THE SUNNY SOUTH, ATLANTA, QA^ 8ATUEDAY HORNING, JANUARY 29.1887.
3
KARL, THE MILL-BOY,
The Story«(a Trial.
BY la. B. E.
CHAPTER V.
The little village court room was crowded to
its utmost capacity. It wa, not much of a
room and had of late fallen into disuse, but on
this occasion persons had come from far and
near to attend a trial the like of which was not
recorded in the annals of that part of the
country.
It was well known that Karl Bierman had
returned home after an absence of eight months
and that miller Brown had accused him of
stealing money and burning a mill, two very
grave offenses. Karl had firmly protested his
innocence and had given a curious explana
tion to account for his absence, the loss of the
money and the burning of the mill, llis story
was soi mprobahle that only his few friends
believed him. (>n the day of his return when
he met the miller in bis blacksmith shop he
appeared so cool and posit.vs and truthful in
the long statement that he gave, that the mil
ler was both puzzled and exasperated and still
believed firmly in Karl’s guilt. The miller
had sworn and raged and accused, but lie did
not make Karl fl nch one particle from his po
sition, and it ended by the miller saying:
“Well, Karl, you air the coolest liar I ever
heerd tell on, but it aint coin’ to do you no
good. I’ve swore I would have ycr before the
courts and I am going to do it.”
“Mr. Brown, I am not going to leave this
place un'il it is settled to your satisfaction. I
tried to save your property and 1 got myself
into trouble by it. Now you can do as you
please,” and Karl walked out of the shop.
The miller, however, had him arrested that
day by the town mar-dial and put into the
county jail, where he had to stay for two
months. A judge had been called froin a
neighboring town and the day set for the trial.
The issue in the case hail been the topic of con
versation at every firctidc in the neighborhood
for miles, and on the morning of the trial day
the court room was so densely packed that
there was danger of suffocation, what with the
windows raised and the doors open hardly
enough air could be obtained so closely was
the crowd jammed in around the railing.
At the appointed time the presiding judge
marched in and mounted the wooden platform
and sat down in the chair behind a pine table
on which there was provided pens and paper.
The sheriff st rod by his side and in stento
rian tones called out: “oyez, oyez, the honor
able court is now in session,” and some other
words to the same effect, which made him feel
very important as it attracted the eyes of the
entire crowd towarl him. Having said this
be put on his hat, took up his tall baton or
staff and frowned upon the crowd as if he was
going to keep order or arrest the last man of
them.
The jury was soon called and sworn and
took their places on one side of the bar in front
of the judge, in chairs provided for the pur
pose. They all immediately began to look
wise and solemn as if they were fully conscious
of the weight of responsibility resting on them,
especially as the crowd began now to look at
them instead of at the sheriff.
“Bring in the prisoner,” said the judge,
whercupm the sheriff marched out in true
military style, and in a few minutes re-ap
peared, leading in Karl by the arm, and placed
him in the prisoner’s chair in full view of both
judge and jury.
As Karl took his scat one could not help bu*
observe the haggard and distressed look upon
liis face and the affecting expression in his eye.
He hail but little resemblance to a criminal,
and his fair and frank manner excited at once
a feeling of sympathy in the crowd of attend
ants, and a murmur of regret passed over them
as he looked up into their faces. As soon as
lie had taken his seat a young girl of sixteen
or seventeen years, with sad, loving eyes and
dressed in black, came and sat near him.
There was such a striking likeness between the
two that the observers at once noticed it, and
ter the house, but his room was empty an’ his
bed had not been fetched soon. Mr. Thomp
son came along and says ‘here’s Karls pistol I
found it down by the mill, an’ here’s his hat I
found it In the road, aid here’s his coat which
wat nigh by.’ Mind gintlemen of the jury, I
seed him with them very things the day be
fore.
“I had some money hid in the mill and I
reckin Karl found it out, for I scratched all
the next day looking for it, but nary a piece
did I see, and I knowed that if it hac been lef ’
there I would er found it in some shape. Then
Karl was run away, or leastwise he did not
come back until nigh onter a year, and all
them circumstances loik mighty curious, and
strong agin him.”
Here the old man rested and glared over at
Karl with a frown upon his face as if he would
like to annihilate him. The jury looked
troubled and greatly in doubt- Circumstan
tial evidence was strong that Karl was at the
mill on the night of the burning. The money
lieing gone an 1 Karl’s disappearance at the
same time were suspicious coincidences.
“One question miller,” said the lawyer,
“how do you know the money was there on
the night that the mill burnt?”
“Jist cased put a new piece tliar that very
day an’ I says to myself ‘one more new piece
an’ it’ll be nougli to p iy what I owes on the
house,’ ” came the satisfactory reply.
John Thompson was the next witness called.
He testified that he was at the fire during the
night and until next morning. As he wand
ered around in the vicinity of the lire he came
across an old horse pistol from which the
charge had been shot. It was lying in the
bushes where it had been thrown and was not
yet rusty. In fact the twigs it had broken in
its fall were not yet withered, showing that
only a few hours had elapsed since it fell, lie
knew it was Karl’s pistol for he bad seen him
with it. He picked it up and went up the
road towards home. He found a hat in the
road about 200 yards fr >m the mill and a coat
about 100 yards further on. They belonged to
Karl for they had his name written on them.
He took the pistol and the coat and hat to
Miller Brown and told him where they were
found.
As Thompson came down from the witness
stand, things looked very gloomy for Karl, and
the evidence was decidedly against him. Sev
eral of the faces of the jury expressed satisfac
tion of hi< guilt already, and the others looked
towards him with a pitying glance. The
crowd, though densely packed in, yet was per
fectly quiet, hardly breathing, and as they
saw that the case was going against Karl, they
began to whisper among themselves, “How
bad it is,” “What a pity,” and the like expres
sions of conviction.
John Miller was next loudly called for by
the important sheriff, and soon was marched
upon the stand.
“John, tell what you saw on the night of
, in the month of ,” said Mr. Hug
gins.
“I was a goin’ home in the moonlight fum
er corn-shuckin’ down at Miss Gardner’s,”
said John, in a drawling tone, “an’ was a
crossin’ of the ole field down by the inill-’ousc,
an’ I seed somebody cornin’ er creepin’ down
the road. So I goes to the fence an’ ax,
‘Who’s thar?’ Wall, it was Karl, an’ he
’peared skeered-like, an’ I ax him where he
was go;n’. He said he was just out fer er
walk, since it ’us so hot in the mill all day; an’
he pass’ on down the road towards the mill.
