Newspaper Page Text
(O-VIK HACK."
... f , „ overrASt;
re bad and rushing
w* ! '
t* l *' anon the raving Hast
*■ * ■
“** ,- it!* an angrier air
.*. • ' .r ; e l arms amt tewing
a* . * f ,j ',,r t*eaide his laboring
•*• . ,r-. u prayer.
tired little hands
t _ vi;i * eye* cloat at itat
• ‘ • i,-. v*e bear bia sand*
~.i#,.\ f'„t.
• *' wakes once more,
the while there
, r ’ from hi-trembling
, r ami o'er.
r ;.ti> fairy child.
. ring- tn the dreadful
- .rite of frenzy wild,
i.re flood’s ile
, our God knows j
- 1 ..live bough
p.l •<. —Spectator. |
: v.uJOHlOns DEFEAT:
V HO W V.M K.
, , ,*T r KALCSTIE K,
ni I'hitter," “A Fair I>e
■ ” etc.
- Morning .Vtirt.
\ 11.
, , j -..j. stoops that clung
- 1 the dwellings groups
■ ' -t* and characterized
MI tended toward the
nianuer did not enforce
upon the spectator. It
ontemplate it as an
, nut inviting a special
; . , !,)!>• or self-conscious
. ; ~ from which the ab
.. n and women was no
w ith serene gayety. Tue
. - .me as profaner little
listertius. and all moved
street at a gait of peace -
st have translated itself
: whatever laggard im
f a great in
to the comely little
imi- atone the talk sud
-1 the clusters separating
-ion. the men and women
respective d'lors.
>•; was still gathering
it. I < on rad came in and
' , ; - near the entrance
s allotted to their sex.
• • a far-away look that !
i devotional, but, appa
, —-.l by unguessaide worldly
i.tlv failed. March gave
, moment to observation
( . i .vos and threes advanc
.man’s aisle with a rev
• fuln* ss in their eyes that
, • _iv*.n a glamour to duller
r gave at length before the
, am: girl at sight of whom ;
, .aintly lighted. Constance
ment to remove the wrap
. , *!!'• Pennsylvania spring in
, i . . .1- rather insists, and the
. -**> to. | at once aware of her
a the kind <>t clairvovauce in
, ilx-orous Moravian eon
, will notnetiin.'S forg.-t itself.
t ,i •' matron stirr.d uneasily in
, . I w mid not turn, several ot
• rn, and the children looked
i ■ nib!. As sh' took her way
i ire, sanded path between the
. ... he ey - that had ruled them
i - was within f> emlv vision
• <o- to hi r seat near the front
• .i v curiosity. After she had
i 1 place those who had not so sub
, i ' it visa il org.ilis pursued her
i ttisfied but always tender inter*
1 tie glances ot whatever character
i uch of compassion.
,i > a-op. tietl oneitr.er sidcstmul
i . and orderly bands ot young
women filed up the two aisles.
, w >y limliiig their seats took an
.1 t tranquil meditation, in the
, , !i one might readily believe
, : never known another. Not
4 > •i; not a foot stirred. The
* . presently entered together
r b-tingutsbed in dress from
ui the conjugal lie was un
: : t by the white cap ribbon.
' . was ui a curious pieturesque
aud reluctant light glim
i. ..1 :• sperm-oil lamps, and east j
i .V patches upon the con- I
Is: tin corners it was shadowy ■
s. i children to imagine ghosts,
.mo, >p. ctrai figures flitted
I * -a toon time to time, which
! . 11 have been the disem
icid brethren of
i ... Where the light dwelt
\ vnu nly showed a lace from
I * M ravian life Seemed to
I • . : earthly grossness.
I- ... !•• b.-autv of attire may
| .re iu this effect—certainly
I I ii ’ . Their dress was not
I .in; there was no so-
I livuliial taste loosed it-
I • thetie failure withio
I- , --d nv the necessity ul
■ • i.i scar, t variety of fabrics
I ir unworldly vi'lage by the
I* -i age, - , though there were
I iTstume, as
I attitude of the beauiitul
1 n nto all, or the manner
I .v .il—: -a h things as no
I : i*-: fraiisi and ought to be
I *• * tie re resulted a certain
I . i r and. Yet it was clearly
I- in the world, and it
Ia a very vaiu and silly
1 it could" w ish to meddle
i ‘ iN of its monotony.
I line now. before the be
- . March admired for the
I- ei.urageous primitive
-1 ui< unctriaiu light the pure
■*- k.-rch:eU attracted the lamp
1 i radiance about thiu-
I u.i-y were grateful points in
ii the centre of the church
1 1 min :i.>u failed to rea“h.
I -trur..-nts bleated gentle an
| .. . Mr. Keator pushed open
I '-n - iijKm the platform tol-
B - > tnpai-.y of elders and eld
■ - ’!• y t.*.K seats with him the
H i 1 oliler note and swelled
- harmonies. When it
I rose and rgad a
I l'aul in the weak, sweet
■ - just accents nevertheless
I ' 'enuitest hearer. The siug
■ ■ wed was alternate between
■ ' "'.men. relieved occasion-
I ' ''h">ir. Mr. Keator’s reading
■ ■ r,v ' v ‘s not mere elocution,
,' -r, and the simple ritu-
E ' ;u from h>s earnestness.
■ *■** .b livered from a meagre
■ 'U s to which he returned
B *■ >:■ as be spoke to Lis poo-
B direct eloquence of coc
■ rather a talk than an
I urged, persuaded, sym-
I ir-ed the K istar story
I, ’ bc.ition to their lives; he
B ' < ! < seen t with each of tne
■ ! up at him through rapt
■ •’ ' a formalist, not a man I
B -i iith, uncommissioned I
B 'poke with them. Ilia
B " interteita’.!e quality
B ■ \> he finished Mr. Keator
H "■ pbiia deal table which
B turn tor this plain band
B>; ""d loaning h:s crutch
'• •* for a moment on his
■c " ups iu a kind of a sad
l. i- ,; ii >*- start he returned to
B ot;. r aw kwardly gave out
I • during me singing of j
1 ■■■••>. w inch had listened I
■t,!*'.. t -rgiitul f temporal
Be , ; Mediate interes;, grew [
It s : A single, magnetic J
I ' l ’ik‘ for analysis, often
m. rings, it is not a
8... ; and ' ' • tator can define, but
B s ‘. ' 1 us existent-s is not to be
.j . r - : U s .-von the members
B;-.- ’ "’uld not always interpret
B ruc sentiment stirring
■t 1 -nti-conseious one so tar
Bt;- i : ' —" as perhaps one of
t y . -'s the song ended and the
V ' '"'j >"se in chorus Mr. Keator
I ’• w :ih a relucfant, uncer-
K “t>ce Wsought aid and
B- . ' 1 ' l%; but instead ot raising
i> . " •'tbs'k lor benisn he
B '' u ’'*u;ude at the table and
B : ' '• -l in. ing uniletermin
|v ... sir; t.eav.ly on ms crutch.
