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FART TWO.
WAKEMAS'SWASDEIUNGS
ODD INCSIDBNT3 OP FOREIGN
TSAVEL AND OBSERVATION—iII.
An Unhappy Little Nobleman and His
Keeper—lnhospitable Breton Lowly
Foils—A Wise London Raven and Its
Embarrassing Pointed Queries— ■ rt
iese Americans and Irish Blarney
by the Winsome Lakes of Ktllarney.
(Covvrioht, )
London, Jan. 2.—1 found him alone at a
table in a snug little reataurant of shadowy
Mercery Lane at ancient Canterbury. He
wM a mite of a thing, but an old young lad,
seemingly already broken by all the aorrowa
of desolate old age. Hie attire was rich,
but his baok was humped, bis legs were
crooked and spindled, his cheeks were
sunken and bis eyes were crossed and queer.
Tsars were silently triokling down bis face.
I could noteat my food until I had asked
him if he was in trouble.
“O, sir,” be said in the sweetest tones I
ever heard from a boy’s lips, and ns if com
pletely overoome by his situation an 1 un
expected human sympathy, “I wish I was
dead and buried Pressing him for further
exolanation, with the hope of allaying bis
childish troubles, he continued in a scared,
hunted way: “I am Ijord -—they tell
me. But I never saw my father. My
mother is a beautiful lady, but they only
let me see ber once a year; and then she
cries and I cry, and Its dreadful whou she
goes away.
“Maybe you saw Nurse Digby? Nurse
Digby minus me, and they make mo lire
with her, and say she must keep me until I
am a great lord. But she drinks and beats
me. She’s drinking to-day, sir; and I’m
sure she’ll almost kill me. Oh, sir, do tike
me to Amerioa, aud let me be plain and
happy like all the boys 1 see!—There she is,
sir! Please, please don’t tell her. sir I"
As he piteously spoke a huge mountain of
flesh slid down a stairway and reeled into
the room. It was Nurse Digby. Her dress
was disheveled, her wrappings were upside
down, ber hat, a tossing sea of feathers and
flowers, was very much awry. She was
more than “obeerv.” She had passed the
quarrelsome stage of drink into tbo region
of bland beatitude. In a moment we fort
unately got the best of her native suspicion
sad cunning; she embraced me as a reward
for supposititious friendliness; and it was
somehow made clear that little milord bad
been brought down from London ostensibly
for a “hou ting’ r and to visit the cathedral,
bet. in reality, that nurse Digby might
revel, with such as she, in the brave brews
of fair, hop-laden Kent.
“dhxares a dear!" she blubbered, in turn
falling upon little milord in Imbecile pro
testation of affection. “Digby’ll stan’ by a
dear agin' zworld—sho sb’will, dibic!)arl
ing, m'lordl A sousan’ sholdiers oouldn’
part ush—not hnnner sousan', phretty
(hio!) dear! Gen’l’m’ shears me (hio!)
swhenr it!” Then nurse Digby fell in a
mam upon her charge; the little nobleman
shrieked w ith fright and pain, and his tor
mentor rolled into a comfortable ball be
neath the table.
Casting all thought of my own visit to
the oatkedral aside I at once summoned a
carriage; got the deformed boy aud Nurse
Digby into it; drove through the quaint old
city up the winding hill to the railway sta
tion, and never left the ill-assorted pair
until I had seen them safely in the carriage
of a London-bound train. But I can never
forget that poor lad’s pleadings that I
should rescue him from the liviug death of
his hopeless environment, aid bis white,
desperate faco as lie crouched in bis seat
like a scourged soul, still appealing while
watohing the human animal, his endless
tormentor, as she lay in temporary harm
lessness upon the compartment floor.
“O, sir, I shall remember you, if I live to
be a great lord!’’ were tils last words that I
heard as the train rolled away. The hope
less tragedy it all revea.ed has never left my
heart; and all that sunny afternoon in old
Canterbury town the brasses and effigies of
the great cathedral oould only bo half dis
cerned through the mists of ever gathering
tears.
If your travels ever luring you along the
highway* and byway* of Brittany, you
muat never expect hospitality of the peas
ant people. It is the only foreign land in
which I have wandered on foot where the
stranger, and especially the American
stranger, is not welcome among lowly folk
with unquestioning oordlality and an almost
affectionate regard.
Call at a roadside oottage in Brittany and
ask for food and a night’s shelter ad the
whole family will crowd into the door to
obstruot your passage. Then the.- w ill
silently and sullenly look you over. Whither
from I Whither hound? If a foreigner
they are even shrewd enough to demand
your passport. No vagabond, deserter, nor
tlcket-of-leave man will they harbor.
