About Columbus daily enquirer. (Columbus, Ga.) 1874-1877 | View Entire Issue (March 25, 1877)
COLUMBUS SUNDAY ENQUIRER: SUNDAY, MARCH 25, 1877. NO. 72 From Clirialiau at Wvik. FA FA’S LEVTEM. I vhh (sitting In my study, Writing letters, when X heard, ‘ Please, dear minima, Mary told me Mainm* mustn’t be ’isturbed. “hut I'm tired or tho kitty, Want some ozzer ting to do. W ritlng lett* rs, is *ou mamma? Tan’t I write a letter, too? “Not uow, darling, mamma’s busy; Run *nd play with kitty now.” “N , no, mamma, u e write letter— Tan if’ou show me how.” 1 Would paint ruling’s portrait As his sweet eyes (searched my face- XX ir of gold and **yes of azure, i Form o 1 childish, witching grace. But the eag a r face was clouded, A-* i slow ly shook my head, Till 1 said, 4 I’ll mak ; a letter Of you darling boy, instead." So 1 pitted b&(k the tressof), From his foreh-.ad high and white, An i a Stamp iu sport 1 pasted ’Mid irs wares of golden light. ’ Then I said, “Now, little 1-tter, (Jo away and bear good news," And I smiled as down the Htaircase Clattered loud tbs little shoes, Leaving me. the darling hurried Down to Mary iu his glee, “Miiinm i’s writing lots of letters; l’se a letter, Mary—see!’* No cue heard the little \ rattler. As once more he climbed thestair, Reached his little cap and tippet, .Standing on the entry stair. No one heard the front door opeu, No one saw the golden hair, Anil floated o’er I is shoulders In the crisp October air. Down the street the baby hast ned, Till he reached the office door, * “I’se a letter, Mr. Postman, Is there room for any more? 1 * 4 f!ausedi8 letter’s linin’ to papa; Papa lives w ith God, ’oil know, Mamina sent me tor a letter, Does ’ou link ’at I tan go?” 1 Itut the clerk in wonder answered, 4 Not to-day, my little man.” I “Den I’ll And auoszer office, 'Cause 1 must go if 1 tan." Fain the clerk would have detained him, Rut the pleading face was gone, And the little feet wore hastening— Ry the busy crowd swept on. ■ I Suddenly the crowd was parted, People tied to left and right, [ As ap iir of mad.lenol horses At the moment dashed in sight. No on 1 saw the baby figure— No one saw the gold n hair, Till a voice of frighleue I sweetness Rang out on the Autumn air. ’Tiras too lal*'—a momont only r-gy Stood the beauteous vision there, £ Then the little fac* lay lifeless, Covered o’er with g dden hair. ^K. Reverently th y raised my darling, „ Brushed away the curls of gold, m Saw the stamp upon the forehead, Grow ing iiow so icy cold. P Not a mark the face disfigured. Showing wl»« r « a hoof had trod; Rut the little life was ended— ' “Papa’s letter” was with God, I [Written for the Sunday Enquirer.] Through the Gap. A New Serial in Four Parts. BY NET.I, TKLT.. PART III. Tbe next evening young Orton came JWDuiul to see me. I had before suspect ed that he was smitten with the charms of Lucy, and his manner and conversa tion now but confirmed it. His first words •tier his enquiry about my health, was of her. “Have you heard from Miss Burns to- d-y, Ma lam?” “Not Miss Burns but Mrs. Hartwell,” Ioxplsined; ‘ ves, 1 sent to ask about her Mid she is said to be very low.” Never did I see such astonishment ns Has depicted ou his face. “By George, Madaui,” he exclaimed, 4 ^jou don't mean to tell me she was the Old gentleman's wife? I understood the driver to call her Miss Burns.’’ j B“IIe knew no better, and she had been Idas than twenty-four hours married.” RS“So young and beautiful—who would hftve sopposed it?” he said feelingly. ‘‘But When did you learn this?" t®“l had it fiom herself yesterday morn ing ‘‘It couldn’t have been a love-match, do you think?" R“\Vell, no, I rather guess not. He was very wealthy—sho was very poor—there, you have the history iu a nut shell.” ■ “So-so,” he said, meditatively. ‘‘I imagined something of the kiud. But Will you pardon me for asking if you still Intend pursuriug your interrupted jour ney. I shall be lenviug to-morrow, and Would be happy to do auything for you.” ■ ‘‘No, I have declined it altogether, and ■hall remain here for several weeks.”, B “Oh! madam, if I might but ask one fkvor of you," he said eagerly. B “What is it? You may surely ask it, >ut whether I grant it or not is another ling.” It is this—please don't fancy me pre- imptions—impertinent—but would you ike the trouble to send me an occasional informing me of Mrs. Hartwell's lalth?" “The trouble is nothing,” I answered: mt I can't understand the motive that 'mpta your strange request.” .is face flushed hotly as he said: ‘It is because of my great interest in ■—her surpassing loveliness has won- irfully touched me, and I should be irnally obliged if you would let me ive a word now and then of her condi- lon. ’’ “I am afraid I cannot with propriety icede to your request, and I question tour right to make it.” ■ “I disclaim all right, of course, and test it entirely upon your good nature.” ^ “Have you not some acquaintance who Would do as much for you?" “I am a stranger here.otherwise I would lot have troubled you.” “You are also a stranger to me, Mr. Orton, and under these circumstances I must decline to gratify you.” I saw that he was greatly disappointed, and moreover that he was desperately in love with the child widow, or,at any rate, bordering closely on that state. “I would remain here for a few days, but my business will not permit me. Won’t you reconsider your denial ma- dam?’’