ye peo
ple at that time did much praise ye
shrewde cunning with which our Charles
Baggs did trade with ye red man, and ye
Governor much commended him.’ Later
we learn that ‘One Charles Baggs stands
high in ye counsels of Gov. YV inthrop.’
The tace, you will see, looks something as
‘Doc’ Baggs would if he was shaved.”
“Do you have much trade in Denver?”
“O, yes, considerable. I have only been
here a’few week9,but I have already more
work than I can attend to.”
“What are your prices? I believe you
haven’t told me.”
“If an ancestor goes back a century—
sav to tbe revolutionary war—l oharge
$lO. If he goes back to the Puritan pe
riod in New England, or the Pilgrim pe
riod, as historians prefer to call it, I make
a sudden jump to SSO; but I will paint an
English gentleman of the days of James
I. for $25: and for a George 111. English
man, which isn’t much called for, I let
the price down to SB. People, as a rule,
don’t value a Tory ancestor very highly.
Dutch ancestors, if ordered by New York
people, come at S4O, if not of too remote a
period. English cavaliers cost about SSO,
as a general thing; Queen Anne people
about the same. Ol course I make reduc
tions from these figures where full lines
of ancestors are ordered.”
“How about remote ancestors ?”
“O, we stick it to people a little more.
A Henry VIII. nobleman costs S6O. An
ancestor of the days of Henry IV. of
France costs about the same. A Norman
ancestor of the days of the Conquest can
be furnished for about $75, and a Saxon or
ancient Briton is $175, if done in the worm
eaten frame.”
“Do you regard the West as a better
field for a man of your profession than the
East.”
“In some respects, yes. You see I have
been botheied in the East by a cheap fraud
who has a chromo factory, and who used
to turn out ancestral portraits at greatly
reduced rates. He has agencies in New
York and Chicago, and, as half the people
can’t tell a chromo from an oil-painting,
he does a pretty good business, but here
in the West people want the best of every
thing, and I don’t think I have much to
fear from the chromo racket. You see in
the new West there are lots of people who
have made sudden fortunes, and it is
very necessary they should have ances
tors, so I come in to supply a long-felt
want, and to furnish something that
no well regulated family should be with
out.”
Barbocci, in Raccoqlitore Medico, re
commends a mixture of equal parts of
camphor and animal charcoal as a sub
stitute for Lister dressings. The.camphor
acts physiologically in destroying mi
crobes; the charcoal physically, by ab
sorbing and disinfecting the discharges.
This is especially uselul in old, excavated
ulcers; the application removes fetidity,
and also relieves pain.
THE SAVANNAH MORNING NEAVS: SUNDAY, JULY 13, 1884.
THE RACHAL BROTHERS.
I.
Mardl Gras has been an universally
merry day. and still in the early night
hours throngs surged upon the streets;
maskers hastened to their various object
ive points or wandered in wanton aimless
ness; shouts of laughter, jests, greeting*
and myriad festal cries assailed the ear;
numbers of vehicles rattled over the
pavements, and glimpses of figures in
domino or ball costume within them
presaged a succeeding night of similar
gavetr.
There was a soiree masruee at the resi
dence of Theophile St. Pol, Rue des Hem
parts. The parlors, halls and upper front
rooms were brilliantly lighted, doors and
windows thrown open upon broad veran
das. The guests were select and multi
tudinous; a long file of carriages stood
along the street, where, at the gate, an
eager crowd of lookers-on were gathered.
Mine. St. Pol was exceedingly solicitous,
bejeweled and powdered. Mile. St. Pol
was in mask, and Theophile himself was
very jovial, and, despite his years, übi
quitous.
A Dominican monk’s white garb con
cealed the person of the talented young
jurisconsul, Lueieu Massey, who, alter
haring flirted with almost every other fair
reveller, was now bent upon determin
ing the identity of a certain pair of
black eyes that gleamed from behind a
silken mask worn by a peasant girl of
Normandy.
From room to room he pursued her.
She, in a like spirit of adventure, led him
on, pausing for a momentary exchange of
words, but adroitly avoiding the tying
of a lengthy conversation, as if she did
not recognize him instantaneously,.and
he her. From parlor to hall, again and
again, the sweet chase continued; from
parlor to hall, out of hall to garden, into
the open air, where at a hidden turn in
the walks she stopped and demanded in
frolic-anger to know why he persisted in
this discourteous pursuit'.
“I beg pardon, mademoiselle,” said Lu
cien, “but I thought I saw in your form
and eyes a very clear acquaintance.”
“And her eyes,” rejoined the masker;
“of what color are they?”
“Blue, mademoiselle: the skies are not
so blue, nor the pool-starring irises.” He
spoke gallantly, but he lied.
“How like a good Dominican you talk!
Are you sure, quite sure?”
“Quite sure."
The peasant girl laughed merrily, but
with just a touch of jealousy.
“Look close, father,” said she; and she
turned her face so that the clear moonshine
fell upon it.
“I was mistaken,” said he, with irritat
ing calmness; “and yet”—
“And yet?”
“Thinking upon it, perhaps, after all,
her eyes are black—sincerely and truly
speaking, they are black black, of
course.”
“Traitor!” cried she, “how could you
cheat me so!”
