Newspaper Page Text
From Demorest’s Magazine for June.
Fig. 1. Victoria Princess Drees. Pattern 1966. Fig. 2. Elvira Polonaise. Pattern 1557.
Fig. 3. Plaited Blouse Waist.
Fig. 4. Gabaielle Walking-Cloak.
(Continued from 1st page.)
enen’ confinement Voices clashing together,
rose from the dark mass moving there in the
moonlight—the wonderful, clear light of the
full midsummer moon that surely never shone
so brilliantly as on this night and the one suc
ceeding.
CHAPTER XXVH.
At midnight on the night of the Cohatchie
ball, Zoe had not closed her eyes. She was sit
ting with her brother. His fever was yet un
broken, and restless and partially delirious, he
required constant watching. Her sister-in-law
was wakeful and nervous; the children's sleep
wsb broken and they called upon her frequent
ly, She was worn with anxiety and fatigue;
her little, delicately-featured face, usually so
vividly tinted, rose white as a magnolia bud from
her dark wrapper as she sat by her brother’s bed.
A tap fell upon the door, and Dan Nolan came
in. carrying the little metal tea pot that belong
ed in his room.
•I can’t sleep,’ he said I’ve come to ask you to
let me sit up with your brother while you take
some rest. I’v brought some hot tea of my own
making. Drink a cup of it; it will refresh
you; and lie down a little, Miss Zoe. I will do
all that’s necessary here.’
•You’ said Zoe. ‘You look like it. You look
as bloodless as a ghost, and you can hardly,
stand. How did you manage to make this tea?,
Thanks for it; it’s just what I wanted. But 1
can’t permit you to turn nurse so soon; you
need nursing still yourself.'
‘But I can’t sleep a moment longer. I had a
dream—6uch a dream ! My God ! I wish my
life had always been as innocent as yours,
young lady. Let me sit here, I won’t feel so
alone. This still moonlight night seems full of
horror to me. Somehow, I’m a little uneasy
about Jim. If anything should happen to him,
let them but I’m talking too much in a
sickroom- Give me the fan Miss Zoe. There;
go and lie down. Rest, if you can’t sleep.’
He was persistant, and giving him a lew low
directions, she went into the next room and
threw herself across the loot of the bed in which
the two younger children were sleeping, bhe
rested there an hour: the clock striking one
aroused her.
Sitting up," she heard the sound of a horse
being ridden around to the rear gate. She went
out^oftly on the back piazza, where she found
Dan already standing.
‘It’s Jim’ he said; ‘hear that everlasting whistle!
Your brother’s asleep. I’ll caution him not to
make a noise. I believe I’ll go outr to him and
hear the news from this queer ball.’
He staggered as he descended the Bteps, so
weak had he been left by that fearful loss of
blood. Zoe came to his side.
• Lean on me’ she said, ‘I too am eager to hear
what has happened to-night.’
‘ What new s kagen ?’ Dan asked as Jim Nolan
threw himself from the horse.
* Gay’ was the answer. ‘Gay I tell you. I
came nigh not getting back. If 1 had waited
until morning 1 couldn’t have come at all.’
4 Why ?’
4 Why, the town is under martial law by order
of Commander in Chief, Alver. He’s worked
things round to suit him after all.’
4 Wa6 there any disturbance!’
4 One reported down this way. Havn’t you
seen anything of it? Fellow burst into the ball
room, wet as a drowned rat and white as a sheet,
declarin’ the niggers were in aims down here
and bad fired a dozen bullets at him as he come
along. Then the pot bubbled over. Alver
issued his orders sharp and quick as a rattling
artillery match, the boys mounted and patrolled
the town, a negro fired at one and wounded
him and got arrested with a lot of other darkeys.
Some of ’em will swing to-morrow and the Rads
too I reckon. They are all to be arrested. There’ll
be lively times. I say Dan, what a cursed piece
of luck it was that I should have given you that
tap on the head. Warn’t for that we could have
lots of fun and Eome profit too to-morrow. It’ll
be better than Coif. ’
‘Hush !’ ordered his brother sternly. ‘How
did you manage to get out ?’ he asked after a
pause.