_ I felt really sorry for him. I know how these affairs hurt and trouble one at his juvenile age, bnt I could not accom modate him. “I dislike to refuse you,” I said, “but there is a principle involved that deters me.” “Yes, 1 understand, and no doubt you are acting right, but I should get off with a lighter heart if I had the prospect of hearing how this illness of Mrs. Hartwell’s may end." “Ob! if that is all you want I will in case of the worst send you a dispatch. Remember, however, if you don't get it that all is well. Surely that concession ought to satisfy you.” “It must, dear madam, and I thank you very sincerely.” Bowing himself out he left me musing o’er another phase of the “old, old sto ry-” For many days the physicians were al most hopeless of Lucy’s recovery. Her husband had been buried in the little cemetery, and I had received from her distressed mother a note begging me to come and see her daughter. • “She frequently speaks of you,” she said, “and has told me of your tender care and sympathy when she was alone in her trouble.” I hastened to comply, and found her lying stretched ou her lied of pain,resem bling a fragile white lilly with its heart of gold, for her long handsome suit of hair had been cut off close to her head and only tho little short golden rings could be seen forming a corona round her pale, wasted face. Mrs. Burns and the dootor were bend ing over her, when I entered the room, the former pressing my hand warmly drew me to the window, and said: “This is certainly kind in you. Lucy is asleep now, but when she wakes will be so glad to see you.” “I Lope she is better.” “We hardly know yet, but are much encouraged by this long, peaceful slum ber.” The little knowledge I had obtained of Mrs. Burn’s character, from Lucy’s story, had led me to suppose her a hard ambi tious woman, thinking bnt little of her daughter's happpiuess when she forced her into that fatal marriage. And now as from day to day I saw her, my precon ceived notions were never changed; not that she did not love her daughter; O! no; but that she appeared to love riches and honors more, and by some means had failed to win her perfect confidence. Lu cy was, I thought, much freer with me than her mother, and showed me all her thoughts and feelings, without reserve. As the sweet autumn days came on though, still very feeble, she would sit for an hour or two, daily, propped up at the window, her long eurv3d lashes shading her sad, dreamy eyes as they wandered over the gorgeously tinted woods and mountains. I spent a portion of each morning with her, and her mother ap peared pleased and gratified for my at tentions to her daughter. I think it was only a short time before I had planned to return to my far away city home that I was sitting with her and said: “But a few more days and I shall have to bid farewell to Daleville.” She turned her mqurnful eyes full up on me, and said with a pathos I can never forget: ‘•Oh! if I wero going with you. I shall never be well here, where everything serves to remind me of him. Oh! why didn’t they let me die when I was so near death. My peace and happiness have forever fled, and what have I to live for?” “It will be a month or more before your physician would permit you to trav el, and I could not wait so long, my dear, but I think we can arrange to have you come to me just as soon as you are strong enough. In the meantime you must not despond. Keep up your spirits aud I trust in a few months to see the light of happiness dancing in your eyes and your pale cheeks rosy with renewed health.” She shook her head sorrowfully. “I have heard each one of us must have our purgatory, while passing through this world. Mine has come very early; all chance of happiness has been irrevocably wrested from me by the iron hand of fate, and I suppose it is wise to submit quietly to the inevitable. ” “Not so, my child. Time will do won- deis for you, and in after years you will look back upon this period as but a fever ish dream. Do not lose hope, there is much good iu store for you.” She looked incredulously at me. “Yon don't believe it,” I said, “but wait until this time a year hence, and you can better appreciate what I now tell you." Our parting soon after was very sad and tearful on her part; but she was somewhat consoled by the prospect of meeting again during the winter. But that bleak season had come and gone be fore she made me the promised visit. The Spring was far advanced when she came, and I thought her prettier than ever as she stood before me clad in her sombre robes that showed to perfection her slender, graceful figure that needed only years