“Aud,” continued Lucien, “if I am not
again mistaken, the owner of the blue
or balck eyes—as you please—is Mile. St.
Pol.”
“And le pere Dominique is M. Lucien
Massey.”
"Dominas cobiscum! my child. But how
did you guess it, mon ame (my soul ?” )
and the monk put his arm aliout the girlish
waist in a very secular fashion, to say the
least, when—
“ Mile. Gabrielle?” exclaimed a harsh
voice, in stern deprecation, and turning
about Lucien encountered the scowling
visage of an unmasked French gendarme,
who unceremoniously and assumptuously
marched the peasant girl into the house.
This fleshly apparition was Gaspard
Raehal.
n.
The respective signs ol two lawyers
were painted on the jambs of adoorway on
the ground floor of a two-story brick
house on the left hand side of Toulouse
street, going toward the river, between
Royal and Chartres streets. One, dingy
and weather-stained, read, “Oliver Ra
chal, Avocat, Abogado;” the other, fresh
and clear, advertised “Lucien Massey,
Attorney at Law.” A third sign, bright
in black and gold, “Raehal & Massey,
Attorneys at Law, Avoeates,” raised the
presumption that the owners of the two
first named signs had recently entered
into partnership.
The Notary Bousquet announced to the
public from tbe same door jambs that he
also occupied the said ground floor.
Two rooms constituted the ground floor.
The first was lighted very brightly or
dimly—according to the sun’s position—
by the glass front and street floor; the sec
ond, back of the first, opened upon a small
paved court, walled iu by high buildings
on all sides; consequently this court was
dark and dank, and the room was darker
and danker, where, at his paper-strewn
desk, Oliver Raehal was driving a squeaky
quill through the lormularies of a petition
to the Honorable City Court of tbe city of
Lafayette. Of medium size, vigorous,
neither stout nor slender, nervous-bilious,
was Oliver Raehal; his complexion a
little muddy, but his eyes clear and spark
ling; his actions and looks quick and de
cisive. Asa lawyer, he was astute; not
comprehensively versed in the books, but
profound in knowledge of men and things;
unexcelled in criminal jurisprudence.
He was esteemed by the members of his
fraternity, an ornanieut to the profession;
and all who knew him or of him held him
a good man and a gentleman—one who
ought to live forever aud be rich all the
time.
The front room contained two book
cases, wherein were the State reports, a
few English elemeutary works, the older
commentaries on the code Napoleon, and
the treatises of Domat, Pothier et als.
The mantel was decorated with a huge
clock, supported on one side by a bust of
Chief Justice Martin, and on the other by
one of the First Consul (dusty). Two
wretched battle scenes hung upon the
walls, and the cobwebs hung from them.
The pieces of furniture were neither nu
merous nor in superior condition.
In the gloomiest corner of the room sat
the sallow, thin, asthmatic Notary Bous
quet, who had little to do but engage iu
reflections, tbe mysteries of whose nature
will, in this world, never be unfolded; in
whose unobtrusively private career the
passing of an act and the attesting the
authenticity of an instrument with his
awful paraph were epochal milestones.
At the desk nearest the street door sat
that eminent jurispert of the future, Lu
cien Massey, reading what the ever-in
teresting Duranton has to say concerning
“Subrogation Oonventionelle.” Two years
ere this he had received from the Supreme
Court his letter of marque and reprisal,
and had sailed forth upon the troublous
seas of the law profession with all the
usual incipient zeal and enthusiasm. Two
years' study and harass found him in his
original impecuniosity, with but just the
smallest nucleus of a clieDtelle. How
ever, he had been rewarded with a part
nership of Raehal, who s iw in the hand
some, politic, clear-headi !, scholarly fel-
I w an able coadjutor.
But how could one, the morning after
II rdi Gras, read Durant :i, or anybody
eb on subrogation or any >ther subject?
H v could one feel otherwise than sleepy,
yel jervous and excitable? How could
one think of anything but dominos,
masks, dancing, wine and ladies? One
must keep saying in mind,- Gabrielle,
Gabrielle, Gabrielle, and imagining all
sorts of joyous and blissful incidents.
That accursed Gaspard Raehal! The
recurrent name decharmed all his love
phantasmagoria and recalled the hard ac
tuality of the situation.
If he but had the profound acquaintance
with the law of a Livingston, or the bril
liancy of a Mazureau—with his ever wi
dening circle of ardent friends—he could
soon acquire a truly remunerative prac
tice. But he was so young and obscure.
Why had he not been born the son of a
wealthy planter, merchant prince or
banker. A ridiculous plaint for him to
make, he knew; and he would have been
well satisfied with his lot and share of
tortune had he not been in love with Ga
brielle. Ah! if he were only rich, wbat
would Gabrielle not have, and" what would
he not do for her—to minister to every
phantasy! Just to think, she had been to
beautiful Paris twice; and he, he could
not hope to take her there for some time
to come, should 6he become his wife—un
less it might be upon the golden wings of
her dowry—her dot. “Damnation!” as
the Americans said; must he reconcile
himself to the brutal idea—fact, that she
would come to him with a dowry or sep
arate estate, and he bring to the marriage
establishment nothing—except his brain—
that counts for so little. Even this would
rudely brush away the iridescent cobweb
of felicity and magnificence which he
daily and nightly spun for Gabrieile’s
sweet entaglement. But, now suppose
that M. le Pere should seek to prevent the
marriage. He was opposed to it; he fa
vored that execrable Gaspard Raehal, I
with his bags of silver. Then m&demoi- :
selle would bring no dowry with her—he \
was sure she would come to him in anv
event. But, blessed name, what could
please him better than for her to have not
a cent, and for some miracle of good luck
to make him a miniature Cru-sus! These
are not days of miracles, nor ot Aladdin's 1
rings, nor of obsequious spirits; be must
work, plot, save and pray.
