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THE 8UNNY SOUTH. ATLANTA, GA, SATl JOAY MORNING. SEPTEMBER 17. IP 87.
L ,TII AUTHOS'S ADVAHCE FBOOrSHBSrS—81CUIID IIFMMLT FOE TU “lOWT BOOTH. 1 ']
THE DUCHESS.
By the Author of “Phyllis,” “Molly Bawn,” "Mrs. Geof-
“Lady Branksmere,” Etc., Etc.
frey,
CHAPTER XII.
"Witt white feet hml,ed from no
Thrown limw «m tne <11—nchantoaair-
boat L »,o went weepiog nnil» winter a aay.
A Nonnd, silerc* And then
•‘Hnrtf No. Oh nor
Her voice ia a mere nigh. In
face uplifted to hiB, what ia it tha heaeea.
Such a swift, sweet. »by glance as she gives
him; such a tender light there ia m the lovely
eves: such a faint happy trembling of the per
fect lipa. What does it all say?
With a feeling of misery as yet unknown to
him. the young man slowly loosens his arm
around her and lets her eo. Puts her from
him, as it were, that innocent temptress.
She knows nothing, however, of the thoughts
that sting and torment him. She has recov
ered herlslf inickly, and with * girl’s first m-
stimt. seeks to hide the tenderness that had
for an instant fl ashed into being startling her
almost as keenly as it had shocked him. She
flings it all from her by a supreme effort. She
is laughing. The tender smile has died; he
might almost indeed believe that that strange
sweet light had never shone within her eyes
“Now that you have rescue i me from a wa
tery grave,” says she, gaily, ‘‘I suppose I am
bonnd in common grati ude to forgive you
But yon were cross. Come and sitnown here,
Denis, and tell me all about the people I am
going to meet to-morrow. First, your
mother.”
Except that her eyes do not meet his as
freely as of old, he could bring himself to
think that that revelation of a minute siuce
was but part of a cruel dream. But be had
seen; he cam ot forget. He knows! Ani with
the wild mad j-.y the knowledge brings him,
there is also a sense of despair and of dishonor
One thought haunts him. He should have told
^ “ What is your mother like?" asks the
Duchess, giving him a little push with her
hand to ‘‘wake him up,” aa she says. He has
flnng bimoelf on the grass at her feet.
'•She is tall, fair, Handsome.’
“Sot like you, then?” with some disappoint
ment. , . ,
‘ No,” says Denis, unable to refrain from a
short laugh at this naive rejoinder.
“Doyou think,” anxiously, “that I shall get
on with her?”
“Spare yourself speculation on that score,
says he, quickly. “Everyone gets on with mv
mother; aim you are sure to love her, because
she will love you. She is graciousness itself.
She is beloved by all She is the sweetest wo
man in the world,” says h-r son, not with en
thusiasm, but with a settled conviction that is
clearly the i.rowih of many years, and is not
possible to shake.
“How you love her!” says the Duchess,
looking with approval at him. “Just the same
way that l love dad. Weli, go on, tell me
about tne others "
“hotter wait till you see them.”
“No. f should like a por rait or two before
hand. They help one. What of that cousro
who stays with you so much. Katherine, is it
not?” , „ . , „
‘•Katherine, certainly. With a K, mind
“Does that mean that she is an austere per
son? Is a Katherine with a C more pliable? I
can’t take in such frivolous descriptions. Tell
me more of her. Stic interests me in some
strange way. Some way that is not pleasant,
I think. Well, what is she like?”
“She is English The most English person
in England—or out of it, I’m positive.”
“I don’t mean that, th nigh I knew she
would be of the precise and liigid order. What
I mean is—is she pretty?”
“She is a daughter of the gods, divinely tall,
and most—confoundedly fair,’ ” says Delaney,
with a mournful glance of admiration at the
dark, brilliant, loving eyes and ches nut locks
of the girl oeside him. “She is perfect at ali
points. You could not find a flaw in her, and
you could not rufiio her or taKe her S lack to
save your life. She always knows exactly
what to sav, and as a rule she says it, whether
you like i’.'or not; and she’s a very good giri
you know,” says he, pulling himself up short
ly, as if a little ashamed of his treatment of the
case in question.
“Does she live at Ventry?”
“N—o. Not exactly. She has heaps of ,
money and can therefore go where she pleases; J
but g< nerally it pleases her to go wherever my I
mother chances to be; and at all events she j
makes our place her headquarters.”
“Why?” asks the Duchess, suddenly. She
is looking him fair in the eyes, a little in
creased brilliancy in her own. Is there some
thing in his manner, haltiLg, uncertain, reluc
tant, that conveys to her a vague suspicion of
the truth.
“Why?” she says again, leaning forward as
though to read his face, and he, as if unable to
meet at this crisis the gars of those earnest
honest eyes, turns over on his face and bi g.ns
to pull up absently the blades of grass before
him.
“Why?” repeats she, with gentle persist
ence; yet there is something in her tone that
warns him she will be answered.
“Because, f >r one thing, she is my mother’s
niece, and because.”—unsteadily—“some day
I am going to marry her l"
Dead silence l Delaney goes on mechanical
ly plucking up the grasses; whilst the Duchess
sits with her small brown hands tightly folded
in her lap, gazing fixedly at the beech hedge
opposite. She does not see it, how* ver. There
is a little mist before her eyes—a sickening
feeling at her hear'—a wild crav.ng to be alone;
but above and beyond all, a sense of shame!
Only a tew minutes since she had learned the
great secret of her life—the sweetest secret the
world could ever tell her, as then shedreamed;
and now—already—it is a source of disgrace to
her, an igi omtiy, an ever-l ving reproach,
fine grain of comfort indeed she has, and to
that she clings with a desperate strength. He
does not know! He cannot; and be never
abaft
He is talking now, and in a dull sort of way
she is aware that his voice is very unlike the
joyous oue that has become to her so fatally
dear.
“It began when we were boy and girl to
geiher,’ he is saying, in a rather monotonous
way, like one repeating an abhorred lesson.
‘ It—I don’t ki ow how it lezanl We drifted
into i’, I suppose, b<cause we were cousins;
good friends if you w II, but—nothing more!”
“Doyou think she wo dd like you to discuss
her with—with a stranger?” says the Duchess,
gently; tut oh! what is ihe mater with the
flesh, glad, youi g voice? “If—if I were en
gaged to aiiy one, I don’t think I should like
the man I was going to marry to talk so of me
to Bui—obi I forgot,” with a determined but
most mournful smile, “a cousin, according to
you, is as a brother, ai d of course one’s
brother may say and do what he pleases; and
if he cannot make a coutidaute of his sister—
■why—” .. .
“Norahl” He has risen to his feet, and she
can see that he is deadly pale.
“And why”—hurrieoly, and with a little
unminhful laugh— ‘»hy do you call her Kath
erine? Kitty, now I Kitty is a sweeter, a more
loving name. Ahl you should mend your man
ners ” ,,
“Norab, don’t speak to me like that. If you
would only let me—”
“I ki ew a girl once called Kitty," inter
rupting him feverishly. “Such a pretty girl as
she was! She died. Many people die; but
jou- Kitty won’t die, I hope.”