to ripen and mature into splen did majesty. She seemed quite cheerful, too, and did not attempt to seclude her self from all society as I feared she would. Of the scores of admirers that sought to pay their court to the rich and youth ful widow, not one, I believed, had yet touched her heart. She had never been in love—that was a revolution yet to come. A month or more had passed since she had been with me, when one evening as the fall moon was hanging like a great globe in the sky, and the mist slowly ris ing from the river, she left the open window where she had been standing, and shading her eyes from tbe brilliant glare of the chandelier said, “Who was the young man here last night? I know his name, and remember well the terrible circumstances nnder which I first met him, but desire to know more of him.” “I am glad since you are enough con cerned to enquire that. I can anwerthat he is a promising young lawyer, junior partner in one of our first law firms, and has only been living here but a short while.” “Ah,” she said, reflectively. “His family,” I continued, “reside in Kentucky, and he hastened to renew his acquaintance with me soon after his arri val hero.” “You had no previous knowledge of him when you saw him last summer?” she asked. “No, it has only been very recently that I have gained this informtion about him.” While we were speaking he was an* nounced, and I would have given much to know Luoy’s real feelings for him. He was certainly very handsome—said to be talented, though my first impressions did not lead me to the latter supposition—was only twenty-one, what you and I with crows’ feet under our eyes, wonld call a boy, and it was evident the little Paphian god had hit him very hard, as with eyes eloquent with his great passion, he took the seat next Lucy. Happy boy, dreaming his dream and believing the beautiful vision amid which he walks is actual existence—but alas! who shall say that the pain doe3 not often outweigh tho bliss. Now he talked as calmly as a judge— laughing and jesting about trifles until other visitors came in. Later in the evening, watching the young people as they were turning over a book of prints, I wondered if she had found her lost happiness. Her face betrayed nothing passing in her soul—her wonderful eyes of a deep purple shade now paling or darkening as the light or shadow fell on them, was looking steadily upon him and their expression was the same as usu al. I had began to weave quite a little romance for them, when fancy my feel ings next morning, when Lucy said— “I like Mr. Stanley so much.” “Ah! yes—I’d forgotten he was to call on you last night—but, my dear I can’t agree with you.” “Oh ! I think him just splendid.” “Take care, little one; he is a noted fortune hunter, and though a brilliant, fine-looking fellow, has no strength of character.” “Oh, madam, are you not prejudiced?’ “Not at all. So keep your heart se cure; he will win you if he can, for your fortune, and then throw you aBide as a hateful incumbrance.” “Oh! I never expect to marry again, and only like him as a pleasant compan ion for an hour or two.” “Yes, he can be very entertaining when he tries, but I advise you to keep him at a distance.” Then bethinking me to sound her on the subject of Philip Orton, I said, bluntly “How do you like Mr. Orton?” watch ing her keenly as I said it. She was very busy for a moment with her crocheting, but replied rather languid- !y- “I believe I have not given him much thought, but he is very young.” I wanted to give her a good shaking— young, indeed! And what was she, pray —not yet seventeen. But it is astonish ing how, in these lives of ours, we some times get through the gradations of a life time in a few months. Such had been the case with her; and forgetting her own youth, she looked upon Phil Orton as a boy. “He comes right often, and certainly greatly admires you,” I said indifferently. “Do you really think so?” “It is not a matter of thought but of belief.” In the afternoon while we were out driving, wo met Mr. Stanley riding his beautiful black, and he bowed so low I’m confident that his beard and horse’s mane for a moment mingled. “See,” cried Lucy, “isn’t he princely looking?” “Yes, and what a pity his reputation is so soiled,” I answered grimly. “That only makes him all the more popular with the women.” “Oh! he’s a gay, selfish fellow, bnt he’ll never marry where he is known.” “Perhaps he does not want to.” “No, he would care very little for a wife if by any other means he conld fall heir to money.” “I perceive von have no good blood for Mr. Stanley; but he is very agreeable aud sings divinely. Did you notice bis tenor as be sang with me two nights ago?” “He sings well enough, if he were not so proud of his voice; but, my dear, if he once entraps you with his beguiling tongue and elegant manners his tune will change. ’Twill then be no longer “I adore thee, dear Lucy,” but “I've got a wife the plague of my life.” Very suddenly a oloud had obscured the sun, and the wind whistling