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THE SUNNY SOUTH.
How I Lost Her.
BY ANSA YOl'SfO.
Yen, I was really in Italy—land of enchant
ment—land of my dreams. I was actually
domiciled in Naples. I ruobed my eyes and
looked around half Joubtingly at the carved
pillars and lofty frescoed walls of the de
faced and tarnished but still palatial old
man-ion which we had secured du.iog our
soj .urn in the land of the olive and vine. A
doctor’s decree had sent me here to recuper
ate, and in my train bad come a grouo of
bright young spirits—Harold my son, Kate
Lamar my sprightly neice who blessed her
lucky stars for an opportunity to see Italy
under aunt Holme’s chaperon age— and Kate’-
amie intimie, lovely and winsome Dessie
Duubt.r. Beside this family party, there
was young John Hamilton—handsome and
agreeable, who had fallen in with us by a
happy chance, he said, while I shrewdly sus
pected that Dessie’s bright eyes were the
magnets that drew him within our circle.
Last there was Miss E liott my companion.
Last but not least. Though occupying an
bumble position, she was by no means an
humble looking personage—this tall st.telv
girl with her clear, cut features and her
crown of ebon hair. Those deep eyes seemed
to hold the secret of a dramatic past, but
Miss Elliot’s mauner, sweet though it was,
hud a proud reserve that repelled curiosny.
Our palace home crowning a higbt which
overlooked the glorious bay, was a source
of eager delight and curious research to the
girls.
“It's just grand” pronounced Kate coming
back ti o.u au exploring expedition. ’“There’s
no end to the rooms dome of them are su-
puib, and others delightfully musty and
mysterious There are winding staircases and
sliding panels and sham doors, and queer
looking closets. Oh! its perfecily Udoipho-
isb, my darling auntie, and one of these days
we shall stumble on a mystery, mark my
word.” And the butteifly thing walizsd
away followed by Ddssie and John, intent on
fresh discoveries
For wetks after our arrival we lingered
within the limits of the city, spell bound by
the wonders of art revealed to us—the grand,
old cathedrals with their soaring, pictured
walls, the marble glories of the art galleries,
the beauty of the matchless bay, the loveli
ness of orange grove and olive walks and
thickets of myrtle and oleander thrilled by
the song of birds and the shrilly musical
pine of the cicala.
It was days before we cared for any sight
seeing outsiue the charmed city but at length
we made an excursion to Vesuvius and
scrambled up its lava crusted sides, assisted
by beat ded olive skinned guides, whom Djs
sie and Kate declared wonderfully pictures
que bui John and Harold pronounced a “vil
lainous lot.”
Ail romance vanished however when we
beirau t > descend the volt auo. To add to the
difficulty and d tnger a sudden storm burst
up >u us, and torrents of rain were
driven directly in our faces We could
scarcely keep our feet agau.it t ie violent on
slaught. John drew D.ssie closely to him,
and Harold took poseasion of Kate. Miss El
liot and I fell to the tender mercies of the
banditti looking guides. We had abandoned
our mules, and were toiling on slightly in
advauce of the others, when our attention
was drawn from our own condition by the
sudden apparition of a gentleman and his
guide standing within a few steps of us, and
evidently awaiting our approach.
Just as we neared the strangers there came
a fresh gust of wind and rain, but above its
sound, 1 heard an exclamation from our
guide. 1 looked around; he was supporting
' Miss Elliot and looking toe picture of distress.
My young companion had fainted. Was it
fatigue or fright or—what ? And how in the
world were we to manage ? What could we
do with her if she did not recover at once.”
“Haroli!” 1 called out helplessly; but the
stranger solved the problem before the others
could come up to the scene of the mishap.
He stepped forward and saying hurriedly:
“Permit me,” lifted the girl from the sup
porting arsis of the guide. «
‘This way,” he cried, striding ahead.
“There is shelter at hand.”
So there was: a shepherd’s hut among the
rocks and cedars which we had not seen till
he led the way to it, and pushing open the
door, was about to deposit his burden upon a
bench when she struggled from his arms,
stared at him with a scared, desperate look,
and then,as he sought to support her shaking
form, she darted from him and flew to me
where 1 stood in the doorway, having just
entered and recognized in the tall stranger—
Vernon Rutledge, whom I had not seen for
years and supposed to be at that time travel
ing in the far E ist.
Before she reached me, Miss Elliott tottered
and Rutledge sprang forward and caught her
in his outstretched arms. For a second he
held her close to him, uni, to my astonish
ment, 1 saw her lift her dark eyes to him with
a look of agonized entreaty and murmur
something in«u able to me. The appeal
seemed to touch his heart, and he hastily
plactd her at my side.
As my arm encircled her, he stooped down
and under cover of disentangling the fringe
of her sleeve which had c: ujbt on a button > f
his coat, he whispered:
“You have nothing to fear from me now.”
I caught the words though so softly utter
ed/ Wuat connection was there between
Vernon Rutledge and this cold, state y girl ^
The others had come up and Rutledge was
greeted with an amazed welcome. It was de
cided that he should j tin our party. There
was room for half a hundred in the old pal
ace. We looked on bis advent among us as
a happy event, knowing well what an acqui
sition he would prove with his rich, well-stor
ed mind, large experiences and genial cour
tesy. He had been the life of our neighbor
hood when he was a youth, just grown up,
handsome and light-hearted. We had seen
him only once since his mother moved away
from Asbforth and he went to Europe where
he lingered so long among his beloved artists
in grand old Rome. While he was away a
shadow fell upon his young life which seemed
to have chastened its brightness permanent
ly, t r when we saw him next, he was not the
gay-heirted Vernon of old. Even when be
smiled his eyes kept their shadow.
W hile we reiterated welcomes and asked
and answered questions, Miss Elliott stood be
side me. an apparently indifferent lis'ener.
