ATLTNTA, GA., SUNDAY, OCT. 13, 1878
NEW AND.THICKENING EVIDENCES OF
New Enterprises and New Houses—The Strengthening
of Old Inter its—The Steady and Rapid Progress
of our City Toward her DesSny.
Under the above head we shall each week
present a hasty resume of the various grow
ing interests of the city of Atlanta.
Few of our people appreciate the rapid
growth that we are making. Amid the bustle
and hurry of our great thoroughfares many
points of expansion are missed, and
of the important movements go unher-
We shall endeavor, by noting all pri
jgKate and public improvements, all enterprises
Hand ventures, to make this column an expo
nent of the growth of Atlanta. We will at
least give some idea of the vast and ceaseless
activity of the great metropolis we love so
PLUCK WILL TELL,
The Business of Mr. A. A. Campbell, Commission
We doubt if the history of Atlanta will
show a more remarkable growth of business j
than is furnished below.
Mr. A. A. Campbell, who is well known to
our people, a short time since was involved
in unlucky mining speculations, and lost a
large amount of money. He had only a few
dollars in money left. Nothing daunted, how
ever, he determined to start afresh. He
opened a little oflice, and determined to do a
commission business, soliciting butter, eggs
and chickens as the articles in which he
would deal. These articles look trifling, but
he believed that he could build up
A LARGE AND PROSPEROUS TRADE
He therefore opened business with almost
iro capital, and solicited consignments. The
firsCrsonth, he sold SSOO worth of goods; the
second month, this was nearly doubled, and
the business increased rapidly. Last month
he sold nearly $3,000 worth of goods, and
hopes to push his sales up to $4,000 this
month or next. There is hardly any limit to
the business that may be done in these three
articles. To quote his own words, he says:
“ 1 had but a few dollars to commence with.
I wrote to some of my friends in Tennessee,
stating my plans and soliciting consignments.
On the 15th of March I received some con
signments and went to selling. During the
remainder of March I received and sold $235.-
25 worth for cash; in April, $566.64; May,
$950.20; June, $1,246.37. Up to that time I
sold at wholesale and retail. Since then I
have sold only at wholesale, to retail mer
chants aud hotels. In July, I sold $1,796.37
worth; August, $1,892.26; September,s2,6s3,-
44. All these sales were cash —not in ac
counts yet to be collected.”
Mr. Campbell has been remarkably success
ful in all his transactions since he began. He
has sold dressed poultry all the summer, and
has only lost two lots; a record unequaled in
Atlanta. He makes the promptest returns
ever known to consignees, and keeps every
thing ship-shape. He overlooks all details of
the business himself, and is thus certain that
it is done right. He is very popular with
buyers, and has a large circle of customers.
Nearly everything that is consigned to him is
at once, and remittances made to the
It gives us pleasure to commend such man
liness and pluck as Mr. Campbell has shown.
We honor him and Atlanta honors him for
having had the nerve to start anew to busi
ness with his pittance of money. He has
built up a trade that is remunerative; but
better than all, he has built up a sentiment of
respect and sympathy among the business
men of the city. With such a spirit as this in
all the men who are unfortunate in business,
we should hear less of hard times.
Shippers will find their goods placed in ca
pable, popular and honest hands, if they 7 will
consign to Mr. Campbell.
THE BENEVOLENT HOME
How It Is Going to Finish Paying for Its Home.
There are few of our readers who have not
watched with pleasure and pride the growth
of the Benevolent Home.
Started a few years ago without a dollar of
money, it entered at once upon its mission
by taking several unfortunates under its
charge. From the first day until now it has
given a comfortable home, tender attention
and proper delicacies to dozens of sick and
impoverished people. It has taken young
orphan boys from the gutter, and given them
such a start in life that they have become use
ful citizens. It has reserved over a hundred
helpless girls from the cold charity of the
world, and given them good homes, with re
spectable families. It has been an asylum
for the distressed —a shelter for the homeless
—a blessing to the hungry.
BUYING A HOME.
About one year ago its managers deter
mined to buy a home for it. The annual
rent it was paying was onerous and oppres
sive. They managed to get together about
With this cash, they bought from Mr. W.
L. Calhoun the roomy and comfortable house
in which they are now situated. They paid
$2,000 in cash, and gave their note for $2,700.
This note is due on the Ist of next May.
There is only about S3OO in the treasury to
wards meeting it. It is therefore necessary
to raise the balance. A list of persons who
subscribe $1 a month each, raised by Mrs. W.
H. Peck, has yielded over SIOD, and will yield
about S2OO more. The balance over $2,000
must be raised by work.
A GOOD SCHEME.
The ladies, with Mrs. Tuller at the head,
and all the beneficent workers interested,
have secured the privilege of selling luncheon
to the crowds at the coming North Georgia
Fair. They guarantee to sell lunch or dinner
at as low prices as it can be bought anywhere.
Most of the provisions used by them will be
and they must be disposed of. Let
■Jvery visitor at the Fair remember this and
patronize the ladies. They hope to make
s'-,000. and they should succeed in doing it.
SLUMBER EVADES HER.
From the Burlington Hawkeye.
“Ethel Vane” sends us a poem, “Why
Does Sweet Slumber Shun My Eyes?” Why?
Sit down here, Ether, where we can tickle
your rosy ear with the waxed end of a short
moustache, while we whisper to you that when
a girl scarcely nineteen years old eats an
eight-o’clock supper of cold tongue, broiled
steak, salt mackerel, fried potatoes, dough
nuts, cold apple pie, fried eggs, fresh peaches,
a slice of watermelon and two cups of coffee,
horrified slumber will pack’ its trunk and
climb on to the first train that will take it
farthest away, and all the poetry in the Bap
tist College won’t bring it back to you for a
week. Don’t ask any more such conundrums,
Ethel; these are stirring, earnest times, that
thrill with peril and impending danger, and
our lair is tuned to loftier strains.
