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AT CHRYSTEMESBE-TYDE. From the Atlantic Monthly. To some Tbynges there be— Ay, three; A Neste from which ye Fledglings have been t&ken, A Lambe forsaken, A redde leaf from ye Wilde Rose rudely shaken. Of gladde Thynges there be more— Ay, four: * A Larke above re olde Neste blithely singing, A Wilde Rose clinging In safety to a Rock; a Shepberde bringing A Lambe, found, in his armes, and Chrystemesse Bells a-riuging. MORNING NEWS LIBRARY NO. !*B. BMANCEOTMCHMOm BY WALTER M. RICHMOND. Copyrighted , 1887, by J. H. Estill. CHAPTER XX.—Continued. As he passed out of the gate he met the party of youthful excursionists with whom Milton had left the city early that morn ing, and a happy crowd of children they were. There were about a dozen iu all—six boys and the same number of girls. Each lad carried a basket on his arm, and each lassie held a bunch of ferns in her hand. Milton and a raven-haired girl of about fifteen formed the last couple in tho group. All were chattering like black birds. As the gate closed behind Virgil, every girl exclaimed in concert; “Mr. Paine.” “You are a gentleman of your word, aren't you, sirexclaimed one of the girls. “I thought you were coming out ou the noon train and brighten the afternoon with your presence. Oh, Mr. Paine, I shall never have say use for you again. Girls, let us switch him with our ferns. But, pshaw! They are so withered, he would not feel the licks!” “finch punishment would be too light,” said the brunette miss at Milton's side. “We ought to tar and feather him.” “How can you expect a man so dead iu love to keep his promise with any one save the object of his adoration,” broke in an other girl—the largest of the party. This speech caused a general laugh throughout the crowd. A sad smile played about our hero’s lips as he replied: "It would have afforded me great pleas ure to have spent the afternoon with you, young ladies, but I was unexpectedly sum moned this morning to Powhatan court house.” “Then the packet must have left you,” said Milton. “Something happened to prevent my go ing there too;” and, fearing his brother might inquire into the nature of that “something,” he quickly asked; “How did you enjoy yourself, Milton 1” “Ohj we had a jolly time, didn't we, Kate?’’ said the boy. “Perhaps you did, as you indulged to your heart’s delight in stealing kisses,” said a foppishly-attired youth of 16, who, envious of the favors Milton had received from the girls, sought in this way to heap shame upon the boy; but the youthful disciple of Oscar did not succeed. “You needn’t get so mad, Tom Adkins, because you got so few kisses,” said our little friend, teasingly. “No, he needn’t,” echoed all the girls save the one at Tom’s side. At the second house on the next block Milton parted from Kate, and farther down the street he bade the rest of the party good night, a id, with his brother, turned toward Main street. As they entered the building in which t heir rooms were situated, they encountered Mr. Warde and Dr. Evans—Virgil’s second and surgeon in the prospective duel—stand ing arm in arm in the doorway of the former’s office. “Paine, you are the very person we want to see,” said Warde. “Step in my office, if you please. ” “We wish to see vour brother privately, Milton,” said Dr. Evans, patting tho boy upon the bead. “You had better run up to your room, my son.” Milton obeyed at once. Not for the world •would tho proud-spirited lad have gone where he was not wanted. When Warde bad closed the door of his office, he slapped Virgil on the shoulder and exclaimed: “Why, old fellow, you look as if you ■were goiug to be hanged! By Jingo! Don’t look so blue, Paine! Discard at once all Puritanical notions about dueling. Don’t let them for a moment triumph over your courage. Go upon the field of honor with the full determination of tearing that pup py to pieces with bullets, and, I’ll assure you, you will have the pleasure before this time to-morrow evening of having taken his worthless life for tho insulting language he used to you Cheer up, Paine, old boy!” “Virgil,” said Dr. Evans. “This affair has leaked out in some way. I presume Mrs. Woodbury’s tattling negroes have cir culated it. I advi-e you to leave with us at once. If we would avoid arrest, we must secrete ourselves until the express leaves tho city.” “No, gentlemen, Ido not intend to hide myself anywhere," said Virgil. “I am not a murderer yet. I have but little more than an hour and a half left, and that little time I must spend with my brother. I may l>e killed—and oh, gentlemen, would you deny one the pleasure of spending the short time remaining with him who has for twelve years beeu the sunshine of my life? lam going to uiy room now. Good even ing, gentlemen, for the present. I will join you iu time to catch the train.” Saying which, the speaker passed out of the room. As he ascended the stairs Mil ton’s clear, boyish voice floated to his ears, and the hymn the child sang was the “Sweet, By and By.” Virgil paused in the passage above and waited there until the last echo of the boy’s voice