She had entirely regained her self possession
aud seemed to have grown colder and paler
than ever.
At length the storm subsided, and when we
left the friendly shelter of the hut the sun
was shining, the earth freshened and revivi
fied, smiled under its rays.
“May I assist you!” Rutledge asked with
strangely timid earnestness as he laid his
hand upon M s; Elliott’s.
The blood mounted to her brow: she drew
away from him with a half haughty, half
frightened look, saying;
“I will not trouble you.”
H9 bowed quietly and walked to Kate’s
side. My pretty niece was annoyed by Miss
Elliott’s rudenesss.
‘ Pray don’t mind her,” she whispered. “It
is the storm. It has quite unnerved her.”
“Vernon smiled and again there passed ove .*
his face that wonderful brightness I had no
ticed when he Leldthe girl in the hut.
Immediately after we had reached home,
my companion disappeared, and I was too
fatigued to seek her, though my love and
sympathy were with the agitated, unhappy
g irl. When dinner was announced some
ours later, I knocked at her door, hoping to
prevail on her to j oin us at table.
“Don’t ask me. dear Mrs. Holmes,” she said.
“Please leave me to myself. My headaches
dreadfully.”
I felt strongly tempted to remain and ask
her to confide to me her trouble, but her pi-a
to be left alone was so earnest that I could
not resist it.
Rutledge looked up eagerly as I entered tin-
room and his fine eyes < xpressed disappoint
ment when he saw that 1 was alone.
i-inner, generally a joyous meal, was a
failure that day. The girls were tired, and
Vernon listless and abstracted. All retired
early and doubtless slept the better for the
day’s adventure. But I was anxious and
distressed, for, until a late hour, 1 heard a
soft step pacing to and fro in the adjoining
room.
Next morning, my young friends met,
fresh and in renewed spirits, around the
breakfast table. I bad just taken my seat at
the bead when Miss Elliott e tered, white as
chiselled marble, but calm and self possessed.
A gleam lit up the bronzed face of our new
guest as she came in, but she barely returned
ms salutation as she took her seat opposite
him.
Presently he allowed John to draw him
out and talked in his old brilliant way, giv
ing rapid, vivid outlines of scenery and ad
venture, interspersed with anecdotes, flashes
of wit and airy no’hinga. I looked at him in
astonishment having never seen'him in such
spirits since the years when I knew him first,
before he had gone abroad, I was at a loss
to accouut for this new phase of character.
Had Marguerite Elliot’s presence anything
to do with it?
As we rose from the table I took her hand
and led her into the large lofty room we
used as a parlor* The others were there al
ready. Vernon had seated himself at the
open piano and began to sweep its keys with
his slender flngers,evoking some wierd strain
of melody that echoed through toe vast hall.
When he had ceased and was rising from the
instrument, Kate cried out from the farther
end of th« room:
“Oh, M'*. Rutledge, do give us‘Blue Alsa
tian Mountains.’"
“Yes, Miss Ka’e,” he answered, “but first
may I sing you my favorite song?”
He sent one swift, searching look at Miss
E lint’s impassive face.
“D j you remember this?” he asked softly,
his mouth touched with a tender smile as he
bent his head to her and sti uck the keys.
Sue made no answer, and he said:
“I recall it as well as I also recall that
night in June when I first heard it sung ”
Again he bent his fine grey eyes full of fond
questioning upon her. There was a twitch
ing of the muscles of her face and a scarlet
spot on each white cheek, but no word did
she say in return,
He began to sing, It was a tender little
love sc ng that his rich tenor tones rendered
so feelingl.* • Kate was cal ed from the room,
the others were too far away and too ab
sorbed in their own talk to pay attention to
the little drama enacted by this mysterious
pair.
His eyes were riveted on her face, but she
kept her own persistently down, the long,
black lashes resting upon her cheek. Sud
denly as Vernon’s voice sank low and linger
ed tenderly upon a minor passage, the
girl looked quickly up, and as his eyes met
hers the warm blood swept over the whole
face crimsoning it from throat to bro*v.
Then the tid-> receded leaving her deadly
pale. Her hand went up to her forehead.
“Cruel!’ she murmured and rising from
her seat left the room with faltering, un
steady steps.
Vernon’s hands fell upon the keys making
sudden discord. He bit bis lip savagely and
seemed to consider, then started up as if to
follow her, but with a gesture I arrested
him.
“What is the meaning of this?” I asked
sternly. ‘ ‘Why do you torture that girl?”
“She is torturing me,” he burst out.
“What does it mean? Ask her: it is her se
cret. Oh, Mrs. Holmes, if you have a spark
of friendship for me, I implore you to foil iw
her; beg her to confide in you, and get her to
listen to me one moment, only one.”
1 went out to find her. She was in her
room walking about like one dez“d, wringing
her slender bands together. I came up to
her and laid a hand upon her arm.
“My poor child, my dear child,” 1 said,
“Won’t you look on me as a mother and con
fide in me?”
She looked up piteously in my face, then
suddenly threw her arms around me and
wept like a child upon my shoulder. When
she grew calm, she lifted her head and said:
“Yes, Mrs. Holmes, I will confide in you.
It is your due; and besiies you have always
been good to me. It has hurt me to deceive
you; for I have deceived you from the first.
1 am not what I seem. My name is not Mar
guerite Elliot—I am Vernon Rutledge’s
wife.”
“His wife! You amaze me. I thought s'ie
was dead. His mother wrote me that Ver
non had lost his wife.”
“Aye, lost her, ’ she retorted with
bitter emphasis, “but not by death. Doubt
less his proud mother wished it had
been. She and his haughty sister bated me
because I was poor and obscurely bora. Yet
my father was a gentlem m by birth and na
ture—though only a poor American artist
living in Rome and fighting a life-long fight
with poverty and ill health. My mo her, a
voung Italian girl, had died at my birth.
