Newspaper Page Text
XIX.
COLUMBUS, GEORGIA, SUNDAY, AUGUST 19, 1877.
NO. 197
FromChaiub rs's Journal.]
THE LIFE-BOAT.
Hark! a distant gun is sounding
H er tlie wat-rg, wildly bounding;
Kagmg waves are fast surrounding
<om • • wrecked ship to-night.
On the shore the breakers, roaring,
L„ u d as thunder now are pouring;
Yht a signal high is soaring,
hike a phantom light.
in and stars their aid denying,
i to s ek the living—dying—
>, to prayers and tears replying,
ill the tempest face?
.r some brave ocean-ranger,
r would, through the Cold and danger,
to save, perchance, one etranger!
tence, for a space.
k! the lif -boat bell is ringing,
ant men are wildly springing,
and h me—their all—they’re Hinging,
th. loEt they save,
cets now are brightly flashing;
lUgh the shiugl • sharply crashing,
he life-boat'8 swiftly dabbing—
,-aveu guard the brave!
Through the night, that wanes so slowly,
“Little on"*” in accents holy,
Mothers, wives, indwellings lowly.
Breathe their heartfelt prayer.
When the stormy sea is swelling,
Ai hing hearts in regal dwelling,
All their pride and power quelling,
Kneel as helpless there.
While the torches, dimly burning,
Show the tide at last is turniug.
Hundreds wait, for tidings yearning,
Watch, with eager o.e;:
iteo! the !ir»t faint glimpse of morning
The dim eastern sky ador ring;
Uiirk! the soldier’s bugle, warning
That the sun doth rise.
Then a littlo speck grows clearer,
brawn—it seems hut slowly—ntarer.
Seen by those to whom ’tls dearer—
Known by them too well I
Brighter now the morn is growing,
t’l arer, sti l, and clearer, throwing
bight upon the billows, shewing
'Tls no dream we toll.
Fast the fata' sands th< y’re leaving;
Hail ! the life-boat, proudly cleaving,
Where the angiy sea is heaving
Mountain-waves offoam.
Onward, homeward, quickly noariug,
Mid the ringing, dcal’uiug cheering
Loving word of we'come hearing,
Gri-ct the conquerors home.
••••A Mystery.
BY JOHN OAKUM.
[From the Operator.]
I am what the world calls “an oldish
fellow,” hut tho boy never dies out of
Home natures, and mine is such a one. I
am fond of reading sentimental stories,
pretty little poems, and sad, weird novels;
of listening to tho morniDg soDgs of the
bitds and of plucking wild flowers in the
fields as I was years ago, when in the
heyday of my youth I was, like my fel
lows, more or less romantic. Albeit the
winters have drifted “like flakes of snow,
and the Hummers like buds between,”
until 1 sometimes feel, with lluskin, that
it is a little saddening to watch the golden
euusets, tlie bud goes down fio fast, yet
am young in all but outward form and
Bemblanco. I make little pilgrimages
when the summer has fled, to the no
great neglect of my legal practice, to
watch tho changing colors of the forest
trees, and sometimes, once in a fewvears
I visit New York, and pass a sunny au
tumn day at Central Park. No words at
the command of a superannuated old
lawyer, like the writer, can properly de
scribe the beauties of that marvel of city
ardening, when the frost has put its
^mprint on the myriad of treeB and
hrubs. A lovely spot, to all admirers
f art in nature, at any time, Central
l’ark beoomes indescribably captivating
when its plumage has changed from the
emerald of spring and summer, and has
turned the numberless tints of the rain-
>w. To wander on, heedless of whither
Ely footsteps tend, and note this speci
men of gorgeous scarlet, that clump of
golden leaves and the ever-recurring
browns, silvers, purples, and yellows is
my delight. And when the sun shines
irightly and tho birds sing their melan
choly songs—it always seems to me as
if they sing in unison with nature; merri-
when she is reviving, serenely and
■with mellowness in the days of her sum
mer opulence, and sadly in the hours of
her decay—I feel as if I had come into
possession of my Spanish castles, and in
heart at least, I am a boy again.
1 recall, at this moment, a visit made
Central Park two years ago. I am
Hot positive whether it was in the last
’ of October or in the first of Novem-
Snffice it that the weather was most
beautiful. I had strolled about until I
was weary and footsore, and had stopped
o rest on the bridge overlooking the
a ke. As you will remember, this bridge
s reached from the mall by crossing the
Itive, and one may loiter there and see
hi those who pass in carriages. There
*ere but few people visible as I leaned
J KAinst the rail, and surveyed the lovely
te about me. The son was sinking
apidly below a bsnk of gray, oold-look-
g clouds, a chilling wind was springing
P- and I w as about buttoning my coat
°t6 firmly around me and setting out
,r the city, when I noticed a rather dis-
n gu;shed looking gentleman down by
be lake. He was, ptrhaps 35 years of
ge, and was amusing himself by throw-
D g pebbles out into the wrinkled waters.
handsome fellow, smoothly
en and tastefully dressed, though
otuething about the cut of his attire per-
Q adcd me that it was not of American
anufactnre. I 6et him down in my
‘ad as an English tourist, and as he was
)w coming toward me I prepared to
WnUnize him more closely. Just as he
u unitd the steps leading to where I was
the jumbling of wheels diverted
■ a tUL;i'jn, and I turned my gpze in
c °l ! posite direction. Presently a lady
d gentleman came dashing by behind a
lr of high-stepping horses. From the
stant the carriage came within sight
c tu it disappeared my eyes rested on the
To say that she was beautifal be-
°Ed the power of this hand to express,
arcely dismitses the subject. I never
w to my recollection so faultle6B a pair
{ shoulders. Her head, too, was a mar-
of loveliness. There was a poise
lL °ut it which enhanced the sweetness of
face reminding me of Lucca's, and the
ch locks of hair which escaped from
ntrol with the rapid pace were as those
* ihffWiof
(have
plan
gathered sunshine. I stood spell-bound,
as if an angel had passed my way. For a
moment I scarcely breathed, counting it
wrong to inhale the air, hallowed, as I
thought it, by a recent presence border
ing on the divine.