had died away. In all his life the young lawyer had never been more deeply moved. Teal's gushed forth from his eyes and flowed unrestrain edly down his cheeks. At length, master ing his emotion, he entered the room. Milton had divested himself of his jacket and shoes, and was rocking to and fro, in a <ane-seat chair, and creating a considerable breeze with a huge palm-leaf fan. Old Jerry sat hear watching the boy with a smile of inexpressible tenderness ou his black face. The table was set for tea; but, as the two brothers rarely ever took their meals alone, the supper wai as yet untouched. Virgil, on entering tho rohm, motioned Milton to sit down to tea, after which he seated h'.mself: . “And you say you enjoyed yourself to day,” said .he young lawyer, abstractedly, as he raised a goblet of iced-tea to his lips. “Oh, yes, I had a jolly time,” replied the boy. “But I uni mighty tired now, and as soon as I get through eating my supper I bid going right to bed. I want you to wake me at 5 o’clock in the morning. You know we are all going up on the mail. By the by, brot her, did you know Miss Kloriue and her mother were going to the White Sulphur on the same train with us? Miss I’aiUie told ,ine so lost night. Goodness, brother, how pale you turned when I uttered Miss Flo l ine’s name! You actually groaned. What 16 the matter ! Has she kicked you? I hope she has—no, I don’t hope so either, because I could not bear to hear anybody say that brother was kicked by any woman, much less by that woman. But I would like for you and her to fall out in some w ay. I wish to gracious you would kick her! Pshaw! I don’t want any more supper! I am so sleepy 1 can hardly keep my eyes open. I nm going right to bod. Good night, brother.” And the child went up to Virgil, threw bis arms around tho young lawyer’s neck and kissed him. The turning to the old ser vant the lad said: “Good uiglit, Uncle Jerry.” “Good night, honey. God bless you!” re turned the old negro, as his eyes lovingly followed the boy into the adjoning room. Five minutes later Virgil arose from the table and passed into his sleeping apart ment. The light from the moon fell upon his brother, who, in his night-robe, was kneeling beside the bed engaged in his nightly devotions. Virgil approahed the boy, and laying his hand on the latter’s head said: “Pray for brother, Milton.” The lad raised his eyes wonderingly to his brother’s face and replied; “I always do that, brother.” Then, bowing his head again, he resumed his prayers. The strange, troubled manuer of his brother puzzled him exceedingly, and for a time long time after he bad gone to bed he lay quietly watching Virgil, as the latter sat at the window with his cheek resting on his hand. At last, overcome with weariness, the child fell asleep. Uncle Jerry, having finished his supper, had gone to his sleeping quarters on the top most floor of the building more than half an hour ago. Although early in the night, the oppressive silence of the midnight hour reigned throughout the building and on the street. Deeply depressed, Virgil l>owed his head on the window sill and tried to pray; but no peace came in to his tortured soul. All, all was dark. God aud heaven seemed, oh, so far away! Presently he struck a i natch and look at his watch. It was ‘.:o0 o’clock. At 10 the dueling party were to leave ou the express. He approached the bed aud dropped down beside his sleeping brother. Passionately he kissed the child’s lips, cheek, brew and hair. Loviugly he wound his arm around the sleeper’s neck, aud pressing his cheek to the little fellow’s, murmured in low, broken accents: “Oh, Milton! Milton! My pure, lovely brother! You will never know how dearly your brother loved you? You came as an angel in our sad home, and oh, how dark would the latter years of my boyhood have been had it not been for your presence, and how you have cheered my manhood—been a ray of joy to me through all these years! Oh, God, if I should be killed, watch over my little brother! Let Thy presence, oh. Lord, follow him through all the years of his life, and at the hour of death receive him into Tby everlasting rest! If Thou hast withdrawn Thyself from me, oh, Lord, hear me, in the behalf of the one I love dearer than all else on earth.” At this moment steps were heard in the hall, and the voice of Warde whi pered through the key hole: “For God’s sake, come on, Paine. It is a quarter to 10 o’clock, aud if you don’t hur ry up we shall miss the train. We have barely time to reach the depot.” “I am ready, gentlemen,” answered our hero, and with a loving, lingering look at his sleeping brother, he joined his second and surgeon in the hall, locking the door as he passed out. CHAPTER XXI. Who can express the horrors of that night? — Branaon. Pauline watched Virgil as he hurried down the walk, and as the gate closed be hind him she moaned in the anguish of hex heart: “Shall I ever see him alive again? Shall I ever again hear his lips murmur little sis ter! Oh, if he should be killed! If lie thould be killed! The thought of his mar rying Florine was hard indeed to bear, but ra her would