■ ■ v. . the meu and women
I "ne; it circleil round
B' r•.. . it. ... hut refused to
I , •< *--rtain corner directly
I- .due,! ut length to 1
B • ■ ‘k and his gaze-chal- !
■', ’ i: * ' face wistfully.
I ' i.- •os, -i .us of his
B ' , ; 1 M > • ■ tray her perception |
'C. m.:.u;-d motionless
mU • u't.i.l away wearilv.
188 --a ai.il made as if he
BBi ’ c’ia! pallor sensiblv
'1 lit swiftly back to
ttilvof “ext the pastoral j
IR m attd to entreat him. The i
elder norldea and coming forward took his
rlace, while Mr. Keator slowly seating
himself with the aid of bis crutch regarded
the scene in a species of anxious apathv.
The ready confidence of the elder was in
interesting contrast. He was seemingly
not harassed by sentiment of any kind,
but launching a glance toward Constance
moved glibly into his vicarious undertak
ing. The people listened with uncon
cealed eagerness.
••Our pastor and brother,” he began,
•does not feel equal at the moment to the
discharge of his painful duty. Christ
whose cross he bears in these regions sees
fit to chasten him, and he does not enjoy
the health that most of our dear brethren
and sisters ars blessed with.’?
His look dwelt with unconscious com
placency for an instant on his own sleek
form; then he pursued fluently:
••The conference had a hard question
brought before it at its last meeting. 1
suppose we might say it is owing to the
presence of a stranger in our settlement.”
A flutter of excitement passed over the
congregation, to whose subtle flattery Eld
er Weiss was not dead. “We cannot
blame him," he went on, apparently find
ing the orator’s reward in his work. "I
should suppose we hardly had the right.
He is probably ignorant of some features
of our system and we ought to give him the
benefit of the doubt. We are taught that
when circumstances brings to our knowl
edge one of Christ s children he should at
once become estimable and dear to us.
Hut of course we must protect ourselves.
That we shall do bv measures among our
flock. As for him.” said the elder, large
ly, “we desire only to state the facts, be
lieving that he will feel to do the right
thing." Then pausing a moment to re
cover from the colloquial lapse on the lust
clause: "Hut our chief business on this
eve of our Saviour’s resurrection is not
with him. Sister Constance Van Cleef,”
he commanded, raising his voice and
throwing into it an awful reproof, “you
will please rise.”
Constance, who had been regarding
him in amaze, now stared at him in help
less horror. Surely he could not mean it.
The instant during which he hesitated
seemed to March an eternity. He expect
ed her to rise and leave the church. He
could imagine how she would do it. In
stead he saw her slip off the mantle with
w hich she had again covered herself as if
she had taken a resolution and rise me
chanically out ot its folds. The calm,
steadfast ga/e with which she confronted
Elder Weiss seemed to March exquisite.
The elder’s demand was stricken under
it with commonplace. It might have been
a tragedy, but her passionless face seemed
to say that she hail been advised, that she
had come prepared for just this ordeal;
nothing else supported this supposition,
however, an I March knew sadly its error.
When the elder had first called upon her
he t;> 1 not obeyed ids inclination in keep
ing h:s rentai and he beheld marveling
those proud motions of the girl which
made as-tstanee ridiculous. Ah! yes;
Lady Aniprey was right. She knew very
well - Ui r she was going. The elder
stood hesitating before her manner and she
glam -d swiftly over the large gathering.
The people met her gaze with looks of
mingled accusation and pity, and 6be
turned at once from them ;u and" waited for
tiie i HI- rtogo on with stiil hauteur. Be
i fore this the company visibly humbled.
' she was indeed a sumptuous figure as she
tit< <>d m -tiouless in the wan glare of tte
1 lamps above her. Her erect, dauntless at
titude dot bed the society garb for the mo
ment with an especial dignity and sicniti
cacce, and March, who had once said to
himself that she was not pretty, wonder
icd at h:s fatuity. For the space of the
few rapid seconds that passed before Kld
! or Weiss continued she was something
infinitely finer. t?he seemc-d to him sirn
plv admirable, and, forgetting her posi
j thin a moment, he instructed himself that
! alter all there is no beauty but that of
| character.
••It is upon you. Sister Van (”pef,”pur
' sued the elder, “that roproor fails. We
cannot expect so much from a stranger,
though we mean that he shall understand
our rules; but those within the fold can
not plead ignorance. It is with them, and
with every one of them, that the cause of
Christ here upon earth in however small
degree rests; and they eanliot evade their
saered charge.” The elder warmed with
his eloquence: "It is a blessed privilege,
but it has its responsibilities. One of
I these we understand is obedience to the
| church. The church’s law s spring purely
I from the word of God. They aim to ful
| lili llis will here in this
1 temporary state as far as
j we can learn it, and you, sister, however
! you may have fallen into the wrong, will
| not deny that it is your duty to obey your
i Saviour’s commandments. A whole sti
| ries of these as the church interprets
I them relate to marriage.” His hearers
started. "1 shall speak plainly. The
concern and even tue presence cf a
stranger must not afl'ect our usual way in
these matters.
“When your father, Brother Van Cleef,
who we learn with regret is unwell, re
ceived Mr. March”—a keener quiver of
agitation ran through the assembly at
this open mention ot the name and Con
stance shuddered uncontrollably—“into
bis house as a guest,” pursued the elder,
placidly, "wediil not obj-ct. Our theory
its to strangers and respecting the proprie
ties of hospitality partly restrained us.
If your own position toward the church,
however, Sister Van Cleef, had teen more
clearly defined, we should not have hesi
tated.' Tnc-e considerations would have
been overridden, and Mr. March would
have been taken to the tavern oi permit
ted to dwell for the time w ith some broth
er not having a young woman iu his
Household.”
Tin elder paused as if toemphasize the
crudity of this mode of statement, and
here and there a head turned and glanced
sympathetically at March. When this
exordium had begun ne had sat listening
tearfully with a memory ot Conrad’s
warning; as he named him to her he
clutched his companion’s knee in silent
anger. He beard him now through a spe
cies of stupor tn which he could not com
mand his immobile limbs, nor tflrn away
the eyes w hich bent upon the elder iu
concentrated outi ure.
"You have declined.” the cider went
on, “to associate yourself with the choir
ot single sisters; and though you are a
probationary member of the church and
wear our dress, you do not regularly at
tend our meeting's. You have, therefore,
not been held by the conference to as
strict accountability as our dear sisters
of the full communion. Your association
with the young men ot the settlement of
your own age has not been especially
hindered except by your lather’s judg
ment, though in this We must tairly own
that you have not overstepped, llut for
our own protection, as 1 have said, we
must set a limit, and in the case as to
which I am now speakipg, we have felt
bound to. Our dear pastor,” said he,
turning to Mr. Keator, whose face, how
ever, was hidden by his hand and who
stretched one arm towards him implor
iugly, "was instructed by the conference
to warn you. This, as you know, he did.
