The morning news. (Savannah, Ga.) 1887-1900, January 10, 1892, Image 11

The morning news., January 10, 1892, Page 11, Image 11

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Newspaper Page TextOSS EDITjMNPST Prom the Argosy. Sensible motive for setting the . object on foot was to make up the t *-‘ r ;Wi arv to build new schools for Up !j '"parish church, the church scholars ‘ * tbe unpleasant predicament of pur. studies in such a crazy old place each day to tumble down ‘he young students as they gath itbe fruit of tbe tree of knowledge. t was the ostensible reason for hold- Instead bazar and faucv fair. ' traitors in tue Ups toad camp whin that‘there was another reason—even Oiner o;ie—in getting up a bazar, viz., 'ret e young lad.es of Lpstead an op- Wl ‘ 1 „,rv tor displaying ravishing toilets unlimited flirtation, id of a surety, the zeal which the Up t fsrr ones shown in pr motingthe r ia working articles for it, in buying 'ea f r it, ia making numberless jour *rtc ‘ Burlington, the nearest large town. missions connected witn it, in meeting ®. tuaiiv at one another’s houses and dis- Pr' , it s9 their needles flew; that zeal, I c3 *wL "roster than one would have ex suoh giddy young things to manifest tt>ecause at education and with the hlet of "elevating the masses.” C °"rhese poor dear school chldren!” cried rmie Middleton of the Grange. “Of '‘"they must have anew school room, nh what fun the bazar will be! What a rjj, j rp9 . l shall have for it 1 I quite love ; ' 'children for wanting a school room!” 1 Tne weather was lovely summer. The Jar was to be held in the large grounds of Psteadro rory. The three Misses Simp the rector’s daughters, naturally occu is prominent place among the pro- JIL, And for visitors to the bazar? O, L jjrstead ladies had no fear that there wuuM be soy lack oI vi sitorß. It was to be .;4ay affair (an improvement in that re ‘ tupon most of its kind); and, though instead was but a small place, was not Bwbogton three miles off? And was not Burlington a garrison town* Were _ lt those dashing fellows, the Royal Ms Carbineers, quartered there? And might they not be seen any Borning of the week marching through IS streets with their bagpipes play ... on their wav to drill outside the town, id mar hing back to barracks at midday? tid were no’ the young ladies of Burling ion constantly exercised in their minds wither to admire the elegant aud gallant t3cers of the Carbineers most as they unrobed through the streets with their men in the mornings, in ’all the fascinations of miluary braiding and shouldered weapons; or as, later in the day, they lounged in the Bine streets in mufti, with their high now-white collars, perfectly - fitting clothes, killing hats and heart breaking little canes? Burlington had promised to support the Upsteai bazar-that is to say, the most important part of Burlington, the Royal Scots Car bineers, bad promised. “O, they would certainly come. Most happy to do any thing to help.” The young ladies of Up stead went on working for the hazar, and talking of it, and buying for it, and at last the time for opening it drew near. And, lo: they could think of no one to perform tbe ceremony. “We must have a personage to open It,” said tbe young ladies. “A titled personage, if possible. It will boa failure if not properly opened 1” But every one of importance for miles round happened to be away; failure seemed inevitable, and all the fair promoters went into mourning. But suddenly their mourning was turned to the liveliest joy. For tbe Earl of Peters court arrived on a visit to his place near Up land. lpstead knew him not, for it was hli first visit to Petersoourt since hisaores aio i, some months before, to the title—but it knew of him. 1 Asa ma ter of fact he was young, single, neb, a peer; as a matter of faith he was handsome, charming, delightful, talented, tbe glass of fashion and the mold of form. He arrived at Peierscourt, near Upstead. A daring spirit on the bazar committee sug gested: “Ask him to open it.” He was asked, humbly and respectfully. In a com mittee letter m winch the object of the ba zar and the perilous position of the parish school ch.ldrei was dwelt on. He con sented, In a polite note, to their request, and tbe committee fell into raptures. It ff as the day before the grand bazar ana fancy fair to be held in the grounds of lpstead rectory. At about 5 o’clock in the afternoon Miss Eahh Brunton, one of the leading spirts of Lpstead and among the most zealous of the barar pr motors, was in the drawing room , nazlewood villa. Mrs. Brunton, au elderly widow, and of late years a confirmed invalid lay on her sofa near one of the win doits. lieatric-e Brunton, 9 or 10 years older than Edith, sat working at the other win dow. Ihiswnsthe whole family—consid ered very nice people in Upstead, where lived a year and more. The disparity in years between Beatrice at a Edith was accounted for bv Mrs. Brun tonhaving lost three children, who had Mtn between them, in infancy. Her bus oaM tad held a high military command in ituia, and the f ital climate bad withered wife three baby lives. ilell, mamma and Beatrice, so you J“l lj thmk 1 shall do? You think I shall to: a useful ami attractive stall-holder! r: 1 much matter, though whether 10 ?, r not —for the mirror tells fa [ n ?