Oh. yes, she loved him dearly: he knew
It. She had just a little more than half
way conlessed it one night in the rose
clambered arbor tbe left of the bouse,
after she had coquetted with him to her
capricious pleasure’s content. She was
willing to marry him as he was—this poor,
struggling aspirant to the dignities and
emoluments of a successful advocacy.
Bhe was sure that in time she could soften
papa’s heart, and that Lucien would
achieve fame and fortune.
But this despicable Gaspard—might he
not meanwhile take possession of his prey
by sheer force? One must obey one’s
§ a rents. Decidedly, something should be
one at once.
Ah’, what completion of desire would
there be to have a little house and garden
in the Faubourg Bte. Marie as hostel to his
friends and chatelet in a wonderful dream
life of conjugal happiness.
The sound ol familiar, heavy footsteps
interrupted his rhapsodical revery. Gas
pard Itachal had passed along the hallway
and rapped at his brother’s door. “The
demon!” muttered Massey. One is never
very scrupulous about epithets to be ap
plied to a rival in love.
“Come in,” said Oliver.
Gaspard entered; there was a mo
mentary colloquy between the brothers,
when Oliver shut the door connecting the
offices.
Lucien went on with his musing, schem
ing and execration of Gaspard. The asth
matic notary took his feet off the desk,
leaned toward the back office and dropped
his head on his hand in the attitude of at
tention. Probably he heard nothing, tor
very soon he arose, said he had had too
much Mardi Gras, and went home to
tie up his head in a wet towel and go to
bed.
Oliver came into tbe front room shortly
after Gaspard’s departure.
“We are alone, are we not?” said he,
drawing a chair near to Lucien and seat
ing himself.
Lucien nodded in the
affirmative.
“He, my brother, wishes me to persuade
you to give over your claim to Mile. St.
Pol,” said Raehal, bluntly.
“Never!” cried Lucien,
“Certainly not, cher ami, if you love
her and since it seems that she loves you.”
“She does!” said Massey, with an ac
cent of glory.
“M. Gaspard says he also adores her.”
“You are his brother; pardon me, if
you can, when I assert that I don’t be
lieve it.”
“What then?”
“You must divine; you are M. St. Pol’s
attorney and intimate'acquaintance.”
“She will have an admirable dowry.it
is true, if she marries as Monsieur le Pere
commands.” Then he continued: “Mile.
Gabrielle sees that you are very hand
some and amiable. M. St. Pol sees that
you are poor, that my brother is rich. She
will marry Gaspard Raehal.”
Lucien grew white in the face.
“When the guests had gone last night—
Gaspard had already spoken to him, had
told him that your interference had be
come intolerable, your attentions to Ga
brielle beyond conventional propriety.
It seems 'he had observed a little love
passage that very night. When all had
gone, I say, St. Pol held mademoiselle, a
severe lecture, notwithstanding the un
seasonable hour.”
“Vest affreux. Frightful!” exclaimed
Massey.
“My brother has seen him this noon.
The day is fixed. The marriage will take
place immediately after Easter.”
“My God!” ejaculated Lucien, clasping
his hands.
‘•Gaspard is not afraid of your being
able to prevent the solemnization of the
marriage; he merely wishes me to con
vince or persuade you of the uselessness
of prosecuting your suit. Very naturally
he is angry on account of your demon
strative attentions to Miss St. Pol. He
says you must desist, and at once. Other
wise you shall suffer the necessary con
sequences. My brother is a little phleg
matic, it is true, but he is vindictive;
he is a desperate man. Now, had I have
been in his place, I would have slapped
your face in tbe garden.”
“That does not frighten me,” cried Mas
sey, fiercely. “So much the better, so
much the better; it is the very thing; I
shall insult him publicly.”
“No, no, Lucien; you must do nothing
of the sort. Should’ you kill my brother,
you would lose a rival only t# further
harden St. Pol; 1 should be obliged to
bring you to justice; besides there is no
necessity lor murder.”
“So then you will assist your brother?
You will try to exercise your influence
over me; you will further this horrible
marriage?”
“I have resolved—”
“Heavens!” murmured Massey.
“To help you, if I can, my dear child,”
said Raehal", positively.
"Merci-bien; that is more than I have
any right to expect, than I could dream
of; I don’t understand; have you some
grudge against M. Gaspand?”
“None iu the world. True, he ia my
brother; but you, too, Lucien, are almost
my son—you kuow that well. I think
much, too, ot Mile. Gabrielle; she is a
charming girl—she loves you, 1 am sure.
Gaspard is wealthy, good; but you will
be fairly oft’ some time, I am certain.
Gaspard has had his history—l—well, I
don’t consider him a proper match for her.
