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Jean’s Winter in the City. BY STEPHEN BEEN* *. CHAPTER IL The morning sunlight shone cheerfully in through the windows of the small breakfast room at Biierfield Hall. The table was laid for two, and well-trained servants moved abont. The mistress of the house sat before the fire, dressed in soft gray cashmere. Mrs. Dnnleath was six ty, but excepting the abundant white hair, which lay like a crown above her haughty, patrician face, she did not look much over thirty-five. The slender, perfectly-formed hands, lying on the arms of her chair were firm and smooth, and the coid blue eyes still burned with the fires of youth. There was no one in all New York who could boast of more pride and blue blood than the mistress of Brierfieid Hall, and it took name and wealth combined, to win her favor. She g'anced at the table: ‘James what time did Mr. Palmer come?'to the butler. ‘On the up train, this morning at five. He said there was nc need of disturbing you, mad am, as he knew where his room was.’ •Very well; you may ring the bell now.’ In a few minutes the door opened and a gentle man entered. Mrs. Dunleath rose quickly, holding out her hand, her proud, cold face soft ening. ‘My dear Gordon, I am very glad to see you.’ ‘Thank you, aunt. It is pleasant to bear some cne say they are glad to see me.’ She looked at him with a smile. We will lock also, dear reader. He was tall— this Garden Palmer, with a strong, intellectual face, very dark gray eyes, a fine firm month, profuse chestnut brown beard and moustache, and catiying about him the air that stamps the gentleman, the traveler and the man of the world. •Was your visit to Chester a pleasant one ?’ ‘Very pleasant indeed.’ ‘Ah ! perhaps my letter prevented your pro longing it.’ ‘No, I was ready and willing to come back. I am never contented to stay in a place more than a month at a time. By the by, yon men tioned having something particular to say to me. May I ask what it is ?’ ‘Not now, Gordon. Wait till after breakfast.’ Mr. Palmer bowed, and in his calm,composed way, talked of the weather, the gay life in Ches ter, and various other things until the morning meal was over. Then Mrs. Dnnleath led the way to the grand, sombre library. Sinking dow n in the depths of a lnxurions chair, she waved her companion to a seat, bnt he declined, prel'ering to stand on the hearth and lean against the mantle. Profound silence reigned fora few minutes ;_,Mrs. Dunleath loot ing thoughtfully into the lire, and Palmer wait ing to hear w hat the particular something was. After all he conld partly guess. At last his auut abruptly said: ‘You know, Gordon, that for ten years I have considered you my heir?’ Gordon bowed. ‘You are my nearest relative, and I could not bear to think cfmy old home passing into stran ger bands.’ ‘My dear aunt, I assure you it never shall while I live.’ ‘No, I do not think you would sell it, bnt if yon do not marry it will pass out of our family at your death.’ Ah ! he had thought rightly as to what it was. •You are thirty-tour, and surely old enough to choose a wire—one that will do honor to your position in the world. Gordon, I want yon to marry.’ He toyed with the pearl handled paper knife lying on the mantle, a half smile in his eyes. Por a brief space silence reigned. The wood fire crackled and burned redly, and the sun light poured in through the south window, ly ing in bars of pale gold on the dark crimson carpet. T regret that I cannot comply with your wish. Nothing would give me greater pleasure, but all the wealth in New York laid at my feet would not indnce me to marry now.’ ‘I do not ask yon to marry now, to-3ay, to morrow, or next week,’—a ring of impatience in the smooth, calm voice,—‘but yon are going to spend the winter in New York, and surely there are those there that will suit your fastidious taste. What is there that is more beautiful than Della Rivers?’ •No one that I know of, and yet Della Rivers is the last woman that I would take for a wife.’ ‘Why Y ‘Because our natures do not suit; then she is a blonde and 1 dislike blondes as a general thing.’ •Well, promise me that next spring you will bring your wife to Brierfieid Hall, and I will never mention the subject to you again; and re member she must be ot good family,’ ‘No, it is against my principles to make prom ises, particularly rash ones; bnt there is one thing I can safely say, and that is: rest assured that if I ever commit such a piece of folly as to marry, my wife will be a lady.’ There the subject was dropped. Mrs Dun- leath knew that it would only hurt her cause to urge it any lurther at that time. Gordon Pal mer was a strong, self-willed man, and was not to be coaxed or threatened into anything. Pos sibly that was one reason the cold, proud wo man loved him so well. It is the nature of wo man to admire and love strength in a man, it may be because they are generally so weak them selves. For Palmer to marry some high-born girl was the unrealized dream of her life. ‘But it must come in time,’ Bhe thought, ‘it must—it shall! •Yon will spend some time, now that you are here,’ said Mrs. Dunha h, breaking the silence that bad fallen between them. ‘No, much as I would like to I cannot now. I promised to meet Holmes in New York tomor row.’ ‘Well, you will at least speid the day, and es it promises to be a clear one we will ride out, and 1 will show you the new laud my agent hts purchased.’ Mr. Palmer spent the day at Brierfieid Hall, rode out with its Laughty mistress, strolled through the park and smoked in the grand, dimi\-lighted library. The last words that Mrs. Dunleath said to him that evening, when starting, were: ‘Remember Gordon, what I said about marry ing into a good family, or He knew what she meant and his face changed, grew hard and stern, but there was no time to say anything; the train was nearly due. and he would just iiave time to reach the station. He only had time to get on and find a comfortable seat when the train started. Settling himself and drawing up his overcoat collar lor protection against the cold, Mr Palmer turned to look at Lis lellow-iravelers; but there was notLing very interesting in their tired, sleepy faces, and his eyes came back and rested on the giriith figure nestled upon the seat oppo site. T’ne face outlined against the velvet was not remarkable tor the perfection of its beauty, but there was something irresistibly attractive in the soft cnives of the white throat, around the sweet, half-sad month and in the way the long lashes lay on the colorless cheeks. Having nothing else to do, Mr. Palmer studied the face his rather cold, critical way. She reminded him of a tired child asleep, with her small hands folded and a calm reposeful look on her face. ‘Poor child! she ought not to be traveling alone,’ he thought, with a new compaasion in his heart for the weaker sex. ‘Surely there cannot be anything wrong abont her.’ No, surely not, the faoe was too pare, too inno cent ior that In the midst of his conjectures as to who she was, and where ahe came from, the dark eyes suddenly flattered open, and rested on his faoe, half in cariosity, half in surprise, bnt wholly fearless. For a minute grey eyes, and brown, eyes met in a steady gaze, then quietly, indiffer ently, the girl’s lids drooped again. Mr. Palmer wanted to speak to her, bnt conld find no good exonse for doing so, when the way was opened for him in an unexpected manner. The bald headed man dozing in the corner, ab ruptly ended bis nap, by falling forward in the aisle. It created a small stir among the sleeping passengers, and one old country woman threw her arms around her hnsband's neck, screaming: ‘Is it an arthquake Nathan? is it an arth- quake ? ’ As Nathan had been placidly sleeping he couldn’t tell. Palmer looked at his little traveling compan ion, as he culled her to himself. She was sitting erect, an amused smile dimpling her lips and shining in her eyeB. The opportunity had oome and Gordon Palmer was not a man to let it slip. Meeting her eyes he said: ‘Our friend has illustrated the uncertainty of life, don’t yon think so?’ ‘Yes sir,’ the smile breaking into a langh good to hear, it was so clear and Bweet. ‘Bat I am afraid he is really hurt,’ in a chang ed voice and looking at the man, who sat rue fully rubbing his nose. ‘Not badly. If he hes never received any worse bumps than that through life, he is fortu nate.’ A shadow fell over the girl’s face. •Yes very fortunate,’ then after u short pause: ‘When will we reach New York ? ’ ‘At half past five in the mcming. Are you very tired?’ pitying the weary look on the young face. ‘Yes I am a little tired, she admitted leaning back and closing her eyes. ‘Your head is in a very uncomfortable posi tion—allow me’ and before she conld object, be had folded his traveling shawl and placed it under her head. •There, yon can rest better can you not? ’ ‘Yes, thank you,’ with a grateful glance from the dark eyes, and a faint smile stirring her lips, and then alter a few minutes she went to sleep. The train rnshed swiftly on, and in the full light of the dawn, it entered the great city, and roiled panting into the station. Mr. Palmer reused himself from a brown study and bending over his unknown companion sot:- ly said: •Wake up we are in New York.’ The black lashes lifted slowly, and she sighed. ‘I am glad. I hope uncle John will be here to meet me.’ ‘What is your uncle’s Dame ? ’ Perhaps I know him.’ ‘Mr. Rivers. Mr. John Rivers.’ •I know your uncle well.’ They went out on the platform. The weather had changed. The air was close and mnrky and a fine rain was falling. Palmer looked about him in the hope of seeing Mr. Rivers. He was not disappointed, for a handsome middle aged gentleman was pushing his way through the crowd towards him. There was a glance, a smile of recognition and they shock hands cordially 'I was just looking for yon Mr. Rivers.’ ‘Was yon, but excuse me now, I must try and find my niece.’ T think she is here,’ ‘Uioc7C John,’ said a sweet voice at his side, and a slim hand was laid on his arm. He look ed cnrionsly down into the pale face, and som bre eyes. ‘Is this Jean ? ’ ‘Yes it is Jean.’ John Rivers was Dot a very demonstrative man, bnt there was something in the girl’s face and voice, that carried him back to the careless, happy days of his youth. To the time when with his little fair haired sister, he wandered over the fields or went nutting in the autumn woods, on the old homestead; with aunt Debby to lcve and pet them. A wide gulf rolled be tween him and those bygone days. Della was dead, and this waB Della's child, and bending his stately head, he kissed her with a strange tenderness, considering his usual coldness. ‘Welcome to New York dear.’ Then recover ing his habitually calm manner, he drew Jean's blind through his arm and turning to Palmer said: ‘I have to thank you Palmer, for taking care of my little girl, and now I will give you a for mal introdoction. My niece Miss Delare Mr. Palmer, and there in the drizzling November rain, proud Gordon Palmer lilted his hat to Jean, anew strange feeliDg stirring in his heart. ‘You have been very kind to me, and I thank yon,’ she said shyly as they went away, and Mr. Palmer lit a cigar and walked off to his hotel, feding that at last for a few hours, a pair of brown eyes had upset that calm indifference he had always taken such pride in. Gradually he went back to his old cynical distrust in wo men. They were very good in their way he didn't doubt that; but conld they be trustei? Never ! To-day they would swear eternal love and fidelity to yon, tc-morrow they would walk up to the altar with old Gold-dust, and swear to love, honor, and obey him. Veiiiy there was no down right truth, or honor in them. CHAPTER III. ‘It is the best way, mamma,’ It was the day after Jean’s arrival and her aunt and cousin were in the upstair's parlor, trying to decide which would be the best way to introduce her to the world. When Mr. Rivers first mentioned his inten tion of sending for his niece,his wife and daugh ter bitterly opposed it. How could they intro duce the ignorant country girl to their friends ? but Mr. Rivers was not a man easily over-ruled and persisted in his determination to have his sister’s child spend one winter in the city, if she would come. Mrs. Rivers and Della yield ed gracefully to the inevitable, like well-bred women should. When Jean came, they were agreeibly surprised. Instead of the round, red cheeked country girl