I see him her husband than to see him shot down in all the glory of his young aud noble manhood. How sad it would be to see that magnificent head—that splendid form—laid aw yin the dust! It would break my heart! It would cast over the rest, of my life a gloom which nothing could ever dispel.” Seized with a desire to be. alone that she might pour out her sorrow in the pitying ear of God, she silently entered the house and went up to her room, and there, in its seclusion, she prayed with all tho earne-t --ness of her soul that the duel might not take place For a full half an hour she bumbled herself before God in prayer. Then, somewhat calmed, she made a hasty toilet and descended to the sitting room. The housekeeper—a motherlv-raced, mid dle-aged lady —was the only occupant of the room. “Where are papa and mamma, Mrs. Win ston?” inquired Pauline. “They went out ridiug about an hour and a half ago, and have not returned,” replied the housekeeper. “I am expecting them back every minute. You have been to see Florine, haven't you?” “Yes, ma’am,” answered the young lady, indifferently. “I wonder what can keep papa and mamma out so late? Suppose the horse ran away, and some serious accident has befallen tnem. Oh, what a sad world this is!” And in a state of great agitation Pauline walked to a side window, aud for an hour stood gnzmg vacantly out in the moonlight. Then, as if awakening from a dream, she turned to Mrs. Winston and, clasping her hands together, cried piteously: “Mrs. Winston, something has happened to papa and mamma! I kDow it! I feel it!” The housekeeper, a remarkably calm woman, was herselt becoming alarmed at the delay of the tobacconist and his wife. She and Pauline went out on the porch, and there for more than twenty minutes anxi ously watched for the coming of the ab sent ones. At last the phaeton drew up be fore the gate, and Mrs. Morriss’ laugh floated to the ears of the watchers. Pauline ran down the steps, and meeting her mother about midway the walk threw her arms about the lady’s neck and burst into a hysterical fit of sobbing. “Ob, mamma! I thought something ter rible had happened to you aud papa! What kept you out so late? Where is papa?” “He has gone to the stable to carry Tom ahawk and the phaeton,” answered Mrs. Morriss. “I am sorry, my dear, you have suffered so oil our account. You are trem bling like a leaf, child. I never saw you nervous before! Wo went out about 6:80 for a short ride, and as we were parsing Mr. Carlton’s on our way home, he and his wife ran out to meet us and insisted that we should go in and take tea with them, and we accepted their invitation. We had a pleasant time. Here is a bunch of roses Charlie requested me to give you! He is a dear lit le fellow, isn't he!” “Yes ma’am. He is a very lovable child. He reminds me of Milton. I appreciate Charlie’s gift very highly.” Mrs. Morriss aiid her daughter repaired at once to the sitting room. Mrs. Winston, her tranquility of mind re stored by the return of the tobacconist aud his wife, went up to her chamber. In a few minutes Mr. Morriss joined his wife and daughter. “Papa!” exclaimed Pauline, as soon as the gentleman entered the room, “have you eard the terrible news?” “No, my dear. What has happened?” “Virgil is going to engage in a duel, and, oh, papa, I am so troubled about it that I feel as if I shall go mad!” Mr. Morriss looked at his daughter as if ho thought she was already deranged. That Virgil—thecalm, modest lawyer—the hum ble, devoted Christian—should think of par ticipating in a duel— seemed incredible to the tobacconist. Could it be true, or could his daughter’s mind have become suddenly impaired! “Papa, you look as if you don’t believe whnt I say ?’’ said the young lady. “Who is the other principal in the duel?” inquired Mi - . Morriss. “Marvin —Wallace Marvin.” “Marvin! Why, I never heard of such a man before!” and the gentleman looked fairly alarmed. Ho actually shuddered at the thought of his lovely daughter’s reason becoming de throned. His fears, howover, were relieved when Pauliuo had related what had occured. Ho aud his wife were as greatly agi:ated as their daughter. If Virgil -had been their own son, they could not have been more deeply distressed. “Poor, foolish boy!” muttered the gentle man, rising. "I must go at once and reason with him.'' “Yes, Phil, go,” said his wife. “I fear, papa, your visit will prove fruit THE MORNING NEWS: SUNDAY, DECEMBER 25, 1887. less,” said Pauline. “As soon ns I got an in timation of the affair I hurried to his office, and, failing to And him there, went to Holly wood, ami, oh, papa, I did plead so hard with him; but all my pleading failed to dis suade him from life purpose. ' But go, papa, and use your influence with him. Perhaps you might succeed where 1 failed.” “Before the young lady had finished speaking her father had reached the front door. Those of his friends who saw him that night on his way down town wondered greatly at the elasticity with which the corpulent tobacconist moved along the street. The dueling party could not have reached Broad street when Mr. Morriss paused, out of breath, at the door of V irgil’s chamber. The tobacconist rapped upon the door, but no one answered his knock. He then rapped upon the door of the adjoining room, nut with the same result. He returned to the door of the young lawyer’s sleeping apart ment and peered through the key hole. No light save that from the moon filled the room. He turned the knob. The door was locked. “Perhaps he retired early so as to rise be fore daybreak. 