That’s all I knows;” and without more ado,
John walked down from the witness stand
quickly, for he evidently did not wish to tes
tify against Karl.
The jury smiled in a satisfied way, and sev
eral of them yawned as if no further evidence
could be more oonvincing and it was not pos
sible to rebut what had been offered. The
judge looked up from his paper where he hail
been taking notes, and seeing that all the wit-
the murmur was louder and more sympathetic, j ncsses were done, asked Karl if he desired to
' !“[; u ”'“ 1 caitu a an >m me mortis, aiivi „„pt.- n 7:ike a statement''am?~teul nnfi 11’..
cally of one kindly old man.
“Poor, dear orphans. Ain’t they like?
Don’t tell me lie’s ever done anything like they
say. He don’t look it. A jury’d have a mean
heart to convict him.”
The Judge tapped on his desk for order and
the Sheriff jumped up and frowned fearfully,
as much as to say, “Let me just get at that
man who was talking and it won’t be good for
him.”
To one side of the bar was another group,
and the central figure was a man sixty years
old, but strong and able-bodied. There was a
gathering frown upon his face, which deepened
and blackened as the murmurs and sympathies
of the crowd saluted his ear, and he turned up
on them impatiently and wratbfully just at the
last outbreak in whi :h the judge had to rap for
order on his desk. A lawyer sat near by bus
ily looking over some old law books, every now
and then taking the pen from behind his ear to
make a note on the paper winch lay on a table
in front of him.
Mrs. Brown had a seat behind her husband,
and looked like the silver lining to a thunder
cloud as she cast assuring glances of sympathy
over towaids Karl and his sister. Little Mary
was there with wide-open ey-s, perplexed at
all these strange proceedings, and could hardly
be restrained to where Karl sat.
When everything was in readiness the Judge
said to the lawyer:
“You may open your case against the pris
oner at the bar, Mr. Huggins.”
Mr. Huggins, who was the prosecuting law
yer in the case, took his eyes off his law books,
took the pen off his ear, took himself off the
chair and stood in the presence of the jury,
holding the indictment agaiiiHt Karl Bierman
in his hand.
He looked over towards the twelve men and
began to address them in a slow, solemn way,
explaining the nature of the case to be tried
and designating the offence of which Karl
Bierman stood before them accused. As he
began to sjx>ak a silence set led ujion his audi
ence, and everybody listened to the words he
uttered and to the indictment against the
young man.
Then the lawyer read the paper containing
the charges against the “aforesaid Karl Bier-
man, in that he did enter the premises of the
aforesaid Ephraim Brown and unlawful y car
ry away the sum of one thousand dollars, more
or less, in gold and silver coin,” etc. Again,
that “Kan Bierman, the aforesaid, did, on
such and such a night set fire to the mill-
house (it being the property of Ephraim Brown)
aid bum it to the ground, all against the good
order and peace of the State.”
Karl listened to the whole of this charge with
a painful, yet indignant, expression plainly
discernible on his features, and when the
Judge turned to him and said “Guilty or not
guilty?” he answered strong and clear:
“I am not guilty.”
Then the trial began in earnest, and from
this time deepened into intense interest.
Miller Brown took the stand, first one of
the witnesses. He walked up boldly and kissed
the Bible before he had heard half the oath he
was to take.
"Are you acquainted with the prisoner at
the bar?” askec the lawyer.
“Yes, sir, I am and have been for ever since
he was born,” was the reply.
“Where were you, Mr. Brown, on the night
of the day of the month of ?”
“I were asleep in iny bed some er the night
and I were a fightin’ fire the rest.”
“Now, .Mr. Brown, will you state to the
jury all you know about this case before us.
Make whatever statement vou know to be
true and not what you think or what you
have heard. We want only what you know
to be true?”
“ Well,” began the miller settling himself
for a speech which we will ahreviate for the
sake of the reader, “I went ter sleep on that
'ere night and ’bout two o’clock, I reckin, I
hear! the dogs howl in the yard an’ I woke up
an’ says to my wife, ‘wife somebody’s in the
yard,’ and started to git up, but she hclt me
back an’ I went ter sleep agin. I slep sorter
uneasy like, and soon here come a big yellin'
and knockin’ at the door and somebody said
come down ter the mill that it was all afire. I
jumped outer bed qiiicker'n a flash an’ jerked
on my clothes and lit out fer my mill place.
Well, sir, it was all afire and a burning jist
like powder. I told my wife to wake up Karl
and send him on, but bless yo’ soul he weren’t
nowheres about. Well, the old mill burnt
chan down to the ground an’ me an’ the
neighbors tried to save something, but nary a
grain of corn or wheat did we git. Nex’ morn
ing I sat down on a rock feelin’ powerful sick,
when I thinks ter myself that I aint seen Karl
and I jumped up ter look fer him, I went back
muse a statement? aiitf toiti inm u,iam ~:i
lowed him to make one, though it put him un
der no oath.
The jury turned towards Karl in an expect
ant manner and the eyes of the crowd were at
once fastened upon him. Karl thereupon rose
from his seat slowly and walked up to the wit
ness stand and steadied himself by the railing.
A deathlike silence fell upon the court-room,
and in a trembling voice he began to make his
statement.
Karl began by stating to the jury how long
lie had worked for the miller and. in what ca
pacity, that he had tried to do his duty in
every respect, though his wages were meagre
and the work put upon him was heavy. He
then related the incidents of the day preced
ing the night of the robbery, and as he spoke
of the three men and what they said of the in
formation the miller’s son had given them of
the presence of the money in the mill, a voice
from the crowd cried out:
“That’s so, by golly; case I heerd Bill say
so, an’ I seed them very fellers.”
The judge frowned, the jury looked around,
the crowd fluttered and smiled, and the sheriff
shook his stick and looked his fiercest.
Karl continued his story and spoke of the
turned up condition of the mill when the men
left it and when Mr Simpkins arrived; at
which Mr. Simpkins who was in court, said in
an audible voice, “That’s so.” Karl then re
lated as minutely as he could all the circum
stances of the night of the robbery and of the
fire, beginning from where he took the pistol out
of his bureau drawer, then where he met John
Miller, where he crouched in the bushes and
saw the men come across the bridge, and one
of them hurt his hand and bind it in a rag torn
from his shirt, and then drop the rag near the
mill.