up cool and moist from the bay, I ordered the carriage turned back. As we were get ting out at our door, I reminded her that Phil Orton and several others were ex pected to dinner. She made a little grimace and said: “Then do excuse me. I haven’t got the patience to sit out a q£iff stately din ner. Y’ou know I tried it twice last week, and the last time vowed I’d never go through with it again. O, they are suoh dismal cramping things I wonder who invented them?” “I expect the fashion in some form or other has existed since the world began.” “I don’t believe Old Adam ever had a dining, and suspect we inherited our solemn mirth killing affairs from our English ancestors.” “I’m not passionately fond of them myself, but living in society where such entertainments are common and expected what is one to do?” “Be brave enough to disregard the ty rant fashion and have your little suppers where every one is free and easy and con sequently happy.” We were now in the house, and I went up with her to her room. “Come, get ready,” I said, and bright en up your black with a little white tulle; lay aside for once your crape, and look your prettiest, for some of my guests are invited spcially to meet you.” She gave her shoulders a little shrug and shook her head. “I can’t put away my crape to-day—-it seems like I shall always wear it.” “There is no use of cant between you and I on this subject, Lucy. Had you been longer married, or if you had loved your husband as a wife,it would be vastly different, and I should not urge you to relieve with white your mourning until the period dictated by etiquette for wear ing it had passed. But you are peculiar ly situated, and I see no impropriety in your adopting the lighter tints. ”, I left her to make my own toilette, and when we met just before dinner, I per ceived she had harkened to my sugges tions. The guests soon came, and Phil Orton was very proud of the honor of handing her to the table. Several times her sil very laugh rippled out sweet and clear, and I judged that in spite of her dislike to set dinings she was enjoying herself. As the company were rising he took from the epergne a white jasamine and laid it in her hand with a few murmured words that brought the sea shell pink to her pale cheek. Mr. Stanley had not been one of the number invited to dinner, but daring the evening he came, and as usual, quite mo nopolized Lucy. She and Phil were standing near the piano when he entered, and made his way towards them, and it was not long before he had her all to him self in a retired part of the room, con versing with great earnestness, she play ing carelessly with Phil’s flower. The poor fellow was very angry at the uncer emonious way in which Stanley had in terrupted his pleasant tete-a tele with Lu cy, but when he noticed the nonchalent manner in which that gentleman appro priated the glistening jessamine he had so recently given her and place it in his button hole, his jealousy was aroused and sick at heart he turned away, but not before he caught Stanley's smiling satiri cal nod and slight pointing gesture at the innocent little floweret. This was too much. He felt sure from the fellow’s aotion that Mrs. Hartwell had told him its history and they both were perhaps laughing at him. He would try to show them that he was perfectly indifferent and directly he was chatting merrily with a gay party that were grouped round our prima donna. But his tell-tale face, not withstanding his assumed cheerfulness andgayety, betrayed to me his suffering. Finding myself a moment alone with him I said: “I fear you are not enjoying yourself.” “Not much, I confess, though you must pardon the lack of compliment to yourself in the admission.” “I am sorry, but what is the matter?” He looked across at Lucy and Stanley. I had been observing the little by-play of Mrs. H. and her two lovers and under stood him immediately. “Are you so much in love ?” “Love is not the word for this doltish infatuation,” and he ground his heel in the carpet as if he would thereby crush out such feelings. “I worship her. A blind headlong idolatry possesses me, and I'm not fit for anything but to dream and mope like a fool.” “I believe you are too easily discour- “Who wouldn’t be, treated as I am by the little beauty? Stanley has the inside track of me, and I might as well with draw from the race. She never cares for my attentions when he is about. But you’ll keep my secret?” “Most inviolate, and give you a little wholsesome advice beside.” “I shall be very glad to have it, though I don’t believe anything can prevent that indolent lounging fellow by her side from winning the golden prize.” “ Golden prize! Is it her money you are worshipping too?” “No, by Jove! I loved her when I didn’t know that she had a red cent.” “If that be the case I am inclined lo help you in your affaire de cour, and if you will listen to me you may yet come through with flying colors. Your atten tions lately have been very marked. Now slacken up for awhile, and try careless