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6
HER BONNET.
When meeting bells began to toll,
Ar.'l pious folk began to pass,
She deftly tied her bonnet on,
The little, sober meeting lase.
All in her neat, white curtained room, before
her tiny looking glass.
So nv-eIT. round her lady cheeks.
She smoothed her hands of gloss v hair,
And innocently wondered if
Uer bonnet did not make her fair:—
Then sternly chid her foolish heart for har
boring such fancies there.
So square she tied the satin strings,
And set the bows beneath the child; —
Then smiled to see how sweet she looked;
Then thought her vanity a sin,
And she must put such thoughts away before
the sermon should begin.
But, sitting ‘neath the preached word.
Demurely in her father’s pew.
She thought about her bonnet still—
Yes, all the parson's sermon through—
About its pretty bows and buds which better
than the text she knew. v
Yet sitting there with peaceful face.
The reflex of her simple soul,
She looked to lie a very saint—
And may be was one, on the whole—
Only that her pretty bonnet kept away the
aureole. The Century.
11 FOR HER WHEN I AM DEAD.”
A STORY.
‘•1 felt that I must come to you at once
with an explanation. 1 know 1 might
have written, but I am a bad hand at put
ting things on paper. You ought to have
been the first to hear W—of the change in
my plans: but I suppose you know it.
Those confounded newspapers get hold of
everything, somehow, as soon as it hap
pens.”
Paul Dorman spoke awkwardly and half
apologetically, keeping his eyes fixed on
the meerschaum he was trying to rekin
dle, and away from my face! 1 smoked on
in silence, not helping him by question or
comment.
‘•1 never was fit for the work,” he went
on. “It’s completely out of my line, and
I should never have undertaken it. You
were the right person.”
“I don't think that was the general
opinion,” 1 said, not bitterly—l was verv
careful how I spoke on this subject—but
as stating a matter of fact.
“No” he agreed with me; “but vou
were less unfit than I; and, after all,'the i
choice lay between us, you and me. It
seems strange now to think that we were
all the world to poor old Cyril. Well. I’ve
done my best, as far as it’goes. and now 1
have come to beg you to take up the work
where 1 have left it. You won’t refuse
me?”
It had never been mv wav to refuse
Paul anything he asked, arid still less
should Ido so now. I might have said
of myself, as he had said of mv dead
cousin, Cyril Blest, all I had in the' world
had been Paul and Cyril, and Cyril was
dead.
“Still, I owe you an explanation,” he
went on. his pipe between his teeth and
his face turned to the fire; “and I de
clare,” he broke out suddenly, “there's
not a man in London to whom I wouldn’t
sooner make it, or who wouldn’t find it
easier to accept it, than you. old fellow,”
and he flashed one of his old, frank, affec
tionate glances at me while he laughed
embarrasoedlv.
I started. His words fell like a blow on
au unhealed bruise. He had touched un
awares the one tender. ahing spoi in Z"
smoke-dried, case-hardened- feelings. I
was a hard, selfish man of the world in
his eyes and those of society generally
living onlv to - L he responsibilities ot
ufe and to secure to myself a share of
such of its good things as came in mv
way, without brain or heart enough to rise
to the higher levels Of enjoyment, if too
calculating and emotionless by nature to
sink to the lower. That was Paul Dor
man’s idea of me, David Gwynne, and he
pitied me and loved me nevertheless. Cy
ril Blest had done me greater justice, but
he, too, gently despised my aimless, self
absorbed life, aud loved me nevertheless.
v ' ''•* la "' s, we three, Unkeu
u„. jonds forged in the young days when
only such strong glow of sympathy and
white heat of enthusiasm as weld men to
gether can be felt. We were at college to
gether. Cyril and Paul, the two most noted
men of their day, each in his different
line; I, perhaps, the least; and our com
panionship a as a standing marvel even to
superficial observers. Cyril was a dry,
quiet, pale little man, with a bent head
and thoughtful blue eyes under his spec
tacles. never speaking but when spoken
to, and then giving short, concise answers,
very much to the point, in a low, uneni
phatic tone. Paul was a stainar. athlete,
full of animal spirits, and rather given to
“gush” in his conversation—and gush was
less universal in those days than now—a
yicbi-minded, kind-hearted, fairly intelli
gent boy, Rw hair has grown tUiu on the
temples, and he goes turough instead oi
tiver a five-barred gate when he comes
across one now, but he has hardly out
grown his boyhood yet. I cannot describe
myself, aud 1 think Paul or Cyril would
have been equally at a loss to do so. Cyril
sneered softly at me because I did not
read; Paul jeered openly at me because I
could not row, run, or play tennis. Aud
yet we were inseparables, aud no one
guessed how the successes of one or the
other would set my heart leaping and my
head swimming with excitement, wide
the faintest, most measured words of
comment were all that would rise to my
lips.
There is no need to recall their varied
istinctions here. Paul's wife has his by
heart. He is the countrv ’Squire
and 31. P., with a model estate, ConserVil
es ’ ai k‘ s first and onlv love
for his wife.
vTil’s career was public property.. It
-was' brief and brilliant, and the details
are. or were a month ago, in everybody’s
mouth. , . . , ,
1 nave never read his great work, and
should not understand it if 1 did. lam
content to glory in all I hear of his mar
velous talent, patient industry, and in
spired insight, and to know that his book
will stand as a monument of a life given
to a worthy labor long after 1 am dead and
forgotten.
We never drifted far apart, we three. I,
living in the narrow little world we call
society, saw faces come and go; fashions
change; bright households disintegrate
and vanish, leaving dreary blanks; houses
of mourning burst forth into merrymaking
for one gav season and sink into gloom
once more": beauties fade, and reputations
arise and fall. And 1 have played my own
monotonous little part in the show; but
mv real life was lived with Cyril in his
quaint old country home, unchanged from
year to veur, except for the gradual deep
ening and heightening of the drift of pa
pers “and proot sheets and the lessening of
the space accorded to human beings. He
would come to me in town sometimes,
and, establishing himself in a corner of
my chambers, work away peacefully be
tween his visits to the British 3luseum
and his publishers. But he never went
to Paul’s home; he could find nothing to
do there, he said, and preferred that Paul
should come to him.
In that quaint old house he died, sud
denlv and painlessly, without a shadow
of warning. There he was found one
orav morning stark and cold at his desk,
the'ink dry on the pen in his fingers, the
other hand stiffened on the page of a book
of re-ference beside him.
TUev sent for me as his nearest —in
fact, his onlv— relative, and I summoned
Paul, ilis will, dated in the Cambridge
davs was fouud at his solicitor’s. In it
he’shared his property equally between
us—that is. a certain sum of money was
left to me. and his bouse, his library,
manuscripts, and personal belongings to
Paul. I had the lion's share, and it hurt
me that it should be mine.
