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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.