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WILD JWORK;
A Study of Western Life.
BY MARY E. BRYAN,
CHAPTER XXXL
‘If I could have seen him once more before be
went away, Zoe thought, as she stood on the pi-
watched the flat land upon the far side
of the river, the four men lead out their horses,
mount, spur their steeds up the steep bank and
ride on up the river in the direction of Cohatchie.
‘If I coul i only have spoken to him again, and
made him promise that he would not harm those
men. But surely Dan Nolan told him; he prom
ised me he would, and what he could tell "him
of Alver's former plan to bring on a disturbance
that should excite the people against these offi
cers will surely make him feel that this riot may
be a plot of the same man’s and for the same
purpose.and that these six prisoners may be in
nocent But why has he gone to Cohatchie? Sure
ly not to head a reckless party to "lynch and
murder these men! He has gone, it may be, on
ly to see what is going on in Cohatchie. He
has a natural curiosity to find out just what the
disturbance amounts to. If I was a man I would
be there for the same purpose. I would un
ravel the seeret, for I am convinced there is a se
cret at the bottom of this. ’
A tread on the steps broke upon her thoughts;
Mandy approached her with a scrap of paper.
‘Captain Hirne give it to me,’ she said, ‘he
tore de paper he wrote ou outer de crown uv
his straw hat and writ it by moonlight. He’s a
flue man, I’ll never forgit him for sparin’ Tom,
nor you nuther Miss Zoe.’
‘Zoe carried the letter to the light and road
the few, hastily pencilled lines:
‘I waited to see you again before I left, but
you did not come out, and I was afraid of dis
turbing you. I know how sorely you need rest.
I will see you sometime to-morrow.’ Yours,
Hiiine.
Mandy had followed her into the room.* ‘Here’s
Cap’n Hirne’s coat,’she said. ‘He let’ it on de
store gallery and ax me to bring it over and give
it to you to keep for him. Some papers in de
pocket, and a book; he say he tol* you about de
book.
The note somewhat quieted Zoe's anxiety.
Hirne had made no allusion to her request,
though he could easily have told her if he had
determined to disregard it. He loved her so,
she knew he did; it could not be that she had no
influence over him when his wild mood was up
permost. But she had seen thfe quick change
wrought in him by Cobb’s words. The long-in
dulged thirst for revenge, for excitement and
strife, fostered by his wild life had come on him
like the fit of a disease. Indeed, she felt, as she
saw the lurid look leap into his eyes and his lip
writhe convulsively, that it was a disease—all the
more powerful that its chief seat was the mind.
His look haunted her as she at last lay on her
bed. But the long strain upon brain and body
claimed rest, and the sleep she at last enjoyed
was deep and sweet. The sun was shining
through the vines ather window, the young birds
twittered in the trees outside when she awoke.
For a moment she lay—her mind a delicious
blank, the eventful yesterday momentarily ob
literated. All its events rushed into her mem
ory like a flash of light and with them came the
thought that the drama was not yet closed, at
least, that she had yet no knowledge of how it
had ended.
She dressed rapidly and went into her broth
er’s room. He was free of fever, had slept well
and declared himself almost a sound man again.
He v like Zoe, was eager for news from Cobatohie,
Alver’s headquarters, as be called it." UteriifTt
soldiers whom Hirne had left, had crossed the
river at sunrise and gone on to Cohatchie. Tom
Lndd, who put them over, reported that one of
them had said in his hearing, there wonld be
wild work before the sun went down, that Hirne
was on the Radicals’ track, and they’d find he
meant business. He wasn’t one like the Co-
hatihie folks, to make a big fuss and a great show
of fight and then draw back scared like a settin’
goose. ’
•It’s my opinion the officers will be lynched
as they come out of prison,’ Vincent said. ‘It
can be done with comparative s ifety under the
circumstances. With all that mob they’ve got
together there by sending messengers far and
wide for men to come -and put down a riot,
theie’ll be no telling who did the mischief
An investigation of it will be another edition of
who struck Billy Patterson.’
Zoe put aside her scarcely tasted breakfast.
The horror her brother’s words suggested sick
ened her, and added to it was the thought that
foremost in this massacre wonld probably be—
the man she loved. No, not loved. She said to
herself she did not love Hirne. She would not
suffer herself to love such a man, but she could
not deny to her heart that he interested her pro
foundly, that he touched the tenderest sympath
ies of her being, that his looks and words lived
in her heart as none other's did.