You have fully understood, and you have
gone on persistently, audaciously, I may
-av, in the face of the church’s commands.
\Ve have no alternative. Your relation
with this young man mav mean nothing
or not; we do not know. Hut the example
which it holds up before the young peo
ple”—here he turned to the class desig
nated as sat grouped on either side
the aisle behind her—"is dangerous in the
ex'reni". Moreover, the church has espe
cial ordinances, as you know, applying to
strangers. One 'f these torbids the mar
riage of a member ot the society with a
stranger, another clandestine betrothals.
Nov£ we—”
The girl, who up to this time had stood
bravely confronting him with haggard
tixitv. sank abruptly in an impotent heap
to till bench. "Oh! oh! Ob!” she moaned, in
anguish. The eider paused in impatient
surprise. The congregation waited
breathless. Her head fell forward and
some of the sisters near sprang toward
her compassionately, thinking her taint.
As thev clustered about the bench, how
ever, she leaped up w ith a hard, dry sob,
and waving them off with broken queen
liness took her way swittly down the
sanded aisle. On the steps without she
encountered March.
YUI.
She refused to recognize the bitter, an
gry tears through which she looked brave
ly at him. March came quickly up to her
and took her hand with eager sympathy.
“Don’t mind it. Miss Van Cleef. It was
horrible, but you will keep your courage.
The sun is still shining; the earth contin
ues to revolve. Things seem black and
strange to you, I suppose, but they are
the same, and you, you are the same. Do
you think that what one man may say
can really change you to yourself or
others?”
He spoke rapidly, with no care for his
logic. His aim was simply to console
her. and her grateful glances helped him
to believe himself nioniet tarily success
ful. As he released her hand, “Tuke me
home,” she murmured, beseechingly.
They went swiftly down the porch to
gether and along tne street to the dwell
ing of Dr. Van Cleef. From moment to
moment March cast furtive, pitying
looks at her. Her suffering painted itself
sadly upon her lace, but she did not
THE SAVANNAH MORNING NEWS: SUNDAY, FEBRUARY 8, 1885.
speak. In the anguished moments that
lengthened betweem them he yearned to
ward her with an impulse of compassion
that unsexed their relation of young man
and young woman and was merely the
lofty mother tenderness.
Before her home the girl paused, looking
up at the door with an infinite melancholy
in her streaming eyes, then turned awav
with a shudder and convulsively seized
her companion’s arm.
“Oh! I cannot! Let us go away! Let
us get out of sight!”
March drew the arm she had uncon
sciously placed in his closer, heedless of
the proprieties, and turning, stepped for
ward with decision. She thanked him for
the assumption of protection and leader
ship with a look, and kept pace with his
quick strides as if she had lost all will or
was glad to merge it for the moment in
his. His gaze dwelt upon her again in
sorrowful sympathy, ami abruptly glanc
ing up she took it upon her face like a hot
breath, and turned away with warm
cheeks.
“Miss Van Cleef, will you be my wife?”
“No, Mr. March,” he heard her whis
per, bravely, not turning her bead.
They went on in a conscious silence. At
length they found themselves seated on a
bench in the cemetery in the face of the
young moou. The loneliness of the place
seemed grateful to Constance; it brooded
about her as a defending cloud, and she
sat regarding the spare lunar crescent
staringly. though from time to time in ;
uncontrollable anguish she wrung the
hands clasped in her lap. The day was in
those last moments which are neither
i light nor darkness. The earth gristled
and blackened, then was bright again in
patches ot gray, then once more hesitant
ly black. The day was night, the night
day; they mixed and clasped hands. Con
stance wound her fingers among them
selves in ceaseless pain. But she did not
yet give way.
••Ah, why, why should they be so cruel?
What right had they ?” cried she.
March, who had "received much light
within the past hour, was silent. He
could put his own offense out of sight,
but ae found it difficult to talk of hers.
"It was Elder Weiss,” she said, tpore
calmly, alter a moment. “I must not
speak harshly of the society. They are
everything that is good.”
“They mean to be.”
"Yes, yes; and when one thinks of it—
no, I can’t go so far.”
"One may be too generous," said March,
quickly.
"Yes. but one may so much more easi
ly be too selfish and narrow-sighted,” re
turned she, with a smile which cheered
March in spite ot its wanness. "In a
way I almost deserve it. I brought it on
mvself. I would not heed the warning.”
"Ah, but their right to warn!”
"And what wrong was there? We need
not speak of it. I—don’t see how we
can,” she murmured, with a faint blush,
"but we understand—you understand.”
bhe stopped suddenly. “As to their
right,” said she, slowly. “Ab, don’t you
see that father, feel as be may for me,
will think that they had it, that he must
take their side in it all? and what oanhis
daughter do?”
"It is hard.”
"No, it is just. I ought to suffer. If I
had done as my father wished, if 1 had
become a faithful Moravian like himself,
like Mr. Keator, it would not have hap
pened. It is a judgment. I should have
listened to warnings, 1 suppose. 1 should
—no, L should not,” exclaimed she, with
sudden decision. “Why should I? How
should 1 ? They asked too much. They
were rude; they were insulting. They
are now. Ah, could anything be worse
than that scene?”
sue burst into hysterical tears at length
and hid her face in her handkerchief. It
was evidently for March now to take the
generous view.
"It is as we look at it,” consoled he.
Constance choked back a sob and raised
h:-r head.
“There is only one way of looking at it.
Do you think the outrage, the horror of it
will not always temain with me? Do
you fancy that the picture of Elder Weiss
standing there and stabbing me moment
after moment with his quiet, wicked
words wiil ever leave me?. I know they
did not mean he should go so far; the
congregation may have thought him too
hard. But does that make it easier? I
leel as if I had been dragged through the
streets like the poor wretches in the
Reign of Terror; as if all that was most
sacred to me had been turned open to a
mob. Ou, it was too shameful 1” She
paused a moment. “And 1 can tell it to
you,” mused the poor girl. “That is part
of the shame. I have no longer any re
serves. Tnere is no eorner of my heart
into which the world has not the right to
pry.”
“Miss Van Cleef, Miss Van Cb ef, pray
don’t do penance to your imagination in
tliat way!”
She looked at him thoughtfully as she
wiped her eyes.
“You think I exaggerate. How is it
possible to magnify such a thing?”
"By letting others see how much it
seems to you,” said March, seriously.
"Don’t you see that it really means noth
ing for anyone, but—but us, Miss Van
Cleef. If we do not find it beyond reme
i dy, others cannot. They have not the
right, it is our position toward it that
dee rinines the quality of the oflense. It
outrages you, of course. 1 assure you
my own feeling about it is positive
enough, hut—”
“Forgive me, Mr. March. I have been
making you listen to my tirades about
my-.eir, forgetting your feeling. And it
has hurt you, too. Strange that I never
thought oi that! It must be even worse.
An, shall we never get to the end ot the
shame of it!”
"At once, Miss Van Cleef, if you will.