Finally assured you are none of these they
set about bargaining for the iast sou they
can wring from you. The food vou are to
get to the very o lor of the coft'ue is set
powerfully against your money. Their
own poverty, their bewildering number of
children, the lonely road to the nearest vil
lage Inn, the fact that at the next
cottage they would probably murder
as well as taka you in; all and much
more is got forth to make your bar
gain a bard cue. Ho, too, the toothless old
1 patent hag meti er, while oyeing you
askan -e, croons to her husband a running
fire of objections to the arrangement, a few
of which set you down to your face as a
v iilainous spy; gome wretch that has cheated
the gibbet; and certainly no less than the
thief of Breton horse* who was caught and
flogged at the last horse fair at La Kolguel.
They are shrewd and canny, these simple
folk, and they will make you very misera
ble until the price is set and paid down in
hand, for they will not trust you with the
sum until m ruing, lest your appearance
bell* your ability to pay; but the lugubri
ous transaction once settled, and a few sous
scattered among the children, which are
immediately snatched away and hidden in
the farmer’s strong box, the atmosphere
suddenly changes. You are the guest now.
All the mti-keepiug politeness, suavity and
attention of Parts itsolf are yours; and
until you leave, every soul in the cottage
ruts every other duty aside to minister unto
your wauts and comfort.
There U a glib-tongued raven, the pride
°I > certaiu otherwise delightful old
fashioned inn betide Corent Garden, Lon
don, much frequented by Americans,
against which many of us woo have suf
fered from its ill-timed speculations and
malediction! possess feelingß for from a
benign and friendly character.
The morning after my first arrival at
this hostelry I wished to take an early train
for Brighton; and as no ou# save coster
mongers and market porters is astir in Lon
don before 8 or 0 o’clock, I was oompelled
~ awaken and get away without the
weasanl formality of being called. Anxious
to not mist my train, 1 hastily descended
y fht offlot floor. Hare I found tbt street
door ajar, but the dining room, the office,
the reading room and uDparently all the
minor otiioea were still oloaed and dark, aud
no servant whatever could then be sum
“’Sjmd by call of voice or bell.
ibe idea of leaving the hotel without re
the fact worried me I t egau tip
, about in quest of somebody. This of
■weir impelled a feeling of guilt and dread.
flftofning i\ ? rtos.
I was late, but it occurred to me that I
must take along my umbrella. It stood
with others In the great hallway leading to
the dining room. I somehow felt like a
criminal when approaohing that umbrella
stand. I fairly trembled lest some sud
denly appearing employe should pounce
upon me when in the act of abstracting my
own umbrella. Scarcely had I got a firm
hold of the handle when this fairly shrieked
demand rang out beside me;
“Who are you?—who are you?—who are
you?"
Ichabod Crane when pursued by the
Headless Horseman never flew over old
I’ocantloo bridge faster than, startled and
dismayed, I plunged out of the place and
into the clutches of a Southampton street
police officer. Explanations followed; I
missed my train, but was formally intro
duced to the gleefully malignant raven
whose station was in the hallway, where at
night its cage was covered with some trav
eler’s handy rug.
That is a strange principle of human na
ture, which finds mitigation of our own
humiliation in Ihe embarrassment of oth
ers but the same evening I almost forgave
the vicious bird for selecting as another
victim one of those particular aggravating
American females who prance and scold
about the world ns professional “agitators.”
The lady was big and broad and pompous—
a familiar figure, I am told, iu the New
England states. Wherever she moved she
proceeded in a series of stately pauses aud
snorts, as if to say:
“I pause that you may have opportunity
to fully realize who I am!"
She was passing in this manner through
the hallway to the dining room. The raven
was evidently impressed and curious. He
promptly shouted, almost in her ears:
"Who are you!—who are yoo!—who are
YOU?"
The agitator was agitated. Trembling
from rage she wheeled and shouted back to
the office force and tittering guests:
“Who am I? Bless me, everybody out
side of this disgraceful country kuows who
/ am! This is an outrage. I shall see
Minister Lincoln about it!" Then she
majestically snorted herself in to dinner.
An irresistible but repressed outburst of
laughter followed the contretemps. As it
died away I noticed the raven craning its
neck to this side and that, and blinking
demurely. Then it gave its ugly beak afe
smart raps with its claws, sent an unearthly
whistle after my disappearing oountry
womau, and, as it finally settled itself for a
bit of quiet reflection, purred hoarsely but
still softly and ruminatively.
“ Who are you?—who are YOU?—who
are YOU?"
■Speaking of interesting Americans
abroad, reminds me of a curious lnoldsuc
of my recent year’s wanderings in Ireland.
From the western slope I had orosied the
crags of Carrautuohill mountain to the
Killarney lakes, at its eastern base; crowed
the vagrant Owenreach river; and,
scrambling over bill and heather, finally
reached the great highway from Bautry
and Qlengariff, called the “Prince of
Wales’ route” from Cork 10 the lake regioD.