“Lovely woman, isn’t she?” came from
beside me, and as soon as I could recover
my equanimity I turned, and meeting the
eyes of the pebble-caster, I replied:
“Indeed, sir, you may as well say so.
Like most men of my years, I have my
sweet and bitter memories: I have cas
tles of gold and cedar and immense do
mains in dreamland, through which flow
silver rivers. My castles overlook lawns
of perrennial green,and the air isfragrant
with the incense of orange blossomB and
myrrh. Sitting at my windows at even
tide, I see, in the luminous atmosphere,
faces of wondrous beauty, but none fair
er nor more angelic than hers. A lovely
woman most assuredly.”
“I suppose, of course, you know her?”
he returned.
“I haveu’t that honor. I wish I had,”
I said. “Do you know her?” I enquired.
My companion gave a long whistle and
finally answered abruptly: “Yes, I do
know her, and Bhe has a history, too; but
it is not much known, nor of peculiar in
terest to strangers. Let it pass. Bat”
he added, in a brisker vein. “I am sur
prised, if you are a New Yorker, that
you do not know the brilliant Mrs.
Vaughn.”
“I am not a New Yorker,” I rejoined.
“I live in Boston, and have never heard
of Mrs. Vaughn, I assure you. ”
“Well, you have of your husband, sure
ly,” my entertaining friend resumed.
“She is the wife of Howard Vaughn, the
capitalist—Vaughn, Giddings and Gluck,
the Broad btreet bankers. Vaugn is a
fine fellow, I think, though I have abun
dant reason to hate him cordially. But
I respect the man and ignore my personal
animosity. He likes good wine, and
good living, but he is a man of cultiva
tion, also. You may remember him as
the companion of Colonel Charles S.
Bulkley, tho explorer and engineer sent
out to build an overland line of telegraph
from San Francisco to St. Petersburgb,
some years ago, and which was abandon
ed with the unexpected success of the
second Atlantic cable. Vaughn afterward
wrote a book reciting his experiences in
British America—“Snow Shoes and
Sledges,” I think was its title. Oh, yes!
he is a clever fellow; he writes articles
for the daily papers on finance; essays on
social and literary themes for the maga
zines, and a poem now and then, so sweet
and pathetic that you would imagine its
author to be some pastoral queen who
had never wandered from the shaded
lanes and quiet forests of her country
homo long enough to even hear the echo
of a city’s hum and bustle.”
My companion subsided, and as we had
begun walking while he was speaking, he
fell to cutting at the bushes with his cane
and seemed to be preoccupied. I had
become greatly interested in his remarks,
and expressing my thanks for the con
fidences he had communicated, I intima
ted that I t-hould be glad to know what
reasons he had for hating so gifted a man
as Mr. Vaughn. But my words seemed
to be utterly lost upon him. Evidently
his mind was elsewhere. We walked on
in silence for some minntes, when my
friend asked abruptly:
“Did you notice Vaughn at all?”
I replied that I did not; that my atten
tion was so much engrossed by the’ lady
and her marvellous beauty that I had not
bestowed so much as a glance on her
husband.
“I am sorry,” continued my compan
ion, “that you did not note him more
closely. He is a wonderful man, possess
ed of a face which once seen can never
be forgotten. Born in the country, he
has a nature so informed by the idyllic
surroundings of his childhood, that his
manner is almost womanly in its sweet
ness. Contact with the world in later
years has polished him outwardly to the
last degree, so that, take him all iu all,
he is really a most remarkable specimen
of simplicity, worldly wisdom,true heart-
edness, culture and affection delightfully
blended.”
We had now reached the Exit, and,
without ceremony, my friend called
a coupe and plunged into it. I was
moving eff, not a little perplexed at all
I had heard, and his unceremonious
manner of quitting me, and had just sig
nalled a Fourth avenue car, when a car
riage stopped beside me, and a voice I
recognized at once said:
“I suppose you should like to hear her
history, since you think Mrs. Vaughn so
beautiful?”
To my answer in the affirmative the
voice continued: “Well, come and dine
with mo to-morrow night, at the Claren-
don, and I will tell you about her.”
And a hand was put forth which grasp
ed mice cordially, as the speaker conclu
ded: “I somehow took a fancy to you
from the first; and over our wine and ci
gars, to-morrow evening, I will tell you a
story so strange, inexplicable and sad,that
you will have something to think of for a
long time. Be at the Clarendon at 7
o'clock sharp, and ask for Conrad Kirsch-
baum—pshaw! not a card with me, just
my luck—and you shall know all.”
I readily assented, and my new ac
quaintance, falling back among the cush
ions with a sigb, signalled wearily to his
driver to proceed, and the carriage passed
rapidly down Fifth avenne, quickly dis
appearing around a corner.