Grateful Mandy had put the house in perfect
order, and attended to the children afid Mrs.
Vincent, so there was nothing for Zoe to busy
herself about. She could only walk the gallery
and watch the slow moving shadows that meas
ured the loDg summer day. How long it seemed
to Zoe, and how quiet it was! The broad fields
lay green under the sun, no negroes at work in
them, no negroes sauntering along the river
bank nor hanging about the store. The negro
men were all still hiding in the swamp. The
echoing volley that announced the fate of their
leader made them cower still closer to their cov
erts. They would not stir out even for food.
Tom was the only negro man to be seen for
miles around, and he staid close. He was
afraid to remain in his own cabin, and asked
Zoe’s permission to sit on the back steps of the
house.
‘I tee passel o’white men on horseback wid
guns on tether side de river while ago’ he said.
Dey ridin down de river to cross at Bronton,
and come up dis way. I like to keep close bout
you and Mass Hugh. Dem new soljers don’t
know 1’se had my trial and dun dared; do I got
Gap’in Hirne’s recommen’ in my pooket and
nuther one beside.’
‘Got what ?’
‘Got papers to say I’m all right. Dat young
man what laughs so loud give me de first one,
and when I ax Capin Hirne ef it’s all right, he
sorter smiled and writ me dis one.' r
He took two folded scraps of paper from his,
pocket, carefully unfolding them from an old
handkerchief, in which was also wrapped a flab
by and battered old pocket-book. One of the
tobacco-scented slips was dated ‘Head quarters
of Hirne’s Division’ and announced that ‘Tom
Ludd—an American citizen of African descent,
having been canght with a rusty pistol in his
possession and tried for rioting, had been ac
quitted for good and sufficient reasons; namely:
first be was a non compos of the first degree:
second a. young lady, as pretty as red shoes,
bad begged for his life: third, his wife cooked
chicken pie fit for an Emperor or Sam Houston
to eat’ ’
The other one of Tom’s papers was a certifi
cate that he had been taken up, and ac
quitted. It was signed by Hirne, representing
men from Sabine and from D. parish.
As Zoe looked up from reading it she saw a
negro woman coming towards the house
through the cotton, a tin bucket on her arm.
‘Its Vicey,’ declared Tom. ‘I’ll bound she’s
to de swamp huntin dat no count son o’
She’d go her death for him. Any other
nigger’d wonld be feared to go to de swamp
now,’
As the woman neared the house, Zoe called to
her. She came up, and her wild, strange look
made Zoe ask what was the matter. She hesita
ted a moment, then, throwing out her arms cried:
•I’ve seen a sight I’ll never forget to my dyin
day. I slipped out in de woods to carry some
vittals to my George. I was goin’ through a
thick place; when I see a colored man standin’
up against a tree. I call out ‘whose dare ?’ No
answer. I call again and see him shake de bush
close to his head and make a noise; but dat’s all.
I went closter and I see it’s Levi. Nobody else
so tall, and I Bee his lip turn up in dat soornin’
way. I thought him live standin’ dere, ’til I
got dost up, and flop ! a buzzard flew out from
de lim’by bis bead, and den I see he’s tied to de
tree, and his face and bress full o’ bloody holes
where de shots tore, and de buzzards done
picked ’
■Hash!’ cried Zoe, putting her hands to her
head and shuddering. The negro chief had no
doubt deserved his fate but no less were t£ese
details full of horror. Tom rolled over and groan
ed in mortal fright. A moment afterwards he
spied the horsemen who had crossed at Bron
ton, and were riding back on this side the river,
reconnoitering. As he saw the light glittering
on their guns, he dashed into the kitchen and
darting at a nearlv empty flour barrel turned
it up over him. Under this defense he squat
ted, while the men rode up, dismounted and got
peaches from the orchard and drank at the ois-
tern, and sitting down on the edge of the gal
lery, ate the fruit and talked to Zoe and to Vin
cent, who got up and came in his shirt sleeves
to the window. Tom did not venture from his
hiding place until Mandy, coming to hunt for
him, answered his sepulchral whisper, ‘Is da
gone?’-by over turning the barrel and revealing
her motley spouse, his woolly head and black
face covered with patches of flour till he look
ed like a scare crow manufactured of black and
white calico.
•Go out and shake yer self. You’ve got enough
flour on you to make two or three good messes
er biskits,’ was his wife’s comment as she sur
veyed him. Zoe, seeing him, laughed merrily.