It is really as I say, only a question of
our attitude; and 1 have proposed an at
titude. You refused to assume it. Will
you not change your mind? Miss Van
ijieef,” he begged, “will you not be my
wile?”
“It is impossible that we should talk of
that, Mr. March,” said she, with the dig
nity which even in this strait did not
abandon her. Then after a pause she add
ed without emotion: "I see now you feel
—that you are bound to offer me that re
source. It is flue and noble. Believe me,
1 appreciate it. 1 think 1 see my position
quite plainly, and it is certainly distress
ing enough. But it is not so bad as that.
Surely if it is as you say we can live it
down alone, aud it would be wicked to
sacrifice two lives to it ”
“1 did not say it would be a sacrifice if
I may speak for one of them,” pleaded
March, quietly.
“No, I know you did not. But what
reason is there but this for a marriage be
tween us?”
She struggled to say it judicially; her
blush, however, would not be repressed.
“And this, as I say,” she stammered, “Is
not a reason.”
“It is the best of reasons. Miss Van
Cleef. 1 do not pretend that I am in
love. Heaven knows the hiuts of that man
were false enough. We have been much
together. He built upon that, I suppose.
Hut there has been no love-making, I
think. We have understood each other
excellently, have we not?”
The woman nature in Constance shrank
from tiie bold truth of these statements,
but her rt as-ui instantly condemned her,
and she obliged herseif'to take her hands
from her fnoe and let him see her crimson
checks, ibis was not the fashion in
which her fancy had taught h?r she should
he wooed.
j
,
j
!
|
j
1
]
I
“But that would come in time. We
are, perhaps, neither of us ill-favored as
the world views such things; we are ac
customed to practicing the amenities. I
don't see w hy we shoul l be unhappy.”
lie made this argument with the con
scientious fullness of one who feels that he
has an obligation to bis client, whatever
the infirmity of his cause; he wished to
set it before her as brightly as the case
admitted.
The rttish kept Constance’s cheek.
“You ere extremely generous, Mr.
March,” she said, with a nervous smile.
“You dramatize your inclination as an
opponent and argue against it wonder
fully well. But I must not let myself be
led aw ay by such sophistry. As sophis
try it's very good,” she told him, with
twinkling eyes; “it’s so good that it may
even be in procss of deceiving its author.
There is the more reason, therefore, that
one of us should trv to keep her feet.”
“But—”
“lean never thank you sufficiently,”
she said, cutting in dexterously, with in
stant seriousness. “But you will imagine
my gratitude. Yes, do "please, and we
will not speak of this again. A woman
at her worst must he allowed her right of
and. cision in matters like this, you know,’’
concluded she. with a smile of finality;
and at this assertion ot girlish preroga
tive she seemed to draw herself to
gether.
It was growing slowly dark, anil the
slender moon began to m'aks a dim radi
ance in the open" place where they sat.
The graves were all but invisible through
the shrubbery in the waning light, and
one could not be asked at this time to
think the place anything but a highly
successful park.
March could not avoid a thrill of relief
at her definitive statement. It seemed to
him that he discharged his conscience,
or what mav have been known to his
scheme as his sense of the gentlemanly
in making this offer with proper urging of
its advantage: it was obviously superer
ogatory to desire her acceptance. If he
consented to set a knife dangling above
his bead he could not be expected to long
that it should fall.
As Constance sat observing the young
moon, when she had ceased speaking,
this figure, as expressing a youngznan r s
sense of her affirmative answer to an offer
of marriage, might certainly have appear
ed curiously harsh. Her fine head, which
was faintly turned Irom him, made a
charming effect in curves, and the per
fect outline of her face was aa prettily
cut against the meagre light as if sheuad
posed it tor the purpose.
Hut, as he had said, and now reassured
himself, he was not in love with her; and
this is a thing which is so clearly a mat
ter of taste that no one should think or
disputing about it.
He said nothing in answer to her, and
it was Constance who finally commented
lightly:
'■lsn’t it absurd?”
“Probably.” answered March, laughing.
‘•What?”
“Wby, that we should be sitting here in
this prosaic, unembarrassed way. I can’t
imagine how it has happened.”
To March the frankness of this seemed
uncommonly aumirable. It banished
self-conaciousm ss from the world and ex
iled slyness, while at the same moment
it delicately instructed the observant
listener that both banishment and exile
were swiftly revocable.
“One would think we didn't understand
the proprieties of such an occasion. It’s
a very embarrassing one. Miss VanCleef,
is it not?” he asked, smiling.
“Not if we don’t make it so,” answered
Constance, critically.
“Ab, that’s it! As Isay, it's all in the
view.”
The reader, who occasionally finds
something not wholly congruous’in the
attitude of this pair toward serious facts,
is begged to condone their foible;their
view of life was at bottom incorrigibly
humorous. With March, at least, his
unlailinglv cheerful outlook was a kind
ot creed; one would have said that he
kept a supply of buoyancy in such porta
ble vats as those in which Gulliver’s pro
fessor proposed to bottle sunshine and
charged himself, if one might call it so,
at frequent intervals.
“It’s a very nice view, 1 think,” said
Constance, with a thoughtful smile. Then
suddenly: “How dare me make light of
it! Is it because it is toodreadful to talk
of?—do we cringe before it because we
are afraid of it?”
“Miss Van Cleef,” said March, indi
cating with his stick, “did you ever see
grass as green as that? Or possibly it’s
oats: I haven’t an agricultural eye.”
“Don’t, please!” be.ged the girl". “Why
should I care? It makes no difference.
Nothing, 1 think, will ever make a differ
ence again.”
“Oh, yes it will,” cried March, with
dauntless si renity. “The <! iff. ri rco be
tween two and lour is unchangeable, you
know, and there will always be a differ
ence ot at least a million between one and
nothing. You are an entire unit yet,
Mis* Van Cleef,” he assured her, cheeri
ly, drawing his tobacco pouch from his
pocket. “May l smoke? Thanks! Noth
ing can deprive you of that until you
have joined the ranks out under the trees
there.”
Constance kept her face averted while he
rolled his cigarette.
“You aro so good, Mr. March. It is
very kind so help me look at it cheerfully.
But you can’t give mo anew disposition,
can you?” inquired she, suddenly turning
toward him with a half smile as he took
nis cigarette between his lips. “No, I
think not. I have tried to take it your
way, you know. But 1 can’t. I’m afraid
it must make a difference to others than
us. Nothing, I suppose, affects only
those apparently concerned. We live in
so large a world and touch it at so many
points. Why, a crack in the ice—it ra
diates in all directions, but it might start
with one’s foot. Even when one is only
suspected of wrong,” pursued she,
less calmly, reddening faintly, “and is
quite, quite in the right, the consequences
are more than one could think. It is
right for men to talk so. They must be
lieve it. and it is a pleasant way to see it.
But it’s not a woman’s way, and it can’t
be. You don’t know what you ask.”
