Newspaper Page Text
{From the Chicago Ledger.
OLIVIA;
OB,
THE DOCTOR’S TWO LOVES.
BY THE AUTHOR Otf
“ The Second Mrs. Tillotson “ Never
Forgotten,” Etc., Etc.
[CIIA ITER XXV— Continued. ]
“What will you do, Olivia?” asked j
Doctor John.
“What can I do?” I said.
“Go to him,” lie urged; “he is alone.
I saw him a moment ago, looking out
at us from the drawing-room window, i
The old fellow is making up his mind
to see you and me happy together, and
to conceal his own sorrow. God bless
him! Olivia my dear girl, go to him.” j
“Oh, Jaek!” I cried, “I cannot.”
“1 don’t see why you cannot,” he an- ;
swered, gayly. “You are trembling,
and your face goes from white to red,
and then white again, but you have not
lost the use of your limbs, or your
tongue. If you take my arm, it will
not be very difficult to cross the lawn.
Come; he is the best fellow living, and
worth walking a dozen yards for.”
Jack drew my hand through his arm
and led me across the smooth lawn.
We caught a glimpse of Martin looking
out at us, but he turned away in an in
stant, and 1 could not see the expres
sion of his face. Would he think we
were coining to tell him that he had
wasted all his love upon a girl not wor
thy of a tenth part of it?
The glass doors which opened upon
the lawn had been thrown back all day,
and we could see distinctly into the
room. Martin was standing at the
other end of it, apparently absorbed in
examining a painting, which he must
have seen a thousand times. The doors
creaked a little as I passed through
them, but he did not turn round. Jack
gave my hand a parting squeeze, and
left me there in the open doorway,
scarcely knowing whether to go on and
speak to Martin, or run away to my
room, and leave him to take his own
time.
1 believe I should have run away, but
I heard Minima’s voice behind me*
calling shrilly to Doctor John, and 1
could not bear to face him again. Tak
ing my courage in both hands, 1
stepped quickly across the floor, for ii
1 had hesitated longer my heart would
have failed me. Scarcely a moment
had passed since Jack left mo, and
Martin had not turned his head, yet it
seemed an age.
“Martin,” I whispered, as 1 stood
close behind him, “how could youjbe so
foolish as to send Doctor John to me?”
CHAPTER XXVI.
PALMY DAYS.
We wore married as soon as the sea
son was over, when Martin’s fashion
able patients were all going away from
town. Ours was a very quiet wedding,
for I had no friends on my side, and
Martin's cousin Julia could not come,
for she had a baby very young, and
Captain Carey could not leave them.
Johanna Carey and Minima were my
bridesmaids, and Jack was Martin’s
groomsman.
On our way home from Switzerland,
in tho early autumn, we went down
from Paris to Falaise, and through
Noireau to Yille-en-bois.
As we came in sight of the little
grove of cypresses and yews, we could
discern a crowd of women in their
snow-white caps, and of men and boys
in blue blouses. Monsieur Laurentie
appeared in the foreground of the
multitude, bareheaded, long before we
reached the spot.
“Oh, Martin!” I said, “let us get out,
and send the carriage back, and walk
up to the village. ”
“And my wife’s luggage?” he an
swered. “and all the presents she has
brought from Paris?”
“Every man will carry something,” 1
said. “Martin, I must get out.”
It was Monsieur Laurentie who
opened the carriage door for me, but
the peoplo did not give him time for a
ceremonious salutation. They thronged
about us with vivats as hearty as an
English hurrah.
“Ail the world is here to meet us,
monsieur,” I said.
“Madame, I have also the honor ot
presenting to you two strangers from
England, answered Monsieur Lauren
tio, while tho people fell back to make
way for them—Jack and Minima! both
wild with delight. A\ o learned after
ward, as we marched up the valley tc
\ ille-en-bois, that Doctor Senior had
taken J ack’s place in Brook street, and
insisted upon him and Minima giving
us this surprise.