The news the men had brought from Cohatchie
relieved her. The prisoners had gone safely
away, attended by a guard they had pickbd them
selves. Hayne, the young Southerner to whom
they had given office and warm friendship and
kindness, was one of the guard. Henry Bronn,
Zoe’s shy admirer, was another. The Captain
of the guard was a man who had lately insinua-
t d himself into the good will of the Radical
officers. Seemingly he was a frank-spoken, ge
nial fellow, but Zoe, who had met him but once,
was repelled by a look she saw eomo over his
face in unguarded moments—a hard, cruel, se
cretive look.
It was something that the prisoners had been
suffered to depart, though one of the men laugh
ing sardonically, said he’d advise them not to
crow until they were out of tne woods.
‘They took money enough to get them through
all right,’ said another, and they’ve got fine hor
ses.’
‘They’ll get through none the quicker tor hav
ing ail that,’ muttered another, significantly;
where at, one, who seemed to be in command,
spoke up and said:
‘I think yeu had all better hold your tongues,
or mind what you are talking,’ cutting his eyes
meaningly towards Vincent. The same man had
brought Hugh an order from Alver to report at
once to him at Cohatchie and had questioned
him closely about his illness, as though he sus
pected it to be a sham. He volunteered the in
formation that Alver was going to keep things
straight from now out, and that more titan ever
his motto would be ‘those that are not with us
are against ns.’
.‘AVe «V><-some n$ws before tomorrow..’
Hugh said, as they rode away. ‘There s moA
in the wind than those fellows will let on, or
than most of them suspect. maybe.’
Still Zoe was hopeful. One of the men had
told her, he had seen Hirne that morning.
•A man pointed him out to me that knew him
in the army,’ he said, ‘and declared a braver I
man never drew breath, and he wa3 generous |
and kind-hearted to boot.’ j
The reconnoitering squad had ridden away
along the road that ran on the river bank. They
did not penetrate the swamp. They had heard j
of no disturbance or gathering of negro men be- j
yond the few that had come together under Levi
after hearing of the exoitement in Cohatchie. ,
Mandy came to get out dinner. While Zoe was
finding ont.from her sister what she would like
to eat, Mandy took down Hirue’s coat from where
she had hung it, saying: ‘I’ll give it a dustin;
it needs it.’ I
As she shook it, preparatory to brushing it, a j
package of papers fell out, and a battered note- I
book, which she picked up, remarking: ‘Dis I
ole book look like it been through the war. It’s
cut and frazzled like a knife or bullet been foul
of it, and here’s blood stain on de leaves. Taint
much to carry ’bout.’
But it was much to Zoe. She took up the rel
ic, stained with blood and gun-powder.
It was the book be had told her of, in which
he had written the songs and verses he had read
and sung to his comrades around the watchfires.
Later in the afternoon when the shadows were
slanting long upon the grass and clover, she
went into the little green orchard nook, and
seated in the children’s swing that hung from a j
great pear tree, read the little book from begin- j
ning to end. No cold, impersonal creations |
were these poems. They were transcripts of
an intense life, stained through with personali
ty, athrob with feeling. Many of them had been
thrown off at white heat evidently and still ra
diated a glow. Reading one after another, she
could trace the growth of the bitter and fierce
spirit that flung its lurid shadow over his life.
She could see its growth and, she thought, its
decadence—a struggling out of the mists of pas
sion and strife, a yearning for something purer,
more gentle and restful. His better nature
seemed triumphing, and Zoe said to herself how
sad it would be if this late political agitation
should draw him back from the calmer atmos
phere be was aspiring to breathe into the vor
tex of passion and violence.
The first poem that had much significance
for her was a record of the incident he had told
her of—the meeting of the secret-service mes
senger upon the boundary line of Mexico and
Texas and hearing from him that the South had
seceded and war with the States had begun. He
had called it War News on the Border :
“Ho! bronzed and bearded traveller— well met be
side the stream!
You come from wilder, lonelier lands, than even
this I deem;
Your face is from the setting sun, and mine is to
Its light;
What news bring you from Mexic wilds and far
Sierrean height ?
Dismount, dismount upon the bank and pledge
this cup with me,
Filled from this broadly rolling tide—fit emblem of
the free;
Yours theiirst face I’ve seen to-day, and this the
only stream—
What man! you look as wild as one just wakened
from a dream.”
