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THE SUNNY SOUTH* ATLANTA, GA, SATUPAY MORNING* SEPTEMBER 24, 1887.
,,0« author's ADVANCE FBOOrSIlERTS—SSCURED .XrnSSLT FOB TRB “.OBBT MUTH.*’]
THE DUCHESS.
Bv the Author of “Phyllis," “Molly Bawn“Mrs. Geof-
frey,” “Lady Branksmere,” Etc, Etc.
v,v I “I* Nancy letting von into • few of the mys-
CHAPTEK M . I teriea?” uks Lady Glandore, in her soft, low,
Once again that soft, low, trained laughter | ratber drawling voice, turning to Norah. “She
falls on Norah’s earn; the perfume of m»ny j 8 very good at that sort of thing; bnt I think
flowers stirs the air; the room seems wrept m Mr Wylding is even better. He is the absnrd-
a rich subdued glow out-of which one face | looking person, with sandy hair, at the end of
alone looks clearly ’ //«*%*<*! Denial After i tbe roonl; an d that little tub of a woman on
one“pT^Un^ y the.ruel pain at her1 our right is hi. wife bnt 4k. doesn’t cunt.
grows easier, as instinct tells her it is not At least he won’t let her.”
Katherine to whom he is speaking
■S&- b- M WW » »-*•
drawn somewhat apart, on ig gjtting’
aristocratic-looking young woman is rttting,
with two or three men hovering round her.
Her face isHte most innocent thing imagina
ble. immobile almost hut for the eye^ which
saarjus.-wtsr-sas
^“oDhie this is my niece,” rays madam,
stand&ore her. “Norah,, let me make
you known to Lady Glandor . q b
“Ah!” says the pretty young woman. She
sits up qu.te straight, and lets those bashful
eves of Pits study the Duchess for just a sec
cud or two. Then she holds out her hand with
a wonderfully friendly smile. f>
“We have been expecting yon, she says,
in a peculiarly slow, sweet voice; “but—we
did not quite expect all this!” Then she drags
her eves away from the girl’s fresh loveliness
and looks at madam with a sense of reproach
in her manner. “Oh! madam, this is very
hard on us,” she says, plaintively.
Madam laughs, and leads the Duchess a step
or two farther, to where a lively-looking bru
nette is engaged in a seemingly warm argu
ment with a young man whs is laughing a
good deal. With a quick knowledge that she
is glad of his presence, Norah sees that it is
Kilgarriff He is a slight man, about five feet
ten in height, with a pale face, extremely dark
eyes, and a black mustache, rather Italian in
appear tnce, but with something homely about
him that forbids the idea of foreign parentage.
The pretty brunette had given way in the
lively discussion, and had centered her atten
tion on the approaching madam and her com
panion. She now makes a step forward.
“It isf” she says, hesitating, and smiling at
the Duchess.
“Norah,” replies madam, smiling too. Then
looking at her niece. “Norah, this is Nancy
Iiiake, I hope you and she will be good
friends.”
"Madam’s hopes are our laws,’ says me
Hon. Nancy, smiling still at Norah, who re
sponds to the smile and then looks past her to
where Kilgarriff is standing behind her. That
young man has had time to gain a very brill
iant color and lose it again, in arather remark
able degree, whilst the Duchess has been mak
ing her w.iy up the room. She herself grows
faintly pink now as she speaks to him.
“How d’ye do, Otho?” says she, rather de
murely , , , . ,
Lord Kilgarriff accepts the hand she holds
out, rather nervously.
“This is an unexpected meeting,” he stam
mers, som'-what baldly.
“An unexpected pleasure, you might have
said, - ’ suggests Miss Blake, with mischievous
reproach in her tone.
“How is it you are here?” asks Norah, who
is very littlo embarrassed. “You never told
me that you knew my aunt.”
“I think it arose more from the fact of my
knowing her,” says Miss B’ake, with a little
shrug. ‘ I met Lord K lgarriff on the Riviera
some weeks ago, and,” calmly, “took quite a
fancy to him.” Kilgarriff laughed. “1 hap
pened to mention his name to Madam Delaney,
on my return, and she instantly remembered
that tils father, or great grandsire, or some
body belonging to him, had once been the
bosom friend of some of her people; so she
asks him here, and out of the goodness of his
heart he accepted the invitation. Via tout.”
Kdgariff makes some rather rambling return
to this half-mocking speech, and the Duchess,
slipping into a chair near Miss Blake, begins
to look with curios.ty around her. She passes
over most of the women present, until her eyes
fall upon a low lounging-chair of saffron velvet,
in which, she feels, sits the one for whom she
has been unconsciously seeking ever since her
entrance into the room.