in difference. She has come to regard your devotion as a matter of course, and con sequently does not appreciate it as she otherwise would. ” “Do you wish me to withdraw alto gether, and let Stanley have it all his own way?” “By no means; but I only want you to show her there are other women in the world beside herself whom you like, and whose company pleases and attracts you.” ‘Pshaw! she’ll never like me, and I’ve no confidence in my powers of pleasing.” “If you are fishing for a compliment I’m going to disappoint you. But per haps she has never forgotten your athe istical argument with her husband on that sad day last summer—and I mimicked his tones—‘what do you think, sir, of Dar win, Huxley, id genus omne “Be merciful, madam, and cease your railery. I was but talking then for ef fect.” “Shall I tell her your faith was not in volved in BUQh utterances?” “Is she so very religious? Yes, you may very safely tell her I retract every offensive word I spoke.” A half hour or so later Phil approached me. “You’ve been practicing my pre cepts, I perceive, and I’ll do you the jus tice to say you did it beautifully. Con tinue your simulated devotions to Miss King for a while longer,” I said. “Not to-nigbt. I am just going, and will bid you good evening.” His hand touched mine for a second, then he was gone. Next morning was gray and chilly, a light spring shower was pattering on the pavement, aud I ordered a fire kindled. Lacy drew up her chair to the hearth and her face seemed irradiated by some new and sweet emotion, as winding her light arm around my waist she kissed me fondly. “What is it darling—have you some thing to tell ma about Mr. Orton?” I ask ed, purposely mistaking her action. Her short upper lip grew shorter as she pettishly replied, “Mr. Orton, indeed! No, I’ve no communication to make about him; Jiut I wanted to tell you that I’m engaged to accompany Mr. Stanley to the opera to-night. ” “Why, how can you go with him after refusing Phil last week? Your excuse to the latter was your mourning, and as you are still wearing it, how can you consist ently refuse one and accept the other?” “When I declined Mr. Orton’s compa ny, I fully intended never to go this sea son, but that magnificent Mr. Stanley has so enthused me with the idea of seeing an opera that I cannot wait, and accept ed his escort. You know, raised as I have been in the seclusion of Daleville, I’ve never seen an opera or play of any kind, and Mr. Stanley assures me that I know nothing yet of lif 9, and must goto hear Kellogg, by all means.” “He's not fit to be trusted out with you, and I’ve a good notion to forbid him my house.” She turned quickly upon me: “Oh! you surely will not do that! Pray consider my feelings. I can’t understand your antipathy for him, he is so fascina ting, and when he looks at me with those dominant dark eyes, I forget all else.” “You poor little silly moth, you’ll yet scorch your pretty wings. Will nothing convince you he is no proper companion for you? I know him to be heavily in debt and for that reason I suppose it is but natural he should adore—your money.” I looked into her transparent face, the interpreter of her soul, and heaven help me, I read that which made me almost frantic. “Lucy! Lucy!” I cried, “you must not go out with him this evening; you are too unsuspicious and confiding. If you are anxious to attend the opera, I’ll go with you myself, and you can write him a note of declination.” She looked at me in a stupefied bewil dered way. “Get your note ready and I’ll send it without delay.” “But what shall I write?” she answered peevishly. “That for reasons you are not at liberty to explain you cannot accept of his escort and beg that he will allow you to cancel the engagement.” “He will consider himself insulted by such a note as that, and I can’t send it.” “I only wish he would—try him my dear, but I fancy the stake he is playing for is too great and glittering for him to be so easily baffled.” She leaned her head on my knee, and looking up at me with her bright earnest eyes, said, in a low gentle voice, “Do you write aud explain why I can’t go with him.” “No, my child, yon must do that your self,” and rising I placed paper and pens before her.” “I see you don’t want me to snub your favorite Philip, and therefore are not willing I should go with Mr. Stanley.” I rang the bell. “Hurry, Lucy, and get this business over; the servant is coming for your or ders,” I said, as I left the room. Going down to the library I wrote to Phil to call and take a'seat with us to the opera. I had a box for the season,though it had so happened I had occupied it very seldom; but to-night we wonld be there and make him heartily welcome. His answer soon came: “He wonld be happy to wait on us. ” Lucy did not like it much when she came down to the parlor ready dressed, and found him waiting, but her displeas ure was of short continuance, and the clouded brow had given place to sunny smiles before we had arrived at the opera. I surveyed with critical