‘Pretended me and old gray was lightning
express, carrying a dispatch to a Malta. Alver
sent messengers tvery where. Two niggers
one a darkey constable and the other a sub in
the post office, crawled out through the guard
some how and crossed the river just now when I
did. Levi Adams met them down there in the
road and they told him the news.—Such a tale
as you never heard ! They declared every
nigger in Cohatchie was arrested and certain to
be hung; and that the whites were coming in
full force to-morrow to kill out the whole race
of blacks. There’s nothin’ for us but take the
swamp’ whined the brave constable. 4 Let me
see you do it’ growled Levi. ‘I’ll shoot the
first sneak that runs to the swamp. If we’ve
got to be killed, let’s die like men and fight to
he last.’ That fellow’s got Injun bloodin him
Dan. No nigger was ever so plucky. He took
the two darkeys off to his house, and I’ll wager
they’re reconcocting some mischief right now. I
shouldn’t be surprised if Levi got up a gang
and did mischief here to-morrow. He’s got a fair
chance; men all in Cohatchie and can’t get out.’
•What would become of us ?’ Zoe uttered, dis
mayed at the thought of the helplessness of
herself and her brother’s family.
‘Don’t mind his croaking Miss Vincent. Get
to roost you raven of ill omen. Put up your
horse and then to bed. You too Miss Zoe, go
and lie down and go to sleep, I will watch the
zest of the nigjit with your brother.’
CHAPTER XXVIII.
The next day dawned upon Zoe’s unsleeping
eyes, and belore the sun was an hour high,
signs of unusual commotion showed them
selves.
Prom the east window of her little upper
room. She saw across the level intervening
fields her neighbors on the right moving about
th» house and yard, and saw a trunk carried
out to a carryall with mules attached that stood
before the gate. She hurried across the passage
into the othef room. There from the west win
dow, Bhe saw similar preparations going on at
the tall, black rickety house in whioh lived her
neighbors on the left nearly half a mile away,
but plainly to be seen across those level low-
lying fields. Before this gate, stood two saddled-
horses and a cart.
A halloo startled her. She hastened down
and found a man on horse back—the nephew of
her neighbor on the right—standing at the gate.
She ran out to him bareheaded and was inform
ed that they were all going into Cohatchie for
protection, as it was feared there would be trou
ble with the negroes. If Mr. Vincent’s folks
wished to move, now was the time. There would
soon be left nobody but negroes to help them
cross in the flat and it was doubtful if the ne
groes would help. They were getting more sul
len and impndeut every minute.
‘ But my brother and sister are ill; we cannot
go,’ Zoe exclaimed pale with fear.
The young man said that was bad. He was
sorsy: but didn’t see what could be done.
• Will you not have the kindness to report
our case to Col. Alver; I hoar he has charge of
everything in Cohatchie, and ask him to send
us some assistance?’
‘Y-e-s,’ doubtfully, 4 1 can tell him, but as
Vincent don’t belong to the White League, I
don’t know if Col. Alver ’ll bother himself about
it?’
Pride overpowered Zoe’s apprehension.
‘Well,’ she said, ‘you need not trouble your
self,’ and she turned and left him without ask
ing for any of the information he was burning
to impart
She watched them all go. By nine o’clock
the four planters living any where near her,
and their families had all crossed the river and
were making their way to Cohatchie. Groups
of negroes stood on the bank watching them.
When the flat came back the last time, pulled
over by a negro who had been well paid, Levi
Adams rode down the bank, (he was almost al
ways mounted) and fastened the flat to a strong
tree by its chain and a padlock he took from
his pocket.
Hours passed on. The stillness and bright
ness of the summer day lay all around her. A
soft breeze rippled the fields of green cotton
and stirred the tops of the great swamp-forest
lying back of the cultivated front lands. The
white grosbecks flying back to the low, fish-fill
ed bayous, were the only specks that dotted
the deep blue of the sky. It seemed hard to
realize that any catastrophe was at hand. Zoe
strove to conceal her anxiety from her sister,
but she had heard enough of what was going
on to throw her into a nervous state, alarming
in her situation. Then too, it was Hugh’s bad
day. The disease—a bilious disorder—grew
worse every alternate day, and now the lever
rose to its final climax and his symptoms be
came so violent that Zoe was glad to accept
Dan’s proposal to send his brother for medicine
or a doctor, giving him a note explaining the
urgent nature of the case. The only three
flats in the neighborhood had been seiz«d by
the negroes, but Zoe remembered a little skiff,
or rather a dug-out, that it was likely they had
not thought worth while to sink or fasten. ‘It
lies in a little nook in the bank of bayou Lan-
sey, just where it empties in the river. You
can shoot across in it like an arrow,’ she said.