- And Edith Brunton twirled ln.v ar> )? drop P° J a low courtsoy to her reflection in the glass. "That’s the - - or a fancy fair: you may put on any- not look con ■P= aoue or out of place.” d ! n 'ii s ‘ e ' Toro Wlls an exquisite In irtiiMn S Igh - t^ Ilt * B,ft aH Kuaze, made fcr'.!., l' y ; " I,h aBac quo back; and with fl ’ ltasCl ' plumed hat, she cer “s 8 wonderful picture. Lyndon says he knows he shall talked-••K 1 *? , monßy at m 7 stall,” she sin! ■ ' , but le peedn’t be frightened; I Ilim v, Ve^ y little of toy sweetness on bizhsf a bla brother officers; there’ll he tutor-game to bring down. ” hnquidiv “uv e * cla >med Mrs. Brunton, with v,m's ,■ ou lo t Your spirits run away u y darling. What do you mean ?" lataT v a ' you k now well enough what I the bn* ou know Lord Petergcourt opens th B c ,„ ar i, tnink It not improbable that attra-ii„,‘, 4n , UlKi er my care may prove 6 to ms lordship.” 00-ber 5„ no l nsenss you talk, child,” said her ° Y„l°° kln 2 admiring at her. rnarn-na D v" y ? u doa ’ 6 really think so, toy 1.,.,.,,* °u know you quite an prove of c SD tiv^, r ? Sls i ered a sot olllo vow to make Peterscourt. As I said r,* i,'Julia Croker, it is my turn oop tl^r iCe ., t , lB<l her turn—a muoh jol- Igo in .L fail to m y share—years ># 'erici B, .wh e u papa was alive and we fitojtto'Portant. Beatrice had the r.ed , ut s ttu *n, ami might have car thild in i-„'„f nr S e , P brilliantly; I was a small tty‘u-1 1, Bn d In those days, but I wish mlii ~ aJ '-'■'’uie then—or that those davs 1 thi, ‘k it’s very hard itd n „„ 1 „ ri1 1 , o-uno when papa had died & had turned immovable.” *ith Juij,’ r . Bt , r you did not discuss me W.rjr.,. l„V r ”ker or any one else.” said ‘"nisomJ v Kentl ° dignity, looking up “Oh , unhroidery she was Ilnishing. Jou,l'm, p me ! I have no wish to disouss "av)?,'■ You’re quite sufficiently in tad f ( ; r . * 8 - I often think it’s a little 6, * r <r> , , luivo t 0 about with a t hl , u ph older than she is. It makes V-t - y 18 1,19 oldor than I am. Just Btatripl’? *j® :is —quito an old maid!” Vht-: Sairlßothl “e- bihe rose, stopped **v |-, f ?J’P ,n Brooch w indow, and went “Tb-rp , garden with her work. * ai ' y * n a tom per, I sup mats’ niy darling,” remarked the b-i ; E ' T ’ ‘ that von tease Beatrice a 'Of abo “t her age.” Ni’q u.fJT’.f am always in the wrong! I r'-aui too chances she’s had. When l#ll kUirln„ aDy . opportunities years ago in * > as tune, she might haveestab lished herself splendidly and been a help to me now. Instead of wmeh she’s only a hindrance to my prospects—an old maid sis ter ! And ail because she chose to set her heart on a poor lieutenant in the La crs who presumed So fall in lovo with Gen.' Brunton s daughter. Was Archie Milroy so very handsome, mammal” asked Miss Edith pres-utiy, tapping on the window pane with the tips of her fingers, and look into the garden. “I believe he was considered so—but there, don’t speak to me of that wretched a " air, child. I m not strong enough to bear mortifying reminiscences. 1 o ily wish that foolish girl had never seen him.” Mrs. Brunton sniffed at her vinaigrette. "Well, mamma. I'm going to make up to you for Beattie’s foolishness a id obstinacy. You shall have one daughter a credit to you. If Lord Peterscourt is like “be gener ality of his sex he snail not leave the fancy fair heart whole to-morrow evening.” She was certainly a beautiful creature. The exquisite material and artistic shape of her gown set off her graceful figure to the utmost; the great hat, with its smoke-like floating feathers, scorned to highten every charm of the fair face, with its large brown eyes, and its framing cf rich, curling, golden-brown hair. “Aud now I mu3t run and takeoff my finery, or it won’t look fresh to-morrow!” And sne disappeared from the room. After what we have just heard. It is scarcely necessary to premise that Edith Brunton was seltiab, vain and ill~nntured. She was, in truth, one ot those who, not content with possessing one of nature’s choicest gifts, must needs to try to aggra vate the uuhappv lot of is h of her sex os did not ptossess them. Out in the full sun shine herself, she was not satisfied unless she had increased the discomfort of these who sat in the gloomy, chilly shade. Her own sex in general dreaded her. With her great beauty of face and form, her clever ness, her capacity for saying the crueleat and most cutting things, her overweening and aggressive vanity, she was one before whom most young women struck their oolors; and, though hating her, they must do it silently, for hatred of a beauty is bad form, and always