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■ r ” , ■ 1 ..,er.T.-.
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■H .M-.i i iirr
■B '< ' - ' -,,in showers
H * *•
MB *5". i i.'ir* hcJ
■ it ar- b*- 1 -
IB r„ t m •’ I !C<te
■ \>:i >•' v.V.if night
I♦ * U ’? ~ " , : loho!r pr.yer,
■ "V- ■ , ug-tcrd
■ % ' :i - ", '.'v"r u-.-MroMam/t.
I l r roalo OS DEFEAT:*
I * cun \>( k.
I ~| t It AI.Kf TI K It, i
■ ji * l puiUer,” “A Fair >e
-1 M ming •*.
I Ml.
B , ' i she hai! set for her j
though* of it bo- (
Int *’*lc nain for hor.
tbe Monti ian vil
• . a--r; bat it is im-
Ad tail to send forth
ir-. and when
found them clinging j
■ - ots and with curiou9 :
i'i nt, upon receipt of her
... i.4l written her such.
.. ring letter, over
tueriiness and welcome ,
-s giri happy certitude -
. ; • ere was. therefore. !
ot a dubious wel- '
. k ip"n the secure if
• i she might continue t > ,
iue prospect was emi
f. . r>. .md she wished she
the restrospect withcor
. u.imity. it was one of
which force one to sit
re. in the midst of the
• that general account, that
L, the detail of the pro
- while it is enacting. It oc
her disasters and sor
\ •[ding toe great catas
.. n she could not Maine
. re or less r- motelv re
• ;; ai-. and she resolved to
- to submit. Itwasaeapi
: egia anew.
.it r- fuse a kind of bal
... of self-approval as she
-u- st sorrow and frauk
. - ben* ficiaries among the
i and superauuuatcd
. of the settlement, she
- • had more near friends
f . ren than she knew, aud
from day to day to hid her
_ „ . l r.ot cheapen the worth of
‘ . _ ■ friendship iu her heart, and
: its value was one ot the
c . i made it hard to go. Her
, i.'. i If r*-gret, however, was
, . - , I her father** beloved
, v • latter she saw kept scrupu-
\ . sani* man whom he had
, . the day t tat she w snt about j
via u hefelt gladly, as she saw '
i or lean*, that, U he were to
. In- would i.* t find it loss than •
• !i. Ttie house she hart i>ersist
k * red against all tnrifiy artvice !
- tl e otf- red it first to her aunt '
. , - an abode for herself while she
For the only time since h*‘r broth
, -rial. an*l tor tae third time in her
• the lirst 1-eiog a tribute to the
• rr of the i>*>or fellow who, coming
, - to marry her. was l*~t at sea— Miss
• tia allowed herself to weep a liitle
atly. Then she kissed Constance at-
•ctionately.
1 Kao* not understood you. dear,” she
•!. as she let a warm drop tall U JKHI her
erod check. “I haveculy bceu learn
* *• know you within the last few
. -ince—since brother’s death.”
* h of anguish passed over her face
threatened a real convulsion; she
1;t s- that Constance only saw
i.\ meutarv flutter ot the moist
i art a u'ad child. You were ai
-1 to him and now you are very
:..e. B”t 1 cannot take it. What
■•<!-. tailed woman do with such
*nd all alone? It is true I have
- many, many true, unselfish
- - -me of them might stay with
t is belter that 1 mould go hack
* '! iria in New York. f*he. tin), is
i -Uould never have lett her if
:t>en for your father.”
the house must stand idle
-i tuted. Constance did not halt
. *. and she finally w ent away,
* - <!• ar old furniture, its sacred
its memories of agreeable
*l< and mingle with one an
* ■ .-. led by the echo of any foot
,! nf the ancient German gar
• :..et promised to look in ucea
r limped down to the starting
■ eoacn to set* her and Miss
* -• When he had made his adieu
■ • he came around on the other
, - e you again before very
said, as he held Constance’s
* • said she. hastily, with a
■a .u r of tears in her eyes for
m rather than tor her thought
■ ister. T shall come back to
i the hospital.”
* silent a moment.
not wish me to stay * - you are
...1 ! am doing this?” she asked,
* • . n impulse, undercover of the
. ::u,' . f luggage, the jargon of
- uni the restless stamp of the
' .It is best 91}. Ido not w ish too
•• nptation.”
k- i thoughtfully at him.
uust uot fail.” she said, with a !
-r no trust in her eyes and a
:'o y. u keep your taith in me.”
p his hand again for a lieu, the
■ * t me inn gave his last mes-
; • nver and the coachrolledoff.
* Mi. Keator stood with bis head
ng at a cloud ot dust.
■ ity to which they came that
way and Miss 0> n
red; and. upon aw akening the
n ii mng iu the home of the no
.'ure to which her aunt had
r. Constance bade her elder
a larcwell in which the valiant
* which had of iate grown up bc
‘ ai was at no pains to hide itself.
• -lane? experienced a joylul sen
*•’ ’ fi -t'di'in, for which she present
.■" 1 ’ • 1 herself a*-the coach left the
- <•- .1 i .rned southward. It was true
L w an going in a direction opposite
V >rk. but she was also going
tfier’s sister, ot whom, though
\,t seeu her. she felt perfect
advance. She was also not
. satisfied desires for travel, for
:s, as she had told March, and
' • . i.ad always held an honorable
r imagination. It was true
' v *-;• and was not very far south, and
• imoilt only narrowly kept its
undary of that excessive
l 'tate: but to her strictly-bred
• i a it was for all intents seini
\inl at least she was not dis
-ii toe rich novelty of the mau
-•:*■ ting other aunt and the
■ ■ ha 1 assembled in the wide,
• Civ. ay to do her honor.
• ti" she cried, in happy tears.
>' folded tightly in certain capa
-. and patted and rocket! to and
i mornt ut.
r Kiri!”
• ased. she was made known in
luminous-eyed young girls.
r. cli ar cheeks and brows shone
' utbern abundance of black
• oin; gone to tbeir successive
tie ceremony of introduction to
who kissed iier, and his son. a
* tall young man, who shook
• ’ii her warmly, was aecom
•nd they all went into the-dining
ght vou would not care to go up
must be hungry.” said Mrs.
ta>- vibrant, melodious £outh
■ very hungry.” she said, draw
gloves.
a pleasurable excitement. Mrs.
her keep her nat upon her
air. and made ter sit by her
' '' ’■ eig table, saying as she imred
:lit it would l>e pleasanter to
I have tea all togetl
rather late, you know; we
i-'ht sure vou would come; t>ut
- thought" we had better take
lie wants to give you all the
And we are certainly glad to
y dear, ‘ said she, giving the
‘ts peculiar Southern emphasis
' r t,v Wolcott Bolestier, All
'r ■ and
l
• Yes, indeed!” exclaimed one of the
girls.
‘•What shall l put in your tea?” asked
\ hor aunt, ns the talk lieoame general.