Vlso. Paul was left executor, and that
hurt me. too. I know l had made a score
of cynical observations on theposthumous
nuisances men made of themselves to
their friends by laying burdens of trus
teeship and guardianship on them, but
that Cyril should have taken me at my
word cut me to the heart.
I stood aside, leaving Paul to his duty,
and feeling for the first time dropped out
of the fellowship. This feeling was in
tensified before long.
llardly bad the last screw been turned
in the coffin lid before “The Romance of
Research: A Memoir of the late Irof.
Blest, with Diary and Correspondence,”
was advertised as in preparation, with an
utterly unknown name on the title page.
Bv way of an authoritative check to the
publication. Paul, by the advice of the
solicitors, and at the urgent request of
Cyril's publishers, was induced to an
nounce that he was at work on a Life and
Letters from the only authentic materials.
The notice served its purpose, the catch
nennv publication never appeared, an l
iooner than I could have believed possi
ble the first volume of Paul's memoir
came out. It was uncommonly well done,
so evervone said. 1 contributed all that
was asked of me in the way of corres
pondence or % erification of dates or inci
dent'-. and that was all. 1 had taken for
granted that it was on some such quest
that Paul presented himself unexpectedly
this November evening, and was more
than perplexed at his manner and woids.
“I am afraid 1 have not caught your
meaning,” 1 answered to the remark pre
vioctly made. “YYhat have you got to
explain ? and what am I to do for you ?”
and I tried to speak as heartily as I
could.
“I want you to edit the second volume
of that Life,” was the unexpected reply;
“I cannot!” blurting it out roughly, and
looking away from me directly.
“YVhynot? YVhat is there that you and
Martin Jebh can’t manage"”
Martin Jebb was Cyril’s Secretary, a
clever young fellow, trustworthy and
scrupulous; it had been possible for Paul
to leave a large share of the work in his
hands; ali of it, in fact, dealing with Cv
ril's special subjects.
Paul answered me with a shake of the
head, and sat musing a while. Then he
began again:
“It’s no use casting about for sentences.
I’ve got te tell you the story, and put it as
I may, it comes to the same thing in the
end. After all, what does it matter what
you think of me? It’s Cyril’e interests
I’ve got to ieok to.”
He knocked the ashes out of his pipe,
then, deliberately laying it aside, he faced
me, leaning forward, his elbows on his
knees, his finger tips lightly joined, his
face upraised to mine.
“You know me pretty thoroughly,
Gwynne, and whether I’m addicted to
give way to whimsies and nervous fan
cies. Well, just listen to this. You know
how we had to go at that memoir at once
without much time for reflection or ar
rangement. ‘Give us plenty of personal
detail,’ that little Jevons, the publisher,
said. ‘Let us have the man as he lived—
his early escapades, his love affairs, and
mcney matters, and his difficulties w ith
his family, if he had any—that’s what the
public want, you know. Above all, his
opinions of his contemporaries. Then his
last illness, and his ideas of what he was
going to do if he had lived, and if you see
any signs of failing in his late work you
might call attention to it.’ Upon mv
soul, Gwynne, I rejoiced in disappointing
the little beggar! You are the onlv rep
resentative of Cyril’s family. He 'never
had a love affair or a money trouble. If
he had any opinions of his'contempora
ries, he took good care not to Ic-ave them
written down, and he died, as he had
lived, without an audience. His storv is
the story of his work, and what else there
was to tell lay ready to hand. He bad a
passion for preserving manuscript. Every
scrap of letter or note he had ever re
ceived in his life was carefully stored
away in dated parcels with the reply
noted down. Y’ou remember his great
oak bureau with the four arched openings
above the writing desk? The first two
were marked inside, ‘Private papers,’
the others -Notes and books,’ with a list
cf the names of the books. All was ar
ranged in such perfect order that I sim
ply opened parcel after parcel according
to date, took what seemed best, and de
stroyed the remainder—and there was a
first volume complete before we realized
it, and before 1 had opened the contents
of the second compartment. There was
so little to tell—his old schoolmaster gave
me a sketch of his early days, and a copy
of an uncommonly smart essay for a little
chap. Rugby was as quickly disposed of,
aud the rest of the book is taken up with
Cambridge and the first outline of his
great work. -It s all very unsatisfying,’
that little publisher grumbles: ‘a one
sided view entirely,’ just because I’ve no
record of scandalous doings, not even of
scandalous sayings, to throw in for spice.
I’ve done my honest best with it. There
seems to me something infinitely touch
ing in the very lacL’ of personal detail—
in a life so _'! VPn 11 bto making clear the
path of knowledge for
I can’t put it rightly, but there a
sort of romance about it, as I see it, n,,.. *
ing a bridge of one's self for another to
cross over by. Perhaps it’s worth giving
up all that makes the happiness of au
ordinary man’s life to think ot the thou
sands of generations following whose feet
one may have set in the road to truth.
You are laughing of course!” said Paul,
rousing himself from a meditative gaze
into the fire. “Don’t think I want to put
all that sentimental bosh into print. I’m
shirking the point u 5 long as I cat., you
see.” He had begun mechanically to re
al! his pipe, but pushed it from de
terminedly. "As soon as \ £rflt thfir . t
volume off to the printer’s 1 set to work
ou tLe second, and, you won’t believe me,
but after three weeks 1 have not got a sin
gle page put together. I can’t do it.
Don't ask me why, but I can’t. I have
gone down there day after day and sat
down before that old bureau determined
not to rise till I had made a fair begin
ning, and have f.-und myself vacantlv
dreaming pen in hand, hours later, and
not a line written. I have unlocked that
little door aud taken out parcel after par
cel of letters and been unable to bring
myself to untie a string or break a seal.
The first day 1 thought it was some kind
of lit, you know,” anil Paul laughed un
easily; “that the change lrom fresh air
to that elose study d.ld upset me; so I let
thiugsgo for that day, trampC! l all over
the country, and went to bed witu. oUt
supper. Next morning I set to work
early, for I wanted to get home to Leslie
—she isn’t very strong just now, and al
ways frets at the time I spend away from
her there —but as soon as I sat down the
recollection of the day before came over
me with such a queer] sickening feeling
that I lairly jumped up in a panic and de
parted, telling Jebb that 1 shouldn’t go
near him again for a week. One thing
after another hindered me—or I let them
hinder me—till I got regularly savage
with myse.T; au< l started oft' one evening,
without telling even I-eslie, in a sort cf
frenzy to get the job done. , J ebb was
overjoyed to see me, and I set to "N'ork
forthwith, sending him to lied. I got the
place open, aud took out a lot of papers,
and was putting my hand in for more,
when—l don’t care whether you believe
me or not—l swear I felt a heavy grasp
laid on my arm, stopping me. I jerked it
away, and tried again, and again thc
gras'p fell on my arm and checked me. It
wasn’t a nice sensation, I can tell you. 1
took a turn round the room, stamped
about a little, and put my head out of the
window, and then went back. As 1
marched up the room to the old bureau,
pretty resolute this time to give way to no
more delusions, I saw, as 1 advanced, the
little door swing slowly on its hinges till,
with a click, it closed] and the key fell
from the lock. It has a spring catch, aud
a rather stiff one.”
