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SAVANNAH.
(Savannah. the city that aits hy the sen,
\Vl l cre 1 t-rlethorpe fountle Ia home for the free.
When? WhitelieUl to far-famed Bothesda gave
birth,
Is one of the loveliest ctt;es on earlu
X dream of her river abounding v. ith barques,
Kevisit her avenues, squares and her parks.
Her homes of the living, her tombs of the dead,
And wake in the light which such memories
shed.
Her annals are records of gradual growth,
ruhastoned by spurt and unhindered l>v sloth;
In quiet anti conflict, in darkness and light.
Her sous have been steadfast in duty and right.
Her citizens shone in colonial fame.
And Sluires 1 revolution, yet suffered no shame;
Revering the old tney rejoiced in the new,
For Britain was false and America true.
When cities far North held in bondage the
siave.
Savannah her sanction reluctantly gave:
And when from the nation the evil was thrust,
Savannah was foremost to rise from the dust.
When civil contention, with swordsdn its mouth,
Had left in confusion the desolate South.
Tnc sous of Savannah though beaten were
brave.
And buried their slain in the patriot's grave.
When pestilence gathered with poisonous breath
And rained on the city its pitiless death.
The victims succumbed without cowardly dread,
And those who survived were “baptized for the
dead.”
Savannah! for thee I have lived in the past,
For tin e I will fervently pray till the last;
G„d make thee in honor and' health to increase;
A modern Jerusalem, “City of Peace.”
Timothy Hakley.
Tx>ndon, Oct. !>, 1887.
MORNING NEWS LIBRARY NO. -JB.
ROMANCE OF RICHMOND^
BY WALTER M. RICHMOND.
Copyrighted, 1887, by J. H. Estill-
CHAPTER V.— Continued.
Florine had thought he was like the brain
less youths with whom she daily associated,
and had naturally expected him to favor
her and Pauline with some foolish, senti
mental music. But she was disappointed.
A look of intense disgust clouded her beau
tiful face, and before Virgil had rendered
one stanza of the hymn, she curled lips,
elevated her nose, and haughtily swept from
the room, slamming the door behind her.
But Pauline did not stir from the youth's
side. In bis presence she felt a peculiar
charm, which she had never experienced in
the society of the gay, fashionable youths
of the city. To her Virgil’s voice was
strangely sweet—his manner gentle and re
fined. His face was a mirror, in which she
saw reflected a pure, lofty soul. She felt he
was no ordinary boy. As “far as the heav
ens are above the earth,” so far did the in
fatuated girl exalt our hero above other
youths.
Fiorine’s conduct mortified her as deeply
as it did Virgil, and wheu he paused at the
close of the first, stanza of the hymn, hurt
by Fiorine’s rudeness, Pauline blurted out,
scarcely knowing what she said in her in
dignation :
“Don't mind her, Mr. Paine! Don't mind
her—the rude, hateful thing! If her shal
low nature cannot appreciate sweet, sacred
music, good breeding at least should have
compelled her to remain in the room until
you had finished the hymn.”
“Don’t judge her too harshly. Miss Mor
riss,” said Virgil, who was ever ready to
make excuses for another’s shortcomings.
••Remember, she is only a child—a bright,
happy child. Hor life thus far has been one
of unalloyed happiness, and it naturally
fills her with disgust that one as young as I
should be sad in a world that holds so much
beauty and promise for her. I ought not to
have been so selfish. I ought to have played
and sang something of a joyous character,
despite my own feelings. But, Miss Mor
riss, how can one render such music when
his heart is not in accord with the senti
ment?” ;
He raised his eloquent brown eyes to the
girl, whose young heart went out to him in
the tenderest sympathy. Oh, that she could
do something to lighten the cross that was
weighing so heavily upon his young spirit!
Oh, that she could take some of the sun
light from over her own way and direct it
to shine upon his dark path!' She regarded
him for a moment in silence, and then, in a
matter-of-fact way, said:
“I wish it were'in my power, Mr. Paine,
to help you in your trouble. You are too
young—entirely too young—to bo oppressed
with sorrow.”
There was something in the earnest, sym
pathetic voice that touched the boy's heart
—something in the sweet, lovely tace that
banished restraint and inspired confidence;
and, ignoring the fact that they ha i never
met until the day lie,ore. he poured into her
sympathetic ear his tale of sorrow. Briefly
he told her of his father’s tragic deatu, of
the family’s gradual descent from alllueuce
to poverty, of their removal to Richmond,
and of his fruitless endeavors to obtain
employment.
During the latter part of the recital of
his misfortunes, Pauline’s face lighted up
with a sudden glow, and, clapping her little
hands together iu girlish delight, she ex
claimed :
“Oh, I am so glad that you have told me.
