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LITTLE NELL, THE MANIAC’S DAUGHTER. BY W. A. POE. CHAPTER I. I was returning home after visiting a patient beyond the suburbs of the city of M . The rain descended in floods, and I urged my horse to a gallop. Just as I arrivedat the stone mile post, I was startled by a cry for help, proceeding from a house near by. In an instant, I alighted from my horse, rushed to the door, and en deavored to gain admission. I could hear excited voices, as if their possessors were en gaged in a fierce struggle. For a moment I stood irresolute; raising my voice, I shouted for admission; my only reply was a wild laugh from within. FeariDg that a bloody deed was being perpetrated, I forced a window, and in a moment the little glimmering light I had ob served was extinguished, and 1 was surrounded by darkness. The sounds of conflict were hushed, and deep silence reigned. Hastily lighting* a match, by its flare I observed, crouched in a far corner of the room, an ema ciated, ghastly man, and near him sat a young girl, her face hidden by an apron. Upon a mall table rested a Japan la'mp, still smoking, as if recently extinguished. This I soon had lighted. •Who are you?’said the man, issuing from the corner, and advancing upon me in a me nacing attitude. ‘Who are you,’ he repeated, ‘who dares enter my house unbidden ? Ha, ha!' he laughed, ‘ your life must pay the pen alty. I am the avenging destiny—the slayer of hecatombs of foolish adventurous youths! Bring forth the cloak of sacrifice, Lucretia. Place upon his head the cap of martyrdom. Why do you stand inactive? Do you hesitate to perform your duty as the high priest’s dis ciple? Sound the drum, burn incense upon the altar. Prepare, prepare ?’ cried he, assum ing an attitude of command. ‘Run for your life ! stay not a moment!’ ex claimed the frenzied girl, grasping my arm. ‘What do you mean by this mummery ?’ said I, sternly. ‘ Do you think lam to be deceived or frightened by it ?’ ‘For the love of God—for pity’s sake, sir,, do not rouse my poor father’s frenzy ! Leave us, sii, oh, leave us! He will listen to me, he will obey me,’ cried the girl, her beautiful face raised to mine in an agony of appeal. I was in the act of leaving, when in an in stant the madman was upon, me, shouting, ‘bring the sacrificial knife’’ In my college days, I had given no little at tention to the art of wrestling, and in a mo ment I threw him to the floor. Holding him there, I forcibly administered chloroform from a bottle I had in my pocket, and lifting his emaciated form in my arms, conveyed him to a bed in a room his daughter pointed out. Leav ing her alone with him, I waited to see the re sult. After a few moments had passed, she came out, closing the door behind her. •He has wakened from the chloroform stupor, but he seems inclined to sleep. He is lying perfectly quiet,’ she said. ‘I am a physician. I would willingly try all in my power to relieve your father. May I ask if this insanity is hereditary?’ ‘The story of my father’s trials is very sad,’ she answered. ‘I have thought that I could never divulge this secret to a stranger, but. I long for sympathy. I so badly need a friend. When alone, surrounded by the ghosts of our former happiness, my heart sinks within me, and I long for the companionship of some one who will give me advice or consolation. We have lived perfectly secluded because of my poor father’s misfortune. He is all I have on earth. He loves me fondly, and it would kill him to be separated from me. I wanted no one to know of his condition, both because he shanks from the shame of it, and because I am afraid he would be taken to a mad house. I could not bear that. I had far rather attend him myself. I am only seventeen, but grief and care have made me feel so old. My father—but, sir, I cannot tell you our sad story to-night. I am too much agitated.’ I hastened to assure her I would call again, and if she should feel disposed to confide in me her history, I would be glad to aid her in any manner possible. Next morning after seeing my patient and finding her greatly improved, I stopped at the little house, surrounded by lofty trees. The yard was tastefully adorned with flower beds, indicating refinement and love for the beauti ful, yet .the close blinds and sombre appearance of the cottage betrayed that its inmates were in some way peculiar or eccentric. Upon rapping at the door, 1 was admitted by the young lady I had seen the previous evening. I inquired after the mental condition of her father. ‘He is himself this morning,' she replied. ‘Oh, if I could hope that he would remain as he now is!’ ‘I see no reason why this hope may not be realized. You have not acted wisely in your endeavor to seclude your father and keep the secret of his condition. This isolation will in jure rather than benefit him.’ ‘Be seated, sir,’ she said, as we entered the neat sitting-room. ‘The history of our lives will explain why we have determined to forego all human society so far as possible. My fath er’s name is Alfred Levert, and my own, Helen, yet in the happy days of my childhood I was called Little Nell. As our name indicates, we are French. I remember those happy, happy days iD beautiful France. I was then but a lit tle girl seven years of age; but when I review in memory, as I often do, the scenes that sur rounded me then, I recall a grand old castle, situated on a sloping hill above the waters of the Seine. I hear the merry songs of the peasants, returning from their work in the vineyard, I see myself playing under the great elm trees, and riding along the river’s side on my white pony. I remember more vividly still our flight from this |beautiful home. It was a stormy night. I was sleeping in the old nursery; by my side lay my dear old nurse, governess and friend. She was my only com panion, and in her company my heart never ex perienced the desolation children feel who are deprived of a mother’s love. My mamma died when I was only three months old. To the care of Mrs. Dupont—Mamma Dupont, as I used to call this second mother—I was consigned by my father. Yes, the night was dark, and it was the beginning of the darkness whioh has so long surrounded me. I was awakened from my slum bers and hastily prepared for our journey. How well I remember those weary days that followed—the long days spent on the ship in our passage across the sea; I remember our landing in a large city—Mamma Dupont and uncle Ralph and myself. The noise and con tusion, the strange language I heard, caused me to grasp Mamma Dupont’s hand in fear. Not a moment did my uncle Ralph leave the side of my father. His manner was strange; and when wejarrived at the little house,away on some back street, I rushed to my father to receive the caresses that were wont to be bestowed upon me. Oh, sir, could words describe the surprise grief I then felt? He did not know me— own, his only ohild—but madly pushed me from him, muttering some incoherent words I did not then understand. I was taken from the room by Mamma Dupont, at the bidding of my uncle. It was five long years before I saw my my father again. I was told to quiet my fears— that he was in the country for his health. I en treated to be allowed to visit him. This en treaty was denied me. I have since learned that my father was the inmate of a private asy lum for the insane, not many miles from the city of New York. I had passed my twelfth birthday when my father returned to us. In his caressses, a new life—a happy life— was enjoyed by me. He was his former self, and I the child of his love. For three short years 1 eDjoyed this happy existence, at the ex piration of which time, a deep gloom rested up on our hearts. My uncle, who was never ro bust, faded day by day, .until at last we buried him among strangers, far away from his beloved France. A few months after my uncle's death, my kind, true friend, Mamma Dupont returned to France. As I watched the departure of the ves sel which rapidly separated us, need I tell you sir, it made my heart sad. Imagine my fate, a voung girl of sixteen, unacquainted with the great strange world, alone, save the companion ship of a father, pursued by a melancholy he could not resist, I did not complain that my friend left me, othe duties, other cares called her away. Takingrmy father’s hand, we return ed to our desolate lodgings. Six months after Mamma Dupont’s departure, again the mania came upon my father. I knew not how to act, but determined to conceal his misfortune from the world. As soon, therefore, as this period of insanity passed, I insisted on removing my father. My persuations alter a time gained his consent, and we came here. I have been his only companion for a year. I could welcome death as a deliverance, but who could supply my place? I must live, I must bear my sorrow unaided and alone.’ Her voice faltered, tears flowed down her pale cheeks. My heart was touched. ‘Will you allow me, my dear young friend,’ I said, ‘to assist you in this sacred duty. Your case is indeed a sad one. It ever a heart need ed that comfort which friendship alone can of fer yours does. Human strength cannot endure such a strain upon it unless supported by sym pathy. Do you want means ? Do you wish counsel? If so, I beg you will not hesitate to call upon me. It will be more than pleasure to me to aid you.’ She looked at me a moment, her eyes speak ing her thanks more forcibly than words. •May God bless you for your kindness sir— the God of thfe orphan and the distressed. I am not in want of any comfort money can give. The income from my father’s estate, more than sup plies our wants. At regular intervals these amount are sent to my agent; I say my agent, for I am forced to act as head of our humble establish ment. I need sir, nothing save friendship.’ ‘Why do yon not return to your native coun try ? Perhaps the old familiar scenes of home may awaken, invigorate, and restore your fath er’s diseased mind.’ •We are oulawed from home, driven from country and friends by my father’s crime. Pity, pity me sir, my father is a murderer an escaped criminal.’ ‘Y'ou mistake, my friend,’I interrupted, ‘in sanity is an excuse for crime.’ T know sir, that the penalty of death, would not be visited upon my poor father, so long as his mind is affected by insanity. But during the lucid intervals of this derangement, the law would seek to punish him as his crime deserves. And then the shame that would be his! And my father’s—my dearly loved father’s shame is mine; my love and devotion belong to him. Th3 victim of my father’s murderous vengeance was my mother’s brother. A feud of many year’s continuance existed between them, this coldness in time became hate, until it terminat ed in blows and death. Accidentally they met upon the highway, bitter words were spoken, my uncle struck my father with his riding whip; then pursued his way. That night my father went to his home, called him to the door, shot and killed him. The murderous deed was done, the murderous aim was true. We became wan derers from home, exiled from our country for ever. Sir, I have confided this to you because my heart is so full; I can no longer keep my own counsel. 1 am afraid I have done wrong, but your kindness seemed so earnest. Oh ! sure ly you will not betray us. You will not injure my poor, suffering, worn out father. Swear to keep my secret, never to breathe to living soul this bloody deed.’ ‘I swear it to you young lady, I will keep your secret as if it were my own,’ 1 replied. ‘Thank you and bless you, dear sir,’ said she solemnly. ‘I will leave you now. I hear my father calling me.’ Several days afterwards I again visited Miss Levert. As I entered the gate this afternoon, I was surprised to observe her seated, by the side of her father. Eagerly she c&me forward to wel come me. ‘This, father,’ said she, ‘is the kind Doctor I have spoken to you of.’ ‘I welcome you sir,’ said he urbanely ‘to our little home. A great many of the comforts of lifeare wanting here,but, as one of your English poets said, “What I have, I give it with good will.”’ ‘You forget, father,’ she said, ‘that wo are in America not England. Though I see no reason j why Americans should not be proud of the greatness of England’s sons.’ ‘I spoke of the poet, not as an Englishman but as an English writer. What news have you, sir? Isolated as we are from the great world, I fear we will forget the simplest usages of socie ty.’ The surprise I felt at hearing this gentleman converse so rationally caused me to hesitate some moments before replying. ‘ Though in the society of my fellows, con stantly,’ I replied, ‘I fear the little news I have to communicate would fail to interest you. The life of a physician, as you know, acquaints him with suffering and death.’ 'Speak not of death sir ;’ he replied wildly, ‘ Nothing of death, sir ; he is my master, I am his high priest. Ha, ha, I have many dealings with my exacting master. Do you know, sir, that 1 furnish the King of Terror more victims than even disease can give.’ ‘Come, father;’ interrupted his daughter, growing pale, ‘ we will show the good doctor our little garden. Yon must excuse, sir, its lack of ornate beauty, 1 alone attend to these few flow ers. Though my father is fond of looking at my pretty pets.’ ‘ I would speak, Nell, to the stranger of my priestly office.’ ‘ Another time, father ; please come with me, you can so much better explain to the doctor your plan of enlarging our little garden,’ said she, taking his hand and looking persuasively in his face. ‘ Well, well, Nell; you always have your way,’ said he, affectionately stroking her hair. ‘The world, Bir,’ he continued, * attributes to woman a great amount of vanity. My daughter I pronounce an exception. Would you believe, sir, she will not speak of the position she oc cupies as my assistant and disciple, though I am indebted to her for a large amount of the dignity that has been conferred upon me by my master, the. King of Tenors.’ ‘Father, what is the name of this flower? she interrupted, *1 am ashamed, sir, toadmi that I am compelled to refer to my father for the names of my little pets.’ * I am surprised, Nell, you do not know this flower, seen in every farm garden. I doubt not that the stranger thinks you somewhat of a diplomatist. As this question was surely pro pounded to divert my mind from the all absorb ing theme, my master and my priestly office.’ ‘ Yon mistake my intention, dear father. I asked for information.’ ‘ The flower, my child, is named the sychnis divica, usually called the bachelor’s button.’ ‘ Will vou wear ihis one, sir.’said she, pluck ing and presenting me with a flower. ‘ I trust you do not place me along with those old fellows, thename-sakesof this flower?’ I re plied, humoring the jest, and encouraging her endeavor to change the thoughts of her father. ‘Not for a moment would I put you in that crabbed category,’ she answered gaily. ‘Noth ing in your face indicates that yon belong to it.’ ‘After this compliment, I certainly will not make any acknowledgements,’ I replied. ‘ Pray excuse the liberty I took just now,” she sadly remarked later in the afternoon. ‘My wish to change the channel of poor father’s thoughts, I trust you will deem a sufficient excuse.’ ‘ Most assuredly, Miss Levert, I am glad my presence enabled you to accomplish your pur pose.” ‘ Call me little Nell. I would have those who are my friends thus to speak to me. If you will accept this bouquet,’ she continued, ‘I will gladly give it.” the will of one, incapable of pity, an unrelent ing, an avenging master, whose appetite for blood is never satiated. You are a man, sir, ca pable of reason, with the powers of self-will; hurl defiance at this creature, be yourself, be a I stammered ny thanks. The grace and pleasant mannerlof the yonn girl, caused an awkward blush fA suffuse my face. ‘I shall be pleased soon to meet you,’ said her father advancing to where his daughter and myself were standing. ‘ Then, perhaps, I may explain to you the mission that has been assigned me by iuy master.’ ‘Gladly I will avail myself of this kind invi tation, I replied.’ ‘I bid you good evening, said he extending his hand. I have this moment received a sum mons to prepare the sacrificial altar; I trust you will excuse my abrupt departure; my com mands are positive.’ He entered the house, leaving the daughter and myself upon the pleasant piazza. ‘I think’ said I, when I call again ‘I will see your father alone, I would understand the na ture of his delusion. By argument perhaps I may convince him of its folly.’ ‘I thank yon sir,’ said she, ‘but our Physi cian in New York, made this effort without success. However the trial can be made.’ ‘May I ask yo* to mail this letter,’ said she as I bade her goodmvfning. The old woman who usually attends to the out door duties of our household, has not made her appearance this afternoon.’ ‘Do not apologize, I will gladly perform this mission for you, or any other that you may en trust me with’ I answered eagerly. * With curiosity, which my interest in the gentle, brave young girl, warranted. I glanced at the address of this letter, ‘Mr. Adrien Casag- nac, Rue Temple, Paris. Who is this person? I asked myself. Is he the agent of Miss Le Vert ? | Acting on a sudden impulse I wrote a confiden tial letter to this Monsieur Casagnac, and mailed it with the letter given me by Little Nell.’ Returning to my solitary bachelor apartments, I found myself oppressed with an unwonted feeling of loneliness. The boquet given me, by the yoHDg girl,carefully refreshed with water, sat on my table beside me, scenting my room with fragrance and reminding me by grace and beau ty ef their lovely doner. I bent down and kissed the ro3es, and the next moment I blushed at having been betrayed into so sentimental an act—I a grave physician whose youth was already past, and whose busy life had given him small leisure for seu'dinent. Only after years of wear ing exertion I Pad succeeded in gaining a share of profession A uytronage, not however sufficent oi- certain ! 'permit the tnjiyiueGt V.f connubial happiness. I was a bachelor from the necessity that -knows no law,’ and forced to fight the battle of life alone. To-night, this loneliness affected me more than usual. As I looked upon the surrounding room, my heart longed for companionship, for the society of one whose presence would bestow happiness, whose love would fill the void within. I wonder ed at myself, Can it be’ I asked ‘that the kind ness of this young girl has awakened these mel ancholy longings.’ Though fatigued by the exertions of the day, it was long before I was sufficently tranquil to sleep. Several days elapsed before I visited Miss Le vert and her father. As I requested, during my former visit, I was conducted by the young lady into a room he had set apart as the Temple where his rites as High Priest wore solemnized, I entered the room alone. Upon a raised plat form was seated this self-constituted Priest, wrapped in a loose gown like the surplice’s usu ally worn by the Catholic Priesthood. Upon a huge block rested an old rust-eaton sword, de nominated by him the sacrificial knife. He re moved the scarlet three cornered cap, when he observed my entrance. The surroundings of the room, except the altar alluded to, did not convey the least/idea of the character given it by the manu-c. ’ His imagination however sup plied the appurtenances necessary to transform the room into a Temple of human sacrifice. I remained silently gazing upon the unhappy man, After some moments, he gave utterance to the following wild words: “From the regions of terror, over the burning billows, I have come as the duly appointed Priest of thriving of Ter rors, to demand in his name a suitable sacrifice. I proclaim, as my authority pertmis that before the evening sun ceases to shine upon the earth, this victim must present himself before this altar, as a willing sacrifice, to appease the appetite for blood which now consumes my Master. Thrice will I proclaim this mandate, let those who hear, bring forth the victim ere the sun sinks behind the hill tops.” His face was averted while he pronounoed fervently this imaginary command of his spec ter master. Gazing upon me a moment, he quit ted the raised position he occupied, advanced to where I was standing, then passed out of the door. Soon, however, he returned; on his arm was a gaudy cohflred cloth. “Put on the sacrificial robe,’’said he, handing this garment to me, “prepare for the great or deal, while I chant the song of sacrifice. ” “Why, sir;" said I forcing a smile, “you are an adept at personating an Aztec priest of the bloody rites. I am not, however, surprised at your exact personation of this cruel monster. The French are adepts as mimics.” “By the Eternal King, ’tis false!” he cried, excitedly. “I am no Frenchman! never have I dwelt upon French soil.” “Why,”8aid I, calmly, would you deny tome, your friend, your laud of nativity. I know your bloody secret.” “Ha, ha,” he laughed, “you would dissuade me from performing upon you my priestly office, you know my bloody secret! Ha ! ba! Yes, the fiends in hell shriek its story ! The fiends in hell will gnaw with teeth of fire, upon this liv ing flesh. ” The door opened hastily, and in rnshed his terrified daughter. “What have you done !” she exclaimed, exci tedly. “Retire,” I whispered, “I am doing your father no injury.” My earnest manner had the desired effect, and she quitted the room, leaving me alone with the maniao. “I am surprised Mr. Levert, I said, that yon will allow this imposter, this dark mysterious being, whom you denominate the King of Terror, whom yon call yonr Master, to have such an in fluence over yon. I beg you to cast from you, this delusion, for yon, my friend are subjeet to I spoke with all the power I was capable of. My language caused him to pause a moment in his madness. By