Mrs. Austin, of Washington. D. C., has
given birth to forty-four children, and has
never had . anything less than twins. She
finds the cate of them a little ex-Austin, but
she’s proud of them.
THE LATEST ADVICES FROM THE NEW
YORK AND PARIS MODISTES.
A Lot of Things about Silks. Stockings, and Lingerie
that Comes from a High Authority.
From our own Correspondent.
New York, October 6.
We are settling down into an era of severe
plainness in dress, varied by the exaggerations
of the latest fancy for plaids which, however,
is already on the wane. Costumes of that
material, price twelve dollars; have made their
appearance in the cheap stores, and hence
forward the reign of plaids is destined to a
The suits for ladies are chiefly remarkable
for their perfect fit and severe simplicity of
outline. Kilt-plaited skirts, with long cuirass
waists, are extremely fashionable. The skirt
is laid in plaits from the hem to the hips,
where it is met by the deep, tight-fitting cui
rass. These waists-will be replaced by half
fitting jackets for winter wear. In cloth, or
| any other heavy material, no lining is used
j for the plaiting, the material being simply
I pressed into fold and retained in place by
• stitching a braid above the hem.
It might be safely asserted, that all of the
i new goods that are not called “ suitings” are
’ shown to customers as “ coatings; ’’ conse
quently, both names being so entirely gen
eral, are not in the least descriptive, as widely
different things are included in each classifi
cation. Plaids, which are very popular both
i for ladies’ and childrens’ dresses, are not con
fined to any particular material, but are found
in silk, woolen, and cotton dress goods. The
startlingly showy plaids, of vivid colors and
inharmonious combinations, that were worn
many years ago, are here again, but do not
meet with the favor that is given to plaids
with the pleasing soft effects rendered by
grave or dark colors. Among such are the
self-colored plaids, which are happy blendings
of large, irregular plaids in many shades of
gray, brown, or prune color, as well as the
warm, rich mixture of one or two shades of
very dark red, sobered by proximity with
black; and the tartans, where the dark blues
and greens are illuminated by narrow lines
of scarlet or gold color intersecting each other
at rather remote intervals. Quite heavy cloth
is woven in these plaids, but the colors and
combinations are nearly as effective in cam
el’s hair and merino, or any good quality of
all-wool goods. At much lower prices, a
greater variety of plaids aud checks are shown
in a mixture of cotton and wool, not unlike
delaine, and in alpaca or lustre; of the two
the latter is most deserving of recommenda
tion as being the more durable.
Taffeta cloth is an all-wool material slightly
resembling Biarritz cloth, but differing suffi
ciently to admit of its coming under the head
of novelties. New basket cloths look as if
woven of zephyr wool,-with short cross lines,
or stitches of floss silk, which light it up effect
ively. A curious fabric which has the advan
tage of being entirely new, and which does
not seem to be favored with any particular
name, has a ground of soft wool, with raised
figures, which have almost the appearance of
being felted on.
Brocade silks are still fashionable, notwith
standing the attempts to revive moire antique
and ■watered silks. Black and dark-colored
silks, with seeded or bird’s-eye grounds, have
small set figures, or flowers in brilliant col
ors, at regular distances.
STYLES OF MAKING AND TRIMMING DRESSES.
Yoke waists are still worn by young ladies,
particularly by those who are tall and slen
der. A fashion that may not recommend it
self to everybody is the caprice for making
the basque of a different material from the
rest of the dress. The fabric employed for
the waist should be the richer of the two, and
it is not necessary to have it correspond with
the trimming of the dress. Gathered and
puffed plastrons are still seen upon many
dresses, not only the long centre one, but an
other upon each side of it. Embroidered
plastrons, in this and other forms, are also
used upon visiting, dinner and evening dresses.
The liking for short street dresses is far from
declining, and most of the imported walking
costumes this autumn are short, although all
do not have the kilted skirt which was iden
tified with them in the summer; neither do
they all have the cut-away jacket and vest
that was considered indispensable; but the
waist may be a basque or plaited blouse, ac
cording to the taste of the wearer. The over
skirt, in either case, may have the lacand ere
or washer-woman front; with wide, straight
breadths in the back supplied by the long,
perpendicular plaits in the underskirt. Side
plaitings are very much used, and two deep
ruffles of inch-wide side-plaiting upon a short
skirt, are by many ladies preferred to the en’
tire kilted skirts. Upon plaids, especially if
the colors are not at all striking, it is very
good taste to put side-plaitings on a plain
color, matching some of the bars in the plaid.
The drapery of polonaises and overskirts is
higher up and more bouffant, and some new
ly-imported dresses are regular pannier puffs,
or arrangements of loopings and large bows,
which produce very much the same result in
outline. Flat trimmings are much used, and
bias folds of velvet and satin among the most
popular. Striped velvet, for vests, square
collars, cuffs, and folds, is used upon the silk
costumes. A stylish black silk carriage dress,
recently imported, has a vest of black and
gold striped velvet, and is trimmed with bands
of black velvet, embroidered with tiny sun
flower (the French are employing sunflowers
in decoration just now), and finished with a
scallop upon the lower edge and a nar
row band of striped velvet upon the upper.
The band edges the tunic, which separates at
the back in shawl points which fall over the
train, showing between them a wide bow of
silk lined with striped velvet. Upon the bot
tom of the train are two very fine and full
plisses of the silk, each with a bias fold of the
black and gold striped velvet. The basque
is made with an elongation of the two centre
back seams, to form long loops, which are
corded with the striped velvet.
It may be truly- said that the taste of the
time inclines to color; there is now but little
of the monotone in the costumes, and even
black dresses are relieved from the sombre
effect by red, gold and blue tatin sparingly'
mingled with the black ribbon bows.
Even with the short dresses an independent
wrap is preferred to one matching the dress.