The table was a ! most overladen with
\ every species of warm bread, conserve
and cake. Little crochetted white reals
■ intervened Itetween the plates and the
. otherwise uudovered board. Two negro
' hoys went deliberately about answering
I tbe commands of the girls aud Mrs.
i Kohols, which we:e often* st to offer some-
to ( instance; at other times they
stood vacantly still.
Constance looked interestedly about
the table; the girls amiably returned her
vaaue smile, and she felt a sudden and
wholly unusual liking for the quiet, sweet,
serious taco of the eldest, who sat next
her father at the iurtber end of tbe table.
The two other girls were cot tall aud had
the generous Boutnern form. Jacinth had
the delicate, clear-cut Northern features
of her father. Her hair was worn drawn
straight hack from her forehead in the
trying classical manner, and her effect
was altogether simple, direct and charm
ing.
Helen and Ethel had sweet, round
faces from which their bright, restless
eyes looked good-humorertly out upon a
world w hich they seemed to And agreea
ble. Their lather’s slim person confront
ed them from the foot of the table. From
time to time as he talked his keen, gentle
lace relaxed, and his dry, anaven lips
wrinkled in a fine smile. "In the custom
oi the day he wore no beard, and the crisp
lines of his visage were unconcealed. He
talked to Constance in a rapid, facile
way, and they all joined in an
effort to give her generous welcome, and
to make the desolate girl lorget that she
hail not always known them. It seemed
to Constance that she was coropa sed
about with friendliness, with ssmpathv.
with secure repose. She looked forward
to many happy days made vital bv the
eleemosynarv labors which sho hoped to
emerge from this peaceful citadel to ac
complish.
She felt like erying for happiness,
and instead she laughed with these kind
people as she had not laughed since her
lather’s death.
Ween her aunt came to her room to bid
her good-night she fell upon her neck
aud tried to whisper her gratitude, and
then she said she feared she must have
seemtd wickedly happv. Mrs. Echols
smiled with a tuoughtlul sympathy in her
eyes, telling her that was impossible, and
adding kindly “that whatever we might
wish we could not let the dead always
shadow our lives. The living had lights
as well.”
‘ Ah! you did not know my father,” ex
claimed Constance.
“No, no, dear, and I cannot presume to
touch your grief; only remember that the
world was not made lor that. We were
meant to be happy here, whatever the
cynics say. It we are not the blame is
ours, Good-night,” she added, and kissed
her again.
Mrs. Echols was of a comfortable,
motherly iigure; her gray hair was
dressed upon little combs and hung in
puffs above her ears, wmie its unfailing
abundance was caught up behind in a
large, mat-like coil. Constance looked
alter ter v. ith a spontaneous love in her
eyes which she remembered awarding to
vi ry few on such an acquaintance. "We
were meant io le happy here.” Her own
narrow experience she reflected with
melancholy did not sanction the theory.
But it was certainly an agreeable and
flattering one. Apparently her aunt’s
family accepted it in good f.ith. They
Were, at least, a delightful t xemplitieation
oi its efficacy, and Constance Icil asleep
with a wandcriug memory ot similar ex
pressions ol Mr. March.
lay with the early sun
bright on its w hite dwellings an;! spires .
as she came out alone upon the deep
piaz a with Us robust Corinthian pillars)
next morning. Tne house siood on a i
leafy eminence without the t.wn, and!
tg iinni*u>*ut was in a wide-cultured val- j
l r y. Jti-t below her she perceived a
small lake. A cool breeze. sprung
from the mountains that frinmd the hori- j
zoo, swept the broad plain and tne lake j
and played with the errant strands ot her
1 hair.
-How much you look like your moth- 1
J er!” exclaimed'her aunt in the breakfast
room, as she put back the wandering hair
with both bauds an i kissed her gootl
inorning.
•lo 1?” asked Constance, joyfully.
•Father used to say so.”
The girls came down one by one arrayed
in the invariable Southern morning dress
of white, winning the eye with its laund
ered freshness, and greeted her with tne
same gentle good will.
They wandered through the house
whose vastness presently astonished Con
stance. Tne gieat hall "was in itself an
immense apartment. A company of horse
might almost have mano'HVered in it.
I’m* innumerable rooms gave one a sense
of freedom and spaciousness commonly
reserved for buiidin.s of more public
use. Yet it was all sufficiently home
like. and the rooms were richly decorated
in tho taste of the dav. The heavy cluw
foct secretaries and book-cases were mas
sively embroidered in Irass; the hair
cloth furniture was as handsome as it
was uncomfortable. On the walls there
were some good engravings ol intolerable
subjects. Of these the grimmest was a
series of representations of a variety of
future States, and the most lightsome ati
allegory in lour pieces of the seasons iu the
lifeot man. In a corner of the drawingroom
hung a brave colored likeness of the
Prince of Wales iu the unapproachable
jauntiness of Highland costume, und
above a jiortrait ol his rare father iu the
kingly robes. The inoffensive little girl
with a kitten in hei arms was there, aud
she smiled meekly at her brother oppo
site, arrayed In sailor costume and roll
ing a swollen hoop. Above the harpsi
chord was disposed a pair of curious ban
./-is in copper portraying certain ter
ror-spn ading Indian chiefs in the F'rench-
Indi.tu wars. Two lugubrious ladies in
worsted were represented \ isitiug the
willow-shadowed toinb ot Washington.
There was, of course, a profusion of
family p Units, for the most part excel
lent, which at this time were dimly seen
through their summer defense of "gauze.
Among these was the notable figure of
Mrs. Keitels' lather m the Continental
uniform. The bare, polished floors were
strewn with bnrbarii-lmed Indian rims
which one of Mr. Echols’ seafaring
friends had brought homo to him. and
from the same source were various,
strangely-wrought daggers and ivory puz
zles. The tables were covered with Eng
lish periodicals and newspapers, as well
as the Baltimore and Philadelphia jour
nals. #
-I)o you ever fish, Constance?” asked
her uncle, with a humorous twinkle iu his
eye, as they went out on the piazza to
gether one morning.
-No, uncle. Why?”
He had a large folding map mounted on
muslin in hi 6 hand.
‘•Why, I do. and 1 want your company.”
“You. uncle? I didn’t know you were
strong enough forlong tramps.”"
-•l’m not. The thought docs credit to
your discernment. That is the reason 1
fish at Dome. Take a seat, my dear.”
Constance took one of the chairs on the
piazza with a vague smile.
He unfolded the map, on which Mary
land, Pennsylvania, New Jersey and Del
aware were represented at large, and
spread it on a table liefore them. Con- |
stance began to understand.
-1 can’t, physically, ‘go fishing,’ as the .
phrase is, so I make excursions in fancy. !
Yi u’ve no idea what long tramps I take 1
—on the map—with the precious advac
tage that 1 return home as fresh as when
I started.”
"Do you catch anything?” asked Con
stance, amused.
••Everything. Don’t you see what a
field it opens? Suppose we try a throw after
breakfast?”
"But I’m not an enthusiast. I’m afraid
1 should lie tired before the day is out,”
laughed Constance, finding this admirable
fooling.