I dined with Kirschbauin the next even
ing according to engagement. After din
ner he told me the following singular sto-
He was the son of the Rev. Conrad
Kirsohbaum, deceased, of Allentown, Pa.
In 1870 he had fallen a pray to a malrial
fever, and went abroad to recuperate his
health, in Paris he met Miss Marion
Scudder, of Albany; they fell in love, be-
camed engaged, and were to be married
on their return to America. While they
were deep in their plans for future bliss,
the commune revolted. The siege of
Paris began and progressed without elie
iting their attention until one day, when
it was too late to leave the city by the
usual methods of conveyance, they awoke
to a realization that they were prisoners
in a beleaguered city. From this point I
will let Kirschbaum tell his own story:
“O, how I loved that girl—how I love
her still ? But that is not to the pur
pose. There was only one way out of
the city—by balloon. It was with no
small difficulty that I obtained Marion’s
consent to leave by that means, but she
reluctantly complied at last. Then I had
no end of trouble about getting a balloon
and run the imminent risk of being shot
in making the start. In a few days, how
ever, all was ready. I was to meet Ma
rion at her hotel at 9 o’clock in the even
ing, and from thence we hoped to quit
Paris before night had set in. As I was
pacing the floor at my lodgings, she oame
to me about six o’clock—an hour before
the time at which I had agreed to call for
her. I remon-trated with her for jeopard
izing her life by coming out of doors be*
fore nightfall and without an escort, but
ehe averred that she felt so wretched
away from me, in the great danger
which threatened ns, and she seemed so
dependent on me that I ceased my chid
ing. We left my lodgingB about fifteen
minutes before seven, and between seven
and eight o’clock we stepped on board the
balloon, which, when the word was given,
shot up into the air and rose to a great
height. Have you ever done any bal
looning? No? Well, it is a queer sensa
tion which a man feels on his first trip,
The firm earth seems to drop from be
neath you, the people and objects below
appear to be rapidly falling into space. It
is impossible at first to realize that you
are ascending. It was a moonlight night
and we could see that we were passing
over the suburbs of Paris. To our rear
lay the vast extent of the oily. Beneath
us the land, trees, houses and fields, swept
past in such rapid succession
that I decided that I must short
ly think about making a landing. On
which side of the city I was, I could not
determine, bnt I knew that at the terrific
rate of speed at which we were going, I
must descend before long. Faster and
faster tbe now indefinable objects below
swept past us when suddenly tbe reporj
of a rifle startled me. Breaking from
Marion, whose arms were around me,
and whose head rested upon my shoulder,
I peered over the side of the car, but
could discover nothing. We were being
fired, at 1 judged, and so with a view to
rising higher, and thus placing ourselves
out of range, I began to empty tbe bags
of ballast. I now abandoned all thought
of descending. My only hope of safety
was to go higher, higher. The balloon
shot up to a limitless distance, as the
sand ran ont. The moon was so low on
the horizon, that I knew it would soon
sink and leave ns in total darkness and
indescribable desolation, bnt safe at all
events from hostile bullets. The darkness
and desolation followed very shortly af
terward, and I resumed my place at Ma
rion’s side. She was brave and calm,and
seated up there in boundless space,know
ing not whither we went, nor at what mo
ment we might be plnnged into the
yawning abyss of chaos below ns, I felt
how dearly loved her, and how little I
deserved her love. A man realizes ‘bis
ntter worthlessness at such times; he
feels how completely his poor
mortal shell is in the grasp of
God; how easy it is to crush him out of
existence, and how mean, narrow and in
consequential is all human effort. In the
silence of that night, and in the presence
of the majestic conditions about us, Ma
rion and I found voice to talk of oar love
and oar fntnre, as we had never talked
before—as no lovers had ever talked be
fore, perhaps. We spoke low, and with
something of the timidity of children
when the lightning darts through the
skies, accompanied by the reverberations
of deafening peals of thunder. It is in
such circumstances, sir, no matter how
self-dependent a man may be by nature,
that he speaks like a sick girl, and quali
fies his declarations with ‘if it please
God,’ ‘if heaven approves,’ and similar
phrases of deference to the Supreme Be
ing, whom he feels is very near to him.
And thus through the night we sat mo
tionless, and talked until Marion grew si
lent and finally dropped asleep in my
arms liked a tired child upon its mother’s
breast. I sat supporting her fair head
for perhaps an hoar or more, when the
first sound that I heard, except oar sab-
dued voices, since the rifle shot as we
soared over the Paris fortifications, fell
upon my ears. It was a plashing noise
suggestive of water below ns, and my
heart stopped beating. I listened, and
again I beard the complaining voices of
the waves. Removing Marion from my
arms and placing her in as comfortable
a position as possible, I went and looked
over the side of the car, but I could see
nothing. A doll opaque gloom, in which
nothing whatever was distinguishable, was
all that met my eager gaze. But after a
time I discovered something like motion.
Whether it was the rolling clouds or tbe
movement of waves I could not deter
mine. I went back to where Marion was
reclining. She was still sleeping soundly
and, kissing her softly, I enveloped her
more snugly in the wraps we had brought
and returned to watch developments. As
I gazed the sounds seemed to come near*
er and nearer, and at length tbe moving
objects beneath became more distinctly
revealed in the increasing dawn which
was apparently breaking. All at once I
beheld the movement beneath and around
me regnlar and recurrent, and in my ears
sounded the dash of angry waters—the
sarging, foaming, seething billows of the
sea! I suddenly recognized then that I
had been gradually descending by reason
of the percolation of the gas, and so I
began again to oast out ballast. This bad
the desired effect, and we rapidly ascend
ed. No, not we. For when I returned
to where I had left Marion sleeping, she
teas gone.