The mantillas of serge, cashmere and Sicil
ienne that were popular in the spring will not
be rejected for autumn. Sacques of various
kinds will be much worn. These, to suit the
abbreviated skirts, must be shorter than the
long sacques of last year. For winter they’
may have more elaborate decorations, but
those of thin cloths, intended for the present
season, are very plain and masculine in cut
and finish. Tweeds, cheviots, caslimerettes,
diagonals, small checks, and all varieties of
fancy cloths are chosen for these jackets. As*
a foretaste of what we may- expect in the
future, fur dealers are exhibiting regal-looking
dolmas of extra size, made of dark, rich seal
skin of surpassing quality.
The early wholesale openings give such a
variety that, knowing from past experience
that all will not meet with equal favor, one
finds it difficult to know which to recommend.
The imported pattern hats, which are en
dorsed with the makers’ names, that give the
stamp of elegance, may, however, be safely
taken as models. The shapes are mostly
close at the sides, and with large square or
else Normandy crowns. The Josephine, or
THE GAZETTE, SUNDAY MORNING, OCTOBER 13, 1878.
first rapire bonnets, are still among the im
portations, and in white plush or satin, with
white feathers for trimming, are very elegant,
particularly so for brides. Striped velvets
and plushes, plain velvets and satin, and an
abundance of ribbon, form the trimming of
small bonnets, in connection with feathers of
all kinds, foliage and flowers. Red and sev
eral shades of gold-color, olive, garnet, blue
and bronze are among the leading colors.
Red is so popular, and there are so many
shades of it, that it continues to get itself as
sociated with almost everything else in milli
nery. Following out this idea, garnet bars
and slides, or steel ornaments in which gar
nets are set, are used upon handsome hats-
Bars of rolled gold, of silver and of jet are
also used. Bonnets, made all of velvet leaves,
like the floral hats of the summer, are very
stylish. Not less so are some which are com
posed entirely- of feathers. Felt and velvet
bonnets and round hats have the trimmings
put on in flat and compact style, except at
the front, where flowers or feathers are
massed, or the space is occupied by a large
STOCKINGS, LINGERIE AND FANS.
Stockings have followed the rage of the day
for plaids, and plaided silk stockings are now.
extensively shown in all possible combina
tions of color. Shoes are largely made in the
Voltaire style, a fashion which threatens to j
supercede slippers altogether. In lingerie, ■
lovely Louis XVI., or rather Marie Antoinette,
fichus are to be much worn in folds of soft,
semi-transparent muslin, trimmed with
Mechlin lace and with bows of pale blue or 5
pink ribbon. Chemises are uow made to fit l
as closely as a glove, and have as many gores
in them as a fashionable dress waist. They I
are trimmed with Torchon lace and insertion |
around the shoulders, sleeves and hem. Well I
made and fitted, they cost from nine to twelve j
dollars each. Petticoats are made with one |
deep gathered flounce, trimmed with Torchon
lace and insertion. In gloves for ladies’ wear
there is no change to be noted. For gentle
men’s use for visiting or driving, gloves of
deep yellow kid of the Mousquetaire style
that is to say- without buttons, but not worn
very long in the wrist, are considered very
In decorating fans for elemi-toilette a dash
ing and sketchy- style is adopted which is very
effective. Thus a king-fisher, boldly- painted
on pale blue satin, with his head and beka
encroaching on the ebony- sticks, is shown,
and also a cluster of very- large red poppies
in black silk, the design also being continued
down the sticks. These fans are not expen
sive and are very handsome. For young
girls’ wear, fans of white silk and ivory-, painted
very finely by- hand with clusters of roses, for
get-me-nots and jessamine, are elegant and
appropriate. M. C. H.
SCRAPS WORTH READING FROM HERE
AND THERE x
Beauties in Prose and Poetry—From OLD Writers and
New—Bright Bits of Pen-work Strung Together
Olive Logan, who is always interested in
love stories, has probably invented this one
concerning young Montague, who was adver
tised to appear in “ Diplomacy ” at McVick
er’s in this city early in the season, but the
arrangement was prevented by- his sudden
death. In a letter to a San Francisco paper
“At his very earliest appearance here he was
seen and loved by a charming English girl.
The opportunity for a meeting was found as
quickly by- her as by her love-eraftv prede
cessor in the tale of Verona. But there were
greater impediments in the way- of marriage
between this new Romeo and this new Juliet
than a mere family- dispute. Montague was
not only- poor in purse, but in social standing
—well, he was on the stage; with some peo
ple that was enough. The lady, on the other
hand, was rich and noble, the daughter of one
of the proudest Earls that treads ancestral
acres in England. To broach the subject of
marriage to her haughty- parents, her young
ladyship knew would be madness. So, sadly-,
but not despairingly, the lovers concluded to
separate, “ Monty” to go fill his engagements
in America until such time as he required to
amass a certain amount of money, when he
was to return to England, ostensibly- only- to
see his mother, and after his visit terminated
a certain person would be found at Liverpool
waiting for him, and they were to return to
America together. Several suitors have pre
sented themselves during the time Montague
was in America, but as the lady is still “o’er
young to marry- yet,” her refusal of their
offers has not excited much surprise; but the
other day- at a country- house, when a large
company had gathered in the drawing-room,
waiting to go in to dinner, an officer of the
Coldstream Guard, who had arrived from
London in the afternoon, told the party he
had heard at the clubs the night before that
young Montague, who used to play the lovers
at the Prince of Wales, you know, was dead.
A blanched cheek, a low moan, a girl faint
ing in the arms of the hostess, who entered
the door just in time to catch her before she
fell, told the story of love and hope deferred,
now never to be rekindled.”
mother’s vacant chair.
I go a little farther on in your house, and I
find a mciher’s chair. It was very apt to be a
rocking chair. She has so many cares and
troubles to soothe that it must have rockers.
I remember it well. It was an old chair, and
the rockers were almost worn out; for I was
the youngest, and the chair had rocked the
whole family. It made a creaking noise as it
moved, but there was music in the sound. It
was just high enough to allow us children to
put our heads in her lap. That was the bank
where we deposited all our hurts and worries.