“1’ooh! i*ooh! You don’t suppose I give
the day to it; I’ve other things to do. No,
by my method l take a long day's fishing
in half an hour. 1 can <r* t a pretty full
week out of a morning.”
"Ah! then,” cried the girl, -let us start
at once! It we waited until after break
fast we should have time to exhaust the
Potomac, and that would scarcely be fair
to the other fish—ermen!”
Alter this they often went on brief pis
catorial excursions, and when later they
went gunning instead their success was
phenomenal.
Constance found that her uncle hail a
large r. iwtoire oi pretty whimsies, and
despit; the -railing protests of her aunt
he continued to exhibit them to her.
When he went to Quinnimout to play
chess at his club she commonly drove
him in the pony carriage which she had
purchased for her own use. W hile he
played she went about on her own mis
sionary t rrands among the poor of the i
place who had become her fast adher
ents. Her charity was indeed a more
availing and less spasmodic matter than
it had boon in Judea, and she was pres
ently know n in Quinnimout as having ac
complished a genuine and important
work. In the drives home they chatted .
of an immense variety of things. Mr.
Echbls had been a wide traveler and j
THE SAVANNAH MORNING NEWS: SUNDAY, FEBRUARY 22, 1888.
talked very well of his travels, as iftseed
he did of all things.
In tbe evening, w hen they all gathered
in the drawing-room, he read them the
last \V<v erlry. or the Knickerbocker His
tory, or Mr, Wordsworth’s most recent
poem iu his gentle, sonorous voice, or oi
tener played a rubber at whist with them,
or at crihbage with Constance, who found
him one ol the most charming compan
ions in the world.
in the idVist of this hapoly life she of
ten gave backward thoughts to days
wnich seemed strangely unrelated to toe
present. Bne could very wel! ha-e be
lieved that many things which she re
memi'ercd bad happened to some other
girl whom she knew aud felt an interest
in.
One thing, whi eh she still never re
called without a sbamelul blush, she
would have gladly transferred to anoth
er's memory and conscience, but the rec
ollection ol it dwelt in her with an an
guishing pang, and this with the thought
oi her fatbe- —became a less prominent hut
not less poignant thought—were the only
lailurcs in a bliss otherwise tearfully per
fect.
Occasionally she devoted a faintly re
morseful glance to March. The shame
and mortification which he had generous
ly ioroorne to let her see must have been
keeu enough, she wished tnat be had
furnished her opportunity to say her
gratitude, to beg forgiveness for the sell
will that bad brought him such pain.
But in her most enlightened moment she
doubted whetner she would have given
expression to these feelings if his depar
tu:e had been less hasty. March had
never been to her quite as other men!
Sne was aware that there were things
which she could not say to him. And
now a wall seemed to be building itself
between her and her past life. When she
climbed up occasionally to take a peep
she hastily got dowu shuddering. The
memory ol her treatment of him was one
of the things tnat made her retrospects
brief, as she locked back at her w hole re
lation with him, despite certain golden
reminiscences, which she knew not ]
where else to parallel, it took on an in
tolerable aspect. Of one thing she- was
clear —whatever she might once have*
spurred herself to do, sue should not be
able to speak ol these things if she saw
him again. The futility of fortifying ber
selt in advance against a meeting so im
possible suddenly touched her humorous
sense, and she found It worth laughing
at.
A moment lat er she 6aid to herself that
destinies so intimately mingled did not
disentangle themselves with facility.
Fate was an ironic and dame: but her irony
did not go so far. It was impossible.
XIII.
It was some months later, as she sat
one day sewing with her aunt, that the
card of a v isitor was brought to her.
••Say that 1 can’t see anyone,” she said;
then, glancing at the card, her face
brightened. "Tell him I will be down at
once.”
Mr. Frederick Licboln rose with a glad
„mile on his handsome lace as she enter
ed, and tried to say how much it rejoiced :
him to see her again. He was evidently
sincere, and Constance on her part felt the
kind ol pleasure in his presence which a
breath of the sophistical*d, instru- ted,
refined, tainllv artificial citv air always
gave her in’ these clays. The remem
brance of it came back to her with a rush,
and in a moment she was being borne
along upon tragrant, memorial clouds.
The lit*-, the dear sentiments and tradi
tions of which she had been so intiruate
lv, part returned to her for the instant as
li sue had never broken with them.
Till* young man's dress emphasized his
urban manner. It was irreproachable,
according to tbe fashiou of the day; but
his lofty collar, the stock, the elaborately
ruffled shirt, bis fob and glistening shoe
buckles, so far from irrelevant spangles,
seemed us he wore them the inevitable
adoi nments of a gentleman. He was not
tail and, for a young man, rather stout.
His extr* mely ’fair hair was cut close
about a well-made head. He had a prom
inent forehead, and large, alert, roving
eyes shielded by glasses which in his case
had the distinguishing effect. They sat
upon a nose whose slight lateral curve,
due to an accident in childhood, was net
without the charm attached to more
heroic scars. When wonted to it one
found himself liking it. He kept his hat
in his hand and tapped his knee lightly
with it as lie talked.
-You will pardon me. Miss Constance.”
he said, as he seated himself alter their
greeting, “if I make the inane tradition
al remark that you have grown, and you
won't expect mo to add that you ‘feature’
vour cousin or vour grandfather?”
He sat smiling at her with an immense
amiability in his lace; and a look of
r< ady tolerance for all the world.
• Yes, I’ve grown.” assented Constance,
giving his smile back, joyously. “You
have given me time.”
••Ob. I protest! It is a long while since
you came down hero in the coach or you
wouldn’t say that. You have ceased to
be physically reminded of the rocks and
bumps and hollows. For my part, lam
kept in vivid remembrance of them.”
"It IS some time since l left New York,”
musingly agreed Constance, giving reins
to her memory. ”1 wonder you recall
me, so much must have happened since
then in the city. It is like a deposit of
geological drift on the memory ot people
who haven’t been there lor four years.
You were courageous to dig through to
me, Mr. Lincoln.”
••1 have always thought of you. Miss
Constance,” he" answered her, reproach
ful! v. -We were neither of us very old
when we knew each other 60 well,” said
he, with the easy scorn ot a young man of
t wen tv-five for ‘ himselt at twenty-one.
“But "we enjoyed ourselves, I suppose,
just as well as" if we had known more; or,
at least,” he made haste to add. with a
smile of humorous apology, "I did.”
• Those were very happy days,” said
Constance, with unconscious wistfulness.
-I have liked to think of them, to con
tinue them in imagination. Do you re
member the pleasant things we used to
do?”
“There a great many of them.”
“Yes, were they not? The long drives
to King’s Bridge.’tke ices at Harriere’s,
th- skating, the theatre, the opera. Do
you recall the night we saw Mr. Cooper
as Hairnet?’ I have always remembered
that. He was capital, I thought, then.”
"And the routs at Mrs. Schenk’s and
Mrs. Vandernool’s up in Second avenue,
ar.d that generous fellow’s —what was
his name?—bachelor, sister received with
him —?”