“The draught from the open window,”
1 suggested, but he 6hook his head impa
tiently.
“Then what do you suppose it to be?”
“How do I know ? It all sounds trivial
enough a9 I hear myself tell it to you, aud
vou have a right to'judge as you please.
But what 1 feel is that I’ve had a hint to
leave off.”
“What? A cupboard banging and a
touch of cramp! You’ve worked in that
musty, air-tight den till you’ve got over
strained and nervous.”
“I only go down there three days a
week.”
“Sever mind. It has all been a severe
and unusual strain on your mind. Why,
you’ve not ground at anything so steadily
since Cambridge days, 1 suppose?”
“Oh, I know it’s perfectly easy to ac
count for it, but I can’t get over the feel
ing. I’ve tried my hardest—though in
deed the way in which everything imagi
nable conspires to stop my getting to
work is enough in itself to sicken me of
the job; but, never mind that, directly 1
set to work back comes the dazed, dull
feeling again. I can’t think of a date, I
can’t put an intelligible sentence togeth
er, ami through it all I have a horrible
idea that Cyril is there watching me.
Whether he is angry or urging me to per
sist I cannot make out, but he is there!”
Paul stopped, shuddering. I looked at
him with a secret concern. It was a case
lor a clever physician, I saw. This great,
prosperous country’Squire, with his broad
shoulders and happy, open face, whose
very presence in sooty London was redo
lent of open air and ’fresh pastures, had
the nervous system of a sensitive girl,
and it had been overwrought. Too much
work of an uncongenial nature under
pressure—anxiety at home, perhaps, if
his wife were ailing—had broken him
down.
My duty was clear enough. I had no
wish to wrest from him the labor of love
that had fallen to him. It was he who
prayed to be relieved from it; and I don’t
denv that my heart gave a leap and my
face glowed at the thought that my chance
had come. 1 knew Cyril a thousand limes
better than Paul had done. All that Paul
had said of him I had felt in my heart
ever since I hail known him. 1 could
show to the world that pure selfless na
ture, with the divine lire burning high
and strong, undimmed by shadow of
earthly passion or sordid care. I would
give my life to the work, as he had given
his to others. I would teach the world—
Cyril. 1 knew nothing of his work, but I
knew Mm. . ,
All this flashed through my mind, while
Paul sat marveling at the selfish love of
ease which hindered a ready consent.
“You are the only one he and I have to
turn to,” he pleaded deprecatingly, “and
it needn’t be much bother to you if you
care to leave more to Martin Jebb than 1
have done.”
“We must see what the publishers say
first,” I answered. “When shall we go
andsee them?”
THE SAVANNAH MORNING NEWS: SUNDAY, AUGUST 10, 1884.
“As early as you please to-morrow,”
he replied, with a relieved face. “We are
staying at The Grand; won’t you come to
breakfast and see Leslie *”
I demurred. 1 would be round early, I
told him. I liked well enough being' in
Leslie Dorman’s company but for the
honeymoon shine still clinging-about the
pair to a certain extent, in spite of their
hall dozen years of married lile. Alone
with them I felt not envious, nor one too
many nor unsympathetic, but something
of all three; perhans I was jealous of
Paul’s devotion. They seldom were in
town together, and alway o made a sort of
holiday of the event. YVhen I got to The
Grand—as early as I dared—l found them
side by side over a newspaper, reading
the theatrical advertisements, like two
country cousins.
Leslie is a pretty, slender, dark-eyed
woman, with a charming little air of shy
dignity when left to herself, and a tend
ency to nestle under Paul’s wing, figura
tively speaking, when he was by. I
thought her looking worn and ill, and
noticed how her eyes grew anxious when
Paul mentioned' our errand. Had the
same thoughts crossed her mind, I won
dered, as were in mine as she thanked me
with tremulous lips, trying hard not to
speak too energetically, for inducing him
to relinquish his editorship.
“He has done quite enough for friend
ship and his own literary reputation, has
he not?” she asked. “He may very well
stop now. How do we know what he
mav make of the second volume?" and I
fancied her laugh was forced and unjoy
ous.*
Paul was frankly jubilant. Let him get
this job settled, and he and Leslie would
make a day of it. They had to see about
anew carriage, and look in at the winter
exhibitions and at all the bonnet shops in
Regent street, and off he went, whistling
like a blackbird, to change his coat.
“I hate memoirs!” said Leslie, with an
angry Hush on her cheek. “I am, oil, so
glad this is to end! Surely the world
knows as much as need be of poor
Cyril!”
“YYon’t you wish me well through my
half of the task? Hasn’t J’aul told you
that I am to finish the book ?”
“Y’ou!” cried Leslie.
Only a monosyllable, and yet it spoke a
world of wonder, anger, fear, distinctly
and eloquently. I, of all men—l to usurp
her husband’s place! Ito lay my irrev
erent hands on the sacred altar raised to
the loved memory! I read her thoughts
in a flash.
The next instant she was trying with
gentle tact to pass over the subject.
“The world must have its will,” 6ke
sighed—“break lock and seal, betray the
trust, keep nothing sacred.”
“Ah,” I interrupted, “have you so little
faith in me—or in Cyril?”
Here Paul entered, and we started on
our mission.
I did not leave town at once for Cyril’s
home. I let Paul have time to write and
apprise Martin Jebb of the change we
had made; and, besides, 1 wished to clear
off all outstanding business ot my own
that might make a future call on my time
or attention. I wished to be free of all
personal claims before I approached my
great work. From the time that it had
been definitely given into my hands I had
felt encompassed and separated from mv
fellow men, as if by the solemnity of a
sacred office laid upon me.
A great awe had fallen on my spirit—a
great sense of unworthiness. What, was
lio stand between the living and the
dead, aud out of the poverty of my own
gifts to try and interpret the meaning of
such a life as Cyril’s? And yet I would
do it. love and faith being my "aid.
31artin Jebb regarded me with disfavor,
I saw; or. at best, with a “better-than
notbing” air. He eagerly produced his
~ v ”tre of the work, and looked contemptu
ously 1116I 116 when I confessed my inabili
ty to appreciate ... .. . . ....
“Shall you not find it i. ’®cult to tell the
story of Prof. Blest’s life am. omit all
reference to its sole absorbing interCsW
he asked.
“Did 3lr. Dorman enter fully into these
subjects?" was my reply.
••He tried,” said Martin Jebb, eagerly.