Vernon Rutledge was almost my poor
father’s only patron; he was his only fi iend.
He bought pictures of him that he did
not want, he came often and cheered him
with bis bright fresh talk. When he grew
so feeble, Vernon came every day bringing
fruits and cordials. Yes, he was kind—I dare
not remember how kind now; it will soften
tny heart, and that must not be. You, who
know him, will not wonder that I, an ardent
child—an artist’s daughter loved him with all
my young heart, and that w ien my father
was on his death bed and troubled about
leaving me unprotected, 1 gave a willing con
sent to Vernon's pleading that he might have
a husband’s right to care for me. We were
married and my poor father died happy.
He could not guess the trials that were to
come to me. My husband took me to Paris
where his mother and sister were staving for
the lime. The marriage had mortifieu them
deeply. They thought a princess hardly a
good enough bride for Vernon and to marry
the daughter of a beggarly paint dauber—so
they called my father! Oh, the taunts, the
sneers, the reproaches,the daily stabs I endur
ed at their hands of which he never knew.
For I would not complain to him. And all
the while, they were secretly poisoning his
mind against me. I know it now. His one
weakn s; was j salousy. The common conr-
tesey h's male rriends paid to ms w as put br
th. m in an evil light. They dared not openly
accuse; they insinuated. How dared he
listen to them? At last one day the crisis
came. My husband had been cool to me for
days, his mother and sister had been so taunt
ing as well nigh to madden me. I was in my
room keeping down with an effort the anger
and bitterness that swelled in my heart, whe i
I heard a familiar voice out side; then a
knee it on the door. ‘ Come in,” 1 cried eager
ly. and in a moment I was shedding hysteri
cal tears on the breast of my a iopted brother
of long ago, good, kind, simple, honest-hearted
Beppo, whom my father took up from the
street with a broken leg when he was five
years old, and took care of till he was
old enough to go off m pursuance of his trade
as watch-mender. The old pleasant days,
the old father’s kind face all came back to me
when I saw Beppo’s honest blue eyes and I
cung to my old play mate and relieved my
•ore heart with a burst of childish tears.
Wondering and sympathizing, he soothed
and caressed me in bis simple way. We had
not seen each other for years. Suddenly we
heard a low sneering laugh-my sister in
law’s laugn. She stood in the doirway,
pointing at me with her white jeweled arm—
pointing me out to my husband and with
that look of withering contempt. Then fol
lowed a scene, Vernon ordered Beppo from
the house; he poured abuse upon him, re
proaches upon me. I retorted hotly, and
his sister cast her sneering insinuations like
oil to feed the flame. Indignantly I called
upon him to repel them, to silence her, but
he refused, he too said things that stung me
to the quick; and I determined to endure no
more such insults. That night, I left his
house. I took passage on a steamer and
came to America to my father’s sister. When
you advertised for a companion to accompa
ny you to Italy, I came. 1 was restless and
unhappy. I hoped I might die and be buried
at Rome with my father and mother. 1
never dreamed df meeting him: I prayed
never to see his face again, for how can 1
forgive him."
“Yet, you love him, Marguerite, my poor
child.”
“Oh, I do, I do, I cannot help it” she cried,
clasping her hands, tears raining from her
dark eyes.
“God bless you for those words, Marguerite
my wife, my darling!”
It was Vernon, and the next instant, before
she could make a movement to repel him hi
had her in his arms and was raining passion
ate kisses on her Ups and brow. Before he
released her, she had uttered through smiles
and tears, the precious words of forgiveness.
“I have been hunting you so long, my wife,
and had dispaired of finding you. It was
Providence led me to Vesuvius yesterday,
where the storm gave you to my arms.
That haughty tempered sister of mine has
found her m ister—is married and gone, and
my poor mother is a paralytic, full of re
morse about her treatment of you and long
ing for you to forgive her. We will go
!c- norrow, shall we not?”
A id so I lost my beautiful companion.
tl
IN THE CORN.
W
By FANNIE MAY WITT.
“ ‘Polly! Polly! the cows are i-iu the com!’,”
It was a gay, careless voice lilting the
childish Unes, and a careless little body neck-
deep in the wet corn whose tassels caught the
tumbled brown locks as she passed, or dipped
with a low “swish, swish” to brush the part
ed lips.
A field’s length behind her stood an ugly
brown farm house, and perhaps, she neither
knew or cared, two fields’ lengths ahead of
her Blossom stood knee-deep in clover,
cropping contentedly tne heads heavy with
dew and perfume with no thought of milkiag
time,or a pair of tired, childish feet in search
of her, brave, patient little feet that bad not
rested aU day since at five o’clock that
morning they had beg .n their daily round
of duties, neither few nor light.
It had been ironing day, and at noon, in
stead of resting, she had carried the farm
bands dinners, a quarter of a mile through
i he hot June sun; when honest, frank-faced
Robin Day looked up from bis mowing as
she approached with a quick and sudden
pity in bis eyes for the weary little face, and
brown eyes full of tears, saying gently, as
be straightened his tired back and stood up
head and shoulders above her: “Poor little
girl; the pity of it.”
She bad returned with a lighter heart be
cause of his kind words, to resume her iron
ing until the last piece lay beside her crisp
and shining and her aunt came in to tell her
the cow had not come up, and she must hunt
her.
“Ye ain’t tired, be ye?” she queried sharp
ly at a sigh from the firm little lips.
“Oh. no, Aunt Ruth; not too tired to hunt
Blossom; it will rest me.” And so she had
gone out with the gay little song on her lips
because of the cool, wet corn that caressed
her, the wind that tossed the wet rings from
her brow, and the summer sunset against
which the wierd Balsam hill lifted grandly,
tilling her artist soul with a something with
‘‘less of earth in it than heaven.”