1 have a great mind to call him,” and, after a moment’s hesitation, he called our hero several times, but no sound save the echo of jiis owti voice came to bis eai-s. “He is gone! He is gonef,” cried the gen tleman, as he took a kandkrehief aud wiped the perspiration from his face/ “To avoid arrest he has probably hid himself some where until morning. But Milton is in the room, I suppose 1 Milton! Milton! Mil ton!” There came no reply. The tobacconist called uim again. This time he heard Milton, in a frightened voice, call out: “Oh, br tsher! Brother! Where are you? Some thief is trying to break in!’’ “Don’t be alarmed, my son,” said Mr. Morriss, kindly. “It is I—Mr. Morriss. Open the door.” Mr. Morriss?” “Yes, my son.” By the aid of the moonlight the boy found a match and lighted the gas. There were two keys to the doors. Virgil had carried one away with him, and the other lay ou the cabinet. With the latter key Milton unlocked the door and admitted tire tobacconist. “Where is your brother, Miltonl" said the gentleman. “I don’t know, sir,” replied the little fel low, as his eyes wandered, in a frighten ed manner, about the room. "When 1 went to seep he was sitting right there by the window. Where do you think he could have gone, Mr. Morriss? He acted mighty -trangeiy. He scarcely had anything to ray, and, oh, he did look so sad! When I was saying my prayers he came up to me, and, putting his hand on my head, said: ‘Pray for brother, Milton,’ as if I didn’t al ways pray for him." Mr. Morriss’ attention was drawn at this moment to a letter on the centre table, and on examining the supei scription, found it addressed to himself and wife iu Virgil’s hand. The young lawyer bad written it ill the afternoon, but in his excitement had neglected to drop the letter iu the post office. That it was his purpose it should reach Mr. Morriss and his wife through the mail was evident from the stamp on the en velope. The contents of the letter wore as follows: “Richmond, Va., Aug. I,lß—. “Mr. and Mrs. Morriss— My Dear Friends: When you receive this letter the duel in which Marvin and myself propose to engage will and übtless have been fought, and you will have learned the cause that led thereto. My conscience tells me my con duct in this matter is unbecoming a Chris tian. Do not censure me too harsuly, my dear friends, but think’of me as kindly as you can. “It is my wisb, should I fall by the bul let of my antagonist, that you would bring Milton up in your home. I would not ask such a thing of you if you did not love the child so dearly, and had not more than once assured me you would gladly rear and edu cate him if I should be taken from him in his childhood. “I want Milton to acquire a lucrative pro fession, and, when he has done so, he must not be a burden to you a day longer than he can help. “Thanking you and Pauline for the thou sand kindnesses you and she have shown Milton and myself during our residence in Richmond, I bid you and bar good-by—per haps forever. Affectionately vours, “Virgil Warwick Paine.” “May the Lord have mercy on him—poor boy!” exclaimed the tobacconist when he had finished reading the young lawyer’s let ter. “What has happened to brother, Mr. Mor riss!” inquired Milton, bis lips quivering. “Has he —is he —going to commit suicide! Oh. Mr. Morriss, tell me, please, what’s the matter!” The gentleman drew the boy to him and briefly told him what had happened, after which he read Virgil’s letter aloud. Milton liiil his face on Mr. Morriss’ breast and wept as his heart would break. “Oh, Mr. Morriss, do you think brother will be killed? Do you!” asked the boy, raising bis face to the tobacconist’s. “I hope licit, my son,” was the soothing reply. “We must look to God, and He will, I trust, bring it out all right. Don’t cry any longer. lam going home now’, and my lit tle boy must go with me. So make haste aud dross yourself.” In a few minutes the lad put on his clothes, aud, taking Mr. Morriss by the hand, accompanied that gen lernan home. Mrs. Morriss and Pauli e were still in the sitting room. Milton, on entering the room, rushed to the latter, and, burying his face on her shoulder, burst into another paroxysm of grief. “Oh, Miss Pauiie! Miss Paulie,”be cried. “I wish your cousin had stayed in Europe! I—l wish—l wish the ship that brought her home had —had —sunk! Yes, Ido wish so!” "Milton, my darling!” said Pauline, strok ing his hair. “I never beard such wicked words pass your lips before. You shock me, child. Such language is very unbecom ing a little lamb of tbe fold. You must net bate Miss Florine! She deserves our sincerest sympathy, and I am sure if you would see her now your heart would go