‘I’ll go and come back too, if they don’t put
a ring of bayonets round me. Dan, old fellow,
take care of yourself, I don’t like to leave you
here and you so weak. But I spose it can’t be
helped. Good-bye,’ and he walked away.
Riding was out of the question. He must
cross in the narrow dug-out, and he must take
his chances to slip out unobserved.
(TO BE CONTINUED.)
Our City Cousins.
What they Wear and how Cheap
Yet Stylish it is.
SEE FRONT PAGE ENGRAVING.
BY MART E. BRYAN.
Now is the time when our cousins from the
city begin to remember our existence and to
hunt up our plain farm houses among the cool
green shadows of oak and mulberry and to
find their way into our orchards and strawberry
beds; to fly in doors breathless from the pur
suit of old Bismarck, our venerable gander; or
Omar Pasha, the pride of our turkey yard.
Come to us in cherry time,
And when daylight closes,
We will have a merry time
Here among the roses.
was the poetical invitation we sent our city cous
ins, Maude and May and little Grace, with an
added invitation to Rupert, for though boys are
universally voted a “pest,” our heart warms to
them, and* with all their noise and mischief and
roughness, their’dispesition to break up hens’
nests, to tease cats and girls, to trample rasp
berry vines and poke into wasp nests and set
the dogs and roosters to fighting pitched battles
—with all these faults we love them still.
Well, our city cousins came, but our own two
merry girls who had been wild to welcome them,
were a little disappointed.
They locked too fine. “Too dressed up to
enjoy themselves,” said our Ada with a pretty
pout. “You said it was hard times in the city
as well as here, but just look at that:’’ and I am
afraid there was a little envy as well as dissat
isfaction in the look she cast upon pretty cous
in Maude, just her own age—fourteen.
1 had some misgivings on the subject myself,
knowing the parents of our city cousins were
not a bit richer than ourselves, and I hinted the
same to Maude’s mother that afternoon when
we walked under the cherry trees and watched
the children grouped on and around a rustic
seat in the yard.
She laughed merrily—she was pretty still—
this dainty cousin aDd schoolmate of mine, and
her dress showed all/her prettiness of form and
face to advantage. ?
4 Why, bless yon dear soul, Florence,’ she said,
4 there is no extravagance there. My children’s
dresses oost—I’m willing to bet upon it—no
more than the cheapest costumes for church
and visiting you have here in the country. It’s
the fit and the manner of making that give them
that stylish and costly look. The materials are
cheap as can be, and I make them myself with
good, new patterns.—Demorest’s are always best.
May, run and look in my work basket and bring
me the last Demorest. I will read you, Flor
ence, about those very styles that you see illus
trated in my children’s dresses. Let me say,
though, before I begin that these are their ‘good
clothes'—‘Sunday suits’ as you would say in the
country. I have brought knock-about dresses
and suits for every day, and these are made of
good, cheap material and without a bit of braid,
pleating, ruffles or other trimmiDg upon them.
I don’t waste my time over clothes that must go
into the wash tub every week. But here comes
Demorest for Juno. Here’s the children’s fash
ion plate, and you see I have copied it almost
exactly in the dresses for the girls and Rupert.
I’ll read you Demorest’s description, and—stay
—let me group the children something in the
orcler of the figures in the picture here. Come
back Rupert, you’ve worried old Ponto almost
into a fit; and you Grace, leave the poor little
chickens alone; I want to make a tableau of
you. Here, that will do.’ Leaning against a
tres with the colored snnset slanting over her
slender figure, she read from the magazine—the
article on
‘Summer Fashions for Children.’
Within certain limits, which are mainly those
of simplicity, convenience, and good taste,
there is almost infinite diversity in the materi
als and styles employed in dressing children.
