Newspaper Page Text
I From 'no l.rflfrr.J
OLIVIA;
OB,—
THE DOCTOR’S TWO LOVES.
ST THE AUTHOR OS
* The Second Mr*. TiUotnon,' ■ ffcver
Forgotten, • Etc., Etc.
CHAP rEK XXl.—[Continual.
Yet there was no longer any hesitation
in my mind as to what I mast do. Julia
knew all now. I had told her distinctly of
my lore lor Olivia, and she would not be
lieve it. Bhe appeared wishful to hold me
to my engagement dn spite of it—at any
rate, so I interpreted her le ter. I did not
suppose that I should not live it down, this
infaiun ion, as they chose to ca l it, I
might hunger and th rst, and be on the
po.nt of perishing; then my nature would
turn to other nutriment, and assimilate it
to its contracted and stultified capacities.
After ell there was some reason in the ob
jections ntgejl against Olivia. The dislike
of all insulated people against foreigners
is natural enough, and in her case there
was a mystery which I must solve before I
could think of asking Imre to become my
wife. Ask her to become my wife! That
was impossible now. I bad chosen my
wi.'e months liefore I eaw her.
I went mechanicaTy through the routine
of my morning's work, and it was late in
the afternoon before I could get away to
ride to the Vale. My mother knew where
I was going, and gazed wistfully into my
face, but without otherwise asking ipe any
questions. At the last moment, as I
touched Madam's bridle, I looked down at
her, standing on the doorstep, “Cheer up,
mother!” 1 said, almost gayly; “it will all
coma right"
By this time yon know that I could not
ride along the fiat open shore between ht.
Peter-port and the Vale without having a
good sight of Sark, though it lay just a
lithe behind me. It was not in human na
ture to turn my back doggedly upon it I
had never seen it look noarer; the channel
between ns scarcely seemed a mile across
The old windmill above the Havre Gosse
lin stood ont plainly. I almost fancied that
hnt for Breckhou I could have seen Tar
difs house, where my darling sag living,
liy heart leaped at the mere thought of it.
Then I shook Madam's bridle about h r
neck, and she carried me on a sharp canter
toward Captain Carey's residence.
CHAPTER XXII.
ALL WROSO.
I mw Julia standing at a window up
stairs, gnziiu down the long white road,
which runs as straight or an anow through
the Bra? da Valle to L’Ancresae Common.
She mnct hare seen Madam and me half
a mile away, but she kept her post motion
less as a sentinel, nntil I jumped down tc
open the gate. Then she ranished.
The sermnt-man was at the door bv the
time I reached it, and Johanua herself was
on the thresbo and. with her hands oat
stretched and her face rad ant. I was as
welcome as the prodigal son, and ahe was
ready to fall on my neck a id kiss me.
"l.feit sure of you,” she said, in a low
mice. “I trusted to yonr good aense and
honor, and they have not failed yon. Thank
God you have come. Julia haa naithar ate no
slept since I lininght her here.”
Bbe ed me to her own private sitting room,
where I found Julia standing by the fireplace
and h suing against it as if she could not etauc
a.on . When I went np to her and took he.
hand, she hung her arms around my neck an
dung to me in a passion of tears. It was som
minutes lit tore she coaid recover hpr sell-coni
maud. I had never seen her abandon herse
to such a parqxysm before.
“Julia, my poor girl!" I said, “I did not
think yon would take It so mnch to heart as
this."'
“I shnlf^come all right directly," she
sobbed, sitting down, and trembling from
bard to foot. “Johauna said yon would
come, bnt 1 was not sure. ’’
“Yes, I am here," 1 answered, with a
very dreary feeling about me.
*is enough ” said Julia; “yon need"
not Bay a word more. .Let us forget it,
lioth of n*. You will only give me your
promise n:ver to sec her or speak to hei
again."
It might be a fair thing for her to ask.
but it war not a fair thing for me to prem
ia.'*. 01-. via had lold me she hod no friends
at all except Tardif and me; nud if the gos-
Bi i of the Sark people drove her from the
► h Iter of his roof I should be her only
r source, r.ud I brl nad she wonld come
franrly to me for help.
“Olivia quite understands about my ea
grg mut to you," I said. "I told her at
Ouoe that we were going to be married, and
t; at I loped ahe would find a friend in
you. ”
“A friend in me, Martin!" she exclaimed,
m a tone of indignant surprise; “you could
not nsk me to be that!"
."No* now, I suppose,” I replied; “the
girl is as innore t and as blameless as any
girl livng; but I dare say you would soon
er befrieud the most good-for-nothino
Jezebel in the Channel Islands. ” ’
‘‘Tes, I would," she said. “An innocent
Fir indeed: I only wish she hod been
killed when she fell from the cliff.”