The next stage of our homeward
journey we made in Monsieur Lauren
tie’s char-a-banc, from Yille-en-bois to
Granville. Jack and Minima had re
turned direct to England, but we were
to visit Guernsey on the way. Captain
Carev and Julia made it a point that
wo should go to see them and their
baby before settling down in our Lon
don home. Martin was welcomed with
almost as much enthusiasm in St. Pe
ter-port as I had boon in little Yille-en
bois.
“ To-morrow,” said Martin one night,
after scanning the sunset, the sky, and
the storm-glass, “if you can be up at
live o'clock, we will cross to Sark.”
1 was up at four, iu the first gray
dawn of a September morning. \Ye
had the yacht to ourselves, for Captain
Carey declined running the risk of be
ing weather-bound on the island—a risk
which wo were willing to chance. Mv
eyes were dazzled with ilio sunshine
and dim with tears when 1 first caught
sight of the little cottage of Tardif,
who was stretching out his nets on the
stone causeway under the windows.
Martin called to him, and he tiung
down his nets and ran to meet us.
“We are come to spend the day with
you, Tardif," 1 cried, when he was
within heaving of my voice.
“It will be a day from heaven.” he
said, taking off lib fisherman’s cap, and
looking round at t e blue sky with its
eun-tiecked clouds, and the sea with its
•cattere : islets.
It was like a day from heaven We
wandered about the cliffs, visiting every
spot which was most memorable to
either of us. and Tardif rowed us in
Ins boat past the entrance oi the Gou
liot Caves. He was very quiet, but he
listened to our free talk together, for I
could not think of good old Tardif as
any stranger, and he seemed to watch
us l>oth with a far-off. faithful, quiet
look upon his face. Sometimes I fan
cied he did not hear what we were sav
ing, and again his eyes would brighter
>' ith a sudden gleam, as if his whole
soul and heart shone through them
upon us. It was the last day of our
holiday, for in the morning we should
return to Loudon and to work; 1 it it
-vas such a perfect day
THE MONROE ADVERTISER: FORSYTH, GA.. TUESDAY, JANUARY 11, 1881-EIGHT PAGES.
“You are quite happy, Mrs. Martin
Dobree?" said Tardif to me, when we
were parting from him.
“I did not know I could ever be so
happy,” I answered.
CHAPTER* XXYiil
A POSTSCRIPT BT MARTIN DOBEETS.
I had told Olivia faithfully all my
dilemmas with regard to Julia and the
Careys, and she had seemed to listen
with "intense interest. Certainly it was
during those four bewildering and en
chanted months immediately preceding
our marriage, and no doubt the narra
tive was interwoven with many a topic
of quite a different character. How
ever that might he, I was surprised tc
find that Olivia was not half as nervous
and anxious as I felt, when we were
nearing Guernsey on our visit to Julia
and Captain Carev. Julia had seen
her but once, and that for a few minutes
only in Sark. On her account she had
suffered* the severest mortification a
woman can undergo. How would she
receive my wife?
Olivia did not know, though I did,
that Julia was somewhat frigid and dis
tant in her manner, even while thor
oughly hospitable in her welcome.
Olivia felt the hospitality; I felt the
frigidity. Julia called her “Mrs. Do
bree?” It -was the first time she had
been called by that name, and her blush
and smile was exquisite to me, but they
did not tliaw Julia iu the least. I be
gan to fear that there would be between
them that strange, uncomfortable, east
wind coolness which so often exists be
tween the two women a man most loves.
It was the baby that did it. Nothing
on earth could be more charming, or
more winning, than Olivia's delight
over that child. It was the first baby
she had ever had in her arms, she told
us; and to see her sitting in the low
rocking-chair, with her head bent ovei
it, and to -watch her dainty way ol
handling it, -was quite a picture. Cap
tain Carey had an artist’s eye, and was
in raptures; Julia had a mother’s eve,
and was so won by Olivia’s admiration
of her baby, that the thin crust of ice
melted from her like the arctic snows
before a Greenland summer.
I "was not in the least surprised when,
two days or so before we left Guernsey,
Julia spoke to us with some solemnity
of tone and expression.