“>’o one knows how hard he worked. Of
course, 1 did the best I could to explain
everything, but he got it all up in
a wonderfully short time.”
••Ab, that accounts for many things,” I
said involuntarily.
"Do you mean in the book—blunders?”
faltered poor Jebb.
“The book? No; I haven’t seen It.”
And leaving the poor man in consterna
tion at this admission, I turned away.
The library looked unchanged. A fire
blazed on the hearth cheerily, and the
writing table was neatly arranged with
fresh materials.
“31r. Dorman used to go over the papers
alone, and when he made his selection
call lor me, and we used to talk them
over together, and those we rejected were
destroyed at once, when we had made
sure that we should not require them
again,” explained the young secretary.
"Avery good plan; but I think I had
better begin with that first volume and
study it thoroughly. It may take me all
nigut< so I shall not require your help
to-night, As early as you please to-mor
row.”
Jebb assented willingly and departed.
I opened the book. It was straightfor
wardly and modestly written. I seemed
to hear Paul's voice in every sentence. 1
should have felt drawn to the writer if I
had known nothing of him. But Cyril—
what would anyone learn of him from it?
Nothing but the barest, baldest facts of
his outer life. A painted semblance—not
the living, breathing man.
I rushed through the latter half ami
laid it aside. 3ly time had come, and the
dead should speak. I could not bear to
lose an hour, and placed myself before
the great, frowning old bureau, that
reached high up the wall, heavy with
quaint carving, dim glimmering in the
firelight with brass inlay and mountings,
Paul had given me a small sealed packet
of keys, and this I opened. The bureau
keys were on a labeled ring, five in all.
One opened the desk and the “drawers be
neath it; another the first door of the four
compartments above it. This was empty,
as I expected. So were a third and fourth,
of which the contents—notes for books
commenced and finished—bad been hand
ed over to 3lartiu Jebb. Of the second
there was no key whatever. I tried them
all in vain, nor was there another in the
parcel that could possibly fit.
I felt unaccountably discouraged aud
annoyed at this discovery. Then, remem
bering Paul’s frame of mind, 1 decided
that the loss was not wholly inexplicable.
“There must be a locksmith in the vil
lage,” 1 reflected; and then, resolved not
to wait even for that. I drew out the
drawers and lightened the huge construc
tion as much as I could, and dragged it
out from the wall.
It was a greater labor than I had
guessed, but I contrived to make space
enough to squeeze myself in. and then
discovered the back was one solid panel,
quite immovable by any attempts of mine.
I replaced everything and looked specu
latively at the poker, but 1 shrank from
any rough injury as from a sort of sacri
lege. Then I tried the division between
the compartments, and here chance aided
me. There was a false back to them —the
old, common, futile substitute for a patent
lock and an iron safe—and behind it
drawers for money or papers. By press
ing a spring, not very difficult to discover,
the divisions between each compartment
folded down flat and allowed the back to
be drawn forward. 1 tried it, and suc
ceeded in making the panel between
number three and the locked number two
give way. It folded down, and the con
tents lay disclosed.
It was full, heaped to the top with neat
ly folded bundles of letters, some of which
came toppling down, their & support being
removed.
I plunged my hand in and drew forth at
random. My fingers touched a parcel
that feit somehow distinct from the rest
—larger and more loosely put together.
But as I grasped it there fell on the back
of my hand a touch—an appealing touch.
I knew it—l had felt it before. Not so
soft as a woman's, it was delicate and yet
firm, and thrilled me through. I stood
irresolute; my forehead grew damp. Then
1 pulled myself together and laughed
aloud—a harsh, discordant laugh, that
jarred on my ears and awakened mocking
echoes in the gloom of the distant corners.
The touch was withdrawn hastily, and
I drew out my prize and threw it on my
desk. It had’ been sealed, but the seals
had cracked and given way with the vio
lence of my clutch. It had been loosely
put together and pushed to the very back
of the compartment. Its enveloping paper
was creased and worn and split here and
there. 1 could see closely written sheets
of paper and some envelopes with Cyril’s
name. The hand, the scent that clung
about them, struck on my sense with a
sudden recognition, ami then iu one in
stant I was taken unawares and hurled
or dragged by some invisible, intangible
force away back to the centre of the room
and held there.
I struggled fiercely, for my temper rose
hotly, and I remembered how I had sneer
ed at Paul. I caught sight of myself in
the dim old convex mirror—a wild figure,
with white, set face, one foot planted
firmly to resist the force that almost bore
me to the ground, on? hand raised to ward
off—l knew not what. The sight filled
me with fresh savage strength and deter
mination. I pressed forward as in a
struggle for life—resistless, remorseless,
reckless of what I trampled down before
me—rand my unseen opponent gave way
with sudden yielding, and I fell into my
chair spent and breathless as one who has
wrestled with a spirit. I gathered the
mass of paper up and carried it to a table
before the fire, where a bright lamp was
burning. The change of place seemed to
bring safety. I took up the first envelope
that came and drew forth the inclosure.
A dark mist seemed to descend and blind
my vision for an instant, but in that in
stant there passed through me an experi
ence that I cannot write’here.
I was still David Gwynne, but I was
also Cyril Blest—Cyril, dumb, helpless,
struggling for power of speech or sign, in
mortal agony, and I deal and blind to his
entreaties, while my whole soul was rent
by the passion of them.
It passed and passed before the scrap of
paper, that had slipped from my fingers
and gently fluttered down beside my foot.
I stooped and picked it up and laid it
with the rest; then, with averted eyes
and unfaltering hand, I dropped the pile
into the depths of a glowing cavern of
tire and heaped the fuel high above it.
The flames broke out, flickering high in
the wide chimney, and light smoke
wreaths came whirling out into the room.
They spread, grew dense, and then in
their centre seemed to grow lighter and
thinner, changing from dun to rose, and
so to a filmy golden mist, that floated
apart and showed me for one moment
Cyril’s face—Cyril as I had never seen
him, never dared to fancy him; not
angry, not grieved, but draw'n and disfig
ured by crushing 6hame and anguish.
The drooping lids lifted themselves lan
guidly, and the eyes raised themselves to
mine in mute, hopeless appeal, and then
the smoke-wreaths gathered again, and
the vision faded, leaving me alone, crying
wildly, with outstretched arms, to Cyril
to trust me—that nothing should change
me oi' shake my faith in him.
A little shower of glowing fragments
rained down on the hearth through the
black rail of the grate. One, with its lit
tle border of fiery sparks, drifted out from
the rest, and for one brief second one
word started out in vivid clearness. I
knew the hand, and the word was
“Leslie.”
I let Martin Jebb think what he would
about the missing kev - 9 next day. The
village blacksmith did his business easily,
and we set to work at ours. Everyone
knows the result.
“It is sincerely to be regretted,” says
one leading review, “that’the work com
menced so well by Dr. Dorman should
have been abandoned to* another hand.