with stariDg eyes and awk ward movements, she was pale and slender, with lovely brown eyes, and just enough of her father's nationality to make her bright and pi quant, when interested. Her manners were easy and graceful, and she betrayed no surprise at the luxury of the brown stone palace. On the whole, her relations were well pleased, and were ready and willing to introduce her to their world. Mrs. Rivers thought that a ball would be the proper thing, and Della raised her love ly head from the sofa cushion and s iid: ‘Yes, it is the very best way to bring her out. It wont look so much like we were smuggling her in to have a grand ball and invite our dear five hundred friends tn eat and dance the hours away; and after all she is a pretty little thing and ought to be treated well.’ ‘Yes, I was very much surprised at her ease and sdfpossession, and now, Dnila, go down to the library where she is, wont you? or—slay, is Sir Angus going to call this morning ?’ ‘Not that I know of, mamma ?’ 'Welt, I am going out awhile, so entertain your cousin, my dear, and try to keep her from getting homesick.’ Jean was in the library, not reading or look ing out on the street, but simply walking up and down the room, her dark eyes softly ra diant and a little satisfied, restful smile on her lips. TTiis room with its books, pictures and glimpses of statuary in veiled alooves, delight ed her taste; then it brought baok that old pic- tnresqae vagabond life so vividly, that she al most expected to see her father, with his deli cate, handsome faoe and dreamy, melancholy eyes, oome in.’ My dear Jean, I came down fully expecting to see yon reading, and here you are looking as up-lifted as if you had just oome down from the oloude.' Jean’s idle dream was broken. The past slip ped baok into its plaoe and she was in nncle John’s library with her cousin’s beautiful, smil ing face before her. ‘Jean, if it is not too mnoh trouble, would yon mind telling me what yon were thinking of when I came in? Mind, if the exertion is too much, don't do it,’ said Della, making herself comfortable in the lnxurions depths of a golden brown velvet chair. Jean laughed at her affected curiosity, and standing on the rug, she looked down at the faoe, defined against the dark velvet, and won dered, as she had many times before, if there was any one else as beautiful as her cousin. There were not many. It is not given to women in general to be so blessed. The perfection of Della River’s fair, pale, northern loveliness,was something to wonder at and admire forever. She wrs tall and slender, with hair like pale- yellow gold, lovely violet eyes and a face for poets and artists to go mad over. ‘A daughter of the gods divinely tall, And most divinely lair.’ All the good gifts of life seemed to have been showered down on her. Beanty, wealth and po sition—yes a firm posiion in nearly every mas culine heart, that came near her. What more could she ask? What more indeed ! There was a great difference between this fa vored daughter of the gods and her cousin. Jean stood by the mantle, slight and lissome, the abundant black brown hair coiled plainly up and the simple grey dress relieved by a crim son Tose at her throat. ‘Well, Jean, have you decided that it is too much to answer my question ?’ •f h, no! I was thinking of something else very different from that. I was thinking how beauti ful you were, and wondering if there was any one else like you,’ said Jean frankly. ‘Thank you,’ with a light laugh, but Miss Rivers flushed with pleasure nevertheless. She was used to admiration, taking it as a matter of course, but she was not used to anything so fresh and frank as this and it pleased her^ •You are a queer girl, Jean, and 1 don’t be lieve ycu have got one bit ol vanity.’ Jean looked perplexed. ‘Vanity—how—in what way, Della?' •Why, vain of your face, your dress, or tal ents.’ ‘No, I never think of it. I like pretty clothes, and I know that I am not plain like some folks, bnt vain ? No, I Lave nothing to be vain of.’ ‘Well, yon must have some kind of a charm abont jou, for I have talked a half an hour with out feeling bored.’ ‘I am glad, but I cannot see why you should ever be bored at all.’ ‘Wait until yon have seen as much o? the world as I have and you wont talk that way.’ •Well, I think going with good society must be very pleasant.’ ‘I thought so once.’ ‘Don't you think so now.’ ‘No.’ Jean looked at her cousin in^surprise. ‘Are you tired of it’ Miss Rivers clesped her slender jewelled hands at the back of her imperial head. •I suppose I am.’ ‘Then why don’t you a ui£Jt?’ _ ‘Quit it ? you absurd chila ; What would I do? Go into a convent? tnrn sister of charity? or what ?’ ‘I don’t know; but it saems to me that there are a great many things you could do.’ ‘Oh, you little, ignorant dreamer! It is a pity to see all your freshness brushed off, to see you come from a hall, tired and disgusted with the world,’ ‘I think you are mistaken, Della. I shall never lose my faith in the world.’ ‘Wait and we will see. Who is it, Harris?' turning to the servant who stood waiting with some visiting cards. ‘Some ladies to see you.’ ‘Well, I suppose you will not go in with me ?’ to Jean. ‘No, I would rather stay here.’ ‘Well, and I forgot to tell you, Jean. Mr. Palmer will take dinner with U3 this evening. I believe you met him on the train.’ •Yes, we sat opposite each other, and he was very kind to me. Then uncle John gave ns an introduction in the rain,’ with a merry laugh. ‘How do you like him ?' ‘I really cannot tell. I Lave never thought anything about it,’ was the careless answer. Miss liiveis smiled. How amusing it was, to ‘Do you oome here heart whole ? ’ ‘Yes, why?’ ‘Because I think I know who will be your fate.’ ‘Who? tell me Gordon.’ ‘Miss Rivers. You remember her ?. ‘Della Rivers? yes she was my first love. What agonies of dispair I endured when she re fused to believe my protestations of undying love. That was five yiars ago, and she was an nncommonly pretty girl at fifteen.’ •Well she is twenty now, and in all my wan derings back, and forth, upon the face of the earth I have seen no one more beautiful. Mr. Holmes looked at his friend in surprise. Never in all his acquaintance with him had he ever heard Gordon Palmer, praise any one so warmly, ‘I say old fellow,’ he retorted, ‘perhaps yon are touched yourself. If so, tell me, and I will try to keep my surceptible heart to myself.’ ‘Let your susceptible heart alone Lenox,’ said Mr. Palmer composedly. *1 admire Miss Rivo-rs as I would any one else as beautiful, no more, no less. ‘I don’t believe then —’ ‘That I ever had an attack of that youthful folly called love? Well you are mistaken. I had it bad once.’ •By Jove ! you did ? ’ ‘Yes.’ •You have kept it confoundedly close, that is all I have got to say. When was it? How was it? Tell me wont you ? ’ Mr. Palmer was silent. Was he thinking of those past youthful days, when he was yonng, and foolish, and lived in the glamour of first love, for that brief, bright summer? If so it brought no change to his face. That was as ex pressive as a blank wall. L nnox Holmes waited for his friend to speak. Who would have thought of there being a love story in Gordon Palmer's life? Not Mr. Palmer surely. He was so cold, so cynical, and in different to women, that solt-hearted Lennox, never dreamed that a love story could by auy possibility, be folded away in his life. However unexpected things are always turning up. Gordon threw away his cigar, lit a fresh one and said: •It has been so long ago that I have almost forgotten it; but I will try to brush up my mem ory and tell enough to prove a warning to you, my dear boy. When I was twenty-two years old, I spent my summer holiday at a little re sort up on Lake Erie. Remember, Lennox, that was before my line3 had fallen in pleasant places- I was a poorly paid clerk in a lawyer’s office, and scribbled some for two or three mag- ezines. I was foolish and romantic, and fell in love after the manner of youth, with a yel low-haired, bine-eyed aDgel, in white swiss and pink roses. Right here I will give yon a warn ing. Don’t trust a blonde. The devil himself is not more deceitful. Well, for two months I thought life conld hold no more for me in the way of happiness. My cup was lull to the gold en brim. Then came the agony of parting. I spent