“N«d She won’t I” shortly.
“With what a certainty you say that! And
yet—don’t you know it is always those whom
welo«e best—who . But,” wearily, and
with a last flickering smile, “what a bird of ill-
ou 3D I ami Do not mind me.”
“If it comes to taikiDg of her whom I love
best," begins he, recklessly, “you must know
tint - **
“Take care!” mn s she, m a tone so low, but
•f sush extreme hauteur, that it startles him
Can it be the childish creature standing before
him who has given ntteranoe to it. Her lipa
•re white, but her eyes are flashing. A n hi
nt* later she speaks again in her ordinary tone.
“Come home,” she says, very naturally—the
elight touch of passion has evident I v restored
in a meat are her n eutal balance. “1’m tired, I
thick, aDd dad will be wanting me.” She
■tops a? if struck bv some thouebt, and then
goes'on again. “That is a good thing to re
m> mber,” she says, “that dad wiU always be
waiting me.”
CHAPTER XIII.
“I am sure care's an enemy to life.”
The great deck in the western tower is giving
out five resounding strokes as the carriage
draws up at the ball door of Cattle Ventry.
The shar es of evening are already descending,
•nd a soft mellow glow diffuses itself over the
■loping lawns and the gay pleasaunce that lies
on the right hand side of the magnificent old
honae. Peacocks are strutting up and down
upon the stone terraces, and a perfume fra
grant and drowsy steals up from the gardens.
The Duchess, stepping to the ground, looks
round her with an appreciative eye. She is
very pale, either from the long journey, or an
uncertainty about her next move; but she is
perhaps a little upheld by the charming hat
she is wearing, a new one, and one quite un-
preo dented hitherto in the annals of her
wardrobe. A hat rejoicing in delicate plumes,
and of as dainty a nature altogether as any
young woman ever born in the pnrple could
desire. It is a present from dad, who had
drawn upon his very lean recourses to get it
for her, ud who had sent for it all the way to
Dublin.
She follows D-nis into the spacious hall,
where he would fain have said some word of
welcome to her, bat the words refuse to come,
and, turning abruptly aside, he opens the door
of a room ou bis right.
There is a curtain beyond it, and from be
yond that again comes to the tired little trav
eler the gay sounds of many voices—a laugh
or two—me cheerful tinkle of cups and spoons.
Denis has pushed aside the curtain, and as he
looks into tbe room all eves there see him.
“You have come? Well?” cries a gay,
rather saucy voice. A voice the Duchess likes.
And then:—
“So you have escaped with your life for the
sec rod time?” says another voice, low and
sweet, and tainante but with a little delicate
sneer running through it A voice that drives
the blood with a rush to Norah’s cheeks “And
have you impounded the little Aborigine?
Have you brought her intact? None of the
feathers wanting? The war-paint all there?
The—’’
Denis, with a vehement haste, steps back
into the hall, closing the door behind him. He
has flushed painfully, a dark red, and as he
looks nervously at Norah, she sees an expres
sion round his mouth that is new to her. It is
hard, almost revengeful.
“The room is full,” he says, hurriedly.
“You will uot perhaps like to go in and see
them all until >ou have rested a little while.
My mother is not there, but she will come to
you.”
* Fray da not be so unhappy about it,” says
the Duchess, with a little faint gmiie. “I do
not mind it at all Feople will jest, you know.
Was it Katheri >e?”
“Miss Cazilet might have been there I ”
“No, do net say it Is it worth it?” inter
rupts she, coldly. “You need not invent any
thing. There is no necessity for It, as I shall
kno V for myself by and bye. Be sure I shall
remember that v> ice always.”
“I tegret that this rudeness ’’ he is be
ginning moodily, when he stops shor.. What
is it he would say? Wbat is the matter with
•him? Why can he not speak to her as he used
to do in those first, glad, sweet old days, when
I his shadow that now rests ever between them
was uuknown? He is still struggling with his
• ft >rt to say something to her in a more natu
ral manner, when a footstep near startles them
both.
It is Madam Delaney. She comes qnickly
up to Norah, and laying both her hands on tier
shoulders, looks at her long and earn* sily.
Something of sorrow deepens her gaze after a
moment or two. There is that in the girl’s
beautiful face that reminds her of ihe husband
ol her youth, lost such long time ago, but never
forgotten.
“My dear, dear child,” she says with a soft,
long sigh, and, plscing her arms round her,
kisses her with a lingering tenderness. It ia
plain that the little Duchess has in her first
moment found a warm coiner in that gentle
heart.
With the embrace just received, a sense of
rest, of suppirt, enters into Norah. There is
something in the calm, handsome face of
madam to inspire instant confidence in the be
holder, and Norah gives herself up to her with
out a fear. She maybe English (and just of
late Norah has begun to hate all Engl sh wo-
nen), she may be Scotch, Welsh, a Hottentot.,
it you wnl; but she could not possibly feel more
at home with her all at once if she had beeu an
Irish woman born and bred.
“You are tired, darling You will come up
to your room with me,” sayB madam, fondly
stroking the girl’s little, slim, trembling baud.
“Thank you, Auut Maud.”
“No, not that I’’ .ay*. laoJam, I laughing.
’ Katherine and many others cad me Aunt
Maud, and now I should like a change That
is only natural, eh, Denis? You shall call me
Auntie—if you don't mind,” with tbe sweetest
glance. “I have so pined to be addressed by
that name all my life by my numerous English
nieces and nephews, but they would none of it.
Said I was of too imposing a build, too majes
tic for such familiarities. But I think my lit
tle Irish niece will uot fail me.”
“No—no, indeed!” says Norah, shyly; and
then more shyly still, but with an adorable
smile, “No, indeed, Auntie.”
“She is a witch—a syrenl” cries madam,
greatly pleased, appealing to Denis for sympa
thy. I’oor Deuis! “And what a little thing
she is! Come up-stairs, darling, and let me
take off your things at once. My maid shall
be yours after today; but just now I should
like to have you for half an hour all to myself.”
She is Deuis’ mother, and she has lost the
first slender, sj mnetrical curves and outlines;
yet there is still an honest j outhfulness about
her singularly attrac ive. Her mouih is large
and loving, her eyes blue; and the soft lace cap
that rests upon her head hideB hair that is as
soft and silky as a girl’s, and without a thread
of gray in it.
“Denis told me so much about you,” says
she, when she had helped the Duchess to take
off her things, “that I feel as if I knew you.
But with you of course it is different. I niu.st
be more or less an utter stranger to you.”
“Oh, no! If Denis talked of me to you, he
must, I think, have talked even more of you to
me; and all he said was of such a sort that I
knew if I did not love you it would be my own
faul
“Did he? Did he really so describe me?
says madam, a delicate color rushing to her
cheek. “Oh! Norahl if I c< u.d tell you what a
son he isi” Her gentle face is indeed alight
with a lovtly gratification. “But you are tired,
dear child. You must take a glass of wine."
She fusses over the girl in a mild, kindly way
foi a little wh le, taking very evident p easure
in her, and presently sitting down, takes oue
of her hands between her own.