“I will not weary you," he went on
rapidly, “with a recital of what I suffered
in the next few hours. Though I was
satisfied that I was suspended above the
Atlantic ocean, and the beating of the
snllen waves beneath me sounded plainiy
in my ears, what cared I? Marion, my
Marion, gentle, loving, peerless Marion,
had perished. And how, only God and
the angels knew. I laid down in the
bottom of the car, and waited for death.
It could not be far off, I reasoned, for it
was now light, and as far as the eye
coaid reach there was one vast expanse
of water. It was the Atlantic; that was
patent, and I made ready to meet my
fate. After lying in a semi-dazed state
of despair for hours, I was at length awa
kened to consciousness and action by a
rustling, scraping sound. As I stagger
ed to my feet the balloon tilted, and it
was only by a quick movement and by
strenuously holding on to the rigging,that
I escaped being thrown from the car.
Ready and willing to die, with nothing
bnt sorrowful recollections and a future
as doll and cold as the tomb, Fate de
creed that I should live. Tbe car had
caught in the top of some lofty forest
trees, and in a few moments I was safe
on terra firma. I found a village near at
hand, and, having the good fortune to
find a man who spoke French, I ascer
tained that I had come to anchor in Nor
way. That I was beside myself with
grief you can readily believe. Bat what
coaid I do? I conld not communicate
with Marion’s friends in Paris, even if
they still remained there, which was un
likely, and so I proceeded with all haste
to Liverpool, and took the first steamer
for home. From Allentown I wrote her
relatives in Albany the sad story of Ma
rion’s mysterious death, and, my brother,
who is a merchant in Shanghae, being on
the point of returning to China, I ac
companied him thither, hoping to bury
my troubles by diving into commercial
pursuits. But it was useless; I stayed in
China ontil last year, and then came to
New York a representative of my broth
er’s firm. ”
Kirsohbaum seemed much moved at
this point, and walked nervonsly about
the room for two or three minutes. Then
he proceeded:
“Perhaps I told you yesterday that
Central park has a strange fascination
for me. No? Well, it has. One day
some months after my arrival, whil61
was horseback riding, I came upon a la
dy and gentleman, and that is all that I
remember. I swooned in my saddle and
fell. When I revived I was lying in a
summer-house near where I had fallen,
and the result of the fall was to pnt me
in bed for three months. You naturally
wonder what caused me to faint. I will
tell you. I had seen Marion Scudder. And
what was worse, I learned that she was
married. You saw her yesterday in the
person of Mrs. Howard Vaughn.”
“But how did sho escape death?” I in
quired, aghast. “Why did she marry,
why did—”
“There is where the mystery comes in,”
he interrupted. “I arrangedan interview
when I got cut again, and she charged
me with having betrayed her, of having
left her to perish iu Paris, while she
maintained that she was in readiness at
the hotel at 7 p. m. precisely,and that I nev
er came to her, which was trne enough.
Finally she denied that she ever set foot
in that balloon. And so, chagrined at my
supposed desertion and almost crazed
with fear, she was about to give up all
hope, when Howard Vaughn, a casual ac
quaintance of ours then, came to her like
a guardian angel, and got her Bafe ont of
Paris. Piqued by my supposed cruelty
and subsequent running away to China,
as she inferred, and ear costly besought
by VaughD, who really loved her, she
finally consented to be his wife. Moreo
ver, she blamed me for writing, wanton
ly as she then believed, to her relatives,
thereby plunging them in grief at her
death while she was still living and well.”
“But who was the woman you took
with you by mistake, and whose unhappy
death sent yon off to China? How in the
world conld you have made such a blun
der? I should suppose—”
“Stop there, my friend,” he said in
measured accents, raising his finger, ‘ ‘the
woman I took from Paris was Miss Ma
rion Scudder or her ghost. Why, sir, we
talked of matters—matters affecting our
fature—known only to us two. No other
person could have—why, sir,” he exclaim
ed passionately, “do yon suppose I could
have made a mistake? Impossible, ab
surd, preposterous!”
‘But your story is so unreasonable as
it Btands. I don’t believe in ghosts—I
cannot understand—”
“ You cannot understand,” he said,
with biting scorn. “I cannot understand
it, either, nor can she, and we have been
studying upon it for months. Do yon
suppose, sir, that you, who haven’t yet
had time to digest the bare facts, can un
derstand what has been and will be a life
long enigma to those who are most vital*
ly interested? Do yon imagine, he in
quired, with a burst of indignation, “that
I would bring you here to listen to a
tame recital of matters that yon could
underrtand after the specifia statement
that what I had to tell was strange, inex
plicable and sad?”
I saw that the man was iu earnest, that
he was deeply moved, but I could not ac
count for, nor conld I scarcely believe
what I had heard, and still I was satisfied
that this was no madman’s tale. The
speaker was sane beyond question. I was
sorely puzzled. I essayed an apology for
what I had said, when Kirschbaum inter
rupted me saying soothingly:
“There, there, never mind. I have
lost the brightest gem in the casket of
womanly grace and beanty, and I lose
my temper when I dwell on the horrors
of that night. I have made myself quite
ill by letting my anger get fall reign. It
is late; yon had better go and leave me
to mysalf.”