Ideas have totally changed in regard to color as
well as other things, so that instead of using
bright greens, and blues, and reds, and yellows,
and lilacs as formerly, we limit the employment
of these to the lighter sdades, and reserve them
for trimming or for dressy day and evening
wear, using the dark colors and neutral tints
for ordinary every-day purposes, the same as in
the dress of ^ men and women.
At ten years olrj the Sunday suit of the boy is
almost identical With the Sunday suit of the
men. The panUyie a little shorter, and the
coat is a jacket. 'Jhese are the principal points
of difference. The shirt, the neck-tie, collar,
the cuffs, the studs, the sleeve-buttons, the suit
composed of three pieces are the same. The
difference from year to year is in the jacket,
which sometimes has a falling collar, as now;
sometimes a straight standing-collar; some
times cut away from the front, as now, and at
other times cut straight. The changes of late
years in the dress of boys of this age have all
been in the direction of the plainness which
characterize the dress of men.
Cloth suits are no longer embroidered or
trimmed with braid, or, after six or seven years,
even with fancy buttons. They are simply
stitched or bound, tailor-fashion, and modeled
in all respects upon strict principles of utility
and sobriety.
For the country, the sailor’s suit of dark blue
flannel is almost indispensable; at the sea-side
especially, and in sections where the tempera
ture of the morning and evening varies widely
from that of the middle of the day. This cos
tume affords just the happy medium between
thick and thin suits which adapts it to the re-
quirments, and while almost as solid as cloth,
is as washable as linen.
By a reference to and study of the illustrated
designs for children, which we constantly fur
nish, it will be seen that length and a shapeli
ness which outlines, while it does not confine,
the form are their principal characteristics.
The robe ‘Princess Victoria’—figure 1—is a
dress complete in itself, yet simple as the most
ordinary under-garment. The kilt plaiting
which forms the lower part of the skirt, the
plaited front, and the bands or insertion at the
back are the only variations from a purely Ga-
brielle cut, and these are not more elaborate
than the trimming of a night-dress; yet, prop
erly combined, the heading formed of bands of
embroidery, and colors or shades fitly contrast
ed, forms one of the most charming costumes.
The size for a Miss of fourteen years requires
less than nine yards of goods, twenty-four inches
wide, so that without the ribbon finish, in a
combination of materials of equal value, say
fifty cents per yard, the whole dress, including
three yards of lining, need not cost more than
five dollars if made at home.
Another style of dress is suggested by the
“Elvira” polonaise.
Fig. 2: This design is suitable for summer
bourrette, for grenadine, for white pique, for
gingham, for cheviot, for small figured lawn, or
small figured or striped cambric. Used for
pique, the band would naturally be composed
of white Madeira embroidery. But in summer
bourrette, they would be of silk of the ground
shade, with ribbon bows to match, and the cuffs
and pockets would also be faced with silk. The
plaited ruffle may be omitted, and a fold substi
tuted, a ruffle of the bourrette trimmed with a
fold of the silk being applied to the skirt. It is
a very pretty form for summer lawns or muslins,
and from these the silk or ribbon bows may bo
omitted, and the bands formed of a solid stripe
of lawn or muslin matching the ground color of
the material. For twelve years of age six yards
of muslin would be required for this polonaise,
or of any material which was a yard wide, and
this inclusive of the plaiting.
Fig. 3: The “Plaited Blouse Waist”—gives
an excellent form of bodice for prints, cambrics,
and ginghams, used for school dresses, and
accompanied by a skirt and straight over-skirt,
or plaited skirt. It is an easy Btyle, serviceable,
and becoming to little girls between the ages of
six and sixteen, and may be gathered, instead
of plaited, if preferred.
The ‘Victor’ suit furnishes a model of the
sailor suit to whioh we have before alluded.
Suits ef this description, in dark blue and
gray flannel, can be bought ready made at
very low prioes. But the pants are so much
more durable when made at home, and of a
better quality of flannel than that furnished
by the shops, that it is well worth the while
for those mothers who have the time, to pro
cure the patterns and have them cut and mad e
under their own supervision.
The Gabrielle walking suit for a little girl, is
a quaint little style, usually made in pique,
braided in a simple pattern, bordered with a
ruffle of Madeira embroidery. It is also very
pretty made in white flannel, braided with
silk and edged with a ruffle of torchon lace.