Uh, what a chair that was I It was entirely
different from, the father's chair —entirely dif
ferent. May- you ask me how ? I cannot tell,
but we all feltit wasdifferent. Perhaps there
was about this chair more gentleness, more
tenderness, more grief when we had done
wrong. When we were wayward father
scolded, but mother cried. It was a very
wakeful chair. In the sick days of children,
other chairs could not keep awake; that
chair always kept awake —-kept awake easily.
That chair knew all the old lullabies, and all
those worldless songs which mothers sing to
their sick children —songs in which all pity
and compassion and sympathetic influence
are combined. That old chair has stopped
rocking for a good many- years. It may be
set up in the loft or the garret, but it holds a
queenly power yet. When at midnight you
went into that shop to get the intoxicating
draught, did you not hear a voice that said,
“My son, why- go in there ?” And when you
went into the house of sin, a voice saying.
“What would your riiother do if she knew
you were here ?” and you were provoked at
yourself, and you charge yourself with super
stition and fanaticism, and you went to bed,
and no sooner had you touched the bed than
> a voice said, “What a prayerless pillow ! Man!
*vhat is the matter ? This —you are too near
your mother’s rocking chair!” “O, pshaw!”
you say, “there’s nothing in that. I’m 5,000
miles away from where I was born. I’m
3,000 miles off from the Scotch kirk whose
bell was the first music I ever heard.” I
cannot help that. You are too near your
mother’s rocking chair. “O,” you say, "there
can’t be anything in‘that.” It is omnipotent,
that mother’s vacant chair. It whispers ; it
speaks ; it weeps ; it carols ; it mourns ; it
prays ; it yearns; it thunders.
Honor and fame from no condition powder
rise. Act well your part, and mash the wan
ing summer flies. — Elmira Advertiser.
“CRACKED TUMBLER. ”
THE STRANGEST OF STRANGE STORIES.
A Problem That Is Beyond Solving—And-for Which Each
Reade: will Have His Own Opinion.
“ Then, my dear Doctor, ” said the Squire,
“you must excuse my suggesting that we
should have a second opinion. ”
The Lloctor was John Fielding, of the Parish
of Dighton, in the county of Worcester. The
Squire was Mr. Lockwood, of Dighton Honor
: (the great house of the locality), and the then
\ with which the latter, so far inconsequently,
commences the conversation, referred to a
declaration of the former that upon his word
lof honor he did not know what on earth was
the matter with her. meaning Miss Stella
Lockwood, aged seventeen, the Squire's eldest
| child by a dead wife.
The second Mrs. Lockwood was present at
this consultation, and took a leading part in
it; answered all the Doctor's questions, and
I anxiously entered into every detail of the sick
I girl's case, in the hope that she might help
him to discover its cause and prescribe for its
It was a very peculiar case. Six months
ago Stella Lockwood was the picture of phys
ical health, and to all appearance as happy a
girl as could be found in the shires. All of a
sudden she lost her strength, her good looks,
her Sood temper; became pale, nervous and
gloomy, and yet no recognizable disease
showed itself. She ate well and slept well;
there was nothing the matter with her diges
tive organs, or her lungs, or her brain. Her
heart was in perfect order as a blood-pump,
and untouched by a malady with which “sweet
seventeen” is sometimes afflicted. There was I
no consumption or decline in her family, i
Her father had not spent five pounds on doc- j
tors or druggists since he left college. Her
mother was a strong and he.arty woman until |
crippled by an accident, which will be hereaf- i
ter recorded. There were no sins of the third '
or fourth generations that any- one knew of I
likely to be visited upon the children in this; !
for the child in question sprung from long
lived, prudent and temperate stock on both
sides. When, therefore, her father (who at
first, man like, made light of his daughter’s
ailment and poo phooed his wife's fears) was
at last driven to realize that there must be
something the matter, and was honestly in
formed by his friend the doctor that upon his'
word and honor he did not know what on
earth it was, * * ® he broke out with that
then we have heard, and the desired second
opinion was procured.
The seconrl opinion came from a famous
practitioner (from London), whose specialty
was nerves, particularly female nerves, and
who was by no means the sort of man to say
upon his word and honor he did not know
what on earth anything was. Another
specialty was his smile. It was reproachful,
saying, “ Oh, why- did you not send for me
sooner ? ” * ® * It was assuring, saying,
“ Lay- aside all your anxieties now that I am
here.” ® * ® It was complimentary, say
ing, “Yes, you suffer exactly what a person
in your rank of life ought to suffer under the
circumstances.” He smilingly added a new
fashioned preparation of iron to Dr. Fielding’s
treatment, smilingly prescribed change of air
and smilingly took his fifty guineas and his
The new-fashioned preparation of iron did
not do Stella any- good, and the change of
scene did her actual harm. Nothing pleased
her, nothing interested her. She was led
through France, Switzerland, Italy, like a girl
in a trance. She pined and fretted for home,
and home they- had to bring her * « *
acting under a third opinion * * * after
an absence of six months, not one whit im
proved by- her traveling, paler, more nervous
and gloomy- than ever. About this time, also,
began a change in her demeanor toward her
stepmother which greatly- distressed that lady,
and a habit of seeking the society of her step
grandfather which astonished the whole
To explain this, we must go back to the
day-s of the first Mrs. Lockwood.
St. John Lockwood, of Dighton Honor, was
left lord of himself at an early age, and found
his heritage anything but one of woe. Before
he left Oxford it had betm arranged by every
one, but himself, that he should marry his old
playmate and neighbor, Mabel Ravesy, and
even in his own mind this was as much ar
ranged as anything else that entered that
rather overcrowded and disorderly domain.
The lady had her own consent, and more.