"De Bauke?”
“Do Banke; that’s it!”
The topic proved fruitful aud they gave
themselves up interestedly to the discus
sion of these reminiscences for a long
time. At length when a pause fell:
”1 wonaer if you can tell me where I
shall find a friend of mine who is also a
lriend-of yours?” said Lincoln.
“I don’t know,” returned Constance,
still smiling at something they had just
been saying and bringing herself to the
consideration of this remark with effort:
-Who?”
-Owen March.”
-Mr. March 1 Why. do you know lur.
March?”
-Yes.”
"But he never told me.”
“No. I can fancy that. It would belike
him. But it’s too bad of him in this case.
You must have been at a loss to explain ;
my presence.” said he, unthinkingly.
Constance put her hand to her mouth
and permitted herself a joyous laugh.
-Hopelessly!”
Lincoln joined her immediately.
■ That is not had. Don’t suppose my
stupidity has increased in proportion to
the time since we met. 1 was thinking of
March.”
"1 see.”
••I am to pass my vacation with him.
But first 1 came here. 1 remembered taat
I should see you.”
•AL. that is better. But 1 don’t know
why you should suppose roe acquainted
with Mr. March’s whereaoout. He is a
groat way from here. I can toll you
that.” " .
"L*h, uot so far. I think, unless my
geography is all out. tv hat county is
this? Everything goes by counties In the
South.”
"1 can’t say. I’m sure—but Mr. March
is not in it, if you mean that. He is in
England.”
‘‘He was. But haven’t you heard—“
She looked at him curiously and passed
her handkerchief quickly over her lips.
••I suppose not.’''said she, smiling. “Do
l look intelligent?”
“Why. he only went over <>n account
of his ’ brother, you know. After his
death—”
••He is dead, then—his brother: lam
very sorry.”
"1 don't know that yen need ie. Ho
was a cheap let, i fancy. The younger
son was the favorite, sir John was great- ,
lv grieved when he came over here; but :
he took it very well. He thought it a
queer whim.”
"Did jou?’’6he asked.
"1? Ob, I don’t know. Yes, I thought
it a little odd. Well, it is odd. The
voting*, r sons of Baronets don’t become
dissatisfied with the run of things iu their
native land aud come across to see what
they can do for their fellow-unfortunates i
often—at least, not every dav, j' cn
know. ”
“Yes, 1 know, I always liked it in him
that he bad the courage to be different
from toe others.”
"He had a very good thing over there,”
sjrbl Lincoln.
"Certainly, or his bravery would not
have been costlv. Aud now be ha 9 come
back?"
"Yes, fer a long stay this voyage, he
says. He ha 9 brought his colony with
him this time, and he means to remain
and see it started. It’s really a tine tbini
to do. Yon see, he is the eklest son now.
He w ill have the title.”
?h- mused a mrnm-nt.
“Where is he new ?” she asked.
“That is what 1 expected you to tell me.
He wrote me that (Juinnimout was the
largest place near him.”
“Then he is not far from here?”
“Certainly. He found the place, 1
think, before he came to you in Judea.
Do you remember hie going away for a
day or two while he was witjh you? He
wrote me about it at the time.' It was
then he decided upon it. He calls it Ger
rit alter an American who ouee saved his i
life in Germany.”
“ I'hat is graceful.”
‘•YeS, March has a way of doing grace
lul things, if you have noticed. It would
be culpable in any one else; but his man
ner implies that you invariably do the
graceful thing yourself, or at least that
you only lack opportunity. When one
thinks of ir, I suppose, that is a gracetuf
attitude itself. But it is astonishing how
readily oee torgives it.”
Constanee listened smilingly—but—
“ Germ?” she mused. “Gerrit? On, l
know! It is the English colony near Al
ton. My uncle told us of it only the other
day. And we had a long telk about it.
He" thought it a hopeful sign, and I re
member he said that 6uch a plan well
would be a great thing for the
country. I suppose it would, and Mr.
March is at the head of it,” she ended,
absently.
“How strange!”
'•You know of the place, then? You
can direct me.”
“Mv uncle can,” said Constance, re
motely, her mind still surveying distant
regions. “It is on the National I’lke;.”
then, returning to herself: "You will not
go on to-nigbt?” she said, cordially.
“You must let us keep you until to-mor
row.”
Lincoln assented readily to this agreea
ble proposal.
She proposed that he allow himself to
be led out upon the lawn where her aunt
was seated with Jacinth aud be made
known to them. As they went down the
steps:
“You know. Miss Constance, I was to
have seen you at Judea. It was all
planned. I was to run down and spend
a few days with March. Will you let me
say,” asked the young man, with gentle
earnestness, “that it will always be one
of my regrets tnat my slothful moments
should have deprived me of seeing your
father again ? You won’t think it strange
that 1 haven't spoken of }our sorrow be
lore ? : ’
Constance’s eyes filled.
“Oh, I see that I ought to have let you
take my sympathy tor granted. Men al
ways bungle these things. But your fath
er was extremely dear to me.”
"Yes, yes. anil he was loud of you.
Don’t misconstrue my weakness. 1 am
glad to have anyone speak of hiru who
eared for him. It somehow helps me.”
Her liars were gone as they came up to
the group on the law n, but she introduced
him iu a subdued voice and turned aw ay
imuiedi ttely.
Lincoln needed no supporting impulse
to a conversation for winch he straight
way made himself reponsible; and ho was
ev n presently upon almost jocular terms
with ihe reserved Jacinth.
XIV.
March rode over next morning. Lin
coln had written him that he should stop
as he went through Quinnimout to see
Constance, and this intimation that Miss
Van cleef had changed her residence for
one so near Gerrit caused him a pleasura
ble shock of surprise. He felt that he
should like greatly to sse her again; he
remembered that he owed her an apology
for his abrupt departure from Judea. It
was true that he had not wished to an
noy her with leave-taking in the midst ol
her Iresh griet, but he recalled also his
shrinking from the sight of her sorrow.
He felt a kind of awe and a deep respect
for such intense feeling as liers must be.
To make liimselt a witness of it was very
like profanation.
It happened on this morning that he had
come away from Judea leaving his adieux
in tho hands of Mr. Keator, at whose
house he had gone to slay when he had
done everything that he knew to smooth
the final rites, and had seen the body of his
gentle host laid away under the larches in
the cemetery on the knoll.
But, he was willing to see her now.
Indeed, as he ruminated upon Lincoln’s
intelligence, he was aware that he was
extremely curious to see her. It is un
necessary to say that as to Miss Van Cleet
his mind*was far lrotu blank. He had a
group of very distinct impressions re
garding her, and most, ot them were in
the highest degree pleasant. He was
greatly interested to know how she had
come out of her trial. Her love for her
father had been consuming. It must
have been a cruel sorrow. But he had
great taith in her strength. She would
have issued from the ordeal puriiL and. he
was sure; if her contained inward an
guish had not eaten her heart out his
knowledge ol her informed him that she
would have been enlarged audupliited by
experience. The expression of her per
sonality had been systematically re
pressed under the strict conditions of her
life iu J udea.