Just where this magnifleant road first
turns the mountain side, tourists by long
car, or legs, are given a first glimpse of the
surpassing panorama, which at one sweep
comprehends the g< eat mountains on either
side and the witching lakes between —the
most entrancing of ail views of Killarney.
I was sitting here, rough, ragged and
travel-stained, upon a ledge of rooks, rest
ing in the sweet April day and dreamfully
contemplating the scene before me, when I
was pleasantly disturbed toafterwa and first
know by actual experience the substantial
rewards of a vagrant’s life in tourist lands.
The long car filled with tourist* and a
small mountain of hampers piled above the
"well” between the banging side seats, lum
bered up tbe southern ascent from Ken
mare, and came to its customary halt to
enable tourists to enjoy tb* unusual pros
pect. Among the passengers were a oouple
of Etonian graduates and an English milord
and milady with their children and serv
ants, all oC whom were in an aggressive
defensive attitude of silent soorn toward an
innocent pair from our own loved land.
The latter were a little bald, nut-beadsd
gentleman with a bent, poddy body, sug
gesting a polished pebble set in tbe end of a
banana, and bis good honest American
wife, twice his hight and four times bis
girth. The man was the embodiment of
nervous aotivity and enthusiasm: the
woman of adipose and repose; and both,
having duly paid their “booking,” were
placidly oblivious of the etbfoal injuries
they had inflicted all tbe way from Cork
upon their fellow travelers.
Everybody alighted but the calm Amer
ican woman. In serene composure she
watched her side of the long car settle
nearly to tbe ground; but she kept her seat.
“Comedown, maw, do;” urged the little
man, bringing into instant use a pair of
field glasses, oaob tube of whioh was as
large as the ‘ ‘Lone Fisherman’s” stage tel
escope. “Maw. this is wonderful, wonder
ful, wonderful 1"
At tbe sound of these last three words
milord winced, milady elevated her eye
brows. tbe Etouians readjusted their eye
glasses, and tbe servants looked dignified
und grave.
"No; guess I’ll let well enough alone,”
murmured the little man’s large wife.
“Maw, this is wonderful, wonderful,
wonderful!” repeated the Amerioan,
sweeping the scene with his glasses, filling
the English delegation with another series
of shuddering*, and backlog into me as he
spoke.
“Yov’ll step on that roan there, paw, if
you don’t use your eyes;” cautioned the wife
from the long oar. , . , . , ,
“Bless me, yes;—wonderful, wonderful,
wonderful! Peasantry right here In the
mountings. See here. Pat,” he continued,
addressing me, “you good for nothing dyna
mite Irishmen don’t deserve this wonderful
kontry, darned if you do!”
"Thru® for yez, yer honor;”! replied
humbly. . , .
••See that, maw j” with a cunning wink
to his wife. Thinks I’m one o’ them high
rollers. Well, well, well! Pat, here’s a
a- guess it’s a half crown or something ’r
other. There, now, brace up. Go to my
country. Get a clean shirt. Be a—a—well,
‘git there!’”
"God bless yer honor!” 1 responded,
thanking him heartily. “May the top o’
yer head never folly yer hair!”
“Mawl—soy, maw! did you hear that!
Irish wit, by golly! Well, well, well!
Wonderful, wonderful, wonderful! Live
long ’round here, Pati"
“ldade did I. For ages”
“Wonderful?”
The English contingent winced; the
worthy man gave me another abilling; and
his good wife from the tilting long cer
wished the little man "wouldu’t make such
a fuss over eve y poor creature in Ireland.
“Well, well, Pat, what’s the name o’ that
mounting f’ . „
“CarrantuohlU’e the same, eor."
••Borne sort of—er—story—r—legion
about it, I s’poeei”
• ‘Divii doubt that, eor. But wan mount
ain stud there at first, eor. St. Patriok
mayadthe saints bless him!—was carlo,
for two billa Bo one fine mornin another
wonderful, wonderful I" ex
claimed the American, writing the eame
down on a business card as big as bis hand,
wbile his traveling oompanlons writhed
again. “And that furder oner
••Tore sir Tore oekaee thals a wild
borin' y.’il find ’em there tbi. blfr-d
minute with tusks am 'em the laogth o yer
arm, sor.”
SAVANNAH, GA.. SUNDAY, JANUARY 15, 1893.
“Goodness gracious! But that is wonder
ful. Maw, did you hear that? Aud that
mounting over there. Pa - .?”
“Mangarton, sor.”
“Jess so. Kinder Dutch, hainl it? B’pose
some Dutchman settled there, and garden’d
it long ego, eh? Wonderful bow these
things stick to places!"