gets set down to jealousy. What a contrast was Beatrice Brunton to her sister! Tall, stately, dark-haired Beat rice, with her ha idsome pale face and deep blue eyes. Even in the first flush of her youth, admired and courted, she had been so kind and gentle—had never cared to tri umph meanly over her plainer friends. "Not so clever as Edith,” had long been the verdict on her, and she had accepted it quietly aud meekly. Nos that Beatrice Brnuton was wanting in spirit. Years ago her father and mother had had two strong pr ofs to the contrary. Those were the days when Beatrice was surrou ded by ad mirers. Gay times, those. Beatrice, a blooming beauty in her teens—Edith, a lit tle child in Eugland with her aunts—times in which fair Beattie never dreamed of later days In which an upstart sister, grown to womanhood herself, should gibe and goad at her as an “old maid.” And out of all her crowd of admirers Ar chie Milroy, a young lieutenant iu the Lan cers, had won her heart. Archie, who, though weli-connected, had nothing in the world but his good looks, his manly, faith ful heart, and his slender pay, had dared to fall in love with Gen. Brunton’s beautiful daughter. He was sent to the right-about by the general—au ambitious, worldly man —in such a fashion that he whs not likely to renow the attack. Only two more of those countless loving hearts that have been torn apart by nmnm< n. But though they could drive poor Beatrice’s chosen lover away, they could not force her to take one to tbelr liking. In spite of their anger and their reproaohes she persisted in refusing the most advantageous offers. When Gen. Bruuton’s health failed, and the family came to England, Beatrice felt that her last hope of seeing Archie again was gone. The general had a six months’ leave—but he took a much longer one for. he died in E lgland. And the fami ly’s palmiest days died with him—a fact much fretted over afterward by Miss Edith as most unfair to herself. Mrs. Brunton had a fairly good property of tier own, and the general had some small private means; they were still very comfortably off. Mrs. Brunton, always a delicate woman, had been quite au invalid for the past fow years. She required much nursing and assiduous attention, a id this all fell to Beatrice. “Beatrice is fitted for that sort ofatbing,” said Edith, or, if she did not say it in so many words, thought it and acted it. "She doesn’t feel it as 3he would if she wore ten years younger. As she hasn’t married, she must expect to have all tnat sort of thing to do. I have my career to make—it’s not likely I’m going to lose my oomplexion and spoil my nerves waiting on an invalid —of course mamma wouldn’t wish it. No— Beattie had her turn years a£o in India— i:’s my turn now, a poor one enough com pared with hers—but snob as it is I must make the very most of.it.” And so she went out and about, accepted this invitation and that, stayed with friends as often as they would have her, and left tall, stately, gentle Beatrice to do all the home duties and to attend upon the mother, whose thoughts were always with her darl ing Edi! h. Beatrice wan good and uncomplaining, and bore ihe burden of a life that must have been unhappy, very bravely. But there were times when har heart failed a little, and the night before the grad b izar and fancy fair was one of these. Edith had beon particularly trying to her all day, particularly rude and insulting; and the vain, bold speeches about the expected con quest of this much talked of Lord i'eters court at to-morrow’s bazar had been al most intolerable to bear in silence. “If she were married and away—if only ohe were married and away!” thought Be atrice, as she sat at her window that night and looked out into the summer darkness. “I am afraid it is wrong to feel so to a sis ter; but I seem sometimes as if I could not stand it much longer.” 9he sat musing at the window for some time—then rose and went toa small writing case on a table, unlocked it, and from a private drawer drew a slip of paper which she gazed ou long and s.idlv. How well she remembered the finding of a bouquet of that little slip of paper—the only memento she possessed of her time of her love and happiness—and the fluttering of heart it caused her. There had been a little coolness between the as-yet-uncoufeased lover—a dance too many given to a rival, or some suoh trifle, its foundation—and when the flowers came she searched among them for a message, and her heart leaped as she dis covered the note. ...... •‘Will you bring these flowers to the ball to-night? I shall know then that lam for given ” Suroly that time is not gone. She is still at the ball—the crash and wail of the brass music in her ears, the me lsureu tread of the waltzers, and the rustle and sweep of the dresses—and she is flying round with the crowd her 19-year-old heart throbbing with life and joy, her hand on some ones shoulder, and some one’s dear voice whis pering- “How can I thank you