Marriage must be a wedding of the heai ts
as well as of the hands; it is not an affair
of a day. Gaspard can find another; you,
dear Massey, will not so soon forget the
bright eyes of mademoiselle.”
“Ah, how good you are, my friend!”
cried Lucien;'“but for your honor’s sake
I cannot ask you to act against your
brother.”
“Well, 1 shall play the counsellor, at
any rate.”
“But what can I do?”
“Marry her yourself, cher ami!”
“Myself! Ah, elope?”
“Precisement! How old is she?”
“She has eighteen years,” said Lucien,
proudly.
“That is bad —he might disinherit
her.”
"That matters little. He will forget
and forgive in two years’ time or less,
lam sure. But will Mile. Gabrielle con
sent? Her conscientious scruples, ner
delicacy!”
“That is your business. You have
said she loves you; her love, her pique,
her dislike of Gaspard, the romance?”
“And where shall we go? Stay here, go
to the Teche, or where?”
“Better go to St. Louis for awhile, at
least. Gaspard, I tell you, is a violent
man— feroce sometimes. It will keep St.
Pol In greater suspense; he will come to
terms sooner.”
“That costs much money; I have almost
nothing.”
“And I have little or nothing,” said
Raehal, “and there is no immediate pros
pect of final settlement of our Rouget—
succession case—that is three months off,
sure. But I’ll get the money; you will
pay me back, I know, and we will win
the Rouget case certaincment. I’ll get the
money. It will be a hard day in New Or
leans when Oliver Raehal can’t raise a
few huudred piastres.”
“That is,” said Massey, “because you
are the soul of honor.”
hi.
Oliver Raehal visited Theophile two
days after the above narrated conversa
tion had taken place, M. St. Pol was doz
ing on the front piazza, while a colored
boy lazily kept away the mosquitoes that
the dust and evening hour had awakened
from their midday siesta. M. Theophile
greeted Raehal with his customarv cour
tesy; ordered a chair for him anM' bottle
of cognac. He enjoyed Itachal’mMot in
frequent visits. He was a good listener,
notwithstanding that he was an incessant
talker, while Raehal had alwavs at
tongue’s end a varied fund of anecdote,
adventure and practical wisdom. Very
possibly Rachal’s career had been a very
checkered one. He spoke little of him
self, however; nearly all he related con
cerned some other person, but one olten
was led to believe that he himself had
been implicated.
In the memorable ante-bellum times of
New Orleans the name of Theophile St.
Pol stood in prominence amid a venerated
host; the name of Theophile St. Pol was
a byword for honor and integrity; the
name of Theophile St. Pol was a pass
word for admission into any social or
mercantile circle; the name of Theophile
St. Pol was solicited to head a list of con
tributions to this or that charitable or
ameliorative enterprise. M. Theophile
St. Pol wa6 constantly and persistently
begged to take the chair; M. Theophile
St. Pol was continually demanded as a
trustee of this or that institution or as a
syndic of the affairs of this or that indi
vidual. M. St. Pol was two or three presi
dents, a multitude of directors and a whole
army of managers. M. St. Pol was a great
man.
M. Theophile St. Pol grew old, conse
quently he began to like the summer time
better than the winter time, and to pay
more attention to his black, after dinner
coffee and his cigars, the morning paper
and bis slippers, than to banking hours,
the rise and fall of "stocks. He began also
to lose his eyesight, but to gain a clearer
insight into the requirements of the rest
of humanity, to widen and deepen his
views, to have a higher estimation of his
opulence and to enlarge the scope of his
liberality. Having been a great man. he
became a good one. Had he been better
educated be might have become a philoso
pher. and a philosopher, stingier.
It often becomes an easy matter to gain
access to the confidence of men of like
age and character; their hearts are
readily touched and their pocketbooks
opened with little difficulty. They become
credulous and are easilyjpracticed upon.
Thus it was with friend Theophile, to an
extent; his pursestrings were continually
being loosened and his prospective heirs
were secretly trembling with anxiety
lest some unfortunate affair should „ con
siderably diminish their inheritance. M.
St. Pol, however, was, like many crlu
lous old men, remarkably sensitive and
self-willed. He thought himself fully
competent to manage his moneys and
properties to their best advantage;"at any
rate he chose to do so; wherefore, credu
lous. but self-willed, he lived, and withal
generous and kindly disposed he died.
Gabrielle, his daughter, was one of
manv; vain of her looks, trifling and
heedless, yet tairly good-hearted, confid
ing and agreeablik from the vivacity of
her conversation and the gayety of her
deportment. Probably six months after
her acquaintance with Massey had he
asked her in_marriage she would have
been delighted; but had she heard of bis
betrothal to someone else she would have
been disappointed, have cried a little,
have gone to the wedding to see the
dresses and ceremony and have cherished
a transitory pique. She Beldora sounded
the depth of her feelings. As it was,
however, she had not known Lucien in
timately quite a year. He was a passion
ate fellow, with the devil’s eloquence; so
he made love to her in a way which,
taken with his personal comeliness, was
truly irresistible. She did not try to re
sist it; she revelled in it, and her black
eyes had so scintillated for the past
months that Babeau, her devoted mulatto
maid, was afraid they would be altogether
consumed—was it not that tbe eyes are
salam&nderesque, and was it not that re
cently they had begun to smoulder with
tears and trepidation—though intermit
tently to blaze with anger on account of
Gaspard Raehal—“le miserable!”