I was about to withdraw when he said:
“I have abased you, sir, bnt I nave like
wise honored you. To no other human
being have I ever told that story, bnt I
took a fancy to yon, as I told yon yester
day, and broke the seal of silence. Think
of me kindly and forgive my indecorum
if yon can. I am terribly unnerved.
Good night.”
I got very little sleep that night, and
my theories and speculations only plung
ed me into deeper gloom than ever. I
despaired of ever solving Kirschbaum’s
mystery, but I conld not keep his story
out of my mind. Thas two days passed,
and I had made my plans for returning
home on the evening train, when as 1 was
strolling in Madison place, I met Mrs.
Blossom, a lady whom I had known in
Boston many years before. She had
married Mr. Blossom in the meantime,
and was now a widow. Like many other
not over cultivated women she entertain
ed a passion for literary and theatrical
people, concert and opera singers, artistR,
sculptors, and persons of that ilk, who
gathered about her for several rersons,
prominent among which were that she
was a kind-hearted, motherly woman,and
a hostess withal, whose means enabled
her to give regal entertainments. She
had frequently invited me to her house,
and once or twice I had gone, but had
generally felt my unfitness to mingle,
satisfactorily to myself, with clever peo
ple who congregated within her hospitable
walls, and I had decided not to go again.
But Mrs. Blossom was very pressing, and
finally»she said: “Do stop over and come
to my little party this evening.” Then
she named many persons of note who
wonld be present, but I resolutely shook
my head, and held that I must positively
go home.
“Then you won’t have no opportunity
of meeting Miss Yanghn, perhaps’ll never
see her, and she’s all the rage. ”
I answered quickly: “Well, then,
since you will have it so, I’ll come.”
As the reader may surmise I changed
my mind in view of the suddenly opened
prospect of meeting Kirschbaum’s love.
True, Mrs. Blossom had spoken of the la
dy as Miss Vaughn, bnt I bad noticed a
great many times that Mrs. Blossom’s
pronunciation of “Miss” and “Mrs.” did
not vary. She Missed all ladies married,
or single even as she missed hitting plu
ral verbs to tally with her plural nonns
Bat let us not cavil at her pronunciation
or her grammar; her goodness of heart
made ample amends for her partiality for
two negatives and other eccentricities of
speech, as well as for careless pronuncia
tions.
I was not amiss in my calculation, and
at 10 o’clock that evening I found myself
gaily chatting with my divinity of the
Park. We talked with tbe utmost free
dom and frankness, the disparity in our
ages rendering unnecessary that we should
observe the little ceremonies common
between joung people in society. We
spoke at length of Paris, and she listened
attentively to all I said of the French
capital, its arts, industries, and architec
tural splendors. She hoped she could go
there some day, she said.
“Go there again, I presume you mean,”
I observed,adding that I hoped she wonld
fiDd the city more qniet than in the old
days of the commune. She bestowed on
me a puzzled look, but said nothing. Pre
sently I continued: Kirschbaum told
me that strange sad story. Per
haps I ought not to speak of the balloon
mystery, but really I bave studied over
it so much I can scarcely think of any
thing else.” Her pnzzled look gradually
changed to one of apparent fright, and to
pacify her I conclnded quickly: “Par
don me, Mrs. Vaughn, I can understand
your feelings; it was indeed a most in
explicable and mysdferious affair. The
only pleasant thing in connection with it
is the manly attitude Kirschbaum main
tains. I can assure yon and your hus
band—”
“My husband!” she ejaculated, in sur
prise, “why, sir, I have no husband, at
least not yet,” she said blushing. “It is
no secret in society, however, that I shall
soon wed with Signor Feoretti, the ten
or.”
It was my time no tv to ejaculate. “Not
married!” I returned, “and who, pray,
was the gentleman with whom I saw you
riding in Central Park on Monday?”
“Why, my uncle, of coarse. Captain
Peters of the Inman line,” she replied;
“and who is this Kirschbaum,” she in
quired, “of whom you speak as if he
knew me? I remember no gentleman
among my friends beating that name.”
“My dear Miss Vaughn,” I said respect
fully, “I am all at sea. Somebody has gone
out of his head—possibly I, peradventure
another man,but things are getting queer-
ly mixed up,” saying which I wiped the
beads of perspiration from my face,which
were exuding from every pore. “Pray
pardon me, but may I ask who you are?”
‘Somebody is certainly demented. All
your talk about the commune, the balloon
mystery, and my going to Paris again
was as a sealed book to me, bnt I let it
pass, hoping we should flounder out of
the maze shortly. As to who I am, I sup
posed Mrs. Blossom had told you. I am
only an aspiring woman with a soprano
voice which the critics say promises fu
ture distinction for me, and, indeed, I
have been very successful in ‘Mignon.'
It is not pleasant for tne, as you see, sir,
to speak of myself, (her sweet face was
painfully flushed), but we seem to be
drifting so hopelessly that I have answer
ed your question in all candor.”
As I turned to apologize I saw Kirsch
baum on the opposite side of the room,
engaged in merry conversation with Mrs.