for bring ing my flowers aud ending my misery by f °No, V no* that night is gone,lndeed; buried beneath many a bard, lonely road. The iovful girl-heart has loug been a sorrowful one- the brightness of the girl beauty is dimmed; and it is a pale, sad Beatrice that bends over that well-worn slip of paper and cries as she presses her lips to it: Archie! Archie I They wore cruel to part us. w e might have been so happy!” The bazar was in full swing. The grounds of Upetead rectory were largo and pretty. The principal stalls-lightlv rigged up canvas affairs— were in a long row, others were dotted about separately. Here were theXee Miss Simpsons alttho-refresh meat stall, driving a better trado than Miss Fd:h Brunton predicted they would do. it rr-ftc Miss Flossie Middleton frun the SSA Pr^ DS t rtrs. b y the mass of the visitor wife, at her staU of toys assUted by her mE MORNING NEWS: SUNDAY, JANUARY 10, 1892-TWELVE PAGES. two little girls. Here were many other stalls full of articles that no one ever could D"‘sibly require. Here, last but not least, was the little cigar divan, whose chief pre siding goddess was Edith Brunton; and here was Edith in the midst of uer enjoy ment and her triumph. All day the divan had been thronged w ith customers, ana sne had chatted aud laughed with them to her own a: and their hearts’ content. But now— nnw. she had oars and eyes for none sav ■ one. Now might the gay youths who stood round her counter draw off in despair. A go d-looking young man. dressei quietly but stylishly, had just our chased front her the daintiest of cigarette cases, embroidered with iorgot-me-note by her own hand and filled with the choicest of “kbedives.” He had given her a£s note in payment and doc.ined any change; and she, in a flutter of joy and triumph over her last and longe i-for co..quest, was soy .ng in soft tones, with the dark eyelashes showing off to full advantage: "If you pay so hand somely, Lord Peterscourt, you must let me work your m tnogram or init.als or some thing on it. I would trv to do it very nicely.” I he day wore on and the goods went off. In the alack intervals of business fair stall holders tied over to each other and compared their “takings.” Dear Flossie rail over to dear Edith to ask what tho latter’s receipts amounted to, and it turning oiit that dear Edith's takings amounted to a good many pounds more than dearest Flossie’s, dearest Flossie was profuse in her loving congratu lations; went back to her stall in bitter ire, and was rude to old I)r. Simpson when he the price of a small, cheap plant in a pot. The day wore on and the goods went off. The three Miss Simpsons get rather tired— were a little short with their hungry cus tomers—and were downright hard on the two curates who were helping them, and who had almost paralyzed their right arms catting a great deal more bread-and-butter than was wanted. And as the dav wore on and the goods went off a feeling became rife iu the bosoms of several fair shop keepers that Edith Brunton was an odious giri ;that she had set her odious trap to catch tnat sweat, delightful, handsome Earl of Peterscourt! aud, oh, crowning guilt and shame—that she had succeeded! In which latter opiuion. Miss Edith, wirh a bright, hard, triumphaut glance round at them all, and a smile that it maddened them to 6ee and to have to return, fully coincided. “No, Beatrice. It is no use asking me to go to bed. I must s;t up till dear Edith’s return. I want to hear all about the bazar and how the dear child enjoyed herself.” Thus had Mrs. Brunton answered ell her elder daughter’s entreaties that she would retire, aud thus she continued to answer, though her bedtime was long past. From time to time she fell asleep on her sofa, and each time, on waking, she was evosser—not with theabsent. Edith, the cause of her fa tigue, but with the go si, gentle Beatrice, who hud been her companion all day, as usual, and for whom a visit to the gay scene in the rectory grounds had not been dreamed of. At last Edith was heard outside saying good-nieht to a party of neighbors, and in another moment stie had floated, all smiles aud flushes and excitement, into the draw ing room. "What! You two still up? Goodness gra cious, Beattie! why didn’t mamma go to bed at her usual hour !” "I wanted to see you, darling, on your re turn,’ said the mother, all hercrossnesj and sleepiness vanished. “Tell me all about it. Edith.” Edith tossed off her great plumed hat, and fluttered up and down in fro t of the mirror, reviewing her charming solf and her lovely dress. “And now for your congratulation,” she cried, turning to her inotner and sister. “All hug gone off brilliantlv. I’ve taken aim =st double what any of the other stall holders have. They’re all jealous, and they hate me so, tile dear things! And I’ve had the most glorious day that ever was.” “And—the earl—was there?” questioned Mrs. Brunton. Her daughter laughed gayly. “Yea, in deed! And I shouldn’t have said