“I am glad you have come back to Ireland,”
says Norah after a while, “-felfishly glad, I
mean. Your coming has made you knowu to
me.”
“A pretty compliment,” smiling. “Yes, and
I am elad loo, lor certain reasons; but for the
rest I confess I am a coward, Norah,
where 1) ilia is concerned, and I dread the re
subs ot this visit.”
“But why ? The people round here—are they
so disafft cted towards their landlord?”
“What a superfluous question in disloyal
Kern I Have you forgotten tbe tragic event
that occurred within the past, two years on this
estate? Are you ignorant of ibe daily, hourly
crimes that are bring emmi 1 ted throughout the
country? When I)er is decided on coming over
and superintending affairs himself, I felt I dared
not try fo influen e him against the decrees of
his conscience; butlfel. also that he carried
his life in bis bands, and that I should never
know a happy moment spent amongst these
bloodthirsty creatures ”
“Still they may respect Denis when they
would not a paid agent.”
“A vain hope They have not respected him.
Already be has had two threatening letters,
and last week twenty-five poor, dumb, defence-
less beasts—cows of his—were most brutally
mutilated. It sickens me to think of it,” says
madam, who has grown rather pale. “And it
they will not spare innocent creatures that car
rot thwart or harm them, how Will it be with
thoae whe ” She atop* abruptly, and a
strong shudder runs through her frame. “I
assure you I dwell always on the worst side of
it,” she says.
“But if Denis were to try to conciliate
them?” hazards Norah.
“That is not to be hoped for. Yon have
seen only Denis’s happiest mood*, those he
keeps for bis mother,” with a very loving
smile, “and the few be really likes, as he likes
you, child; but he can be terribly determined
at times, and the death of that poor young
man, bis agent, still rankles in his mind.
There are mutterings in the very air we
breathe, warnings in every breeze. It is in
terror I seek my bed at night; I scarcely know
what it is I dread, yet fear overwhelms me now
and then, and I leel certain at least of this,
that revenge will be attempted.”
“But revei ge for what?” asks Norab, grow
ing anxious.* “How has Denis exasperated
tbe people.”
“For one thing, he has refused to accept
their terms (very iniquitous ones) with regard
to pay ment of rents that are now, some of
them, over three years due. He will give no
quarter, he says, to those who gave no quarter
to his Bordered agent. He will mete oat
measure for measure, full and perfect He is
wrong, perhaps?” questions the anxious moth
er, looking at Noimh as if lor contradiction.
“One can hardly blame him,” replies she,
with a sigh.
“Not I, for one; hat yet I fear his uncom
promising attitude may—may— Dear Norahl”
rising to her feet and beginning rapidly to paoe
the room, “I cannot pat my fears into words,
bnt I know and anticipate only evil from our
sojourn here. Well, well,” makiDg an effort
to overcome her agitation, “I have no right to
•ten my troubles upon you in this the first
hoar of our meeting; end indeed you must be a
witch to drag them from me thus; for I confess
to y ou, Norah, I have never yet hinted of them
to living soul save yon, lest it ahonid come to
Denis's ears and dishearten him, by making
him think I was unhappy here.”
“Yon would not leave?” uncertainly.
“Oh! no! 1 may be unhappy now for biro;
bat to be away from him when danger threat
ened wonld be more than I could endure. Yon
see I tell ycu all,” smiling. “There must be
some subtle sympathy between ns to make me
thus confide in you.”
She sighs, and again presses the girl’s thin
little Land lingeringly between both her own
■oft while palms.
“I am glad you like me,” says the Duchess,
slowly.
“It is more than that, I think,” says madam,
in her gentle earnest way. She is looking with
a s range fixed expression at North. Again
she sees in the girl's beautiful face that vivid
likeness to her dead, to tbe lover-husband of
her youth.
“Do you know,” she says, leaning towards
her, “I am going to make believe you are my
little daughter whilst you are wit h me? I have
often wished I had one really. Not that Dan
is,” quickly, as if fearful of doing ii justice to
the beloved sou, “ever left me much to wisb
for; but still, you know, a dauguter must be a
precious gift.”
“You have Katherine,” says the Duchess,
looking at her strangely.
“Yes; yes. And she is a very dear girl, too.
Yes; oi course.” There is aslight suspicion of
strain, as it seems to Norah, in madam’s kind
ly manner. “And Danis, darling, what did
you think of him? He is not like me, eh?”
.“Oh! jes; very,” exclaims the Duchess,
warmly. “In spite of your blue eyes and fair
hair, he is marvellously like you.”
“So people say,” with a pleased air. “More
like me than like his father. You,” with a
sharp indrawing of her breath, “are like Aim?
Well, and so you are to be my daughter for a
while; and being so anxious a mother, I have
ordered some pretty gowns for my little girl to
be ready for her home-coming.”
It ia impossible to describe the sweetness
with which she breaks this intention of hers to
N irah Who could resent it when that sweet
smile sc'ompauies the wonts.
Obi Auntiel” says tbe Duchess, flushing
crimso . And then:—“But,” in a low tone,
if dad should not like it. Your giving me
clothes, I mean.”
“Tut, my dear; Neil will like me to do my
best for you, be sure of that. He will wish me
to care for you as though you were indeed my
very own.”
“M -ill * II iw strange it sounds. To the
Duchess it is so inconceivably odd to hear her
lather thus alluded to by his Christian name,
that involuntarily she smiles. Somehow it
pleases her; it seems so friendly towards her
dear dad now so far away, and all at once her
heart seems to open still fariher to hi r new
found friend.
“Of course I could not manage about the ex
act fit,” sat s madam; “but my maid is an in
valuable persdn, a perfect treasure, and as
good a dressmaker as I know. Now, wiil you
come down stairs with me and be introduced
to the others, or ”
“I’ll go down, I think.”
“That is right, dear. Better get the awk
wardness over at once; and besides, you will
be able to make a choice as to your partner at
dinner later on. D in’t trouble to talk. You
are fatigued by your journey; that will excuse
a little taciturnity. I suppose you would like
Denis to take you in to dinner, but ”
“Oa! no!”
So sharply do the words fall from her, that
madam turns her glance more d ractly on her.
“You and he are good friends?” she says,
somewhat of question in her tone.
“Yes; friends,” says the Duihess, faintly.
Madam’a kindly, keen blue eyes are still
searching her face.
' “Everyone likes him,” says the latter, after
a minute or two, carelessly, though there is a
touch of uneasiness in her manner. “He is
very popular What I mvself shall do without
him by-and-bye, when—when he ”
“When he is married to Miss Cazalet you
lunt.'iS’' puts in the I>u .buss; uivimiig m® un
easiness. and determined to combat it to the
death, if only for her own pride’s sake
“Yes. When he marries Katherine," says
madam, relieved in part, but still vaguely
troubled as she looks at the proud cold little
face before her that has grown so unmistaka
bly pale. “Come down with me, and let us
see if we can yet rescue a cup of tea,” she
gays, rising and drawing the girl’s arm within
her own. Almost as they reach the door of
the library she turns to whisper softly:—“By-
the bye, I had forgotten, darling. There is a
friend of yours here. Quite a new arrival. He
came yestrrday. Lord Kilgarriff.”