He had ma there, and I should have
broken down entirely if milord, with a
loud guffaw in which the undergraduates
joined, had not asceudad the car. and with
silly-suopresaed SDorta and indignation,
ordered the driver to proceed. This took
my little friend from me on the run; but
after his able-bodied wife bad dragged him
from the ground to his seat on the long cer
and held him in it by odb arm. be turned
and. gesticulating enthusiastically with the
other and the field glasses, yelled from the
rapidly disappearing vehicle: “Come to my
hotel, Petl Don’t know the name. Beet
one, anyhow. Want to know more about
this wonderful kentry. Make it all right.
Darned if I don’t!”
Edgar L. Wakemak.
THEIR CARRIAGE IN QUICK SAND.
Two Women Imprisoned In Front of
an Advancing Line of Surf.;
From the San Francisco Examiner.
A near approaoh to death in the quick
sands of the ocean beach was experienced
by two young women while out driving not
long ago, and the resoue that was
affected, with not a moment to spars,
brought a third life into the peril. Capt.
l'aul Busch of the Ocean bouse was the de
liverer, but the moat that is known of the
women is that tney were about 30 years of
nge, well dressed, and that at the time of
this adventure they were in possession of a
brown horse and black open buggy.
People acquainted with the shore ns it
stretches from the Cliff house southward
would have kept away from the edge of tne
water at the time in question. E very ex
tremely low tide uncovers treacherous and
varying beds of quicksand. At the middle
of Friday afternoon the water was oiose to
the lowest mark of the year, and so travel
along the outer portion of the beach was
especially hazardous. The two women were
totally Ignorant of any such danger, how
ever.
Eariv in the afternoon the women drove
through Golden Gate park. Then they went
to the Cliff house, and after watching the
sea from there for half an hour they started
on a trip along the shore. That was at 3
o'clock. They intended to proceed hut a
short distance and to then return to the city
by way of the park. The wheels rolled
sasily and noiselessly on the hardened sand
as the horse trotted on. The occupants of
the buggy were delighted, and, becoming
bolder, they drove down to where the shal
low broken sheets of water and foam kept
striving for a hold upon the shore.
Suddenly, before tbs drivers perceived the
beginning; of any change the shore seemed
to be sinking.
Tbe big brown horse was frantically
struggling to get out of the saud that
reaohed almost to his knees. and which was
■lowly but gradually cllmblug. All bis
strong endeavors were vaiu, though, against
the suction, and iu a moment, as his whole
| frame shook aud convulsed in an upward,
onward impulse, he fell on his side aud be
came more helpless, but befell toward land.
Tbe wagon had at this time gone dowu so
far that toe tide, just in the beginning of
the flood, washed over the hubs. Terrified
were the women, but a leap from the vehi
cle would have only inoreased the danger.
To soream for help wat the only hope, but
the shouts were lost in tbo thundering surf.
Tbe place where the disaster befell tbe
team Is about half a mile from tbe Ocean
bouse, in the direction of the olifTs. Off that
point a bark was wreoked some years ago,
and huge timbers washed ashore disap
peared in the sand exaotly as the wagon was
now doing.
Capt. Busch chanoed to look along tbe
shore while tbe sinking sand was tightening
iu clasp upon tbe victims. He saw the black
object out where tbe rollers were
sweeping and thought it was a small
boat that had been thrown on the
shore. Hi* two driving horses were
standing In harness at the Ocean home,
and in an instant he had them galloping up
the shore. The speed of the horses was only
ino eased when the captain saw the dark
object was a buggy, for he knew the quick
sand and understood tbe value of seconds
where suoh a peril was augmented by the
surf. Aud he only made that ba.f-mile dash
on time, for tbe rising water and the falling
shore bad nearly gained the victory. Horse,
wagon, women and all were gradually
sliding out into the sea. Every motion was
stronger than the preceding one, and the
growing force would quickly have renderod
the rescue impossible. The sliding tendency
of the quioksand is well known, and Capt.
Henry Smith of the Gkddon Gate life saving
station declares it to be the most dangerous
feature, as it hurries the victim out into
the water aud so lessons the chance of as
sistance.
Tbe story of the rescue is told by Capt.
Busoh himself, and corroborated by others
who hastened to tbe soene before the work
was over.
“When I got there," said Capt. Busch,
“the waves were breaking over into the
box of the buggy. I have been on the
sea a good many years, and tbe rest of
my life on tbe shore, aud I knew that
there wasn’t any time to lose. I knew,
also, that the solid sand m ist reach pretty
nearly to the buggy. And so I concluded
to rush right up and get tbe women out, if
possible, knowing that if I couldn’t keep
u substantial footing I could save myself
by swimming. I fslt the quioksand as
X stepped forward iu the water close to
tbe buggy, so I didn’t advanoe the other
foot, hut, reaobing over as far as I could, I
told one of tbe women to jump ou Into my
arms. Hhedidso.and I got her to shore
all right. Then I took the other in the same
way. *
“Bothof them were drenobed with water,
but they didn’t seem to oare about that
when they got on to dry land. I got in the
water up to my neck myself.