Blossom. He had not seen me, appa
rently, and I changed my position so that
my face wonld not be visible to him, and
said to Miss Vaughn:
“My dear young lady, you shall have
ample apology for what no donbt seems
to yon like rode conduct from a man old
enough to have a proper regard for a la
dy—a fatherly tenderness, indeed, for a
English characters
him long?” I par-
added, laughing,
woman of your age; but before I say a
word in explanation I wish to ask a ques
tion. Will you kindly tell me if you
ever saw that handsome, smooth-faced
gentleman before, who is talking with
Mrs. Blossom?”
“Oh, yes, indeed,” she replied, “I
know him very well.”
“Oh, you do, eh?” I returned petulant
ly. I dare say yon do.”
She looked at me reproachfully, and
said very gravely: “We may as well
agree to disagree. Yonr last remark was
intended to be invidious, and I submit
that yon have no reason to annoy me
further.”
If I had been a younger man I believe
I should have determined as I stood look
ing down into the pare depths of Miss
Vaughn’s angelic eyes, to cast the gaunt
let at Signor Feoretti’s feet, and enter
the lists as a competitor for the smiles of
her who held me spellbound with her
graceful beauty. “But no,” thought I,
“all that is past for me; I am wedded to
a memory; let me not add weakness, even
in thought, to my palpable rudeness.” Af
ter a moment I found voice to ask very
meekly:
“And who is this gentleman?"
“I thought you knew him, or I should
have told yen that before,” she rejoined,
half pityingly. “That is Mr. John K ■,
the somewhat celebrated actor, who has
just retnrned from Anstralia. He will
play a ronnd of old
soon at Wallaok’s.”
“Have yon known
sued.
“Oh, yes,” she
since childhood. He is in fact, my broth*
er—his real name is Silas Vaughn.”
I felt faint and giddy, but soon sum
moned strength to ask if the gentleman
was a man of veracity. She regarded
me with a look of genuine sympathy, as
if by the qnick intuition of her sex she
had made a discovery, and said slowly
“Y-e-s and n-o. He is trntbfnl enough
about matters of vital importance, but he
sometimes lets his imagination ran wild
for amusement, and at such times I have
heard Mr. Southern say that he evolved
snoh romances as to create the impress
ion among his professional friends that
he missed bis calling in not going into
fiction. “I hope,” she continued, with a
womanly sweetness that went to my soul,
and which I shall never forget, “that Si
las hasn’t been—”
At this momont Signor Feoretti oame
up, and I stood one side; and as this
soon-to-be-mated pair were temporarily
engaged in conversation I quietly passed
through the throng to the lower rooms.
Here, while donning my coat and hat, I
encountered and bade Mrs. Blossom an
abrnbt good night, and thenoe I proceed
ed to my hotel. And as I passed thither
nnder the silent, solitary stars, I began to
study upon a plan for the regeneration
of those misguided sons of men who
speak with most miraculous organ, bnt
with an ntter disregard of truth. I con
fess that I have not progressed well thus
far in perfecting my plan, and every day
occurrences sometimes make me feel that
I have not only entered upon my life-
work, but, if we are not without occupa
tions in the next world, that I shall still
have food for study and reflection, even
after I have passed to where, “beyond
these voices,” all is peace.
D? TUTTS PILLS
Meet the wants of those who need a safe and
reliable medicine. The immense demand which
has so rapidly followed their introduction is
evidence that they do supply this want, and
proves them to be
throw dice—throw
—The best way to
them away.
—Always bonnd to follow suit—Your
tailor’s bill.
—Most men love little women, and lit
tle women love most men.
—The husband’s best excuse—“I was
detained by business, my dear.”
—Character is like cloth. If white it
can be dyed black; but once blackened
it cannot be dyed white.
—About the most uncomfortable seat a
man can have, as a steady thing, in the
long run, is self-conceit.
— “Hans, where is the horse?” “He
proke der stable in two, kicked the traces
open, and run around de lamp post mit
de corner grocery.”
—If Nature designed man to be a
drnnkard, he would have been construct
ed like a churn, so that the more he
drank the firmer he wonld stand.
—A charming female writer says that
the men like to ‘pick the ladies to pieoes.’
It is certainly very pleasant sometimes to
take them apart.
—Bald-headed men are so namerons in
Chicago that an audience in that city is
said to look, when viewed from above,
like a cobble-stone pavement.
—In Cincinnati almost every portion of
the hog is pat to some valuable use. A
distinguished philosopher of that city is
now trying some method of turning the
sqneal into account.
—Somebody remarks that young ladies
look on a boy as a nuisance until he is
past sixteen, when he generally doubles
up in value each year until, like a meer
schaum pipe, he is priceless.
—A practical illustration of a man car
rying tbe punishment of a Bin aloug with
him, is related of a fellow in Cincinnati
who lately ran away with two married
women.
—No man can see a fashionable lady
make a dive for the bottom of her dress
without fearing for the moment that she
is going to nse her train to knock a fly off
her bonnet.
—“Mrs. Smith, pappy wants to know
if yon wont take a skift and scull mam
ma acrost the river?” “No; but tell your
pappy if it will be any favor, I’ll take an
ax an skull him.” Exit youth with hair a
la porcupine.
THE MOST POPULAR PILL
ever furnished the American people. The high-
est medical authorities concede their superiority
over all others, because they possess alterative,
tonic, and healing properties contained in no
other medicine. Being strongly Anti-Bilious,
they expel all humors, correct a vitiated state of
the system, and, being purely vegetable, they
do not, like other pills, leave tlie stomach and
bowels in a worse condition than they found
them, but, on the contrary, impart a healthy
tone and vigor before unknown.