I am so glad that 1 cau he of servioe to you!
Cheer up, Mr. Paine! You shall baveasit
uation before the sun goes down —indeed
you shall! I heard papa say at breakfast
that he was going to advertise in to-mor
i;i paper for a clerk, as Mr. Crump, one
•f his clerks, proposed to enter into part
nership with another gentleman to-day.”
“Miss Morriss, yo . .. jso kind—so—”
Here the boy stopped. He could say no
more. Her disinterested kindness so affect
ed him that his eyes filled with tears. He
simply extended nis hand in token of his
gratitude.
“Wait hero until I ca*i get my cloak and
hat, and I’ll accompany you to the office,”
she said. “You might get lost if you were
to go alone, as you are a rustic lad,” she
said, smilingly.*
And with a mischievous twinkle of her
blue eyes that reminded Virgil of Charlie,
she danced gaily out of the room.
“What a noble-hearted girl she is!”mused
the boy. “How different she is from Char
lie’s sister, and yet—yet—despite the lat
ter’s rudeness, there is something fascinat
ing about Miss Florine.”
While he was musing thus, Pauline,
cquipjied for her walk, re-entered the room,
thawing on her gloves.
"Come, Mr. Paine,” she said. “I am
ready."
The youth joined her, and the two wend
*l their way down Franklin street, chatting
as familiariy as if they ha* l been brought
up together.
Half an hour’s walk through the crisp
January air brought them to Mr. Morriss’
factories, w hich w ere situated in the tobacco
centro of the city-. Paulino and her com
panion were compelled to pass through the
clerks’ department to reach Mr. Morriss
sanctum, and it was amusing to note the
curiosity with which the clerks regarded
\ u gil as he entered the office iu company
with tho pretty daughter of their em
ployer. . •
"Hood morning, gentlemen,” said the
girl. "Mr. Price, is papa in 'nis office!
turning to one of the clerical force.
“Ves, Miss Pauline,” replied the young
gentleman, leaping from his stool and
opening the door loading into Mr. Morriss’
apartment.
“Thunk you, sir,” returned the girl.
"Come, Mr. Paine.”
Virgil followed.
The wealthy tobacconist, still suffering
from his recent attack of rheumatism, re
clined languidly upon a sofa near tho door.
“How are you now, pupa.' ’ asked his
daughter, kindly.
“I am very debilitntod, my dear," replied
Mr. Morriss, rising from his lounging atti
tude. "How* are you, mv sou<”
The tobnccouist had never seen Virgil be
fore, and of course knew not the circum
stances that had brought our hero and Pau
line together; but. like the genuine aristo
crat he was, Mr. Morriss held out his hand
to the boy, who at once fell in lovo with the
old gentleman.
Gentle reader, you have often seen those
calm, masculine laces that reveal a nature
made of ninnlv courage and womanly ten
derness. Mr. "Morriss possessed one of those
faces.
"Papa, this young gentleman is one of
Charlie’s college associates.” said Pauline,
introducing Virgil to her father. “He is
Mr. Paine, and it is in Iris behalf that I am
here. You announced this morning your
purpose to advertise for a young man to
fill the vacancy caused by the resignation of
Mr. Crump, and if you have not given the
place to someone who may have called, in
during tiie morning, I wish you to give the
situation to Mr. Paine. He is a most exem
plary young man,” she said, smiling archly,
“and for recommendations I refer vou to
Charlie.”
Mr. Morriss made no reply, but regarded
the .boy in perplexed silence. There was
something aboiit Virgil that revived memo
ries of the tobacconist’s early manhood—
something in the noble, youthful face that
brought to his mind the face of one he had
known and loved as a brother in “the happy
long ago. ”
“Paine! Paine!” said the gentleman, at
length, looking the boy steadily in the face.
“How do you spell your name, my son?
P-n-y-n-e or I J -a-i-n-e?”
“P-a-i-n-e, sir.” •
“Your father's name?”
“My father was named Frank Randolph
Paine, sir.”
A soft, tender expression came over Mr.
Morriss face. He approached Virgil, and
layiug his band upon the youth’s head,
gazed long and tenderly iuto his counten
ance.
“And you are Frank’s son? Yes, yes;
your face corroborates your words,” said the
tobacconist. “You are just like your
father. Indeed it seems as if Frank, in the
vigor and b auty of voting manhood, were
standing before me. Mv boy, I loved your
father once as dearly as I did my own
brother. Indeed, hail my love been tested,
it would have been hard to decide which oc
cupied the larger place in my affections—
E iinuud or Frank Wo began our course at
the university at the same time, and grad
uated from that institution the same session.