“I think 1 do—now,” returned March,
earnestly, “I’ll even agree with you up to
a certain point. One forgets easily
enough that he is really talking to a mil
lion years or so of tradition when he talks
wish a woman, and I tel! into the error,”
he said, quizzically. “But you are com
mitted aireauv as "to our own fortunate
attitude, und l warn you that I shall hold
you to it. Having loutid the beautiful
bravery to make nothing at all of this
w hich might excusably have been made
so much ot, you can’t recede. I shan't al
low it, Miss Van l leel.”
“Miss Million Years,” corrected she,
lightly, but her lips trembled a little.
He gave a light laugh.
“You have a dreadful way of applying
things personally,” he said.
She had been absently twisting her
handkerchief about he lingers. Tighten
ing its lines with a ceit&ia emphasis she*
rose hastily.
“Isn’t that arbutus?” she asked, and
one might have thought that it genuinely
concerned her; “it looks like the leaf.”
She crossed the broad way along which
the bi-nch was placed and stooped in one of
the lab ral pat s.
March east away his eigarette and fol
lovvi'd her.
“It wasn’t,” she announced, as became
up, “but there is usually a greal dial
about here. I don’t think lever hunted
lor it by moonlight. Let us try.”
She was not accurate since the sun’s
light had not entirely faded; yet it was
evidently not daylight.
They turned aside from the path and
waited together among the thinly-ranked
trees.
This part of the cemetery was not
used for interment. Their feet seemed, to
make a great noise in the dead leaves,
and as neither sp me Constance presently
found an inarticulate reliel in causing
those over which she passed to rustle
louder. She often went down in the fad
ing lieht to bend a green tult that rose
from the desert of brown with a skillful
motion.
From time to time she unearthed tiny
sprigs of the flower and exultantly took
the two or three bells of pink with tbeii
characteristic background of decay and
freshest green to her nostrils.
They came in a moment upon a clearer
space" dotted with mounds of leaves
which had fallen after the last autumn
raking and had now been neatly gathered
bv the brethren. All the remaining light
availed here, and with the growing radi
ance of the moon shone upon a field from
which the tender pink of ta-> arbutus halt
veiled by its leaves looked sb>ly up at
them. Constance tell upon it with a rap
tured exclamation and (ducked griedity
for a few moments in silence. March
stood watching her. She rose at length
and picked her way carefully through the
gemmed bed to one of the heaps on tne ot h
er side the clearing. As she seated her
self on the Yielding pile March made a
move to fellow her, but she cried:
“riease. don’t! You will step on
thi m!”
He arrested himself on tip-toe and
looked toward her.
“Do you want them? You can hardly
pick them all.”
“You will hurt them.”
March laughed.
“Taut's true,” he said, and turning he
walked around the bed a? dseated himself
on one of the heaps near her.
It was not chilly iu the glade, though
the unpositive warmth of the day had
left nothing that gave a distinct impres
sion of heat. The spring reached March’s
sense as ho sat idly flirting the arbutus
with his stick and furtively observing
Constance through a nameless and novel
zest in the air, which he found a charm
the more to know that he could not put
his linger on it. There was a sensuous
side of March’s nature that was rather
impatii nt of things that could be proved.
Probably he had no fondness lor guessing
as a system of arriving at truth, but he
had a great respect for intuitions and an
indifference to knowledge as knowledge.
It seemed excellent as a slave, but one
ought to be careful not to emancipate it.
There was the danger of a change of
rule. It may as well be owned that
March had not read the encyclopaedia.
He had vast faith. One could’hardly be
so hopeful, although a young man lack
ing his large measure of’confidence. But
his trust because of its very breadth
could not be brought to believe that any
thing was really known by intellectual
apprehension solely; one must have faith,
he instructed his buoyant imagination;
one must lear:: to feel things.
This made a more considerable part of
bis theory of life than or.o can well be
represented; it tinged his view of every
thing and his liking for the impalpable
quality of t-prin *s presence iu the air, '
though a sufficiently slight matter may
serve as remote evidence of this. It is
true that he enjoyed its obvious manifes
tations as well, and he glanced at the
wide flow :red space, the M and white
and purple blooms of the hipatica about
bis pile, the '•-*.? tosa of the willow cat
kins, an l the reddenftsj shrubs that
dressed the maples In simulation of their
autumn gayety with a distinct if careless
pleasure.
“Perhaps lam a little greedy,” said
Constance.
She sat erect on the soft dais opposite
and held up a thick, odorous bunch.
“I don’t think the flowers object. They
are glad to be plucked by a lover.”
"I meant as to yourself.”
"Ab, I shall be satisfied with a nosegay
for my coat.”
“You know I came out here for rebel
lion.” she said, irrelevantly.
"I hadn’t thought. But I've bought up
all the guilt in the matt, r, if there is any,
and I warn you I shall hold the shares at
fabulous rates.”
The lingering day abruptly died; a faint
breeze swept over the thick-sown fields of
petals. Through the circular opening in
the trees above the moon gleamed coldly.
Constance shivered aud rose. For a mo
ment she stood quite still with a face of
sad musing, and presently she suffered
the bouquet in her hand to full with an
absent motion.
“You have dropped the Sowers,” said
March, rising to restore them to her.
“Yes, I know.”
“You don’t want them?”
‘•No.”
She spoke with a deadly listlessness,
not contemptuously, aud kept her place
meditative.
“Come, Mr. March,” said she, at length,
with sudden effort. “It is late enough
even lor rebellion.”
She compelled a weary smile of gavety
to her lips, and led the way out of the
cemeterj r .
There was no one in the street but the
grey-headed watchman with his staff and
lantern, who passed them softly humming
a hymn. As they went into the house his
husky bass warned from the thitner end
of the town:
“The clock's eight! To Judea all is told,
How Noah aud his seven were saved of old.”
and they heard a clock begin to strike the
hour deliberately. March and Constance
closed the door and stood within the pas
sage waiting silently for the strokes in the
darkness. It seemed as If they would nev
er end. As the sounds died away she
whispered indicating:
"Tnere is a good tire in the parlor. I
must go up to father.”
She looked toward him a moment with
trembling lips.
“Ah, what will he say!’’ cried she:
then turning from him with a swift nod
she ran noiselessly up the stair.
|TO BE CONTINUED. |
OUii NATIONAL HATS.
Cats as Preservers of the Public Kec
urds,
It way not be generally known, says
Mark Taplev in the Washington Star,
that that much abused and far from dis
tinguished member of the four-footed
world, the domestic cat—the Tabby—the
Tom of literature—has arrived to be a
useful appendage to the government.
Once upon a time there was a carnival
ot rate in the United States Patent Office.
They nibbled and gnawed, and gnawed
and nibbled,and when the shades of night
were come, they waltzed through the cor
ridors, “spooned” in the corners of the
Cases, held “high teas” in the waste
baskets, and meanwhile waxed fat on the
crumbs of the lady clerks’ lunch, and
learned wisdom from much mastication of
mechanical drawings, foreign patents and
tiiw like. No door eoukl bar their en
trance, no trap could catch them. The
hoary old grandfather, the gentle mother,
the tender ratling—ali were there—their
name was legion.