“My dear Olivia,” she said, “andyou,
Martin, Arnold and I would consider
it a token of your friendship for us both
if you two would stand as sponsors for
our child.”
“With the greatest pleasure, Julia,”
I replied; and Olivia crossed the hearth
to kiss her, and sat down on the sofa at
her side.
“We have decided upon calling her
Oliva,” continued Julia, stroking my
wife’s hand with a caressing touch;
“Olivia Carey! That sounds extremely
well, and is quite new in the island. X
think it sounds even better than Olivia
Dobree. ”
As we all agreed that no name could
sound better, or be newer in Guernsey,
the question was immediately settled.
There was no time for delay, and the,
next morning we carried the child to
church to be christened. As we were
returning home, Julia, whose face had,
worn its softest expression, pressed my
arm with a clasp which made mo look
down upon her questioningly. Her eyes
were filled with tears, and her moutli
quivered. Olivia and Captain Careyi
were walking on in front, at a more
rapid pace than ours, so that we were
in fact alone. •
“What is the matter?” I asked, hastily.
“Oh, Martin!” she exclaimed, “we
are both so happy, after all! 1 wish
my poor, darling aunt could only have
foreseen this! But don’t you think, as
we are both so happy, we might just
go and see my poor uncle ? Kate Dal
trey is away in Jersey, I know that for
certain, and he is alone. It would give
him so much pleasure. Surely you can
forgivo him now.”
“By all means let us go,”I answered.
Even I should scarcely have recog
nized him. His figure was sunken
and bent, and liis clothes, which
were shabby, sat in wrinkles upon
him. His crisp white hair had
grown t’nin and limp, and hung
untidily about his face. His waistcoat
was sprinkled over with snuff, in which
he had indulged but sparingly in for
mer years. There was not a trace of
his old jauntiness and display. This
was a rusty, dejected old man, with tho
erows’-feet very plainly marked upon
his features.
“Father!” I said.
“Uncle!” cried Julia, running to him
and giving him a kiss, which she had
not meant to do, 1 am sure, when we en
tered the house.
He shed a few tears at the sight of us,
in a maudlin manner, and he continued
languid and sluggish all through the
interview. He spoke more to Julia
than to me.
“My love,” he said, “I believed I
know a good deal about women, but
I've lived to find out my mistake. You
and your beloved aunt were angels.
L'bis o e never lets me have a penny of
my own, an 1 :e locks up my best suit
hen she goCo from home. That is to
prevent me going among my own
friends. She is in Jersey now; but
she would not hear a word of me going
with her—not one word.”
“Yon shall come and see Arnold and
me sometimes, uncle,” said Julia.
"She won't let me,”, he replied, with
fresh tears; “she will not let me men
tion your name or go past your house.
I should very much like to see Mar
tin's wife —a very pretty creature they
say she is but 1 dare not. Oh, Julia!
how little a man knows what is before
him!”
We did not prolong our visit, for it
was no pleasure to any one of us. Doc
tor Lobree himself seemed relieved
when we spoke of going away. He and
I shook hands with one another gravely;
it was the first time we had done so
since he had announced his intention
of marrying Kate Daltrev.
“My son ” he said, “if ever you should
find yourself a widower, be very care
ful how you select your second wife.” *
Those were his parting words—words
which chafed me sorely as a young
husband in his honeymoon.
A few days after our return to Lon
don, as I was going home to dinner, I
met, about half-way along Brook street,
Mrs. Foster. For the first time since
i my marriage I was glad to be alone; I
would not have had Olivia with me on
any account. But the woman was com
ing away from our house, and a sudden
fear flashed across me. Could she have
oeen annoying my Olivia?
“Have you been to see me?” I asked
her. abruptly.
“Why should I come to see you?”
she retorted.
“Nor my wife?” I said.
“Why shouldn’t I go to see Mrs.
Dobree?” she asked again.
“Come, Mrs. Foster,” I said, “let ns
;alk reasonably together. Yon know
is well as I do you have no claim upon
my wife, and 1 cannot have her dis
turbed and distressed by seeing you; I
. wish her to forget all the past. Did I
pot fulfill my promise to Foster ? Did
I did not do all I could for him?”