Throughout the whole of Mr. Gwynne’s
volume we miss the keen sympathy and
intelligent appreciation which Mr. Dor
man brought to his work and labor of
love. Mr. Gwynne’s criticisms are unge
nial, his admiration perfunctory. lie
evidently discharges an unwelcoriie task,
of which the render perhaps wearies no
sooner than he does.”
Little Mr. Jevons, the publisher, puts
it more strongly. He was in a good, hon
est rage with me, and he let me see it:
“Y'apid and sterile, sir—that’s what I
consider it. ‘Mere drv-as-dust gropir.gs,’
as poor Carlyle used to say. Ah, he
knew what went to a popular biography!
He knew how to put in the touch of nature
that makes the whole world kin. This is
a mistake from beginning to end—a nar
row, one-sided view of a life, and all the
material for an abler and more compre
hensive study of the late Professor, I am
given to understand, wantonly destroyed!
Sir, 1 have no hesitation in saving you
have been false to your trust, false to the
memory of your friend, false to human
nature, false to the British public. Good
day.”
“I don’t blame you, Gwynne,” savs
Paul; “it was my fault. 'Poor Cyril
trusted me, not you. Y’ou did your best,
of course; but—you don’t mind my saying
it?—l never did think it was m you to see
all that poor Cyril really was.”
Leslie alone is silent, and speaks not to
me in praise or blame.— All the Year
Bound.
A .CHINESE PHYSICIAN.
The ltemaikable Methods and Theories
of a Mongolian “Devil Destroyer.”
Wong Choo Fan, a Chinese doctor, says
the Philadelphia Press, arrived in Phila
delphia from Chicago yesterday, with the
intention ol making this city his home and
ministering after his own peculiar fash
ion to the ailments of his countrymen.
He was so much disappointed to find the
Chinese population so small and its
health so good that he changed his mind,
and will this morning go to New York.
Wong Choo Fan is rather a diminutive
specimen of the 3longolian race, being
but live feet in height and rather delicate
ly proportioned. His head is well shaped
and his animated countenance indicates a
degree of intelligence rather above that of
theaverageChinaman.The doctor,or “devil
destroyer,” as he is known in the Flowery
Kingdom, speaks very excellent English,
and consented, when questioned, to ex
plain a few of his many odd methods for
conquering disease. “Every sickness,”
he said, “is caused by a Nong Tsao—a
‘disease devil —and it is the work of the
doctor to find out where the devil is and
drive him out. What you call fever—hot
skin, dry lips, high pulse—lathe work of
a little imp with eight mouths, each mouth
having a hot, scorching breath. The imp
gets into the patient’s stomach by flying
down his throat and is usually in the air
on a damp day like this. This little devil
is as large as a grain of sand, but when
he gets into the human body he grows to
be about as large as a bean. He
blows his hot breaths into every vein of
the victim and causes him great distress
and thirst by drinking all the water in his
stomach. The way to cure the patient is
to poison the imp with a powder scraped
from the inside of a tree, which grows in
the province of Eoo Chow.”
The doctor exhibited some of the pow
der, which proved to be either quinine or
oinchonidia.
“Spasms or fits,” continued the ilongol
lian disciple of .Esculapius, “come from
the ‘earth devil,’ a creature that lives un
der the ground and sends a shock into the
victim through his feet. You will find
that nearly all persons when first taken
with fits fall while walking, but after
awhile, when the devil gets the victim
weakened, the shock can be communi
cated from the earth, through the house
and into the bed. It is very hard to cure
them. I cured a man m Canton who had
been subject to fils for fifteen years, by
rubbing the soles of hi 9 feet with fat
stewed out of a frog’s heart. Opium is a
very valuable help in such cases when
taken internally, because it makes the
patient’s feet itch and prevents the devils
from gaining an entrance. Avery small
proportion of Chinamen die of consump
tion, because three hundred years ago it
was discovered by T’sang Loo, a learned
doctor, that people became afflicted with
the disease by breathing through the
mouth instead of the nose. There are
millions of imps flying in the air all the
time —more in cold weather than in warm
—and to your eyes they appear like specks
of dust. They cannot get through-the
nose because the hairs catch them and
they die, but they go into the mouth, whre
there are no hairs, and find a resting
place in the lungs. In a short time the
lungs are dug out and coughed up. The
only cure is to lay the naJfrmt on his back
and beat him over the clJKJSwith a switch
until the imps are frigbrpL.l and fly out
into the air again. ThesKbe patient is
starved for 36 hours, and has his mouth
sealed up. Very oiteu he dies, but that
is because all the imps were not driven
out.” , .
Wong Choo Fan talked earnestly, and
evidently believed that his theory and
treatment were correct beyond any ques
tion. He affected to look upon the methods
of English and American physicaus with
disdain. He exhibited statistics to show
that the rate of mortality in Pekin, Hong
Kong and Canton was 2 per cent, less
than in English cities of the same popu
lation. Dr. Wong Choo Fan offered to try
his skill on the reporter, who was suffer
ing with a cold, but the offer was declined
with thanks.
Spiders That Have Been Overrated.
Louisville Courier-Journal.
A good deal of nonsense is written
about the sagacity of the spider. The
spider is not sagacious. At night it will
crawl into tile tea-kettle, make its web
just above the spout hole and wait for
flies. In the morning, when the kettle
begins to get hot, it loses its presence of
mind, runs to the outside of the kettle,
then down to the stove, and is astonished
to find that the stove is still hotter than
the kettle. Unless a friendly hand brushes
it off, it perishes miserably. Avery
little observation, with a small allowance
of sagacity, would be a great help to
spiders.
BURNETT’S COCOAIN’K.
Promotes the Growth of the Hair,
And renders it dark and glossy. It holds,
in a liquid form, a large proportion of de
odorized Cocoanut Oil, prepared ex
pressly for this purpose. -Vo other com
pound possesses the peculiar properties
which so exactly suit the various condi
tions of the human hair.
GROVER AND THE BELLES.
Washington Beauties Preparing to Cap
ture Cleveland —Ladies Who Desire a
Bachelor President—Mr. Blaine’s Fair
Allies —The Prospective “First Lady
of the Laud.”
The effect of the two Presidential nomi
nations on Washington society, says a
Washington special to the New York
Morning Journal, has been marked in both
instances. Mr. Blaine’s nomination did
not produce any startling enthusiasm
among the ladies at the capital. Instant
ly they pictured in their minds Mrs.
Blaine in the YVhite House anti by reason
of her position, the leader of Washington
society aud the “first lady of the land.”
According to reports, it was not an invit
ing prospect.
With Mrs. Logan it would have been
different. If the General had been chosen
for the first place, the ladies would not
have complained. They would have been
willing to overlook Black Jack’s grammar
on account of his charming wife. Natur
ally. with the disappointment over
Blaine’s nomination, the interest in the
Democratic Convention was brightened.