“The buggy and tbe helpless horse were
all tbe time settling out to sea, little
by little, and I didn’t think I oould
fetch either of them back, for
the horse was pretty well down, and
it wouldu’t have been long bofore ho would
have drowned. Ho I took a hay rope that I
had and lied It between tbe buggy shafts
and my own wagon. Then, with a hold of
the rope, I got over aod cut tbe harness,
and when freed the horn managed to get
on his feet.
“Finally he succeeded in breaking out of
the sand—for a horse oan do a thing of that
sort when loose that would be impossible if
be were harnessed to a wagon —and my
horse* pulled tbe buggy out. Ho the whole
outfit was saved after all.”
.fkeu Baby was sink, wo gave bar Ceatoria
Waen tbe was a Child, she cried for Cos tori*.
When the became If Isa. the clung to Castor ia
S' Leo she hod Children, sba gave them Oaeterig
Notice to Advertisers.
Changes for the Mundsy issue of the
JioaNiDG News must be hooded In not
inter tbso 0.80 o'clock baturdey afternoon.
TUE ADORABLE FRENCH.
BAB'S RESPECTS TO MSN AND
WOMEN OF NAPOLEON’S LAND.
Idols of the Impressionists' Fchool.
At the Russian lath—Are the French
Fast Livers?—An Animated Chat
Between a Blonde and Brunette, i
A Bweet But Stolen Kies—Heredi
tary Traits—Sunny Souled f-ardou
and Storm-tossed Dumas—Camille
I
Was Not Angelic—A Peachy Story.
Do We Care for Advice When We
Really Pay Well for that Luxury?
( Copyright i
Nnv Yom, Jan. 14.—Nobody seems to
be anybody nowadays, an lees she can talk
about French plays and the individuality
of French writers. The most crurlons thing
is the present fashion in French woman. I
may mention that this craze hat not as yet
reached Amerioa, and that it dose not meet
with favor in London. The French woman
who it counted adorable, who gains the
most admiring looks as she breakfasts at
one of the faehionabla restaurants, appears,
to be exquisitely Saxon, more like a
rejuvenated corpse than anything else I
can thing of. In the first place, she is as
thin as a lead pencil; her color Is something
between a saffron yaliow and a sulphur
green; her head is a Titian red and in a
state of looseness that is poesibly artistic,
nut suggests its falling down every minute.
Her gowns are very smart, but she is much
given to wearing long, loose wraps, that
she discards as if she were throwing off
the outer shell and permitting the world to
look at her soul. You must not imagine
that she has any of the languor of ti e old
msthetic school; dear, no, she is as animated
as possible, ami ber eyes sparkle as if they
were coals of fire. She is the idol of the
impressionist school; she Is counted thor
ough flu de siecle, and Is adorsd by the
morbid novelist of the day.
18 THE PARISIAN CRAZE UPON US?
The British matron despises bar—she
looks at her, shrugs her shoulders, and then
mutters in an undsrtone that she thiuks “a
dose of medicine bad belter be administered
to that young woman," but in a few hours
she is surprised to find that her own English
men are forsaking tbe alsar complexions
and dimpled curves that belong to tbe tight
little isle, and going msd over the Idol of
Baris. Home time ago, at the Kusslan
bath, I heard a very, very thin girl, one
who weighed ninety pounds, and who was
rather above tbe average bight, say she was
coming there every day until she lost ten
pounds, aid I thought to mvsslf: “The
erase of Paris Is upon us, the worship of the
angels has reached usl" For it is angels that
they adore. It is not Swinburne's or Ros
setti's sinuous womsn. long and lithe, but
instead it is tbe absolutely thin woman,
whose bones seem to stand out at if in de
flancs of dimples and curves. What is it?
Are the Frennh people living eo fast that
they make the skeleton at their feast a
woman? A witty woman aud a clever
woman, but nevertheless a woman who
seems to have bad all tbe health burnt out
of her by the excitement of the century.
Women are very odd but they are interest
ing. I heard two talking the other day
and this was their conversation—one was a
blonde, the other a brunette. Tbe blonde
spoke first:
Hbe gave a polite yawn as she said:
“I tried my very Lest to be knowedgea
ble about something. Everybody went In
for knowledge so much that I thought I
ought to have what tbe woman suffrage
people call ‘a soul above chiffon*,’ but I
don’t seem to have succeeded.”
“What did you do?" asked the brunette.
“Well, of course, I wanted to be original,
so I didn’t
GO IN FOR THE BROWNING RACKET,
or hypnotism or Buddhism, but I thought
and thought until I came to the conoiusiou
that I would resurrect the semi-colon.