White dresses for girls from three to seven
are eut all in one, and tucked lengthwise, the
trimming consisting of colored embroidery or
torchon lace. The mixture of dark blue and
red seems to be as fashionable as ever, although
the dark solid colors are perhaps a little more
exclusive.
Among the new summer costumes, or rather
among the novelties in style, are dark brown
and dark blue linens and cambrics, with a
mixture of white, with the ground color in the
embroidered trimming, which is used for bands
and ruffles.
With these dresses are worn hats of very
dark-brown or navy-blue straw, with a little
white introduced into the trimming. The
stockings worn with them are of a solid dark
color, with fine white Balmoral strips.
MARK TWAIN.
Mark had been reading some goody-goodly
anecdotes, and his inquiring mind led him to
search for the sequel of each, the result of
which he publishes in the May number of the
Atlantic.
We give a specimen:
The grateful poodle—One day a benevotent
physician (who had read the books') .having
found a stray poodle suffering from a’broken
leg, conveyed the poor creature to his home
and after setting and bandaging the injured
limb, gave the little outcast its liberty again,
and thought no more about the matter. But
how great was his surprise, upon opening his
door one morning, some days later, to find the
grateful poodle patiently waiting there, and in
its company another stray dog, one of whose
legs, by some accident, had been broken. The
kind physician at once relieved the distressed
animal, nor did he forget to admire the inscru
table goodntis and mercy of Good, who had been
willing to use so humble an instrument as the
poor outcast poodle for the inculcating of, etc.,
etc., etc.
Sequel—The next morning the benevolent phy
sician found the dogs, beaming with gratitude,
waiting at his door, and with them two other
dogs,—cripples, The cripples were speedily
healed, and the four went their way, leaving the
benevolent physician more overcome by pious
wonder than ever. The day passed, the morn
ing came. There at the door sat now the four
reconstructed dogs, and with them four others
requiring reconstruction. The day also passed,
and another morning came; and sixteen dogs,
sight of them newly crippled, occupied the
sidewalk, and the people were going around.
By noon the broken legs were all set, but the
pious wonder in the good physician’s breast was
beginning to ge* * mixed with involuntary profan
ity. The sun rose once more, and exhibited
thirty-two dogs, sixteen of them with broken
legs, occupying the. side walk and half of the
street; the human spectators took up the rest of
the room. The cries of the wounded, the songs
of the healed brutes, and the comments of tne
onlooking citizens made great and inspiring
cheer; but traffic was interrupted in that street.
The goefd physician hired a couple of assis
tant surgeons and got through his benevolent
work before dark, first taking the precaution to
cancel his church membership, so that he
might express himself with the latitude which
the case required.
But some things have their limits. When
once more the morning dawned, and the good
physician looked out upon a massed and far-
reaching multitude of clamorous and beseech
ing dogs, he said, ‘I might as weli acknowledge
it. I have been fooled by the books; they only
tell the pretty part of the story, and then stop,
Fetch me the shotgun. This thing has gone
along far enough. ’
He issued forth with his weapon, and chanced
to step upon the tail of the original poodle-
who promptly bit him in the leg. Now the great
and good work which this poodle had engender
ed in him such a mighty and augmenting en-
thusiam as to turn his weak head at last and
drive him mad. A month later, when the be
nevolent physician lay in the death throes of
hydrophobia, he called his weeping friends
about him and said—
’Beware of the books. They tell but half of
the story. Whenever a poor wretch asks you
tor help, and you feel a doubt as to what result
may flow from your benevolence, give yourself
the benefit of the doubt and kill the applicant.
And so saying he turned his face to the wall
and gave up the ghost.
A Stolen Gir],
An Appeal from Her agonized Parents.
From a Mississippi paper.
A family of movers named Burr, en route from
Michigan to Southwest Missouri, while encamp
ed at a point seven and a half miles west of
Rolla, Missouri, had their youngest child, a girl
twelve years old, stolen by a worthless tramp,
whom they had overtaken somewhere in Miss
ouri, and who had requested and been granted
permission to accompany them.
The parents traced their child to a place about
three miles east of Carthage, some four weeks
ago, where all trace of her and her abductor
were lost.