out in tenderness toward her. This affair has completely crushed her.” Then, turn ing to her father, she continued: “And he would not listen to you!” "He was gone, my child,” replied Mr. Morriss. “Here is a letter he wrote to your mother and myself;” and he read the epistle again. “There remains but one thing for us to do,” he said, as he replaced the letter in the envelops. “We must trust in God. Let us now ask Him to be with our erring friend.” Immediately every head was bowed, aud in a voice l usky with emotion the tobac conist prayed, as his daughter had done, that something might occur to prevent the duel from taking place, and that their night of su'peuse and weeping might be followed by rejoicing in the morning. The prayer ended, the family started up staire, Mrs. Morriss and Milton loading the wav. ‘•'You are to sleep in my boy’s room to night, Milton,” said the lady, as they were ascending tne stops. “Nobody has occupied it since ho went away. It is one of the most dengUtful rooms in the house.” "An Ito sleep alone,” inquired the lad. “Whv, are you afraid!” “No, ma’am. 1 am not afraid of ghosts or anvthmg of that kind, but then 1 shall feci so lone om* by myself. You know,” he ad led. with quivering lips, “I buveu’t any brother to sleep with ino to night. Mr. Morriss'—turning pleadingly to that gen tleman—“won’t you sleep with me to-night! Piea-e, sir. Vvon’t your "If you want mo, twill, my boy," replied Mr, Morriss, as he wiped his eyes. Aud he did. pro be continued.j •"Drown' - Bronchial Troches' are excellent for the relief of Hoarseness or Sore Throat. They are exceedingly effective."— Christian World, London, Key. '• A Hair Brush for oc. at Weisbein’s. FOR GIRLS WHO SCRIBBLE CHATS WITH MRS. LAURA HOLLO WAY AND MRS. FRANK LESLIE. Bits of Advice For Would-Be Writers Don’t Deluge People With Manu script Because You Want a New Bonnet—Some of the Requisites for Success and a Few of the Difficulties In the Way. [Copyrighted 1887.] New York, Dec. 24. —Every tenth young woman, so one is tempted to believe at times, wishes to write, thinks she can write and asks some other womau, some success ful literary womau, how and what to write. There are few who receive more of these appeals than does Mrs. Laura C. Holloway. Asa journalist who, during her years of service on the editorial staff of the Brook lyn Eagle, gave a striking demonstration of the (Kissihilitios of a woman’s success in newspaper work, as a writer of many liooks, as a successful editor of successful maga zines, and above ail, as a woman who has thought much and done much for the devel opinent, the education and the pro gress of women, her advice and if so be, her encouragement are sought by literary aspirants—bright, ambitious girls and weary, disappointed women—by every mail. Mrs. Holloway is not a woman who likes to apiiear in the “personal mention” column and she has a natural aversion to the modern torture rack employed in the interview: but 1 asked her in the course of a half hour’s chat some few days since what answer she found it possible to return to women who are trying to be lieve that they have a future in literature. She told me that she had upward of 200 letters from strangers, accumulated within two or three montlis, all asking for criti cism, opinions, help toward making a living by the pen. “It is partly because of the new activity of Southern women,” shesaid, “andpartly, 1 suppose, because 1 am a Southerner my self, blit a large proportion of my letters come from the South. These letters are, for tho most |rt, earnest and strong ap peals for guidance, and in every instance, without exception, the desire is expressed of coming to New York and seeking em ployment on the best known magazines, weeklies or dailies. Invariably I answer, discouraging this plan and advising aspi rants to write for their home publications. Many send me manuscripts, aud such dainty ones, scented with Floriila water or lavenuer leaves, come to me someti mes that I return them at once, fearing the effect upon their owner’s nerves, in case the story or poem should be refused by some hard hearted publisher. One woman sent me three novels; another, a novel and a play, and a third mailed me thirty poems, mostly on birds and flowers. The labor of return ing such manuscript is great beside the tire some necessity of replying to many of the letters.” “And what counsel do yon give the would-be litterateurs?” "My advice is always to pel-severe until the writer is absolutely convinced that there is no market for her work; and the proof will be found in her ability or failure to sell what she writes. If I discover a specially good contributor I counsel the right publi cation to try, and sometimes I do what lies in my power to start a bright girl on her way. There are other difficulties though than those of producing good matter. I have iu mind a young woman in North Carolina who sent me a story and a play which I passed on to Mr. Daly and which Mr. Daly did not use. She wrote me that she saw no possible use in persevering in efforts, since she could not afford to write a single short