[to fiE CONTINUED ]
The Household a Monopoly.
Automn has printed his first kiss upon Na
ture’s cheek in the shape of a sunless wind
from the North, and it has caussd even the
lazy clerks to “prick up their ears” in antici
pation of having something to do besides nod
on the sidewalks.
Teachers and pupils are making ready for a
new year of labor and study; and from the
smiles I see on some of their faces, they are
eager for the fray. I hope all pupils and teach
ers have had as pleasant a vacation as I have
had. I have realized this summer more fully
than ever before, that the world has a great
respect for independent people. Although
only a “bread winner,” I have found every
body kind and cordial. There is nothing that
makes life swee er than to possess Ihe loving
tristfulness of our fellow beings, and the con
sciousness that we deserve it.
Mother Hubbard, can’t you stir up the gen
tlemen of our Household and make them con
tribute oftener to our entertainment?
Monopolies are rare.y pleasant, and the
adies are fast taking up all the space. Not
that the letters are not interesting (and you all
know that I love women), but then it would
seem less like a “Ladies Aid Society” or “An
Old Maid’s Farty,” to have ino-e of the “Lord’s
of creation" about. The H. would be better
for a visit from Keer, Chips, good-natured
Don Carlos, and our law>er member.
Even our ever faithful Veri'aa has not been
to see us m some lime. I always look for-
wrrd wilhsoniucli pleasure to lire reading 'if
his letters. Have you forgotten, Veritas, that
you once promised me one of your p ctures?
Say, B. C. A , wny aid you act so naughty
in that Household le.ier? I felt vexed with
you. The idiaof.those who know me well not
guessing who was uieani! You outlined the
p eture too well, even if the coloting was rather
too brilliant.
I have had ever so many to rush at me and
say, “Oh yes, you wouldn’t tell me yonr
Household name, but I have found out all the
same ” I vowed to change my nom, but some
won’t hear to it, say they have learned to love
Italic, and do not want her under any other
nom. So see in what a trying position you
have placed me. It may he mean, but I am
going to be revenged by telling he H., that
you gave your initials backwards, that they
ought to have been A. C B , and now, if any
one knows who you are under this change—
why, I’ll be glad, that’s all.
So L N II has taken unto herself a “B
Well, B is an honest letter, I am partial to it
myselt, and I predict that it will bring you
good lurk. But please, dear, Cou’t give us the
• G B ” as Quieu Sabo has done. We hope
to hear from you oftener now than ever.
We agree as to She. Haggard is no nincom
poop, though he might as well be if we all
thought as some (lo.
Fats, I was surprised to see you a few weeks
ago, because you had said iu your last letter
beiors, that you never intended lo enter the II
again. Between you and me, I didn’t believe
tiiat when you said it. And now eomes our
dauntless Nixy with her “final farewell.” I
think it downright crutA of the Householders
to make us love" them, Jmbn waft us an ever
.‘e 4
serves—if the writer will only try Mrs. Hill’s
receipt (I suppose her cook book is certainly
used in Georgia), and add a few lemons to the
mixture, she cannot fail to be pleased with tbe
result—the lemon keeps it from being insipid.
I wonder if we could get up a little ripple of
excitement ia our placid circle by discussing
Temperance I am a warm ad vacate of prohi
bition, and hope ail tbe ladies are; but perhaps
some of our gentlemen friends think different
ly, and f would like to hear their arguments
Anyway, this is a good time to enjoy cooling
Temperance drinks, and I am going to wait
very impatiently now to see if any of our band
will come out on the other side.
Mother flubbatd, please give me some sug
gestions about startii g a circulating Horary
in a small town, and will not you and some of
our members suggest some books—we have
bad a good many solid works contributed but
now we are puzzling our brains over those of a
lighter order that will make our enterprise in
teresting to all.
I had a delightfnl serenade last night, but
really it was so warm 1 wondered how any one
whs capable of that much exertion.
I heard a thrilling little romance in real life
last week, but my letter is already so long I
will have to reserve it for next time.
Musa Dunn, please give me your real ad-
fress so 1 can write a private letter to you,
that is if vou would like to hear from me.
Hot Springs, Ark. Little Bess.
Freight Charges Seventy Tears Ago.
[Boston Post.]
A magazine published in Philadelphia in
1818 gave the following as an item of Dews:
“In the course of the twelve months of 1817,
12,000 wagons passed the Allegai y Mountains
from Philadelphia and Baltimore, each with
from four to six horses, carrying from thirty-
five to forty hundred weight. Tne cost of car
riage was about $7 per hundred-weight, in
some cases as high as $10 to Philadelphia.
The aggregate sum paid for the comeyance of
goods exceeded $1.500,(MX) ” To move a ton
of freight, between Pittsburgh and Philadel
phia, therefore, cost not less than $140 and
took probablv two weeks’ time. In 1880 the
av-rage amount recei red by th‘ Penney vania
railroad for the carriage ol freight was three-
quarters of 1 cent, per Ion per mile The dis
tance from Philadelphia to Pittshu r gh is 385
miles, so that the ton wh'ch cost $140 in 1817
was carried in 1880 For $2 87. At the form r
time the workingman in Philadelphia had ;o
pay $14 for moving a barrtl of 11 >ur from Pitts
burgh, against 28 cents now. The Pittsburgh
consumer paid $7 freight, up in every 100
pounds of dry goods brought from Philadelphia,
which 100 p oinds is now hauled in two cays
at a cost of 14 cents.
Capita'ists in Bu»nos Ayres ar. establishing
a hmse railroad two hundred miles long. Sieum
is not unknown in that region. In fact, it is
well understood and used where wanted, but
in this case it is calmly and doubibssly judi
ciously set aside for horses. 1’heBe animals,
or mules, are cheap; the market is perenuiallv
glutted with time, so that speed is of small
consideration, while steam is comparatively ex
pensive.
The capitalists ascertain that they can make
more money by using horses or muies and do
so The people w mid rather go two hundred
miles at a j >g trot speed for five dollars, than
pay six dollars aud go five times as fast. It is
probabie that they prefer the lower rite any
how. The road is to be equipped with sleep
ing cars. It is a pleasure to contemp'ate a
people of this kind They offer such a refresh
ing contrast to our citizens, who are constant
ly straining every nerve to go through the
world as fast as possible.—Nero York World.
Is There a Cure for Consumption?
We answer unreservedly, yes! Tf the patient
commences in time the use of Dr PiercaVGol-
den Medical Discovery,” and exeic.se proper
care. If allowed to run its course too long ail
medicine is powerless to stay it. Dr. Pierce
nev> r deceives a patient by bolding out a false
hope for the sake of pecuniary gain. The “Gol
den Medical Discovery” has cured thousands
of patients when nothing else seemed to avail.
Your druggist has it. Send two stamps for Dr
Pierce's complete treatise on consumption with
numerous testimonials. Address Wor d’s Dis
pensary Medical Association, Buffalo, N. Y.
General Neal Dow, the originator of the
Maine liquor law, is 84 years old and his hair
is as white as suow. He is in vigorous health
and is more active than most men of fifty. He
devotes bis entire time to the study of politics
and the advancement of the cause of temper
ance. _
Hay Fever.