We were seldom apart. We were often
called Damon and Pvthias, and sometimes
the Siamese twins. We even spent our va
cations together. I would spend one sum
mer at the Paine homestead in Culpeper
county—Fern Spring, I think, the place was
called, on account of the number cf springs
upon the farm, and the exuberant growth
of ferns to be found in the vicinity of each
spring. The following vacation your father
would pass at the Morriss homestead in
Louifct county, Alabama. But friendship,
my son, never imbeds its roots sodeeply into
the human heart that it cannot be uprooted.
The very summer alter our graduation we
had a nnsundet standing—the cause of which
I shall not here explain—and to settle the
difficulty, as we thought it became true
Virginians, we repaired to the so-called
field of honor. We were both slightly
wounded. We were taker, to our respective
homes, and from that unlucky day to this —
now almost twenty-sir year? —I have never
laid my eyes upon your father’s face.”
A look of pain passed over the speaker’s
countenance.
‘•Did your father ever speak of me?” he
asked, abruptly.
“Never in uty presence, sir.”
The tobacconist drew a heavy sigh, and
then inquired;
“How many children did your father
leave?”
(Mr. Morriss had learned from the pa
pers of Mr. Paine’s death.)
“Two, sir,” answered Virgil. “A little
boy, now in his 7th year, and myse f.”
“Then he left no children by his first
marriage?”
“No, sir; lie had none by his first wife.”
“That's so,” said Mr. Morriss, somewhat
confused. “Miriam Maynard died within
six months after her marriage.”
As he uttered the name a strange pallor
swept all color from his face, and, turning,
he walked to one of the windows. Presently
he came hack, and, having regained his
composure, said kindly and playfully ■
“And you want a situation.' Well, you
shall have one. I have sent an advertise
ment to the newspaper, but I will cal! at the
office on my way to dinner and withdraw
it. Come to the office to-morrow morn
ing. ”
“Oh, Mr. Morriss, how can I thank you
and your daughter sufficiently for all this
disinterested kindness?” exclaimed Virgil.
“Never mind the thanks. It does me
good to befriend poor Frank s boy. Come
with me, my son, ana I will introduce you
to the men who are to be your associates in
this establishment.”
Virgil again thanked Pauline for the in
terest she had manifested in his behalf, and
courteously bowing, accompanied her father
into the next apartment.
“Young gentlemen,” said Mr. Morriss, as
he and the youth paused in the centre of the
office, "‘this young gentleman is Master Vir
gil Paine, a sou of an old friend of mine,
and he is to rill Mr. Crump’s place. How
old are you, Virgil?”
“Eighteen, sir.”
“Eighteen,” repeated Mr. Morriss, in a
loud, distinct voice. “Only 18 years of
age! Hid you hear, young gentlemen > A
mere boy and as yet uncorrupted and inex
perienced! Remembering this, I hope you
—you who are older in years and experi
ence —will set a bright, noble example, and
attempt in no way to blight his young man
hood;" and here Mr. Morriss introduced
Virgil to the young men in the office.
Virgil was pleased with Mr. Price and
Mr. Walker; out as Mr. Brown approached
him a feeling of intense disgust came over
him; for Brown belonged to that class of
men that all sensible people dislike. Gen
tie reader, he was a dandy, or, as he would
be called in these times, a “dude.”
$ * * * * * *
After taking leave of Mr. Morriss and his
daughter Virgil directed his steps home
ward, eager to communicate to his mother
the good fortune that had at last come in
answer to their prayers. It requires but
little sunlight to banish the clouds from the
horizon of youth. An hour ago the world
seemed dark and dreary to Virgil; now it
was full of of light and beauty. His suc
cess imparted elasticity to his step and an
expression of hopefulness to his counten
ance. His faith in God. which had suffered
greatly from repeated disappointment, now
rallied stronger than over, and from the
depths of his grateful heart he repented of
his faithlessness.
He soon reached home and, gliding noise
lessly down the hall, paused for a moment
at the half-open door of the sitting room.
Mrs. Paine was seated in a low rocker be
fore the fire, and near her, on the rug. sat
Milton, with one arm clasped around the
shaggy neck of his dog and his sunny head
pressed lovingly against the animal’s.
“Mamma!” exclaimed tho little fellow, a
slight tremor in his voice—“Mamma!”
"What is it, my darling!” asked Mrs.
Paine.
"Ain’t we ever going back to Fern Springs
to live again!”
The mention of the old homestead and
the lugubrious manner in which the child
had asked the question caused'the mother’s
eyes to fill with tears.
“I shall never live there again, my son;
but perhaps you and Virgil may end your
days on the dear old place ” replied the lady,
in a husky voice. “Has my littio boy grown
til ed of city life?’’