“l'es,” she answered, sobbing, “I
know you did all you could to save my
husband’s life.”
“Certainly. We were too poor to pay
you. ”
“Give me my fee now. then,” I re
plied. “Promise me to leave Olivia
alone. Keep away from this street, and
do not thrust yourself upon her at any
time. If you meet by accident, that
will be no fault of yours. I can trust
you to keep your promise ?”
She stood silent and irresolute for a
<ninute. Then she clasped my hand,
with a strong grip for a woman’s fingers.
“I promise,” she said, “for you were
very good to him.”
She had taken a step or two into the
dusk of the evening, when I ran after
her for one more word.
“Mrs. Foster,” I said, “are you in
want ?”
“I can always keep myself,” she an
swered, proudly; “I earned his liv
ing and my own for months together.
Good-by, Martin Dobree,”
“Good-by,” I said. She turned
quickly from me round a corner near
to us, and I have not seen her again
from that day to this.
Doctor Senior would not consent to
part with Minima, even to Olivia. She
promises fair to take the reins of the
household at a very early age, and to
hold them with a very tight hand. Al
ready Jack is under her authority, and
yields to it with a very droll submis
sion. She is so old for her years, and
he is so young for his, that—who can
tell? Olivia predicts that Jack Senior
will not always be a bachelor.
[the end. |
WORKED OUT SILYER MINES.
Caverns ofN'oxious Gasses anil Smoulder
ing Fires in the Comstoek Lode.
Out of the hole in the old Bonanza
mine in the Comstock lode from which
$120,000,000 in ore was taken, was
packed a foot of timber for every dollar
taken out,” said Howard Storrs, an old
Colorado miner. “The timber cost $2,-
400,000 and some strange phenomena
have been produced in the dark and dis
tant caverns by the changes it has un
dergone. The timbers were laid in
loosely, probably two-thirds of the space
of the pits or chambers being occupied
by them, the thousands of cracks and
openings necessary in the cunduroy, as
the timber packing is called, making up
the other third. 'lhe top earth or root
of the caverns, has fallen by degrees
upon the corduroy, and filling all the
crevices, has compressed the pile into
one solid mass. The position of these
abandoned levels may be easily discern
ed on the surface, as the crust of the
earth has yielded and sunk into the
space formerly filled by the roof of the
caverns. By this great pressure on the
timbers below, sticks twelve inches
through have been crushed to almost
half their original dimensions.
“Standing near some of these surface
depressions the visitor will notice a
strong smell of burning wood in the air,
but will be surprised to see no wood any
where in the vicinity. The smc'l comes
from the depths of those timber-choked
cavities where millions of treasure wero
once stored. The wood has decayed,
and from it strong gasses have generat
ed. These gasses frequently explode,
and are often heard in other levels,
where miners are at work. The explosion
sets fire to the wood, and the cavern be
-1 comes a smouldering and smoking fur
nace, the life of which will not be spent
for years. The smoke works its way
out upward through the porous surface
of the chamber, but seems to become in
visible on contact with the air, retaining
and distributing, however, its strong
odor. One of these smouldering sub
terranean fires covers a worked out space
of 1,300 feet long aud 109 widei If by
any chance a draught of fresh air should
reach it, the resulting burst of liame
would be indescribably terrible.
“The gas generated by these decaying
timbers is of the most deadly character,
and the greatest care must be taken to
confine it within its limits and supply
the working levels with the most perfect
ventilation. Air tight bulk-heads sixty
feet thick cut off the deadly chambers
from the rest of the levels. Three pow
erful air currents are constantly kept in
circulation in the Comstock mines. O e
of these which is carried down the Ophir
shaft and up the Consolidated Yirginia
shaft, goes down to the 3,100-foot level
and takes down 20,000 feet of air every
minute. The 2,000-foot level reached
by the Union shaft, carries 12,000 feet a
minute, which goes out the old Sierra
Nevada shaft. Sixteen thousand feet of
air is taken down to he bottom of the
2,900 foot level and up the Bonner shaft
every minute. When these currents of
a r go down into the levels they are pure
and dry, but in making the passage
reach a temperature of 100 and more.
