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Hines His Trousers.
The first chronological mention of Hines’
trousers we find to be order No. 3, of Capt.
Lloyd, 18th Infantry, commanding the detach
ment posted at Abbeville, S. C., dated October
11, 1876, and running thus:
A board of survey is hereby ordered to con
vene at this camp at 10 o’clock a. m. to-day, or
as soon thereafter aB practicable, to report upon
\ and fix the responsibility for the loss by fire of
one blanket and one pair of trousers, the proper
ty of Private William Hines, Company F, 18th
N Infantry.
Detail for the board.—1st Lieut. C. R. Paul,
18th Infantry, 2d Lieut. F. H. Barnhart, 18th
Infantry.
The board met pursuant to orders; its records
say: “Present: All the members.” Lieut. Paul
was chosen president; Lieut. Barnhart, recor
der; and after thorough research these were the
findings:
One common tent,, damaged beyond repair;
one woolen blanket, damaged its full value,
$4.55; one pair of trousers, damaged to their full
value, $410.
The board find the damages aforesaid were
caused by the tent taking fire; the board, how
ever, alter carelul inquiry are unable to obtain
any data as to the origin of the fire, but it is be
lieved by the board that as the fire began at the
top of the tent, near the ridge-pole, and in the
day time, that it was accidental. The board,
therefore, is ol the opinion that no blame should
be attached to any person lor the damage stated.
There being no lurtht-r business before the
board, it sojourned sine die,
Here we might pause to compare the cost of
clothes in ancient and modern times—for exam
ple, this appraised value of Hines's trousers
•with that ol King Stephens; for—
King Stephen was a worthy peer,
His bretches cost him but a crown;
He held them sixptnee ail too dear,
With that he called the tailor, lown.
We might also pause to speculate on the myste
rious source of the fire that damaged to their
full value Hines’s trousers—a fire appearing
»“near the ridge pole, in the day time” and evi
dently supernatural in origin. But being neith
er a Teulelsdioeckh in the philosophy of
clothes, nor a Captain Shaw in that of fires, we
pass on.
The report of the board, attested formally by
Lieut Paul, examined and approved by Capt.
Lloyd, was forwarded two days later to Paymas-
or and Acting Asst. Adjt. Gen. Rochester,
Headquarters Department of the South, Atlanta,
Ga., with a request for authority to gratuitously
issue to Private Hines one (1) woolen blanket
one (1) pair of trousers to replace those lost by
fire. On the 21st of October, Paymaster and A.
A. A. G. Rochester informed Captain Lloyd
that “the Department commander instructs me
to say that the proceedings of the board of sur
vey;’’etc., etc., “are approved.” Two days later
this document passed through the office of the
Chief Quartermaster, Deputy Q. G. Ekin.
On the 11th of August, 1877, we rf find Capt.
Lloyd appealing to the Adjutant General, from
McPherson Barracks, Atlanta. After narrating
the history ol Hines’s trousers, ne adds: “This
issue was disallowed by theQuartermaster-G<_a- j
eral, for want of the approval ol the Sicrt'.tuj
ol War. These articles have accordingly been!
charged against him on his clothing account, i j
would respectfully ask authority of the honora
ble Secretary of War to credit him wish the
money value of the same.” The Adjutant-Gen
eral replied that “there is no authority for a
gratuitous issue of clothing, except as provided
in G. O. No. 98 of 1876, and No. 23 of 18C8, from
this office.” By this time, also, A. A. G. McKee-
ver, entered the debate, showing from the re
cords that the Department Commander “did
not authorize the gratuitous issue of Hines’s
trousers,” but only approved the findings of the
board of survey.