Mr. Simpkins started very perceptibly at
this and shook his heal incredulously. Then
Karl spoke of how the men entered the mill
and how he fired at one of them at which they
began to pursue him, how he dropped the pis
tol in the bushes and fled throwing away his
coat and bat. He told of his capture, of the
struggle in the road and of his being bound and
gagged, and of his distress when he observed
the mi 1 to be set on fire.
As Karl proceeded with his story the jury
became more and more interested and the au
dience was as still as if they were cut in stone.
He then related the events of his kidnapping,
of his incarceration and long six months ago
ny and spoke of old Billy and of his means of
escape.
With such an air of candor and truthfulness
did he speak that the jury were greatly per
plexed again and wore a puzzled expression
on their faces. The crowd was about satisfied
that Karl was telling what really occurred that
they became noisy in their sympathy. The
speech or rather talk had lasted only 30 min
utes but it troubled those who were to decide
the case.
Karl had scarcely taken his seat before Mr.
Simpkins bustled out from the crowd and
stood before the juiy and requested to be ex
amined as a witness. The judge looked aston
ished.
“Mr. Simpkins do you know anything of
value connected with this case?” sa d he.
“Jedge, I reckon 1 does, an’ ye’d belter fum
me too,” was the reply.
“All right then, Mr. Lawyer, swear the
witness,” whereupon Mr. Simpkins wassworn
and began his testimony.
He told in his own peculiar manner all the
details of the conversation that he overheard
from the three men on the road while he was
concealed from view behind the rock at the
spring. Mr. Huggins became nervous and ex-
c ted and began to wipe the*perspiration from
off his brow. Jumping up he inquired;
“What did the men say, Mr. Simpkins?”
“I heard them say that they was a goin’ to
git that stuff that very night and that there
weren’t nobody to pester ’em.”
“How many were there, did you say?”
“There were three on ’em, ’cause I seed ’em
as they went uj> the road.”
Mr. Huggins took his seat, somewhat con
fused at the turn affairs were taking.
“An’ more’ll that,” said Mr. Simpkins to
the jury, “here’s the very rag with blood on it
that Karl has just told ye of. I picked i t up
nex’ morning to tie the mill keys on, an’ I
found it not fur fum the bridge- I put ’em in
my pocket to day thinkin’ that maybe I mout
have need on ’em an’ sho’ ’nough 1 did.”
Mr. Simpkins pulled the keys out of his
pocket and handed them to the jury who saw
that the statement was correct.
“Now, gintlemen, I’ll take er seat but sho’
as ye’re born that lad ain’t done nobody'any
harm. I’ll lay my life on his being innocent.
Mr. Simpkins sat down amid the subdued
applause of the crowd.
Scarcely had he resumed his seat before a
commotion was heard aronnd the door and a
squeaky voice from the crowd called out:
“Stop, Mr. Jedge, I’se got a few words to
say in this case.” ,
The court was upset again and as the crowd
opened an aged, bent over, withered old man
limped up and said:
“My name’s Billy Patterson wot lives over
in Cane Bottom, an’ I knows ’bout this ere
boy, fer the Cap’n of the gang beat me an
sont me ’way fer he’pin’ him ter git off, an 1
comes ter tell yer he’s spoke wots so.’’
The lawyer here objected to this irregular
proceeding and the judge was about to order
the sheriff to remove the old man but the
crowd cried out:
“No!” “Let’s hear him!” “Swear himl
“We’re goin’ to git the truth now!” and other
expressions which induced the judge to let old
Billy go on the s and and be sworn as a wit
ness.
Old Billy swore to his name and residence
and occupation. He told all the circumstances
connected with the gang of robbers with whom
he had been associated and related in what
manner Karl had been brought there, confined
and escaped. So exactly did his story corres
pond with what Karl had said in spite of the
cross-examination of the lawyer, that however
incredulous it seemed, the crowd at once be
lieved it and took no pains to conceal their
opinion ot the case.
Karl looked up at the old man with grateful
eyes and Kate,who sa. behind him,could hard
ly conceil her tears that such timely assist
ance had arrived.
Old Billy shuffled back to his place in the
crowd and the judge leaned back and looked
over his spectacles at the jury and the jury
looked uji atthe judge. Both of them looked
at Karl and from Karl to the miller, who sat
a most stunned by this overwhelming evidence,
and from thence to the impatient crowd be
yond.
The judge gave the law to the jury in as plain
and simple a manner as he could, without
many comments and the sheriff then led them
out to the jury room to make up their verdict.
Til* evidence was now strong in both ways
and the crowd of bystanders waited impatient
ly for the reappearance of the jury, all tne
while indulging in cheering remarks to Karl,
some of them not very complimentary to the
miller. At the end of a half hour the sheriff
announced the jury had made up their verdict,
the judge resumed his place and the jurymen
tiled in and took their seats. The crowd in
stantly became breathless.
“Gentemen have you agreed on a verdict?”
asked the judge.
“We have, sir,” said the foreman, at the
same time handing a paper to the sheriff. The
sheriff took the paper and read as follows:
“We, the jury, find the defendant—not
guilty.”
Scarcely had the verdict been rendered be
fore a deafening shout from the crowd rent j
the air, as if it would lift the roof from the top
of the house. The judge loudly rapped for or
der and the sheriff stormed, but all in vain.
The excited crowd of friends poured over the
bars and taking Karl in their arms bore him
up, and out of the court house and into the
streets, shouting and throwing up their hats.
It took but little time for the news to spread
to those not in attendance and the jubilee be
came general.
The crowd bore Karl down to the tavern
and there it drank a great bumper of one hun
dred glasses and shouted his name so loud
that the noise was heard a half mile away.
Amid all the congratulations that poured in,
there was the old miller himself who came up
with tears in his eyes, and taking Kail by the
hand said:
“Well, Karl, I reckin Iv’e done ye lots er
harm, and thought mighty hard agin ye, but
I ain’t g>in’ ter do so no mo’. Ye’re innercent,
an’ I guess I knows who done me ther harm,
fer Bill, my son, has joined a gang like them
yer spoke on. But Karl, we’ll burry old scores
and build another mill, and start over agin.’
The tears came now in good fashion, for the
hard heart was softened and the fierce nature
came forth from the years struggle more gen
tle than before. The mill was built and it
jirospered and when, years after, the c Id mi 1-
ler died, the Bierman mill became the pride of
the country for many miles around.
*»**•••*
It was on the afternoon of the trial and Karl
once more free to go where he would, was
walking anil in arm with his sister towards
the little bnrying ground where there was a
mound that he had not yet seen. They talked
but little and that little was sad and in a low
tone and neither could venture to speak at
Jam.' 1 ,!).:
THE DEATH OP THE OLD YEAR.