Besides keeping the levels free from the
noxious gasses, these currents, n be
coming heated, absorb so much of the
moisture of the mines that they issue
from the upcast shafts in steam and car
ry out of the mines nearly 20,000 gal
lons of water a dav.”
Tlie THile Monument.
A design by Sculptor R Schmid for a
monument to Tillie Smith has been ac
cepted by the committee in Hacketts
town, N. J. The plaster cast is now in
New York. On a granite base will
stand a bronze figure of the heroine who
sacrificed her life in defence of her
honor. At her back will rise a tate
white cross. The figure of the girl is a
trifie more than six feet tall, and the
whole monument will be about thirty
feet high. The sculptor designed the
cross to be of white marble, but it may
have to be of iron, if there is not money
enough raised to.make it of marble.
The heroine is represented as being
forced backward. With her left liana
she grasps a serpeut, and with her
right hand she presses to her head a
myrtle crown. The upturned face looks
to the cross. The figure is dranped.
This monument will cost more money
than has been pledged to pay for it, and
Mr. Schmid proposes to place the plas
ter cast on exhibition to add to th
monument fund.
Birthplace of Abraham Lincoln
Century Magazine.
Stram* as it may seem, wh- n money
is clore it is difficult to get very near it.
BUDGET OF FUN. j
HUMOROUS SCETCHES FROM
VARIOUS SOURCES.
A Wife Worth Having—Sensible Sav
ages— An Expensive Pin —The
Dreamy Bookkeeper The
Landlady's Retort, Etc.
“Mr. Winks— “Great Scott! there
comes Jinks. He has a bill against me.
Tell him I am out.”
Mrs. Winks—“ Well, I'll tell him you
have just gone down town to pay a
bill.”
“No, no; he’ll know' you're lying
then. Tell him something he can be
lieve.”
“Well, I’ll say you’re on another
spree, dear.”— Omaha World.
Sensible Savages.
“What queer things there are in the
world.” said Mr. Brown, looking up
from a book of travels which he had been
perusing. “Here it says that a New
Guinea savage gives a friendly salutation
by pinchiug his nose and patting his
stomach at the same time. What do you
suppose such a performance signifies:”
“That you can lead a man by the nose
when his stomach is full,” returned Mrs.
Brown, promptly. “Those New Guinea
savages must be a very sensible race.” —
Harper's Bazar.
The Landlady's Retort.
“These biscuit,” said the Professor,
“are like the Statue of Liberty at
night. They would give better satisfac
tion if they were lighter. ”
“Y"es,” said the third floor back, “and
this piece of chicken reminds me of a
great hero—Bonaparte.”
“But neither of your board bills are
like the Balkan troubles,” said the land
lady.
“Why so?” asked the Professor and
third floor back.
“Because the Balkan troubles will
probably be settled. — New York Sun.
An Expensive Pin.
One fine day a Scrigglesville mau came
to town with a pailful of clams, which
he sold. Then washing out the pail care
fully he had a gallon of molasses poured
into it and started for home. Feeling
the weight of his burden he put a stick
through the pail and hung the pail over
his shoulder.
Presently, jogging along in an ab
stracted fashion, the Scrigglesville man
espied a pin in the road, and being of a
frugal turn he stooped over to pick it up.
This seemed to the molasses to be as
good a chance as it could find, and it
promptly stepped out of the pail and
walked all over the back of the Scrig
glesville man’s neck.
“Good heavens!” ga<pcd the Scrggles
man, as he struggled to his feet aud
viewed the devastation wrought upon
the scenery, “a gallon ot molasses for a
pin.” — Rockland {Me.) Courier-Journal.
The Dreamy Bookkeeper.
A tall, gaunt, absent-minded man at
tired in a drab sack coat and a pair of
checker-plaid pantaloons stood on the
corner of Charles and Baltimore streets
yesterday afternoon smoking a cigar and
conversing with two young ladies Xhe
party were waiting for a car. As the
car approached, the young man, who was
evidently a mechanically
stuck the lighted cigar behind his t ar,
under the impression that it was a lead
pencih A.