I have suffered greatly from periodical re
turns of Hay Fever. At the suggestion of
Covert & ( heevar, Drug;ists, I obtained E'y’s
Cream Balm, ar.d used a portion of it during
a severe attack. I can cheerfully testify as to
the immediate a: d continued relief obtained by
its use. I heartily recommend it to those suf
fering from this or kindred complaints.
(Rev.) H. A. SMITH, Clinton, Wis.
lasting adieu. I ha’e ‘ Vg.ve you up, Nixy,
for I admired your leu spokeunesa. I like
people who are not afnud to speak their hon
est sentiments. ft
Troy, Miss. ->A Italie.
A. l'«W WOldS^y^'Arioth Tuy/tes.
Lear Mother Hubbard and Kind Friends: My
congratulations to N. L. B., and thanks to her
for her last interesting letter. It has put new
life into my sluggish blood. All this summer
I have feit so devoid of energy, aud for the last
several days have imagined(?) I had symptoms
of the fearful fever which is raging in our
midst—that dreadful typhoid fever, which
holds its victim by a thread to life for weeks;
then, just as the dear ones watching the sick
begin to hope, death comes and friends and
neighbors are shocked at the news. It has
felled two of my former pupils within the last
month. One boarded with us when a little boy
and attended my little school. He was so
bright, and gave promise of a brilliant career.
Ills speeches on Friday afternoons entertained
us, aud bis le.ters and compositions were so
original. While with us he began writing a
book. Though only eight or nine years old,
he wrote four pages on large paper a day for
some time, and his composition was remark
ably gi od. He fulfilled the promise of his early
years at college, where he ttood high, receiv
ing a prize in declamation, aud in one more
year would have receivi d his diploma; but, like
a flower too beautiful tor this earth, his ljfe was
short, and m a flower-covered white coffin he
wan borne in a while hearse to his last resting
place. His peace was made with bis God, and
he is in Heaven sbiuing like a star to guide us
there. My other pupil was just grown. He
was one of the first I had ever taught. Always
good and thoughtful in school, it was a pleas
ure to instruct him. He was remarkably pi)
lite and kind-hearted. It was with a sad heart
1 joined in the mourning around his fl iwer
covered coffin; but it was comforting to know
that he, too, had found that "peac 1 which pase-
eth all understanding.” T rough we can’t help
grievii g over the loss of our friends, we must
oe ieve that God knows be-t. God wants some
of ihe best of earth for Heaven, and, like a gar
dener transplanting fi iwers, H> wall's variety;
hence he takes the young as well as the old
Free Lance, I am glad something inspired
you to come again am mg us; but you mistook
me when you sa d Irevivtdyour inquiry and
interest in the “Light of Asia.” Musa Dunn
introduced that suujeet. That is not the first
linn our ntmis have collided, ell, Musa? F. ee
Lance, I do not agree with you. I have had
the pleasure of meeung several of my unknown
tiiends. aud iu every instance toeir peisoual
charms have exceeded my expectations. I had
seen photographs of some, and the pictures did
not no the i riginals justice. 1 think photo
graphs misrepresent any way, ar.d I do not be
lieve iu sending one to an unknown friend; and
aa for these portraits in newspapers, they in
crease a person’s ugliness ten fold. I never
want to see a picture of a dear iriend sitting in
the column of a newspaper. Even if on meet
ing an unknown friend (a spiritual friend) we
are cisappointed iu finding s jiuo little personal
defects, oue w ith knowledge and chari y can
overio ik these; aud by balancing them with the
mental aud spiritual traits before kuown, the
latter will weigh most, and the friendship, if a
true friendship, will not bo discarded. We
should all remember that perfection non est iu
this world among morta s, and that generally
the f .ults we find iu others we have ourselvea.
“Jud.e not, that ye be not judged; for with
wbat judgment ye judge ye shail be judged,
and with what measure ye mete it auall be
measured to you again.” Never were words
truer. Fault finders are most faulty. I do uot
agree with Emerson iu everything, though be
says many wise aud true sayings. I think
friends should know each other lace to face,
and ] do uot care to have a friend that could
Dot stand such a test.
Thanks to all for kind words.
Verita», let us know when those poems are
in book form.
Where is Leal Kimmer? I heard she was
dead, but that was not true, as I have since
heard. Write again Leal—we miss you.
Muda Hktnur.
Tuskegee, Ala.
Dear Mother Hubbard: It my last letter
ever reached you I do not know for I have
been so unfortunate as to miss sev« ral copies
of my papir lately. The long hot days'are
with us now when one feels like doing nothing
but resting fmm sun-rise to sun-set, for the
reason that we get up tired and go to bed ex
hausted. Yet t is is the busiest season of the
year for bousekeepei s, and if the Household
could only peep into my store-room, they
wou d all want to board with me next winter.
I aaw an inquiry not long ago iu the Sunnt
South about how to make watermelon pre-
The Journey Aroun<l My Boom.
My pictures come next. The one I most
value is an engraving of the* picture of our
Lord, copied from the cameo cut on an emer
ald by order of the Emperor Tiberius Cro-ar,
ai d sent to Rome by Publius Leutululus, Pro
consul of Judea
The original cameo was taken to Const,anti-
nople by the Emperor Constantine the Great,
where it was stored among tbe treasures in
the church of Saint Sophia.
Ou the fall of Constantinople it fell into the
hai.ds of the Turks, who kept it until after the
battle of Lepaiito, when it was given as ransom
for the brother of the Sultan taken captive by
the Christians under command of Dot Juan of
Austria D m Juan presented it lo the Pope,
who placed it in the Vatican Museum. The
engraving was made by Bartolini.
It is a profile and is very beautiful. I pur
chased it in New York many years ago from
an old French lady with whom I boarded, and
whose husband was a soldier in Napolean's
army. She said he brought the pic ure from
Rome. Whether he stole it or bought it is
none of my business. I paid the lady for it
and it is mine; it is the only engraving of its
kind I b ve ever seen aud I prize it very much
Yonder on a shelf is a phrenological head in
plaster of Parts. This shows the various or
gans and lit; le slips of paper are pasted on the
head, showing the exact location of each or
gan I have stufied Phrenology in an ama
teur sort of a way and I am a believer in it.
Oil the same shelf are Gray’s Auatony, Lav-
ater’s Physiognomy, Combe’s Phrenology,
Fowler’s Phrenology, and the Anatomy of Ve-
salius bo and in vellum aud printed in Leyden,
Holland.
A large scrap-book stands against the wall
with pictures pasted in it of crimiuals. An
other lies near with pictures of statesmen,
poets and orators I have a great many pho
tograph albums that I gathered up in the old
bi.^k bvwm in Y*»rk: they are fillet* with
photographs of ladies and gentlemen—ali
►trangers to me. The walls are dec irated with
fine engravings which I have gathered up in
various cities where I have been. One of Gen.
Andrew Jackson is engraved from the picture
of Thomas Cole, and is, or was, in the rotunda
of the Capitol at Washington, where I saw it
in 1804. Underneath Jackson's picture is his
autograph—an original one taken from an old
document.