Space would fail us to go through the volum
inous discussion that thereupon arose over
Hines'trousers. Enough to say that General
Ruger, the Department commander; General
Hancock, the Division commander; Adjutant
General Townsend, and the Secretary of War
himself, took creditable parts in it, and that
Hines’s trousers at length were introduced into
Congress by Secretary McCrary, together with
a bill for their relief. The House Committee
on Military Affairs gave the trousers thorough
consideration, in an admirable and exhaustive
report submitted by Mr. McCook, which con
cludes as follows:
From this time Hines vanishes from the
scene. How he disported himself in his new
trousers nowhere appears. Unconsciously he
had performed a great service to the Army and
the country by causing an authoritative decis
ion on a matter that had been involved in
doubt. The question of a gratuitous issue of
clothing is now settled, and while Hines may
be indifferent to the trouble he has given cap
tains, colonels, major-generals, a Secretary of
War, and a Congressional committee, he can
content himself with the reflection that he has
neither worn nor lost his trousers in vain. . ,
. . They cannot, however, dismiss the subject
without calling attention to the almost perfect
system of checks and guards thrown around the
issuing of Government property. The thought
less may call it “red-tape,’" or circumlocution,
but without it, Hines to-day would be in undis
puted possession of a pair of trousers and a
blanket to which he would have no legal title.
Ab it is, the system has been vindicated, the
right of the United States to Hines’s trousers
fully established, and his personal and pecuni
ary responsibility determined.
The committee then recommended the passage
of the relief bill.
Such is the case of Hines’s trousers, which
for eighteen months has engaged the attention
of captains, colonels, quartermasters, cabinet-
officers, and committees of Congress. Hines’s
trousers may not have a niche in the Temple of
History, but they will be found in History’s
backyard, bestriding the self-same clothes line
with Marcy’s breeches.—Army and Navy Jour-
naL
TIenp.y "Ward Beecur.
Humor.
Husband—Was the Ladies’ Club lively to
night, dear? Wife—No; awful dull. Every
member was present, and of course one can’t
speak of people before their face. So, we had
nothing to speak about!
Kisses are quoted higher in Bethlehem (N.
Y.) than anywhere else on the continent. A
bucolic person named Whitbeck has just been
compelled to pay $400 for attempting to kiss a
rather mellow spinster of that locality. He
didn’t really kiss her; he only tried to do it.
Better thae a Savings Bank.—‘ How do you
get along?’ says a wife to her husband in the
midst of the panic.
* Oh, I shall weather the storm, but I wish I
had a few hundred dollars more.’
‘ Don’t you wish you had married a rich wife?’
said she in a teasing way; then going to her
room, she returned with rather more than the
amount required in United States bonds.
‘ Why, where in the world did you get this ?’
said the husband.
‘Well, my dear, you went to a champagne
supper, seven years ago, and on your return,
finding navigation round the room rather diffi
cult, deposited hat, shoes, gloves, and a large
roll of bank bills on the carpet. I pat -the
money away and waited three weeks for you to
to inquire if I had seen it, when finding you
were ashamed to do so, I invested it, and here
you have it.’
The moral is, well, we don’t know what it is,
unless that if you will get drunk and lose your
money, do it at home under the eyes of your
wife.
A slim and sleek-haired theological student
| from Massachusetts was recently invited to
i preach before a Texas congregation. He hap-
i pened, however to begin his sermon by stating
the hitherto-accepted zoological fact that “the
j lion was the king of beasts,” an injudicious re-
I mark which so inflamed the congregation (which
| had been reduced to the status of a busted com-
| munity by playing the lioness open and cop-
; peiing the bull at the tournament the Sun
day before) that the deacons took him out and
hung him on a pecan tree as a mark for the Sun
day-school children to practice at with their
little revolvers. Then a grizzled old circuit-
rider happened along and preached a stirring
discourse from the words, ‘The devil goeth
about like a mad steer, seeking whom he may
horn.’
j looks through rose-colored spectacles! If she
j only know you as I do, Guy ! But it must be a
grand thing to have such a proud woman lay
her heart at a fellow’s feet. Eh, Guy ?’
‘Yes,’ I said, lazily knocking the flaky, white
ashes from iny cigar and settling myself more
comfortably upon the lounge pillows. ‘It is a
glass of sparkling sherry, but I am nearly at
the bottom of the bowl. It will soon be drained.’
‘And what then ?’^
‘ Oh ! back to E:vr pe, or some where. What
do you say to a trip to the country of the Celes
tials, with their baked kittens and their greased
ques. I’m thoroughly tired and bored here.'
‘ Then you don’t mean to marry Miss Weyer ?’
‘Not till I turn missionary and go to Burmah.