The cigarTwHKed behind the ear ex
actly two seconds. Then the young
man's mouth opened like an old-fash
ioned barndoor swinging on its hinges.
“Cee-ru-sa-lem.” he yelled, jerking
the cigar away as though it were a bum
blebee and projecting his anatomy about
two feet into the st.ll and placid atmos
phere.
The cigar had singed the hair off from
a spot on his head the size of a silver
dollar, and the top of his ear was burned
to a blister.— Baltimore Herald.
He Guessed at It.
Superintendent Judson, of the Chicago
and lowa Road, tells of a section boss
who several years ago sent in a report
which made a byword for the boys about
the general office that is in use to day.
Section bosses are provided with blanks,
on which they are required to report all
cases of animals killed by trains. The
blanks have spaces for telling where,
when and how the animal is killed, and
what disposition is made of the carcass,
whether it is buried or sold.
One day a cow was killed out on the
Rochelle section, and a section boss who
had been recently promoted went out to
make the report. He told in the proper
spaces what train killed the Raima! and
under what conditions it was done. Then
he came to the line:
“Disposition ”
“Well,” said he, scratching his head,
“I'll be danged if I'm sure about that,but
being's she was a cow I think I can guess
at it. ’ So he filled out the line, which,
when it reached the general office, read:
“Disposition, kind and gentle.’’—Chi
cago News.
The Time Fiend.
On one of the recent cold nights a man
was hastening across the Common with
his overcoat buttoned up to his ne. k.
He was rather anxious to know what
time it was, but he was too lazy to un
button his coat in order to get at his
watch. Just then he saw a man of well
dressed appearance coming in the dis
tance, and remarked to himself:
“Go to! I will e’en ask yon genteel
stranger what time it is, and he will un
button his coat, pull out his watch, and
eke inform me of the hour of the
night.”
He perceived that the stranger was
buttoned up just as h i was. When he
came up, the man who wanted to know
the time touched his hat politely and
said:
“Sir, do you know what time it is:“
The stranger paused, removed his
right glove, unbuttoned his overcoat
from top to bottom, unbuttoned his un
der coat, and finally pulled out his
watch, while the cold wind beat against
his unprotected breast.
Holding up the watch so that the
light would shine on it, he scrutinized
it an instant, and said :
“Yes.”
And then he passed on without an
other word.— Boston Record.
The Haughty Wife.
In one of the cities that l:e over against
Boston there lives a family whose mas
culine head is a man who has won con
siderable wealth, from humble begin
nings not unlike those of. Commodore
Yanderbilt, with the difference th t
while he, like Yanderbilt, began as a
boatman, he was expanded into the bank
ing business instead of into the railroad
business. Ever since he became a banker
is excellent wife has been -mitten with
.e great importance of ner husband's
w o cupation and has advertised it on
cry possible occasion. The hor>e-oar
■nductors on the line which runs into
her city all know her, and smile when !
she enters the car and grandly utters her j
command;
“Conductor, let me off at my hus- :
band’s bank!’’
One day lately a trampish-looking old j
fellow with a red nose got on the car >
just as the banker’s wife delivered her
usual order to the conductor. The old
mau watched her performance curiously, j
and then arose, pulled himself together,
aud called out with a magnificent air j
that was inimitable:
“Conductor, let me off at my old wo- i
man’s peanut stand!”
A roar went through the air, and “my
husband's bank"’ ha3 been alluded to
more than ever since that time. —Boston
Record. .
Well-Wakes.
The well-wakes, so strongly denounced
by the clergy iu early times, lingered in
some places in Shropshire (England) even
into the present century—chiefly in town
ships where no church or chapel existed.
The Eas well at Baschureh, in a field
beside the River Perry, a mile west of
the church, was frequented till twenty
years ago by young people who went
there on Palm Sunday to drink sugar
and water and eat cakes. A clergyman
who was present in 18- 0 speaks of see
ing little boys scrambling for the lumps
of sugar which escaped from the glasses
and floated down the brook which flows
from the spring into the river. St.