At a great expense the office finally im
ported a rat-catcher, dogs and ferrets,
immense preparations were made—in the
dead of night the ferrets were loosed and
the rats ran. Some of them, possibly, did
not run far enough, for after that, the car
penters were employed at odd times in
taking up floors and disinfectant rooms.
Ferrets were not a success.
One day it occurred to a watchman of
mind that if a cat oi two could be in
duced to take up their residence in the
building the rats might bo conquered. A
kitten was procured. Alas! poor kitty!
The rodents added her to ihe lady clerks’
lunch; they eat her up, so it went on,un
til at last there appeared a female Napo
leon of stern and unterrified mien, rhe
was observed at times to rejoice in a high
ly colored carmine back. A cat with a
carmine back was, perhaps, a novelty to
the rats. They let imr severely alone.
Ihe guardian of the records waxed in
dignity ; one morning the cat colony was
enlarged by the addition of lour small
kittens. The lady clerks gave special
lunches in their layer, deputations visit
ed her, the Patent Office eat was an in
stiiution. On her next effort she yield* and
to a slight lemmine aberration, and tire
kittens were found in a desk drawer,
t hat was a mere trifle, though a little iu
couvenient. The cat must be encour
aged.
the last kittens were two in number. It
was early in the full, and there was a
marked hesitation among the clerks as to
whether they should be distinguished as
Blaine and Logan or Cleveland aud Hen
dr eks. Asa compromise they were called
Pansy and Tony. In the course of time
Torty was removed to another sphere by
an admiring clerk, but Pansy and her
mother still wander through tile marble
halls. Tne rat, though there yet, is no
longer a terror; the cat is colonized.
V ItOM \Y 15 Li AS DESCENDANTS.
Marylanders Said to be Members of the
Protector’* Family.
The Philadelphia Ledger recently pub
lished a number of answers to the query
propounded by “An Anglo-American”
whether there were any direct descend
ants of Oliver Cromwell living in the Uni
ted States. One writer claims to know
of several descendants on the male side,
who, he says, are residents of Baltimore
and vicinity. He mentions James C.
Cromwell, Richard Cromwell and Thomas
1. Cromwell as being among them, “Rich
ard being either u grandson or great
grandson of Oliver Cromwell.”
Mr. Richard Cromwell, tne veteran ag
riculturist, who is living at 89 North Puca
street, this city, says the Baltimore Sun,
states that there was at one time an im
p. ession in bis family that they were a
branch of Oliver Cromwell’s family, and
that many years agohe made some inves
tigation of the matter, which satisfied him
that they could not be descended from
Oliver. The Cromwells of which Mr.
Richard Cromwell is one have long been
seated in Anne Arundel county, Mr.
Richard Cromwell’s great-grandiather
having owned a large estate known as
"Fairfield,” near Curtis’ creek. Mr.
Crornwe 1 himself has a couutry place in
Anne Arundel county, on the Patapsco,
opposite Baltimore, and near the Long
bridge, which has been in the family for
several generations. The house was
built before the Revolution, in part
of bricks supposed to have been brought
fiom England. Mr. Cromwell’s sou-:ii
-1 tvv, Mr. Win. H. Corner, who is a mem
ber ol the Maryland Historical Society,
also made some researches in the matter,
and convinced himself that the line ot di
rect descent from Oliver Cromwell has be
come extinct. He lound, however, that
a coat-of-arms engraved ou silver, in pos
session of the Anne Arundel county fami
ly, was in the main identical w ith that of
Oliver Cromwell, showing that the Mary
land Cromwells were a branch of Oliver’s
family. Appleton’s Encyclopedia sup
ports Mr. Corner in tne view that none of !
Cromwell’s male descendants are now liv
ing. It states that Richard Cromwell,
Oliver’s eldest son, ielt no legitimate son.
and that Henry, Oliver’s second surviv
ing son, had seven children. His last
male descendant and great-grandson died
in 1821 at Cheshunt, England, aged 79.
lie was, according to the same authority,
"the last representative of the great pro
tector.” Another writer in the Ledger
says:
"A family of Cromwell, claiming de
scent from the Lord Protector, has long
been established in Maryland. According
to their account, two brothers, leaving
England alter the downfall of their
house, repaired first to Holland and
thence into the province of Maryland.
The descendants ol one remained in Mary
land. while those of the other, pushing
westward, entered Kentucky, where I
believe they still are.”
In Case of Kiuorgoncieg.
Philadelphia Call.
Miss De Blank—"Oh, what a funny
odor comes from your smelling bottle,
ma. ”
Mrs. De Blank—“ Mercy, child; don’t
uncoi k that. It is only for emergen
cies. ”
“But what is it, ma?”
“Chloroform.”
“Wore you at the dentist last even
ing?”
"No. I was at Mrs. De Rich’s party.”
“But you surely had no use for cloro
form thereP’
“No, thank fortune: Miss De Rich did
not play.”
A GOOD WORD FOR BEN.
A Heckles* Jerseyman Switched Into
Decencj at New Orleans.
It is a real pleasure to turn from Ben
Butler’s blazing humbuggery of this lat
ter day, says the New York limes, to the
time when he was making history for his
country's good and playing the part of a
patriot. Here is a story that comes tome
from authentic sources. It relates to his
command in New Orleans. Southern
ladies figure in it: this time their bitterest
Confederate spirit could not allege that
he was their insulter. A young New Jer
seyman, who through political influence
wore I'nion shoulder straps, was with
Butler 's army, posing as the possessor of
a bottomless wallet. His family was one
of the most honored in New Jersey then,
as it is now, and it is due to their reputa
tion that he be nameless in this narrative.
He developed into a fast young man
very rapidly after settling in New Or
! leans. Establishing himaell'in handsome
quarters, he spent money in a spendthrift
way, and assumed to figure in society as
a dictator. On the front of the house
which he occupied—the home formerly of
i one ot the foremost families of the South
• ern city—was a large open balcony. This
, soou became his abiding place for every
! lazy afternoon. But he did not disport
; there alone—the company of a woman
[ made him merry, and this woman one of
| the most notorious of the evil ones that
infested the town. Making no secret of
• his intimacy with this creature he soon
scandalized the whole street. Some Union
j officers were there and some Confederate
families, who were insulted by the vulgar
parade.
It was not long before thi3 state of
things was reported to Gen. Butler. The
old man fumed, strode out into the street,
and with his own eyes witnessed the love
making between the uniformed beau and
the amazon. Then, careless cf etiquette,
came the bluff commander within calling
distance, and the offending man of fash
ion received orders that started him speed
ily to headquarters. This was about
nightfall. Gen. Butler had an orderly, a
tall, lean, stringy Yankee; the Yankee
this night had along gum tree switch.
And the gum tree switch and the legs of
the man with the shoulder-straps got
mixed in most animated confusion. Up
the street went the culprit, running, jump
ing. howling, while slashingaud whizzing
through the air came the switch with
clocklike precision, worse than any raw
hide lu its clutch.beneath his waistband.