Slopping at length to watch the shadows
settle down on the mountains in their solemn,
pall-like way,she bent her head to listen for
the sound of a b-ll, Blossom’s bell, mellow
and peaceful. Very, very faintly it came to
her on the wind, and she raised her voice in
a wild, musical cattle call, once heard, never
forgotten:
“Co, Bioss! Co-o, co-o, co!”
Fainter and fainter, till it died to a far eerie
echo among the hills—“Co-o, co!”
While she stood in that attitude of care
less grace, with her lips parted and eager,
expectant face bent a little to one side line a
bird’s, some one not five paces away with
quick, bold strokes was sketching the back
ground of tassel-tipped corn and the little
figure with the last sunset gleam in the eyes
deep and untroubled as a summer sea.
His was a half cvnical face, but with that
nameless something in it that stamps the
artist the world over; just now there was a
gleam of interest in the purpli-h blue eyes, half
closed in a concentrated gaze that took in s)
much and no more—the corn-fields, the Bal
sam hills, and the unconscious figure in
crumpled muslin,with the round brown arms
bare to the elbow.
“If there be no God,” he said to himself
with a wistful, unsatisfied hunger in his
heart, “whence this scene so peac ful and
untroubled of which the world wots not, and
that face with eyes that mirror the light of
paradise in their pure, cool depths?”
“Ah, Blossom, dear old Blossom!” the girl
cried out as a great, brown head with two
peaceful eyes c ime in view above the tangled
underwood” where she paused a moment as
if she understood and appreciated tne clasp
of a pair of loving arms about her neck, while
a soft cheek rubbed her brown coat.
Then out they struck through the field,
while again the sweet refrain echoed among
the hills as the light voice|took it up,“ ‘Polly,
Polly ! the cows are in the corn?” ’
It broke off into shivering echoes as a voice
behind her spoke half wistfully: “Would
you mind, little girl, telling me your name?”
Turning the startled brown eyes full upon
him, she saw near her a face like that of the
Carpaccio saint in the little chapel and an
swered simply, “Aprille,”
“Aprille—who named you that, child?”
and there was a puzzled look in his eyes that
never left her f ice but seemed studying it
line by line.
A sob stuck in Aprille’s throat as she an
swered, “My mother.”
He understood and asked once more with
the old cynicism coming back to his face:
“You expect to meet her one day—up there
—in God’s land?”
“In Goa’s land,” she answered simply and
reverently.
‘•How do you know that?”
“I can not teil you, but if you will come to
the chapel next Sibbatb, he will tell you, the
good old man who is our pastor.”
“I will come!” He turned and lifted his
hat reverently as she went on her wey, say
ing down in his heart:
“Pass on, my white wood violet!
God give thee love without regret,
And joy without a smart;
For not with me do these abide;—
A life so wrecked by passion's tide."
Like one in a dream, Aprille Lynn went on
her way, scarce seeing Robin Day who stood
by the lowered bars waiting for her with a
great, dumb worship in his blue eyes that
followed her a little sadly as she passed in
and was lost to view up the du-ky lane.
“I am not fit to lace her shoe,” be said to
h'.mself as he put up the bars slowly, “but
God knows I’d give my life any day to serve
her, and take off her weak shoulders one of
Ler burdens.”
That night there was a face that haunted
Aprille’s dreams, but not the brown, sunny
oue of Robin D ty: it was another, just as
different as that of the saiut over which she
had often dreamed in the little chapel, and
it looked at her with eyes purple as the
heart of a pansy, while the lips repeated
“Anrille.”
Wnen little Aprille Lynn entered the
chapel door on the following Sabbath, some
one above in the shadowy organ-loft touched
the keys, and a man’s voice tariffing and
rich, above all others took up Luther’s grand
old choral. Slipping, a picturesque little
figure in simple white under a straw hat
scarred with daisies, into the front pew, she
lifted her eyes toward the singer, then
dropped them with a sudden thrill as they
met the pansy blue ones with the half-sad
droop to the lids fixed on her in that mag
netic way some 'eyes have.
Once again during the service she looked
at him as he sat with his head on his hand
by the organ, a half-bitter, half-derisive
smile on his lips, as the simple words of the
grayhaired pastor fell on the hushed assem
bly. Perhaps, after all, he would not under
stand the old simple-hearted pastor like she
did, and so he would never know.
After that Aprille met the singer sometimes
n the field which she crossed in search of
Blossom, and again in the little chapel where
be played each Sabbath with that unco; -
scions power, listening to which the peopl
were filled with a feeling akin to that of sig
ner for saint, when there was not one amon,
th m but ha 1 a cleaner heart, a bet er rec r i
t 1 a i the wandering artist, Carl Lytton, wt o
slept at the village inn, and roamed the va -
leys and Balsam hills all day.
None knew whence he came or whither his
steps tended: they did not care so long as u
played for them in the chapel or sie chen
some rouud-eyed urchin or mosS.huug w .ter
mill.
If little Aprille, Miss Ruth’s neice, who
drudged for her, aud held herself a little aloof
from the -villagers, grew shyer and more
dreamy, no one noticed it—she was different
from them—not o> e of them.
It was in the gloaming one day, coming
through the corn, that Carl Lytton told
ADrille his story, and asked ker, with a gre-t
wistfulness in his eyes to help him to do right.
He had married a woman with a face that
any artist soul might well wish for, and she
had proved false; cursing her in h>s heart, be
went forth into the world to become a wan
derer, with his faith gone—faith in man and
God.
Aprille listened; and it was well that the
shadows came down from the Balsam
heights and shrouded the vallev, that he
might not seethe title brown fingers that
shook so. nor the sweet child-face grow wan
and bleak.
“Perhaps I should have stayed with her
and done my duty—toll me. Aprille; in your
power it is to say whether I go back to the
fair false woman, or leave her to herself
while I forget if i can.”
He reached out his hand and caught hers
close, a great passion and longing in the
bine eyes searching her face.