Margaret's well, about a quarter of a
mile from Washington, renowned for its
eye-healing virtues, was yearly visited
by Black country folks and others, who
douked, or dipped, their heads in it on
Good Friday. Around Oswestry, both
in Shropshire and Montgomeryshire, are
various “Trinity wells, ’at which folk
drank sugar and water at “Trinity
wakes.” At the “Halliwell wakes ’ at
Rorrington, a township in the parish of
Chirbury, the well was adorned with a
bower of green boughs, rushes and flow
ers, and a May-pole was set up. The
people “used to walk around the hill
with fife, drum and fiddle, dancing and
frolicking as they went,” and then fell to
feasting at the well-side, finishing the
evening by dancing to the music of fid
dles. They threw pins into the well —an
offering which one old man, a black
smith at Hope, says was supposed to
bring good luck to those who made it
and to preserve them from being be
twitched; and they also drank some of
the water. But the pure spring water
was not the only nor the chief material of
the feast. Soon after Chirbury wakes
(St. Michael's) a barrel of ale was al
ways brewed on Rorrington green, which,
on the following Ascension day, was
taken to the side of the holy well and
there tapped. Cakes, of course, were
eaten with the ale. They were round,
flat buns, from three to four inches across,
sweetened, spiced and marked with a
cross. They were supposed to bring
good luck if kept. Several famous
makers of them aie remembered, by
whom they were sold to all comers,
together with nuts, etc. The wake is
said to have been discontinued about
1832 to 1834, at the death of one Thomas
Cleeton, who used to “brew the drink.
Almost exactly the same customs pre
vailed at the lady well at Old Church
stroke, a township in the adjoining parish
of Churchstrokc, in Montgomeryshire,
where the wake obtained tho queer
name of “Codgerwakes,” from the sur
name (nickname?) of Codger, of Old
Churchstroke, “who used to brew the
drink.” Here also the well was
“dressed” with flowers and rushes on
Holy Thursday, and the people dropped
pins into it, and sat around eating cakes
and drinking sugar aud water from cups
passed round th% circle. —Shropshire
Folk Lore.
The Test as a Lung Protector.
Mr. James Hess makes a sensible sug
gestion in the Herald of Health, when he
calls attention to the absurdity of our
present curiou- habit of w< aring cambric
back vests, while the fronts are of a
heavy materal aud sometimes wadded,
and urges the propriety of protection for
both sides of the lung-. ihe habit, of
course, has grown from the belief that
the outer coat is sufficient protection for
the back, while the chest needs warmer
covering, on account of the coat being
open. But it seems a disproval of the
reasoning that the first unpleasant sensa
tions of chillness are the so-called “creep
ers” running down the spine. Even
when the warmest woolen material is se
lected for a suiting, the tailor, unless
otherwise ordered, will invariably make
the back of the vest of some thin Him -y
material like cambric or silk, though he
may deem it advisable to pad the front
with cotton wadding. There is no proper
reason why the back of the vest should
be made so insufficient. The front may
be made uncomfortably thick, and still
fail to protect the lungs unless the back
is made equally thick and warm. In front
they are protected about five times as
much as in the back by clothing, ribs,
flesh, muscle and fat. In the back the
lungs come almost to Ihe surface, and
therefore need more protection. Mr,
Hess asserts that it has been his custom
for two years past, and that many gen
tlemen to whom he lias mentioned the
matter have had their vests made with
good, warm backs, and after a winter’s
trial are quite enthusiastic over the
change. They have pa-sed through tho
entire winter and spring without ouce
taking cold, which is the best evidence
in support of the thick vest-back propo
sition, that could be-adduced. —Popular
Science News.
A Barb t’s Shop for Women.