Don’t be disconsolate over my speedy depart
ure. There will be time enough to “mourn be
cause lam not.” Deuce take such cigars ! Reach
that case there and find me a better one.’
‘ You needn’t sneer so at the idea of marrying.
Yon are no chicken at present. Thirty is not
a very tender age.’
* The more reason why marriage should seem
preposterous. I have no time to settle down into
a humdrum, husbandly life. I mean to squeeze
existence as dry of pleasure as that orange is of
juice. Love is the spice of life, I grant; but
matrimony—that’s another thing, unless it is
really a matter o’ money—the only circumstance
that would induce me to try it. This present
game is near its fin'LT^ I’m getting tirejJ, of it,
and am going to loo j.«Cbont for something more
interesting.’
But, Miss We>
Will get over it
any other disease,
stirred up tbe stag
She was only vegeti
live a little and s
Jeffi Davis reviewed the government troops
at the capital of Mexico the other day. Tne
Mexican press, coincidentally, as it were, in
stantly assumed a hostile tone against the United
States.—"Washington Republican.
An odd coincidence, since it was General Jeff.
C. Davis, a major-general of volunteers in the
United States army during the war and a
colonel in the regular army, who reviewed the
troops at the capital of Mexico.—N. O. Times.
(Concluded from 1st page.)
came to mine, under which I had written, ‘The
Princess of Tennyson.’ 1 was standing near it,
but with my back to it, and apparently absorb
ed in admiration of the next picture—’Luther
and His Family.’ I heard her call to Mr. Welch
and inquire the name of the artist.
‘Mr. Moulthrop,’ he replied, looking up from
the picture frame he was adjusting. I turned
and our eyes met, and for the first time her
own drooped beneath my passionate gaze and
a blush—the first I had ever seen upon her
cheek—stained its purity. I knew then that I
had gained the most important step towards
the triumph I meditated—I had found the door
to her woman’s heart and the key was vanity—
the ‘Open Sesame’ to the hearts of all her sex.
She was not proof against the compliment, in
the form in which it was presented. Had it
been expressed in words she would have curled
her lip, or withered me with the quiet indiffer
ence of her look.
I went to her side, and before she had recov
ered her selfpossession, I took her hand in both
of mine.
‘Forgive me,* I murmured, 'it was not intend
ed. Unconsciously, my pencil shaped the face
that was in my heart.’
I accompanied her home, and after that I saw
her almost daily. She would again have drawn
around her the barriers of reserve, but I would
not permit it. She had given me the advantage
over her, and I would not relinquish my ground.
The Rubicon was passed, and soon she yielded
her proud will and loved me, as only such a
woman can love a man.
High, intellectual natures, like Constance
Weyers, do not love as do ordinary mortals.
When they do yield their souls to the power of
human passion, it is without reservation. All
the ointment in the alabaster box of life is poured
upon that one shrine, all the buds of hope
are woven into a single garland to deck the
alter of that one eidolon. It is a glorious thing
to possess the power of awaking such love as this,
of callling up such a spirit from the deep soul
of a gifted woman, of seeing the pure, thought
ful eyes darken and deepen and grow troubled
with the shadow of love moving over the foun
tain of the heart. It is like drinking a goblet
of rare old wine and it intoxicates, excites and
bewilders.
Such a draught was mine; such a heart was
given to my keeping, unwillingly at first, and
with many struggles against it, afterwards freely,
gladly and without reserve. She did not seek
to conceal her love; she was too proud for that.
It was pure as it was fervent, and she felt no
shame in betraying it—not, indeed, by words,
which are imperfect vehicles of feeling, but by
every look, every motion, every tone of her
flexile and expressive voice. •
‘By Jove, how that woman loves you, you
worthless dog !’ said Harry Thorne, ‘and how
she glories in it. Ah, what a pity it is, that Love
ijjfce would the measels or
Y Vi thank me for having
pool of her existence.
a lg. I have taught her to
\wed her that she was not
merely an organization of brains and muscles.
I think she ought tjr be grateful to me for let
ting her know that q s has a heart, and for giv
ing her a larger experience of life.’