“I do not understand, but she may be
waiting and longing for you. Go back to
her or God will surely curse you.”
Perhaps the words were not quite steady,
and sounded far off, but they were bravely
spoken for all that, aud before them Carl
Lytton bowed bis head.
“But I do Dot love her any longer. Aprille.
I love you! You could lead me back to God;
you could save my soul groping for light!”
The girl shrank away from him, putting
out both her hands to keep him back, and
closing her eyes to shut out the face dearer
to her than all the world, and wnile she
cowered there, a woman, with the face of a
Lore, smiling but treacherous, and a figure
iu trailing satin, perfect a; if Bbu'p*ured,came
toward them across the field and stopped by
Carl’s side, royal, shameless, accusing.
“You call me fa'se, Carl Lytton, but if I
may draw inference from words and looks,
you can hardly bring that charge against me
again with a free conscience. I have been
hunting you for so long, and now we shall
never be parted again—I,' Sylvia Lytton,
your wife.”
When they were lost among the corn,
Aprille slipped to the ground with the light
all gone from her face, and the warmth from
her heart, never moving until some one
crossing the field with a merry whistle an 1
long strides came upon her, Robin D ty, and
lifting her up in his stroDg arms carried her
home, keeping his own counsel if he knew
aught, and loving her all the more because
of the burden that he might not bear which
had fallen upon the childish shoulders,
It was on her wedding morn some six
months larer that Robin Day brought in to
his girl-wife a package which he untied, then
went out. Perhaps he guessed it came from
him.
Only a painting, but such a one! and
Aprilh D iy knelt before it while all the sun
shine died out of the day, and the fields with
out looked bare and bieak, as that one day
came back to her out of a careless past, with
the tassel tipped cornfields,- the sunset behind
the Balsam hills, and the old, childish song,
“The caws are in the corn.”
Underneath was a card on which was writ
ten simply, “ ‘Aprille,’ the last work of Carl
Lytton;” and she understood; but not so
tully, perhaps, as when two days later she
saw in an English paper sent by an unknown
hand i he death of the artist whose picture
“Aprille” had promise •! so much for him in
the future, one Carl Lytton,who lived among
the Kentish hills.
Robin Day was patient and tender with
her always, and if sometimes a sad faraway
look came into her eyes when some chance
village lad came by whistling “The cows are
in the corn,” or some one in the little chapel
played Luther’s grand choral, why it only
made him tenderer toward her, aud more
careful that naught else than sunshine come
to her in after days, in which she found con
tent, if no more.
MR&~ LYDIA E. PINKHAM.
OF LYNN, MASS.
DISCOVERER OF
LYDIA E. PINKHAM’S
VEGETABLE COMPOUND.
ThePositiveCure
For all Female Complaints.
This preparation, as its name signifies, consists of
Vegetable Properties that are harmless to the most del
icate invalid. Upon one trial the merits of this Com
pound will be recognized, as relief is immediate; and
when its use is continued, in ninety-nine cases in a hun.
dred, a permanent cure is effected,as thousands will tes
tify. On account of its proven merits, it is to-day re
commended and prescribed by the best physicians In
the country.
It will cure entirely the worst form of falling
of the uterus, Leucorrlicea, irregular and painful
Menstruation, all Ovarian Troubles, Inflammation and
Ulceration, Floodings, all Displacements and the con
sequent spinal weakness, and is especially adapted to
tbe Change of Life. It will dissolve and expel tumors
from tbe uterus in an early stage of development. The
tendency to cancerous humors there is checked very
speedily by its use.
In fact it lias proved to be the great*
est and best remedy that h«s ever been discover*
ed. It permeates every portion of tbe system, and gives
new life and vigor. It removes faintness,flatulency, de
stroys all craving for stimulants, and relieves weakness
of the stomach
It cures Bloating, Headaches, Nervous Prostration,
General Debility, Sleeplessness, Depression and Indi
gestion. That feeling of bearing down, causing pain,
weight and backache, is always permanently cured by
its use. It will at all times, and under all circumstan
ces, act in harmony with the law that governs the
female system.
For Kidney Complaints of either sex this compound
Is unsurpassed.
Lydia E. Pinkham’s Vegetable Compound
Is prepared at 233 and 235 Western Avenne, Lynn, Mass.
Price f 1.00. Six bottles for $5.00. Sent by mail in tbe
form of pills, also in the form of Lozenges, on receipt
of price, $1.00, per box, for either. Mrs. PINK HAM
freely answers all letters of inquiry. Send for pam
phlet. Address as above Mention this paper.
No family should be without LYDIA E. PINK HAM’
LIY12R PILLS. They cure Constipation, Biliousnem
and Torpidity of the Liver. 25 cents per box.
For sale bv
LAMAR, RANKIN & LAMAR,
Atlnm-a. Georgia.
HAVE YOUR OLD PICTURES
■ t'uiNi Rnd ttoinrged by th6
Sauihsrn Copying Company,
4TIA.NT4. UFOKWI4.
arnU ia every town and ermnty is •-»
south'
n o you desire an agency 7 Send for terms u.
agent. II you canno: take an agency, be
have pictures of your own you wish copied, an'
there are no agents of ours in your vicinity, wni-
for retail prices, and send picture direct to ••
either by mail or expressi, and they will receiv.
our best ".Mention. Address -SOUTHERN '"Opt
ING I’OKPtNY. No. 9. Marietta Street. Atlt.nl
Georgia , £Xl—
f!;ulco;ul (guide.
Richmond and Danville K. R.
PASSENGER DEPARTMENT.
N and after June 5,1881, Passenger Train
O'
Service on the Atlanta and Charlotte Air
Line division of this road will be as follows:
U S. Mail N. Y.Exp U.8. Fast
eastward. No. 43 No. 47 Mail-No.