Oliver had related an incident which
occurred In Paris many years Defore—
something altogether extraordinary. St.
Pol,, -who had been listless and grave
against all custom,suddenly said: “You
know—that I don’t like this protege of
yours to pay attention to my daughter as
he does?”
“He is an unexceptionable young man,
mon ami.”
“She has other suitors whom I prefer.”
“If you speak of my brother you honor
me, M. St. Pol.”
“I speak of your brother iu particular;
he is a man of "position, of respectability;
I esteem him very much.”
Oliver shuddered mentally a little as he
reflected that it was Gaspard’s money
and not his spiritual qualities which gave
him this respectability. “Does he please
Mademoiselle Gabrielle as much, cher
ami?” he stealthily asked.
“Ah! there is truly some slight difficulty
there, we must admit, my dear Oliver;
your devil of a gaillard has those advan
tages of lire, youth, beauty and address by
which the loolish girl’s heart is somewhat
won over; but tout passe, you know, it is
but an infatuation of under-the-twenties,
believe me.”
“Pardon me. my Theophile, but I do
not think it,” interposed Raehal.
“Well, sir,” replied St. Pol, crustily,
“there must be an end of it. The boy is
no match for a daughter of mine. Ga
brielle shall marry with a man able to
maintain her in "the position she now
oceunies.”
“Massey will be aide to do so, some
time, depend on it,” pleaded Raehal.
“Why do you urge his interest and not
your brother’s? Is there something
wrong?” cried the other sharply.
The lawyer flushed. “ Parbleu! no,”
said he, and then after a pause, “To
speak candidly, M. St. Pol. 1 have had
your daughter's welfare in my mind, so
much 60 as—l acknowledge—to make me
overlook consanguinity. I think a deal
of Massey, and know him to be what I
have represented him to be—a man of
ability, family and good qualities. But,
of course, yo’u know best. My brother
will undoubtedly make a dutiful husband;
he will, 1 think," try to be a good one—at
any rate, he will take all possible care of
her. She will shine in society. Yet, I
must say, my Theophile, where there is
no love there is no happiness. Here, I be
lieve—and it pains me to say it—there
will finally be disgust. I beg you wait
and consider. Who knows but a third —
a more eligible person—may shortly
appear.”
But St. Pol shook his head in negation;
the lawyer prudently changed the subject
of conversation, and they hobbed-nobbed
over their cognac very pleasantly till
a late hour.
Raehal left Theophile’s house with a
check tor"several hundred dollars, signed
by Theophile. Alter a day or two had
gone by—for several days, Babeau, Mile.
Gabrieile’s maid, went "to visit a certain
sickfriend. On each occasion she carried
bundles. One evening, nearly two weeks
having passed. Mile. Gabrielle, Lucien
Massey and Babeau alighted from a fast
closedeoach at the levee, a little before
the Flying Cloud backed out into the
river, and them the Flying Cloud counted
among the passengers on that trip up the
Mississippi to St. Louis.
IV.
Several weeks passed away. had
been a domestic and social storm, the
effects of which were still visible. Cir
cumstances had implicated Oliver
Raehal deeply in the affair, and St. Pol
and Gaspard had laid him under the ban
ot their implacable wrath. What could
he do fait deny all that he plausibly
could, say little and abide? But the day
on which he had promised to return the
ill-used money to St. Pol approached with
seeming celerity. At last it was come;
he must pay at all hazards. Theophile
had made a peremptory demand already
for return of the loan. Raehal had fixed
a date as far off as possible. Theophile
must have his money at 2:30 p. m., at 3 p.
m. precisely he invariably left his little
counting room and went home; tenants
and borrowers, triends, customers and
clients of all sorts, must call before that
hour; the rule was inflexible. Oliver had
no money of his own; at most, and incon
siderable amount; the time fixed for
argument and final determination of the
great succession ease was at hand, but
that only; his clients were still on their
plantation. Several of the friends upon
whom he might rely were out of town;
but there was yet Marmiton, Octave
Marmiton, dealer in imported liquors.
The evening of the preceding day M.
Marmiton was seated at his desk, busy
with mattdfs of immediate importance.
Oliver entered the office and bade him
good morning.
“Seat yourself and excuse me but for a
moment, mon ami,” said Marmiton; “then
I shall be happy to attend to you.”
“Pardon me, just a word,” rejoined
Raehal; “I wish to borrow S4OO until
Monday next, if you can spare it?”
“When must you have it?”
“No later than 2 p. m., to-morrow.”
"Juste,” said Marmiton; “I have no
time now to make out a check. I will
send it around to-morrow.”
A man’s word was as good as his bond.
Raehal expressed his thanks, and went
his way rejoicing.
The next morning Marmiton was called
away from his office in the middle of the
day. Passing by nis bank he drew the
money for Raehal.
At 1 o’clock Raehal had not received
money or check. At 1:30 still no money.