“And well I may; I have not heard, till now, my
native tongue,
Since on this ancient sycamore last summer’s
foliage hung.
Beyond yon ledge of mountain blue I’ve led an
Indian’s life
Of wild and dangerous wandering, of solitude and
strife;
I’ve heard the Indian’s deadly whoop that echo
rang again,
The thunder tramp of buffalo that swept the migh
ty plain,
The bay of hounds, the eagle’s scream beneath a
blistering sky,
And in the sultry tropic night the hungry pan
ther's cry.
The wolfs long howl—the dreariest sound that thro’
the forest rung
But never thro’ that lonely year, heard I my native
tongue.
I stand now on my native soli—thanks to the kind
ly fates—
Hand me the cup, I’ll pledge you now—our own
United States.”
“United States! Take back the pledge—United now
no more:
We blush to think our Southern land so long the
title bore.
A storm, whose fierceness shakes the world, the an
cient bond has riven.
And now our rival banner floats beneath approv
ing heaven.
Now ia the Northern Capitol, a tyrant has his
seat;
And all the rights of Southern men are crushed be
neath his feet;
Behind his guard of armed men he hides his ple-
bian head,
And bids his minions thro’the South dismay and
famine spread:
But she has sworn with gifted blade, to wear the
yoke no more,
Nor sheathe her sword, until she drive the invader
from her shore.
Here; take the cup: I’ll pledge a name whose sound
my soul elates—
Drink or ye are no Southern son—to our Confede
rate StAte*!”
The Union severed! Powers above! I n fever dream
ed of this;
Tho’ (like the serpent of the wild, that shrills its
warning hiss
Before it gives the fatul'spring VI knew the Soutli
had long
Warned that she would no more endure the cruel
Northern wrong;
But this!—who dreanftai<jp bold a deed had been so
swiftly done?
The South a separate power ! her flag unfurled be
neath the sun!
Surely ’tis not a final step; the breach will soon be
healed.”
‘'Never', ’till every Southron's blood has dyed the
battle field;
Never.’till Mississippi's tide flows backward from
the sea.
NeVer, 'till from these steadfast hills, the rooted
forests flee; •
Never, ’till AUeghary^jovvs her awful granite
brow,
I tell you, blood (lows through the gulf that yawns
between us now—
And shall we clasp again a hand that with our blood
is red?
No never; by our mighty wrongs and by our mighty
dead;
For every drop of Southern blood, the invader's
hand that stains.
We’ll have a thousand drops of theirs—drawn from
their dearest veins.”
“What—blood-shed say you?’’ Yes; even now the
battle rolls afar,
And tlirough our land, from length to length, rings
the alarm of war.
To arms! To arms! and gallant hearts throb to the
beating drum;
They rally tens of thousands strong—and still the
cry, “They come!”
The Rubicon's already past, the drama is begun.—
“Where?” “In that loveliest spot of land that
smiles beneath the sue—
The state that holds the honored bones of Southern
Washington.”
“But are we not out numbered man ? The North
ern loe can wield
A stronger arm on sea and shore—shall this not
makes us yield?”
“Yield?—yield?—you stand on Texas soil and utter
word#like these?
Book ye dark stranger, Texas boys make gibbets ol
their trees!—
Yield! sever! tlio’ their hireling hordes rush down
like ocean wave*,-* -U.
There’s room enough on Southern soil to give them
bloody graves.
Yield! no; by San Jacinto's plain and Buena Viste’s
field,
We'll show them stC'ng, determined souls will not
to numbers yield: V
Yield !—but. I meet a our flmile, I see the lire within
your eye; *' T
Your hand my friend; I stle you stand, ready to dare
and die,
True to the flag of stars and bars we’ve sworu to
keep on high.
I go upon a mission now, that may not be de
layed.
But ere another me "- shall wane, I hope to flesh
my blade. < ^ ^\~
^ — •> - *: r-
Riglit on; right on; straight
to tliescene ®f strife
To offer to the Southern caus9all that I have—my
life:—
A woman’s treachery drove me here—liaif madden
ed with despair,
Like a wild, wounded beast, to make iu loneliness
my lair;
I shunned my kind and sought to find in deepest
solitude,
In savage sport and perils wild, cure for my bitter
mood.
But this is better; this is rare! Hall glorious news
of war!