When the mound was reached they stood
over it and talked f ir a long time about her
who slept beneath and Karl put his arms about
liis sister and sobbed aloud in his grief, and
the tears fell upon the earth which covered
the mother’s grave. Breaking out in liis sor
row lie exclaimed:
“Oh, that you, my mother, had not died
but had lived to see tliis day, and to know
that your son whom you had prayed over and
cared for and loved so fondly had never done
wrong to any man.”
Kate drew near to him and putting her arms
around his neck, said to him:
“Dear Karl, the last message that mother
sent to you was that up to the last she knew
you were innocent. Come we will go and to
gether live the rest of our lives in the old
home.”
And they went back in the gathering twi
light.
[tiik end.]
Advice to Young Men.
[Baltimore Sun.]
Last evening at the First English Lutheran
Church, Rev. Albert II. Studebaker began a
series of sermons to young men, large numbers
of whom were present. His theme was, “How
City Life Tempts Young Men,” and his tex
Jeremiah 4b, 15—“The choice of young men
are gone down to the slaughter.” The young
men of our cities, he said, are living in a time
of promise and peril. Their way may be as
radaint as the suu in its course, or it may be
the first step toward dire disaster. For them
we have the highest hopes and the gravest fears.
Many a young man who comes to the city to
imjirove his fortune is tempted and slain by its
very novelty. Wily tempters with winning ap
peals and plausible promises, plot and compass
his ruin. He finds the liberty and irresponsi
bility of boarding-house life a poor substitute
for the restraint and support of a home. The
barriers of vice are down in every direction,
the familiar way-marks of virtuous life a thing
of the past, and the early and pure white of
life is covered with the courted crimson of guilt.
Nor is the slaughter lessened by the estimate
to day placed upon money. Y'oung men see
smartness and shrewdness deified and wor
shipped. Honesty is only policy. Custom and
expediency must frequently supersede. it.
Crookedness lives on a fashionable street, has
golden livery, and scorns the censure of the
true and vituous. This is a deadly peril In a
city successful gin is seen only in its triumph,
rarely in its disgrace. Thus is the dread of evil
abated and confidence in God impaired. The
young are fascinated; they envy, then imitate.
And the varied temptations of a city leave no
young man free from their varied and power
ful incentive to vice. They assail him at every
poin. of his many-sided life. They urge the ease
with which a double life can be lead in a large
city. He can be one thing in south or east Bal
timore and another in west or north Baltimore.
He is called green if he hasn’t seen all the city
contains, and where he would not venture alone
he goes with his crowd. He had far better be
familiar with the municipal sewers. The alrger
the city the more dangerous this peril. There
is but one path of escape for yau lg men from
the fearful soul slaughter of a great city, and
that is the way that leads past the cross of
Christ.”
A PIOUS FRAUD MAKES A SCENE.
Robert Henshaw Invokes the Ven
geance of Heaven on His Accusers.
[Chicago Mail.]
Robert Henshaw, the religous young man
convicted of picking the pockets of a South
Water street commission man, was arraigned
for sentence before Judge Anthony this morn
ing. The prisoner was much excited, and when
asked what he had to say, etc., he spran"for
ward with the cry: “There is a greater judge
than you, judge, and some day we will all
meet at His tribual.”
The judge approved of the tru’h of the
statement, but looked annoyed while the bail
iffs seized the excited man and drew him back.
“Stop!” he cried, “I will not insult the judge.
All I want to say is that on that great day of
trial the man who falsely swore my body to the
prison must prepare his soul for a commensu
rate sentence. That is all; take me to prison.”
The little episode created great excitement in
the court-room, which was, however, prompt
ly allayed by Judge Anthony’s strong and firm
voice pronouncing the verdict of the jury: “Two
years in the penitentiary.”
CHAT.
Another letter, all pathos and crying for an
unfilled want, is before me. It’s author has
tasted the sweets of life, lived in that dolcefar
niente common to luxurious surroundings; one
who lias circled the world, loved and plaj ed
with love, thereby degenerating into the fash
ionable cynic, so objectionahle to N. L. H.;
one who lias lived beyond the heights, survey
ed other mortals lets fortunate from a supreme
Stanil-pnnt; had every desire gratified, and yet
—cries “What cons itutes happiness?”
Once, in a crowded city tenement reeking
with filth and teeming with vice, I came across
a girl—blind, a child of poverty and sin, with
no rose-colored horizon tinting the black clouds
of her life; and yet her beautiful life moral
turned more than one stony, disobedient
heart.
In looking upon the brighter side and doing
good for others she found happiness where
tliis spoilt fortune’s darling has failed, and by
her gentle, sweet submissiveness to His will,
she inspired others with nobler aims, touched
by the contrast she drew.
As I remember her I think of Austin Dob-
sou’s ballad of the thrush upon the city street.
"Sing oo: what though thou hsat
O i that dull bar, thy foe!
Somewhere the green boughs meet
11 tyond the roofs a—row;
Somewhere the blue skies show;
S imewhere no black walls crush
Poor h-arts with helpless woe—
Slug on—ring on. O thrush!”
Have I drifted from my subject—Honesty!
which nothing can excel in purity? love, that
God-given diadem to mankind; Bweet charity;
virtue, that is ever bright; steadfast faith;
blessed hope; these united in one mind, form
the purest, sweetest, brightest and most stead
fast happiness.
It sems life is “one vast question without a
reply”—a mystery, a contradiction!
“Alas!
There are so many questions of this kind that
pass
My perplexed comprehension, that were I to
place them
On record, no volume could encase them.”
I would thank those who have come to my
assistance, and stood by our ship, and voicing
the requests, that have almost become a dirge
in their intensity, of the many IlLusehold
readers, entreat those who were subjects of*,
matchless Kit, and brilliant Quien Sabe, to re
turn.
One time we were favored with the charm
ing little repartees, sparkling witticisms, and
amusing assumption of dignity pe:sonated by
our inimitable Gate City Gifl.
.Whn has benomapf Ij she such, a fa- „ u ;„,n„ ,i,„ t
vorite wit l Aunt Judy and Tier leal kim-dom 1 i t* .’e_ > .i.” —
that she has forgotten us?
There is a prominently placed chair awaits
ing her, and one of our poets suggests an
“< >de to the vacant chair,” If she does not re
turn and assume her title of
fairy.”
1 was amused at the manner in which Ira
Jones informed me as to his true name.
I have long been acquainted with our An
tiquary and would have known his address
without the large card prefixed to his letter.