Iu her emancipation lie wondered what
new habit had come to her, or rather he
speculated upon the result of having re
moved the close shade through which the
light of which she was already so abund
antly possessed had hitherto shone fitful
ly. "The subtle reader will have said that
he was in love with her; but if this was
true he was singularly unconscious ot it.
At all events ho repeated to himself
that he was fortunate to have the oppor
tunity of satisfying bis curiosity Upon
I these points; and, after giving Lincoln
i time to reach Quinnimout, he rode over to
! that compact, clean little town.
Lincoln, catching sight of him as be
i came cantering up the shaded uvenue,
i lett the breakfast table and ran cut with
! his napkin in his hand to meet him. .When
I the young man had seen March’s horse
; eared for they returned to the house.
Breakfast was over, and a graceful famil
ly group was seated on the long portico.
Constance sat on the top step comforta
bly curled against one ot the fat pillars.
She rose with a glad smile as she ob
served March and stood waiting on the
steps. Their hands met in a clasp of
heaity friendliness, and March remained
a moment smiling up at her as she stood
above him.
“You are looking well,” was all he
found to say. "You look as if you had
been happy.”
“I think 1 have,” murmured she; sind
he passed quickly by her and took the
hands whose owners Lincoln named to
him.
A tingling current i an throughhimTrom
her touch which these hand-clasps did
not stale. He seated himself in the chair
which one ol the younger girls brought
him with an infinitely agreeable sense of !
calm excitement which he made no at
tempt to account for.
The heavily-turfed lawn from which the
morning dew had scarcely passed wore a
generous green. Its striking breadth was
flanked by. double rows of maples and !
poplars, and wandered down alter its j
first noble sweep among the slim, sun-lit
boles of a scattered pine forest. The j
roadway, shaded by the maples, interlaced j
among the opposite iineS of silver pop- i
Lire, swung in a liberal curve on either !
side th" wide space of green. The lake I
showed a narrow, watery belt below the |
pines. It reminded March faintly of Do- j
vonshire.
i Constance seated herself against the
pillar again, and with tror hands folded
about her waist was listening quietly to
the phrases in which March was express
ing bis admiration of the neighboring
country to Mr. Echols.
For the first time March saw her with
her head entirely uncovered. The prim
little cap, in which he had been used to
see her. had lent her, he perceived, a
foreign quality. It had never been per
fectly related to her. he felt; but he had
not imagined how much it concealed—
not physically, perhaps, though the rich
masses of her hair were a graceful sur
prise to him. He had merely not thor
oughly reckoned with the intense, ample
individuality which her cap and kerchief
and austere gown ol gray had quelled.
lie could uot fancy one feeling free to
utter one’s self in such a costume in the
midst ol a carnival. It must react upon
its wearer, as the priestly robes do, with
out reference to surroundings; aud surely
her surroundings had not been an encour
agement to any form of suppleness. As
be observed her sitting w here a single
shaft of the keen morning sun fell upon
the light brown of her hair, it seemed to
him that her close-fitting black gown
with its limits of worldly taste, her dainty
little collar witicli had replaced the neck-
j erehief, and the uncovered head about
| which the brt eze hovered and played were
( tre symbols otter emsneipation as the
others had been of fop bondage. The ray
,M sunlight which sought her out from the
ph st end of th* portico was the informing
1 11 u initiation which had come to her. Per
haps one might even imagine the breeze
which* f port- (1 about ht r head the libera!
atmosphere in which she was henceforth
to walk.-
Ceriaiiilf she looked, despite the vague
air of sho oess which now ulwov s accom
panied be.’ ? a creature pre-eminently st
one withUu'atirring, eager.zestful world.
She was so natural a figurpin it. now that
he saw tier there, that March said to him
self that she had never been more than
exiled from If. He expected to find her
greatly changed,.
“Yes,” said Mr; Echolfr, in answer to a
question from March, "fairly old. We
are not very good ?>t the ancient on this
sole; we’ve not beea at it >oug enough.
But we can show exvelient century, cen
tury and a half mansions—thwt matter.”
be pursued, in his lirconic, faeile way
with a faint wave of his nar-d.
Mr. Echols had a larger share of grace
than often falls to the inheritance of men.
Elis moments were harmonious; his ges
tures had a smooth, undulating ease.
When he talked he leaned his head
sligbGy Mrward without bending hisbodv
in a way that was indefinitely suggestive
ol a compliment to his interlocutor. His
iips wore the inveterate phantom of a
smile.
“Of course, it's not a fair race for a-n
--tiquity with you English. I don't know
that we care to enter for it. Though, Mr.
March, there are the Indians. There's a
poiut or two there—Behrings’ Strait
and that. If you don’t bar them there is
certainly something to be said. Japan
now—that theory, you know. If we are
going in for age we must rely upon tne
Indian. I've often thought that; that’s
why it’s a pity to treat him as we do. He
CHi.-nt to be kept in a guarded treasury
with the other archives instead of being
exterminated. That is like the College of
Heralds sending out commissioners to
cut down the genealogical trees. I’m in
tavor of leaving tnem standing. It’s true
Indian genealogy isn’t first rate, but it’s
all we’ve got.”
Mr. EcUofs asked March about his
plans, and they all listened with interest
as he told how he had brought over and
establihsed his colony. He admitted that
it had not been easy.’ lie was not abso
lute head of the company, and there had
been some differences. His design of com
bining a considerable number of small
farmers and farm laborers with the gen
tlemen colonists for whom he had made his
first explorations had not been found to be
a perfectly simple matter. There were
other ideas. But in the end he had gained
his wish, and all were enviably content
now.
“Feudal—a kind of small feudal, system
you are establishing over there,” said Mr.
Echols. “I trust you won’t find it neces
sary to call your vassals out to render
military service.”
"i think you are the nearest Barou,”
returned March. “I hope you won’t make
me fight.”
“No, I think I prefer to claim as tenant
iu free and common socage, and when I
use my right of piscory 1 shall send you
up some fish out of your owu brook" as
rent.”
“It’s a kind oT conspiracy your uneleis
getting up,” said March, speaking to
Constance ior the first time. ,
The daintiest flush fled through her
cheeks. She had been observing him di
rectly as he turned toward her, aud sum
moning before her memory the picture
of a certain memorable scene with the
unsolicited retinue of thoughts which al
ways accompanied it, she looked down
with a consciousness almost perfectly
new to March's experience of her before
responding.
“You will find it wonderfully harm
less,” she said, at length, with her head
lifted to its usual firm poise.
bhj let fall upon him the admirably se
rene and gently confident glance which
had caused Mai eh at their first meeting
in Dr. Van Cleef’s garden to uoubt the
trustworthiness ol some insular tradi
tions.
Mrs. Echols suggested that Jacinth and
Constance introduce Mr. March to the
beauties of the lake.