Many ladies received bulletins from Chi
cago, and worked with that diplomacy
they are masters of to forward the inter
ests ol their favorites. Mr. McDonald
was the general favorite. He owed this
preference to his wife. Mrs. McDonald
has had considerable experience in
Washington, and is very popular. Next
to McDonald, Cleveland was the second
choice, and with the younger and unmar
ried ladies he was the first choice. lie
was known to be a bachelor, but that
admitted of many pleasing possibilities.
“He might marry. If elected he must
marry,” was the substance of the com
ment's made. Any number ol sell-sacri
ficing beauties expressed a willingness,
should Mr. Cleveland be elected, to help
him bear the cares of state and preside
over the White House. YVhat would be
more brilliant than a wedding in the
White House? The prospect was allur-
ing.
The unmarried ladies were put In a
flutter of excitement by Cleveland’s selec
tion. The married ladies did not offer
any serious objection to him. They re
membered Mr. Arthur’s case, and said:
“YYell, if he is elected and doesn’t marry,
perhaps he has a sister. A sister like
Mrs. McElroy would be all that we could
desire.” So from a purely social stand
point the gods are smiling on Mr. Cleve
land’s canvass.
31 rs. Logan, however, is counteracting
this influence as much as possible, anil
she can accomplish a great deal when she
once sets out in earnest.
During the past week the Journal cor
respondent has interviewed a number of
prominent society ladies at the capital on
•their preferences between 3lr. Blaine and
Air. Cleveland. The opinions of Republi
can and Democratic ladies are given:
“I hope the Morning Journal will sup
port Cleveland,” said the accomplished
daughter of a Republican Senator, a
young lady who took a prominent part in
Alinister West’s masked ball last winter.
“I am a Republican,” she continued,
smiling sweetly, “but 1 hope Mr. Cleve- 1
land will be elected. Why ? YYell—be
cause. Isn’t that a sufficient reason ?”
“I like Air. Blaine,” she added, “but I
don’t want to see Airs. Blaine in the
YVhite House. I should be unable to
attend any of the receptions there, for
mamma and Airs. Blaine have quarreled
and don’t speak. Besides, Air. Cleve
land’s pictures are very fine looking.
Y r es, I know he is a bachelor, but he has
always lived in New York State. Let
him try a season in YYashington. If he
remains a bachelor after that, I shall
make an effort to have him impeached.”
”1 don’t see why Air. Cleveland’s being
a bachelor should stand in his way,”
added a bewitchingly handsome blonde.
“A full-fledged bachelor in the White
House would be a novelty. YVe would
all lay siege to his heart at once. He
could not resist us. He would have to
select someone in self-defense. Do you
know, I have commenced work on a pair
•f gorgeous embroidered slippers? 3lr.
Cleveland’s initial will be worked in bead?,
surmounted by violets and forget-me
nots. I shall have them ready to send to
Air. Cleveland the morning after election.
I’erhaps my photograph may be discov
ered in the package.”
“Really, it would be too bad if Air.
Cleveland should be elected,” remarked a
young married woman. "Just think of
Airs. Hendricks as first lady, as she would
be if Air. Cleveland does not marry. It
is too ridiculous for anything. 1 should
leave YY"ashington at once.”
“Don’t you* think it likely that Air.
Cleveland would marry if elected?”
“No; I understand he has taken a vow
not to marry while in the YVhite House.”
“YYhat for?”
“It is rather an amusing story, but it
must be true; everybody says so. Y'ou
know, 3lrs. Hendricks has considerable
influence over her husband. She told him
he could not accept the nomination un
less Mr. Cleveland would take a pledge
not to marry during his term, and also
not to bring any of his Buffalo relatives
down to the White House. 31rs. Hen
dricks was to have sole charge of the
social part of the new SdHHniStration. I
understand Mr. Cleveland 'has made the
promise. So you see, Mrs. Hendricks
may become the real leader of Wasbing
ton society; therefore, I am in favor of
Mr. Blaine. 3irs. Blaine has never been
very popular, that is true, but she is a
very ambitious woman. Her anxiety
about her husband has worried her into
neglecting her friends. If her ambition
is gratified, and she really gets into the
White HoiiSe, she will probably change
and give us a brilliant social administra
tion, It will not be because she does not
know how.”
The majority of the younger ladies, how
ever, are using their influence for Mr.
Cleveland. They do not fear 31rs. Hen
dricks as much as they do 3lrs. Blaine;
besides, 3lr. Bla'ne has ceased to be in
teresting, as he is married. With Mr.
Cleveland it is different. His name opens
a vista of illuminated possibilites.
A MONKEY WITH A CRUTCH.
Queer Surgical Operation on a Dumb
Brute.
Armed with a select assortment of sur
gical instruments and accompanied by a
reporter Saturday afternoon, says the
Boston Herald , Dr. Watts approached a
large cage in the upper part of his reposi
tory, on Kneeland street, in which a poor
little monkey clung desperately to his
perch. This particular monkey was a
native of Bahia, and belongs to the ring
tailed species. Three weeks ago he es
caped from his owners and broke his right
leg, iust above the knee. 3lortification
had set in, and amputation was neces
sary to save the animal’s life, so he had
been turned over to Dr. Watts for treat
ment. He weighed but five pounds, and
was very weak from his injury. It was
the doctor’s purpose to take off his leg,
so he adjusted his eye-glasses, rolled up
his sleeves, made a cone out of a towel,
inserting a sponge soaked with ether, and
then proceeded to put the little sufferer
under the influence of the ana-sthetic.
After the monkey’s struggles ceased, the
doctor went to work. Seizing his knife,
he cut up the skin about two inches
lower down the leg than where he in
tended to cut the bone. Upon turning up
the flaps of skin, it was observed that the
monkey’s leg was exactly like that of a
human being. Dr. Watts first severed
the arteries, picked them up, and tied
them securely with silk thread. He cut
the muscles, and then with a fine saw
severed the bone. More ether was admin
istered, the reporter acting as his assist
ant. Great care and skill were neces
sary, for the animal was very much ex
hausted, but the doctor knew just what
to do and how to do it. Scarcely a quar
ter of an ounce of blood was lost during
the operation, which was thoroughly suc
cessful iu every way. The doctor next
drew down the flaps of skin and sewed
them over the stump with silk thread. A
few bandages, and all was over.
Tenderly the doctor took his dumb pa
tient to an open window' and allowed him
to breathe fresh, cOol air. The expres
sion of the monkey’s face was a study.