[BY VERITAS.]
The year eighteen hundred and eighty six
fa taking t:§ Anal flight,
While on the old clock our eyes we fix
And hear It Heklng lta few laat ticks,
A* d we mournfully abed the regretful tear
And we bid our adieus to the dear old year,
Which paaaes away to night.
It la paaalng away and will aoon be gone,
With all lta smiles and tears;
lta daya are numb-red. Its work Is done;
I'has looked it" last on the selling sun.
And soon It will J lin the days which wait
F *r It outside of time’s shut gate.
And be hidden with by gone years.
The storm clouds gather, the wild wind blows
And the snow-drifts veil tho skv;
Nor moon nor star Its soft light throws,
T i cheer the eartn and toctiase the woes
Which erowd aronnd in the bowling blast,
Like noisy ghosts ol the murdered past,
As the old year comes to die.
But let us look back and review the reign
Ol the year that has reached Its close;
A year, to some, of pleasure and gain.
To others, of trials, deep sorrow and pain.
Losses aad crosses, bereavements ana tears,
L ghts and shadows, and hopes and fears,
Troubles, regrets and woes.
Many a resolution and scheme
Was formed when the year got birth.
And thoughts were buoyed with the pleasing
theme, .
And the future was bright as a beautiful dream;
But the rear passed by, and the castles fair
Were never erected except to the air,
Wtlcn now are laid low on the earth.
The days down the stream of time moved on
Like foam on a fl iwlng river.
And maay a wore was In hope begun
Which lies unflnlsbed, ts stint undone—
rot eS and dererred from day to day.
While the fugitive moments kept flitting away
And were hidden and lost forever.
A rear of months and weeks and days,
O! What arlch treasure given!
S i many 8 thoatbs for prayer and praise
Ana gaming Instruction In wisdom’s ways;
T me ts Improve both heart and mind.
Time to do good to all mankind—
Time to prepare for Heaven.
The year Is entering dsath’s cold gate
Amid the loud tempest’s wratn;
The year 1s dead I Time gone—"too late.”
Is this your cry? What Is your state?
Is yours the walling of dark despah ?
Or do hope’s gloamings Illume your prayer
And brighten your future path?
The year ts gone with Its great events.
Its revo:ut1ons and wars.
Its visitations and punishments;
Bat who can reckon Its whole enutents—
Tne earth’s upbeavels, the confl tgratlons,
The scourge ol war, the distress of nations.
On sea aud on land Ood's Judgments came,
Volcanoes disgorged their floods of flame
And the earth still shows Its scars.
Tho great event# of the year that’s past
Will add a new page to history;
The changes effected were thrilling and vast,
But the ominous gloom which the sky o’er east
Is passing away and the new born year
Is coming with treasures, our hearts to cheer;
Bur wnetber a year of blessing* or woes,
O! j »ys or of sorrows, God only knows,
Wuo only ean solve tne m>story.
Viva, Florida, Vaurien, Daisy, Veritas, Mu
sa Dunn, Muda Hetnur, James E. Wray,
Rambler, N. L. H., can I hope that my refor
mation will gain me your approving glances?
Nuf Ced for the present. Give Awat.
P. S. Ha! ha! I had almost forgotten I
have a good one for you Householders, learned
and wise though you be. Pardon me, but not
withstanding your erudite profoundness (?), I
don’t think a one of you can see an inch be
fore your noses. If so, then why have you
not long ere this, caught on to the identity of
Mother Hubbard? Is it that you have for
gotten that peculiarly original style? or can it
be possible that you are so much engrossed
with your lugubrious discussions of life, love,
private griefa, etc., that you fail to recognize
her? Adieu, G. A.
Where There’s a Will There’s a Way.
If we could always have faith in the old ad
age: “Where there’s a will there’s a way,” I
think we would be more apt to have the will,
anU hence find the way. Faith goes a long
way towards helping the will. Take David
for example when he slew Goliath. Had he
not had faith he could not have brought his
will to the point to do such a deed.
We wish to accomplish an end. First, do
we believe that it can be done? Yes, such has
been done before and why not again? Then
one step, and an important one, has been
gained. Next, will we accomplish that end?
Now let us leave out the “ifs.” We believe it
is in our power, then if the adage is true, why
not say we will?
But is there not another will stronger than
ours, whose consent we must get before pro
ceeding? Yes, but the primary idea of faith
that the thing can lie done rules out that diffi
culty, hence as that first step is taken then our
will must be consulted. Kay we have gained
its consent now wliat—where’s the way?
I once read a little book, I have forgotten
the title and the author, but I remember that
the thread of the whole was a golden wire
which guided a little boy along his way. All
ha had to do was only to keep hold of the
wire. I was quite small when I read that lit
tle Sunday-school book, but it made a lasting
impression on my mind. Now I compare the
will to that golden wire, and with my pnronse
ever in view, I feel that Lite way is clear
enough.
To-night I wished to write but I had noth
ing in partieu'ar to say. The paper was white
before me. Several hours of quiet uninter
rupted time was mine. A cheerful fire and a
bright lamp, were possessed blessings. Then
why not will to write? I am writing, but will
it profit any one? I hope it may prove the
time honored adage above quoted; doubtless it
has been proven hundreds of times, but may
my to-night’s experience prove it again.
Mine is an earnest life. I am living for a
purpose. My motto is: “Live and do good.”
I have many plans tr carry out. I believe
they can be executed and I will, by the help of
God, do my work faithfully. I am only a
weak woman, but the name woman is an hon
ored name, I do not despise it. I wish to add
fresh laurels to its crown. I wish to do so
modestly as becometh a woman. I want no
privileges that a woman should not enjoy. Let
the men be politicians, the tiriffs possess no
charms for me. Let the men speak in burn
ing and thrilling eloquence on the stage and in
the pulpit, I envy them not. Let the men pro
vide fer the larder and for the home, I want
none of that responsibility. But I want to be a
bright angel of love and mercy; a loving sister
and daughter; a sympathetic friend; a worker
in God’s vineyard; a true and noble woman.
I have ambition. I am not content to be
the same ail my life without any improvement;
but as my mind is enlightened from reading
and studying useful books, i wish to contrib
ute my mite to the tide of literature, not for
the sake of empty fame, for I would not be
famous unless I could merit it. If I knew
that my efforts were worthless and ridiculous,
I would be tempted to pour out my ink and
throw away my pen, but with an ardent de
sire to accomplish my end to “Live to do
good,” I expect to persevere till I prove to my
own satisfaction that “Where there’s a will
there’s a way.” Muda Hetnur.