She loved him deeply, tenderly, truly, and
was in every- way worthy of a steadier and a
better man. This was why- the young Squire’s
guardians favored an early marriage.® * *
Mabel was a good, clever girl, and would man
age him, they thought. Besides, what a
mercy it would be for her, poor child! to have
a home of her own ! From this it may be in
ferred that her surroundings were not irre
proachable. Alany a girl of her age, how
ever, envied the maiden mistress of Claiborne
Court. Colonel Ravesy was a widower of ten
years’ standing, a justice of the peace, a dep
uty lieutenant, a steward of county races, a
patron of county balls, a power in the Vehi
mic court, which made and enforced social
laws at Salincham * ® * *
the county- town, famous for its hunting, its
scandal and its “ waters.” The county shook
its head and sighed over the Colonel’s doings
out of the county. The great world’s favorite
weekly newspapers frequently- contained spicy
little paragraphs concerning him. Still he
held his own. It is so difficult to cashier a
leader, once you have put him in command;
and the lawn tennis, the archery, the balls,
the theatricals, the cellar and the cuisine of
Claiborne Court were so good, and the pro
prietors were so carefully- attended to at home
that Col. and Miss Ravesy’s invitations were
“ Yes, my dear,” materfamilias would say-,
“ I think we shall go this time: but really-,
when Flora comes out ” With a good
many others, every time was to be the last
time, and so indeed it' was, till the next.
During the winter, when St. John Lockwood
became of age, Claiborne Court outshone it
self. “Where the does the money come
from ? ” men asked each other.
Shortly after the last of these gayeties; St.
John went up to London to see a fellow off
who was going abroad. The next thing heard
of him was that he had gone abroad himself,
and the next, that he was married! Ona cer
tain Monday night at Vienna, he said to him
self in the glass as he undid his collar. “Threw
herself at my head, by Jove I ” and was elated.
By the following Wednesday he found out that
the object of this remark threw herself at peo
ple’s hearts, not their heads, and was horribly
jealous. On the Saturday he threw himself
and his fortune at her feet, and was made
happy. She was an American, one of those
bright, beautiful, hearty girls, who dance
through their youth to the music of their own
happiness. Impulsive as he was, and as much
in love, she saw no reason why they should
not be married “right away.” And married
right away they- were.
This was a heavy- blow to Mabel, rendered
more hard to bear by her father’s conduct.
He was furious; denounced Lockwood as a
scoundrel, and poor Mabel as a “ little
fool.” Why- had she not played her cards
better? Why had she put him (her parent)
to all that expense, and let the prize slip
through her fingers after all? He had been
borrowing money right and left upon the
strength of the marriage for which he had
been scheming, and the news from Vienna
brought a swarm of indignant creditors around
When the happy pair came to live at
Dighton Honor there were, of course, plenty
of good-natured friends to tell the bride of
Mabel Ravesy’s “ disappointment, ” and to
warn her against “the dreadful man, the Col
onel.” The Colonel had been obliged to let
Claiborne Court and to move into a modest
cottage over somewhat nearer Dighton. He
was not able to entertain now, so no one called
upon him. Mr. Lockwood was, however, too
careless, and his wife too wise, to follow what
was pointed out to them as the proper course.
The one sought the Colonel (who found it ex
pedient to hide his feelings) as much as ever,
and the other made a prime favorite of the
Colonel’s daughter. At first there was more
of the wisdom of the serpent (on the married
lady’s side) than the softness of the dove in
'■ I’ll let them see, ” she said to herself,
“ that I’m not afraid of her, and I’ll make him
feel that I trust him. ”
This, perhaps, was somewhat risky with a
man of Lockwood’s temperament, but it an
swered its purpose. All went well; little
Stella was born, and the Squire, under the
management of his clever wife, had settled
down into a steady-going country gentleman,
when that accident, already- foreshadowed,
took place. He had been called to London
on business, which was to detain him some ten
days. On the morning of the seventh he tel
egraphed his delighted wife: “All done.
Meet me by the 2:50 train.”
Owing to some delays, the message did not
reach the Honor till past two o’clock, and the
station was a good half hour’s drive away.
Mr. Lock wood’s pony-carriage happened to
be at the door for another service. By mak
ing a short cut over the grass of the park she
could still catch the train. In she sprang,
and off went the high-spirited little nags at a
hand-gallop. When the roughest of the drive
was over, and only a hundred yards of level
turf separated their excited driver from the
main road, one of them put his foot in a rab-
bit hole, fell, nipped up his mate and overset
The beautiful Mrs. Lockwood never sat up
“ I wish it had killed me outright, Mabel,”
she said one day. “I am no companion for
him now, poor' fellow, and he feels it. No
more drives with him to the meet, no more
scampers over the autumn fields with the
luncheon basket. Yes.” she added, half to
herself, with a long-drawn sigh, “ if it were
not for Stella ”
Mabel Ravesy hardly ever left her, so as a
matter of propriety the dreadful Colonel, who I
. Ipid no home now, as his creditors had swal
lowed up the cottage orne, took up his quar
ters at the Honor, and brought with him the
| last remaning member of his once numerous
■ household as a sort of companion to Mabel,
, and an assistant nurse for the afflicted lady
.of the house. This person had been house
i keeper at Claiborne Court, and was a model
; of that combination of dignity and respectful
ness which is so valued in an upper servant,
i She might have been mistaken for a duchess
I as she swept along the hall in plain rich black .
silk to take the orders for the day—she stood
before her young mistress meeker than the •
last-arrived dairy-maid. She gave quite a
character to the house.
“If half the stories about him (the dreadful
Colonel) are true,” friends of his prosperous
days would say, “ Mrs. Kirkmann would not
, be there.”
| Strong, firm, quiet, she made an excellent
nurse so far as mechanical success went, but
for tenderness or sympathy one might as well
have searched the nether millstone.
Mrs. Lockwood lived, or rather suffered
life, for two years, and then the end came,
unexpectedly. She was found dead in her
bed, with little more than the usual wring of
t>ain on her once happy face.