[OUR WORDS INDORSED)
Dr. C. L. MITCHELL, Ft. Meade, Fla., says:
. . . " 1 know the superiority of your pills,
and want to see them used instead of the worth
less compounds sold in this country.” . . .
Rev. R. L. SIMPSON, Louisville, Ky., says:
. . . "Tutt's pills are worth their weight
in gold." . . .
Had Sick Headache & Piles 30 Years.
. . . “/ am well. Gaining strength and
flesh every dap." . . . R. S. Austin,
Springfield, Mass.
He Defies Chills and Fever.
. . . “ With Tutt's pills, we defy chills.
Illinois owes you a debt of gratitude." . .
F. R. Ripley, Chicago, 111.
Sold everywhere. Price 25 cents.
35 Murray Street, New York.
Office,
TUTT’S HAIR DYE
_ Gray hair ia changed to a glossy black by a
single application of this dye. It is easily ap
plied, acts like magic, and is as harmless as spring
water. Never disappoints. Sold by druggists.
ce,3SMv
Price $1.00. Office,35 Murray Street, New'York.
BOOTS AND SHOES.
FINE SHOES!
LADIES’ AND MISSES’
NEWPORTS,
Plain and with Buckles.
Sandals § Slippers,
In New and Tasty Styles.
BTJRTS’
Fine Button Boots.
G E 1XT T 8
Brown Cloth-Top Button Oiforfis,
THE HANDSOMEST SHOE OUT.
Also a full Line of
SPRING WORK in all the
Popular Styles, ALL AT
REDUCED PRICES.
A Heavy Stock of Brogans,
Plow Shoes, and Sta
ple Goods,
FOR WHOLESALE TRADE
49* For anything you want In the Shoe and
Leather Line, call at
THE OLD SHOE STORE
No. 73 Broad Street,
(Sign of the Big Boot.)
WELLS & CURTIS.
aepgo tf
Doctors.
, DU. C. E. ESTES*.
Office Over Kkbt’s Drug Stoke.
jnaly
Lawyers.
ALONZO A. DOZIER,
Attorney and Counsellor tat Law.
Office Over 120 Broad Street.
Practices In State and Federal Courts in
both Georgia and Alabama.
mhl8’77 ly
CHARLES COLEMAN,
Attorney-aLLaw.
Up stairs over C. E. Hoclistrasser’s store.
[febll,’7T tf]
BENNETT M. CBAWFOKU,
Attorney and Counsellor at Lan.
Office over Frazer’s Hardware Store.
jai4’771y
REESE CRAWFORD. J. it. M’NEILL.
CRAIVFOHD A UcNILLL,
Attorneys and Counsellor* at Law,
128 Broad Street, Columbus, Ga.
janl6,’J6 ly
G. E. THOMAS,
Attorney and Counsellor at Law,
Office:
Over Hochstrasser’s Stoie, Columbus, Georgia.
[jan9,76 ly]
Myrk H. Blahdfobd. Louis F. Garrard
BLAN DFOBO * GARRARD,
Attorney* and Counsellors nt Law
Office No. 07 Broad street, over Wittich a
Klnsel’s Jewelry Store.
Will practice In the State and Federal Courts
aep4 ’76
Piano Tuning, Ac.
E. W BLAU,
Repairer and Tnner of Pianos, Organs and
Accordeons. Sign Painting also done.
Orders may be left at J W Pease A Nor
man’s Book Store. sep5,’T5
Watchmakers.
C. H. LEQCIN,
Watchmaker,
134 Broad Street, Columbus, Ga
Watches and Clocks repaired In the best
manner and warranted.jyl,’75
Tin and Coppersmiths.
W». FEE,
Worker in Tin, ftlitct Iron, Copper
Orders irom abroad promptly attended to.
jyl,’70 No. 174 Broad Street.
REAL ESTATE ACENTS.
JOHN BLACKMAIL
Georgia Home Building, next to Telegraph
Office, Oo.umbus, Ga.,
Real Estate, Brokerage and Insuranoe
Agenoy.
LAND WARRANTS BOUGHT.
Refer, by permission, to Banks of this city.
OPIUM
S3l
am morphine absolutely and
cured. Nunless: nopub’icity
nd stain;
ton
Uf cured. Nunless: nopnbiicity.
stamp for particulars. Dr. Carl-
187 Washingtonsu,Chicago,IU.
GOLD PLATED WATCHES. Chespcst
la the known world. Bampls Watch Fact to Assam.
Awmuws, A, GOVLILA * CVu Cswssv, lu.
RAILROADS.
WESTERN RAILROAD
ft^roaf
OF ALABAMA.
Columbus, Ga., August 12,1877.
Trains Leave Columbus
AS FOLLOWS
Southern Mail.
12759 p.in.,arrives at Montgomery. 6:14 r a*
Mobile 6:26 A If
New Orleans. 11:25 a x
Selma 7:30 p m
Atlanta....... »:40 a x
Atlanta & IN ortliern
Mail.
7715 sh. in., arrives at Atlanta 2:20 r if
Washington . 0:45 r m
Baltimore.... 11:30 pm
New York... 7:00 am
ALSO BY THIS TRAIN
Arrive at Montgomery..,. 3:08 p m
TRAINS ARRIVE AT COLUMBUS
From Montgomery and Southwest.. 10:65 a m
“ “ 6:06 P SI
From Atlanta and Northwest 6:06 p m
JAg~ This Train, arriving at Columbus at
5:05 P. M., leaves Atlanta at 9:30 a in.