I had had a glorious day if I hadn’t taken him cantivo, bound hand and foot, helpless, and at my mercy.” “Edith!” remonstrated the admiring mother. Beatrice went on reading, and did not seem much interested in the account of tbe day’s triumph. “Mother, it’s all true! I’ve succeeded be yond my hopes. I’ve sent an arrow straight into his lordship’s heart. He came—he saw —but I conquered.” She sat down by her mother’s sofa. Her mood was the gayest, and. for once, she seemed inclined to leave Beatrice in peace. “I don’t wonder he admired you, obild,” stid the at the brilliant cheeks and ev es of her lovely daughter. “It’s something more than admiration,” said the young lady, uoddi g wisely. "[ can see that Lord Peterscourt is not a flirt, like Frank Lyndon or Caps. Hansard, and when ho seems as muoh interested in a girl as lie was in me from the moment he was introduced, something is pretty sure to come of it. Mamma, we were quite like old friends before we parted. That stupid Lady Adamson had made him promise to dine with them, and oarried him off al most bv force—l know he hated going! But, as I said, we were like old friends. I found myself telling him all about my affairs—that I had an invalid mother and a sister a great many years older than myself, and how long wo had lived at Upstead and all about us—and there was he listening and loaning on my counter, and all the girls mad with jeal ousy. When I asked him how long he meant to stay at Peterscourt he said, in a dreamy voice: “I only came for a few days, but I shall stay longer than that now.’ And, O, mamma, he's ooming to call to morrow.” “To-morrow! So soon!” exolalmed the mother. “Yes. He’ll come of course, just about the time for afternoon tea. My programme is this: You, mamma, on your sofa (he knows you are an invalid) in your best dress and cap—the pink-aud-gold tea set on the gypsy table—Beattie in lavendar cash mere pouring out tbe tea —me in one of ray white muslin tea gowns, with the blue let in under the lace Insertion, seated grace fully on that sofa by the window, with a dainty piece of work or a book. That is what he is to see when he is shown in. He will bring his tea and sic by me on the sofa, and we shall keep up the conversation chiefly. You and Beattie can join in from time to time just to support me, you know. And before he goes, mamma, you’ll find an opportunity to invite him at an early date. Beattie, you jealous thing, don’t pretend you’re absorbed in that book; why don’t you lo : k up and take some inter est in the day’s triumph? Though you’re past all this yourself you might have some sympathy, 1 should have thought, with my affairs.” “I hardly think you go the right way to win any one’s sympathy, Edith, since you ask me for mine,” replied Beatrice. "Well, I’ll not bo so stupid as to ask you for yours again. What young girl can ex pect sympathy from a cross, disappointed old maid ?” Beatrice looked at her quietly. ‘ ‘The un failing gibe, Edith. Supposed to be tho bit terest there is, no doubt, and therefore always ohosen. Tuinking my lot a particu larly hard and hopeless one, you do all in your power to make it more so. Well, it is the way of the world.” And Beatrice left tne room. At about 10 o’clock the following morning Beatrice Brunton, with gardening gloves on aud a largo apron over her white morn ing gown, was in the little green house that opened from the landing above tbe drawing room flight of stairs at Hazelwood villa. The ferns in the green house worn her care and pride. As she snipped aud clipped and watered the occupation aid movement brought a color to her beautiful cheek and a luster to her deep-blue eye; her dark curl ing hair strayed upon her forehead, and was plaited behind. Never, perhaps, had she looked fairer, even in the flush of her first youth. A ring came at tbe hell while she was thus busy; but not heediog it she went on with her work, and was unaware that any visitor had t*n admit ed below. A servant entered tbe greenhouse with tbe announce ment: “Lord Pettersoour t. ’’ “Lord I’eters conrt!” she exclaimed, and threw down her gardening implements iu astonishment. “Lord Peterscourt at this hour cf the morn ing! How very strange! Where is Miss Edith I” “In bed and asleep, miss,” answered the mail Beatrice ent to her sister's room and entered it. Edith lay smiling in her sleep, dreaming, perhaps of the triumphs of the day before. But when roused and told of the visitor, she became suddenly as wide awake as if her eye* bad not been closed for hours. "Called at this hour of tho day! What does ne mean by it ? Wbat shall 1 do? if only I were all ready and dressed!" She pr needed rapidly with her toilet. “But to think of his oeing kept waiting! Beatrice, help me at this pinch if you have any sisterly feeling. I know I’ve been nasty to you at times, but forget it ail, like a good Christian, and stand by me now. You must go down, introduce yourself to him, and play tbe benevolent elder sister