story, even if she hail the cer tain prospect of its being accepted ami paid for, for the price for which people could buy a whole set of Dickens or Thackery. The lack of an international copyright and tbe cheap reproduction of English novels are tremendous obstacles to the success of native writers.” “But suppose your young aspirant re fuses to be daunted,” I questioned, “what is it possible to say to her then?” “There are more women writing to-day than ever before in tbe world's history, and for those who mean to lie workers and give their best veal's to the business there is a field. In this as in all careers success de pends upon tbe character and motives of the worker, anil I am sorry to say that the ma jority of the women who ask me to lend them a hand are wholly unprepared to meet the requirements of the calling. But disin clination to begin in the right way is their fault, and it is one not wholly confined to women. Young men—and weak ones of any age—are given to the idea that how ever much other people may have delved, they are to reach at one bound the reputa tion aud pecuniary success they desire. To all to whom I write at all I repeat tiie old truism that there is ample room at the top, ami there is much credit iu striving in that direction.” “Do you believe there is a future for women on tho newspapers!” “Certainly. Women are doing a bettor class ot newspaper work every day. A Washington editor told me no long time ago that women could do society gossip much better than men, but that it was ex tremely difficult to find a reliable woman who was willing to take that department. I said to him that I never heard more of a compliment paid to our sex. Women like to do solid work, aud it is work worth do ing that they are looking for. Tho anony mous character of newspaper writing is good for women. They need to learn to sink their js-rsonalitv. and say what is to be said on its own merits.” I took the same queries which I had put Mrs. Holloway to Mrs. Frauk Leslie, the nroprietor of the Leslie publications, in her Dark place den. Mrs. Leslie is a woman who gets out ten different publications, who has 4,(XX) manu scripts offered to her m the course of twelve months and who i ays about $125,000 for ac cepted matter in the same leuglh of time. She is a woman who employs 400 editors draftsmen, urtists and other workers and who does a busy day’s work li rsoif, su|>er iiitemiing everything, making all the more important decisions, keeping regular office hours from 0 until 4, and who, in spite of all these resfxnisibiiities, is a rare specimen of a thoroughly healthy woman, who can under pressure of labor, limit herself to four hours sleep at night, take a cold bath aud brisk gymnastic exercise in the morning and come down as smooth of skin, as bright of eye, as unruffled and as gently feminine as if slie hail nothing heavier to think of than a bit of lace to buy. Blie laughed when I asked her if she ever came in oontaet with people who want to write. ‘‘All the world wants to write,” she said. "Giris are praised for their compositions at school. They are told that they write good letters—aud probably they do, most girls tan. Mark the result. The first time they want some pin money, anew bonnet or a neck ribbon they think they have nothing to do but dash off a little something and cash a publisher’s check for it next day. They undergo a curious awakening while they are wuiting for that check to arrive.” “You speak as if it were slow in coming.” I said. “Tortoises are race horses to its speed. Of course a God-given talent will make itself felt. Now and then a genius is born into the world. The person who sends the quin tessence of clever stories to a publisher thereby confers a greater favor than the publisher does in accepting it. One is not more glad to sell than the other is to buy. But in general there is no staff more unreli able to lean on than literature. There is nothing else in which there is so much com petition. The market is overstocked. There don’t begin to be magazines enough to pub lish the good matter tuat is offered them, to say nothing of matter not so good that yet has promise iu it. and might be followed by better if any encouragement were given.” “You don't hold out any rosy vista of hope to the girl who wauts to writer “Indeed, no. Asa rule she haul much I better try something else. There was a young woman in whom I was interested some years ago. She had about an equal amount of talent, for writing and for draw ing. She inclined to the pen, but 1 dissuaded her strongly and she took to the pencil. She earns £?