The peal of red artillery is sweeter music far
Than any siren song of love! I’ll drown in battle’s
roar
All memory of the treacherous voice that I shull
hoar no more;
And life and death ane one to me, for notan eye
would weep.
If wrapped within my soldier's cloak, I slept a
bloody sleep.
Welcome the tidings of the .war! my wild blood
bounds apace:
Come, tried and trusty rifle friend—give us a fore
most place;
Here’s better game lor you and me than butlalo or
deer—
We’ll mock at death we’ve faced before, and laugh
at coward fear.”
“Aye boy; I’d rather fall in fight upon my bloody
arms,
Than lie on any woman's breast, rocked by her
heaving charms.
This is no hour for amorous dreams—away with
love, away!
Go boy—we’ve need of such as thou, for wild will be
the fray,
And yonder sun shall rise upon full many a bloody
day.
We need such bold and reckless souls, who laugh
at death and fear
With not a tie to draw them back—no breast to
hold them dear.
Go, where, on bloody border lands, opposing ban
ners fly—
Go, where the vultures, instinct led, are gathering
in the sky;
Above the dead and dying foe, their dusky wings
shall flap, _ •
And dogs upon the gory plain, the dastard's blood
shall lap.
Go; we have all at stake;—we’ll fight like wounded
bears at bay, . , , ..
And by the Goa above, we’ll die before we yield the
day.”
The day had been yielded, though many h ad
‘died’ before. The hope of Southern independ
ence had proved a mirage. Farther on he wrote
of this four years’ tragedy.
Down on the mighty drama rushed
The midnight curtain of despair.
It’s lights are quenched, its music hushed:
Not one wild echo stirs the air.
Dried are the tears its pathos woke,
Stilled are plaudits of Us power.
Cold are the lo.ving hearts it broke.
And green its graves-the mournful dower
It left to this forgetful hour.
In another place, he spoke of the lost cause
with more passionate regret
“To see the promised land afar,
To struggle in the toils of war.
Do deeds to make a Roman quail
And yet Oh! God to fail! to lail!”
To this was appended under a mnch later date,
only a few months previous in fact.
But have we failed? No great deed fails,
“Our cause is dead ! ” Hope’s banshee wails;
Not eo; its soul survives.
It thrills the calm, it rides the gale,
Breathes in the song and passionate tale
To color future lives;
It looks from out the mothers’ eyes
Into her infant’s soul,
And young ambition sees it rise
From history’s glowing scroll.
In deep and deathless tones it cries
From every nameless grave where lies
The dead, who for its glorious sake.
Were willing sacrifice.
Aye, Tyranny may crush the hand
That raises Freedom’s beacon brand;
Yet«hall he never quench that fire
’Twill live to light his funeral pyre,
The breath of the avenging years
Shall bid its flame aspire.
And it shall flash from soul to soul—
That lightning thought—alive, awake.
Until the thunder deed out roll
The tyrant’s throne of power to shake
And bid his guilty minions quake.
All the poems did not breathe this passion for
strife. A few were full of tenderest feeling,
veined by melancholy, darkened by the fata
lism that had been born of persistent misfor
tune. One of these, a little song called “A last
meeting,” Zoe lingered over, for it had been
written since she knew him.
We met; it was when'laughing Spring
Her earliest wreath was twining
When birds were out on dewy wing,
And skies were blue and shining,
I little recked of sunny skies
Or April bloom beguiling.
My sunshine was your radiant eyes
My spring your tender smiling.
I said to Fate “I will not fear
Your voice of cruel scorning,”
I said to memory, “flap not •here,
Your raven wing of warning,
The days must be for you and me,
The nights, all wild and dreary.
But now, I bid your shadow flee
This hour is mine, mine only.”
Alas! I heard upon the hill '
Fate’s low, defiant laughter;
Ah! felt you not my heart grow still, *
My lips grow cold there after?
I saw, and knew it for a sign,
The breezeless poplar quiver,
And felt, even with your heart to mine,
We'd met to part forever.
Dear love, the saintly sages tell
A wild and wondroas story,
That death shall not the spirit quell
Nor quench itsjfadelcss glory:
I heed not these, but in my soul, .
A prophet voice is telling.
That faith knows not a mortal goal
Nor love an earthly knelling.
Beyond thestars, whose silver feet
Through heaven’s blue pathways quiver,
In some fair Aidenn we shall meet
Who have parted here forever.