We all know how trifles will be magnified
under the shadow of a great sorrow. There
i were upbraiding® and tears in the servants’
i hall that day- over — a lemon pip ! Like all
I invalids, Mrs. Lockwood had her little fancies
and dislikes, and one of them was against
pips in her lemonade. They made it bitter,
she said. The glass from which she drank
during the night was found overturned and
a small piece chipped out of its rim by its
fall against the jug. A portion of its contents
soaked the table-cloth, in removing which Mrs.
Markby, the housekeeper, found that one pip
“I shouldn’t sleep for a month, Mary Jane,”
said the good woman reproachfully, “if I
could think that the last thing I did for the
dear lady was done careless.”
“ I’ll take my Bible-oath, Mrs. Markby,”
sobbed the inculpated kitchen-maid, “that I
“ If you had strained it,” persisted the ac
cuser, there couldn’t have been any pip.”
In this calamity the dreadful Colonel made
himself extremely- useful, and increased the
hold he had obtained over the widower. He
made the arrangements for the funeral, and
relieved the mourner of all these petty troubles
which grate so upon grief. When the propri
eties would no longer permit his daughter to
remain at the Honor, he took her to London,
and reappeared in good feather at several of
his old haunts. To London, and afterwards
to Scarborough, St. John followed them be
fore the year was out —the Honor was so
lonely, he said. The Colonel was glad to
hear that his former housekeeper, Mrs. Kirk
man,, had been provided for. She was now
keeping a school at Dighton, and doing well.
* * « * s
As every- one expected, Mabel Ravesy be
came the second Mrs. Lockwood. Thrown so
much together as she and little Stella had
been, there was no shock for the child. Little
to forget and nothing to learn, the old associ
ations blended into the new relationship very
happily.. “Wait till she has children of her
own, said Malice. In due time she had chil
dren of her own, but still the motherless child
was. best and first and dearest. So her kind
critics veered round, and were shocked at
such injustice to her own flesh and blood. It
was ridiculous, some of them assured each
other, ta behold how Stella was spoiled. - Her
step-mother appeared to be afraid of the
child. Others shook their heads and declared
that there must be some cause for it —mean-
ing, of course, a bad one. I notice that when
ever the uncharitable cannot put a finger,
moral or physical, on tha-cause of what they
do not understand, and consequently dislike,
they- wag the tops of their bodies and groan
that a bad one must exist. There was no
bad cause for it; it might have been so with
out any cause at all, for Mabel had a big
warm Heart; but it did so happen that about
a month before the first Mrs. Lockwood died,
she took her kind nurse’s hand and whispered,
(as though in continuation of something that
had through her mlntl uunyukcu).
“ You will take my place with Stella, too,
dear, won’t y-ou ?”
The time came when the love which Mabel
bore the child for its own sake, and the affec
tion created by- that tender trust, underwent a
change. Fear stole in. The gossips were
right—she became afraid of her husband’s
I have said that upon her return from that
fruitless continental tour a change came over
Stella Lockwood's demeanor to her step
mother which greatly- distressed that lady,
and a habit of seeking the society of her step
grandfather which astonished the whole house
hold. By this time the dreadful Colonel had
fallen into very bad ways. When his daughter
was married strangers took him for the bride
groom, so young and chirpy- did he look; be
fore three.years were over he broke down into
an old man, with nothing lovely in the marks
which time had stamped upon him. As a
child, little Stella was arraid of him; as a
girl they rarely met, though he had taken up
his quarters permanently at the Honor. As
a young woman she did what few others cared
to do —bearded him in his den, where he sat
smoking the strongest tobacco, drinking cold
gin-and-water, and muttering to himself. The
only visitor he tolerated was his late house
keeper,.Mrs. Kirkman, who came every Sun
day, and remained w-ith him exactly one hour.
Then she called on Mrs. Markby, had a glass
of sherry and a biscuit, with that lady in her
sanctum, and took her leave. Routine and
punctuality were characteristics of the still
handsome and dignified Mrs. Kirkman. The
Colonel had become negligent as regards his
person, profane in his language, and was al
most always fuddled with drink, **® not
an attractive companion for any one, much
less for a nervous girl of seventeen. Never
theless, Stella would seat herself at the other
side of the table at which he sat pretending to
read, and watch him with her face resting on
her hands. “O, dear Miss Stella,” the ser
vants would exclaim, “don’t, pray, go in; he’ll
hurt y-ou, sure-” And the warning was not
without cause) for the Colonel found charms
in his solitude, and had been known to hurl
bottles (empty ones) and even chairs, at such
as intruded upon it.
“No, he will not hurt me,” Stella would re
ply, in the firm but abstracted tone which had
grown in her voice, and he did not. He
would stamp and scream at her as she sat
watching him, swear awful oaths, and threaten,
wildly, but he never touched her. When he
locked his door to keep her out, she would go
around to the window and watch him through
the glass. For his den was on the ground
floor, so chosen because his heart was affected,
and going up and down stairs was bad for
him. If he closed the shutters in her face
Stella would still stand her ground, as though
no obstacle impeded her sight, and it always
ended by his letting her in. “ you,” he
would cry, “it’s worse to know- you are there
looking at me than to see your cursed sac
She seldom spoke; when she did, it was
always about her mother. Sometimes he
would cry and plead piteously to be left alone.
If she would only go away now, she might
come and stay all day to-morrow. She paid
no attention to what he said. If she were in
a talking mood, she went on, irrespective of
what he replied. If in a silent one, nothing
that he said appeared to move her. Once he
kept his bed in the next room for nearly a
week to avoid her; but she came all the same,
evening after evening, and sat herself oppo
site his empty chair till he surrendered.
This conduct of Stella’s was all the more
strange, because she had herself fallen into
long spells of silence and affected solitude.