till I come. Talk to him, you know, in your staid, elderly ay. You’ve quite a color this inorniug," she added, glancing rather grudgingly at the tinge in Beatrice’s cheek. “I’ve beon gardening,” said the latter. “I suppose 1 have no business with acolor,” and sne laughed a little. “ Nonsense, Beattie 1 Don’t be alisurd.” “Well, if I mußt go down, I hope you’ll ceme soon.” “As soon as ever I can. Thank you, Beattie. By the way, you might leave me that rose iu your dress; it would just finish me off. and 1 Uavn’t time to get one for my self.” Beatrice smiled as she removed the red rose she wore from the body of her white dress, took off her gardening apron and went downstairs. She paused slowly across the hall, entered the drawing room, closing the door behind her. The sun-blinds were down bef ore the windows, tbe room was shady. Tho sum mer breeze came in and shock the curtains Lord Peterscourt was standing by the table, his back toward her, Lending over a photograph album. He bad not heard her approach. Beatrice advanced. "My mother wishes me to ” Lord Peterscourt started—stood erect— turned his face to her. “Archie! Is it—O, is it really Archie?” But before she had finished asking the wild question, two arms were clasping her close, an t then a voice, long unheard, whispered: “Yes, dear and only love! It is Arohie, who has found you at last, and is never going to be sent away from you again.” When their' agitation and her wonder were a little subsided she heard his story: How faithful ho had been to her whose parents had driven him away from her— how. after she loft India and returned with her father and mother to Englaud, he had lost all tidings of her save a rumor, two years later, of her marriage—how he had felt that no other woman could ever occupy his heart, and that her memory must be his only life companion—how he had found life but a sorry business, and had half hoped that when he served through tbe Afghan war the dart so often hurled at hi 9 comrades might come his way. And with regard to the earldom? Well, Archie Milrov had been far enougn from it in those old Indian days, but tbe unexpected death of two cousins had made him heir to his great uncle, the last earl. At the aged nobleman’s request ho had come to Eug land the preceding winter to pay him a visit, but when Archie arrived at the earl’s town house in Barkeley square, he found that his relative had had a stroke of paraly sis, to which ha succumbed a few days later and Archie found himself a wealthy peer. “But what was it all to me," he said, “with a desolate heart? I could only think: ‘lf this had come years ago, they would have given her to me.’ All seemed hollow and empty. I took butsmall pleasure in my ‘honors,’ as they are called. I had often thought of cutting the world, and theu when I came down to Peterscourt, aud the people hero asked me to open their bazar 1 sorely wanted to get out’of doing it, but they seemed as if they would take no re fusal, so I went. And there saw a face like my lost love’s—only not so lovely. It was your sister’s. I was introduced to her; from her I learned that my lost darling was found again and was still mine.” (Poor Edith! So this was your boasted con quest!) “Beattie," and he looked tenderly and penetratingly into her violet blue eyes and his band touched gently the fair cheek, "mv gentle, patient love. Perhaos I can guess a little of what you have had to bear.” Beatrice’s eyes fell and her cheek flushed, for it seemed as if he guessed, iu some mys terious manner, something of what she had suffered from Edith. Hoe said nothing, only her drooping head lay on his heart, and presently sne murmured. "Archie! Archie, have you really come back to me? O! tbe long, sad, lonely years that have oome between us— how could I live them?” And her tears rained down for the sorrow that was past as much as for the joy that was present. When Miss Edith fluttered down in her embroidered white frock, with the damask rose she had taken from her sister fastened in her bodice, her great, brown eyes bright with excitement, and a smile of the sweetest welcome ou her fair face, she received tbe greatest shock it bad over been her lot to suffer. Her grand castle in the air, it seemed, had been jerry-built; as she stepped in to take up her anode there it felt upon her aud crushed her—crushed, let us hope, some of the vanity and conceit out of her. To think that this earl’s interest iu her had been merely on account of her relation ship to Beattie. To think that Beattie, who had heard all her boasis—Beattie, at whom she had gibed and jeered—was going t > be the countess, not herself. To think that and hire, shut into her own room, she broke down, aud 6hed many bitter bears. I own I am pleased at the picture she makes sitting there weeping—at the morti fication she so richly deserved. When Baby was strk, we gave her Castoria. When she was a Child, she cried for Castoria. When she became Mias, she clung to Castoria. Whan she bad Children, she gave them Castorhf Men's hanlkerchiofs, linen or silk, and silk mufflers at LaFar’s.