>o a week as an iilus'rator now and has two days in the week off at that. Engraving and illustrating are fields ’ess crowded and offering a letter chance to women than literature.” “Are there uny special disadvantages from which women suffer in their work?” “A regular worker in an office, yes. They are less systematic, depend more on inspira tion than men. Suppose there is a certain amount of copy that must tie turned out before 0 o'clock to-morrow morning; in stead of sitting down at an office desk and working steadily through office hours, fin ishing the matter up and going home to a good dinner and an evening’s recreation, as a man would, your woman must be in the mood for it, and perhaps her mood won’t com# on until night. Then she will begin ■md work until 1 o’clock in the morning. Her work will lv done on time, and I am not saying that it won’t be done as well as the man’s; it mar be better, often is, but it. is done on impulse, and plnys into the hands of her second disadvantage, delicate health.” “But are not women improving iu physi cal strength f” ’•Very possibly; indeed I think so. But American women do not compare favorably with European women in this respect yet. They have headaches and backaches, and all these things interfere with regularity, if not with etlicieuey. “Women make the arooptanee of their work a personal matter, too. They will send you a story with a letter, telling of six small children, one at the breast, as if that made any possible difference iu the merit or availability of then work. A publisher may be able to afford to accept, an occa sional manuscript and pay for it as a per sonal matter or for friendship’s sake, but it goes iuto a piget>n-hole and never comes out again, for the publisher an’t afford to print it and lower the standard of the magazine.” “If you don’t encourage women to try to write what are they to do then?” “It seems to me that there are more open ing and better openings for women every day. All that is wanted i- a resolution to do well whatever one does at all, if it is only the scrubbing of a floor. Iwo ladies came to me about work. I asked them wbv they did not —till they could do lietterat least—take places in a shop. They said there were no places to be had. I thought I would test that matter for my self, so I went into a big dry goods store and the superintendent lor employment. He told me that lie was overrun with appli cations. I said that I could speak live lan guages fluently and asked if that did not make a diflFcrence. It made a great deal of difference at once. He did not know who I was, but I could have work then and there, with several dollars per week added to my salary'for every language I could talk to customers in.” “Other women have not so many tongues at their command.” “Yes, but it is quite as apt to be the edu cated women, the cultured women, who have accomplishments that might be so turned to account who are in search of work. Girls who expect to work are brought up to know tiow to do something that will bring in money. It is woman who have not been so brought up who are prac tically helpless, because they are not ready to do the work that they can. There is always work to be had somehow and some where. You must supply something that the market calls for. Women who want to write are making places for themselves in newspaper work, for instance. Women reporters are the best interviewers going, and I am not sayiDg, you must not so understand nje, that there is no chance at all for anew writer to succeed. There have been too many recent successes for that. I remember the first lettei-s I received from Mrs. Burnett. She began to write at just alsiiit the time that I liocume an editor. I believe in women’s work. They do good work, but so long as there is no international copyright it is a bitter struggle for man or woman either. If it is a question of bread and but ter, one had better scrub floors or sivoep them and do it so energetically as to com mand something better in the end.” “And your word of advice to would-be story writers is?” “Don't write if you can help it. If you have a God-given talent that compels you, if you are over-mastered, write your best and an audience may read sometime.” Eliza Putnam Heaton. 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 I<emon Elixir. For indigestion and foul stomach take Lemon Elixir. For sick and nevous headaches, take Lemon Elixir. For sleeplessness and nervousness take Lemon Elixir. For loss of appetite and debility take Lemon Elixir. For fevers chills and malaria take I/cmon Elixir, ail of which diseases arise from a torpid or diseased liver. Lemon Hot Drops Cure all Coughs, Colds, Hoarseness. Bore Throat, Bronchitis and ail Throat and Lung diseases. Price 25c. Hold by druggists. Prepared by H. Mozley, Atlanta, Ga., in both liquid and lozenge form. NOT IN BED FOR SEVEN YEARS. Sweet Sleep and Perfect Health Re stored by the Use of Prickly Ash, Poke Root and Potassium. Lake City, Fla., June 24,1886. C. H. Newman, of Lake City, Fla., says his wife baa suffered for seven yearn with a complication of diseases, of which Asthma was the most prevalent. She has not laid down in bea for seven years. He has expended all the mouey his business lias made him in that time for medicine, physicians, etc., to obtain relief lor her, but wit hout any success whatever. He was advised by physi cians to try P. J\ P. He finally did so, exacting to derive no lienefit, but after taking less than two bottJes eruptions apl>ear**d all over aud she immeuiately began to improve, and now her skin w perfectly clear. She sleej* soundly every night on au