He put on his hat and want to Marmiton’s
store. The latter was not there. He told
the cashier that Marmiton had promised
to lend him some money that day. The
other responded that he knew nothing of
it. He did not know where Marmiton
had gone. •
Raehal ran back to his office. No
Marmiton. He ran to a neighboring drug
store and bought some poison. He went
back to the office. It was after 2 o’clock
considerably. He waited and sent a
messenger to Marmiton’s, to no puFpose.
Then he hastened home. Marmiton had
not been there.
He told the servant he would be at home
to nobody. Then he ran up to his room,
entered, locked the door, pulled off his
boots, put on his slippers, brushed his
hair nicely, dressed his whiskers and
arranged his cravat. When done, he
swallowed the poison, sat down and took
up a morning newspaper.
Presently came a rap at the door.
“Who is there ?” he asked.
"Monsieur Marmiton es la has is down
stairs,” answered the servant; “he says
he must see you.”
“Tell him he has come just half an hour
too late. I cannot see him.”
“But he says he has some money for
you.”
“Tell him 1 no longer have need for
money.”
"Mais Mansieu
“Tell him I say that he— I am much
obliged. Va-t-en, go away!”
That is the way a certain individual
preserved his honor ante helium.
When Gaspard was informed by a half
frightened messenger oi his brother’s
horrible death, notwithstanding his very
natural grief and emotion, he immediately
made the following sngango inquiries:
“Was he dressed at the time? Did any
one disturb his clothing at all?” The
answers being in the negative he seemed
relieved of some mysterious apprehen
sion. ’ ,
He hurried at once to Oliver’s apart
ment and stood watch over the corpse.
Oliver was a bachelor and lodged on Roy fil
street. Gaspard was present at the
coroner’s inquest, which was soon belt',
and during the proceedings never relaxed
his vigilance, but increased it. One of
the jurors began to unbutton Ofiver’s
shirt to see if there might not be marks of
violence on the body, when Gaspard
quickly arrested him." “Nonsense,” said
he, pointing to the hideous vial, labeled
‘Poison.’ “What is the use when you
know what killed him?” And the ver
dict was in accordance with the truth
telling circumstances of the case.
Gaspard washed and shrouded the
corpse without assistance, having first
gruffly refused the landlady’s ready offer
for help, and having securely bolted the
door, he sat with the body all night and
the next day till the time of the funeral,
not quitting the room once, but drinking
great quantities ot brandy and water. He
appeared very loath to let anyone go near
tbe corpse.
“What sorrow!” said every one; but
the busybodies talked knowingly about
the singularity with which he conducted
the mortuary ceremonies.
V
! The day for the hearing of the great
! ltouget succession ease came, and with
| it came Lueien Massey. He made an ex
cellent argument before an encouraging
I bench. As he came down the winding
stone staircase of the court building he
received the congratulations of many
older attorneys. He felt very proud. At
the lower landing a man rudelv jostled
him; it was Gaspard Raehal. “It Is you,
you young villian!” muttered Gaspard.
"Oui c’est mot, coquin— it is I, rascal.” re
plied Lueien, striking him smartly in
the face with a copy of his brief in the
succession case. There was no scuffle,
for they were gentlemen, both of them!
About 10 o’clock one bright morning
two carriages—one. a short time later
than the other—drew up before a clump
ol live oaks at the city side of a by-road
winding through the high ground of Or
leans parish, which is known as Metaire
; Ridge. Each carriage, as it arrived,
| emptied itself and the driver, without
ado, led his horse i;nd vehicle away from
| the little road into the trees and sbrub
l bery, out of sight of any one who might
! chance to pass that way—which were
; chance indeed.
From the first coach had alighted the
! short and rather corpulent Gaspard
; Raehal, and a swarthy gentle
i man, his second. They looked for
i a moment at the coach approach
! ing, and then immediately sought
: the secluded rendezvous. Jacques
Tujacque, a noted amateur with the
! lieu ret, was the first ot the adverse party
to descend from their carriage. He car
ried several rapiers under his arm. Then
came Lueien and little Dr. llazinet.
I “Pardi!" cried the physician, as he
picked his w T ay across a low wet place
between the oaks and the selected spot;
“these oaks seem lugubrious enough, with
their dark mournful leaves and their
Ion? gray beards of moss.”
“Dr. Bazinet is mat apropos,” said
Lueien.
“And, like a physician, always think
ing of something suggestive of death,”
growled Tujacque.
“Xo,” rejoined Lueien; “I have noticed
that physicians are almost invariably
eheerfuL Bazinet must be out of sorts.”
“Pardi'.'” protested the worthy doctor.
“I never felt better in my life, and when
I look up to the blue skies and the strong
daylight 1 feel sure that we are going to
come out of this affair victorious; but I
thought the oaks seemed gloomy and 1
said so—as Moliere says:—‘Jenc maclle
point ce quej’ai sur le emur.’’ ”
Raehal arid his second saluted him with
courteous gravity as they approached.
The second was a Spaniard, Santa Cruz
by name. The dueling ground was a
high, level stretch, open to the sky on one
side and overhung by a majestic pecan
tree on the other; to the left a group of
magnolias shone with the clear sunlight
upon their dark glaucous foliage, show
ing here and there the delicate green
sheaths of their tender flower buds, while
to the right moss covered cypress and
willows and untitled shrubs stood in
thick, impenetrable confusion out of the
swamp which lay between the ridge and
the blue waters of Lake Pontchartram.