Qu bee, Midnight 1886.7
A Baby’s Prayer,
Dear Mother Hubbard: Softly the evening
shadows have lain tlicir fable curtains about
Irpttlp is .sinx^nit;
among the
The matrimonial market seems to be on as
great a boom as Alabama real estate just now,
but we are happy t> announce that our supply
is equal to the demand. For a life-long in
vestment you couldn't do better than chooee
from the following list of advertisers, or adver
tise yourself for bids. You will surely get
them.
We are daily receiving letters from parties
who are on the high road to happiness through
this column. We must beg our advertisers to
acknowledge the receipt of all letters we for
ward that their correspondents may know we
have done our duty. It is impossible for us
to notify them that their letters have been for
warded.
Don’t fail to put in blank stamped envelopes
with your letters to be forwarded. They can
not be re-addressed if written upon. Be sure
to send the fee with your advertisement. It
is only ten cents j>er line, eight words counted
a line.
Address all communications for this col
umn to
Madge Melvale,
Sunny South Office.
Y'oung ladies of Hi write to “Harry C.”
Fun!
Young ladies write to Lone Star, No. 2. lie
is a good one.
Ewell wants a correspondent. Object mutu
al improvement.
YVanted—an amiable lady correspondent,
age between 10 and IS.
Lone Jack, No. 2.
Will some young ladies of 17 to 22 please
write to a merchant of 27 o: some means.
“Y'um Yum.”
Would be pleased to have several young
lady correspondents. I am 20 years old. Write
please, to Will, in Texas.
A young merchant, well off, desires corres
pondents between 10 and 20. Ooject few and
matrimony.
“M. D. T.”
A prosperous young lawyer desires to cor
respond with a few accomplished brunettes.
Address care of Sunny South,
Maurice.
Virginia can give a blonde, a city home near
the ocean. Age 21, dark and wants a wife.
Address, eareSu.Nxr South.
Earnest A.
Mother IIuiiuard.
Veritas Greets Mother Hubbard and
Tells of the Death of the Old Year.
Dear Mother Hubbard: This is the last day
of the year 1880. What crowding memories
keep passing before iny mental vision I Only
a few hours more ana this year will be num
bered with the past. I hear the church bells
and I hear the mournful howling of the snow-
storm. I sit here alone haunted by the ghosts
of murdered hours. An accusing conscience
asks the questions, “What progress have you
made during the past year? Are you holier
and happier than you were twelve months ago?
What work have you done? What good have
you effected?” I bow my head and say I have
been too remiss in my duties. I am an unpro
fitable servant. And yet 1 must acknowledge
God and say, “By His grace I am what I am.
And I can also say, “My heart is fixed, O
God, my heart is fixed; I will sing aud give
praise.”
“It is greatly wise to talk with our past hours
And ask them what report they bore to Hea
ven.”
May (Kid “so teach us to number our days
that we may apply our hearts unto wisdom.”
It would be too much for me to go over the
events of the past year. It has been a year of
sunshine and shadows, joys and sorrows. I
suppose we all have had our bitters and our
sweets, bereavements, losses and sad trials,
aud have also had, at other times, our cup of
joy filled to overflowing. Let us be grateful
for past and present mercies.
The old year is gone—numbered with the
past. Its death throes were terrible. The
tempest raged and the thick drift formed
mounds on the streets. And in the bowling
blast tbe old year and the new one came
squalling—a very noisy baby—giving little
hope of a calm year of sweet enjoyments. Its
strong lungs and chilling breath give indica
tions of it being a hardy, healthy young year.
Well, whatever it may be, I wish the House
hold family all the enriching blessings there
may be in it. This is New Year’s day, and a
more dismal looking day I have seldom seen.
Deep snow, a blinding snow-drift and bitterly
cold.
But cold as it is I can seethe people, like
white statues, passing and repassing on their
rounds of visiting their friends. The French
sjieaking Canadians continue their visitings
fur several days after tbe first. The men gen
erally make their visits on the first, then after
that the women and children go their rounds
—on foot or on sleighs. I believe that men,
women and children continue their visitations
until every relative and every acquaintance be
visited and saluted. Some of the young men
are not so temperate as they ought to be, but
I am glad to learn that strong drink is not now
dealt out so lavishly as formerly.
Mother Hubbard I thank you for your en
couraging words in your chat. I am grateful
to every one who recognizes me in the House
hold. 1 bad a letter from a lady in the South
giving me a sketch of one of our brightest wri
ters in the Household. I like to get good
news, but I don’t wish to receive from any one
a confession of her neighbors sins.
Have any of the household read tbe new po
etical effusions of our friend, Mr. J. E. May?
lie is certainly a young Byron, and I think his
iirst produc ions would compare with the boy
ish writings of Byron. Should he be spared
to riper years his fame will be universally
known. Some people don’t care for love sigh
ing and sentimental yearnings after the unat
tainable. Mr. May tho’ young in years has
had some sad experiences which will help him
in his future efforts.
Farmer, I wish to meet you again in the
Household.
Thistledown. I would like to read that book
that so charmed you.
Pandora, I love to get the last gift in your
box.
Leal Kimmer, in the Household or by mail
I love to meet you.
With best wishes to all, I am,
Veritas.
Box 74, P. O. St. Rochs, Quebec.
leal kingdom upon the hearth ere it bubbles over with
good humor witli its friend, tbe fire, while, be
fore I know it, my thoughts have drifted far in
to the past as dreamily I watch tile flames curl
in and out among the loose bricks of the grate
and are lost to view in the dark-mouthed
chimney.
“Auntie,” comes a soft, pleading voice,
“Take me, me is so seepy and tired.” Gently
I draw llie little white form into my lap amt
rest tbe weary head on iny arm. “Now, dar
ling,” I whisper, “some little girl must not for
get to say her prayers ” Soltly the brown
eyes close, dimpled bands rest quietly an the
snow-white gown, while coral lips murmur in
baby tones after me, “Now I lay me down to
sleep.” “I pray tbe Lord,” I repeat, but no
little voice takes up the refrain, only a sigh
falls upon my car as she whispers desponding-
ly, “Oh! Auntie, my prayer is so long.”
“Hush, darling, you will soon be through, and
you know Maggie must not think of that when
she is talking to God.”
Over again we begin, and the soft voice whis
pers against my cheek, “I pray the Lord my
soul to keep.” Is it all fancy? I wonder when
there floats before me dreamy pictures of that
loving Father giving His angels charge over
this “wee sma’ iamb.” More gently the next
Art Matters.