Love should be administered in homeopathic
doses, and at considerable intervals. Even
plum pudding surfeits, if too freely partaken,
and it is well known, that the sweetest things
sate the soonest. Love, if we may believe poets
and poetasters, is very sweet—the genuine
honey of Hybla—and Willis expressed an every
day experience, when he said
‘ For ladies, is it very wrong?
"We hate you, when you love too long.’
In this respect, the old proverb is reversed—
the bird in the lush is worth two in the hand.
Children with their laps filled with toys, cry for
those beyond their reach. We are all children
of a larger growth.
Harry Thorne was going to be married. He
had left his little Methodist fiancee to siDg psalms
and trim her bonnet \fith willow, while he paid
assiduous court to Itiiss Blakely, the heiress.
Very soon the engagement was publicly an
nounced, and the wedding appointed to take
place at an early day. Miss Blakely’s insipid
face had always been a bore to me, but now,
true to the unfortunate instincts of my nature,
I began to think her really interesting, and to
wonder if the blushful regard, with which she
received Harry’s love-like manifestations, was
the only emotion of which she was capable.
I was to be first groomsman at her wedding,
though Harry informed me that it was with dif
ficulty he gained her consent to my waiting on
them at the ceremony. He was sorry, he said,
that Laura seemed to have taken a prejudice
against me. At first, he had thought she was
quite partial to my person and company, but
he did not blame her greatly for changing her
opinion; I had been so confoundedly cool and
indifferent. I only smiled at all this; I had
studied woman nature more thoroughly than my
friend Harry Thorne.
One day I passed the residence of Miss Blake
ly’s guardian, just as 3he had returned from a
ride on horseback.
‘Mr. Moulthrop, please take my hand and
help me off,’ she said, holding out the little,
delicate white member, from which Bhe had re
moved the gauntlet. J assisted her to alight,
and stood holding tile hand and looking into
her face with all the magnetizing power of which
I was capable. Then I looked down at the hand,
pressed it to my lips, as though by a sudden
impulse, and then dropped it quickly.
‘It belongs to another, ’ I murmured with a
sigh. ‘Oh ! Laura,’ and as if overcome by emo
tion, I turned abruptly and walked away.
It was not by any means an original piece of
acting; I had performed it before, with more or
less success.
I went home to find a letter from my banker,
containing the pleasant intelligence, that the
bank had failed—gone to the dogs, and my
fortune with it. My sensations were anything
but agreeable; but I threw myself on the sofa
and smoked three cigars over it. Nothing like
a good Havana for tranqnilizing the mind and
clearing the ideas.
But matters looked rather gloomy, even when
seen through the delightful haze of tobacco
smoke. Something must be done. It was im
possible to float on the current of life without a
buoy. I must either swim or sink.
One thing was clear : I would not work if I
could help It. Faugh ! the idea of bedewing my
daily bread with the sweat of my brow; of soil
ing my hands and wearing coarse linen. It was
not to be thought of.
As I tossed back my hair in disgust, I caught
a glimpse of a face in a Psyche mirror opposite
the sofa a dark, brilliant, distinguished looking
face it was—with that reckless, lawless look
about it, which most women admire. It was
now peculiarly attractive from the sneer on the
short, moustached upper lip. That face sug
gested a happy idea. It was handsome; there
was no mistake about that, and usually women
choose husbands for the same qualities for
which they select a bonnet. I would marry a
fortune—take to myself a few thousands with
the necessary incumberance of a wife.
The remedy was pretty bad, but the disease
was worse. When Poverty grips a man by the
throat, and looks at him with his hard, remorse
less eyes, he will do almost anything to rid him
self of the fiend—even marry, if he oan do no
better. And after all, I thought matrimony
would not be such a bitter pill—if it was well
gilded. I put down the names of all the heir
esses of my acquaintance, then the amount they
were worth in columns opposite their names,
and after this, the personal charms they sever
ally possessed. By this little arithmetical cal
culation, I found Miss Blakely to be the most
attractive, and upon her I finally settled.