admiration the pretty young creature, as sitting between Phil and I, she exclaimed after a long, wondering look around the brilliantly lighted house— “Oh! this must be fairy land! I never, even in my wildest dreams, imagined any thing half so grand and beautiful.” “It is the novelty that affects you,” said Phil. “No, I think not,” she replied, “for if I should see it a thousand times it wonld still be new and lovely to ma." It was as good as a play to me to watch her artless pleasure aud simple expres sions of unalloyed delight, as leaning forward with clasped hands and a wrap ped look in her superb eyes, she was drinking in every note of the music. Phil was iu the seventh heaven of en joyment as he feasted his love-lit eyes on her irresistible loveliness. Once she turned towards him a3 the piece progressed, aud said : “I did not suppose there was a voice in the world so fme as that of the lady now singing. I could listen to it always and never, never tire.” There wus a dozen or more glasses lev eled at her, and I fancied Phil did not like the attention she was attracting, bnt she was certainly the magnet that drew hundreds of curious eyes upon our party. I reoognized Stanley in the crowd and though confident he saw us, still I hoped he would not attempt to join us. But glancing again after a few minutes in his direction I missed him, and just then the box door opened and in he came, hand some, smiling as ever. I was astounded at his triumphant impudence when, bow ing coolly to me, he with the greatest sang froid placed himself behind Lucy and commenced conversing in low tones with her. Phil’s heaven was now heaven no more, and with his sensitive delioaoy and honorable pride, he made no effort to interrupt the tete-a-tete. Not so myself, for I was thoroughly disgusted, and said pointedly to her: “Listen now, my dear, Kellogg is sing ing again, and as this is your first opera perhaps Mr. Stanley will excuse you from attending to him.” He made me a little mocking bow and said ironically, “Certainly, madam, I have no wish to disturb Mrs. Hartwell, nor to come in competition with the mu sic.” And then, leaning over her, with the most lover-like devotion, I heard him say: “Shall I leave you now?” “No, no;” she answered, “pray, stay.” I was so provoked I said involuntarily, “I had forgotten she has two ears and a better, more acute sense of hearing than most people since she can at the same time listen to the opera, which is worth hearing, and to you, sir.” “Who are not, you would say, madam,” and he gave me a look that spoke volumes. I did not attempt to deny it, for I was very willing he should know my opinion of him. He left us just before the close of the performance, but Lucy was no longer in a humor to heed the presence of Phil, and she kept her eyes fixed straight be fore her until we were ready to leave. I said nothing to her about Stanley af ter getting home, and had nearly con cluded to leave her to follow her own de vices. The next day, as I was sitting in the library, I saw one of the servants pass the door with a bunch of flowers in her hand. I called to her, “Are those flow ers for Mrs. Hartwell?” “Y'es, madam,” she replied, putting her head in the door, “Mr. Stanley’s boy has just brought them for her with this note,” holding it up before me. “You’ll find her in the parlor; give them to her, and ask her to please come to me.” I would have given the world if she had never seen him. It was plain that he had completely bewitched* and turned her little head, and my responsibility in the matter was terrible. The fact is I was puzzled what step next to take, and had serious thoughts of writing to her mother. I knew Stanley so well, and my heart ached with a numbing, throbbing pain, as I thought of the misery in store for her yonng life if she married that man.) Directly she came dancing in waiving the scented boquet over her head and cried, “Oh, madam, you oan’t imagine what a charming little excursion Mr. Stanley has gotten up for us. He says he has had his yacht beautifully fitted up and we are to go over to Verd island to spend the day, drive on the beach, and return to the city by moonlight. Did you ever hear of anything more delightful,? You’ll go of course?” “I wonder whose yacht he has got? for I’m quite certain he owns none.” “He says it is his—maybe he has re cently bought it.” “No, I’ll wager he’s got no money to buy boats. More likely he has borrowed it.” “Well, he will have the control of it to-morrow, and we must go. Do say you will go, and let me ran and write him that we will accept of his kindness.” I rose up desperately, with a vague idea of sending her home to her mother. But that would not do, for I conld not go with her, and Stanley might yet be out witted. Somewhat consoled by the re membrance that her visit would soon be drawing to a close, I grew calmer, and said— “I would like to know who else are go ing on this trip, and if you are so anxious for a sail on the bay, that you can have any time by sunlight or