“Hush!” I cried, shuddering at the bare
mention of Olivia’s death; “you do not
know what yon say. It is worse than use
less to ta k about her. I came to ask yot
to think no more of what passed between
yesterday. ”
But you are going to persist in your in
fatuation,” said Julia; “you can never de
rive me. 1 know you too well. Oh, I see
that you still think the same of her!"
“You know nothing about her,” I replied.
And I shall take care I never do,” she
Interrupted, spitefully.
So it is of no use to go on quarreling
about her. ” I con inued, taking no notice
of the interruption. “I made up my mind
before I came here that 1 mast tee as little
ae possible of her for the future. Yon
must understand, Julia, she has never
given me a particle of reason to suppose
she loves me. ”
“But you are still in love with her?” she
asked.
I stood biting my rails to the auick. a
tnck I had wh lea boy, but one that had
been broken off by my mother’s and Ju
lia’s combined vigilance. Now the habit
came back upon me in full force, as mv
only resource from speaking.
“Martin,' she said, with flashing eves
and a rising tone in her voice, which, like
Ute first shritl moan of the wind, presaged
s storm. "I will never marrv von nntil you
can say. on your word of honor, that you
tove that person no longer, and are ready
to promise to hold no fnrthor commnnica-
I* o ®/Jith her. Oh! I know what my poor
aunt has had to endure, and I will not put
up with it ” r
“Very well, Julia," I answered, control
ling myself as weU as I could, ”1 have onlv
one more word to say on this subject 1
k’jO Jtna.Md.asfar as I know myself,
I shall lova her as long as I live, i did
not come here to give you any reason for
supposing my mind it changed as to her.
If you consent to be my wife, I will do my
***: *2.°?, , n f^ DR “■ •“<*• true,
J OQ; “ B<l God forbid I
rtoiiW injure Olivia in thought by supno*.
inji ba could care for me other than as a
fnena But my motive for coming now i
to toll you some particular* about your
property, which my father made known to
ma only last night ”
. **" • miaa.abla task for me; but 1
-old her simply the painful dmeoverv I
had made. Bha aat listening with a dark
&nd nulltfii ncfl, but belt eying not uiiark
af reaeptmcnt, ao far aa her loss of fortune
wae concerned • .j
aba eaid, bitterly, when 1 had fla
tb< and. "robbed by tha father and jilted by
the sun"
' 1 would gtv# my life to cancel the
•Tong." f aatd 1
GEORGIA HOME JOURNAL : GREENESBORO, FRIDAY, JULY 2. 188*.—EIGHT PAGES.
. fc '““V to talk,- she replied, withs
deadly coldness of tone and manner.
I am ready to do whatever you choose.
1 nr *T i . “f fat he r has robbed
you, but it is not true that I hare jilted
you. I did not know my own heart till a
word from Captain Carey revealed it to
me; and I told you frankly, partly because
Johanna insisted upon it, and partly be
cause I believed it right to do so. If yon
demand it, I will even promise not to see
Olivia again, or to hold direct communica-
Son with her. Surely that is all you ought
to require from me. ’
“No,” she replied, vehemently; “do you
suppose I could become your wife while
you maintain that yon love another woman
better than me? Yon must have a very low
opinion of ms. ”
“Would you have me tell you a false
hood?” I rejoined, with vehemence equal
to hers.
“You had hotter leave me,” she said, “be
fore we bate one another. I tell yon I hare
been robbed by the father and jilted by
the son. “Good-by. Martin.”
“Good-by. Julia,“l replied; but I still
lingered, hoping she would speak to me
again. I was anxlons to hear what she
wonld do against my father. She looked
at me fully and angrily, and, as I did not
move, she swept out of the room with a
dignity which I had never seen in her be
fore. I retreated toward the house-door,
but could not make good my escape with
out encountering Johanna.
“Well. Martin?” she said.
‘lt is all wrong,” I answered. “Julia
persists in it that I am jilting her.“
‘AH the world will think yon have be
haved very badly,” she said.
“I suppose so," I replied; “but don’t yon
think so, Johanna?”
She shook her hea l in silence, and
closed the hall-door after me. Many a
door in Guernsey would be shut against
me as soon as this was known.
I had to go remnd to the stables to find
Madam. The man hid evidently expected
me to stay a long while, for her saddle
girths were loosened and the bit ont of her
month, that she might enjoy a libeial feed
of oats. Captain Carey came up to me as
I was buckling the girths.
“Well, Martin?" he asked, exactly as Jo
hanna bad done before h ; m
“All wrong," I repeated.
“Dear! dear!” he said, in his mildost
tones, and with his hand resting affec
tionately on my shou'der; “I wish I bad
lost the nso of my eyes or toneue the other
day. lam vexed to death that I found out
your secret. ”
“Perhaps I should not hare found it om,
myself," I said, “and it ik better now than
after.”
“So it in, my boy; ao it it," he rejoined.