He was a sorry sight before be reached
headquarters. His commander was there
ahead of him. The youth made bold to
complain of his assailant. The General
wouldn’t listen; he didn’t want to know
anything about it, he remarked. lie had
something else to say. It was about a
court martial. The next day a very
crestfallen New Jersey young man was
doing menial work. He had a chance to
appeal to higher powers, but it was a
chance that he did not choose to improve.
That Yankee orderly came into no dis
favor —ho and his gum tiee switch had
simply followed orders.
E X-SENATO It NESMTTH.
Insanity of the Queer Statesman of the
Boundless West.
The news of ex-Senator Nesmith’s in
sanity, says a Washington special to the
New York World, has caused great sur
prise among his friends here. Nesmith
was a famous Senator here during the
war. He had a keen wit, and was a most
excellent story teller. Some of his say
ings gave him a national reputation. He
was a plain frontiersman who crossed the
plains long before the days of Pacific rail
roads and settled in Oregon when it was
a wilderness. Ho lived so long the free
life of a pioneer that he never became re
conciled to the confinement of town life.
Continued sleeping under the shelter of a
roof used to give him what he called a
“choky” feeling. To get relief he
would* take his blanket and fly
to the woods, where ho would
often spend months camping out
and sleeping upon the ground. He is the
author of the famous saying of “When I
was first elected to the Senate I w’ondered
all the way to Washington how I came to
be sent to the United States Senate. But
after I had been there a few days I won
dered how the rest of the boys got there.”
I lie served out his Senatorial term and
was not re-elected, The last dy ot his
term he walked from the Senate chamber
to the railroad station, where he had his
baggage, taken and left Washington with
out saying good-bye to any one. He did
not return to the city again until he was
elected a member of the House in 1872.
He served only one term then. He was
thoroughly well liked by every one, and
aside from a fw eccentricities never gave
evidence of an unbalanced mind.
The San Francisco papers give as a
reason for Nesmith’s insanity that ho has
been driven to it by dom siic trouble.
Mr. George, the member from Oregon,
who is a resident of Portland, where Nes
mith lives, says that he never heard one
word of any deist stiff trouble. Nesmith
has* a line family And a large property.
Two of bis daughters arc married to lead
ing men of the State. One is a prominent
banker and tne other is the wife of Chief
Justice McArthur, of the Oregon Supreme
Court. The insanity of the ex-Senator is
political in its nature. Ho labors under
the delusion that his former Democratic
associates in Portland have entered into
a conspiracy to deprive him of ever again
holding any public office. In one or
two instances he has threatened the
lives of these mythical conspirators,
and in one particular instance
made an assault upon an old
friend with the intent to kill him. After
this his own family asked to nave him
shut up. Chief Justice McArthur was
instrumental in securing his incarcera
tion. Nesmith now labors under the
delusion that the Democratic leaders of
Oregon have had him kidnapped and eon
fined for the sole purpose ot preventing
him from going into Cleveland’s Cabinet.
It is believed in Portland that hts insanity
is incurable. He was the last of the type
of primitive border men in Congress. He
had the courage to write in the biogra
phy of himself which he furnished to the
Congressional directory: “I received to
education.” Yet there was nothing un
couth in his language. He was exces
sielv plain, his figures were often homelr,
but yet he was regarded as one of the
good speakers of his time. He was very
clear and direct, and as fond as any Irish
man of a light.
AN IMPLIED BARGAIN.
A Bit of Secret History—Why He is
Willing to Cos on the Retired List.
Gen. Grant will in a few days visit
Philadelphia, says the Philadelphia
Record, as the guest of Mr. George W.
Childs, proprietor of the Ledger. Theex-
President’s visit will be- purely a social
one. His health continues to be a source
of solicitude to his friends, and his spirits
have by no means been brightened by the
bickerings in the House of Representa
tives over the proposition to place him
upon the retired list of the army. The
wish which has for years been nearest
his heart is that this act of justice should
be done him. His disappointment that it
has not already been done is keen, and is
due in a great measure to a bit of secret
history, of which a few of the old leaders
of the Republican party might relate an
interesting story.
Gon. Grant did not at first listen with
pleasure to the proposition that he should
lie made a candidate for the Presidency.
He urged more than one objection to the
idea, and among them that he would be
giving up a life position much to his
liking for one full of unceitainties and
calculated to subject him to as much ad
verse criticism as of commendation or
praise. The Republican leaders insisted.
They feared that if they did not secure
him the Democrats might. Finally he
agreed to accept the nomination, but not
until Senator, afterward Vice President,
Wilson, who was then Chairman of the
Senate Military Committee, had given a
pledge for the Republican leaders that
the General’s position should be kept
open for him. This offer he refused to
accept, because it would have been an act
of injustice to Gens. Shermp.n and Sheri
dan. Having declined to profit by this
arrangement, he has felt since, and feels
wow, that, as the passage of such a
measure as the Senate bill will not inter
lere with a proper recognition ot his old
comrades in arms, it is but an act of pure
justice to nim that he be given the bene
fits proposed by the bill.
Advice to Stumers.
Mrs. Winslow’s Soothing Syrup
sfioma always be used when children are
cutting teeth. It relieves the little snf
ierer at once: ft produces natural, quiet
sleep by relieving the child from pain, and
the littia cherub awakes as “ bright as a
button.” It is very pleasant to taste. It
soothes the child, softens the gums, al
lays all pain, relieves wind, regulates i
the bowels, and is the best known remedy
for diarrhoea, whether arising from teeth
ing er other causes. 26 oents a bottle.
lltuo'ang JinimrHt.
FOR
Man and Beast.
r
Mustang Liniment is older than
most men, and used more and
more every year.
CPxruroiOHO.
TICJMKT^
• —TO—
HEW ORLEANS EXPOSITION
AND RETURN
sai.ss,
GOOD FOR 15 DAYS,
WILL BE ON SALE AT
Central Railroad Ticket Off ces,
2S Bull street and at Depot,
On and After Dec. 15.
Also, at all Coupon Ticket Offices of
Centra! R. R. of Qa. System,
W lßterEicnmon & Tnurist Tickets
Are also on sale to the Exposition.
IYOR Rates, Sleeping Car Accommodation
JL and other information apply at Ticket
office of Central Railroad, 20 Bull street, Sa
vannah, tea. GEO. A. WHITEHEAD,
Gen, Passenger Agt , Savannah, Ua.
J. C. -Il A W, Ticket Agent,
20 Bull street, savannah. Ga.
TO TIIE
NEW ORLEANS EXPOSITION
$4 l ,55!
Tie Savannah, Floiida and
Westera Railway
Will sell Round Trip Tickets between Savan
nah and New Orleans
COMMENCING DEC. 15,
For 821.55,
GOOD FOll 15 DAYS
TT ' M AIL TRAIN train leaves Savannah
A 7:01 a. *i. daily, arriving at New Orleans
at 7:45 the following morning.