Mr. Echols ordered his horse and chaise
to drive his son and himself to town, and
Lincoln joined the party which, in obedi
ence to Mrs. Echols’ proposal, presently
sauntered over the lawn toward the boat
house.
Lincoln, who had the kind of facility
with young ladies which like purer forms
ol genius is probably born with its pos
sessor, by a delicious bit of management
secured Miss Jacinth to himself, and lett
Ma ch to push off in one of the other
skill's with Constants. Tuis was by no
means a dis&gieeabie arrangement, out it
gave March an odd thrill. He felt a
strange reluctance now that the moment
had come to meet her so intimately. It
had the charms ot a voyage of discovery,
this little row, but it had also its uncer
tainties. He knew no one to whom he
occurded so peculiar a relation. Fortu
nately few such incidents as that which
distinguished bis acquaintance with Con
stance had come in his way. He remem
bered that they had, in fact, not met
since their most singular excursion to the
cemetery. The brief colloquy at the sup
per table on the same evening had been
rendered impersonal by a sad necessity.
Now they would encounter, however,
without interposing media of any sort.
Probably no unpassivity ever sufficient
ly defended a man who has barrenly ot
tered marriage to a woman; and "with
March the consciousness of it proposition
which had committed him to a definite
view of their relation was particularly
dominant at this moment. This view had
been perfectly frank and sincere, but it
will be freely conlessed that his position
was notwithout its embarrassing features.
It was the gentlemanly thing to have
done, it was the only thing to have done;
but it doubtless had its consequences.
It is to be added that his speculations
touching the change which he vaguely
saw in her, and, more distinctly guessed,
Uad reached the point whefe fie wa* both
eager to satisfy himself aud reluctant to
know all that there might be to learn. It
was clear that she was not in any way
the young girl he had known. But the
difference was not certainly advantage
ous. There had been great opportunities
in the half year or so since he had seen
her. She had been through a crucial trial.
She had entered on a wholly new lifo. How
had it left her? On the whole, as has been
intimated, his attitude was one of faith.
But upon various scores he entered the
boat with misgivings.
Ou her part Constance was not without
a sens? ol the situation.
XV.
The lake sat in the dense, even circle of
green as a rose sits in its calyx. Like a
calyx, too, the outline of the higher trees
against the sky was gently serrated.
The piues, oaks, maples, beeches and
chestnuts lelt wide aisles in their ranks
for one who walked among them, but on
the thither side of the sheet ol water they
presented a solid bank of green, scantily
mingled m the late September with the
modest pigments with which the uneagor
autumn paints the Southern woods, it is
only in the positive North and indubita
ble South that nature uses all her color
box; the half way house is not her favor
ite. The tree tops sloped to the fringe of
shrubs which on every side saw their
obeisance mirrored in the tranquil water.
The house was not visible from the lake,
which.indeed had an indescribable effect
of remoteness and solitude.
Lincoln had rounded the bend beyond
the boat house liefore the other boat was
launched, and his skiff was not in sight
when March pulled out into the lake. It
was one ot the pertect days which glorify
the autumn everywhere. ' The air was
soft and perhaps faintly warm. One did
not know. It certainly was not eool.
The vaguest and most respectful breeze
imaginable made its effect like all true
artists without obtrusion. It embroider
ed itself upon the water in a lace work
as fine as eobwebby. The sun had for
gotten its vicious habit of heat, and shed
now- only a glow to make the heart glad.
In the way the painter evolves from his
model his observations of a thousand wo
men, aud his imagination of what one
woman should be, the perfect figure that
we know, the day seemed to an admirable
pattern to have added "its memo
ries of all the gentle days
that ever were. and illumined
it all with its own graceful fancies of the
(lay that might be. A silence which noth
ing broke but the mewing of a cat-bird
aud the mournful note of the crows that
from time to time flapped above the boat.
toward their perch across the lake seemed !
to have taken possession of the world; I
atul the loitering clouds looked down oh j
it all out of their stainless cup of blue.
March pulled vigorously down the lake
for a few moments, then, bringing th“
skiff gradually about, directed it toward
a point upon the further shore at which a
line of alders leaned out over the water as
if seeking the embrace of sisters that never
came. It was deliciously cool in their
shade, and when he had reached it he let
the boat drift and sat with his knees iu
his hands looking absently past Constance
who sat in the stern. They had exchanged
the necessary words at the boat hotise;
but a silence had lallen upon them siiß'e
they set out.
“ vVe ougnt to have s ime experiences to
exchange.” said March, at length, smiling
musingly.
“I don't know wb°re we should begin,”
returned the girl.
•'Has so much happened?”
“Everything! Nothing seems ever to
have happened betore. i believe you are
the most recent occurrence.”
“Indeed! I supposed I had been hap;
pening a long time.”
"Y'ou have come hack. I did uot im-
I ugine you oul(l come back.”
! “Youunderrated my interest?”
“Yes, I think you are interested. Y'ou
seym to believe in us. As 1 told you once
sush faith eeems very generous." But 1
never supposed you "would give it such
practical lorui.”
"I hope yon approve.”
“I eau’t teii you how imPeh I have
thought of it. If those people were as
wretched a9 yoe used to tell nr* it must
be a groat thing for them. Eves lor the
better class ibis such an opening, i should
thinx. A womau can t know much about
these things, of course. But it se- ms
wise and good—very good. It is tie kind
of work i should like to do.”
March's eyes kindled.
"Y’ou don’t know bow glad you would
make me if you could. A woman’s hand
—a strong, elear-siguted woman's'hand—
isexactly our present need. You see, tne
men brought their families, and now. un
til we can get tbe houses built, there is
such perplexity*—such a host of those lit
tle hourly vexations tnat draw upon the
force which ought to go-into tne project
Uself, as 1 can’t begin So tell you.”
“And you think i could help you?”
“You would be invaluable, Miss Van
Cleet. There is an inUe-ite number of dif
ficulties that only a woman can smooth.
You would see them at eoee. They would
not be hard, 1 think, to you. The poor
women are not used to your American
ways, and, living as they are obliged to,
yetj half in bivouac, their trials seem to
them very considerable. Yes, you could
do a great deal, Miss Van Cleef. Y’ou
see, that I am taking yoa very much at
your word.”
"You are very good. I’m sure I did not
wish to be taken at anything less. You
don’t know what a prospect you open to
me.”
“I hope I don’t open too much hard
work.”
"Whatever it costs lam sure I shall
enjoy it. i have my little charities in
fjuinnimout, but they leave me abund
ance of time. And, if you will let me, I
can't think where 1 suould find more
pleasure than in employing it in that
way.”
She leaned her elbows on her lap and
clasped her hands thoughtfully before her.
Finally she iouked up with a little smile.
“Perhaps my enthusiasm seems strange
to you. You don't remember my con
cerning myself much about these things
“You were always very good.”
"Yes, I think 1 meant to be. But itWas
a poor goodness, l am afraid, wun super
ficial roots. It never accomplished any
thing. It spent its time in intending fair
ly well. Perhaps it is not much better
yet, but 1 hope I have bought some expe
riences.” ’
“I trust it has not been too expen
sive.”