“Between ourselves, Julia is a little too old
for yon. Cheer m>! she ia a good girl aud
will get over it, ana be friends again with
you bv-and-bv. I wiU do all I can to bring
mat about. If Olivia fa only aa good aa aba u
handsome, you’ll be happier with her than with
poor Ju ia.
He patted my back with a friendliness that
cheered him, while hi* laat words aenv the blood
bounding through my veins. I rode bomt
■gain, Sark lying in full view before me, and in
-pits of the darkness of my prospects, I felt
intensely glad to be free to win my Olivia.
F .nr dava passed without any sign from
ittti-i Julia o: my father. I wrote to him,
Vsiliiig my interview with her, bnt m ra
lly c>*m.. My mother and I had the h use
to ourselves, an I, in spite of lior fretting!
r e (nlived eomideraM* pUnsureTdtiring
tne temporary rati, ’mere were, However,
tundry warnings out of doors which fore
told t> mpest, I met cold glances and sharp
inquiries from old friends, among whom
soma rumors of our separation were float
ing. There was sufficient to justify sus
picion—my father’s absence, Julia's pro
longed sojourn with the Careys, and the
Fostponement of my voyage to England.
began to fancy that even the women
servauts flouted at me.
CHAPTER XXIII.
DEAD TO HONOR.
The mail from Jersey on Monday morn
ing brought us no letter from my father.
,1 t durinir the afternoon. an I was passim;
itong the Camchers, 1 came suddenly upon
Captain Carev and Julia, who wore a thick
veil over her face. The Canicheis is a very
narrow winding street, where no convey
ances are allowed to ruu, and we had all
chosen it ir. preference to tbo broad toad
along the quay, where we were liable to
meet many acquaintances. There was no
ese-tpe. An enormously high, strong wall,
such as abound in t. Peter-port, was on
one side of ns. and some locked-up stables
on the other.
Julia turned away her head, and appeared
absorbed in the contemplation of a very
small placard, which did not cover one
stone of the wall, though it was the only
one (here. I shook hands with Captain
Carey, who regarded us with a comical ex
pression of distress, and waited to see if
she would recognize me, but she did not.
"Julia has had a letter from your father,"
he said.
“Yes?" I replied, in a tone of inquiry.
"Or rather from Doctor Collas,” he pur
sued. “Prepare yourself for bad news,
Martin. Ycnr father is very ill; danger
ous y so, he thinks.”
The news did not startle me. I had boen
long aware that my father was one of those
medical men who are excessively nervous
about their own health, und are astonished
that so delicate and complicated an or
ganization as the human frame should ever
survive for sixty years the ills it is exposed
to. But at this time it wns possible that
distress of rniod and anxiety for the future
might have made him toullyill. There was
no chance of crossing to jersey before the
next morning.
“He wished Dr. Collas to write to Julia,
so as not to alarm your mother,” continued
Captain Care.v, as I stood silent.
“I will go to morrow,” I said; “but we
must not frighten my mother if we can
help it”
’Doctor Dobree hopes that yon will go,"
he answered—“you and Julia.”
“Julia! ’ I exclaimed. “Oh, imposs ble!"
“I don’t see that it is impossible,” said
Jnl.s, speaking for the first time. “He is
my own uncle, and has acted as my father.
I intend to go to see him. but Captain Ca
rey has promised to go with me.”
“Thank you a thousand times, dear Ju
lia, ’ I answered, gratefully. A heavy load
was lifted off my spirits, for I came to this
conclusion—that aha had said nothing, and
would say nothing, to the Careys about his
defalcations. She would not make her un
cle’s shame public.
I told my mother that Julia and 1 were
going over to Jersey the next morning, and
she was more than satisfied. We w.nt
on ban and together as arranged—Julia, Cap
tain Carey, and L But Julia did not staj
on deck, and I saw nothing of her during
ohr two ’hours' sail.
Captain Carey told me feelingly how ter
ribly she was fretting, notwithstanding all
their efforts to console her. He was full of
this topic, and could think and speak of
nothing else, worrying me with the most
minute particulars of her deep dejection,
until I felt myself one of the most worth
less scoundrels in existence. I was in
this humiliated condition when we landed
in Jersey, and drove in separate oars to the
hotel where my father was lying lIL
The landlady received us with a porten
tous face. Doctor Collas had spoken very
seriously indeed of his patient, and as for
herself she had not the smallest hope. 1
beard Julia sob, and saw her lift her hand
kerchief to her eyes behind her ved.
Cmi ‘® v looked very much frioht
enea. He was a man oi quick sympa'hies
and nervous about his own life into the
bargain, so that any serious illness alarmed
“ l “- Ab * or “>.velf, 1 was in the miter
bo cond,t,on ot mind I have described
\Ne were not admitted into my father s
room for half ou hour, as he sent word be
must get up hi. strength for this interview.
Julia and myself alone were allowed to aee
turn. He was propped up in bed with a
number of pillows, with ibe room dark.