“Yes, ma’am; that 1 have,” answered the
child. “I am so. oh, so tired of Richmond;
’cause you and brot her seem to be a heap
sadder since we’ve been living here. When
you anil brother ain t happy 1 can t lie hap
py either—no, not to save my life!”
“Well, for vour sake, we will be happy,”
said Mrs. Paine. “Your brother is sad be
cause ho has failed to get work, but he will
find something to do alter aw ilo, and then
all will bo right, I trust. Cheer up, dar
-11 ,
“I wish I was a great big hoy like brother.
Then I would look for work too.”
As ho uttered the last word he turned, and
THE MORNING NEWS: SUNDAY, OCTOBER 23, 1887.
catching a glimpse of Virgil, ran forward
and climbed up into bis brother’s arms and
kissed him several times. Ah! the lovo be
tween these brothers, despite the disparity
iu their ages, was indeed beautiful. Virgil’s
love for Milton was like that of a father for
his chihi—deep, lasting, unselfish; while the
little fellow looked up to his brother with
the same confidence with which a little fel
low child looks up to his father.
Virgil drew up a chair beside his mother,
and, placing his brother on his knee, said to
the lady:
“Well, mother, I have obtained a situa
tion at last.”
“You have?” cried Mrs. Paine, looking up
in glad surprise. “Oh, lam so glad 1”
“1 am too! - ’ chimed in Milton, as he
clapped bis little palms together in childish
ecstacy. “You won’t look sad any more
now, will you, brother?”
Virgil made no reply, but caressed the boy
in silence.
“What kind of employment is it?” asked
Mrs. Paine, after a short silence.
“A clerkship in one of Mr. Morriss’ to
bacco factories. And, oh, mother, Mr.
Morriss is such a courteous and pleasant
gentleman I fell iu love with him as soon as
mv eyes rested upon him. He is Charlie
Morriss’ uncle. You have heard me speak
of Charlie, liavent you?”
“Yes; but what is his uncle’s name?
Phillip Morriss?”
“Yes, ma’am; that’s the gentleman's
name. I saw it engraved in largo letters
over the main entrance of the building. Do
you know the gentleman, mother?”
“I have beard of him. Your father knew
him well. But does Mr. Morriss know who
you are? Does he suspect you are Frank
Paine’s son ?”
“Yes, mother. He asked me if I was not
Frank Paine’s son, and I told him I was. and
I think it is partly owing to that fact that
Mr. Morriss gat eme employment. He and
father had a difficulty in their early man
hood, he told mo; but, from the charitable
manner in Which he spoke of father, and
the kind, fatherly way in which he treated
me, Mr. Morriss inusthave long since buried
his enmity. By the way, mother, what was
the cause of this feud? Wasn’t father's
first wife the cause of it!”
“Why do you ask such a question? Did
Mr. Morriss say she was the cause of the
trouble?”
“No, ma'am; but he accidentally spoke of
her, and as he did so, a strange look came
over his features, as if her name had re
called some bitter memories. I judge from
that site was the cause of the estrangement
between him and father.”
“Yes, she was the cause of it,” said Mrs.
Paine. “Men say that women are the root
of all our ills, and I atn inclined, my son, to
agree with your sex.”
And, with a low, sweet laugh that car
ried Virgil’s mind back to happier days, his
mother proceeded to relate the cause of the
feud between Messrs. Morriss and Paine. I
will not record what Mrs. Paine said, lest
I should weary the reader. Suffice it to
say that it was the same old story of the
beautiful, unprincipled coquette, who, haz
ing won the affections of two tnea, seeks to
arouse the demon of jealousy between
them, and never rests until by deception
and falsehood she has succeeded in alienat
ing the rivals
CHAPTER VI.
His eyebrows dark and eye of fire
Showed spirit proud, aud prompt to ire.
— Scott.