E. P. ALEXANDER,
President.
CHARLES PHILLIPS, Agent.
declS tf
Central
and Southwestern
Railroads.
Savannah, Ga., March 8, 1877.
O N AND AFTKR SUNDAY, March
11, Passenger Trains on the Central auu
Southwestern Railroads and Branches will
run as lollows:
TRAIN NO. 1, GOING NORTH AND WEST
Leaves Savannah 0:20 a m
Leaves Augusta 0:15 a m
Arrives at jvugusta 4:46 pm
Arrives at Macon 0:46 p m
Leaves Macon for Atlanta 0:10 r h
Arrives at Atlanta 5:02 a a
Making close connections at Atlanta with
Western and Atlantic Railroad lor all points
North and West.
COMING SOUTH AND EAST.
Leaves Atlanta 10:40 p u
Arrives at Macon 5:45 a m
Leaves Macon 7:00 a m
Arrives at Milledgeville 0:44 a m
Arrives at Eatonton 11.30 a m
Arrives at Augusta 4 45 p m
Arrives at Savannah... 4:00 p M
Leaves Augusta 0:15 a v
Making connections at Augusta tor the
North and East, and at Savannah with the
Atlantic and Gulf Railroad for all points in
Florida.
TRAIN NO. 2, GOING NORTH AND WEST
Leaves Savannah 7:30 pm
Arrives at Augusta..... 6:00 a m
JL eaves Augusta 8:05 p m
Arrives at milledgeville 0:44 a m
Arrives at Eatonton 1130 a m
Arrives at Macon 8:00 a m
Leaves Macon for Atlanta 8:40 a m
Arrives at Atlanta 2:IS p m
Leaves Maeon lor Albany and Eu-
laula 8:20 A M
Arrives at Eufauta 3:40 p m
Arrives at Albany 2:10 p at
Leaves Maeon for Columbus 0:33 a m
Arrives at Columbus 1:13 r m
Trains on this schedule for Macon, Atlanta,
Columbus, Kufaula and Albany daily, making
close connection at Atlanta with Western &
Atlantio and Atlanta A Richmond Air Line.
At Jbutaula with Montgomery and Kulaula
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 from Atlanta 6:65 p m
Leaves Albany 10:00 a m
Leaves Eafaula 6:05 p m
Arrives at Mason from Eufauia and
Albany Mpm
Leaves Columbus 11:13 a m
Arrives at iviacon from Columbus.... 3alp m
Leaves Macon 7 3f p u
Arrives at Augusta 6:00 a m
Leaves Augusta 8:05 p u
Arrives at Savannah 7:15 a m
Making connections at Savannah with At-
antio and Gulf Railroad for ail points in Flor
ida.
Passengers for Milledgeville and Eatonton
will take train No. 2 from Savannah and train
No. 1 from Macon, which trains connect daily
except Monday, lor these points.
LLI/
WILLIAM ROGERS,
General Supt. Central Railroad, Savannah.
W. G. RAOUL,
Supt. Southwestern Railroad, Macon.
feb5 tf
Mobile & Girard K. It.
imiln *M.*
O
N and after SUNDAY, MAY" 6th, the
Mail Train on tne Mobile ai Girard Rail
road will run as lollows:
GOING WEST.
Leave Columbus General Passenger
Depot daily, at 1:40 r m
Leave Columbus Broad Street Depot
daily,at 2:20 p M
Arrive at Union Springs 5:55 p m
Troy 8:00 p m
Euiasila lo to p m
Montgomery 7:55 p m
Mobile 6:2 . A M
New Orleans 11:25 a x
Nashville 7:55 a m
Louisville 3:40 p M
Cincinnati 8:15 p x
St. Louis 8:lo a x
Philadelphia 7:36 a x
New York 10:25 a x
COMING EAST.
Leave Troy 12:60 a m
Arrive at Union Springs 2:40 a x
“ Columbus 7:lo a m
“ Opelika 9:2o a x
“ Atlanta 3 06pm
“ Macon 3:25 P x
“ Savannah 7:15 ax
Close connection made at Union Springs
daily lor Montgomery and points beyond.
For Eufauia Tuesday, Thursday and Satur
day.
Through coach with sleeping accommoda
tions between Columbus and Montgomery.
Passengers for the Northwest will save
ten hours’ time bv this route.
Through tickets to all principal points on
sale at General Passenger Depot, and at
Broad Street Shed.
W. L. CLARK,
Superintend
D. E. WILLIAMS,
General Ticket Agent. my9 tf
Warm and White Sulphur
SPRINGS.
P ASSENGERS going to the Warm and
White Sulphur Springs will find it more
convenient and pleasant
Via the North & South Railroad,
As arrangements have been made to hav
HACKS meet every morning
and evening’s train.
WM. REDD, Jr.,
jn9 8m Snp’t.
W. F. TICNER. Dentist:
Over Mason’s Drug store,
Randolph Street, Columbus, Ga.
ia’Ji iv
533
.Each week to Agents. Goods Staple. 1*1.
testimonials received.Term.s liberal. 1’ar*
ttCUirtfS Uvv< V .WvttU A Vv.sjt.Loub^M^