‘The bravest are the tenderest,’Zoe murmured
with quivering lips. The thought of this poet-
soldier who loved her, was fall of thrilling
sweetness. The passionate heart that ruilsed
through these poems was hers. How manly he
was ! How tender! how chivalric his manners
despite their want of conventional polish ! what
power to melt and persuade, there was in those
intense eyes, and in the voice which had said
Oh ! my sweet, that other man may be worthier
of you than I am, but he can never love you so
well.’
He did not. It was not in Royal West to love
as Hirne did. The affectionate regard, the ten
der admiration of Zoe’s civilized fiance was cold
to the fervid worship of this son of the wilder
ness.
The winds stirred the summer leaves, the
blue sky was marbled with white clouds, the
young orioles twittered in their hanging nests in
the old pear tree. Zoe swung gently back and
forth, the old battered blank book unconscieus-
ly held to her heart, that was fall of vague
sweet dreams. Had Hirne thrown himself at
her feet that moment, he had not plead for her
love in vain.
Wrapped in her thoughts, she did not hear
the sound of approaching horsemen, until they
drew up in front of the gate. She started up.
One ot them was Henry Bronn. Two others
were men who had been named as being of the
guard that had accompanied the prisoners.
How was it possible ihey had returned so soon?
‘I thought jou were to guard the prisoners
out of the state, how is it you are back so soon ?’
she asked hurriedly as she went up to the paling
in answer to their greeting. There was a mo
ments hesitation; then one of the men said with
a forced laugh:
‘They got away from us.’
‘Got away! Henry, how is this?’
The young man’s round, stolid face was pale
and his eyes had a dazed, troubled look. He
shitted his glance away from Zoe’s penetrating
eyes. He hesitated and his comrade caught up
the answer:
•They got away from us, I tell you, Miss Zoe;
didn’t they Henry ?’ ■
•Yes,they go?'away,’ the bo 1 ^' sail, Crying to
imitate his companion’s off-hand way of speak
ing; but Zoe saw he seemed stunned and bewil
dered. Only some greot horror could have so
affected his common-place nature.
‘How did they get away ?’ she asked, sternly.
•Oh, just got away; it’s too long a story to tell
right now. We are in a mighty hurry: just call
ed by to know if a fellow’s nere named Dan No
lan. Alver wants him to report to him right
away. His brother's in the calaboose at Cohatch
ie for cutting up.’
‘Dan Nolan is not here, he went last night to
Cohatchie with some men who eame from the
Texas border.’
•Then, Alver’ll probably see him some time
to-day. Thanks and good-day to you, Miss Zoe.
Come boys!’
Henry was riding away with the others, when
Zoe detained him by a word.
‘One moment,’ she said. ‘Henry, what be
came of those men yon went to guard ? They
did not get away. I know what that expression
means in Western mouths. It means they were
killed. Henry Bronn, did you murder the men
that were under your aare ?’
‘I did not. Miss Zoe, I will come back in an
hour, if I can slip away, and tell you all.’ *
(TO BE CONTINUED.)
How Millionaires Worship.
[ New York Sim. ]
Attracted by the sound of silver bells nearly
2,000 persons filled the Fifth Avenue Presby
terian Church yesterday morning, and listened
to a peculiar discourse on God's enemies in
general and Satan in particular.
The magnificence of this Presbyterian Church
cannot be easily exaggerated. Costing not far
from a million of golden dollars, it stands on
the fashionable side of fifth avenue, a mofia-
ment of tne pctency of wealth, a luxurious
symposium for the representatives of not less
than $200,000,000.
Large as its dimensions are, its seating ca
pacity is in the neighborhood of 1,800 only,
for men who can afford to pay for hardwood
sets polished to the verge of satin, cushioned
in crimson bountifully supplied with stuffed
pillows for the weary back, do not like to be
crowded while at their Sunday exercises.
Fronting the congregation is the pulpit, on
the facade of which, carved in sturdy oak, are
the angel, the lion, the bull and the eagle, types
of the four evangels, but often taken by unin
formed observers as types of the bulls and bears
of Wall street, who so liberally contributed to
pay for the costly pile.
The pulpit itself is like a flowery bed of ease.
Carpeted it is with the choicest fabric known to
the weaver's loom, thick and soft, and yielding
to the feet of those who take hold on righteous
ness. Three elegantly carved arm-chairs afford
accommodation for the clergy, and a table of
the same suite stands at the right of the officiator.