As Mr. Morriss and his daughter rode home
to dinner the latter, in answer to an in
quiry from her father as to how she and
Virgil had been thrown together, related
the whole scene that had been enacted in
her aunt’s parlor. The tobacconist listened
attentively, and for several minutes after
his daughter had ceas rl speaking, said not h
ing. He was evidently lost in painful
thought, as a shadow of intense anxiety
rested ujxrn his countenance. At last he
said, with a tone of sadness in his voice:
“Poor little Florine! How my heart
bleeds for the child! Site has bet a allowed
to have her own way, to treat people as she
pleases, to think herself above this person
and that person, and to associate with boyish
upstarts until her whole being is poi oned,
and every germ of true womanhood wuich
nature implanted within her lias been de
stroyed. She is taught that beauty, social
position, and a superficial education, sea
soned with a slight knowledge of French,
and music, will insure her a prominent po
sition in society, and eventually, after sev
eral seasons of frivolity, a wealthy, aristo
cratic husband. Her beauty will secure for
her a host of admirers; but, apart from a
deep, womanly nature, beauty cannot pro
duce a lasting impression uiion a man's
heart, Florme may fascinate, but one of
her nature can never beget genuine love,
aud if a man, dazzled by her good looks,
should marry her, he would soon weary of
her, and rue the day that united him to so
frivolous a creature. Oh, my child, think
of the miserable 'life your poor uncle Ed
muud led with Nannie until the good Lord
took him to Himself! Think of the months
during which never a word was exchanged
between husband and wife! How often has
my poor brother come to me and, with tears
iu Ins eyes, said:
“ ‘Oh, Phil, I wish I had never seen that
woman! Oh, that I had married some
sweet, retiring woman like sister Bertha!
Phil, you ought to thank God every day for
such a jewel of a wife!’
“Ah, my child, i did thank God, and I
thank Hitii still, for such a helpmeet as your
mother, ami I thank Him also that" our
union has been blessed with two such chil
dren as you and Banyan, who inherit those
noble qualities which makes Bertha so lev
able.”
Five minutes later the carriage halted be
fore Mr. Morriss’ magnificent home. The
driver alighted and assisted the young lady
and her father out of the vehicle. Pauline
linked her arm in her father’s, and the two
proceeded up the walk.
Behind a mass of honeysuckle vinos grow
ing midway tho yard. Charlie had con
cealed himself, and, as his uncle and cousin
approached, he crept stealthily from his
hiding place and grasped Pauline’s arm.
“You naughty boy!” she exclaimed, in
pretended anger, gently boxing his ear with
her little gloved hand. “You arc always
up to some mischief! You frighteued me
terribly.”
“lam glad of it!” he said, endeavoring
to create the impression that she had done
something to incur his displeasure.
“Charlie!”
“Yes, I am glad of it!” he repeated. “Un
cle Phil, what do you think?”
“What, my sou!" inquired Mr. Morriss,
smiling good-naturedly.
“Well, not more than an hour ago I saw
this modest young lady promenading down
Franklin street with a college-mate of mine,
whom I know she never saw until yester
day, and she was talking so loudly and so
incessantly that she attracted the attention
of people a block away.”
"Now, Charlie,” said Pauline, reproving
ly, “how often have I rebuked you for ex
travagance of speech?”
“I beg your pardon, Mrs. Susanna Wes
ley! But, Paulie, you must answer this
question; How came you and Virgil Paine
on such familiar terms ! He is a modest
fellow, and you are a timid girl—at least I
have always thought both of you such—and
1 cannot account for such familiarity upon
so short an acquaintance. Now, it it were
Florine, 1 should think nothing of it, for
she is as much at ease in the company of
one she has known only a few minutes as she
is with one she has known all her life.”
“Oh, don’t speak of Florine!” cried his
cousin, ’’ her face darkening with disgust, “I
never saw her behave so rudely in my life as
she did to-day.”
Mr. Morriss gave his daughter a signifi
cant glance, which, however, did not escape
Charlie’s notice.
“Why can’t she tell me, uncle Phil?”
asked the youth. “Pauline, what has
Florine done!”
“May I toll him, papa?”
“Well, .ves; but it will do no good. It
will only work the boy up iu a towering
passion, and cause him to go right, home anil
create a Scene, and that wouldn’t look well
on the eTe of so momentous an occasion us
the marriage of tho dasuinj Widow Morriss
to the brilliant Mr. Wuouburv.”
“Oh, don’t speak of it!” said Charlie,
sadly, and anxious to change a topic so
painful to him. ho turned abruptly to his
cousin and asked: “Paulie, what has Florine
done? Uncle Phil says vou may tell me.”
Pauline again related what had occurred
at his house, condensing it considerably,
however, front her former account.
Charlie was furious.
“Did Florine treat Virgil Paine in such n
manner?” he exclaimed. “I will go right
home and give her a piece of my mind.'’
“You shall do nothing of the kind, Char
lie,” said Mr. Morriss, kindly, placing his
hand upon his nephew’s shoulder
“Haven’t you yet learned that scolding ac
complishes little or no good? - ’
“No, Charlie; don’t say anything harsh
to Florine,” said Pauline, frightened at his
angry countenance, and sorry she had said
anything about what had trauspired at his
house.
But the youth heeded neither of them.
Like an enraged tiger, eager to leap upon
his prey, he bounded out of the yard and
down the street, looking neither to the right
nor to the loft until he stood upon the
threshold of his home.
