Below is the OCR text representation for this newspapers page.

1 f 1 «* IK Dll UIERII Kill. CROSSING THE RIVER STYX. 0 & Charon and His Ferry-Boat. Startling Disclosures in the Infer nal Regions. CHAPTER IIL THE COUET OF THE SLEEPERS. The physician was cot a little discomposed by the incident which I have recorded in the bst chapter, and was at first inclined to dispute Minos’s judgement on the mental state of these prisoners, or at any rate, of him whom he, as a physician, had professionally examined. He began to lay before ns the scientific reasons up on which he had founded his belief in the man’s insanity, bnt to no purpose. Now that we had passed through the Hall of Justice and had seen each other standing in that mysterious light of the other world, we were no longer to be deceiv ed. We could read each other’s inmost thoughts; and though we were unskilled in the scientific terms which he employed, we all knew that the arguments which the physician was so elabo rately marshalling had never even convinced himself. No one, however, made any answer to his attempted defence, and an awkward pause ensued. ‘Well, gentlemen,’ said Minos,at last breaking the silence, ‘what are your plans ?’ We looked at each other in some surprise, for we had hardly anticipated so much latitude of choice as the question seemed to imply. ‘What are your plans?’ repeated he. ‘How do you purpose passing your time in Hades?’ Nobody answered for some time, till at length the barrister ventured a reque st that Minos him self would suggest something. ‘Impossible, gentlemen,’ he replied,laughing, ‘I cannot suggest anything without being ac quainted with ycur respective tastes. It is for each of you to say what is his ideal of a future state.’ I think, nay I feel sure,that we all knew what we onght to reply. It would indeed have been unpardonable in any educated nineteenth cen tury spirit to be unprepared with a correct an swer to such a question as this. Still, from some cause or other—diffidence probably—we remained silent. Just at this moment the door opened and one of the cfficers of the court—an apparitor—enter ed the room. ‘There are several spirits outside, my Lord,’ he said, addressing Minos, ‘who are becoming impatient for their discharge, if your lordship could make it convenient to sign their papers at once.’ ‘Well, they cannot leave yet,’ replied Minos. 'But never mind; admit them, apparitor;’ and thereupon the philosopher entered the room fol lowed by the artist, the poet and the widow. The first named was in a high state of excite ment. ‘My lords,’ he exolaimed with an eagerness almost painful to witness, ‘I beg you will allow me to depart at once.’ ‘At once?’ said Minos. ‘Fray, may I ask the cause of your extreme impatience ?’ ‘Impatience?’ oried the philosopher, his eyes burning with the fever of his great hope. ‘Oh, my Lord, would you chide the impatience of a thirsty wayfarer, whose knees are on the brink of the desert well? Havel thus far toiled and endured in silence, wrestling in the dull agony of doubt, and faoing the stony brow of mystt- *,r. - .Vu .£, • r.Dfhofltu Itailf, iLttfc X oUlTUlCT UOi now be eager to close my sufferings ai last? My Lords, you know not the joy with which I arose to follow your meesepger but a few hours back, when he touohed me on the shoulder as my lamp was waning before the dawn. Full of a calm hope I followed him hither,and what have I yet found? Phenomena! Phenomena! Phe nomena! I see with an etherialized sight, and 1 hear with a purged ear, and the gro s burden of mv body harasses and distracts my thought no lo’nger: but all is subjective still.’ (At the word ‘subjective’ the country gentleman was observed to prick up his ears.) ‘The same old question recurs: Who is this ‘I’ that see, what this world that is seen ? The problem of con sciousness, the enigma of existence, is still un- solved. Your people below have told me that the answer lies beyond. Give me then, my pa pers my Lord, and let me go!’ And the phi losopher stretched out a feverish hand towards thCyjudges . ufe(j{ed with his enthusiasm. It awoke us to a sense of our duty to the nine- teenth century. We recollected that we owed it to our era, to be above all things anxious to discover the enigma of existence, and that our ideal of a future state tunless we were prepared to accept a grossly unfashionable one) should be ‘that in which all the problems of this pres ent life should be solved.’ In fact we recalled, and only just in time, that theory of life and death which has found chief favor with our epoch, viz., that the former should be spent in a continual and conscientious endeavor to work out an impossible sum, in order that on the oc currence of the latter, the shoolmaster may, in coi sideration of our industry, permit as to look at the answer at the end of the book. With the exception of the widow, we all hastened to as sure Minos of our determination to follow the philosopher and seek the solution of the enig ma of! tx'ster ce. Minos smiled—slightly iron ically, as I thought—at the suddenness and una nimity of our resolve, and conferred with his brother judges for a few moments in a low voice, at intervals eyeing each of us in turn. He then proceeded to fill up our papers of discharge,but before attaching his signature to each, he en quired formally and severally of each of us whether it was our deliberate determination to adopt the same course of the philosopher. ‘Not,’ be added, ‘that your present decision is in any way final. You will have an opportunity of subsequently reconsidering it, and if you think fit, of returning here to signify your adoption of some other plan of life. I merely wish to save myself, whenever possible, the labor ot filling up a second set of paperB.’ We all, however, remained firm. The conn- try gentleman in particular was almost indig nant with Mines for appearing to question the sincerity of his desire to solve the problem of ‘I at sure you, my Lord,’ he said, ‘though you mightn’t think it, I take considerable interest in these questions. I used to read a great deal about them in some fellow’s books—I forget bis name—during the summer months,and, indeed, sometimes even in the hunting season. It s a verv curious thing about consciousness and all that. And there’s free will and necessity too —it’s all very puzzling. At all events it quite beats me, I know ; and I assure you there is no gentleman here more anxious to have the wnole business cleared up than lam. I in all for sol ving the charade or enigma or whatever you C& The widow, who had all this time sat apart, and whose voice had not joined in the eager chorus which had proclaimed our adhesion to the plan of the philosopher, was at last called- upon to signify her intentions. ‘Are you too, madf m,’ asked Minos courteous ly, ‘desirous of solving the problem of exist- eD q my Lord ?’ she replied hurriedly, starting from her reverie. ‘Oh no. I want to find poor, | Ik | * dear George.’ Minos smiled half sadly, half amused. ‘Well, madam,’ he continued, ‘you had then perhaps better join tLis party. Your husband may possibly have gone forward in the direction which they will take. You have, I suppose, no absolute objection to solving the problem of ex istence, if it will enable you to find your hus band ?’ ‘Oh dear no,^replied the widow innocently, ‘none in the least.’ Minos filled up her papers and then turning towards us; •Your papers, gentlemen,’ he said, ‘are now ready, but I regret to inform you’ (and here he cast a glance of compassion at the philosopher) ‘that you will not be able to start on your jour ney till evening. The rules on this point are very strict, and they provide that no passports shall on any account be issued until the oourt has risen for the day, I am not permitted to tell you the reason of the rule, but only to inform you that it is peremptory.’ The philosopher heaved a deep sigh and set tled himself to endure the protraction for a few more hours of the suspense of seventy years. ‘My learned brothers and myself,’ continued Minos, ‘must now return to the court to hold our afternoon sitting, bat the apparitor is per mitted to con d act you to any part of Hades, save that whioh you are yourselves destined to occupy, and to show you whatever is to be seen.’ The barrister requested permission to be al lowed to return to court and witness the hear ing of the other cases on the list. His request was at once acceded to, Minos promising to ac commodate him with a seat on the bench. The philosopher elected to remain alone in his sus pense in one of tho ante-rooms adjoining the court, and the widow retired to another. The rest of us gratefully accepted Minos’ kind offer of the guidance of the apparitor, and, after cor dially thanking their lordships for the kindness we had received from them, we prepared to fol low onr cicerone. We were led out through the judges’ private entrance and found ourselves at the back ofjthe building in a vast coart-yard, of whose dimen sions I am not permitted to give even an aprox- imate estimate. The atmosphere was warm, languid and oppressive—so oppressive indeed that weshonld have hastened to leave it, had we not been arrested by the singular spectacle which presented itself. The whole of the vast area of the court was crowded with couches, a few of which wore vacant, but the large majority were occupied by recumbent figures. •This,’ said she apparitor, answering our in quiring glances, ‘is called the Court of the Sleep ers. It is tenanted by those spirits whose ideal of a future world is a state of complete pasivity and repose. Its occupants are ohiefiy orientals and southern Europeans. There are a few spir its from northern and western Europe who have been, in their life time wealthy men of a weak and languid physique and who have lived long enough to acquire an incurable love for in ertia; but of English or indeed of Teutonic spir its generally, very few make this their perma nent abode.’ We were now in the midst of the Court, and we halted to gtze upon the scene. It was mar vellous indeed. Innumerable figures lay around us in every attitude of deep lethargic slumber. No stirring limb, or changing posture broke the dead stillness or marred the immovable repose of that vast assembly. The mighty whisper of their deep breathings seemed itBelfa deeper si lence and the ri e and fall of their countless breasts was rather felt than seen, as one is con scious of the soft motion of a reposing sea. Sleep seemed not so mnch an internet condition of the prostrate figareB as a huge external pall, enwraping them in its folds and awaiting the hi Dd M?- f 5SK!!?S&& Armed with the uewfonnd faculties which en abled us to read in the face of spirits the histo ries of their mortal lives, we gazed with interest on the sleepers who lay nearest to ns. Here lay the spirit of the bed-ridden oripple whom the gentle messenger of the Shades bad one night lilted lovingly from his lifelong conch of pam and carried thither, to find a good night’s rest at last. Calm and motionless he lies wrapped in slumbers which no earthly opiates oonld give dreading no longer the midnight wakings in dull pain, nor the feverish thirsts, nor the rest less tossings of the sick. Next to him lay the spirit of an old hedger, bnried in a sleep un haunted by visions of the next day’s toil. Poor slave of the globe, bent and broken, he has got his manumission at last. As he sleeps he ^nows that his old woman will not wake him in the darkness of the winter morning with ‘John, it be foive o’clock.’ He knows that he will not have to orawl out and hnddle on his clothes by the dim light, aud hear the rain beating against the lattice, as he ties his dinner in bis handker- cnitf. He knews that he will not have to do this the next day, nor the day after, nor the day after that, nor any more forever. The repose of his future shows itself in the expression of his pleasant sleep. He is dreaming that it is a per petual Sadurday night, and that the squire has sent to Eny that he doesn’t expect to go to Sun day morning’s service. The apparitor noticed the interest with which we regarded this sleeper. ‘Ah ! he remarked, ‘agricultural laborers who die in what one would call in other classes the prime of life—that is before they are quite bro ken down by incessant aud exhausting toil—are to be found here at times in oonsideral numbers. DviDg in middle age, and not having therefore eDjoyed like their elder brethren the ratifying reuose of the workhouse, they come here at first with great delight and declare their intention never to stir from their couches; bnt after a short time they begin to get restless and uneasy and in the end they generally return to the judge, and ask to be transferred to some spot where they oan have plowing and ditching in moderation.’ . As he spoke, an offioial hearing a wand and a scroll was threading his way towards us amongst the couches of the sleepers. From time to time he would refer to the scroll and compare its con tents with an inscription on the head of a par ticular oouoh. This done, he would touch the sleeper with his wand and wake him. Some question and answer would then pass between them, after which the sleeper addressed would sometimes rise and follow the offioial. In many oases, however, the spirit would reply to the question put to him by an abrupt, sometimes even an impatient and angry shake of the head, aud immediately resume his slumbers. •What is the meaning ot this ?’ asked M. C. •Every sleeper,’ said the apparitor, ‘isawaken ed at the conclusion of each year of his slumber and the question is formerly pnt to him wheth- he desires to arise and engage in some form of active life. There are but few who do not in three or four years at least return an answer in the affirmative. Those whose mortal lives have been the most full of toil soon weary of contia- ual rest; and as for those whose lives have been made miserable by pain and sickness, when they have slept off the reoollection of their sufferings they are the most anxious of all to enter oo a life of activity, from having spent their earthly days in enforced inaction. At the close of every year this question is repeated, until the com pletion of the tenth year of the sleeper’s slum bers. ‘And then ?’ we asked eagerly. ■Do not ask me,’ said the apparitor, in a troub led voice, aud shuddering as a spirit shudders. We gazed at him in astonishment, and repeat ed our question. At this moment the official stopped at a eouch near to where we were standing, tenanted by a spirit of an Oriental race. He touched the sleep er with the wand aod awoke him. The ques tion was put, and the awakened sleeper shook his head, not impatiently bnt gravely and firm ly, and with a certain diguity whioh we were coDstrained|to admire. The officer with the wand aud scroll seemed, I thought, to delay a little longer than usual after the reply was given in the apparent hope of its being retracted; but the spirit without looking again at its question er, stretched himself on the couch with the same grave dignity, aud folded his arms upon his breast The other then waved the wand thrioe over the couch and it broke iu two. A low cry burst from the apparitor. ‘Look !’ he said iu a breathless whisper, 'the wand is broken. The tenth year is completed. His hour is come.’ At this moment a deep sound, like a passing bell, smote upon cur ears, and the apparitor with a shudder, turned away his head. The movement diverted our gaze for a moment from the recumbent spirit, and when our eyes re turned thither, an exclamation of terror burst from our lips. The couch was empty. ‘Let us go,’ said the apparitor hurriedly. What does it mean ?’ we asked iu amaze ment. ‘It means,’ said our guide solemnly, ‘that a spirit has ceased to be. He is annihilated. Those spirits who, after ten years of slumber, still prefer the unconscious to the conscious life cease by the eternal laws.-if.liases, to exist.’ AVe walked by his side,'shudderingand in si lence. Onr emotion may seem strange to mor tal men, clothed as they know themselves to be, witu a perishable body, whose frail vitality a thousand trivial causes may iu a moment extin guish. Those only who have put off the fleshy elements of their being, and ft It the intense self- sufficing life of the disembodied spirit, can es timate onr feelings at'that moment; only those who have exchanged the flickering uncertain frame of bodily txistence for the undimmed, unwavering light of spirit-life can understand our horror at seeing it quenohed forever. ‘Do many perish thus ?’ we asked, after a time. ‘Few indeed,’ replied the apparitor. ‘Many and many a spirit who has slept doggedly through bis ten years of grace, has sprang up at his last warning, trembling with an unspeak able terror, when he at last found himself face to face with the awful nothing. I have known but one spirit who dared to face it. He whom yon saw perish was a Buddhist by oreed. Anni hilation is the end and otject of his religion. But no more of this; let us leave this dreadful place. (To be continued.) Sundown. BT SHALER G. HILLYER, Jb. Author of the Prize Story, "Marable Family,” in the Savannah Xeu:s. [C OPTiiiGHi Reserved. ] CHAHTER XIII. THE OWL'S NEST. The next hour passes slowly. The doctor, worn out by the night’s vigils, lies down on the eouch on the other side of the room, and goes to sleep, Kate keeps away; if she wonld come in and talk to me theiininntes wonld go last enongh. A little after five, Mrs. Go.die comes in. She sits down by my bed; while listening to her talk, thirtv .<i/ v>-\ alone. L'close' my eyes u aii^ 2§Wp them closed, hoping to obtain forgetfhlnesB in sleep. At length, after a protracted effort in this direction, I was about to attain success when I was aroused by the clatter of horses approaching the house at a rapid pace. Looking towards the window I know, from the few rajs finding their way through the blinds, that the sun has jnst risen. Two minutes later there was a gentle rap on my door which awoke the doctor. On his op ening it, Mr. Alonzo Harper entered followed by Kate and her mother. The young man bore, one in each hand, two leathern wallets which he placed upon the small table near my bed. ‘We found our man, Mr. Lockwood, and with him half of your money and your two watches,’ he said exaltingiy, as he took from one of the bags both money and watchts, and placed them upon the table. I was rejoiced to again behold my mother’s watch, that heirloom whioh I had always ptiz?d far above its intrinsic value, and whose loss I had mourned through two years. How it and the money were recovered I will narrate in Har per's own words: ‘AVe went on very quietly till we ciossed the bridge. Just beyond it onr party divided, four of us keeping the straight road to the store while the ethers, likewise four in nnmber, turned off into an obscure road which leads by a near route to Stephen Swetwell’s. My party consisted of young Yocum, Mr. Strong, the sheriffs brother, myself and Jerry. We walked our horses till within three hundred yards of the store, when we dismounted and fastened them near the road-side. Just as we had done this, we were somewhat startled by the report of a pistol which seemed to come from beyond the store—from the neighborhood of the old mill. We then ad vanced rapidly on foot, keeping as much within the shadow of the trees as possible. ‘As I expected, old Levi’s dog gave notice of our approach. He was always barking, or try ing to bark, as yon know, bnt now he succeeded in giving out a succession of quick yelps as we neared the house, which I knew must awaken his master if he were within it. AVe therefore ran rapidly up, one to each of the two doors and two windows. I was at the back door and rap ped loudly upon it. I tried the bolt and was surprised to find the door unlocked. On enter ing the room and striking a light we found the bird had flown. Both rooms were quickly searotel, for there was nothing in either of them which could hide a man, There was in the back room near the fireplace a small table, close to which were the only two chairs in the hous9, and on which stood a black bottle and two glasses. , . . , x We went out of the house to look about us, and to consult. AVe decided to go at once to the mill—for we had been made acquainted with what Mr. Lockwood had seen there, but stopped a moment to arrange onr plan of ap proaching it. While thus engaged, I could not but observe the actions of the dog. It went howling and yelping around us and among the trees as though it were mad. I notioed, too, that it limped badly, yet strange as it seemed, it moved very swiftly in ““I ou ^ among the shadows of the trees, now approaching ns, now dartiBg away and all the time sending forth a sharp yelp, something between a bark and a cough. The wound which made him limp was caused, I now believe, by the pistol shot we had heard as we dismounted, and which must have been fired by his master with the intention, no doubt, of putting au end to him, thinking he might hinder bis flight. Oar short consultation ended, we started, go ing at a rapid pace, yet stealthily, towards the mill. The dog darted by in front of us and went off yelping in another direction. He presently came limping back with his strange limp, and s,ranger cry, and led off still another direction, but never towards the mill. Was he, like a mother bird flying before its enemies with trailing wing, trying to mislead us? It seemed so; prompted by a strange instinot, and a stran ger affection, he was trying, so it seemed, to save the master who had just attempted to kill him. “While looking toward the mill-house, while yet some distance from it, I thought I saw the glimmer of a light within it. We hurry on; we now stand within the shadow of the ruin. Push log the crazy door baok, two of us enter, while two remain without. A third enters like a flit ting spectre, it is the dog. AVe strike a light and survey the room; it is empty, I see the lit tle apartment to the right, which Mr. Lockwood noticed, aud approach it The dog is there be fore me. When I reach the entrance, I can see in the farther wall an opening, too small to ad mit enough of oar light to illuminate it, yet sufficiently large to admit the body of a man. Looking >nto this hole, I thought I saw the glimmer of a spark of fire. I could not then ac count for it, but know now that it was the burn iug wick of old Levi’s lamp. He had just ex tinguished it, as he thought, but the well-charred wick continued to burn without giving forth light. “The dog sat by the aperture, growling and showing his teeth, Satisfied that the dwarf was ooncealed in the dark hole before me, I ad vanced towards it with a quick step, but the dog attacked me so furiously, I was forced to give hack aud to use my pistol. This I did with ot feet, for the dog, the next instant, leaped growl ing into the opening. I heard a crash as he sprang into t.h-e dark place, whioh was followed the next second, by a startling, blinding light. I looked to see Levi dart from his hiding-place, but be came not; there was the dog, the flames running over him, not barking now and lying very still. “It was useless to try to extinguish the fire; indeed, we had no desire to do so, had it been possible. So we looked on, quite crest-fallen at the escape of