She withdrew almost entirely from the society
of her father and her step-mother. When
acting under further advice from the famous
“nerves’-’ man —cheerful young girls of her
own age were invited to the Honor, she was
barely civil to them, and, of course, they- took
the hint and did not repeat their visits. She
would sit alone for hours in the room where
her mother died, and in the twilight would
wander about the great house, exploring lum
ber-rooms and attics, returning with her dress
torn by the nails and grimy with dust. Only
one short year before she was the neatest of
You may be sure that this did not pass un
“I dare say you mean it kindly, dear,”
Mrs. Lockwood' said soon after these new
fancies had developed themselves, “but really
you do your poor grandfather harm. He is
in a very nervous state, and begs to be left
“Does he ?” replied Stella, dreamily.
“Yes. And Dr. Fletcher will tell you that
it is the best thing for him. He is very much
shaken, and the least excitement is bad for
him ; your father understands this, and never
goes near him. I only go occasionally, to see
that he is comfortable. Now oblige me, my
darling, by not going again.”
“I must go.”
“But why ? It can be no pleasure to you.”
“I must go.”
“This is childish. 1 ’ said Mrs. Lockwood,
getting vexed. “I tell you there is no occa
siou for you to go: you do him harm by go
ing. I will not allow my father to be annoy
ed by any one. If you know what trouble
he has had, poor man. you w-ould be mote
considerate. Now, Stella (finding that the
girl’s face was hardening), you know that 1
never deny you anything that is good for
you; do please me this once; promise not to
go again. 1 ’
“I will try not to go.”
“Try, nonsense! As I said before, it can
be no pleasure to you ; your curiosity is sat
isfied by- this time, I should think. You speak
as though I had asked you to make some j
sacrifice. Besides,” she went on, meeting I
with ho Hisponse, “Dr. Fletcher says it is bad
for you also. You are in a highly nervous I
state yourself and the sight of a person af
flicted as is my poor father, must injuriously |
affect you. Do not force me to exert my au
thority and absolutely forbid you, Stella.”
“ No,” said the girl, “ I would rather that
you did not forbid me.”
“ That is my own Stella.” Mrs Lockwood
thought she had gained her point, and tried
to seal it with a kiss, but the girl turned away
“ Stella, she almost sobbed, “why will vou
not kiss me?” z
“ I do not know-.”
“ Are you vexed with me for what I have
“ Oh, Stella, you do not love me.”
“I see my own mother so often now,” said
the girl, with Towered eyelids, “that—that—”
“See your own mother?” gasped Mrs.
“In my dreams, I suppose; but I will try
and please you; I will try, indeed.”
For some time she did'not go near the Col
onel’s den, or even visit that part of the gar
den into which its windows opened. But j
gradually the circle of her wanderings nar-1
rowed; she would not (or could not) avoid I
that side of the house, * * • she could
not avoid the path which led to the forbidden
ground, ” ” she passed the window
slowly- and more slowly, and at last could not
resist stopping at it and looking within. Then
she went in the same as before.
What was to be done? All the doctors
agreed that in her present state of health she
was not to t>e thwarted. At the same time,
they insisted that she must be kept away from
the Colonel —for both their sakes. Persuasion,
command and entreaty were employed in
“lou see,” she would reply, without a
shade of obstinacy- or defiance, “ I must go.”
One evening a piercing shriek was heard
in the “den.” None of the servants dared
enter it. Mrs. Lockwood was sent for, and
found the Colonel in a fit on the floor.
“ Cruel child! ” she cried, “he is dead—you
have killed him.”
“He is not dead,” said Stella, quietly;
and he will not die just yet.”
And she was right; but this brought mat
ters to a climax. “Very well, then,” said
Mr. Lockwood, “ if sense will not teach you
to refrain from what is unkind and injurious,
I will see what wood and iron will do.” So
orders were given to shift the Colonel’s quar
ters. He was past going up and down stairs
now, and so it did not matter in what part of
the house the “den” was to be. Suitable
rooms were found in one of the wings, and
carpenters came to measure the passage
which led to them for a massive baize-covered
door, which would shut Miss Stella out from
even approaching within ear-shot of her vic
He never reached the proposed haven of
rest. The very- day before it was ready for
his occupation, he was found much as his
daughter had seen him after that shriek was
heard. He had slipped from his chair and
lay-huddled up on the floor, but stone dead
and cold, this time.
Since that previous attack Stella had been
carefully watched, and it was certain that she
was not actively responsible for the more
fatal seizure. Still, it was felt to be the se
quel to the other, and that she was to be
charged with both. She heard the news with
out emotion, and bore the reproaches cast
upon her without reply.
The cause of death was certified to be dis
ease of the heart, and so there was no inquest.
The funeral was a quiet one, but marked by
an incident which caused some talk. When
those solemn words, “We therefore commit
his body to the ground,” were spoken, Mrs.
Kirkman, who had been standing, Ry tko
head of the grave, knelt down, took a handful
of earth, pressed it to her lips, and let it fall
slowly- on the coflin.
Returning from the church-yard, Mrs.
Markby took Dr. Fletcher aside, and what
passed between them, resulted in his return
ing to the Honor, and going with her to the
now vacant den.
“ If I’m over bold, Doctor," she began, “ in
my- questioning, please remember that, girl
and woman, I’ve served this family for three
and thirty years.”
“ Yes, y-es, yes; I understand,” he said,
afraid, like all his craft, of long introductions.
“Go on. What’s the matter now ?”
“ You remember my first mistress here,
“ Os course.”
“ What did she die of?”
“ Impossible to say, exactly. She was worn
out with suffering, poor lady! Perhaps there
was some internal injury that escaped us, and
which may have led to the immediate cause
of her death.”
“ But the Colonel died of heart disease —
you’re sure of that?”
“ Now, Mrs. Markby come to the motive of
your questioning. There is one beyond cu
riosity —I can see that in your face,” said the
Doctor, getting in earnest.
“There is, indeed, sir; I was the one who
put the rooms to rights after both deaths, and,
if you will believe me, the same glass in
which Mrs. Lockwood had her last drink of
lemonade was the one the Colonel used for
his gin-and-water, just before he died.”
“ How can you possibly- know that?”