2 ' * net lan blind*, and a dim gieen
twilight prevailing, which cast a sickly hue
HU abundant
whit, hair fell lankly about hi* bead, in
etaad of being in crisp curia aa usual I
wavad 0 " 1 '"a ** fw tug), but he
“No,'my son," he said, "my recovery fa
not to be desired. I feel that I have noth
ing now to do bat to die. It ie the only
reparation in my power. I wonld far
rather die than recover."
I had nothing to any to that; indeed, I
had realty no answer ready, eo amazed was
lat the tome he had taken. But Julia be
gan to sob again, and pressed past me,
sinking down on the chair by his side, and
laying her hand upon one of his pillows.
“Julia, my love,” ho continued, feebly.
*yon know how I have wronged yon; but
you are a true Christian. Yon will forgive
your uncle when he is dead and gone. ]
should like to be buried in Guernsey with
the other Dobrees.”
Neither did Julia answer, save by .iobs.
I stepped toward the window to draw up
the blinds, hut he stopped me, speaking in
a much stronger voice than before.
“Leave them a’one,” he said. “I hare
no wish to see the light of day. A dishon
ored man does net care to show bis face.
I have seen no one since I left Guernsey,
except Collas.”
“I think yon are alarming yourself need
lessly,” I answered. “Vou know yon art
fidgety about your own health. Let me
prescribe for you, Surely I know as much
as Collas. ”
“No, no, let me die,” hi said, plaintively,
“then you can all be happy. I havt
robbed m.v only brolher's only child, whe
was dear to me as my own daughter. )
cannot bold up my head after that. 1 should
die gladly if you two were but reconciled
to e e another.”
By this time Julia's hand had reached
his, and was resting in It fondly. I nevet
knew a man gifted with sueh power over
women and their susceptibilities as he
had. My mother herself would appear to
forget all her unhappiness if he only smiled
upon her.
“My poor, dear Julia!” he murmured;
“my poor child!"
“Unde,” she said, checking her sobs by
great effort, “if you imagine I should ietl
any one —J'pbanna Carey even— what yon
have done, yon wrong me. The name of Do
bree is as dear to me as to Martin, and he was
willing to marry a woman he detested in order
to shield it. No, yon art quite safe as far at I
am concerned.”
"God in heaven blest you my own Julia 1” he
ejaculated fervently. T know your noble na
ture, but it grievee'me the more deeply that I
have so thoughtlessly wronged you. If I
should live to get over this Illness I will explain
it all to you. It is hot so bad as it seem*. But
will you not be equally generous to Martin i
Cannot you forgive him as you do me?”
“Uncle,” she cried, “i could never, never
marry a man who says he loves come one
else more thin me."
Her fftos was hidden in (he pillows, and
my father stroked her head, glancing at me
contemptuously at the same time.
“I should think net, my girl 1” he said,
in a soothing tone; “but Martin will very
soon repent. He is a fool now, bnt he w H
be wise again presently. He has Inown
you too long not to know yonr worth."
“Julio,” 1 said, “I do know liow good
you are. You have always been gererous,
and you are so now. I owe you as much
gratitude as my father does, and anything 1
ran do to prove it I am ready to do this
day.”
“Will you marry her before we leave Jer
sey?" asked my father.
“Yes,” I answered.
The word slipped from me almost un
awares, yet I did not wish to retract it. Sh
was behaving so nobly and generously to
ward us both that I was wilting to do "any
thing to make her happy.
"Then, my love," ho said, “you heat
what Martin promises. All’s well that endi
well. Only mnko up yonr mind to pui
your proper pride away, and we shall all b<
as happy as we were before.”
“Never!" she oried, indignantly. “1
would not marry Martin here, hurriedN
and furtively; no, not if you were dy n~
uncle!"
“But, Julia, if I were dying, and wished
to see you united before my death!"’he in
sinuated. A sudden light broke upon me
It was an ingenious plot—one at whiah !
could not help laughing, mad as a to.
Julia's pride was to be saved, and an im
mediate marriage between U3 effected, un
der cover of my father’s dangerous i'loess
I did smile, in spite of my anger, and hi
caught it and smiled back again. I .hint
Julia boenme suspicious, too.
“Martin," she said, sharpening her void
to address me, “do you think your father ii
in any danger?”
“No, I do not," I answered, nolwbh*
standing his gestures and frowns.
“Then that is at an end,” she said. *
was almost foolish enough to think that I
would yield. You don t know what tit
disappointment is to me. Everybody wil
be talking of it, and some of th.-n Writ
pity me, and the rest luugh at me. I an
ashamed of going out of doors anywhere
Oh. it is too lad; I cannot boar it”
She wns positively writhing with agita
tion, and tears, real leais I am sure, starter
into my father’s eyes.
“My poor little .iiilia!" he sai f ; “my da--
ling! Bnt what can be done if you will no*
marry Martin?”