our man, and considering, in a a oonfused sort of way, what to do next. “The flames must Lave reached some com bustible material, for , in a very few minntes from the time the lamp was overturned, they burst throngli the thin, dry petition walls which first confined them, and sent a sadden flood of light through every part of the ruins. Just then, looking aloft, I descried the ugly figure of the humpback, With a leathern bag iu each hand standing on a single plank tint lay across the girders, some twenty feet above the ground. He bad, evidently, been making his way to a small opening in the roof, through whioh he could pass to the roof of a shed below, from which, by leaping to the ground, he hoped to make his escape. But the sadden flash of light surprised him; he had jnst turned round when we discovered him, and was looking at the fire with a startled air. Then turning his eyes upon us, and seeing that he was discovered, he faced about, and made for the hole iu the roof as fast as he could. “He had advanced only a few stops, however, when he stopped; drew both hands, still hold ing the leathern bags, in front of and close against his stomach, and began to bend double until his body writhing all the time as if in great pain, he settled down upon the plank, with his feet dangling below it. AVhile the par oxysm lasted, the contortions of his face were frightful, as were the alternate groans and hoots which seemed to be forced from him. These sounds, after a little, when the agony grew less acute, became articulate aud intelli gible. “ ‘Oh, that whiskey!’ he groaned, through lips covered with white froth. ‘To be caught, like a fool at my own game, Another swallow, and I'd ha’ been done for. Oh, that devil! oh, that Swetwell!—He waiated my money, oh hoo! - 'jie oouOubU Vo u&verlUBV&ignt oi nis situation and our presence while uttering these disjoint ed sentences. Presently, turning his eyes be low and again seeing ns, he started, and shout ed oat,— ■ ‘AVhat are you doing hert? what do you want with Levi Flapp? If you want money, go to Swetwell; he’s got it—I have none, not a pen ny. Oh, I’ll swear it—not a penny.’ ‘AVhile speaking, he changed Lis position so as to again stand npon the plank, and did it so qnickly and with ease that he must have been entirely free of the pain which had forced him to sit down. Having regained his feet, instead of continuing toward the hole in the roof, as we expected him to do, he ran back and forth along the high and narrow plank, scowling upon us with his evil eyes, and cursing and hootiDg as he went. Still grasping one in each hand, the leathern bags, and alternately raising and lowering his long arms, he looked like a great owl attempting to frighten an enemy from its nest. As he thus ran back and forth along his dizzy path I heard him curse his dog for betiaying him and eurse Swetwell for drugging his whis key aud curse himself—as I understood him— for failing to drug Swetwells’s. The fire, all the while rapidly advancing, has now caught the roof. A gust of flame suddenly darts down upon the maD, warning him with its hot breath of his danger. He faoes about, and is hurrving once more towards the opening in the roof. He forgets now to curse, intent only upon escaping the pursuing flames. No, he has one other passion—to save his money bags. He reaches the aperture but it is too small to permit his egress through it. He com menced to beat off the half-deoayed shingles, using the money-bags as battering rams. As soon as he had widened the aperture sufficiently to admit his body through it, he crawls out on the roof. At the same time I saw my compan ion leave the interior of the house and pass to that sid9 of it on which Flapp is endeavoring to escape. AVe see him step out upon the roof aud with the agility of a cat run along the treacher ous slope towards the shed already mentioned. The rotten shingles crack beneath his tread, threatening at every step to give way and pre cipitate him to the ground below- But he is too late, the fire has reached the shed before him; he oan only attain the roof by leaping through a sea of flame. He stops a mement as if consider ing its feasibility, then tarns and rapidly re trace his steps. He is ccmpe ’ed to keep dan gerously near the eaves of the roof, for the fierce flames had possession of the ridge. There is a tall dead oak which stands neai the corner of the building, raising its long arms above the roof. Towards this tree the man is evidently making his way. If he can gain its branches he will not only escape the fire, but there is a chance that he may elnde onr clutches, for its long limbs on the side opposite the mill