Pullman Buffet Drawing Room
Sleeping Cars without change from
M'ayeross to New Orleans iu close
connection with same service on
above train front Savannah.
Tickets sold, Pullman Car accommodations
secured and information given at BRKN’s
T:cket Office. 22 Bull street, and at the Pas
senger Station, foot of Libe ty street.
mottling.
SELLING GUT!
0
I tjp
SUoro atiD Sato.
SHOES. SHOES.
SPECIAL.
I will offer for the next
1 r> DAYS
A LADV’.S KID BUTTON at $2 50, worth
IV $8 00.
A GENTS’ HAND-WELTED SHOE at |5,
worth s<!.
Agent for JAMES MEANS’
#3 OO SHOKS.
Full stock of MISSES’ and CHILDREN’S I
SPRING HEELS.
GENT-i’ EMBROIDERED and GOAT I
SLIPPERS for CHRISTMAS PRESENTS.
H T .
I have a full line of GENTS’ and BOYS
SOFT and sTJFF HATS from tec. to #3.
STETSON’S celebrated STIFF and SOFT f
HATS from $3 50 to |4.
A. S, NICHOLS,i
128 BROUGHTON STREET.
Hnltil’o iLnja 1 ©U&ittg.
IGMSI!
GILDINGj
Ready for Instant Use.
“Rich as gold leaf and wondrously cheap.”
—Herald.
Thiß splendid Gilding is the exact color of
English Sterling Gold. It ib very easily ap
plied with a brush, and may be used by the
most inexperienced. It dries hard in a few
moments and nresonta a surface of rich ham
mered gold.
FOR HOME USE.
RUBY’S GILDING is valuable for Gliding
Household Ornaments. Furniture, Frimea,
Cornices, Baskets, Fans, Decorative Paint
ing, etc.
A Camel’s Hair Brush in each box.
Any one can use it. Price 50c. Refuge a
suDstitutes. Sold by
JOHN OLIVER, 5 Whitaker,
J. G BUTLER, 0 Whitaker,
A. HANLEY, Whitaker and York,
O. P. HAVENS, 143 Broughton.
And all dealers in Art Materials.
New York chemical Cos.. 3 E. 4th st., N. Y
ffijemtot.
j. uTtuu rU
ANALYTICAL CHEMIST, Laboratory
Beaufort, 8. C. Analyses of ail kinds
performed with dispatch. Fertilizer analyses
a specialty. Savannah office, too Bay street.
Jfrutt, ett.
Red and Yellow
BANANAS!
I HAVE IN STORE
1,000 BUNCHES
—OF
Red and Fellow,
Iu All Stages of IHpeniug,
And will sell in tots to
suit purchasers.
J. B. REEDY,
Grocer and Importer of Fruit,
BAY AND WHITAKER STREETS.
SHIP M£ YOUR
HIDES;
CHICKENS, PEAS,
EGGS, POTATOES,
SYRUP,
AND all kinds of COUNTRY PRODUCE.
I will get von the HIGHEST MARKET
PRICE, make Quick Sales and Prownt Re
turns, with cheek for net amount if desired.
I AM HEADQUARTERS FOR
APPLES. POTATOES,
ORANGES, CABBAGE,
LEMONS, ONIONS,
BUTTER and CHEESE
AT BOTTOM PRICES.
E, E. CHEATHAM,
Wholesale Produce Commi-sion Meiuhant,
101 Bay Street, - Savannah, ®a.
169, 169, 169.
MantiarinandTangarineOranges
ARRIVING DAILY.
FLORIDA ORANGES
IN LARGE LOTS.
Aroostook £eed Potatoes.
T>URBANK’B, BEAUTY OF HEBRON"
i) EARLY GOODRICH.
CORN, O ATS. Bii \N, Etc.
Choice lot TIMOTHY HAY just in.
BOTTOM PRICES.
W. D. SIMKINS,
109 BAY STREET,
Next to Acosta’s Bakery.
for sale.
Iwsppr Presses
FOR SALE.
To make room for our new Hoe Perfooting
Press and other new machinery for the
Morning News the following Presses
and Folders are offered for sale:
One Double Cylinder Press,
Size of bed 44 ;„ c nM by 99 inches; i* first
rate w—king order; cv=* $7,500; will ks* 82“
lor 13,000.
Three Revolution Cylinder Pres<
(Hoe), size of bed 89 inches by 4fi inchest oosi
33,150, wiil be sold at |2.000. This pi css is a:
good as new for ail practical purposes.
ONE CHAMBERV
Newspaper Folding Ivlachfne.
Will fold s-eet 88x52 inches. This machine
was built to order in 1880, and is as good to
day as when it. left the factory. Cost £4,209;
will be sold for f750.
ONE FORSAITH
Newspaper Folding Machine
Will fold sheet 27x42 inches and larger.
This machine was built in 1869. tt is in first
rate working order, in fact, as good as anew
machine. Cost 11,100; will lie sold for XN.
For further information address or caft on
J. H. ESTILL,
Morning News Office, Savannah, Ga.
tferorrrtco.
AT A. DOYLE’S,
WINT ITS IS, O Ta OT H ING
BEI/ W MANUFACTURER’S COST
v T BIMON MITCHELL’S,
SIGN OF THE GOLDEN ARM.
1 A BARRHLS CRYSTAL QUINCES,
i IO 5 barrels PARSNIPS.
10 barrels CABkoTS.
50 barrels BURBANK POTATOES.
25 barrels NEB RON BEAUTIES.
20 barrels E \ RLY ROSE POTAIOES.
15 barrels RED ONION*.
20 barrela SILVEH-*KIN ONIONS.
100 bunches Fine RED B ANANAS.
100 boxes Choice FLORIDA ORANGES.
25 barrels New York SPY K APPLES.
FULTON MARKET BEEF.
PlG’' HEAD, PIG’S FEET
ASLANTA SAUSAGES
On hand fresh from the factory.
Also BOLOGNA SAUSAGES.
No. 1 PIG HAMS at 15e.
STRIP BACON at ISc.
New Currants, Baishis and C'oeoanirts
—AT—
A. D O YTi E’B,
tftoijo, (Etc.
T O Y S!
WAGONS 10c. to ?5,
VELOCIPEDES,
DOLL CARRIAGES,
BUREAUS, BEDSTEADS,
and Christmas goods in great variety, at
MATHEWS BROS’.,
156 CONGRESS & 165 ST. JULIAN STS.
ffiopartnrroliip Slimrro.
NOTICE.”"'
J HAVE ASSOCIATED WITH ME IN
the Grocery business Ma. JOHN D. GOOD
MAN. The business will hereafter e (ton
ducted under the firm name of GEORGE &
GOODMAN.
F. L. GKO REE.
ijotele.
St. James Hotel,
TAMPA, FLA.,
THOMAS WHITE, Manager.
PROMPT attention giv n toorders for rooms
by telegraph. The house is pleaanetly
located either for business, travelers or pleas
ure seekers.
3