A B 49—C
L’ve Atlanta....,
Arr Suwanee..,
“ Lula ...™_
“ Toccoa ....
“ Seneca
“ Greenv’ie
“ Spartan’g..
“ Gastonia .
“ Charlotte..
WESTWARD.
,™. 4.00 a m
.D 5 18 a m
,.E 6 54 a m
F 8.14 a m
.G 9 20 a m
H 10 58 a tn
,K 12.14 p m
L 2.36 p m
M 3.35 p m
U.8. Mail
No . 42
3.15 p m
4.37 p m
5.59 p m
7.15 p m
8 40 p at
10.20 p m
11.40 p m
213 a m
3.15 a m
N. Y.Exp
No. 48
6.30 p m
7.45 p m
9 06 p m
10.16 p m
11.25 p m
1.00 a i
211 a m
4.31 a m
5.35 a m
U. 3. Fast
Mall.
No 50
L’ve Chnrlotte..M 12.39 p m 12.43 a m 12 33 a m
“ Gastonia L 1.27 pm 1.43 am 117am
“ Spartan’g.K 3.50 p iu 4.06 a m 3.12 a m
“ Greenv'le.H 5.07 pm 5.18am 4.24 am
“ Seneca G 6 51pm 7.02 am 6 47am
“ Toccoa ..... F 8 01pm 8.15 am 6 53am
“ Luia E 9.16 pm 9.31 a m 8 09am
“ Suwann-e.D 10 38 p m 10.54 a m 9.32 am
Arr. Atlanta 12.05 a m 12.20 p m 10.35 a m
CONNECTIONS.
A with arriving trains of Georgia Central
and A. & W. P. Railroads.
B with arriving trains of Georgia Central,
A. A W. P and W A A. Railroads.
C with arriving trains of Georgia Railroad.
* D with Lawrenceville Branch to aud from
Lawrenceville. Ga.
E with Northeastern Railroad of Georgia to
and from Athens. Ga.
E with Elberton Air-Line to and from El-
berton, Ga.
G wl h Columbia and Greenville to and
from Colombia and Charleston, 8. C.
H with Columbia and Greenville to and
from Colnmbta and Charleston, 8. C.
K with Spartanburg and Asheville, and
Spartanburg, Union and Columbia, to and
from Henderson and Ashevll.e, and Alston
and Columbia.
L with Chester and Lenoir Narrow Gauge
to and from Dallas and Chester.
M wiin C C. & A.—C. C — R. A D., and A. T.
A > for all points West, North and East.
47*Pullman Sleeping Car Service on Trains
Nos. 47 and 48 daily, without change, between
Atlanta aud New York. A. POPE,
may29tf General Passenger Agent..
Great Kennesaw Route,
VIA
Wester* and Atlantic Railroad
T RIPLE Daily Passenger Trains are run by the
Old Reliable Kennesaw Route.
THE FAST MAIL TRAIN NORTH.
Leaves Atlanta at.. .™™...™™..™™......™. 2:50 pm
Arrives at Lynchburg .. 1:55 p m
Arrives at Washington. 9:40 p m
Arrives at Baltimore. 11:20 p m
Arrives at Philadelphia ™. ™ ™ 3:40 a m
Arrives at New York ... 6:45 a m
THE FAST MAIL TRAIN SOUTH.
Leaves New York at 10:00 p m
Leaves Washington at...™™ 7:00 a m
Arrives at Atlanta 12:40 noon
Pullman cars run daily between New Orleans,
THE FAST MAIL TRAIN
Also makes close connetion at Chattanooga from
and to all points West.
THE EXPRESS TRAIN NORTH
Leaves Atlanta at ™™ _ .5:10 am
which makes Cose connection for Rome and all
points in Virginia and Tenneasee, also at Chat
tanooga for ail points West,
THE EXPRESS TRAIN SOUTH
Arrives at Atlanta 8:15 p m
making close connection from all points West
Also from Virginia and Tennessee points. '
Information as to rates, etc , furnished upon
application, B. W. WRENN,
240-tf General Passenger Agent
GE0RGIA_R. R*
GEORGIA RAILROAD COMPANY,")
Superintendent’s Office, }-
Augusta, Ga., June 1,1881. J
COMMENCING SUNDAY, 7th instant, the
following Passenger Schedule will be operated:
No. 2, EAST DAILY.
Leave Atlanta ™„„ ............715 am
Arrive Athens. ™ 8 30 p m
Arrive Washington 210 p m
Arrive C»m*k —..113 p m
Arrive Milledgevtlle „™. ™ 4 45 p m
Arrive Macon 6 86pm
Arrive Augusta ........................™.8 47 p m
No connection to or from Washington on Son-
days.
No. 1, WEST DAILY.
Leave Augusta 935am
Leave Macon 7 00 a m
Leave Milledgeville ™. 8 58am
Leave Camak ™_ ...1133 am
Leave Washington 10 45 am
Leave Athens 915am
Arrive Atlanta 5 45 p m
LITHONIA ACCOMMODATION.
Daily—Except Sunday.
Leave Atlanta 6 00 p m
Arrive et Lithonia 7 14 pm
Leave Lithonia 6 45am
Arrive at Atlanta. - 8 00am
DECATUR ACCOMMODATION.
Daily—Except Sundays.
Leave Atlanta.. 12 noon i Leave Decatur.. 1:30 p m
Arrive Decatnr.l2:25 pm ! Arrive Atlanta. .1 55 p m
No. 4, East Daily.
Leave Atlanta......™ 8 46 pm
Arrive at Athens 7 30 a m
Arrive at Augusts, 7 00 a m
No. 3, West Dally.
Leave Angnsta. 5 30 p m
Leave Athens 6 00 p m
Arrive at Atlanta. 500 am
Trains Nos. 2,1.4 and 3 will not stop at flag
stations.
Only one Change from Atlanta fo New York.