extend far over the waters of the creek that sweep aronnd its base. And now he reaches the spot where the tree overhangs the roof; he seizes the nearest branch, which, brittle with decay, snaps in his grasp, nearly preoipitatiDg him to the ground. There is only one other large enough to sustain his weight in reach, and it may be reached only by a perilons leap. He panses for a second to snmmon all his strength, cronohes slightly and then makes the daring spring. He gains the limb, still carrying, one in each hand, the leathern bags. Ha utters a shout of triumph now, whioh rises above the roar of the flames aud then proceeds, by leaping from limb to limb with the agility of a squirrel to the other side of the tree. By the lurid gleam of the flames we see him making his way swiftly and surely among the dead branches of the oak and at a fearful distance above the ground. But now he suddenly stops and convulsively grasps the nearest limb with his arms. A sharp cry of pain esoapes him, while his body begins to writhe and to twist itself until it winds itself into a shapeless knot about the limb. Just then a great mass ot flame, driven by a sharp gust of wind, suddenly turned downward towards the dead tree. For several seconds I saw the body- of Levi Flapp completely enveloped by the far reaching, eager flames. AVhen these withdraw I Dotice that the clothing of the miserable man is aflame, and then, still watching him, I see his body begin slowly to unwind from about the limb, the leathern bags drop from his relaxing bands and fall to the ground with a dull clink, and now he hangs by only one hand—as ghastly a spectacle as the glare of a burning building ever revealed -«nd then crashing through the dead boughs, he tails to the earth with a dull thud. We list no time in extinguishing his burning clothing, and then removing him and the two leathern wallets beyond the heat of the flames, On examination we found that old Levi was dead. Whether he was killed by the flames or by the poison which it seems he had unwitting ly taken, or by both, we will hardly know. We then took the liberty of examining the con tents of the two bags. In one we found Mr. Lockwood’s two watches, together with a few one and two dollar bills, some fractional cur rency and a quantity of silver and copper coins. The other bag contained only coins, both si.ver and gold. Disappointed in not fioding the bills which had been taken from Mr. Lockwood, we turned from the bags to again examine the dead body. After vainly searching through his pockets we began to remove his shoes and the remnant of his clothing left by the fire. AVe presently found, buckled about his waist, a broad buokskin girdle, within which were the bills you see before you on the table. These being secured, we returned at once.’ ‘Did yon leave no one with the dead man ?’ asked Mrs. Goldie. •Quite a number, attracted by the light of the lire, had come to toe spot before we left. Some of these undertook to convey the body to the store.’ ‘Did you find a note signed by Mrs. Goldie ? I managed to ask in a whisper. ‘We did Dot.’ There was silence for a moment, which was broken by the doctor: ‘Swetwell and Flapp,’ he said half musingly; ‘they were well matched. But they mnst have had a jolly carnival last night, each one intent on poisoning the other. This then explains why Flapp was so late in making a start to get away. He was delayed, too, in trying to secure his ili-gotten gains, But, my friends,’ changing his tone, and speaking with more animation, •the strength of our patient is exhausted; he needs quiet and rest.’ Acting on the hint thus given, all within the room, including he who gave it, at once ;w‘th- drew, leaving me to muse in silence on the events just detailed until sleep came to my re lief bringing oblivion and rest TO BE CONTINUED. A Dangeroni Torpor.—Torpor or inactivity of it kidney!i is seriously da gorous to those organs, since the is the precident of diseases which destroy their substance and endanger life. This sluggishness may b- overcome by stimulating them, not exeesstvely, but moderately, an effect produced by Hostutter’s Stomach Bitters, a general invigorant and alterative, possessing dbiretic properties of no common order. The impetng whh h this admirable medicine i ives to their evacnative function counteracts any tendency to congestion which may exist in their tissues. Both they and their associate organ, the bladder are invigorated as well as gently stimulated by tho Bitters, which exerts a kindred influence upon the stomach, liver and bowels, and by s'rengthening the svs- tem, eeableb it to withstand malarial epidemics, to which when exposed it