Near this is a picture of Washington, from
the original, by Gilbert Stuart, now in the
Atheneam in Boston. Pictures of Mary, Queen
of Scots, Edwin Forrest. Edwin Booth, Mad
ame Vestvali, Jenny Lind, Miss Neilson—
whose ’ Juliet” was the best I ever saw acted,
and some old programmes from Ford’s and
Grover’s theatre in Washington.
Here is a white satin dancing shoe that once
graced the shapely foot of Lola Montez; on the
lining is the woid “gauche”—meaning it was
the left oue. It was given me by an old friend
of Lola’s, who ditd in oue of the public hospi
tala in New York, as a reward for some little
favor I did him.
Yonder is “The Last Sapper,” engraved
from Leonardo da Venci’s fresco in th con
vent “Della Graize,” in Milan; also his “Mar
riage at Cana.” Under this engraving are the
La'.'n words, “Nympha pudiea Leas videt et
erubwt," from th - English poet Crashaw’s
Lam poem, and which he translated into Eng
lish thus: “The conscious water saw its God
and blushed.” This sentence is said by many
to be the most beautiful in the English lan
guage. I have pictures of Michael Anaelo,
Raphael, Murillo, Rubens, Carlo Dolce, Titian,
Co: regio and Andrea Del Sarto. Also a large
port-folio, containing engravings from famous
pictures by all those ma-ters. Here is a large
picture »f ail the prominent Confederate gen
erals. taken in a group I have had it photo
graphed aud have sent small photos of it to a
great many of my Household friends.
There is a string of buttons from the gray
uniforms of maDy of the Confederate soldiers
who were prisoners of war in the “Old Capitol”
prison at Washington. All tbe buttons have
tlie S ate arms upon them—South Carolina, a
Palmetto tre.; Georgia, a temple; Virginia, a
soldier wita his toot on the nec< of a king, and
the motto, ‘Sic semper tyrannis.” My regi
ment, the Sixth Veteran Reserve, guarded the
“O.d Capitol” and the Carroll prisons 1 went
lo the war in tie Ninety Fifth New York In
fantry, and fought in nearly all the great bat
tles. At Gettysbur I was severely wounded,
and when I came out of the hospital I was
transtei red to the Veteran Reserves. Some of
you who read this, will remember a tall Yan
kee soldier who use! to ask you for buttons ir.
the Old Capitol prison, and who g it himself
into Berious tr uble one hot day in tbe month
of August, 1804, by letting too many of you
out. iu the yard for exercise.
My room is on the third story and it is an
attic, but it is plastered and has two large win
dows one looks up >n the street and the other
upon the garden. In one corner is au iron
camp bedstead, a husk mattress, one pillow
tilled with pine leaves, another pillow fi led
with Soanish moss sent me by a frit nd in F.or-
ida On the bed are two army blankets and a
bed sprtad sent me by S >uthern lafy. I have
a piue table, a kerosene lamp, a solitary chair
and an oaken chest. My b ook-cases are boxes
set on the side nailed together aud painted
blue- I could not get a book-case up those nar
row stairs. I work ten hours a day at my
trade an i am here only at night. When I have
a leisure day I go to New York and pass the
day either in the Astor Library looking for
rare books, or in the Art Galleries. On Sun
days I go to Newark and spend the day with
my sisters. I have only a few Engli-h books.
I had quite a number but I gave them away to
my Soutliert friends I have a good maDy lent
out to Sou-hern girls who are learning lan
guages and they are all making g IM d progress.
Elizabeth, N. J. Ba Jones.
LOCAL AGENTS.
Venerable Priest of Flore.
Dr. Asa Gray, who has been spending sever
al months in England, and on the European
Continent, hod conferred upon him, in June
last, at Cambridge, the degree of Doctor of
Science The Public Orator expressed a hope
that Proft&oor Gi ay might be permitted to see
the completion of that great work of the Flora
of North America, ou wh ci he had b-en so
long engaged, and alluded to him as fiorat
sacerdos venerabil'S, who bad reached the seveu-
ty-sixth year of his age Through all this tract
of vears wearing the white fliwer of £ clame-
leaaiile.”—FtcJfc’a Magazine for September.
The following are local Agents for the Sunnt
South at the places named. We desire a good
agent at every place in tbe South:
Cbas. E. Howard, Augusta, Ga.
K. P. Rose, Augusta, Ga.
Agnes Aycock, Americus, Ga.
Miss Beulah Headen, Belton, Ga.
P. M., Bayard, Ga.
Mrs. M. J. Pate, Bayard, Ga.
E. Whittaker, Brunswick, Ga.
F. M. Ewing, Boiiugbroke, Ga.
Miss Ida Powell, Bos on, Ga.
I. T. Mee, Cedartown, Ga.
W. H. Wikle, Cartersville, Ga.
Jno. W. Ballard, Carrollton, Ga
Miss D)llie Barret, Carrollton, Ga
C. V. Weathers, Cleveland, G %.
Florrie Blasingame, Calloden, Ga
Grier Quigg, P. M , Conyers, Ga
P. M., Cbaunoey, Ga
H. R. Jewett, P. M., Decatur, Ga
Capt. Jno. A. Fulton, Dawson, Ga
J. S. Taylor, Dawsonvi le, Ga.
J G. McKee, Emily, Ga
Mrs. J. N Vanmetre, Euhariee, Ga
Juo. E Fain, Fasevilie, Ga.
R. G Morris. Georgetown, Ga
R H. Hale, Good Hope, Ga.
W D Burch, Hiwassee, Ga.
R. L. J. Smith, Harmony Grove, Ga
Rev. J. T. Humphries, Ha cyoudale, Ga
Miss Ella Smith, Jefferson, Ga.
J. M. Osborn, Mountain Hill, Ga
G. M Morgan, Macon, Ga.
J. R. Culpepper, Macon, Ga
S. B. Fowler, Miliedgeville, Ga
Thos. 11. Clark, Midville. Ga.
Estelle SUinecipher, Mills, Ga.
Bartow Kirkpatri.'k, Marietta, Ga
Willie Clause, Oconee, Ga
P. J. Clark, P. M.. Rockpile, Ga
Jas. M. Coleman, R wived, Ga
Miss Tennie Jobe, Ringgold, Oa
A M Colton, P. M., Social Circle, Ga
J. C. Duggan, Savannah, Ga.
James L Hall, Syivauia, Ga.
Jno. C. R ese. Silver Creek, Ga.
Miss Emma Woodruff, Silver Creek, Ga
J. T. Neal, Thomson, Ga
Miss Mamie Burkhalter. Warrenton, Ga.
l’os'master, Chestnut, Va.
Monroe Proffitt, Floyd, Va
E. S. Newberry, Repass, Va
J I). Bundy, Black’s S:atio.i, S. C.
Mrs. T. S Arthur, Columbia, S. C.
Miss Katie Mi ckbee, Cornwell, S C.
John Young Garliugion, Laurens, S. C.
W. T. McDonald, Mt. Carmel, S. C.
1). H Marctiant, Orangeburg, S C.
Miss May W. Postcll, Orangeburg, S. C.
E O. Webster, Cowpens, S. C.