I saw her next night at a soiree of Madame
Blank’s. I was dressed with studied negligence
and reclined in a curtained recess apart from
the crowd—leaning my forehead upon my hand,
which was white and delicately shaped as I
girl’s, in aD attitude of profound melancholy, a
kept ray eyes fixed almost constantly upon Miss
Blakely, and noticed that she often looked to
ward me and that her glances in that direction
grew more and more frequent. Whenever I en
countered her eyes, I dropped my own and
turned away impatiently, as though I was an
gry with myself for watching her. At last she
came up to me and tapped me softly on the arm
with her bouquet.
‘What is the matter?’ she asked. ‘Why are
yen so sad to-night? Are yon disconsolate be
cause Miss Weyer is not here ?’
‘Miss Blakely,’ I said, in a hoarse whisper,
‘ I beg you will not trifle with me. I am in no
mood to bear it to-night. Go back and sing and
talk to Harry. What should it matter to you, if
I am miserable ?’
‘But it does matter,’ she said softly. ‘Oh!
Mr. Moulthrop, believe me I am not indifferent
to your welfare. I cannot bear to see you un
happy.’
• Laura, Laura, do not talk thus ! Do not look
at me so with those eyes, that would win a saint
from Paradise ! It were better for me never to
hear you? sweet voice again. It is too late ! too
late!’
I would have made a capital actor. The idea
occurred to me then, as I buried my face in my
hands, to conceal the betraying imp I knew was
laughing in my eyes. Poor, deluded, romantic
girl! She thought I was hiding ‘manly tears,’
and no doubt felt herself a heroine of a thrilling
romance. She laid her hand on my arm.
‘ Calm yourself,’ she said, ‘and come with me
to the conservatory. I have much to say to you.
Guy,’ she continued, when we had reached a
retired place, ‘you love me, then. Oh why did
I not know it before? Why did you not tell me?
Why were yon so cold and distant?’
‘ Because Harry Thorne loved you, and Harry
Thorne was my friend. I had thought never to
betray my weakness to you; but the heart will
not be schooled. You know all now, and alas !
know it too late.’
And so we condoled over our destiny, wished
we had ‘never met’ in the most romantic man
ner, and contrasted the dreariness of our future
lot, with
“How bright, hoy blest is might have b een,
Had fate not darkly frowned between.”
At last, Miss Laura waked up to the consci
ousness that it was not too late, and that she
would infinitely prefer being married now.
when her bridal outfit was in readiness, to wait
ing for the ‘re-union of kindred souls in anoth
er state of being,’ of which I had been telling
her. This last,might be more poetical, but the
first was decidedly more agreeable.
‘Why should my own act doom us to unhap
piness ?’ she said. ‘I am not yet married, and
surely it is better to break a promise the heart
cannot keep, than to live a falsehood all my life.
You are my destiny, Guy Moulthrop; I am pas
sive in your hands.’
It was just what the heroine of Jessie Jessa
mine's last novel had said to her despairing
lover. Miss Laura was evidently drawing a par
allel between her situation and that of the im
passioned Albina, and deciding that hers was
by far tlje most romantic. I had brought her
to the point I had been aiming at, and there
were but few more words to be said. Twenty
minutes afterwards, I drew her hand within my
arm, and we left the house unperceived, and
drove to a church on the opposite square, where
they were holding service. I had a license in
my pocket, for I had calculated on my knowl
edge of Laura’s character, and so by the simple
gift of a ring, and a few words that might mean
anything or nothing, a cool fifty thousand was
transferred to my pocket.
I will not deny that a few qualms of con
science visited me while at the altar, or that be
tween my bride and me there rose a pale face
with thin lips prophesying like a Pythoness,
and eyes dark with sorrow and bright with
scorn. But I was too indolent to trouble my
self with useless self-reproaches. I said ‘Desti
ny will be accomplished,’ and dismissed the
subject from my thought.
Our marriage, of course, created a nine day’s
wonder. Lanra’s guardian raved and threatened,
hut in a week she would be of age, and the
property be transferred to my very capable
management. I was congratulated, feted, toast
ed and passed through the ordeal with becom
ing grace. I knew how muoli heart went with
such manifestaions.
Harry Thorne cut my acquaintance. That was
a small matter, for I was glad enough to get rid
of him. I forgave him all the money he had
borrowed from me, and the wine he had drank,
and suppers he had eaten at my expense, and
let him pass.