“Where is Florine, Lettie?" lie inquired of
his sister’s maid, whom he met in the hall.
“In her room, I think, sir," was the re
ply.
The boy mounted the stairs, leaping over
three steps at a time, aud, reaching the up
per hall, knocked loudly upon the door of
his sister’s room
“Who is that?" asked a sweet, girlish voice
within.
“It is I—that’s who it is!” was the gruff
reply, accompanied by a thundering knock
upon the door.
“I miggt have known it was you—you
cross, rude thing!” said Florine, answering
his ran. “What do you want?”
“When you have learned to treat people
courteously in your own house, my young
lady,” said the infuriated boy, “then you
may rebuke me for rudeness, but not until
then. Do you hear, miss?”
And with the e words, he walked up to
her and twisted her ear. The net naturally
incensed the girl, aud, turning her fiery
black eyes upon him, site exclaimed:
“I am glad—truly glad—that the time is
so near for us to part. I hope I shall never
see you again alter to-morrow night! You
mean, hateful torment!”
“Then, a moment later, as if half repent
ant for what she had said, she approached
her brother, and, looking half foiidlv in his
face, said:
“I wish you were nice and kind like other
boys. Charlie.”
“Like the brainless fools with whom yon
associate,” he said, sneeringly; “like the
boys who, mothe( says, are up to the times
when they have learned to puff a cigar,
intike a sweeping bow, twist a cane, and
dress after the latest Parisian or Yankee
style. When they have acquired these ac
complishments they think they ha ve reached
the perfection of manhood, while, in reality,
most of them are destitute of every quality
that makes the true gentleman. These are
the chaps you think nice and agreeable,oh?
I presume you think them very sweet from
the extravagant quantity of cologne they
use? You wish I were one of these boys, do
you? From all such, good Lord, deliver
me!”
“Aud from all such as the one tv ho came
here this morning to see you, g'Od Lord
deliver me,” said Florine. “Why, Charlie,
when Pauline and I asked him to favor us
with some music, he clayed and sang a
dreary old funeral hymn—the very hfinn
the choir sang as we were leaving the church
with papa’s corpse The idea of one as
young as he singing,‘l would not live al
way.’ Now, if lie were broken-ha_ked,
freckled-faced, red-headed toothless, or
tongue-tied. I might have some patience
with him; but that so handsome and aristo
cratic-looking a fellow as he should indulge
in such morbid sentiment is disgusting in
the extreme. Goodness, Charlie, he was
just awful! His presence was actual
Paine!"
“You thought so because your shallow
nature was incapable of appreciating the
society of such " a boy as Virgil Paine.
Florine, why did you behave so rudely to
ward my friend? ’ He is a young gentleman
by birth and breeding, and your conduct,
of course, offended him. What will he
think of you?”
“I don’t care what he thinks of me,” re
torted the girl, with a curl of her red lips.
“I dare say if I were to meet him on the
street half an hour hence and bestow upon
him one of my bewitchiug smiles, he would
be ready to fall in adoration at my feet.
Oh, there’s something irresistible in my
smiles, the boys assure me. That young
man is in love with me already, Charlie.
When Pauline asked him to play, he didn’t
stir from his seat, but when I asked him,
and threw him one of my irresistible smiles,
he rose immediately and complied with iny
request. Oh, I am a charmer, Charles
Bolling!”
“You are a self-conceited fool—that’s
what you are. The Bible says he who calls
his brother a fool is in danger of hell-fire,
and I presume be who calls his sister such is
in as much danger; but, Florine, you are a
fool—and nothing short of a fool!”
“Charlie Morriss! Charlie Morriss! Be
have yourself, sir!”
It was Mrs. Morriss who uttered these
last words. The loud, angry tones of her
childreu hail reached her ears, and she had
come upstairs to ascertain the cause of the
wrangle.
Florine rushed to her mother and threw
her arms around the lady’s neck.
“Mamma, Charlie won’t let me see a mo
ment’s jteace,” criod the girl, trying hard to
produce a shower of tears.
“Aren't vou ashamed of yourself, sir?”
demanded Mrs. Morriss, turning her flash
ing black eyes upon her sou. “Do you thins
Bunyan Morriss would call his sister a
fool!"
“I don’t know what Bunyan Morriss
would do if Florine were his sister. But I
know one thing; He never would have en
tered the ministry. She would have erus.ied
out from his soiil all religion feelings in
their infancy.”
“Do you mean to insinuate that Pauline
Morriss is superior, in any* respc -t, to my
daughter—my brilliant, beautiful daugh
ter!” and the speaker fondly stroked the
girl’s rich olive cheek as she asked the ques
tion.