“He ought to go away from Guernsey,'
she sobbed. “I should feel better if I was
quite sure I should never see him, or heai
of other people seeing him. ”
“I will go,” I paid. "Guernsey will be
too hot for me when all this is known.”
“And, uncle," she pursued, speaking to
him, not nee. “he ought to premise me tc
give up that girl. I c.inaol set him free, tc
go and marry her—a stranger and adven
turess. She will be his ruin. I think, foi
my sake, he ought to give her lip."
"So he ought, anil so he will, my love.''
answered my father. "When he tlrnks of
all we owe to you, he will piomise you
•hat”
I pondered over what onr family owed
to Ju.ia for eome minutes. It wns’truly a
very great debt Though I had brought
her into perhaps the most j ninful posiiicD
a woman could be placed in, she was gen
erously sacrificing her just resentment and
revenge against my lather's dishonesty in
order to seeure onr name from blot.
On the other hand, 1 had no reason tc
suppose Olivia loved me, and I should do
her no wrong. I felt tbit, whatever it
might coat me, I mast “consent to Julia’s
stipulation.
“It is the hardest thing you could ash
me,” I said, “bnt I will give her up. On
one condition, however, for I must noi
leave her without Irieuds. I shall tell Tar
dif if he ever needs he'p for Olivia he
must apply to me through my mother.”
"There could be no harm in that,” ob
served my father.
“How soon shall I leave Guernsey?" 1
asked.
“He cannot go until yen are well again
uncle,” she answered. “I will stay hero tt
nurse you, and Martin must take care of
your patients. We wi 1 tend him word a
day or two before we return, and 1 should,
•ike him to be gone before we reach home."
That was my sentence of banishment.
She had only addressed me once during
the conversation. It was curious to sei
how there was no resentment in her man
ner toward my father, who had sys ematic-
U,y robbed her, while she treated me with
profound wmth and bitterness.
She allowed him to hold her baud and
stroke her hair: she would not have suf
fered me to approach her. No doubt il
was harder for her to give up a lover than
*o loee the whole of her property.
She left us, to make the necessary ar
rangements for staying with my father,
whose illness appeared to have lost sud
denly its worst symptoms. As soon as she
was gone he looked at me with a look half
angry, half contemptuous
"What a fool you are,” he said. "You
have no tact whatever in the management
of women. Julia would fly back to you if
you only held up your finger."
‘I have no wish to hold up my finger to
her," I answered. “1 don't think life with
her would be so highly desirable."
“You thought ao a few weeks ago, • he
Mid, "aud you'll be a pauper without her. *
“ 1 wua not going to marry her for het
money," I replied. “A few weeks ago 1
cared more for her than for any othei
women, except my mother, and the kuew
it AH that is changed now. ’’
‘Well, wall," be said, peevishly, "do a*
you like. I wash mv hands of iha whole
bo*meat Julia wilt got towage n ,j
■he renounces you, and I stall have neea
of her and her money. I shall cling to
Julia."
“She will be a kind nurse to you," f*re
marked.
“Excellent!" he answered, settling him
aeU languidly down among his pillows.
“ She may come in now and watch beside
me, it will be the soil of occupation to sail
her in her present sae of feeli g. You
had better go out aud amuse yourself in
your own way. Of course you wiU go
home to-morrow morning.”
I would have ptm lick to Guernsey nl
once, but 1 found neither cutter ror yacbi
sailiug that afternoon, so 1 was obliged to
wait for the steamer next morning. I did
not see Julia aguiu, bnt Captain Carey to!d
me she bad consented that lie should re
main at hand for a dav or two, to see if ho
could be of any use to her
'n.r.rz-aijiv-ia.x-i. f
Helped Ont by Squirrel Hunting.
——— *
One of the moat wonderful men in
Georgia is Senator “Joe” Brown. There
are still hundreds who remember him as
a barefooted boy, his hickory shirt
plainly visible through a rent in bis
trousers, plowing with a bull-tongue
and a mule on bis father’s mountain
clearing.
“Joe's” father was a disciplanarian.
When “Jee” was about 10 years old, his
father would hand him his long squir
rel rifle, a horn of powder and twelve
bullets. “Joe,” he would say, “go
and get twelve squirrels, and remem
ber, If every one is not shot through the
head you’ll get a licking.”
would sally forth and never
failed to bring a squirrel for every bul
let, and every squirrel with a hole
through the head. To day Joe Brown
is considered the ablest lawyer, the
shrewdest financier, the most cunning
railroad manager, the most astute poli
tician and the most pious Christian in
Georgia. He made a good Governor, an
able judge, and as United States Sena
tor is not by any means below the stand
ard.
Several years ago he added te his
reputation by proving himself a good
fighter. The State desired to lease the
Atlantic and Western Railroad which
she owns. Bids were asked for and Joe
Brown’s bid accepted. The unsuccess
ful bidders were indignant and claimed
that Brown’s bid was SB,OOO less than
the highest made.