accepting his belief in this being, created by his wild imagination, I hoped to convince him of his power to reject and dis- pise his influence. For a short time he remained silent as if im pressed by my words. The Demons which sur rounded him soon gained way, and he replied excitedly,” Ha! ha! you know not what you ut ter, sir ; you have little conception of him I call Master. Think you, that I could desert him! Think you, I dare hoot at his authority ! while around me crowds of fiends of darkness hover ready to cast my body into hell, at their master’s bidding. “See! Look!” said he, wildly. “They come and will crush me!” As if to conceal himself from these imaginary spirits, he crouched himself into a far corner, his face blanched with terror. “Come!” said I, taking his hand, “stand forth. Let the manhood that is within you strengthen you. See! I can meet them I fearlessly. I fear not their power.” j “You fear them not,” he whispered. “You are j sinless, you are guilty of no man’s blood, i Whilel—Help!”heskouted, “Saveme, saveme. ’ | Overcome by his excitement, he sank powerless j upon the floor. Again the young girl rushed into the room. “Get me a glass of water, said I.” ! She left the room, soon returning. I gave i him a dose of that soothing drug, opium. | “Oh, sir! I fear yonr conversation has injured my poor father,” said she tearfully, “No,” I replied. “I have learned the cause of his madness. I hope to cure him.” “How !” said she eagerly. “I do not know, perhaps my efforts will be use less. When I call again, you shall hear what I hope to do.” “God grant you may be able help him,” she said, clasping her hands and raising her beaut iful eyes to heaven. CHAPTER V. For a month I made regular visits at the home of Little Nell, as I had learned to call this young girl. At times her father conversed with as much rationality as the sanest of men. These lucid intervals, however, were of short dura tion. Unexpectedly, and without apparent cause, his manner would change, and his speech become wild, as he excitedly proclaimed his office of High Priest to the King of Terrors. If | I had done no other good, I had at least re- j lieved Nell of a portion of the weight of care j and anxiety that had pressed on her when she j fulfilled her melancholy task alone. Her eye | had grown brighter, her cheek fresher since I j came to her with my sympathy and friendship, j Friendship—ah ! it was more—I, the lonely old I bachelor, had learned to love this sweet, self- I | sacrificing girl, and it was the happiest moment | of my life, when I learned that my love was re- I turned. We stood together one evening, her little | hand in mine, ‘Do you think, Arthur,’ said she, j blushing, as she always does, when she had j uttered the name I begged her to call me, ‘that I shall ever know the happiness of seeing my father sound in mind and body ?’ ‘My darling,’ said I, kissing her fair fore head, ‘Hope is not denied us. You who have borne so great a sorrow uncomplainingly, must have been strengthened by this divine gift.’ ‘Now that I have your counsel, yonr love,’ she replied, ‘I can bear my trials, endure all God chooses to afflict me with. And yet, how I long to clasp my father rouud the neck, Knowing that he is capable of feeling the great joy my heart then would experience. Yet, would he even know happiness again ? I often think, our Heavenly Father, in mercy, has par tially taken his reason.’ How I longed to comfort her ! With my life how gladly would I have removed this cloud from the life of this dear being I worshipped. But words were idle, advice mockery, retribu tion would have its way. When I returned to my room that evening, I found on my desk two letters. One was from an old friend whom I had continuously corre sponded with for years. The other bore a foreign post mark; this I opened and discovered was from Monsieur Casagnac. On I read; the night was far advanced before I laid this j volumnious communication aside. In my joy I almost shouted aloud. No sleep visited my eyes that night. In my restless eagerness to see my little Nell, how slowly the hours went by. Day at last dawned. Hastily breakfasting, I mounted my horse and rode swiftly to the little brown cottage of the recluse. ‘Where!’ said I, after a hasty greeting to little Nell, ‘where is your father?’ ‘Oh! Arthur,’ she cried, much agitated. ‘What, oh tell me what has happened ? Has every thing been discovered ? Must we fry for safety ?’ ‘Yes, fly,’ said I, gaily, ‘and summon yosir father. No bad news Nell, but the best you ever heard in your life.’ She needod no further bidding, but hasten ed from the room; soon returning accompanied by her father, who I was glad to see was more collected than usual. ‘I have,’ said I, when they entered the room. ‘a letter containing such good news, that I would not, nor could not wait for a more sea sonable hour than the present to communicate it. Be seated, sir, and you Nell must remain near your father, a3 the contents of this letter concerns you both.’ Before they had an opportunity to reply, I began to read the following letter: Paris, June—187— Monsieur Roberts M. D. Dear Sir.—Your letter having date April 18th, asking that I would visit the castle of Baron Walfenstein, and enquire into the circumstances of his death, the date, and where his lady lies buried, was received. As I was unable to leave my office, I entrusted to my confidential clerk this mis sion, who has returned the following report. The facts sustained by two near neighbors of Baron Wolfenstein. I have sir, the honor to be your obedient servant, Adrien Casagnac. ‘Report made by D. Moseney confidential clerk to Adrien Casagnac Esq.’ ‘At your bidding, sir, I began my journey to north western France three days ago, to make definite enquiries concerning the manner of the death of Carl Walfenstein, also the date of his demise and the place where his lady was interred. Alter two days fatiguing travel I arrived at the village of—situate, five miles from the castle of Walfenstein. Here I halted and was soon engaged in conversation with the pro prietor of the village house of entertainment. Enquiring of him the direction of the castle, remarking that I intended visiting the grave of Car1 Walfenstein. ‘Carl.Walfenstein,’ he repeated, ‘I suppose, sir, yon refer to the German Baron by that name, residing five miles from my house ?’ ‘No,'said I, ‘not this one, but the one killed by his brother-in-law, Alfred Levert, many years ago.’ ‘Ah! I understand you are a lawyer’s clerk, and have a question to answer. I assure yon, sir, this is the same person, not killed, as was supposed by Alfred Levert and by many others. I remember well,|sir, the night he was shot by Levert Immediately after hearing that the Baron was dead, I hastened to the castle and there saw him lying appearently lifeless npon his bed. He recovered, sir, after many weeks. Alfred Levert married the sister fenstein. The difficulty was bnt t ®J“ ina - tionofa long standing fend. Levert escaped the night the murderous assault was commit ted with his daughter, a younger brother and the governess of Miss Levert. I have heard the governess returned to France and died. 8 As the day was not far advanced, I procured a horse and began my ride to the castle to sat isfy myself of the truth of this story. It 18 °se- less, sir, to dwell upon its incidents whmh w e of little moment. Arriving at the castle, l wa conducted to an apartment where wasi seat d Baron Walfenstein. Informing him of the na ture of my visit, from his own h P 3 * b y h a repetition of the facts already written. I have, for the sake of certainty, Procured affidavits from two of Baron Wallenstein's nearest neigh bors, substantiating these facts. I send this y post, as my other duties will not permit me to return to Paris for many days. With esteem and respect, your servant, D. Moseney. ‘Help oh help my father !’ screamed Nell, as he fell from his chair insensible upon the floor. For weeks we watched by the bed of the suffer er; his life at times seemed pasing away, the removal of the burden had been too sudden, excitement too great ior his enfeebled consti o- tion. But good nursing, tender attention »■- last turned the scale. He slept—a deep refresh ing sleep; when he awoke, the crisis was j>ast; he wonld live,—live. The cloud had passed from his brain forever. His reason had resumed its sway. It was on a bright May morning that Nell and I were married; the sound of merry wedding bells were not heard, there were few to witness the ceremony. Yet onr hearts were happy, our joysurpeme. My bachelor lodgings were let to a new tenant, And now, after the labors of the day are done, my little Nell welcomes me joy fully at our cottage home. Enjoy Life. What a truly beautiful