Mrs. M S. Matthews, Aiken, S. C.
W. T. Jones, Donobo. S. C.
Wm. F Pow, Sandy Run, S. C.
R ibt McKay, Greenville, S C.
Rev J II. Stoudenmere, Greenville, S. C.
Annie V. McCall, P M , Temperance, S. C.
W. A McCulloUga, Trenton, S. C.
Henry P. Brown, Vaughausville, S. C.
A. C. Anderson, Waterloo, S C.
E. Alston Wilks, Wilksburg, S. C.
Singger J. Caldwell, Woodward, S. C.
Sidney Meares, Clarkton, N C.
H Forney, Brittain, N C.
Mrs. H. H Hunt, Asheville, N. C.
Mrs. Mollie Lewis, Ball’s Ferry, N. C.
Geo. W. Langston, Greenleaf, N. C.
John D. Wi E>n, Lenoir, N C.
G S. Biker, Louisburg. N. C.
W. T. Griffin, Nashville, N C.
M. A. Underwood, Norwood, N C.
G H. Aldridge, Progress, N C.
It. M. Tnompson, R-idsville, N. C.
Laura Matheson, Statesville, N C.
A C Noron, Atlanta, Miss.
R. A Evans, Crystal Springs, Miss.
Eugoue Cnarlton, D catur, Miss.
N. Y. Bailey, P. M , Ka ly Grove, Miss.
R W. Spann, Garlandvil.e, Miss.
MissMuuieC Hyatt, luka Miss.
A. II Mor»e, Lauuerdale, Miss.
Ja«. R. Gilmore, P. M., Miston, Miss.
M. A, Mason, Newton, Miss.
Mrs. J. Wilson Clark, Vicksburg, Miss.
A. L. Osborn, Burleson, Ala.
Mrs G. W. Nicholson, Evergreen, Ala.
T. J. Smith, Grassy, Ala.
Miss Alice V. Brownlee, Mulberry, Ala.
P. M„ Ottery, Ala.
Miss Sal lie Mel ou, Opelika, Ala.
O M McLain, Ozaric, Ala.
J. W. Kiafison, South Florence, Ala.
Rosa A Saxon, I’urkeytowu, Ala.
S Q Hall, P. M , Tuskegee, Ala.
<i. «. Espy, University, Ala.
Samson D ibbs, Wills, Ala.
Fenner & Co., Austin, Texas.
G. G. Wootten, Aiiuona, Texas.
A. M. Smith, Bluffton, Texas.
Richard W. Lewis, B.mwiiwo.kI, Texas.
W. C. Minton, Bremond, Texas.
Anne Laura Smith, B g Valley, Texas.
M J. Miller, Beaumont, Texas.
Jas. D Frazer, Carthage, Texas.
C E. Clay, Chilton, Texas
W. A. Disborough, Dallas, Texas.
Lemuel Bailey, Elmo, T.xas
T C. Johnson & Co., Greenville, Texas.
H. S. Thomas, Goldthwaite, Texas.
T. B. McDowell, ass’t P M , Lnling, Texas.
T. S Buchanan, P. M., llailviile, Texas.
W. A Squires, Henrietta, Texas.
Capt. R. E Mims, Nacogdoches, Texas.
J. S. JacKsou, Jr., Marshall, Texas.
J. T. S. Park, Mexia, Texas.
Wm. P. Dashieil, Marlin, Texas.
J. J. Canon, Moscow, Texas.
Miss Lizzie May Lacy, Moody, Texas.
Wm. F. Beck, Paris, Texas
John W. Sauds, R ickwall, Texas.
Miss Dell Koun, San Antonio, Texas.
J. I) Moore, Turnersville, Texas.
J. H. Linn, Troupe, Texas.
D. W. Weir, Tyler, Texas. |
Dr J. W. Shuford, Tyler, Texas.
D. E. Ferguson, San Marcos, Te
J. K. Vlurphy, Waco, Texas.
Cop Hill, Weimar, Texas.
W. P. Medaris, Young, Texas.
J. W. Orrne, A ma, Ark.
S ilou H. Bryan, Brinkley, Ark.
H. C Neal, Tallahassee, Flp.
N R. Barnett, Winter Park, Fla
T. P. Bell, P. M., Lake Cay, Coi
S. B. Wright, Denver, Coi.
Arti ur J. Balfour, P. M , Swift, Neb.
Miss Van-lie Darden, Prescott, Ark.
A. A. Knox, Paragnuld, Ark.
Z-dla II Uailher, Texarkana, Ark.
Mrs. G. W. Irvin. Wncherv lle, Ark.
II A Lemoine, Big Bend, La.
Miss Kittie L Chamber,-, Baton Rogue, La.
Walter Galiaher, Gleulock, Tend.
Jas. N. Justic ■, J jcky, Teun.
J Urn Sebas'in, Martin, Ttnn.
W W. Martin, .Memphis, Tenn.
Mrs. M. R. Grigsby, E. Nashvill^, Tenn.
Warren Yaucv, S imerville, Tend.
J T. Payne, Goar’s Mill, La. ]
D. E. Simms, Butler, vlo
L. A. McFaddiu, P M., Virginia!, Mo.
P. D. Anderson, Kearney, Mo. |
Wm. T. Cmtteniien, P ,M , Schofield, Mo.
John A. White, Jr., Clinton, LaJ
H. Sartorius Duckport, La.
S W. Shuster, Firmersville, Laj
Mrs. Laura E McCook, Na 1 chitoches, La.
J O Colvin, P. M , Rustou, La.
Mrs. Homer King, RoOeliue, Lo.
J. J B. McElrealh, P. M , Cettre, Ala.
Mrs. Belle White, Clayton, Ala.
Win H. Welch, D.-m 'polis, Alai
C. C. E liott, P. M., Co 1 na, Fla.
Mrs. W. A. Monroe, D Funiak, Fla.
John Aibreeht, D Laud, F a
Aleck Mitchell. Fort Mason, Fla.
A. B. Stroud, Haines City, F.a.
Wm. S Livingston, King’s Ferry, Fla.
R Rap, Lake Weir, Fla.
Dr. W. F. Bynum, Live Oak, Fla.
G C. Player, Lakeland, Fia.
Miss Lizsie 6 Thtmas, Madison, Fla.
E S Tyner, Plant City, Fla.
K. F Jones, Quincey Fia.
H L Ray, Quincey, Fha.
W. H. Atkina, St. Auguatine, Fia.
L E Hodges, Seville, Fla.
George Booker, Tampa, Fla i
T. F. Wesson, Jr., Lake City, Fla.
Daniel Boud, Brownsville, Tenn.
B P. Ryan, Concord, Tenn. I
Miss L zzie Boyd, Covington, Tenn.
R. G Gammon, Cauey Branch, Tenn.
S P. Ligon, Kerrville. Tenn.
Geo. H. Hagan, Bardstown, Ky.
R A. Hardin, Beech Grove, Ky.
W B. Williams, Crockett’s Bluff, Ark.
Alfred W. Harris, Louisville, Ky.
Miss Annie Wilson, Harrodsburg, Ky.
Mrs Mol ie E. Monroe, Forest City, Ark.