His every look was like that of a human
being. Ilis eyes opened, and he stared
wildly about at first; then he acted more
naturally. As he saw his amputated leg
and seemed to realize what had happen
ed, and that he was still alive, an expres
sion of wonder and astonisment could
plainly be seen upon his little face. Care
fully he wasjlaid upon a mound of clean
straw iu his cage. He tried to walk about
with the leg which was not there. Then
he smelled of the bandage and rolled
about a bit, finally curling up and gojng
to sleep as if perfectly satisfied. He
seemed to know that what had been done
was for the best, and he looked through
the bars at the doctor with a grateful
expression on his face. In six weeks
from now- he will be as lively and as in
teresting as ever, and will scarcely miss
his lost member.
It is said that trained dresses will be
worn again in the fall.
THE BLACK GOD.
A Mischievous Deity Who Maintained a
Flirtation With.Sixteen Hundred Milk
maids.
Ram Chandra Bose, says the Cleveland
Leader , Is a native of India. As he
ascended the pulpit steps at the Central
Alethodist Episcopal church last evening
he commanded the curious attention of
each member of the large audience pre
sent to hear him speak about his native
land. “I will tell you,” he said, “about
the gods and goddesses I formerly wor
shiped, and will explain some of the prin
ciples of the Hindoo religion. I have
come to tell you that your missionaries
have converted me. Converted me from
what? The most monstrous, and in some
respects the most degrading, superstitions
the world has ever seen. My name is un
pronounceable in the English tongue, but
it is more honored throughout the length
and breadth of India than any other, the
first part of it, Ram Chandra, is the name
of the god most worshiped and respected
in India. All classes, without exception,
bow down and worship the god Ram
Chandra. The Hindoos believe in a triad
of gods, the creator, the preserver, and
the destroyer. YVith the creator we have
nothing to do. YVhen he made the world
he gave it over into the care of the pre
server, and is now supposed to be
asleep. The preserver, Bishnu, Is sup
posed to have appeared on earth in three
different forms; once as a man with the
name Ram Chandra. I will tell you why
he came to the earth. A great'monster
with one hundred heads aud one thousand
arms, who lived on the island of Cevlon,
began to oppress both man ami the'gods
and goddesses. The monster obtained the
power to do this by practicing austerity.
One of the fundamental principles of Hin
doo theology is involved in the practice of
austerity, which Is kept up to this day.
One way ot doing thisisfor the devotee to
sit cross-legged on the ground, with a hot
fire burning in a circle about him. While
in this hot. situation he practices austerity
by turning his mind from all earthly
tmngs and meditating on things sacred.
YVhen the devotee is able to do this the
gods are bound by every principle of
heavenly honor to grant him whatever he
most desires. Other devotees practice
austerity by keeping themselves im
mersed to the chin lor days at a time in
tanks of water partly frozen. Others fix
their eyes on the sun until they are blind.
India to-day has hundreds of deluded men
made blind by this means. A short time
ago, a company of us saw a devotee prac
ticing austerity while suspended by his
feet from the topmost branch of a lofty
tree. I believe his meditation was peal",
for he did not appear to know we were
near him. I have seen hundreds of men
with their right arms paralvzed bv keep
ing them uplifted until the' muscles had
withered away. Some men have both
arms thus rendered useless. I know of
one man who, when I saw him, bad not
sat down for twelve years. At that time
he had remained standing so long that he
was unable to take any other position.
Another man I saw who for thirty years
had lain on a bed of stones aud had not
spoken a word. YY r hile thus engaged,
these men constantly meditate on sacred
things. This is practicing' austerity.
India is the most conservative of the na
tions; these customs are almost as ancient
as the race. By these practices, contin
ued lor thousands of years, the monster
compelled the gods to especially bless him.
He demanded that power be given him
whereby he could not be slain by the gods.
He dreaded not human vengeance.
Armed with this power he made of him
self a seourge to the gods and goddesses
by transforming them into rats, cats,
dogs, snakes, and other creatures. Fin
ally, with tears in their eyes, they went
to Bishnu and implored his aid. Bishnu
then became a man, with the name of
Barn Chandra, and gathering an army of
monkeys, slew the monster. In this story
we see the distorted form of the redemp
tion of Christ, which runs through the
mythology or superstition ot all races,
showing their inborn feeling that the
coming of the great Savior was needed.
To-day all the monkeys in India are wor
shiped, and in fact there is scarcely any
thing, from the ocean to vermin, that is
not bowed down to for some reason or
other by the Hindoos. I used to worship
Bishuu, who was the best god, having
been a good brother, an affectionate hus
band, and a loving son. I can’t say that
ol other god 9. I was the especial wor
shiper of the black god—black in body and
soul. This black god was the eighth in
carnation. The seventh was taken for
the purpose of killing another giant.
Some monster on earth became too power
ful by practicing austerity, and the gods
and goddesses complained to Bisnu. The
strongest principle in Hindoo theology is
that matter is the source of corruption.
“The gods therefore are careful not to
come into contact with any earthly sub
stance. Bishnu therefore plucked only
two hairs from his head. One of them
turned into a black god and one into a
white god. This black god was the tute
lary deity of my fatner, and I was obliged
to worship him from my boyhood. This
black god was a little rogue when he was
a boy, stealing everything he could lay
his hands on, and making home so hot lor
his mother that she was obliged to fly.
He was the most licentious god ever
known, having kept up a flirtation with
sixteen hundred milkmaids at the same
time. The principles of the Hindoo reli
gion are worse than its worship. Every
Hindoo believes that the gods are the
source of all evil as well as of all good,
inspiring their deepest and worst
thoughts. The Hindoos also believe that
Bishnu is to again become incarnate for
the tenth time. His ninth incarnation
was in the form of Buddha. Hindooism
and Buddhism are diametrically opposed
to each other, as the latter declares a re
lentless war on caste, the very foundation
stone of Hindoo society. The result was
that Buddhism was ejected from India.
The Hindoos say Bishnu took the form of
Buddha for the purpose of leading the
world into sin, their god being the author
of all that is wicked.”
RELICS OF THE REVOLUTION.
Some Interesting South Carolina An
tiquities.
For many years past, says a Columbia
special, a large, long-leaf pine tree has
stood near the ford of Gum swamp, in
Kershaw country, where Gen. Gates was
defeated by the British forces in the war
of the Revolution, it has been handed
down by tradition that Baron De Kalb,
who received mortal wounds in that
battle, was laid under this tree to rest in
its shade until a vehicle could be procured
to carry him to Camden. From that time
forward the historic associations con
nected with the tree had saved it from
molestation until the great iorest fires
which prevailed in that section of country
the past spring, when it was so badly
injured by the fire that it recently fell to
to the ground and has almost disap-
peared.
Mr. Nathan P. Whitmire, of Newberry
couuty, has a small trunk ten inches long,
four inches wide, and three inches deep,
made of pine and covered with leather,
which belonged to Lockland Leonard, who
was killed at Hayes’ station in 1780, dur
ing the Revolutionary war. He had this
diminutive trunk buckled around his body
when he was killed, and in it was S7OO in
Continental money. The residence of Mr.