world we live in! Nature gives ns grandeur of mountains, glens and oceans, and thou sands of means ior enjoyment. We can desire no better when in perfect health; but how often do the majority of people feel like giving it up disheartened, discouraged and worried out with disease, when there is no occasion for this feeling, as every sufferer can easily obtain satis factory proof that Green’s August Flower will make them as free from disease as when born. Dyspepsia and Liver Complaint is the direct cause of seventy-live per cent of such maladies as Dilliousness, Indigestion, Sick Mead- ache, Costiveness, Nervous Prostration, Dizziness of the Head, Palpitation of the Heart, and other distressing symptoms. Three doses of August Flower wiil prove its wonderful effect. Sample bottles, 10 ceuts. Try it. 146 Hapty tidings for nervous sufferers, and those who have been dosed, dragged Mid quacked, Pulvermacher’s Electric Belts effectually cure premature debiliiy, weak ness and decay. Book and Journal, with information worth thousands, mailed free. Address Pulvermachee Galvanic Co.. Cincinnati, Onio. NEW ADVERTISEMENTS. Mart Hill, 'j vs. - Libel for Divorce. Andrew Hill, j It appearing by the return of the Sheriff that the defen dant cannot be found in Fulton county, and it beingrep- resenSed that the defendant resides beyond the limits of the State of Georgia, ordered that service be perfected by publication in the Sunny South once a month for four mouths: and that the defendant appear and answer by the next term of this Court, or be considered in default. April 25th, 1878. FRANK L. HARALSON, Petitioners' Attorney. A true extract from the minutes. April 25.1878. W. H. VENERABLE, D. C. 150-lam tm Georgia, Fulton County. M. J. Vauciin, 1 vs. f Libel for Divorce. E, E, Vaughn. ) [ , It appearing by the return of the Sheriff in the above stated case that the defendant can not be found in this county, and it further appearing that he is out of the county, it is hereby ordered by the Court that service be perfected bj- publication in the Sunnt South once a month for four months; aud that said defeudant be and appear at the next term ol the Superior Court, to answer said libel. By the Court. R. H, BRUMBY, Attorney for Libellant. A true extract from the minutes. April 25, 1878. W. H, VENERABLE, D. C. .1. Painless AMERICAN Cure or ANTIDOTE. The habit of using Mor phine,Gum Opium, Laud anum or Klixir of Opium cured painlessly by this Improved remedy. Manufactured at Atlanta, Ga., at reduced prices. Tested in hundreds of cases. Guaranteed. Par ticulars Free. Address B. M. Woolley, Atlanta, Ga, Office No. 35, over Linen Store, entrance 33J Whitehall street. MAX WELL HOUSE, Nashville, Tennessee. J. P JOHNSON, Proprietor. CAPACITY 200 ROOMS. Accommodations unsurpassed in the country 142 AYER’S CATHARTIC PILLS. B Y universal accord, Ayer’s Cathartic Pills are the best of all purgatives for family use. They are the product of long, laborious and successful chemical investi gation, and their extensive use, by Physicians in their practice, and by all civilized nations, proves them the best and most effectual purgative Pill that medical science can devise. Being purely vegetable, no harm can arise from their use. In intrinsic value and curative powers, no other Pills can be compared with them, and every person knowing their virtues will employ them when needed. They keep the system in perfect order, and maintain in healthy action the whole machinery of life. Mild, search ing and effectual, they are specially adapted to the needs of the digestive apparatus, derangements of which they prevent and cure, if timely taken. They are the best and BBfest physic to employ for children and weakened consti tutions, where a mild but effectual cathartic is required 98-ly The Southern Medical Record. A MONTHLY MM oi PRACTICAL MEDICINI, T. S. Powell, W. T Goldsmith and R C Word, Editors, Has a Large, Increasing Circulation! Hundreds of complimentary testimonials are in hand tn show that it is the 3? 1 .A. V Q B, I T 1 TP. OF THE BUSY PRACTITIONER! It is filled with ABSTRACTS and GLEANINGS, SCIENTIFIC BREVITIES, NEW AND VALUABLE FORMULA!, and the PITH and CREAM OF ALL THAT IS USEFUL AND PRACTICAL, IN THE HOME AND FOREIGN JOURNALS, TERMS: TWO DOLLARS PER ANNUM, IN ADVANCE. SAMPLE COPIES SO cents. Address 143 _ R. C. WORD, M D Business Manager, Atlanta, da.