She smiled sadly.
*T suppose 1 paid the market price. It
doesn’t often fall, 1 believe.”
“No, I’m afraid they will never sell it
at the lion Marche , If there is ever an
improvement 1 hope it will he in putting
it on sale in the second-hand shops.”
“Yes, it seems sad that we can’t get it
at someone's else expense. They are al
ways offering it. Ah. if I could have ta
ken wbat my lather offered, wnat his
whole life seemed to say!”
“Perhaps it has come to you since. It
Ikm not ceased to be good.”
March pulled aimlessly at the oars.
”,Since; Ah, since!”
“As you say, a great deal has hap
pened.”
“So much ?”
March took up the oars and pulled for
two or three hundred yards. He stoppe 1
before a tiny Cascade that whitened the
face ol a moss-tufted slope of rock. The
falling water made a cooling sound with
its shivering, rustling slip over the stone;
it found its way into the lake by a tortu
ous channel, and they fancied, as they
looked over the boat’s side, that they
could see where the lake drank it iu be
low the surface, and that its coming made
the water clearer.
“[ have not liked to say how much I
have felt for you in your allliction,” he
said, briefly.
“You must know that I can’t thank
you for the kindness which made things
so much easier at the time, i didn’t
know of it until atterwards, and you did
uot give me an opportunity to express
my feeling.”
••It was not entirely in my choice,” he
answered, to the mild reproach in her
tone.
“Yes, they have told me. lam so
sorry,” she said, frankly.
“We had not known each other very
weii, I am afraid. Perhaps we should not
if things had been different. But he was
my brother. It was very bitter.”
“It must have put new difficulties in
the way of your American plan,” said
Constance.
“Yes, it did not make my father more
willing to let me leave home. lie has
never more than yielded to my project.”
“But you will go back?”
“After a while—yes.”
“l r uur unfortunates have their claims,
but they have not all the claims L sup
pose.” ’
“No, but I must see them settled. There
are a great many things to be done yet.
I'm just plowing up the ground, si to
speak.”
“I trust you will gather a large crop,”
she returned, smiling.
March pulled slowiy over to the boat
house and put up the" skiff Constance
was reflecting upon the copious possibili
ties of effective charity which his proposi
tion discovered to her imagination as she
walked up p,” h. It would be the tor
tunate sort of work from which one savf
direct returns. It was like doing a small
tradesman's business and easting tip
one’s profits at the end ol the day to a
cent. "Constance was not without the
weakness of her sex for the material as
opposed to the abstract and ideal. A
pound that one could see and handle was
better than a ton which one could only
fancy. She had a despairing feeling about
some of her work that it vvas like drop
ping stones into a pool. Doubtless It
tilled it up, but she feared that she should
uot live to see the water perceptibly dis
placed. She tried to have faith, and the
infirmity which led her to long tor visible
results was far from the poor lust that
they might be seen of men. But she
could not help desiring to see them her
self.
In the work which March proposed to
her at Gerrit she hoped to be able to use
her orderly brocm, so to speak, and to see
the dust fly, aud she tried to humble her
confidence —after a habit which had not
been familiar to her some months before
—that she was capable of this missionary
undertaking.
March vvas thinking of the evidences of
the change in her of which his prevision
had given him hints. The luminous and
far-reaching nature of it was a kind of
scandal to his recent doubts of Its char
acter.
The question whether it was a gain
| was like an inquiry whether ioliage was
!an addition to a tree. It seemed a per
• tectiy relevant adornment. It sprang as
J naturally from the original substance of
i her character as leaves drink the sap
j waiting their use and leap out upon the
| sleeping branches.
The two were amply occupied with
1 these thoughts as they went up toward
! the house, and there appeared to be a
j tacit undeietanding between them that
their acquaintance was intimate enough
to warrant the long silence which neither
was inspired to break until they reached
the piazza steps.
“It is arranged, I believe, Mr. March,”
said Constance, “that you and Mr. Lin
coln are to spend the night, so that you
have time for anything. Do you want to
help me get some peaches!'”
March professed his eagerness, and
when she Had gone in and found a basket
she explained to him, as they walked
around the house and into the garden,
that she meant the fruit for an invalid, to
whom she would take it when she drove
to Qiiinnimout nekt morning.
“You know you are going out to Gerrit
to-morrow.” said March.
She smiled.
“How should I know it?”
“L had hoped you would guess I should
want you.”
“Y'ou put too much faith in my imagi
nation.”
“i trust 1 don’t rely too much on the
friendliness of your imagination to the
project now that is before you. Should
you like to see the place?”
He wished to hear her say it. though
her intimations had already been so abun
dant.
“Of all things.” she answered, quietly,
with genuine wistfulness.
When they came to the tree he took hold
of a low-growing branch and shook it
qu’ckly. A shower of the rosy-faced fruit
tell aN nt them.
“I’m atraid I shall hare to as| yon to
elimb it, Mr. March,” she said. “I sup
p )y I might give Miss Jewett tho hrui-o-tl
•me, fuf she doesn't see any kind often,
l)8t t rey loot so much more tempting
w'bew thev are perfect, aud she is not
weir/* ,
MarelT swung himseif reaiiily into the
tree. B was rather fcign for a p ach tree,
and be raoit/ited to a p- roh among the ud
per nrana-s before he found a |>oiut from
waieb he could reach tho finest fruit.
Then as Le begun to pick. Constance
suggested that ne had iorgotten tec
basket. He looked about him.
"I’m rather to*> well placed to come
dvywn,” he savd. “Bupo)S'‘—would you
mind holding year dress? I will tos* tnem
ir-t®- it.”
| Constance laughed.
"I suppose that is tbe least I cas do
since you sacrifice yonr dignity far
enough to climb a tree tor me,”
She caught up the corners of her ek?rt
the least bit and. kweling down, looked
up at elm with a delicious laugh. She
held tbe skirt far out in a tight clutch,
and retracted her form with a pretty
timidity P-o-m the net which she stretched
before berv March sat looking down upon
this grace!a! picture for a moment before
dropping ;*w peach in his hand in!o her
skirt, i’he aversion of her head while she
waited fearfully for the fall of tho fruit,
the gentle eurves of her throat were
turned up tchim, and threw the admira
ble lines of her figure into relief. She had
never looked so pretty to bins.
“Dear me!”
Sne glanced up.
“I’m quite ready,” she said.
She drew back her head quickly again
as a large peach came through the air. It
gave a little shock to her hands as it fell
into the hollow of her skirt. She looked
up again as she took it out and put it in
her basket.
“You look as if you were afraid they
wopld hit you,” oa'id March, laughing. “I
shall be careful.”
“Yes. but make haste,” returned she,
with a faint blush.
He went on rapidly, and she had pres
ently filled her basket.
March found an agreeable worldliness
In her manner. He did not know why.
but he could not imagine this episode hap
pening In Judea.