Everybody who wrote letters to me used
dashes and periods, and all tbe people who
wrote books said what they had to say in
wbat a reviewer would call short, crisp
sentence*. I read up in the old English
authors, and I took to writing the most
delightful letters with beautiful semi-colons,
made with curly tails, aud in their proper
places. Now. what do you suppose the
result was? The world at large is so Ignor
ant, that a snip of a girl, who has never
even been married, wrote and told me that
she lost the noun iu tbe beginning of tbe
sentence, never found the vorb, and all
that she really understood iu the letter was
that I was trying some new fad, and that
■he didn’t propose to represent the dog I”
“That wasn’t very nice," answered tbe
brunette; “but what did you take up after
that? What filled the place oocupied by
the semi-colon?”
“The proper arrangement of English as
she is spoke, or rather as she should be
■poke. I studied books on it, and a man
told me I spoke tbe Quest Saxon he had
ever heard. Homebody said this was a
doubtful compliment, but I think she was
jealous. 1 devoted one entire afternoon to
explaining to a very handsome fellow that
‘iater on’ was correct. I explained It in
this way. For instance, I would say, ‘The
mail will come later;' naturally that would
be a question of time. But if I said, ‘Later
on w e will have our coffee,’ I would mean
naturally after a series of dishes at tbe
tacle, as well as a lapse of time—one sup
posing the passing of tim* alone, the other
u sequence of events. I really took a deal
of trouble about this, and what do you sup
pose that impudent boy did?”
“1 oan almost guess,” responded the bru
nette.
“Yes,” answered tbe blonde. “He said it
wouldn’t be a question of iater or later on,
but be would kiss me at onoe, and be suited
the action to the words. Ho, I h ive stopped
studying the English language and its pe
culiar, ties."
“bonnets ark more satisfying"
said the brunette.
“O. that goes without saying; but still I
felt that I must have an intellectual fad, to
I took up heredity. It’s immensely inter
esting to work out how the folllee and tins
of <>ur ancestors ootne out in us, and how,
(bough my father and mother may have
been angels ae far as temper goes, I in
herited from some remote anoestor who
used to thrash bis wife and all the servants
when be wasn’t in a pleasant humor, a
somewhat tpioy temper, which keopt mu
from being namby-pamby. There’s girl
here about whose birth tbere has always
been a little doubt, and the doubt no
longer exist* in my mind. I watched the
movements of her hemls tbe other day, and
they were exaotly like that of somebody
else whom she sought to be like. It is tbs
most marvelous thing in tbe world how a
gesture, a method of speaking one word, or
a peculiar look will be transmitted when no
absolute reeemt lanoe between parent and
cblQextste.”
DUMAS WANTED LIGHT.
“I oan tell you a story about that," an
nounoed tbs bruustte. "Tbo story was tnld
to ms by tb* cleverest woman In New York.
Hbe was talking about Kardoo. Hbe told inn
what a sunny naturs be bed; Uow perfectly
happy be was, and bow be seemed to see <■*-
foe him years of work and tbs writing of bis
greatest play. Hbe compared him with
Alexandra Llamas, who is pessimistic
ito the last degree. Hbe bad spoken
of this to Hnrdou and he had said
to ber: ‘Don’t you know why?’ In
Dumas’ own life there lies been mnch of
tragedy; women have brought to biin sor
row rather than happiness, but that is not
the reason for his morbid temperament.
Go back years ago. You soe in Paris a
young man of brilliant inind, of marvelous
industry. He has worked in the publio li
braries to make his novels historically cor
rect. No publisher will take them. He has
written long plays and short ptays. No
manger ill produce them. Hois hungry
and oold. The future looks black and des
olate. He is friendless. At last he sbinks
there is nothing of worth except death.
He goes to bis miserable home, climbs
the dirty stairway and stands by his
attic door. He puts his bauds in his pocket
to find a match. He has none. He gives a
little laugh, for that seems the last straw.
Just then a woman’s voice calls from the
opposite side: ‘What do you want;’ ‘A
light,’ is the answer. ‘1 will bring it to
you.’ And this woman of the people car
ried the light to the writer, who at that
time believed that everything was black,
and that there was no hope for any one.
That was Alexandre Dumai, pare, and the
mother of Alexandre Dumas, fils. Do you
wonder that he Is a pessimist?’ ”
IVIK FASCINATING "CAMILLE.’'
"There," eald the blonde, “after I have
studied heredity for tYro weeks, you, with
out studying it at all, have got a better
story than any of mine. But, speaking of
Dumas the younger, makes one think of
his plays, and forces one to feel heartily
disgusted with all the English speaking peo
ple for understanding them so little. ‘‘Ca
mille” it usually played In English, as if
"Camille” herself, had beeu next door to an
angol, and everybody goes awav after see
ing her beautiful death-bed, hoping that
they may live just suoh lives and die just
such deaths A woman absolutely told me
that she didn’t consider that Bernhardt’s
"Camille’’ was as spiritual!* as liodjeska’s!