He had had no real affection to be wounded
in the matter, for he had looked on his antici
pated marriage in the light of a capital specula
tion. I had merely trumped his last card in the
game he had been playing to win a fortune in
some way that would cost him the least trouble
I left the city for Saratoga in a week after I
entered upon the delights of married life, and in
two more, we sailed for Europe. I had seen
Constance Weyer only once. She was walking
with her father in the suburbs of the city, where
they had probably gone upon some errand of
charity, for a servant followed them with a large
basket. She chanced to raise her eyes as I
passed, and they met mine. I am not, by any
means, noted for my timidity, but my eyes fell
beneath the calm scorn of that girl’s steadfast
glance, and I felt uncomfortably lilliputian in
her presence. I never saw her afterwards,
until we returned from Europe after a two years’
absence. I caught myself, during that time, of
ten wondering what had become of Constance.
I had studied her character so thoroughly, that
I knew what I had done must have occasioned
some revolution in her nature; but whether of
good or ill. I could not determine. I knew she
had too firm a will, and too strong a self-respect,
ever to allow herself to ‘pine in thought, ’ though,
at first, my vanity had suggested that she would,
woman-like, weep in secret over a wonnd she
was too proud to reveal; but that quiet, cool
look she had given me betrayed how completely
the fountain of love had been congealed into the
ice of contempt.
It was the first day in the golden month of
May, when the vessel, that bore me from France
touched on the shore of my own land. I had
forgotten that it was a gala-day, until, as we
were approaching the city, we came,just outside
its environs,^upon a band of young girls, dress
ed in white and crowned with flowers, who were
sitting in groups under the grove of old oaks
that embowered their beautiful academy. I
heard their merry laughter, their snatches of
lightsongs and their gay voices, and’ saw their
bright heads clustered together like flowers in a
bouquet.
The Cynosure of this charming band of white-
robed nymphs—the inspirer, as it seemed, of
their innocent mirth, was a lady that moved
among them—a figure at once Blender and ma
jestic. I knew that step of stately grace, even
before the ‘rare, pals’ face with its lustrous eyes
flashed one moment npon me, as I lingered. I
turned to my wife, who was leaning back in the
carriage, arranging her curls by a pocket mir
ror, and sighed as I looked at her painted, cheeks
and lacklustre eyes.
And Constance Weyer had, after her father’s
death, invested her little fortune in a seminary
for young ladies, and was herself, Principal of
the Aeademy she had assisted in erecting. Her
name and her praises were on the lips of all the
good and wise. She was carrying into practice
her longjcherished system of female education,
and its beneficial results were already apparent.
She was useful, beloved, and those who knew
her, said happy in the discharge of her duties,
and surrounded by bright, young faces, and
loving hearts, and immortal minds, that she
was training to be strong and healthful and self-
sufficient like her own.
I have a palatial residence on a fashionable
square, a handsome carriage, magnificent furni
ture, plate, etc., and I drink as much sherry,
dream as often and enjoy the dolce far nienie of
life, among the downy cushions of my library
lounge, as constantly as I could desire, but f
do not like to read Tennyson’s Princess, nor his
‘Rare, pale Margaret.’
Laura, at home, is a faded slattern—abroad,
the brilliant woman of fashion, and she is
‘abroad’ nearly all her time. It is interesting tc
me to watch her ‘getting herself up’ for exhibi
tion by gas-light. What with paint and pomade,
pearl powder and false curls, cotton-wool, whale
bone, ‘ready made forms,’ and what not, she is
quite a walking curiosity. I smile to see her
flirting and waltzing with Col. Harry Thorne.
Why should I be jealous of such a woman ?
Sometimes, on stilly, dreamy Sabbaths, I go
into the old church, shaded by elms and almost
shut in from the busy world, and listen to the
music of the deep-toned organ pouring its
majestic symphonies through the hushed aisles.