moonlight with out Stanley’s delectable company.” “Oh, madam, ever so many people are going,” and she put the fellow’s note in my hand. I saw there were to be a large crowd and tally understood his intention in get ting it up. She was eagerly watching me as I read it, and when I had folded it and handed it back, she said: “All these he has named you know, do you not, and would not mind meeting them?” “Yes, they are all known to me, but I don’t approve of this voyage, at least in his society; but if you’ll promise me to discourage all his attentions to yourself I will go.” She brightened up immediately and answered— “Oh! yes, I’ll give that promise.” “And keep it too, I hope.” flO BE CONTINUED.] “Observer,” in the Christian Register-. Tbe only thing sad in the tabernacle or its service is Mr. Sankey’s singing. A voice combining great power and sweet ness, of so pure a tone that it might be well heard by a thousand people at once, it yet often shows the effect of having been overstrained and abused, while it continually reveals the lack of musical culture behind it. Aiming always at the pathetic; it fiats the whole lines into prosaic dreariness, with a complete loss of melody. Never is there in it a sound of joy. Never does it warm the heart, or fill it with a sense of exaltation. His “hallelujah” is wholly joyless. “Rejoice! I have found my sheep,” is a long cry from the desert, indeed, hopeless, lonely and cold. BOOTS AND SHOES. WELLS & CURTIS ARE SELLIKfi! BOOTS, SHOES AND Leather THIS YEAR FOR CASH, And, notwithstanding the great advance in Leather, can sell Good Work at Reasonable Prices We have a heavy stock of Plantation Boots, Brogans and Plow Shoes. A full line of Fine Goods in all the popular Styles, and are constantly re plenishing our stock with SUCH GOODS AS THE PEO PLE WANT. I ■ST All Purohaset must be consider ed as for CASH ON CALL, unless by special agreement. WELLS & CURTIS, 73 BROAD STREET, (Sign of the Big Boot.) aepao tf Lawyers. ALOAZO A. DOZIER, • Attorney and Counsellor at Law. Office Over 128 Broad Street. Practices in State and Federal Courts in both Georgia and Alabama. mhl8’77 ly CHAKI.ES COLEMAN, Attoruey-at-Law. Up stairs over G. E. Hochstrasser’s store. [febll,’77 tf] BENNETT H. CBAWFOBIt, Attorney and Counsellor at Law. Office over Frazer’s Hardware Store. Jal4’77 ly Mvkk. H. Blandford. Louis F. Garrard. RLANDFOKD A GARRARD, Attorneys and Counsellors at Law Office No. 87 Broad street, over Wittich & Kinsel’s Jewelry Store. Will practice In the State and Federal Courts sep4 ’76 L. T. DOWNING, Attorney and Solicitor. U. S. Com’r and Register in Bankruptcy. Office over Brooks’ Drug Store, Columbus,Ga. ap20,’78 RERSK CRAWFORD. J. M. M’NKILL. CBAWEORD Sc NcNIELL, Attorneys and Counsellors at La tv, 128 Broad Street, Golumbug, Ga. janie, ’76 ly G. E. THOMAS, Attorney and Counsellor at Law. OrncK: Over Hochstraaser’s Store, Columbus, Georgia, [j ant),76 ly] LIONELC. LEVY, JR., Attorney and Counsellor at Law. Commissioner of Deeds, New York aad other States. Office over Georgia Home Insurance Go. ESTATES.—Special attention to keeping ac curate accounts, vouchers, Ac., and making annual returns for Guardians, Admlnistra- tors and Executors.deco,’76 Watchmakers. C. H. LEQCIN, W ate It maker, 134 Broad Street, Oolumbus, Ga. Watches and Clocks repaired in the best manner and warranted. jyli’76 Cun and Locksmiths. ITS. SCHOBER . Deeler in buna and Ammunition. GUNS, LOCKS, Ac., REPAIRED. 39 Randolph Strbkt, near Timks OrricE. [octl 6m] Tin and Coppersmiths. WM. FEE, Worker in Tin, Skcet Iron, Copper Orders from abroad promptly attended to. jyl,’76 No. 174 Broad Street. Piano Tuning, fltc. E. W. BLAU, Repairer and Tuner of Pianos, Organs and Accordeons. Sign Painting also done. Orders may be left at J W Pease & Nor man’s Book Store. eep5,’75 REAL ESTATE ACENTS. JOHN BLACKMAB, Georgia Home Building, next to Telegraph Office, Columbus, Ga., Real Estate, Brokerage and Insurance Agency. LAND WARRENTS BOUGHT. Refer, by permission, to Banks of this city. [nov3;’75 tfj Can’t be made by every agent ev ery month in the business we fur nish, but those willing to work can easily earn a dozen dol lars a day right in their own lo calities. Have no room to explain here. Bus iness pleasant and honorable. Women, and boys and girls do as well ag men. We will tur- nlsh a complete Outfit free. The business pays better than anything else. We will bear expense of starting you. Particulars free. Write and see, Farmers and mechanics, their sons and daughters, and all classes in need of paying work at home, should write to us and learn all about the work at once. Now is the time. Don’t delay. Address Truk a Co., Augusta, Maine. ja2t> d’2m URANCS ^ <#- 5 Remedy: I S TAKEN INTERNALLY, and positively cures Rheumatism, Gout, Neuralgia and Lumbago. Sold by wholesale and retail drug gists everywhere. Send for ciroular to the manufacturers. HELPHENSTEIN fc BENTLEY, Druggists, oot!3 dAwly Washington, D. G , yvv, y*wv, yyv«, A lex, frothingham a