And lam sure she thought 1 was crazy,
because I greeted this with a wild laugh.
When Dumas wrote “Camille,” be drew
the picture of a woman perfectly
well-known in Paris—a woman named Al
phuniine DupWasir. A woman who was by
no means spirituelle, but who showed in
her character a certain cross that was inter
esting. That is to say, she was capable of a
good, pure love for a short time, but the
physical side of her was eo strong that with
the kiss of an honest man, still wet on bar
lips, she would seek for an Impure love. He
told this story to point a moral, and that -
the way Barah Bernhardt shows It. He
never intended that * ‘Camille" should be
anything except just what she was—”
“Yet, I know,” interrupted the brunette,
"a demi-mondaine."
“ Tbere you are again,” sighed the blonde,
“twisting around words from their origi
nal meanings” The derai mundalne as
Dumas meant her, for he, I believe, created
tb* word, was not tho woman like “Camille.”
Hbe was in society, and yet her carryings
on, so to say, were such that she was at any
minute lisely to fall out of it. Hbe knew
people she had no bueinesr to know, because
she was attracted to them by a lack of
conventionality, or some speoiai talent they
possessed. Hbe risked a great deal that sbu
might be amused, but still she had a posi
tion. And she Only lost it when she did
something too outrageous, for evsn her
husband to approve of.
PEACHES AND WOMEN.
The demi-moudaine is best described by
Dumas’ peach story. Monsieur goes into a
fruit shop where there are some beautiful
peaches. He asks the prioe. Each will
cost 0 francs. They are too expensive. As
be starts tsi go away the shopman calls him
hack, aurl points to some peaches, just be
side the others, and tells he can have them
at 0 sous apiece. “ But," said the buyer,
“wby should these peaches be cheaper than
tbe others: there are just as large, tbe skin
is just as velvety, aud with tbe sam* pink
flush upon it, aud they have evidently come
from the same tree." “Yes,” said the shop
keeper. “all that you say is true, but ’way
down in tbe heart of this peach—the one at
0 sous—is a tiny speck that will gradually
grow and grow and grow until tho whole
peach is spoiled.” The demi-mondaine Is
the peach at 6 sous—only tbe expert
knows tbed fferenoe between the fruit.
“Dear, dear,”said the brunette, "what a
delightfully sensible talk we have bad.”
"Yes.” answered the blonde, "even to
one’s most intimate friend one like* to show
onoe and a while that one Isn't tbe fool on*
looks."
And after that they talked about the best
way to subdue tbo rising generation,
is advice really desired?
Personally, I thought that the switch
which was recommended for tbe rising gen
eration, wouldn’t be a bad thing if given iu
proper doses to that whioh, presumably,
has already arisen; but I didn’t like to say
so. Advice of this kind 1* never taken
kindly. By-the-by, whoever does care for
advice? We ask for it, knowing just as
we possibly can, that we are going to please
ourselves —we inteud it as a sort of compli
ment to the people to whom we are talki' g,
and yet in a way it’s a great impertinence.
Why should you or 1 waste our gray matter
considering a situation giving advice to the
people who are in it, realizing all tbe time
that they don’t want advice; that tho just
want gossip over their affairs, and hear
what you have to say about it? It Is a hit
impertinent to conclude that everybody is
interested, and 1 always think, tbe man or
woman who goes about seeking advice is
puffed up with vanity-
Tbe only advioe worth having we have to
pay for.
I pay tbe butcher to give bis advioe about
a leg of mutton.
1 pay the dootor to give his advioe about
my digestion.
I pay the jeweler to give me advios about
my watch.
I pay tbs gas company to give me advice
about tbe meter.
1 pay a clergyman for bis advioe about
the right road to a pleasant climate.
1 pay my taxes to get advice about tbe
weather.
In fat:*, take it for all in all, any advioe
worth having is worth paying for, and that
whioh is given for nothing usually amounts
to nothing. As those women said, every
body mutt have a fad I think I’ll start a
■obool to give advice to men, not too young,
on the desirability of understanding woman,
and all the fanny littlo ways she’s got. I
should charge very high for my advioe: I
should insist on being paid in advance, and
no man could be advised who hadn’t his bill
receipted by Bab.
UMbtOAu
mgttam HKA lam seventy-seven years old,
W W and have had my age renewed
if ft at least twenty yearn by thtuse
m B of Swift’s Sped tic. My foot
Sr m and lee to my knee was a
running sore for two yearn, and physicians said
ft could nrtt be cured. After taking fifteen small
bottlesS. S. S. there is not tt gore on my limbs, and I
irNsSsM YEARS OLD
let all sufferers know ■ V *
of your wonderful remedy. Ira f- Stilss,
Palmer, Kansas City,
RF.M RTIV
fthegenerai heaMh. 1
SWIFT BPCIPIC COMPANY,
Atlanta, Cia.