John F. Ell s, Helena, Ark. i
Mias Bet tie Crenshaw, Imboden, Ark.
Thos. Diilahunty, L icksburg, Ark.
R. L. Smith, Magazine, Ark.
Z E Kerr, P. M , Monticel'o, Ark.
F. V. Winston, Sheridan, Ark. I
I. N. Guthrie, Howard Lake, SOnn. .
Mrs. Francis G Mixter, Worcester, Mass.
P. B. Woodlief, Omaha, Neb.
J. E Betts, Delaware, Ohio.
Hiram A. Clevenstine, Rock Glove, IU.
QUITE AS BAD AS
Zm 01(1 Soldier Talks of HI* Cmnp«.„
Vlrsiul"—Tho Enemy In AinUnah—
Twenty Years After.
Sfi.ma, N. C., Feb. if, 1887.
Gentlemen:—Yours inquiring wheth
er or not I had been benefited by Kas-
kine, and if so to what extent, &c., to
hand. In reply will say that my health
has not been as good in twenty yeai5
as now. I suffered with chills from
malarial poison contracted while sew
ing in the Confederate army on the
Peninsular Campaigns in Virginia. Did
not miss having a chill at least once in
twenty-one days, and more frequently
once in seven days, for more than fif
teen years.
In this condition I visited New Yqrk
in November, 1885, on business.
While there I stopped with Mr. E. D.
Barker, of the University Publishing
Company. I told Mr. Barker of my
condition. He called my attention to
your Kaskine and procured for me a
bottle. After my return home I took
the pellets as directed and found much
relief afforded thereby. Of this change
I wrote Mr. Barker, who sent two or
three bottles during the past year. Ely
health greatly improved. I increased
in weight from 165 pounds to aoo
pounds, my present weight. I believe
the Kaskine did it. Quinine had fail
ed, as had other remedies usually ad
ministered in such cases.
Now, unless in case of exposure to
extra bad weather, I do not have chills,
and my general health is quite good.
I turned over half a bottle to a young
lady friend a few weeks since. I learn
from her mother that she was much
benefited by it while it lasted.
I trust you may be able to introduce
Kaskiuc generally in this country, in
which many suffer from diseases con
sequent upon malarial poison in the
system. From my own experience 1
can emphasize its excellence for SHch
diseases. If I can serve you call 011 me.
I am very truly yours,
John C. Scakrorough.
Seven years ago I had an attack of
bilious remittent fever, which ran into
intermittent malarial. I tried ail the
known remedies, such as arsenic, mer
cury and quinine. The latter was ad
ministered to me in heavy and contin
ued doses. Malaria brought on ner
vous prostration and dyspepsia, from
which I suffered everything. Last win
ter I heard of Kaskine and began us
ing it. A few bottles of the wonderful
drug cured me. Malaria and dyspep
sia disappeared, and as you have seen
a June day brighter for the summer
storm that had passed across the sky,
so the cloud left my life and my health
became steady and stiong
Mrs. J. Lawson,
141 Bergen St., Brooklyn, N. Y.
Mr. Gideon Thompson, the oldest
and one of the most respected citizens
of Bridgeport, Conn., says: “ I ain
ninety years of age, and for the last
three years have suffered from malaria
and the effects of quinine poisoning.
I recently began with Kaskine which
broke up the malaria and increased
my weight 22 pounds.”
Other letters of a similar character
from prominent individuals, which
stamp Kaskine as a remedy of undoubt
ed merit, will be sent on application.
Price $1.00, or six bottles, $5.00.
Sold by Druggists, or sent by mail on
receipt of price.
The Kaskine Company, 54 Warren
St., New York, and 35 Farnugdon
Road, London.
A Classical and Mythological Dictionary.
A new work for popular two. Bj II. C. Faulkner. It la the
design of this volume to provide the ordinary render with ft
brief and concise explanation of tbe ancient Mythoiogk-al. CUeat-
cal. Biographical UlHtorlcal, and Geographical AIIumIom, mask
frequently met with In Engllnh Literature, in art repi * **
of Clue •deal D-ltlea and Heroee, In news-
paper discuselous, and In ordinary speech.
70 Illustrations.
Brief a counts are given of ail the clasnlcal /
heroes mentioned In ancient history ; also/,
of all Mythological Deities, such aa Achlllee.H
Adonis. Ammon. Anubie, Apollo, AtaIauta,B
Atlas. Bacchus. Brahma Buddha,Cerberus, I
Charon, Cupid. Dftgon, Diana. Durga, Escu- I
laplus, Euterpe, II -ho, Helent, Hercules, 1
Indra, Isis. Juno, Jupiter, Krishna, Mars,
Medusa, Mercury, Minerva, Moloch, Nlobe, I
Orpheus Osiris, Pan. Pluto, Psycho, Saturn, *
Byoil, Sirens. Terpsichore. Thalia, Thor,
Thoth, Vuruna, Venus. Vesta. Vishnu, Vul
can Yatua, and hundredsofothers. A hand
book for popular use—convenient, compre
hensive clear, concise, correct—and wr 1
In popular language. Very useful to e
one who wishes to understand those fuh- .
loci®. Cloth.
vviuw.iioa are oombinedthe woiu« opposite
in meaning. By H. U. Fanlkner. For thence
or ail those who woald e^eak or writ9 the Emr-
ish Language d.iently and oorreotly. With
this book at hand any one may readily find a
suitable word to express their exact meaning
aud convey a thought oorreotly. This book is
nvalnable to speakers, writers, authors and
the conversationalist. Handsomely boand in
cloth.
For two new subscribers we will send a oopj
of either of these valuable books in paper bind
ing.
A manual of social etiquette. By Frances Stev
ens. N jthing is given in this book that na9 not
the smotion of observance by the best society—
ooatain 21 chapters. Introductions and Salu
tations, Visiting Garda and Visiting, Strangers
and New oomers. Engagements aud Weddings,
Reoeptious and Debate, Private B tils and tier-
tnans. Fancy Dress and Ma^q lerade Balls Giv
ing, Tdile Decorations and Etiquette, Lunch
eons, Breakfast and Teas, The Art of Enter
taining Letter Writing and Invitations, Aiusi-
otl “At Homes'’ and Garden Parties, Travel
ing Manners and Monrning E iqoette, Wedding
and Birthday Anniversaries and Presents, New
Year's Dty Reoeptions, Important General
Considerations, Brief Hints for every dsy ess.
This book is ndispensible to all who wish to
obtain the most enjoyment from daily inter
course with their fellow beings. Handsomely
bonnd in doth.
THE MELODISTA
10 EGA N|
This Ip b delightful tittle Musical Instrameat
and aff irds great pleasure to any family airala.
It is play ed with a crank like a regular
organ aud the musical notes are oat in strips of
brown paper whieh are drawn through the in
strument ae the crank is turned and the mania
is very fine. It is as load end sweet as a regu
lar hand organ bnt ie not so large and will play
any of the popalar airs of the day. One of thee,
organs with three pieoes et mnaio wiU be lent
to any address for 16 new snbooioers. Any num
ber of pieoes of moeio oan be prooared at a
small additional ooet.