They accordingly employed Bob
Toombs to examine into the matter.
Toombs went to Atlanta, made an in
vestigation and then published a card,
laying that Joe Brown had obtained the
lease through bribery. Brown imme
diately came out with a card, saying
that Bob Toombs was “a liar, a coward
and a scoundrel.”
Toombs sent a friend to Brown to
know if his (Brown’s) religious scruples
would prevent him from accepting a
challenge. Brown answered in the neg
ative and sent for a second. Toombs’
friend returned with a challenge, asking
Brown to name the weapons. “Squirrel
rifles,” said Brown coolly, with a signi
ficant smile.
That was the last heard from Toombs
and in a few days he returned home.
His friends had probably told him of
Brown’s marvelous shooting as boy.—
Boston Tratelir.
Sleeping Positions.
A medical paper has anew health-pre
serving racket—that of sleeping with the
face downward. These plans and speci
fications for sleeping are getting a little
too numerous. VVe always try to live up
to them. When some old medical au
thority who has got his cemetery full and
retired from active slaughter shouts that
a person should sleep with his head to
ward the north so that the electric cur
rents will pass through the body on the
proper route we sleep that way. If an
other moss-grown practitioner, with as
good a record for fatality, solemnly asserts
that the only authorized and fully-guar
anteed way to slumber is with the head
toward the south, and gives the same rea
son as the other, we just move the pillow
aft and turn in. When still another
rival of the pale rider, with his back
broken by lifting on the rate of mor
tality, announces that the onty way
to get along peacefully with the electric
currents is to sleep with the head to the
cast or west, so that they will elide over
the body and butt against the headboard
of the bedstead, we promptly, even
gladly, comply. Every time the word
comes along the line for a change it
finds us a ready and willing victim.
They are coming rather too fast, how
ever. It begins to look as if we coni 1
not get through a whole night without
veering around to some new direction or
position. It will soon be necessary to g t
up three or four times a night and go
down and get the ma l and see what the
latest chart on sleeping is. Some genius
will have to bring out a bedstead with
clock-work attached that will keep it
continually moving around, and make it
occasional ly get upon its hind castors
and turn a couple of handsprings.—Ex
change.
A Char.f e of Heart.
One of “the boys” now hanging out
in Detroit wns nabbed in Pennsylvania
a fow months ago for some swindling
game, and was locked up in a county
jail pending examination. He was the
only prisoner in the building, and he
hadn't been in there fifteen minutes be
fore he felt that un hour's work would
let him out. It was a tumble down af
fair, built half a century ago, and the
turnkey was a young Qunker. As he
received his prisoner he said :
“I think I shall place thee on thy
honor not to escape.”
“All right,” said the prisoner, “I
want to stay right here ana see the case
through.”
He had the iun of the corridor and
an open cell, and about two hours after
supper he had no trouble wrenching a
couple of bars off the corridor window.
Waiting for the jail to get quiet he lift
ed the sash and climbed out on the sill
for a drop to the ground, but at that in
stant he lieaid a voice from beneath him
saying:
“On second thought I concluded that
thy honor might not be as safe as my vig
ilance. Get thee back or I will blow thy
head off!”
The prisoner not only “got thee,”
but the old crib held him safely until
he was taken into court.
Ont of Her Depth.
Mother (giving lesson) —“Now, Helen,
tell me the feminine of Joseph? Tnink,
now! What name should we give a little
girl if we wished to call her after a gen
tleman named Joseph?”
Helen—“ Josephine."
Mother—“ That’s right; and what
would be the feminine of Patrick?”
Helen—“Paraffine, mamma.”— Tid-
Bit*.
Glad ef It
“I understand our friend, Miee High
note, ia singing with considerable suc
cess in South America."
“Is, ehl Glad to hear it."
"That aha is singing!''
• Yes—in South America.”—
A WONDERFUL CASE.
A DOCTOR LIVING ONLY IN HIS
HEAD TWENTY-TWO YEARS.
Every Joint Past Bound and Hia
Body and Limbs Wasted to
the Bone—Unable to
Move or See.
On a p'ttow in a little back parlor of
a home on Lafayette avenue, Brooklyn,
rests the intellectual head of Dr. Charles
F. Reed, fifty-six years old, who has not
been able to move hand or foot or turn
in his bed since he was thirty-four. He
lives only in his head, fjr every joint is
fast bound and h’s body and limbs are
wasted to the bone.
His eyes are sightless, his neck stiff,
his jaws set so close as to prevent him
from taking any food nnless it be in very
soft or liquid form, and shoulder joints,
elbows, wrists, finger joints, hips, knees
and toes aro immovable. The knees are
drawn up, the left knee joint is almost
thrown from its socket, the right foot is
turned so far outward as almost to turn
backward. A white,mustache and beard
that Rip Van Winkle would have envied
covered the lower part of a face strong
in outline and full of character. Around
this sufferer’s bed, where so heavy a cross
has been laid, gather almost daily people
who come to get consolation in trouble.