Above the speaker’s head a beveled sound
ing board imparts resonance to the voice, and
over this is a gorgeous organ front, with carvings
and curlings, designed by artists and executed
by experts. All about the auditorium are mag
nificent stained glass, diamond-out windows,
through which the rays of the Bun shine, mel
lowed and tinted.
Mrs. Brooks, the ‘ bntter woman , ’ is now,
modelling a fall length figure of Dickens’
‘ Marchioness.’ In case of a warm spell, the
Marchioness might ‘ran down’ at the heeL
STANDING NOTICES TO PAT
RONS AND CONTRIBUTORS.
Your paper is discontinued by the
mailing clerks at the expiration of the
time paid for. The clerks have no dis
cretion in the matter and the proprietors
do not know when youi 1 time expires.
Always keep the date of your subscrip
tion and renew in time to avoid missing
a number.
In ordering your paper changed from
one office to another don’t fail to name
both offices.
When you write on a postal card
don’t forget to write your office on it.
We sometimes fipd it impossible' to at
tend to orders because no postoffice is
given.
In writing your own name or the
names of others be very particular and
write as plainly as possible. Leave oft
all flourishes and aim only at being plain
We have much trouble sometimes in
making out names and frequently get
them wrong.
If you propose to pay your subscrip
tion with postage stamps, let them be
one-cent stamps, if possible.
Jennie June says that a fashionable bonnet
can be had for a dollar and a half. And so it
nan It is from six to twenty dollars’ worth of
trimming that strikes the pocket-book in a sore
sjyt
In sending us MSS., or writing us
letters don’t fail to prepay the postage in
full, if you wish us to take them from
the post office. The Department is
very particular in charging and collect
ing the extra or unpaid postage 6n all
matter passing through the mails.
If you do not hear from your MSS.,
right away don’t conclude that it is re
jected and get mad about it, for we can
not keep up with all the MSS., that
comes into the office. We have a great
number iu hand which have not been
read.
Don’t ask or expect compensation, un
less you have good reasons for believing
that the public would be pleased to
hear from you because of your establish
ed popularity as a writer. If yon are
poor and needy that does not add to the
merit of your writings. The public
knows nothing of yc^ir circumstances
and is not at all inclined to make al
lowances for an inferior article in a pub
lic journal.
,Tn paling your letter or MSS., be
particular and do not allow the glue of,
the envelop to stick to the letter. They
are sometimes torn to pieces in getting
off the envelop.
It would encourage us so much if all
the friends of the paper would renew
regularly and promptly at the expiration
of their time. We cannot know wheth
er you wish the paper continued unless
you notify us in time, and the mailing
clerks .in addressing the papers skip all
names whose times have expired. Bear
this in mind.
And old subscriber can renew for 12
months for $2.50 : for 6 months for
$1.50; 4 mos. for $1.00; 3 mos. for
75 cts.
Two new subscribers sending together
can get the paper one year for $5.00, ot
6 months for $3,00.
The Sunny South and Boy’s &
Girls of the South will be sent one
year for $3.50.
Advertisements.
A few unobjectionable advertisements
will be inserted at 10c. per line. Special
contracts made at a lower rate according
to the time and quantity of matter.
Club Rates.
Two subscribers one year,
Five,
Eight, “ “
To any one sending us a club of six
subscribers at $2.50 each, we will send
him or her the paper one year free.
$ 5.00.
. 12.00.
. 18.00.
How to Procure Agencis.
We receive many applications for
Agencies from unknown parties which
are not noticed unless accompanied with
strong and responsible indorsements.
Agents must give satisfactory guaran
tees for energy, faithfulness and honesty.
We have been grossly deceived, cheated
and swindled by many whom we
thought worthy of confidence and must
exercise rigid precaution in fnture in ap
pointing Agents.
—•♦«»■
The Laboratory of the Syetem.
The stomach is the laboratory of the system ia 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 rashes laden
with the elements of vitality to the remotest patfs of the
system. But when the stomach is semi-paralyzed by
dyspepsia, blood mannfactnre is carried on imperfectly,
the circulation grows thin and slnggieh, and the system
suffers in consequence. Moreover, indigestion reacts
upon the liver and bowels, rendering the first sluggish,
and the latter constipated. The brain also suffers by sym
pathy, and sick headaches, sleeplessness and nervous
systems are engendered. Ilostetter'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 moet popular
well as the moat’efficient and anti-dyspeptic ana tor’-
America.