“Pauline is superior to F!orino In every
respect—intellectually, morally and—”
"You dare not say Pauline is more beauti
ful than Florine,” said the weak-minded
mother, who pluced a far greater value
upon beauty and social position than she
did imon either intellect or nobility.
“Yes, mother, Pauline is more beautiful
than Florine—at least I think so,” said Char
lie, not in the least frighteued at the angry
gleam of the four black eyes bent upon him.
“You think so, eh?” demanded bis mother.
“That light-haired girl will have faded into
insignificance long before my daughter has
reached the full glory of womanhood.”
Nothing incen ed Charlie more than to
hear his cousin harshly spoken of by his
mother and his sister, who, jealous of the
influence Pauline had gained over him,
sought upon almost every occasion to
wound his feelings by some sarcastic allu
sion to the girl.
To him Pauline was all that was pure and
beautiful, and iu his boyish imagination he
always likened her to a seraph.
“Pauline’s physical beauty may possibly
fade earlier than Florine**,’’ replied tho
youth; “but Paulie herself can never fade
mto insignificance. Her pure, gentle spirit
will render her attractive and beautiful as
long as she lives, while Florine, when her
beauty is gone, will be only a hateful, un
loved, tyranuical old woman—a terror to
man, woman and child, and an unhappiness
to herself.”
“You think Pauline Morriss so grand
just because you are head over heels in love
with her!” cried Florine; “but she doesn’t
care a fig for you!"
“It’s none of your business, miss, whether
I love Paulino Morriss or not,” said Char
lie.
“Come, my love,” said Mrs. Morri3s; “let
us leave this most disagreeable boy to him
self. instead of trying to make everything
as pleasant as (smsihle the illtl • time in
tervening between now a,id lbe separation,
be endeavors to see how ill-tempered he
, can U>l”
“I cannot be angelic when I think how
little my poor father’s memory is revered
by his wife and daughter—when I think of
that coarse old beer-sucker becoming the
head of the household, over which my own
gentle father presided up to ten montus
ago.”
“I’ll assure you. Master Morris®, that my
betrothed, Mr. Woodbury, is a direct, de
scendant of Pocahontas and John Rolfe—
a genuine blue blood,” said Mrs. Morris®,
indignantly.
“And for all that, he is a ooarso-looking
old coon! Blue blood, is he? His facets
powerfully red for one who has blue blood
in his veins He would never pass for more
than a florid-face butcher or bar-tender.
Indeed, mother, 1 mistook him Saturday
for old Gus Schwartzheizer, our butcher.
Don't you think the two men hear a striking
resemblance to each other?”
"You young scamp! How dare you
sneak of Sir. Woodbury in such a manner?
How dare you ask me such a question? The
idea of my betrothed resembling a horrid,
low-born butcher! It. is well Mr. Wood
bury doesn’t l ow how you talk about
him! Poor, good-hearted man! To think
how bard helias tried to gaiu your love!
How often has he insisted upon your going
to Europe and finishing your education at
his expense at some celebrated university
in the Old World! For all this kindness
you have returned only rudeness and con
tempt. You ungrateful boy!”
“1 l>eg your purd.m, Mrs. Woodbury.”
said Charlie, with a sarcastic emphasis upon
tho name his mot her was soon to assume. “I
always treat your darling courteously, I
consider it a violation of good breeding to
treat one impolitely in my own house”—
glancing significantly at liis sister—“but 1
do decline to enjoy miv luxury at Mr.
Woodbury’s expense. My proud spirit re
volts at the idea of such a thing! Floriue
may do as she pleases; but I’ll assure you,
mother mine, that Floriue and I are differ
ent personages. lam a Morris®!”
And with a toss of his head, Mstcr
Charles strode out of tho room.
ITO BE CONTINUED. ]
LEMON ELIXIR.
A Pleasant Lemon Drink.
Fifty cents and one dollar per bottle. Sold
by druggists.
Prepared by H. Mozley, M. D., Atlanta,
Georgia.
For biliousness and constipation take
Lemon Elixir.
For indigestion and foul stomach take
Lemon Elixir.
For sick and nevous headaches, take
Lemoh Elixir.
For sleeplessness and nervousness take
Lemon Elixir.
For loss of appetite and debility take
Lemon Elixir.
For fevers chills and malaria take Lemon
Elixir, all of which diseases arise from a
torpid or diseased liver.
Lemon Hot Drops
Cure all Coughs, Colds, Hoarseness. Sore
Throat, Bronchitis and all Throat and Lung
diseases. Price 25c. Sold by druggists.
Prepared by 11. Mozley, Atlauta, Ga., in
both liquid and lozenge form.
clothing.