/ \LX> NKWSraI'r,MA-JU tor * WUSHU
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MEDICAL.
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For the cure of ad disorders of the Stomach,
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Price 25c. tier box.
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DYSPEPSIA.
DR. RADWAY‘B PILLS are a cure for this
complaint. They restore strength to the stom
ach and enable it to perform it* functions. The
symptoms of Dyspepsia disappear, and with
them the liability of th ■ system to uoutrect din
eases Take the medicine according to dlrec
tions and observe what we say in “false and
True" respecting diet
r*-< mssrve the following symptoms result
ing from diseases of the digestive organs: Con
stipation, inward pilos. fullness of blood in the
bend, acidity of the stomach, nausea, heart
burn, disgust of food, fullness or weight of the
stomach, sour eructations, sinking or fluttering
of the heart, choking or suffocating sensation
when in a lying posture, dimness of vision, dots
or webs before the sight, fever and dull pain In
the bend, deficiency of perspiration, yellowness
of the skin and eyes, pain 111 the side, chest,
limbs and sudden Hashes of heat, burning iu the
flesh.
A few doses of RADWAY’S PILLS will free
the system of all the above named disorders
Send a l-tter stamp to DR. RaDWAY A CO.,
No. 82 Warreu street, New York, for “False and
True."
G LOVES.
HOOK GLOVES
ARK STAMFFO
FOSTER'S PATENTS,
OK
LICENSED UNDER FOSTER’S PATENTS.
BKWAKB OF
IMITATIONS!
SHOES.
~THERE ARE
FIFTY WAYS
OK rUTTINC OUT A FIHE, BUT
SHUTTING YOUR EYES
IS NOT ONE OF THEM.
DON’T
SHUT YOUR EYES TO THE FOLLOWING
FACTS:
We have the largest stock
to select from.
We keep the best goods
the market affords.
We always lead; never
follow.
Bui slum,
THE LEADING DEALERS IN
FINE FOOTWEAR
JEWKLak.
LATEST NOVELTIES
-IN
GOLD AND SILVER
Arriving every day at
DESBO L) I LLONS.
Before buying eUewbere, call and let ua con
vince you. Our stock of
Diamonds, Watches, Jewelry, Clocks,
Silverware.
(Solid and Plated)
SOUVENIR SPOONS. OPERA GLASSES,
GOLD-HEADED CANEh.
lArger than evsr before. Cell sod see. Out
■peclaltv of Solid 10-Carat Flue, Plain Gold
Finger flings always on hand.
A. L. DESBOUILLONS*.
Xo. Ul Bull Street.
KTNIU A-jINHI OK '
LAS FIXTURES AM GLOBES
L. A. Mc CA RTHY'fI,
*t> DRAYTON MX.
PAGES 9 TO 12.
WHEELWRIGHT works.
Forest City Wheelwright Works
"
BUGGIES, ] , T
CARRIAGES, | DulLI
WAGONS, i- and
TRUCKS, | Dtp ’ incn
DRAYS, ! HEPaIHED.
Horseshoeing, Blacksmifrhing,
Wheel wrigh ting and Car
riage Painting.
Finest Ilorseshoers in tha
South.
T. A. WARD,
I’KOPKIKTOR,
TELEPHONE 481.
w
GENTS FUKNIMHNb GOODS.
JTHE|ROPOSAb -
AN ACCEPTED FACT
Ii that the Lest and mos stylish
MEN’S WEA R are to he had from
LaFAR,
—TH 8~-
MEN’S FURNISHER,
182 BROUGHTON STREET
Sole Agent for
DUNLAP’S FINE HATS.
... 1
JTX.OUR.
“Best men oft are
molded out of faults.
But the best cakes
are molded out of
SELF-RAISING
Buckwheat.
■■L'm. ji - 1 ."" ... . 'j■. •■i-gg-BiiiLa
XCA.
GORRiE ICE COMPANY
DELIVERS
ICE
IN ANY PART OF THE CITY.
ICE PACKED FOR THE COUNTRY A
SPECIALTY
Gorrie lee Manufacturing Cos.,
Savannah. G-a.
oranges.
Oranges!
Florida Oranges,
Apples, Lemons,
Nuts, Raisins,
Cocoanuts, Cabbage,
Etc., Etc.
HAY. GRAIN AND FEED.
W. D. SIMKINS.
STAUJLKS*.
PULASKI HOUSE STABLER
138 anil 140 Bryan Street,
ELEGANT LANDAUS. VICTORIAS, T OIRTR
BUGGIES AND SADDLE HORSES
E. C. GLEASON.
Telephone No. U.