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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. 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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.