I have spent two weeks among the art treas
ures of New Y'ork. I Iirst went to see the Ru
bens Gallery, loaned by Mr. Charles Seidel-
meyer, of Paris, and brought over here by Mr.
Henry G. Marquand. Those pictures of Ru
bens are marvels of fine coloring “Melea
ger and Atalanta,” is tbe finest 1 think. Then
there is a “Holy Family,” by the same mas
ter. There is in this room also a solendid
“Magdalen Praying,” by Murillo, and “fa ^
toilet,' 1 by Rembrandt, and two’ pictures of | will''write to" £“
A printer by trade, candidate for matrimo
ny, wishes to correspond with a number of
young ladies who are matrimonially inclined.
All letters answered.
“A cage but no bird” is owned by a Texas
ranchman. I want intelligent and moral lady
correspondents; brunettes preferred. Am 21
years old—blonie. My object is matrimony.
Will answer you all. “H. N.”
My object is matrimony and improvement.
1 hope some intelligent young men will answer
me right away. References can be exchanged
if desired. I will state that my father is a
banker, and 1 am just frmi college. Address,
care Sunny South, . Flora.
I am a young lady, eighteen years old, with
blue eyes, brown hair, and fair complexion. I
will be glad to correspond with a gentleman
between twenty and thirty.
hates are begun; but alas! mother Nature’s
tabes are something like her children of older
growth, strong contradictions, for out from
their curtained lashes those brown eyes steal
forth—eyes that soon spy a member of the
family busily engaged in work that does not
suit her. In a second more her prayer is for
gotten, and the sweet, pleading tones change
as this child of nature declares, “Nina, that
ain’t the way to do it.”
Sm les creep over my brother’s and Nina’s
fat es, but still the latter continues her work,
and after a little persuasion the truant eyes
are induced to close, while the little three-
year-old pleads for blessings on “papa, little
sister, a 1 my relatioi s and friends;” “and
maxe me a good girl,” I say, but she has not
heard me. Two little arms have stolen around
my neck, and with a beaming face she whis
pers:
“Auntie, me didn’t leave old Santa Claus’
book over at Auntie D.’s, this evening, did I!”
At last the prayer is ended. A few minutes
later I softly tuck her in bed, thinking per
haps she is asleep. Soon that thought is dis
pelled.
‘Auntie,” comes from under the folds of the
cover, “who made leefies?’’
“God,” I reply.
“Out uf whut?”
“Dust of the ground,” I reply.
“Whut did he malte hair out uf?”
“Out of the ground, too, darling.”
“Well, auntie,” continues this little incorri
gible, “whut did he make the ground out uf?”
To this weighty question auntie remains
silent, hoping the little questioner's thonghis
have drifted to the land of Nod; bat, no, in
rather sleepy tones she say:
“Sing-Je-sus-luves chn me.”
I begin, she, too, joii ing in with “so glad
that Jesus luves ebon mee,” but slower comes
tbe refrain, and lower droop the silken lashes
o’er peachy cheeks, and before the last verse
is finished baby’s voice is hushed and she is
roaming in the sunlit fields of dreamland.
Quietly she sleeps, lovingly the dark-brown
hair rests against the smooth brow, the little
lips that can ask such questions are still, and
with a kiss upon them and a prayer that the
loving Father will watch over and guide this
little one, I leave her for the night.
Clio.
Montgomery, Ala.
very* pretty little girls, by G reuze, the great
French master who painted “Le Crucbe
Cassee,” the Broken I’itcher, now in the
Louvre, Paris. These pictures are all very
large and are well preserved. Here is a pic
ture of “Rembrant’s Cook," a solid looking
Dutch woman looking out of a kitchen win
dow, holding a carving knife in her right
hand.
Among the paintings in the Modern Gallery
of the Metropolitan Art Museum, the great
painting of “Columbus at the Court of Queen
Isabella,” stands pre-eminent. The queen
leans forward in an attitude of attention. She
is seated on her throne, surrounded by gallant
cavaliers, court ladies and churchmen. < >n a
table near by are piled her costly jewels, while
a court messenger bears a jewel box in his
hands, about to lay it on the table. Columbus
stands at the other end of the table, liis left
hand upon a map, while lie points toward the
west with his right; a cardinal is seated near
Columbus; he is converting with an old man
in a court dress. A lady is seated at the left
of the queen’s throne, holding a book between
her hands. The queen is robed in a gorgeous
white silk dress and a purple mantle, with an
ermine cape, is laid eracefully on her shoul
ders. The artist is Brozix, a Bohemian. Mr.
Morris K. Jessup purchased the painting and
presented it to the museum. The figures arc
full life size.
Ira Jones.
Elizabeth, N. J.
PATIENT PRISONERS.
She Called Me a Clown.
The Princess is off on a trip to South Geor
gia. The coast is clear, therefore I have step
ped in a moment to say to the Householders
that I have been completely broken up ever
since Nixy called me a “clown.” That was
the “most unki idi-st cat of all,” and the fact
is, I am just now recovering from it. I have
been able to completely ignore the reproach
ful et tu brute look cast upon me by the Prin
cess; ditto, the wrathful glances of the unfor
giving Monk, but ye gods! when Nixy called
me a “clown,” it awoke my slumbering con •
science. Friends, I have decided to reform
and become a respectable member of the
Household. Nary nother give away.
As for that little trick, Maid of Athens, I
know her. She’s my relative—a chint of a
schoolgirl who very often contradicts the most
solemn statement of her big cousin. Give Away.
Never mind, little girl, when you come to At
lanta again I’ll—I’ll be unaware of the fact
that yon are particularly partial to caramels
and chewing gum.
A little bird fast In Its cage, dear.
Teat will never he free again,
Hugs on just tbe same as of old, dear—
But ids song Is far sweeter than then
Would you dream, as you bear the sweet strains,
Tnat they quiver wltb saddest heart-thrills?—
Tnat they tell of a sorrow that reigns?—
Tbe little bird longs to be free,
And sometimes a poor lPtle heart, dear,
Gets caught In the same cruel way.
And never a murmur m ikes, dear,
Bnt thri bs on In the olden way.
Would you dream tnat tho.e sort even throbs
Were telling of wildest dospalr ?—
Tnat they are but the saddest of sabs?—
The little heart longs to be free.
The Princess.
Jesup, Ga.