JNO. W. GREEN, G. M.
E. R. DORSEY, Gen. Pass. Ag’t.
South Carolina Railroad.
SCHFDULE:
C OMMENCING Sunday. January 9.1881, trains
will run as follows, by Charleston time,
which is abont 10 minutes faster than August*
city time:
GOING KART.
Leave Atlanta — 8:45 p. m. 7:15 a. nit
Arrive Augusta 7.55 a. m. 7:00 p. m.
“ Charleston 8:19 p.m. 5:20 a. m
“ Columbia 5:30 p.m. 5:30 a.m.
“ Camden 12:49 p. m. 3:45 p. m
GOING WEST.
Leave Charleston 6:00 am, 8:10 pm.
“ Columbia 6:00 a m. 9-00 p m
“ Camden - 5:00 a- m
Arrive Augusta 3:20 p m 7:55 p m.
“ Atlanta 5:00 a m. 6;35.p m.
All trains between Augusta and Charleston
run daily. Day trains on Columbia Division and
Camden branch do not run on Sundays Night
trains run daily—sleeping cars on ail night trains
Excursion Tiekets—good lor 10 day between
Atlanta and Charleston—can be purchased at
118.55 via this route.
On Wednesdays and Saturdays connection is
made at Charleston with steamshlos for New
York.
Tickets on sale at Unton Depot Ticket office.
JOHN B. PECK,
Gen’l Superintendent, Charleston, S. C.
D. C. ALLEN. Gen’l Passenger and Ticket Ag’t,
Charleston. S. C. 246-tf
Chickasaw Route Memphis and
Charleston R. U.
A DAILY PASSENGER TRAINS. Q
SCHEDULE
as follows:
GOING WEST.
Leave Chattanooga -
Arrive at Memphis......
........ 10:15p m
...... 12*05p m
THE
Memphis & Charleston Railroad
Is the road that first Inaugurated the sale of Emi
grant Tickets to Arkansas, Texas and the North
west, hence it fa pre-eminently
Tbe Emigraat’s Friend.
THE SHORTEST
ALL RAIL ROUTE TO ALL POINTS IN
Arkansas and Texas.
Special rates and attention given by this line to
he shipment of Live Stock and Household et-
*"ects in Through Cars.
Parties desiring to prospeet in Texas can obtain
•tound Trip Tickets via this line at very low rates.
Baggage t "heeked Through.
For information as to Rates, Routes. Schedules,
-re.. apply to THOs. NUNAN,
Gen’l Southeastern Agent, Atlanta, Ga ,
JAS. R. OGDEN,
<4en’I Passenger Agent. Knoxville, Tenn.
T. <3. DAVANT,
a sat. Gen. Passenger Agent. Memphis. Tenn.
Hailwad (Snide.
Cspflened Thrsafk Tlnae Table
Cincinnati Southern Railway.
TRAINS SOUTH.
DAT EXPBKS8
On and after Sunday June 10,1881, Trains will
ran as follows:
Leave Cincinnati(l) 8 so am
Lexington (2) ,™ 11 32 a m
High Bridge(3) 12 18 p m
Harrodsburg Junction!t) ™™12 33 p m
Junction C1ty(5) 1 02 p m
Sedgemoor (for Rugby 5 28 p m
Arrive at Chattanooga (6) io 00 pn
ACCOMMODATION.
Leave Cincinnati(l) 4 00 p ra
Lexington —™.(2) 7 1.5 p m
High Bridge (3) 808pm
Harrodsburg Junction(4)...~_ 8 27pm
Junction Clty(5) 8 55 p m
Arrive Chattanoogt(6i „.12 20 p m
NIGHT EXPBB88.
Leave Cincinnati(l) 7 25 p ra
Lexington!?) 10 07 p m
Junction Ciiy(5) 11 23 p m
Arrive Chattanooga(6) 7 30 a m
TRAINS NORTH.
DAT NXPBN8S.
Leave Chattanooga (6) 5 00 a n
Sedgemoor (for Rugby) 9 38 a m
Junction City(5) 1 50 pm
Harrodsburg Junction!!) 217pm
High Bridget) 2 82 p m
Lexmgton(2) ..
Arrive Cindnnati(l)
ACCOMMODATION
.. 3 21pm
... 6 20 p m
Leave Chattanooga^)
Junction CUy(5)
2 20 p ra
— j 5 30 a m
Harrodsburg Junctiou(4) 5 54 a m
High Bridgt*(3) 6 09 a m
Lexington(2) 7 08 a m
Arrive Cincinnati! 1) „™10 25 a m
NIGHT EXPBB88.
Leave Chattanooga (6) 730pm
Junction Oity(5)....._ 312am
Lexington!?) 4 26 a m
Arrive Cineinnati(l) 7 00 a m
(1) Connects with all railroads centering at Cin
cinnati, for the North, East and West. (2) Con
nects with L. C. & L. and K. C. roads. (3) Ken
tucky River Bridge. (1) Connects with S- W. R. R.
for Harrodsburg. (5) Connects with L. A G. 8. R. R.
(6) Connects with all diverging lines for all points
in the South, Southeast and Southwest.
Night Express runs daily; other trains daily ex
cept Sundays.
KP. WILSON. S. WOODWARD.
Gen’l Pass Ae’t. Superintendent.
RE AU CHMPBELL. Gen’l Northern Ag’t.
Magnolia Passenger Route.
PORT ROYAL AUGUSTA RAILWAY.l
0 „ Augusta, Ga., My 14,1881. {
N and after May 15, 1881, the following
schedule will ba operated:
GOING SOUTH, GOING NORTH.
No. 1. No. 2.
D"y M’l. D’t M’l.