— Ad. Suspenders, nice grades and colors, (ilk or cotton web, at LaFar’s.— Ad. Distress after Eating, Indigestion, Sick Headache. And Dyspepsia Arecured by P. P. P. (Prickly Asb,Poke Root and Potassium.) Abbotta East Indian Corn Paint cures all Corns, Warts and Bunions.—Ad. Neckwear, Fisk, Clark & Flagg’s fine goods, at LaFar’s.— Ad. Hats, hats! Silk or Derby shapes. Dun lap’s fine hats, at LaFar’s.— Ad. If you want an overcoat, a suit or pants or anything in the furnishing goods line, remember Appel & Scbaul are selling same at cut price i.— Ad. Undressed kid and driving gloves, all sizos, at LaFar’s.— Ad. Old newspapers—2oo for 35 onnts—at business office. Morning News.—Ad. Abbott's East Indian Corn Paint cures ail corns, warts and bunions.— Ad. FEMININE FADS AND FANCIES. Bernhardt's Generosity—Lucky Chil dren—amateur Horse Doctors. <Covyr oht, ISSW. by the Cnited /Vrss.) New York, Jan. U. —Young girls have now provided for tho house toft china silk skirts, not gored, t> wear with their sum mer silk shirt waista They are graceful, and do not wear out as a gored skirt does. Any lady of slight figure may adopt them. Mme. Sarah Bernhardt is lavish iu her present giving and quite extravagant. Her latest gift to the children of her manager, Henry E. Abbey, are superb. A watch to the little girl, a tiny gold thing with the monogram tn diamonds at the back. The slender foo has a t ail peudaut incrusted with diamonds. The boy has a more use ful looking watch and a set of owl’s head studs. The eyes being diamonds. Tne children of this big theatrical manager are lucky. Steinway sent the little girl a piano. Patti sent the boy a supsrbly chosen library of 1,000 books. Table cloths of any kind have quite gone out for fashionable luncheons. If you haven’t old polished mahogany, get vour dealer to shiue up some old relic of a table until Its like ebony. Place a napkin on this at each guest’s place laid coruerwise and friuged. Tie a purple bunch of violets with long trailing lavender ribbons at each place and napkin and your table will be recherche. Why will not women he at least natural in their gait, if art canuot teach them to do better than amble and uunoe aud shamble aud strut? The feminine methods of locomotion seeu on Broadway and Fifth avenue are unuat ural enough to be agonizing. If naturally ungraceful in walking—anil walking well Is a native gift—why, be at least uugraceful aud fuily at ease. But to be ungraceful so that ovary on-looker sees you are miserable and loug to walk some other way is a public infliction. The poor pantomime donkey who straight ened his back aud stiffened his tail aud tried to look everything else hut a donkey at the Clown’s “Shoulder Arms Jeiniua” deserved soma credit. Poor dumb beast! But wou’t the ladies please stop the cur rent which seams fast carrying us back to the days of Grejian bend and Alexander limp. One thing women can learn well if they will give themselves up to the Apostle of Pose, Dclsarle. They can learn to use their arms and bauds gracefully. “Why, my dear,” says a prominent Delsarteun teacher, "you let your elbow come up with a snap. You don’t know what it is to let your arm fall restfully and vet gracefully outside your easy chair. You can let your cheek rest on your hand. Your hands aud arms are iatheirown way.” All this cau be mended, aud the sooner women begin, the happier domestic fire pictures, verauda-pietures aud hammock pictures we shall have. Horsewomen now wear boots and tights instead if breeches; and the trousers are forever gone out. Dark habits will reign for the winter mouths aud those who are devoted to equestrianism, if they want to pursus it a la mode next spring must provide a habit ot tan or gray. Dark ones will not be seen iu the ranks of swelldom. In Washington, Boston and the surburbs of New York, devoted gentlemen aud lady riders are now studying the vetarnary art and mean to look after their own horses much as a mother would care for hor children. This idea is an excellent one. Muny a valuable animal has been lost through delay in the surgeon’s arrival, and the recent accident at Pelhamville, N. Y., where a horse died in tho night and might have been saved by a simple dose before the surgeon reached, pleads Rtrongly in favor of owners knowing how to trout them. The animal was worth #1,900. Fashionable stationery for short notes are now long cards, longer and narrower than a postal. The rao.iogram or address is printed on tho left hand side, and the long, heavy linen envelope is a graceful departure from tlie aggressive square one which lasted so long. Jet is not correct for mourning. It has become the favored decoration for unbereft ones, and tho bereft have no distinct orna ment. They must simply go unadorned, which, after all, if mourning really means anything is perhaps the proper way. The