ordinary pillow' aud her general health bus not lieeu better in years. Ml*. Newman, who Is a mer chant in lake City, is very enthusiastic over the cure, and thinks it the grandest blood purifier and tonic of the age. P. P. P. is a borne remedy: is no secret, but a regular physician's prescription, pre -1 wired in the most careful manner, and from materials that are always fresh end reliable. P. P. P. is the greatest Tonic in the market. For sale by al! medicine Dealers. Dr. Whitehead can be consulted daily at the office of the Company, Odd Fellows’ Hall Building, without chary*. Prescrip tions and examination free. All inquiries by mail will also receive bis personal at tention. _ Don’t buy that new pair Shoes until you have examined Joseph Rosenheim & Co.’s large stock. They can fit you in any style and price. HARDWARE : EDWARD LOVELL ¥ SONS, DEALERS IN Parkerand Colt’s Breech Loading Guns. j Bi’ass and Paper Shells. Hunting Coats, etc. j Chamberlin Loaded i Snells. DRY GOODS. We are too Busy to Say Much, But we will say Such Facts that will cause you to spend your Money with us provided Money is an ob ject to you. We have determined not to wait until after Christmas, when nobody wants W inter Goods, to make a closing out sale, but we will do it right now, while the public stands in need of sucli goods. W e positively have reduced prices on all of our Winter Goods fully one-third, and therefore offer such bargains as will do you all good. We will close out at these reductions. Our elegant stock of DRESS GOODS. Our magnificent stock of BLACK SILKS. Our excellent stock of COLORED SILKS. Our beautiful stock of Priestley’s MOURNING GOODS. Our immense stock of English tailor-made Walking Jackets, Our Plush Jackets and Wraps, Our Newmarkets, Russian Circulars, and our large stock of MISSES’ and CHIL DREN’S GARMENTS. The same reductions—one-third off —we offer in Blank ets, Shawls, Flannels, Ladies’ and Gent’s Underwear, Hosiery of all kinds, Comfortables, Housekeeping Goods, Gold-Headed Umbrellas, Silk and Linen Handkerchiefs, etc. NOW IS YOUR TIME FOR REAL BARGAINS. GOODS FOR CHRISTMAS PRESENTS AT OUR BAZAR. Tie (West lost Eiteisifo, Tie lost Eleeant, AS WELL AS THE CHEAPEST To be found anywhere in the city, We can’t enumerate the articles because the variety is too large. Do not fail to examine our stock; we simply offer you such a line as can only bo found in a first-class house in New York. Special Bargains This "Week: A 25-cent full regular GENT’S HALF HOSE for .... 10c. A 25-cent full regular LADIES’ HOSE lor ...... 10c. A 25-cent DAMASK TOWEL for 100. A 25-cent CHILDREN’S UNDERSHIRT for 100. A 25-oent GENT’S UNDERSHIRT for 10r. A 25-cent NECK SHAWL for 10c. A 25-cent HAIR BRUSH for sc. A 25-cent RED TWILL FLANNEL for lfic. A PURE LINEN DAMASK NAPKIN for 6c. A 5-cent PAPER NEEDLES for Ic. A 5-cent PAPER PINS for lc. A 50-cent JERSEY for .......... 35c. DAVID WEISBEIN, MILLINERY To the Public. Pffcta for Spring ail Simer U. The unprecedchted trade in our Millinery Business dur ing 1887 is owing to the constantly adding of Novelties and the immense increase of our stock, wtiich is doubtless the Largest of Any Retail Millinery in America, exclusive of New York, and our three large floors cannot hold them. Already our importations, Direct from Europe, are ar riving, and on Our Third Floor we arc opening Novelties for Spring and Summer in Ribbons, French Flowers and Feathers in the Most Beautiful and Novel Shades. We are sorry to be compelled, for want of room, to close our Winter Season so soon, which has been so very successful, and from to-day all our Felt Hats, Fancy Feathers and Trimmed Hats will be sold at any price. Our Ribbon Sale will continue until farther notice. S. KTtOTJSKOTTIT MAMMOTH MILLINERY HOUSE. WATCHEM AND JEWELRY. WATCHES, DIAMONDS, III®, FAIfM THEUS BROS., Successors to S. P. Hamilton. WE have added to our stock during the past week many NOVELTIES IN JEWELRY which tt is impossible to enumerate in advertisement. Our line of LACK PINS IN FLOWERS, rivalling nature in shape and texture, aa well aa BROOCHES and other atylea, are the very lateat conceits In the Jeweler’s Art. GOLD CIGARETTE HOLDERS, SOUD SILVER HANDLE STEEL BLADED KNIVES, GARTER CLASPS IN SILVER, LADIES’ COLLAR BUTTONS, SILVER HANDLE UMBRELLAS. A moat, beautiful line of FANCY RINGS IN DIAMOND AND RUBY, DIAMOND AND SAP PHIRE, DIAMOND AND EMERALD. Certainly the moatjelegaut lot of COLORED STONEB ever seen in Savannah. > Special effort will be made by Us this week toward supplying our Friends’ wants in our Line, BASII DOORS, BLINDS, ETC. Vale lliiviil Miiliklii. President. SAVANNAH, jG-A. Soct y and Traaa LTJ MBER. CYPRESS, OAK, POPLAR, YELLOW PINE, ASH, WALNUT. MANUFACTURERS of BASH. DOORS, BLINDS, MOULDINGS ol allkmds and description! CASINGS aud TRIMMINGS for all cLasses of dwellings, PEWS and FEW ENDS of our own design and manufacture, To KN'KD aud SCROLL BALUSTERS, ASH HANDLES for Cotton Hooks, CEILING, FLOORING, WAINSCOTTING, SHINGLES. Warehouse and Up-Town Office: West Broad and Broughton Sts. Factary and Mills; Adjoining Ocean Steamship Co.’s Wharves 5