“ The rim was chipped where it fell against
“Pshaw! I’ll engage that there are a dozen
chipped tumblers in the house. ”
“ Maybe, but not of that pattern. We’ve
had nothing like that pattern since my first
lady’s time. It’s an American sort of glass
that she fancied —goblet shape, like a big
wineglass. Why, that’s nearly- fifteen years
ago, Doctor, and there is not one other left.
Set upon set have been broken up since then.
How came this one left? And how did it get
into the Colonel’s room?”
"If that’s all, I don’t think it worth while to
inquire. Odd things do survive. They get
put away out of use.”
“ They do,” said the housekeeper, somewhat
relieved, “that’s'true. If y-ou were only sure
what my first lady died of. ”
"“There is something more in y-our mind,
Mrs. Markby,” replied the Doctor severely,
“and I insist upon knowing what it is. ”
“Sir, there was a pip found on the table near
that glass, w here the lemonade had been spilled
out of it.”
“Wonderful! ” sneered Fletcher. “A lem
on-pip in lemonade! You don’t say so! ”
“It was Mary Jane Masters (Smith washer
maiden name) who was under me then,” the
housekeeper continued, unmindful of the sar
casm, “and she made that lemonade. My mis
tress was very- particular not to have any pips
in it —they made it bitter, she ifeid, and
scolded Mary- Jane for her carelessness in not
straining it. She swore she had strained it,
and, Dr. Fletcher, I believe she told the truth.
I never caught her out in a lie before, or af
“If yqu mean anything at all by this, you
mean to insinuate that the first Mrs. Lockwood
was poisoned, ” the doctor blurted out, getting
red and uneasy.
“ The Lord forgive me if I’m a wicked
woman, but 1 do, ” Mrs. Markby replied.
“Sir, when I came back from the room after
giving Mary Jane my mind, I couldn’t find
that glass. I didn't want it so much as the
pip for proof against the girl. I got that, and
thought no more about the tumbler till I found
it on the Colonel’s table. How did he get it?
Now, Doctor, many times since Miss Stella
has been plaguing him he said he wished he
was dead, that his life wasn’t worth having,
and such like. Suppose he had disease of the
heart, but didn't die of it? Suppose he poi
"That wouldn’t show that he had poisoned
“It would show that he had poison, though.
Where did he keep it ? If he ever used it in |
that tumbler, he would most likely have put I
them away together.”
“ By , Markby, you ought to have been
a detective,” exclaimed the doctor. “ Was
there anything in the tumbler when you found
“ About a tablespoonful of gin and water.” |
“ You didn’t throw it away, I hope ?”
“ No, sir, I locked it up, just as it was, in
that drawer.” '
As she spoke, she opened the drawer and ■
handed Fletcher the cracked tumbler, with
about two inches of (flear liquid in it. At j
his request, she then got a vial, into which,
after having washed it out carefully, he
I poured the gin and water which the Colonel
i hud left.
“I will take this home with me,” he said,
| “ and let you know to-morrow if there is any-
thing wrong about it. In the meantime, not
I a word to any one.”
! To-morrow came, but no Dr. Fletcher.
Three days passed, and yet he had not kept
his word. On the morning of the fourth he
| drove up in his gig with portmanteau and
rugs, as though bound for a journey. and sent
for Mrs. Markby to come out to him, as he
‘ had not a moment to spare.
“ I'm puzzled about that,” he whispered.
“ and am going to London to see a friend of
mine, who is an analytical chemist, about it.
1 here may be some sediment in the tumbler
which might help us: so get it for me. and be
; quick, or I shall lose the train.”
, She hurried to the “ den ” and opened the 1
. The tumbler was gone !
(CONCLUDED NEXT WEEK.)
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THE SALES OF THE REGULATOR
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Springs, and Casar’a Head, Soutl. Carolina, are all
popular resorts. Parties who spent the severe portion
of last winter in Florida, spent the remainder of the
season at Mount Airy with decided advantage to their
health. Parties en route to Florida can apend the
early Autumn, aud those returning from Florida,
the early Spring at these excellent aud elevated resorta
with profit to tiielr physical welfare.
Os the climate of Western North Carolina, Guyot
savs: *«he climate of this elevated region ia truly de
lightful. Even in mid-winter snow remains but a short
time on the ground, and the summit of the high
mountains are never covered throughout the winter
with snow.” . . - c .
Nestled amid these grand mountains is the beautiful
city of Asheville, N. C. Near it are the French Broad
and Swannauva rivers. Asheville is 2,250 feet above
the level of ihe sea, and has a climate mild, dry, and
full of salvation for the consumptive. Here is located
an excellent Sanitarium for pulmonary diseases. In
the year the highest temperature in summer was »0
deg in 1«1. The temperature at midday in winter
rises to 50 and sometimes to 70 and 80 deg. Asheville
is reached via the 1-iedmout Air-Line and Spartanburg
Sr AshevUe It. B. The last road is now running with
in 20 miles of Asheville, and the staging is through a
lovely aud romantic section, over a smooth road, by
JAMES C DUNLAP, J. R. MACMURDO,
; ROBT. R. BILLUPS, Geu’l. Pass. Ag’t..
Passenger Agenta, RICHMOND, VA-
ATLANTA, GA. W. J. HOUSTON,
Gen. Pass. A Ticket Agt.
ATLAN TA, GA.
J. L. WALDROP, General Traveling Agent.
ATLANTA CITY LAUNDRY,
Xo. 2 Loyd Street, Near Markham House.
Washing, Starching and Ironing
Done on shobt notice and in first-class style.
LACE WINDOW CURTAINS
MADE TO LOOK LIKE NEW
stopping in the city for a few Lours
only, aud wanting work done in our line, may rely on
Goods called so- and delivered to any part of the
city fr<e of charge.
TERMS CASH ON DELIVERY.
J. R. GREGORY’, Proprietor.
Miss M. A. SMITH, Sup’t.