1.50 p m Lv Augusta Ar 10 30 p m
2 20 pm Lv Beech Island..Ar 9.50pm
2.45 p m Ar Jackson’s Lv 9 34 p m
3 04pm Ar Ellen ton _.Lv 9.15 pm
3.19 p m Ar Robblns....„...„.Lv 9.00 p m
3.43 p m Ar Mi llett’s Lv 8.36 p m
3 55 p m Ar Martin’s Lv 8.24 p m
4.04 p m A- Beldoe Lv 8.15 p m
4 17 p m............ Ar Appleton Lv 8.02 p m
4.28 p m Ar Allendale Lv 7.57 p m
4.51 p m Ar Campbellton......Lv 7.38 p m
4 52 p m Ar Bronson .Lv 7.27 p m
5 05 p m..„.....„.Ar. Hampton ...„„..Lv 7.14 p m
5.14 p m Ar Varnesville Lv 7.05 p m
5.44 p m Ar Early Branch,...Lv 6.35 p m
6.00 p m Ar Yemasee T,v 6 to n m
9.30 p m Ar riavanuan Lv 3.M p in
9.30 p m Ar Charleston Lv 3.30 p m
7.35 a m Ar Jacksonville Lv 5 30 p m
6.25 p m..„. Lv Yemasee Ar 6.00 p m
7.49 p m ar Beaufort...„ Lv 4.38 p m
8.05 p m... t ... Ar Port Royal „Lv 4.20 p m
Baggage checked through to Savannah,
Charleston, Jacksonville, and all Florida
points.
WThrough Tickets for sale at Union De
pot Ticket Office, Angnsta, Ga..and at all
principal Ticket Offices. B. G. FLEMING,
J. 8. D WANT, General 8up’t.
Gen. Pass. Agt.
lup’t.
snstf
Western Railroad of Alabama.
Time Table, taking effect March 1,1880.—Atlanta
Time.
GOING EAST AND NOBTH
Mai! and Passenger, No. 45.
Leaving Montgomery.....™ ™™10sl5 p m
Arrive at West Point 12:55 p m
“ Atlanta . 3:00 am
Connecting at Atlanta with the Piedmont Air.
Line and Kennesaw Route for all points East,
no. 47.
Leave Montgomery
Arrive at West Point....,
Colambus
Atlanta
Macon
... 6:10 am
..10:15 a m
..11:10 am
2:07 p m
5:15 p m
Connecting at Montgomery with Mobile and
Montgomery railroad, and at Chehaw with Tus-
kegee railroad, and at Columbus with South
western railroad, and at Atlanta with Kennesaw
Route and Piedmont Air-Line.
ACCOMMODATION. No. S.
Leaves Selma _ 2:10 p m
Arrives at Montgomery 4:33 p m
Leaves Montgomery 5:40 pm
" Connecting at Atlanta with through trains via
Kennesaw Route, Piedmont Air-Line and Geor
gia railroad.
Local Sleepers on No. 3—Selma to Atlanta.
ACCOMMODATION. No. S St 7
Leaves Selma 6:50 am
Arrives at Montgomery 9:40 a m
Leave Montgomery . 10:10 am
Arrive at Columbus 7; 10 p m
No. 49.
Leave Atlanta ™.......12:fi0 a m
“ West Point —, 4:00 am
Arrive st Montgomery 8:10 a m
Leave Montgomery 8:55 p m
Arrive at Selma 11:00 p m
Connecting at Montgomery with the Mobile A
Montgomery and Louisville N & S G S Railroad
and for Selma.
GOING SOUTH AND WXST—MAIL AND XX-
PBESS.
No. 49.
LeaveB Macon 9:00 am
“ Atlanta 1:15 pm
“ Columbus 3:10 pm
“ West Point 4:50 p m
“ Opelika 4:45 p m
“ Chehaw 5:42 pm
—rrive at Montgomery 7:00 pm
Connecting at Montgomery with Mobile and
Montgomery railroad for Mobile and New Orleans
and with Louisville, Nashville and G. S. Railroad
for all points West,
ACCOMMODATION. No. 4.
Leaves West Point 3:20 a n
Arrive at Montgomery 8:07 a m
Leaves Montgomery...™™ 8:55 a m
Arrive at Selma....™ 11:20 a m
Making connection at Selma with the Alabama
Central railroad lor Meridian, Vicksburg and
poiats in Texas.
ACCOMMODATION. No. •.
Leaves Columbus.....™....™™ 7:00 a n
“ Opelika. ™.10.15 a n
“ Chehaw 12:22 pn
Arrive at Montgomery 3:20 pn
ACCOMMODATION, No. 8.
Leave Montgomery.....™....™...™™...™™ 4:20 p m
Arrive at Selma 7:22 pm
SUNDAT ACCOMMODATION.
No. 19.
Leave Montgomery ....™™...._ 5:30 p n
Arrive at Seima...™™. 7:20 p m
Trains 42, 45, 47. 48 3 and 4 ran daily,
Trains 5 6, 7 and 8 ran daily except Sundays.
Trains 9 and 10 run no Sundays.
CECIL GABBETT,
244-tf General Manager.
$500 Reward.
WE will pay the above reward for any case of
Liver Complaint, Dyspepsia, Sick Headache, Ir-
digestion. Constipation o* Costiveness we cannot
cure with West’s Vegetable Liver Pills, when tha
directions are strictly complied with. They are
purely Vegetable, and never fail to give satisfac
tion Sugar-coated. Large boxes containing 30
pills. 25 cents For sale by a 1 1 druggists. Beware
of counterfeits and imitations. The genuine man
ufactured only by JOHN C. WEST <& CO.. “The
Pill Makers,” 181 & 183 W Madison st., Chicago.
Free trial package sent by mail prepaid on receipt
of a 3 cent stamp. 297 ly
Agents and Uanvaaaers
Make from S23 to 050 per week selling
goods for E. G. RIDEOUT A CO., 10 Barclay
•Street, New York. 8end for their Catalogue
and terms. 286-1