Dr. Reed is a philosopher, and his cheer
ful disposition in spite of the extrema
hardness of bis lot has made him the
wonder of everybody who knows him.
Those who have lost friends call there to
learn a lesson in fortitude, and all who
me it the doctor say they go away with
new ideas offtife and its purposes. He
is well-read in every branch of litera
ture.
Dr. Reed was born in Woburn, Mass.,
and worked on a farm until he was of
age, when he began the study of medi
cine, which he continued in .New York
an l Cleveland. In 1804 he was in cha-ge
of a sanitarium at Kenosha, Wis., and his
sickness, which has led him a life in the
midst of death, first came upon him at
Kenosha. He had inherited rheumatism,
and contracted malaria in the West.
These diseases seized him about nine
o’clock at night on September 6, 1864,
and he h's not moved since. When the
burning fever he suffered began to pass
away and the sensitiveness of the joints
grew gradually less, he felt the joints
stiffening, and in the lingers and toes he
now has complete anchylosis. In other
words, the joints have grown into solid
bone. He weighed 200 pounds and was
tall and vigorous when he was taken
sick. In a few years he was reduced to
a skeleton.
Dr. Reed now suffers from toothache,
and nothing can be done for him because
his jaws are set and the teeth cannot be
pulled, and even the relief of toothache
drops is denied him. When his sight left
him, thirteen years ago, a sensation of
always looking at the full blaze of the
noonday sun took possession of the left
eye, and the doctor suffers the most in
tense pain.
Dr. Reed was married in 1858, and
during all his suffering his wife has re
mained faithfully day and night at her
he'pless husband’s bedside. At first two
men were required to lift him. The
money saved from a lucrative practice
dwindled, and with exigencies of the
case the doctor invented a kind of der
rick, with two arms and hoisting cranks,
by means of which his .wife can easily
move him from the bed while it is being
made. Bands and straps are placed
under him, and he is raised above the
bed. He was brought to New York by
his wife in 18C8. Before the bones
solidified his spine was affected, and as
the trouble slowly worked upward the
muscles of the body contracted and com
pressed his ribs so that at one time he
nearly died by having the breath
squeezed out of him. He was troubled
w.th nervousness, and when he was
asleep his jaw would suddenly snap
open and close again so quickly and
violently that he several times bit
through his tongue. If any one crossed
the floor the iarring made him wild
with pain through his spine. The
feather bed had to be made up with a
hollow center, that his spine might not
touch anything. It required four men
to hold him that he might go to sleep,
as the twitching of his limbs was beyond
his own control.
The doctor has never suffered from
headache. A curious phase of the dis
ease is that he lies awake from about
11 o’clock at night until 2 in the morn
ing, and on the following day succumbs
to irresistible sleepiness at precisely the
corresponding hours —ll a. m. till 2f. m.
Even if he goes to sleep early in the
evening he wakes about 11 at night, and
the curious sleep follows next day at
11 A. M.
“I attribute my disease to an an acci
dental prick from a surgical instrument
while I was dissecting in Cleveland,”
said the doctor yesterday. “Malaria
and rheumatism combined to thoroughly
poison my system aud bring me to this
state. I had a very offensii e post-mortem
abo it the same time and breathed so
much foul air that I was sick for two
weeks. I contracted malaria while in
Illinois. I read a great deal when first
stricken down, and when I lost my sight
my wife took this new burden upon her.
In 18761 had nervous prostration. I have
been looking for death these many years,
but when one wants him to come he is a
very slow conch.”
“For seven years,’’ said Mrs. Reed, “he
laid here without even knowing how the
street in front of the house looked. He
used to say that the misery he suffered
gathered in the very walls and was re
flected back upon him. Then a com
mittee of ladies mads it possible for me
to take him into Vermont, and he sat all
day in the sunshine, and oh, it did him
so much good. He came back in so much
better health, but the long winter indoors
wears him out.”
Dr.-Reed was educated at the College
of Physicians and Surgeons, New York.
He is of New Engl ind stock, and his
grandfathers on the paternal and maternal
side fought at* Lexington and Bunker
Hill. He has a brother who is a farmer
in lowa, and who aids him to the extent
of his small means.—A Tori World.
Couldn't Make Room for Him.
“I was traveling in Spain,” said the
Duke de Braganza, the prospective hus
band of the Princess Amelia, of Orleans,
“and had reached a miserable little vil
lage. It was 1 a. m. Knocking at the
only hostelry in the place, a gruff voice
called out :
“ ‘Who’s there?’
“ ‘Dom Alphonse Rnmire .lunn-Pedro-
Csrlos Fiancisque-Dominique de Roxaa
de Braganza.’
"‘Drive on,’ was the reply; ‘I can’t
accommodate ao many people.’"—Qalig
nani't M**enqtr.