A newspaper correspondent has found
a plaee in New Yoik where women are
shaved, arid he had the opportunity of
watching the operation, which h: de
scribed as follows: ••There was a high
foot rest in front of the chair, b t it did
not appear to be required on this oc
casion. A napkin was tucked under her
chin, and the operator applied a quantity
of shaving cream or lather squeezed out
of a tinfoil tube, in-tead of being mixed
up in a cup with a brush. A little gentle
rubbing with the ends of the fingers
softens the skin and the hair on the lip,
the operator refraining Irom remarks
upon the weather or electio s during the
process, which imparte 1 a wierd, un
natural air to the ‘whole performance.
The barber then deft v stropped a small,
thin, short-bladed razor with a pearl
handle, seized the victim gently by her
prettv nose and began to shave the lip
with a quick but delicate touch. The
best feature of th; operation was that at
its close, the barber allowed the customer
to depart without telling her that she
needed a shampoo, or that she ought to
have a hair tonic.
Views of Life.
“Life is short: ’ the preacher cried
From his pulpit up on high.
Jameson heard, and softly sighed.
“True! ah. true: And si am I.' 1
“Life is real'.” the preacher said,
Jameson nodded. Vain regrets
Bowed in penitence his l ead.
“So.” he sighed, “are all my debts. *
“Life is earnest :" next he heard.
Cold sweat oo.ed through all hi*
pores:
‘‘Yes,” he whispered, “that’s the word,
tso are all my cieditors.''
—Somerville JounxeU.
WALL PAPER
AND
WINDOW DRAPERY HOUSE
45 Marietta Street, ATLANTA, GEORGIA.
To the people of Monroe I have to sav that I am carrying the latest and most exten
sive line of WALL PAPERS in the city.
Goods all New & Prices Reasonable
I have also an elegant stock of Window Shades, from 50 cents each, up, Drapery,
Fringes, Upholstery Goods, Window Poles, Cornices, Laces, &c.
Prompt attention given to 11 orders.
june2 JAMES T. WHITE, Agent
he Largest Stock of CARRIAGES, SPRING AND FARM WAGONS in the South-
Standard Wagon Cos.
H. L. ATWATER, Manager,
39, 41 and 43 DECATUR Street, and 74 PEACHTREE Street, ATLANTA. GA.
MANUFACTURERS OF
CARRIAGES, BUGGIES,
Road Carts, Spring and Farm Wagons.
A Good Buggy from $48.00 to $165.00.
Phaetons from SBO.OO to $200.00.
Carriages from $130.00 to $200.00.
General Agents for McLear & Kendall, Fine Landaus, Victorias 1
ROOKAWAYS.
USaT” We are also the General Agents for MILLBTJRN WAGON CO.’S
GOODS.
Goods to the Trade at Manufacturers’ Prices. Write for Prices.
H. L. ATWATER Manager,
aug24 P. O. Box 354, ATLANTA, GA.
STEAM ENGINES'
r an( l Matches, Cotton Gins, Feeders, Condensers*
Prossers, &c. WsT 1 Write for circulars and prices-
J. H. ANDERSON,
a P n l3 63 South Broad street, Ati.anta, Ga.
M SIO.OO Gash Accompanying the Order
A Good No. 7 Cook Stove
That Has Heretofore Sold for sls.
fl®“Send for Guts and Lists of Furniture.
A. P. STEWART & CO.,
liN SS!<i e>oJ,.. GO Whitehall Street. Atlanta, (>a,
om§k GOODWIN’S COCOA-NUT OIL CREAM
11 the most perfect hair dressing in use.
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M a .-tores hair to its natural color, and will grow hair on bald heads.
Sample Bottles, 25 cents; liegvlar Size, 50 cents.
J. H. GOODWIN, PROPRIETOR
43 Western Laboratory, 60 We a t Fourth St Circinrat: (h:n.
A NEW ENTERPRISE
We announce to the public that we are prepared to dress and match lumhei, cut mould*
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SCROLL, BAND AND RE-SAWING,
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yu<r2 B VRNESVTT,!,. CrA.
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OEALER IN
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Call at Masonic Temple, 96 Mulberry street, or addxess
M. L. MUNGER., Macon, Q-a
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FINE JOB PRINTING
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