might otherwise snecomb. A Wonderful Discovery._« arboline, a deodor ized extract of petrolinm, is absolutely the only article that will restore hair to bald heads, is au elegrnt dress- Wliy Will Yon Allow ucold to advance in your system and thus encourage more serions maladies, such as Pneumonia, Hemorrhages and Lung troubles when an immediate relief can be so readily a'tained? Boschee’s German Syrup lias gained the largest sale in the world lor the cure of Coughs, Colds and the severest Lung Dis eases. It is Dr. Boschee’s famous German prescription, and is prepared with the greatest care, and no fear need be entertained in administering it to the youngest child, as per directions. The sale of this medicie nis unprece dented. Since first introduced there has been a constant increasing demand and without a single report of a fail ure to do its work in any case. Ask vonr druggist as to the trnih of these remarks. Large size 75 cents. Try it and be conviLced. The celebrated instruments of Daniel F, Beatty the great piano and organ manufacturer of Washington. N. J„ are unrivalled iu parity of tone, action and excellen cy of finish, being the result oi years of iudelatigable la bor, the aim of which has been to make only the very best, and sell at the least possible profit. This course has resulted iu the name of Beatty becoming a house hold word in every State and territorv of the Union and Canadas, and familiar to numbers of the residems of England. Germany, France aud Italy. The special offers of Mr Beatty, which appear in our columns to-day. mean just what they say. The instruments are all and more titan is claimed tut them, while the prices arc barely manufteturer's'eost, for Mr. Beatty is determined to place his unexcelled instruments in the homes of the entire music-loving population. No one contemplat ng the purchase of a" organ or piano should fail to take advan tage of his offers, as a neglect to do so will be a matter of regret. Remember these offers are only good during the n(! xt thirty days. The illustrated catalogue of Mr. Beat- tv is detailed and fnll of information interesting to every one. It will he mailed free on application. Send fora copy to Daniel F, Bsattv. w.cio-.-ton, New Jersey. Coussens’ Honey of Tar will relieve severe coughs of long standing, and prove a blessing to all who suffer with affections of the throat and lungs, and is confidently offered the public as the best remedy in the world. In our rigorous clime where coughs and colds prevail, this favorite rem edy should have a place iu every household. AVhen the little ones are attacked by croup, or whooping cough, nothing will afford such instant relief as Coussens’ Honey of Tar. Price -50 cents. For sale by Hunt, Rankin, & Lamar, Wholesale Drug gists, Atlanta, Ga. The Mexican Dollar. What is the difference between the Mexican dol lar and Tabler’s Buckeye Pile Ointment ? One does what it promises and the other doesn t. The Mexican dollar says, ‘1 am one hundred cents ; ’ but when you come to invest i,t you find it is only eighty-five. Tabler’s Buckeye Pile Ointment says •I will cure you of Piles; and upon trial it is found to do so in every case. It makes but one promise— to cure Piles; and does so without failu.e. Price 50 cents a bottle. For saie by Hunt, Rankin & Lamar wholsale Druggist, Atlanta, Ga. Worth Twice the Sum.—We are just in re ceipt of The Chicago Lelger, the leading Family Paper of the AVest, which is now enter ing upon its seventh volume. The Ledger is a large forty-eight column weekly paper, printed upon bold, plain type, which can be read with ease, by either the old or young, and is fitted with choice stories and matter of p&rticular in terest to every household. This excellent jourr at is supplied to subscribers, postage oaid, for the extremely low price of one dollar and fifty cents per year. In order to more rapidly in crease its present large list of readers, the publishers of this paper have just made a new contract for the manufacture of sevral thousand fine Niokle-plated English Steel-Barrel-and-Cvl- inder Seven Shot Revolvers-22 caliber—whioh they propose to distribute among their sub scribers at cost, and therefore offer one of these elegant weapons of defense and The Ledger one year for three Dollars. The revolver will be sent by mail, postage paid, on receipt of the price. They have already distributed 3,000 revolvers and are mailing hundreds daily. Now is your time to get a firft-class revolver and the best paper in the country for less than half the actual worth of either. Three sample copies of The Ledger will be sent to any address for fen cents. Address The Ledger, Chioago, 111.