Santa Cruz and Raehal tried the rapiers.
Santa Cruz found them a little short and
light; 60 did Gaspard. Tujacque and
Santa Cruz, with a deal of chatter on the
part of the former and much mutual
politeness, picked out a very even bit of
ground nearly bare of vegetation—it was
under the outer-most twigs of the lofty
pecan tree. Bazinet opened his little
box of instruments and medical para
phernalia.
The combatants armed themselves, took
their places and saluted each other. At
the signal the weapons crossed and the
duel began. A fine sight, thought Tu
jacque and Santa Cruz, and they heard
the grating of the swords aid saw the
glitter of the steel with evident pleasure.
Dr. Bazinet privately esteemed it bar
barous, but he could riot take his eyes off
the scene. Lueien had never before
fought with anything more dangerous
than foils. He felt considerably nervous,
but brave as a lion. Raehal was a power
ful man, alw’ays on the aggressive. His
Ripostes were terrific in force, and even
his slightest movements were tolerably
rapid in execution, so that Lueien had
need ot all his suppleness ot wrist, agility
and delicacy of touch. Lueien was deem
ed one of the best fencers in Orleans.
Suddenly there appeared a little red
spot on Lucien’s sword arm. Raehal
damned his own awkwardness. Tujacque
interposed.
“It is only a scratch,” laughed Lueien.
Jacques said it should be satisfaction.
“My principal insists upon continu
ance,” said Santa Cruz.
“Pardi.'” cried Bazinet with much
agitation; this is savagery!”
But the rapiers were again flashing,
scraping and ringing in fierce encounter.
Lueien had gained complete composure:
he began to act on the offensive. Raehal
fenced somewhat after the Spanish fash
ion, and jumped about a great deal for a
clumsy, fat man, attacking frequently on
the lower line. In his youth he had been
a better swordsman than Massey now
was, but at present he was rather slow
and stiff from want of practice.
Tujacque, seeing Massey thus calm,
lighted a cigar and began to smoke, but
he puffed only two or three times. Before
Raehal could" quite recover himself from
a lunge, to make which he had cast him
self almost on the ground, Lueien had
pricked him in the shoulder—scarcely
more than a graze it was,amt leaving the
flesh bare and dyeing the torn shirt with
blood. “ Pardi!” ejaculated the watchful
and uninitiated physician, running for
ward to be intercepted by Santa Cruz.
The sight of the naked shoulder seemed to
infuriate Gaspard; he threw himself with
ferocity upon his antagonist, but rage is
half way blind. The rapiers rattled,
clinked and grated and the flashes leaped
out as never before. Suddenly Gaspard
bent over and his sword dropped. Lucien’s
weapon had passed through his body. A
stream of blood followed the withdrawal
of the blade. Raehal muttered a “ mordiou .”’
half straightened himself, raised his arm
for a thrust, staggered a moment and fell
at full length. He swooned away from
wrath, perhaps, as well as from the
wound.
“1 think he’ll get over it,” said Bazi
net, after an examination; “but he’ll
have to run his chances. “Pardi!” he
cried a moment later, and pointing to the
exposed shoulder, “the f eur de bis!”
“Branded a for cat cried Jacques;
“that explains "the mystery of his broth
er’s funeral. Both had been convicts in
France.”
“1 do not believe it,” said Massey, “that
is as to Mr. Oliver.”
“Well, I do,” replied Tujacque,” “and
Gaspard has spent his term in some
Spanish dungeon, too, I’ll warrant.”
Gaspard Raehal was cured ol his wound
in time. He quitted New Orleans—for
Cuba, it was said-and never returned.
M. Theophile’s heart speedily softened.
The dowry, of course, under the law was
not to be’thought of after the marriage
celebration. However, the old gentle
man gave indications that he had deter
mined to make his daughter a handsome
gift. It was never paid, for the old gen
tleman died shortly after the event last
related. He left a magnificent estate and
only two heirs-at law, Gabrielle and a
son. It was seen, on opening his will,
that he had left Mme. Massey all the dis
posable portion, deduction made of a
number of legacies to charity.— John F. C.
Waldo.
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Clearing Out Sale of Onr Si Stmt
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The Greatest Mark-Down Shoe Sale on Record 1
Prior to our annual inventory a sweeping reduction will be made in all our
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Look on our Bargain Counter and see for yourself the following remarkable sacri.
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1 lot Children’s Slippers, Lace and But
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price of 21c., worth 50c. to 75c. per pair.
1 lot Children’s Fox Polish and Button
Shoes from 65c. to 75c. per pair.
1 lot Children’s Goat and Kid Lace and
Button, at a fixed price of 65c. per pair.
1 lot Misses’ Kid and Goat Newport
Ties at 55c. a pair. A bargain.
1 lot Misses’ Opera Slippers at 70c. per
pair.
1 lot Misses Kid, Fox Button and Lace
Shoes at 75c. per pair, worth from $1 to
$1 25.
Special. — l lot Misses’ School Shoes,
always sold at $1 25 per pair, reduced to
sl. solid Leather.
1 lot Misses’ Kid and Peb. Goat Button,
worth $1 60 to $1 75 per pair, only $1 20
per pair.
