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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