to., Bankers and Brokers, No. 12 Wall Street, New York, make lor customers desirable in vestments of large or small amounts in stocks of a legitimate character, which frequently pay from five to twenty times the amount in vested every thirty days. Reliable Stock Privileges negotiated at favorable rates. Siocks bought and carried as long as desired on deposit of three to five per cent. Circulars and Weekly Reports sent free, octal eodiy RAILROADS. Central and Southwestern Railroads. jnif ^ __ n Savannah, Ga*, February 4, 1877. O N AND AFTER SUNDAY, February 4, Passenger Trains on the Central ana Southwestern Railroads and Branches will run as tollows: TRAIN NO. 1, GOING NORTH AND WEST Leaves Savannah 9:20 a m Leaves Augusta 9:15 a x Arrives at Augusta 4:46 r x Arrives at Macon 6:46 p k Leaves Macon for Atlanta 9:16 P x Arrives at Atlanta 6:02 a m Making close connections at Atlanta with Western and Atlantlo Railroad for all point* North and West. COMING SOUTH AND EAST. Leaves Atlanta 10:40 r K Arrives at Macon 6:46 p x Leaves Macon 7:00 a k Arrives at Milledgeville 9:44 a x Arrives at Eaionton 11.30 a x Arrives at Augusta 4:46 p m Arrives at Savannah 4:00 p m Leaves Augusta 9:16 a x Making connections at Augusta for the North and East; and at Savannah with the Atlantic and Gulf Railroad for ail points In Florida. TRAIN NO. 2, GOING NORTH AND WEST Leaves Savannah 7:30 p x Arrives at Augusta..... 6:00 a x l.eaves Augusta 83)6 P X Arrives at Milledgeville 9:44 a x Arrives at Eatontou 11.30 A x Arrives at Macon 8:00 a x Leaves Macon lor Atlanta.... 8:40 A M Arrives at Atlanta 2:16 a x Leaves Macon for Albany and Eu- iauia 8:36 A x Arrives at Eufauia 4:13 p x Arrives at Albany 1:61 p X Leaves Maoon for Oolumbus 1:06 p x Arrives at Oolumbus 6:10 p x Trains on this schedule for Maoon, Atlanta, Columbus, Eufauia and Albany dally, making close connection at Atlanta with Western A Atlantic and Atlanta A Richmond Air Line. At Eulaula with Montgomery and Eulaula Railroad; at Columbus with Western Rail road of Alabama, and Mobile and Girard Railroad. Train on Blakely Extension Leaves Albany Mondays, Tuesdays, Thursdays and Fridays. COMING SOUTH AND EAST. Leaves Atlanta 1:40 p x Arrives at Macon irom Atlanta 6:66 p m Leaves Albany lo:68 a x Leaves Eafaula 12:30 p x Arrives at Maoon from Eufauia and Albany 7:30 p x Leaves Oolumbus .\ 11:32 a x Arrives at Macon from Oolumbus.... 3:16 p x Leaves Macon 7:36 px Arrives at Augusta 6:00 a x Leaves Augusta 8:06 a x Arrives at Savannah 7:16 a X Making connections at Savannah with At- antic and Gulf Railroad for all point* In Flor ida. Passengers for MiUedgevllle and Eatonton will take train No. 2 from Savannah and train No. 1 from Macon, which trains oonneot dally, except Monday, lor these points. WILLIAM ROGERS, General Supt. Central Railroad, Savanuah. W. G. RAOUL, Supt. Southwestern Railroad, Maooa. feb5 tf WESTERN RAILROAD OF ALABAMA Columbus, Ga., Maroh II, 1977. Trains Leave Columbus 4S FOLLOWS: SoutUern Mail. StOO p. m., arrives at Montgomery. 9:40 r x Mobile 6:26 A X New Orleans. 11:26 a k Selma 1234 a x Atlanta 8:00 a x Atlanta, & Northern Mail. e;50 a. im., arrives at Atlanta 3:06 p X Washington .11:66 r X Baltimore.... 3:10 ax New York... 9:30am ALSO BY THIS TRAIN Arrive at Montgomery... 2:46 PM TRAINS ARRIVE AT OOLUMBUS From Montgomery and Southwest..11:10 a x “ “ 9:00 P X From Atlanta and Northwest 9:0) f x JS3T This Train, arriving at Columbus at 9:00 P. M., leaves Atlanta at 1:30 p. m. E. P. ALEXANDER, President, CHARLES PHILLIPS, Agent. decl8 tf Mobile & Girard R. R. Columbus, Ga., November 26, 1876. Double Daily Passenger Train M i Springs with Montgomery A Eufauia trains to aad from Montgomery and points beyond. This is the only line making night and day connections at Montgomery for the Northwest. Through ooach with sleeping accommoda tions between Columbus and Montgomery: Leave Columbus {Mail Train. . 1:60 P X Passen ger and Freight Tram. 7:36 p x Arrive at Union Springs. 5 30 p X 12:32 A X 44 Troy 7:50 P M 3:16 A K 44 Eufauia 6:30 A X 44 Montgomery... 7:40 P M 6 36 A X “ Mobile 5:25 A X 4:00 P X 44 New Orleans.... 11:26 A X 9:65 P X 44 Nashville 8:00 A X 7:65 p X 44 Louisville . 3:40 P M 3:30 A X 44 Cincinnati 8:16 P X 7:26 A X 44 St. Louis . fc:10 A X 7:33 p X 41 Philadelphia... 7:35 A X 3:30 P X U New York .10:26 A X 6:46 P X Leave Troy Arrive at Union Springs. . 2:22 A M 44 Columbus . 7:10 A X 44 Opelika 44 Atlanta . 4:23 p x 44 Macon . 7:06 P X “ Savannah 11:46 A X Trains arrive In Montgomery one hour ear lier than by any other line. Passengers for the Northwest will »ave twelve hours’s time bv this route. W. D. E. WILLIAMS, General Ticket Agent. L. CI.iBK, Superintendent. novSO tf DENTISTRY. DR. J. M. MASON, D. D. S., Cfflce Over Enquirer-Sun Office, COLUMBUS, GA., C URES Diseased Gums and other diseases of the Mouth; j cures Abscessed Teeth; Insert* ( Artificial Teeth; tills Teeth with Gold, or cheaper material if desired. All work at reasonable prices and guaran teed. febai dlykw6n*