General Sherman and the Union Man
When General Sherman entered Goldsbor
ough, N. C., after his march to the sea, on his
way to join Grant before Richmond, there
dwelt in that town a certain Colonel X., who
was one of the most rabid secessionists that
could be found. His house was situated in the
north end of the city, and at the end of a street,*
so that any one coming into the town from the
south would see his residence as soon as he
would enter the south end of the same street.
When General Sherman and staff came into tbe
town they came up this street aud stepped just
in front of Colonel X.’s residence. The Colonel,
who was out on the porch, greeted them, and
an officer, saluting him, asked what his senti
ments were in regard to the war.
“I am a strong Union man,” answered the
colonel, with a dry smile.
“Ah indeed,” said the officer, rather sarcas
tically, “and how long have you been a Union
man?”
I have been a Union man,” said the colonel,
slowly, and as if considering his words, “ever
since I saw you and your staff come into the
end of that street, about fifteen minutes ago.”
The candor in the colonel’s reply pleased Gen.
eral Sherman, and he ordered a guard placed
around Col Kiel X.’s property, and during the
entire stay of the army in Goldsborough not a
thing was molested in or around liis premises,
although a great many of the fine private as
well as public buildings were burned and pil
laged.
Tbe Only Way So S'onqner Dyspepsia.
It is Jitrlertly preposterous to introduce
pepsin nnil other artilieial solvents into the
stomach, in the expectation that they will as
sist digestion by acting on the food itself.
They will not. Nor is it possible thus to
overcome dyspepsia. The only way to con
quer thatilisorder. ami prevent the numerous
diseases and disabilities which it assuredly
provokes, is to renew the activity of gastrio
action by strengthening the stomach. Hos
tetler’s Stomach Billers eradicates the most
inveterate forms of indigestion by restoring
vitality to the alimentary organs, and those
which are tributary to tlirm. The liver, the
bowels, the kidneys and the nerves, no less
than the stomach, experience the invigora
tive effects of that standard tonic, which pos
sesses ulterativc properties that greatly en
hance its beneficial influence, and gfive a
permanence to its effects which they would
not otherwise possess.
‘ < >ne little maid from school am I,
‘Mashing,’ flirting on the sly.”
Who will write to me. -My eyes and hair
are dark brown, complexion fair, but oh! so
sad, I am very ugly. If a nice young gentle
man would des re my photo, I would gladly
send him one, provided he answers this.
Yuri Yum.
A young man would like to have a lively,
lovely, young lady of good education to cor
respond with :
My age 27, years, height 5 ft. 10 in., weight
1«5, complexion fair, eyes and hair dark. Ad
dress, care Sunny South.
Lone Wanderer
Have a great big heart for some dear, sweet
tempered little lady. Won’t some of you bru-
netts come to my rescue? Am 25, dark eyes,
brown wavy hair, medium size. Am not
handsome as Appolo, but kinder than the
kindest to friends and those I love. Object a
good friend, a good wife or a good time. Now
some of you dear pretty little brunetts write
me, and I will be honest with you. Address,
care Sunny South, Renco.
I, as other girls, have an ideal, he inu3t be
true, grod and intelligent. Age between 25
ami .30. Tall, manly looking, and energetic.
Would prefer brunette, as 1 am a blonde, have
a good education and am proficient in house
keeping. WiH leave this an open question:
can I find my ideal through the Sunny South?
Mona.
Dr. Moffett’s Indian Weed Female Medicine
gives bloom to the cheek, elasticity to the
muscles, mental vigor to the brain, and joy
ous, happy smiles where all was despondent
gloom, sadness and depress.
^TLANTA & NEW ORLEANS SHORT LINK.
VICKSBURG AND SHREVEPORT, VIA MONTGOMERY.
i) jl v line operating double dally trains and Pull
man Buffet Sleeping Cars between Atlanta and New
Orleans wl'hont change
Takes * II *ct Sunday, I)**c. 56. 1886
Dally.
Leave Atlanta l 20 pui
Arrive Falrburn 2 08 pm
Palmetto 2 20 pm
Newnan 2 47 pm
Gramville 3 13 pm
LaGrange 352pm
West Point 4 20 pm
Opelika 5 in pm
Ar. Cviumbus, Ga.6 34 pm
Ar. Montgomery 7 15 pm
Ar. Penaaecia 5 no am
Ar. Mobile 2 15 am
Ar. New Orleans 7 12 am
DUly.
12 20 am
1 05 am
117 am
1 40 am
2 17 am
3 oo am
3 32 »m
4 21 am
11 ol am
6 45 am
200 pm
No. *.
DUly.
5 05 pm
6 14 pm
6 26 pm
653 pm
NORTH HOUND .
Lv. New Orleans
Mobile
Pensacola
Selma
Montgomery
Ar. Columbus
Lv. Cpellka
A r. West Point
La Grange
Hogan (mile
Grantrllle
Newnan
Palmetto
Kolrbnrn
Alania
Nt> 61.
Lsllj.
Dxtly.
8 05 pm
7 55 am
12 55 am
l 20 pm
10 20 pm
7 05 -m
4 00 am
io 20 am
7 35 am
11 oi am
15 pm
o 46 am
10 29 pm
10 27 am
n 12 pm
io 58 am
11 44 pm
11 23 am
ll 37 am
12 25 am
12 03 pm
12 52 am
12 20 pm
i !8am
12 41 pm
1 31 am
1 25 pm
2 15 4m
TO SELMA,
Dally.
7 331
7 501
8 23 a
8 561
»il a
in oo i
No s
8 30 pm
11 30 pm
Greensboro
Akron
Meridian
Vleksburz
Shreveport
No 51.
330 pm
5 50 pm
5 50 pm
6 20 pm
oio pm
12 30 am
7 30 am
6 45 Dm
THROUGH CAR SEKVACn.
Newti?iea P ns.'" anBU “ et S e8p " ,g *«■>“» to
No. 52. Pullman Buffet Sleeping ear, Waihlnvt™
Sy > ».T« FUU ““
uto°TeiL a ;!aMSg c e" free 01 «*■«■<.
te^AUanUL a'tSsS
No. 53 Pullman Parlor ear. NewOrloana to Wna.
gomory and Pullman Buffei 81eepln2“aTMc£t:
gomery to Washington. F * mom-
*au“ F “* Ul Steeping ear tree of charge Toxaa
CHAS. H CROMWELL.
to Atlanta.
CECIL QABBBTT,
U “ 6 “ l Gja ~ Agnot.
A J. OKME, Goo. Agt. *M. CJIHABP, Par*. A(t-
Atianta, Georgia.