German maid is rtante. The Frenoh one reigns supreme, aud children’s Liable in the nursery must be French, only French. The governess must be English—a real Saxon, too, with the odor of the English roseclinging about her s 111—no American- Enghsh will de. Now let English maiden hood, so largely in the majority, rush ia and fill the spaces. The theater bonnet is getting a thing of the past. Fashion decrees after a sensible fashion, for a wonder, that If women do not wish to bare the head, und wear evening dross, the better taste Is to go in ordinary walking costume. The gay bonnets, now considered the cor rect thing for the theater, are really very bad form for street car or pavement, and should necessitate a carriage as much ns an uncovered head. The plainer and quieter tlie headgear for the play the better form, and if the ladies would only wear close-fitting capotes, with out flying bird of huge size, or bows just as bad, they would combine consideration with good form. Msroaret Hamm. No other preparation combines the posi tive economy, the peculiar merit and the medicinal power of Hood’s Sarsaparilla.— Ad. Free I Free! Given Away! One year’s subscription to the Morning News given to every one who obtains a set of the Americanized Encyclopaxlia now. Requires only a small outlay to get this magnificent work, complete in ten large handsome volumes. A marvel to all liter ary men—th.s greatest encyclopedia of the nineteenth century. Renew your subscriptions by ordering a set of this work, and got your paper free. This is tb6 beginning of anew year, and if you want one of tbe best papers m tbe south to read for twelve long months, and would make yourself and your family happy, don’t fail to avail yourself of this offer. Remember you oan pay for the encyclo paedia in installments and not feel the small cost of it, and in addition get a year’s sub scription to tbe paper. Our offer is also open to those who are already subscribers. If your subscription is not yet quite out, why write us about the encyclopaedia anyway, and we will give you some information worth knowing. Doesn’t cost inuob to drop us a postal car and just as soon as you read tnia You know we mean business, and are going to do just what we eay, and you ought to look into this thing at once. Start with the new year by putting upon your library shelves this, the grandest work of art, science, literature, history, biography and geography the world knows to-day. You will never regret it, and it will be a source of pleasure to you aud your family if you have one as long as you live. The cost is so small, in comparison with the magnificence of the work, and we have arranged the payments so conveniently, that it is really a luxury to be able to say to your friend: Yes, I have a set of the Morning News’ Encyclopaedia and am getting the paper, too, and all at a cost that I never feel. We want everybody that comes into our office to examine the encyelopa> iia, acd if you can’t oome correspond with us at once. Address Morning News, Encycloiuedia Department, •—Ad. Savannah, Ga. THE ONLT AMERICAN CORSET AWARDED THE COLD MgPAL AT THE FA*IS EXPOSITION, 1880. OB' ala Spirite Corsets. TOR SALE BY LEADING RETAILERS. Four Years’ EXPIRATION February 1. A SENSATION. That is What Has Been Done BY THE LAST Terrific Slaughter in Prices THE hieit ram sin SistanlM and Genuine Bargains Were never so emphatic as last week when the slaughter reached its zenith, surprising even the old time bargain seekers. SENSATIONAL DEVELOPMENTS to-morrow and every day in the week of EXTRAORDINARY VALUES till the entire stock is sold out. We’ve set the Dry Goods talk of the town going. It’3 apparent everywhere. The chief topic among the ladies ia the WONDERFUL BARGAINS obtained here. Come Early and Often to the GREAT DISSOLUTION SALE. MORRISON, FOYE & CO. HILLIITEBT GOODS. i ffi * AID WIiFM KROUSKOFF’S immense establishment is now crowded with everything beautiful; and novel in the millinery line. The most complete display ever seen. On first floor— Thousands of ribbons in new and novef designs. Velvets in all grades and shades. Plushes, Silks, Feathers, Hat sfor Ladies* Misses and Children. On balcony—Fancy Feathers,Birdsand Hats. On second floor —Millinery parlor just introduced. Here are the choicest offerings in Paris and London round Hatsand Bonnets,also exactcopies. We have again inaugurated our great Ribbon sale tr continue until further notice. We algo retail on first floor same as we wholesale upstairs. Milliners and merchants sup plied at New York prices. DRESSMAKING. Swimli Dry Goods ail Dressmakig Cd H. A. DUMAS, Manager, Removed to Krouskoff’s. (uraranraanmaMiarani We are now offering our Choice Dress Goods at greatly 9 DecTuced 3?i*ices ! At Our New Quarters, 151 BROUGHTON STREET. DRESSMAKING DEPARTMENT upstairs in charge of a first-class Modiste. .Children Cry for Pitcher’s Castorla. j CORSETS. IK\ GOODS. CREATED 11 Four Years’ EXPIRATION February 1.