WE ARE PLEASED TO ANNOUNCE
THAT OUR
Fal! Stock
is now complete and we will be
pleased to show our friends and the
public the prevailing and correct
styies in
CLOTHING, FURNISHINGS & DATS
For tho season, z/hether they call to
supply themselves or onl) to see
"what is to be worn."
Respectfully,
1 FALK 4 SIS,
Men’s, Boys’ and Children’s Outfitters.
Our Fall and Winter Catalogue is
ready for distribution.
TOO FAT?
N’O GENTLEMAN is too pat, too stout, too
THIN. TOO TAI.L or TOO SHOUT to get a PER
FECT fit with us in
BUSINESS SUITS,
PRESS SUITS,
EVENING SUITS,
SMOKING JACKETS,
DRESS SHIRTS.
WOOLEN SHIRTS,
STYLISH HATS,
ELEGANT UNDERWEAR,
FINE HOSIERY.
SUPERB FURNISHINGS.
BALBRIGGAN UNDERWEAR.
The Jaeger System Sanitary Underwear.
Finest line of Satin-Lined, Highly-Finished
OVERCOATS
Ever seen in Savannah.
BOYS’ WEAR
In too abundant quantity and variety to describe.
Completest Stock, Most Correct Styles. Perfect
Fits.
161 (JONGRESS.
B, H. LEVY & BRO.
MEDICAL.
OTHER'S
M
FRIEND
MAKES
CHILD - BIRTH
EASY! :
Send for book “To Mothers,” mailed free.
Bradeield Reol-lator Cos. . Atlanta, Ga.
STEAM I,ACM)in.
~ wanted'
Lace Curtains,
Collars, Cuffs
and Shirts
TO DO UP LIKE NEW. y
SAVANNAH STEAM LAUNDRY,
131 Congress Street.
DJr All good* aru lusuiej against loss by firo.
DRY GOODS.
After the Fire!
The undersigned respectfully begs to announce
to his many friends and the public
at large that we will
RE-OPEN 01 BUSINESS
AT THE OLD STAND
153 Broughton Street.
--CN-
Wednesday, October sth.
WE PROPOSE TO SURPRISE THE PUBLIC IN SHOWING THEM
The Handsomest,
The Most Elegant,
The Newest,
The Most Stylish
GOODS EVER SHOWN IN SAVANNAH OR ELSEWHERE,
AND AT—-
PRICES SO LOW
As to enable every one almost to wear the
BEST GOODS IN THE MARKET
PLEASE REMEMBER
We Have No Old Stock to Work Olf.
Wo respectfully ask the public to pay us a visit, whether
they wish to purchase or not, and we will take pleasure in
proving to them that we have not exaggerated.
David Weisbein.
ECKSTEIN’S WEEKLY AD.
The Old Reliable Dry Goods House
OFFERS THIS WEEK:
High Novelties in Dress Goods.
ECKSTEIN’S.
High Novelties in Ladies’ Wraps.
ECKSTEIN’S.
High Novelties in Trimming Velvets.
ECKSTEIN’S.
High Novelties, of Every Character*
ECKSTEIN’S.
WILL SELL THESE EXCLUSIVE CHOICE STYLES AT EXTREME LOW PRICES.
THE BEST GOODS AT LOWEST POSSIBLE PRICE.
N. 8.-We Invite the attention of the Ladles In particular, and
our patrons In general, to our New Stock or Elegant Goods, and
to complete lines white Blankets, Comforters, Kid Gloves,
Hosiery, Knit Underwear. Flanneis. and Invite the trade In gen
eral to inspect our grand assortments before purchasing.
GUSTAVE ECKSTEIN & CO.
MILLINKRY.
KROU B IvO ITLf’B
Openiig of lie Fall Season 1881
However attractive and immense our previous season’s
stock in Millinery has been, this season we excel all our
previous selections. Every manufacturer and importer of
note in the markets of the world is represented in the array,
and display of Millinery goods. We are showing Hats in
the finest Hatter’s Plush, Beaver, Felt, Straw and Fancy
Combinations. Ribbons in Glacee, of all the novel shades.
Fancy Birds and Wings, Velvets and Plushes of our own im
portation, and we now offer you the advantages of our im
mense stock. We continue the retail sale on our first floor
at wholesale prices. We also continue to sell our Celebrated
XXX Ribbons at previous prices.
TO-DAY,
500 dozen Felt Hats, in all the new shapes and colors,
at 35 cents.
s. bumfs mm nun
JJUOUGHXON STIUSJST.
Ishorlenti Labor!
,LEBSKNS PaTEA
~ Diminishes
I Danger to Lite of
tAlot Uoi- anti Child.
5