As he left -.he whist table with Lincoln
that evening to goto his room, having en
deared himself to Mr. Echols by beating
him the rubber, in company with Con
stance, he repeated to himself that she
was decidedly not the young lady he had
known.
[TO BE CGNTINUHII.i
A WESTERN IDYL.
Graphic Ilescriptlou of a Scene in the
Street of a Colorado Town.
A rather sad affair took place on Main
street the other day, says the Canyon City
Mi’rcury. A young lady with her arms
full of bundles emerged from a dry goods
store, when one of them fell on the side
walk without her noticing it. Just be
hind her was a vouug man—a Too-Too-
Club young man, who if not polite is not
anything—and he quickly stepped for
ward to pick it up. Now a bundlo done
up in a piece of paper with a dry goods
advartisenrent on it is apparently ashartn
les as a maiden’s prayer or a mother’s
spankling, and there it lay as guileless as
a b!ue-e>ed bulldog adeep in the sun.
Just as he stooped to pick it up there was
a rustling of the paper, the twist began
to come out of the ends, and in another
instaut an undescribible something—a
sort of a cross between a balloon and a
devilfish—flew info tie air before his eyes,
and a number ten-tbirtv-six-inch-double
jninted-duplex-elliptic-steel-bowed-bustle
inflator- dollar-and - a-half - bald - headed
hoop-skirt with two rooms in it waltzed
- around and gyrated and opened and shut
; up and fell on the sidewalk as flat and
j thin as a boarding house pie, and the
! voting man straightened hyuself up look
! ing as it he wished a forty-ton zephyr
i would come down from the canyon and
j sweep him over into tMe next county; and
the young lady came back with a face'.hat
j resembled an Ita-ian sunset produced by
j throwing a ripe tomato against a board
j fence, and she picked up that wire Con
trivance, and then she went towards the
east and he went towards the west. The
sun ducked his head behind a cloud to
bide a smile, and three or four of the hoys
who took in the show laid down and
laughed and doubled themselves up in a
manner that would have made a summer
| dose of green-apple colic hide its head in
| shame.
21tagtu>lta Palin.
HAGAN’S
Magnolia Balm
is a secret aid to beauty.
Many a lady owes her fresh
ness to it, who would rather
not tell, and you can't tell.
tfjlouro, liootrrn, tgtr.
NOTICE!
DIEM.
V SPECIAL Clearance Sale ol Lfokcn lots
is now taking place in my Itetail depart
ment, during whicn a rare opportunity is of
fered for ladies and gentlemen to supply
themselves with firi-t-c'.ass seasonable goods
at a reduction of nearly one-half from prices
looked for and actually paid a month ago.
Among the different lir.es of goods may be
specified the following:
KID GLOVES,
Ladies’ and Gems’ Hosiery.
Ladies’ and Gents’ Handkerchiefs.
Ladies’ Silk Circulars.
Ladies’ Seal Plush Cloaks.
Rlaek ami Colored French Cash
meres.
Plain and Fancy Dress Goods re
duced fully 50 per cent.
Black and Colored Silks, best
French makes.
Black and Colored Silk Velvets.
SPECIAL REDUCTION IX
CHILDREN’S & MISSES’ SUITS
! will pell Children’s Cashmere smia at ?1
that were jl 50.
I will sell Children’s Cashmere Suits at
f 1 25 that were f2.
I will sell Children’s Cashmere Suits at $2
that were $2 75.
X will sell Misses’ Flannel Suits at $3 that
were $4.
1 will sell .Misses’ Flannel Suits at $5 75 that
were ft 75.
I will sell Misses’ Flannel Suits at f5 that
were ?7 50.
I will sell Misses’ French Cloth Suits at ft* 50
that were |l2.
300 BOYS’ SUITS
To be Closed at Hall* Price, to
makeroogi for spring stock.
500 pieces Embroideries
Fully 50 per cent, under last year's prices.
DANIEL HOGAN.
fUedicinal.
OPIUM and \v JUsK Y HABITS cured bj
B. M. WOOi.LEI, M.H., Atlanta, Ga. :
Reliable evidence given andrefereucetocure.J
patients and physicians. Sen*! for iny took
on the Habits and their Cure. tree.
IBattbeg am® I^lm.
n T EHES,
I
JEWELRY
—ISP—
Fancy Goods.
Samel P. Hamilton,
Importer & Dealer,
Center Bull antf Broughton sts.
jyjr STOCK OF FINK WATCHES. OIA
MONZHS, JEWEI.KY, SILVKBWAK3 find
FANCY' GOODS is now complete, and I aw
prepared to sell
FINE GOODS
AS LOW a3 they can be bought in the
United States.
I>o not associate my class of goods with {th*
WORTHLESS GOODS
with which the country is flooded.
If you wish any goods for TBKSENTti get
a GOOD ARTICLE that will last.
Call and EXAMINE MY GOODS AND
PRICKS before purchasing elsewhere.
While I return thanks for the liberal patron
age for OVER NINETEEN YEARS PAST,
I also refer to the goods sold during those
years as a guarantee for the future.
S, P. HAMILTON,
Cor. Edl & Efoitioii Sis.
pro c*>oooo.
N O T I C E. ~
In order to make room for
SPRING STOCK
1 will offer great inducements la
Fall & WinterJDress Goods.
hweiri j, Ciiihfren’s French Ribbed
Ilosc, redact'd 25 percent.
T\ T ILL offer on MONDAY a line assortment
of SCOTCH ZEPHYR GINGHAMS, ia
new shades and designs. These are the finest
goods of the kind imported.
An invoice of INDIA LAWNS at f3, ff fl,
ft, ft 30, the piece. Remarkable in qualitv
for the price; also, u full ine ot KRBXCH
NAINSOOKS from 10c. to 75c. per yard,
GERMAINE’S,
IS2 Broughton street (next FurbeFsb
GuaranteedjSugar Mills.
M NOVELTY
fi Iron Works.
c-- J '°- 3 Bay A River Sts.
ROURKE
Iron and Brass Foundry
AND MACHINE SHOPS.
J am prepared to do all kinds of
Machine. Boiler A Blacksmith Work.
(JAN also furnish at shortest notice and at
J lowest market prices all kinds and sizes
of IRON and BRASS CASTINGS, FULLRYB,
SHAFTING, etc. SAW MILL WORK A
SPECIALTY. Manufacturer of
Sampson Sugar Mills & Pans
Estimates furnished on all kinds of NEW
WORK and REPAIRS.
KEHOE’S IRON WORKS,
SAVANNAH, GA.
C ABTINGS
Of ai! kinds at shortest notice and on the most
reasonable terms.
Sugar Mills and Pans
A BPKCIALTY.
Broughton street, from Reynolds to Randolph
streets. Telephone 2t*B.
IJortraito.
JAS. P. FIELD,
ARTIST.
OKDER3 for Portraits in Oik Parte! and
Crayon solicited. Will take a limited
number of pupils.
Studio, lUX CONGRESS STREET, Savan
nah, Gs.
3