the last of my money in an engagement ring, and with her lovely bine eyes full of tears she promised to wait for me until I made my fortune, I don’t know how I ever intended to make it Strong in hope and love, I came back here and went to work, as I never had worked before; when lo! in one short month, I received a perfumed, pink-tinted note. My bride elect had wedded a richer suitor. So much for my romance. I did not curse nor tear my hair, but my faith in women died, and instead of reve rence I had contempt One had made a fool of me, but another nevsr would, nor they never will. There is the story; very romantio is it sot ?’ ‘On, Gordon, I am so sorry for you, so sorry,’ crieri honest. Lennox, putting out his hand Palmer smiled, but taking the proffered hand in his own stroDg.flrm one, said: ‘Sorry! why Lennox? Because I didn’t mar ry the little blonde ? Ah, if you knew the thanks giving I sent up daily, thet I was permitted to escape, you wouldn't look quite so miserable.’ T believe my sympathy is thrown away on you,’ said Lennox, Blowly. ‘Yes, as far as that summer idyl is concerned, it is; so don’t waste aoy more of it; and now, as a reward for your patience, I will give you some thing pleasant to dream absut. 1'ho Rivers are to have a ball next week, and we will go.’ Long after Lennox had gone to his room, Mr. Palmer lounged in his easy chair, smoking and thinking. He had raked up the ashes of the past; but not one spark of the old tire lingered among them. They were dead, dead forever. Soon after his faithless love had married, Mrs. Dunleath stepped in and lifted him from work to idleness. He gave up his writing, and let his splendid talent lie for twelve years unused- Were they also dead ? By the quickening pow er that stirred his calm, even pulse, he knew they were not. These twelve yems had been wasted, would the next twelve be the same Who could tell ? TO BE CONTINUED. hear this country girl say she Lad never thought whether she liked Gordon Palmer or not. Mr. Palmer came to dinner, stopping for a minute at the drawiDg-room door, to look at the two cousins, standing side by side before the lire, his eyes lingering longest on Jean’s face. Two hours after he strolled back to the hotel, and going up to his room, found a young man comfortably reclining in an ecsy chair and look ing over a new magazine. He was three and twenty, good looking, with hizel eyes and light brown hair. Looking up over the top of his magazine, he saw Palmer s anding in the door, and spring ing up, met him with such a fervent hand clasp that he was forced to mildly remonstrate. ‘My dear Lennox, please temper your friendly warmth with mercy.’ Mr. Holmes laughed. ‘I am so glad to see you, Gordon, that if I was a woman, I would weep with joy.’ ‘But being Lennox Holmes, F. F. V., I sup pose it is not consistent with your dignity to do so. If I remember rightly, your letter stated that you would oome yesierdey.’ ‘So I did intend, but circums'.ances over which I had no control prevented.’ ‘Well, draw np a chair, take a cigar, and pro ceed to give an acoount of yours df,’ and Mr. Palmer taking his favorite seat and with blue smoke wreaths curling up from his cigar, pre pared lo listen. ‘Go on my young friend, don’t be ashamed to confess the follies of youth.’ ‘There ! you are at it again Gordon. Don’t you know, that it takes away my manly pride to hear you talk as though you were a patriarch of seventy-five, and I abont fifteen ? ’ ‘Weil, I am thirty-four, and you are twenty- three, eleven years uiffirence you see; but let.ing alone that; what have you been doing V You see I take a deep interest in your welfare.’ ‘Well, altir you left me in Paris last April, I found that I couldn’t get along without your care and protection, so coliecting my traps, I started for home.’ ‘Lennox I am afraid your story lacks a part. What about the little ballet dancer ? ’ ‘Gordon if I didn’t respect old age, I would tell you what a disagreeable habit some folks have of asking others questions. Mademoiselle Rosa queen of ballet dancers, threw me over for a gloomy Englishman, and feeling desperate I left, went to Switzerland, met Mrs. Wilton again- you remember her of course—spent a delightful month traveling with that crowd of tourists, and then came home that is all I have to tell.’ Mr. Palmer lay back in his chair smoking, and listening. When Lennox finished, he raised his head, and put a new question to him. Science.—There is something almost terrible in the scientific discoveries of our times. Here is Edison stunning us with the footfall of a fly, and nearly killing us with the roarwhie'r lies on the other side of sHence; think of hearing the grass grow ! When it comes to magnifying the heart beats of a squirrel equal to the sounds of musketry, stand Item under ! Young Girls.—Keep the girls children eslong as you can; do not allow them a lover before they are ten years old ! Teach them to go to bed by nine o’clock, P. M., or even before;and above all, prevent them from being prodigies, if you can; for, of all things, a little old child that mov:s by rule, and talks by rote, and sits with folded hands* is a most melancholy sight. Tlie Fat Men’s Convention, We can see some pleasure, if no reason, in the con vening of a baby show, blit we confess we could never see the slightest cause, reasonable or other wise, for a fat men’s con veution, unless it be the fact that misery loves company. For fifty or a hundred men, whose several weights range from two hund red to three hundred pounds, to hold a convention simpi v because of so much surplus avoirdupois, is absurd to say t he least. It becomes doubly so when we reflect that obesity is a disease. What would we think of as many persons emaciated by consump tion holding a convention o compare their relative weights. There is but one ground upon which we would advocate another fat men s convention, and that is that they will meet to discuss the merits of Allan's Anti-Fat, the only known remedy forobes- ity. It is safe and reliable. Sold by druggists. THE GEORG]A_RAILROAD GEORGIA RAILROAD COMPANY, ) Superintendent's Office, V Augcsta, Ga., November 7th, 1878. J COMMENCING MONDAY, 18th in»t. Trains will leave ATLANTA as follows : ttf 30 a. m.—Augusta, AtheE8, MacoB, Washington, and Way Stations, Charleston, Havannah, Port Koval. No connection for Macon, or Washington Georgia, on Sundays. Arrives at Athens 4:25 p. m.; Washington 4-lo p. m.; Ala- con 7:30 p. m.; Augusta 5 16 p. in. 5 00 p. na.—Covington Accommodation. 6 00 p. m.—Augusts and Way Sta'.ioi.a on Main Line, Charleston, Savannah, Columbia, Charlotte, Danville, Richmond, Lynchburg, Washing ton, Baltimore, Philadelphia, New York and the East. Arrives at Augusta 5 25 a. m. Arrives at Atlanta from Augusta' and intermediate stations, 530 a. in., 2 00 p. m.. from Covington, 7 50 a. m. Trains run by Atlanta time. tDaily—Other Trains Daily Except Sundays. SUPERB, IAIPRoYED SLEEPERS ON NIGHT TRAINS S. K. JOHNSON, Superintendent, E. R. DORSEY, Hen. Pass, Agent, Don’t fail to read “Jew, Gentile and Christian.” It is the finest story of the age and the morale throughout is excellent. Boys «fc Girls of the South. Is the best paper for the young folks ever published. It is pure and elevating in tone, and free from those wild sensational romances which are corrupting the youth of the country. Many good ladies and noble mothers are writing for it« columns. It is a large illustrated 8-page paper fall of life and good humor and striking pictures, and the price is only One Dollar a Year. 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Conductors are not allowed to charge l:ss than the regniar taritl rate ot live to; cents per mile. Excursion Tickets will lie g. od to Re urn Ten Days from and including the date of issue. No Lay-over priv ilege attaches to these tickets, nor will any be granted The company reserves the right to change, or entirely abrogate these ratea at pleasure and witbcut no tice _y K. DUllbllil, ' n0T 9-tt Gen. Fat*. Agent. Cart Loads of Medicinal Rubbish. swallowed by invalids, and their !es thus kept alive for years, w Pffy" tonic stimulant aud corrective, Hostettcrs ncli Hitters would speedily set the disordered rorn out mechanism of the systern ^ 1 n act l v e ealthful operation again. 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