Leonard was about two and a half miles
from the battle field. The dead body of
the patriot escaped the notice of the tories,
who were the authors of the massacres at
Hayes’ station, and after the battle Mrs.
Leonard (his wife) hauled the body home
on a sled and buried it near her door under
a sveamore tree. The money in tne little
trunk was divided years ago among the
descendants of Leonard. Three of the
bills were given to Mrs. Whitmire—two
S3O bills and one $35 bill, all issued in 1779,
in accordance with an act of the Con
tinental Congress passed that year..
Raising on Two Thousand Pairs.
Merchant Traveler.
“Chicago is a great city,” said one trav
eling man to another, as they got off the
train in that town.
“Yes, it’s a big place. Did you ever see
them raising houses and building the first
story last?”
“No; do they do that?”
“Yes, all the time. Why, some time
ago they raised the whole Tremont House
with 4,000 jacks.”
“How many ?”
“Four thousand.”
“Thunder! It didn’t take so many, did
it? By gravy, I saw a fellow down in
Cincinnati, about a week ago, go into one
of the biggest establishments there, and
I’m a sucker if he didn’t raise the whole
house with two jacks. Prettiest game of
bluff I ever saw.”
The other man gave Cincinnati the lead,
and Chicago came in a very fair second.
HOKSFORU’S ACID PHOSPHATE.
Excellent Results.
Dr. J.L. Willis,Eliot, Me., Bays: “Hors
ord’s Acid Phosphate gives most excel
ent results.”
: Sljoro,<?tr.
A. R. ALTMAYER & CO.
13S BBOUGIITON STREET.
SPECIAL NOTICE.
Only One More "Week
—of—
OUR GREAT SHOE SALE!
Balance of Stock on Our BARGAIN COUNTER to be Sold at Lew
than One-Half the Cost.
Comprising Ladies’, Misses’ and Children’s SHOES and SLIPPERS a
Boys’ and Youths' LOYY-QUARTERS and GAITERS. > Hen j,
AVe certainly can assure PSrchasers that it will be the last opportunpy tn ,
cure such Extraordinary Bargains, and at Y’OUR OYY r N PRICE, as this lcL*'
must be sold without reserve. Also in our fine u
Philadelphia, New York, Baltimore and
Rochester Made Goods
We Have Made a General Redaction in All Grades.
Don’t fail to examine this Stock and secure Bargains that it will be impossible *
obtain later in the season. ‘ 110
No Trouble to Show Goods
AT—
ALT3IAYEH & CO.’S,
135 BROUGHTON STREET.
Jadieo’ YlttDmoear.
PLATSHEK’S GIGANTIC REDUCTIONS!
138 BROUGHTON STREET.
OPPORTUNITIES FOR EVERYONE,
Summer stock must be closed out. YYe are offering grand bargains in every
department.
SPECIAL DRIVES TO YVIIICH YOUR ATTENTION IS CALLED.
10,000 Yards FIXE CANTON MATTING
-10,000 Y'arils.
Purchased at New York auction far below
market value and which has been sold ac
cordingly, we now offer with a still further
reduction. The selection embraces White,
Checked and Fancy Patterns, at the following
prices that uphold our announcement:
14 CENTS, 19 CENTS,
24 CENTS, 29 CENTS,
PER YARD.
Don’t wait, but call at once and secure
choice patterns.
And Extra Reductions in Parasols, Parasols, Parasols.
U„ GUTMAN,
141 BRO UGIITON STREET.
FANCY GOODS, NOTIONS,
LADIES’ AND GENTS’
FURNISHING GOODS.
GLOVES, HANDKERCHIEFS, RIBBONS, LACES.
FANS, HAND BAGS, BELTS, EMBROIDERIES.
BUTTONS, CHILDREN’S CAPS, BASKETS, PARASOLS.
The celebrated C. P. ala SIRENE CORSETS in White, Black, Pink, Blue and
Drab, always in stock.
JJooto aitfc SijoCo.
Rosenheim’s Sloeßazaar!
LARGE STOCK-LOW PRICES!
Finest Shoes in Savannah!
NEW GOODS BY EVERY STEAMER
Largest Stock Trunks and Bags!
CALL AND EXAMINE.
JOS. ROSENHEIM & CO.,
141 CONQRESS STREET.
CTuryrutmt ssttllo.
THE TICKETPOR 1884.
THE SEAMLESS TURPENTINE STILL,
YfTITH A PLATFORM DECLARED AGAINST LEAKS, which will cause A LARGE
tv CREASE, over all other makes, of both Spirits and Rosin to the operator. i ru j
of the great increase in Naval Stores last year may not be from over-production oi
Turpentine, but from the great saving from leaks by the general use of
McMillan Bros/ Seamless Turpentine Still •
We have THIRTY-FIVE NEW and SECOND-HAND STILLS, from Twelve to
rels capacity, together with a large assortment of EXTRA WORMS, CAPS, triM
STILL BOTTOMS, GRATE BARS, DOORS, GLUE KETTLES and allkindsof s riest
MINGS. REPAIRS through the country a specialty. As now is the fame to plac*.
for STILLS, call on or addfesa McMILLA> ku? >
SAVANNAH, GA„ or FAYKTTKt ILLt.
Carriageg, garttrgg, gtc.
SALOMON COHEN’S
CARRIAGE AND WAGON REPOSITORY!
CORNER BAY AND MONTGOMERY STREETS,
Where can be found a large and well selected stock of CARRIAGES and BLGGIE->
will be sola at reduced prices. Also, will call the attention oi
NAVAL STORES MANUFACTURER 8
TO two car-loads of WAGONS just received, all of the best manufacturer!: & Ve!l j C i*
improvements. I am determined to sell, and only ask parties m neeu
calljiia examine my stock and prices. j
I full Uue of D3UB LE and SINGLE HARNESS.
LADIES’ MUSLIN UNDERWEAR.
Our large and handsome selection of Lathes'
Muslin Underwear, comprising all the new
designs and styles in Chemise, Gowns, Pant
lets, etc., are now at surprising low prices, of
which below is a few quotations:
Chemise, well made, neatly trimmed, 50c.•
worth 79c.
Chemise, elaborately trimmed, 73e.: worth
$1 12.
Chemise, exquisitely trimmed, it CO; worth
|1 63.
l’antlets, embroidery trimmed, 50c.; worth
82c.
Pantlets, embroidery trimmed, elaborate,
75c.; worth ?1 25.
Gowns, frilled embroidery front, 75c.; worth
$1 12.
Gowds, tucks and embroidery front, fl 00;
worth |l 50.
Gowns, tucks and embroidery fine ,41 25;
worth ?2 00.
Gowns, puffs, tucks and embroidery hand
some), $1 50; worth |2 50.