The unfortunate girl’s name is Permilla Rose
Eleanor Burr, but her parents have learned that
since she has been in the clutches of this tramp
and scoundrel, he has compelled her to assume
the name of Ellen. She is described as follows:
Fair complexion, light brown hair, very large
blue eyes, and her face when she is in health is
oval. The villain is described as being about
five feet ten inches in hight, rather slender
built, with very curly black hair, somewhat gray,
and was rather shabbily dressed at the time.
Anyone having information which might lead
to restoring this child to her grief-stricken pa
rents, will please communicate with them either
at Galena or Empire City, where they will re
main about two weeks or until some clue is fur
nished as to her whereabouts.
Papers throughout this State and Texas will
please publish this notice and receive the bless
ings of Isaiah Burr and Harriet Bure.
The Laboratory of the Syetem.
The stomach is the laboratory of the system in which
certain mysterious processes are constantly going on.
These result in the production of the wonderful vivifying
agent, the blood, which in a state of health rushes laden
with the elements of vitality to the remotest parts of the
system. But when the stomach is semi-paralyzed by
dyspepsia, blood manufacture is carried on imperfectly,
the circulation grows thin and sluggish, and the system
sntfers in consequence. Moreover, indigestion reacts
upon the liver and bowels, rendering the first sluggish,
and the latter constipated. The brain also snlTers by sym
pathy, and sick headaches, sleeplessness and nervons
systems are engendered. Iiostetter's Stomach Bitters re
forms this state of things, gives permanent tone and reg
ularity to the stomach and its associate organs, the tow
els and liver, and insures complete nourishment and in
creased vigor of the system. It is the most popular as
well as the most efficient and anti-dyspeptic and tonic in
America.
In view of a general reduction having
been made in the various branches oi
business, as well as in the cost of liv
ing and in the price of labor of almost
every conceivable enterprise, we have
concluded to make public a corres
ponding reduction, from former prices,
in the following operations in our own
business:
GOLD FILLINGS, that have here
tofore been made at $5.00, will be re
duced to $2-50; those formerly $3.00,
to $1.50, and those at $2.00, to ONE
DOLLAR. We can say that fully
eight out of ten of all fillings made,
CAN BE DONE OF GOLD for this
amount — the work being as good
in all respects as if we received five
dollars per filling; thus you see these
teeth may he saved for the amount or
dinarily charged for extracting them.
We are now making sets of teeth,
using the best makes of artificial teeth,
for from $5 to $10.
We have recently perfected a plate
material which we think is far supe
rior to anything that has yet been
given to the public, and which, when
used, will be found the great want sup
plied.
We REFIT poorly constructed and
badly fitting sets of teeth, so that they
are comfortable and serviceable, for a
very small amount.
Such persons as may doubt that
really good operations can be done at
the figures we state, (and there are
parties who, hoping to receive twice or
three times our charges for the same
work, will help them to doubt) we par
ticularly ask to give us a trial. We
have some reputation as a Dentist, and
have made it by doing good work at as
low figures as is consistent with thor
oughness.
Among our patrons we have such men
and their families as Mr. Sam’l Inman,
Maj. Campbell Wallace, Prof. William
Henry Peck, Dr. J. M. Johnson, Hon.
B. H. Hill, Dr. A. W. Calhoun, Rev. J.
H. Martin, and hosts of others to whom
we can refer.
Persons not living in the city, de
siring to avail themselves of our ser
vices, should write us and make en
gagements some days before coming,
or immediately upon arriving here,
otherwise they may he disappointed,
as we work almost altogether by ap
pointment.
Having office and residence connect
ed one with the other, we can offer the
comforts and security of home to those
visiting or employing us.
WM. CRENSHAW, Dentist.
Office and Residence:
24 WHITEHALL ST., ATLANTA, 6A.
P If U- IU-V The habit of usins; Morphine,
I), iU. I! Utmtj squu Opium. Laudanum or Elixir
Painless of Opium cured painlessly by
A MERICAN this Improved remedy.
PIUM 1 Manufactured at Atlanta. G3.«
0 ^ I ^ at reduced prices. Tested in
.-V™,^,-31;„ hundreds of cases. Guaranteed
ANTIDOTE, particulars Fkek. Address B.
M. Woolley, Atlanta. Ga. Office No. 35, over Linen
SiOre, entrance 33% Whitehall street.