I know whose hands press the keys, whose voice
rises and falls with it, like a lily on a billowy
sea. I listen and realize for one brief moment,
that it is not all of life to live. Then sweeps
over me a consciousness of wasted powers, of
worse than wasted time, of a purposeless, use
less, inactive existence, of broken vows, of
death, of retribution. Then the yearning music
of the singer’s voice melts my soul to tears, I
long to stretch my arms out wildly to that pale
woman, who sits behind the swaying curtain
pouring out her soul in song. I feel what she
could have been to me, and how I might have
grown pure in the light of her purity; strong
in the atmosphere of her strength. A fearful
looking back, and a more fearful looking for
ward, cause me to sicken with a cowardly
shrinking from a life whose future has so little
promise; whose past is such a waste of barren
ness. I sum up the amount of gain and loss,
and find that there are terrible odds in favor of
the latter. I have won wealth and ease, and the
priviledge of indolence. I have lost—what have
I not lost ?
Tbe Antecedents of Disease.
Among the antecedents of disease are inertness in the
circulation of the blood, an unnaturally attenuated condi
tion of the physique, Indicating that the life current is
leficient in nutritive properties, a wan, haggard look,
inability to digest the food, loss of appetite, sleep and
strength, and a sensation of unnatural languor. All theee
may be regarded as amon“ the indicia of approaching dis
ease, which will eventually attack the system ami over
whelm it, if it is not built np and fortified in advance.
Invigorate, then, without loss of time, making choice of
the greatest vitalizing agent extant, Hostetter's Stomach
Bitters, an elixir which has given health and vigor to
myriads of tbe sick and debilitated, which is avouched by
physicians and analysts to be pure as well as efleetive,
which is immensely popular in this country, and exten
sively used abroad, and which has been for years past one
of the leading medicinal staples of America. 151—it
NEW ADVERTISEMENTS.
Central Route.
The Connecting Link Between the Trunk
Lilies of the
NORTH AND EAST,
AND THE
Gulf of Mexico on the South,
FOKMS THE
GREAT THROUGH ROUTE
AND
Main Artery of Commerce and Trade
TO ALL POINTS,
and offers the best route, on quick time, with more com
forts, better accommodations and greater security than
any other Line.
BUY YOUR TICKETS AND SHIP YOUR FREIGHT
BY THE
HOUSTON&nd TEXAS CENTRAL RAILWAY,
Pullman Palace Drawing-Room and Sleeping
Cars Run Through
PKOJI |
HOUSTON TO ST. LOUIS AND CHICAGO
WITHOUT CHANGE,
and but ONE CHANGE to ail prominent points
NORTH AND EAST!
Trains Leave as Follows :
No. 3 St. Louis and Chicago Express Leaves Houston
daily at 4 r. m.; Arrives at St. Louis daily at G.05 r. m.;
arrives at Chicago daily at 6.55 a. m.
No. 1 Leaves Houston daily (except Sunday) atS 15 A. m.,
and arrives as follows:
No. 4 Leaving St. Lonis daily at 8.47 a. h.,
“ “ Chicago “ “ 10.00 r. M.,
Arrives at Houston “ “ 10.45 a. m.,
No. a “ “ “ daily (except Sunday) at 9 P.Jt
In effect January G, 1S78.
F. L. MANCHESTER,
Eastern Passenger Agent,
417 Broadway, N. Y.
A. ALLEE,
Northern Passenger Agent,
101 Clark street, Chicago.
E. E. SCOTT,
Ticket Agent, Central Depot, Houston.
J. WALDO, A. H. SWANSON,
General Ticket Agent, Gen’l Sup't.
Houston, Texas/ 151-tf
PIANOS.
ORGANS.
New, 7 Oct. $135 I
New, 7 1-3 Oct. $145 |
New, 9 Stops, $67
New, 1% Stops, $78
“Magnificent” ‘‘bran new,” “lowest prices ever given.”
Ch, how this “cruel war” rages, but Ludden £ Bates
still hold the field and rain hot shot into the bogus manu
facturers who deceive the public with Humbug Grand'
Offers on Shoddy Instruments. Send for Special Offers,
and circular exposing frauds of Piano and Organ Trade.
Ludden & Bates, Wholesale Piano and Organ Deal
ers, Savannah, Ga. 151-4t
A DAY to Agents canvassing for the Fireside .
u> • Visitor. Terms and Outfit Free. Address, P. O. j
VICKERY, Augusta, Maine, 151-ly