Assorted lot of Misses’ and Children’s
Spring Heel, in Kid and Goat, Button, at
a sacrifice.
We also have made a general reduction in all our Philadelphia. Baltimore, Xevr.
York and Rochester made goods, in Ladies' French and American Kid Button,
Misses’ and Children's Kid Button Slippers, Ties, etc.
For the information of parties holding tickets in our Prize Drawing, the follow,
ing are the winning numbers:
No. 2,646—Dress Pattern
No. 4,088 Silk Jersey.
No. 2,so4—Hand-Painted Fan.
Parties holding the above numbers will please call and receive their prize.
ALTMAYER'MLTMAYER'S,
135 BROUGHTON STREET.
e iuulto, Sir.
TRUNKS, TRUNKS, TRUNKS!
AN ELEGANT ASSORTMENT JUST RECEIVED AT
ROSENHEIM’S SHOE STORE
SARATOGA TRUNKS, LOUISA TRUNKS
EUGENIE TRUNKS, LADY WASHINGTON TRUNKS,
In all grades of Leather and Crystallized Zinc; also, the celebrated
PATTI CABINET TRUNKS,
GENTS’ ZINC MONITORS.
GENTS’ LEATHER MONITORS.
GENTS’ SOLE LEATHER TRUNKS,
In fact, all styles and qualities, from cheapest to best grades. We make no vain
boast when we say we have the
LARG-EST STOCK AT BOTTOM PRICES !
Also, a full assortment of Ladies’ and Gents’ fine
Leather Satchels, Tourist Bags and Club Bags.
We are also receiving bv every steamer large additions to our
IMMENSE STOCK OF FINE SHOES,
In all 9izes and qualities, to which we invite an inspection.
Sole Agents for Harris’ Philadelphia Made Sole Leather Tip Shoes for Children, and
for Stacy, Adams & Co.’s and Samuel Tolman’s Fine Hand-Sewed Shoes for Gentle
men.
JOS. ROSENHEIM & CO.,
141 CONGRESS STREET.
TRUNKS! TRUNKS! TRUNKS!
SATCHELS, SATCHELS,
BAGS!
—A/T
E. L. NEIDLINGER, SON & CO.’S,
156 St. Julian and 153 Bryan Streets.
<£urpeuttnr sstiiio.
THE TICKET FOR 1884.
THE SEAMLESS TURPENTINE STILL,
\\TITH A PLATFORM DECLARED AGAINST LEAKS, which will cause A LARGE D
t v CREASE, over all other makes, of both Spirits an<l Rosin to the operator. The
of the great increase in Naval Stores last year mav not be from over-production of to* c
Turpentine, but from the great saving from leaks by the use of
McMillan Bros.’ Seamless Turpentine Still l
We have THIRTY-FIVE NEW and SECOND-HAND STILLS, from Twelve to Tbirtv
rels capacity, together with a larze assortment of EXTRA WORMs, CAPS, ARM', la* 5
STILL BOTTOMS, GRATE BARS, DOORS, GLUE KETTLES and all Lindsof STILL
MINGS. REPAIRS through the country a specialty. As now is the time to place '
for STILLS, call on or address McMILLAN
SAVANNAH, GA., or FAYETTEVILLE, >•
*oßa iUatrr, etc.
MIKE T. QUINAN.
MANUFACTURER and Bottler of Belfast
Ginger Ale, Cream Soda, Soda, Sarsapa
rilla and Mineral Waters generally, is now
prepared to supply any demand. My goods,
being prepared from chemically pure water
and extracts,defy competition. Having amp’e
facilities for filling country orders, I only ask
a trial from those doing business out of town to
demonstrate what I can do in shipping prompt
ly. Syrups of all kinds furnished. Orders
from physicians for highly charged Siphons
for sick patients filled at any hour of the day
or night.
Day— Factory, DO and Hi Broughton street.
Night—Residence, 80 Broughton street.
Soda stands using fountains will aaveir.oney
by ordering from me.
1 lot Ladies’ Kid Newport, Tie anu But.
ton, at 85c. Very cheap.
1 lot Ladies’ Slippers. Broken Size at
35c. per pair.
1 lot Ladies’ Cloth Newport Ties at
per pair.
1 lot Ladies’ Pel). Goat and Fox Button
Boots at $1 25; cheap at $1 50.
1 lot Ladies’ Cloth Congress, small size*
at 65c. per pair.
1 lot Ladies' Goat Congress, broken
sizes, at 75c. per pair.
1 lot Ladies’ Kid Fox Button, cheap at
$1 25, will be closed out at #sc.
1 lot Geuts' Low Quarter Shoes at
prices ranging from $1 to $1 75 per pair.
1 lot Gents’ Gaiters, regular sizes, at
$1 50 per pair. An extra bargaiu.
1 lot Boys’ and Youths’ Low Quarters
Congress and Lace Bals., at a swevpinz
reduction.
Perr-
Tie WiMiii Met 1834.
BUDWEISER AND ANHEUSEH.
VNOTHER fresh car load received thi* W>
Half*. Kegs and Ponies. A nul>-
I respectfully ask my friends ana tn v
lie to call for these
Pure and Unadulterated Beers!
On tap at all leading saloons.
GEO. MEYER, Sole Agent, Hi Bar***