The sun shines for everybody, the
flowers smell sweet for all notes and the
nightingale warbles for all ears.
Pity and virtue are not only delightful
for the preeent. but they leave peace and
contentment behind them.
NEW ADVERTISEMENTS.
iSmSiiei;
BROAD AND THOMAS STS., ATHENS, GA.
nsr
mim. rnmymts
C-u/tler-s?-, G-vine >, Pistole, Etc-
Have a large stock .suitable for the tradle ol Middle Georgia, and
invite an inspection By visitors to Athens and orders by mail from
parties elsewhere. > ' mch!9
P. C. BACON, President. M. F. AMOROUS, Gen’l Manager.
hum ib MMi,
Mill, §a* &3&5BB8.
KILN DRY, DRESSED AND HATCHED
FLOORING
CEILING, SHINGLES AND LATHS.
WRITE FOR PRICES. The best and oheapesi Yards
Humphries and E. T. Y. & Ga. R. R.
OFFICE 4tS ZMLfikJBXETIT.A. ST.
ATLANTA. GEORGIA.
MILBURN WAGON CO.,
39. 41 and 43 Decatur Street, ATLANTA. GA*
\ f V Mr ’* \ / \
THE LARGEST STOCK OF '
Carriages. Phaetons, Buggies, Farm and Spring
WAGONS in the South will be found at their warerootns. Call and see them before
buying Tho best goxls are always the cheapest. It is not necessary to break into a
penitentiary to get to work on our goods.
mli2o H. L. ATWATER, Manager.
ALFRED BAKER, President. JOSEPH a BEAN, Cashier.
Augusta Savings Bank!
811 Broad Street, Augusta, Georgia.
CASH ASSETS if 300,000.00 | SURPLUS $50,000.00
o
Transacts a general deposit and discount business and allows interest on deposits of
five dollars to two thousand dollars. Accounts of banks, bankers and merchants received
on favorable terms.
SPECIAL ATTENTION GIVEN TO COLLECTIONS.
We always have money on hand to loan, and afford special accommodations to oar
customers. We buy and 6cll Bonds and Stocks, and are always happy to give information.
DIRECTORS: -Alfred Baker, James A. Loflin, William Schweigert, E. R. Schneider.
Edgar R. Derry, Joseph S. Bean, W. B. Young, Eugene J. O’Connor, Jules Rival, J. 0.
Bredenberg. mch26
PREMIUM TINWARE!,
BUY NO OTHER
Look, for Stamp.
Don’t buy shoddy machine made Tinware when you can get a first clas* article.
Our Tinware is for sale by country dealers generally. Bend for prices on Stoves and
Everything in Our Line. We keep a magnificent stock and our prices are low.
mhl9 <te TO£TES, -kk-tlxeixs, O-a.
COMPLETE OUTFITS OF MACHINERY !
FURNISHED AT MAN UFACffURERS’ LOWEST PRICES.
" I For Planing Mills, Furniture, Sash, Door,
Blind, Chair, Collin, Box, Spoke and Handle
factories Carpenter, Car, Carriage and Wag.
ion Shorn; Lath and Shingle Mills, and any
it" lot her Woodwork. Also Circular Saws, French
;Band Saws, Scroll Saws, Saw Mandrels, Plan
sing and Moulding Knives, Watchman Clo-. ,
;Fmery Wheels, Belting, Finished Shafti >g.
iPulleys, Hangers and Bearings. Best Qualty
land prices lower than ever betore offered Pro.
jprietors of BREWER’S ROOF PAINT for
—s_—=- jail binds of Metal and Wood Work.
THE COST OF GEM WIRE PICKET FENCE:
No. 1 to No. 6.—Pickets undressed, dressed or fancy, full 4x2x4 ft., three-to the foot
free from flaws or knots, pointed and painted, closely woven, with 10 No. 12 galvanized
steel wires, put up in rolls of 100 feet, each from $5 to sl4. Discounts on large orders.
Price of Complete Outfit for making this fence ONLY $125, for we furnish 1 GEM
FENCE LOOM, WIRE CUTTERS. 1 PICKET POINTER andFKNCESTRETCHKR.
The only perfoct fence loom on the market, and is fully patented. We protect Purcha
sers and Agents in their territory, pay them a liberal’ commission on any machines or
fence they may sell for us, and make no charge for farm or city and county rights. All
orders for Fencing or Machines filled promptly.
J. P. HODGE & GO., Southern Agents.
mehlO 47 and 49 South Brood St., ATLANTA, GA.
THEO. MARKWALTER
Steam Marble and Granite Works.
Broad St., near Lower Market. Augusta, Ga.
MONUMENTS, TOMBSTONES.
AND MARBLE WORK GENERALLY, do Ada to order. A largo ae
lection alwaye on band ready for delivery. Iron fencing for
lots for ea!, 1
Every Piece Stamp
and Warranted.