It is beyond doubt a very handsome picture
Kh, is now ST I is Cazalet Is
lying back in the low chair, trilling indolently
with a tiny black and tan terrier that lies
crouching in her lap, her eyes turned lightly
upwards to the man who is leaning over the
back of her lounge. Those eyes are large and
lust rjus, of a rather light blue, swept by lashes
that arc extremely dark and curl daintily
upward!. Her nose is pure Greek, her mouth
perfect. The rippling hair, that is drawn
back s i softly from her broad low brow, is of
a pure and very rare gold color. One can see
that she is tall and slender, and that she is
"No, poor little soul! I often wonder why
■he married him,” says a man with a dark,
clean shaven face, who has just sauntered up
—Sir Philip Glandore, as the Duchess after
wards discovers. “I rather like her, in spite
of her many defects ”
“Why, yes,” says Miss Blake. “She is bet
ter than some. 1 suppose he had money.
By-the-bye, who is he?”
“It doesn’t matter in the least, my good
child, who anybody is now-a-days; it is what
be has He may be a bqtton man or a vendor
of bricks, so long as he can pay his bills and
entertain the world at large. Talking of that,
what has Wylding?”
“•Fifteen hundred a year, and an infernal
temper ” says Sir Philip, placidly. “That’s
his whole stock-in-trsde.”
“Bad for his wife, and not much for anyone
else. If it be true what you say, what a fraud
tbe man is. lie seems so specially sociable
and good-tempered, so exceedingly light in
hand. Ah! there is Denis. How severe he
looks.”
“Well, I always think I should like Denis
better if I weren’t the least bit afraid of him,”
says Miss Blake, who never yet saw living
thing she feared. “How did you get on with
him?” turning suddenly to Norah. .
Thus addressed, the blood seems to fly to
Norab’s heart. She makes a little faint at
tempt as if to answer, but no words come.
Miss Blake, after a sharp glance at her, steps
to the rescue.
“I see. He kept yon in order as he does the
rest of us, and you don’t like to say so. A
cousin, like a brother, is a true tonic; unpleas
ant but wholesome. Correctives, you know,
are always nasty. Dear Denis, it is a shame
for me to say a word against him. It is a sin
against my conscience, as I know no one I so
sincerely like.”
The Duchess involuntarily lifts her eyes to
hers—a world of sad gratitude in their depths.
If Miss Blake had wanted confirmation of her
suspicions, she has it now in full. A touch of
genuine regret darkens her piquante face for a
moment, and in that moment is born a very
honest friendliness towards the slender crea
ture by her side. Instinctively she lifts her
gazs and turns it on Delaney, who is standing
partly within the recess of a window. Thus
situated he is rather hidden from the general
eye, and Miss Blake’s direct glance falls upon
him without disturbing the direction of his
own.
Was ever despair more keenly expressed
than in those dark eyes that are fixed with
such a mournful yet impassionate intensity
upin the 1) lcbesB? They tell their tale to the
attentive watcher—there is no need for further
speculation. That Denis loves this little dark
new comer as he has never loved the handsome
blonde—as he has never yet loved any one as
he will never love again—is as plain to Miss
Blake—as if bis own lips had said it.
And now ho starts. Ilia melancholy day
dream is broken in upon by the approach of
his mother, who comi s up to him with a radi
ant smile.
“She is charming. Quite a picture. Not
one word too much did jou say,” declares she
with soft enthusiasm. “Was there ever such
a mouth, such eyes, and her pretty little
hands! I must manage somehow to take her
to town next season and have her presented.
She will be quite the fashion at once, her col
oring is so very original, and her manners so
fresh. In fact, i predict all sorts of good
things for her. She ought in my opinion to
make a very excellent marriage.”
Delaney bites his lips
“Ilow you run away with things,” he says,
in a lone more impatient than he ever uses
with his idolized mother. “Here to day—ard
—already married! Let her breathe a moment
or two, poor chi'd.”
“Ah, well, we shall see,” says Madam,
vaguely. ’The impatience, the touch of pain
in his forced snide, have i ot gone unnoticed
by her. “As you say, she is but a child.”
Then she on qu ckly to greet -mother
guest w ,o has Jait a.n«i J, ami jijsiaio'y goes
back to his unhappy conlemplal.on of her he
loves.
He lias made a slight movement as his mo
ther went by, and through it his positi in has
liecome more known to those immediately
within his view. Two cold blue eyes, uplifting
themselves from the black and tan terrier, grow
very earnest in their expression and watch him
with a studied scrutiny that denies the power
to cheat them. When she has witnessed his
absorption for quite a minute, a fine, cold smi e
parts Miss Canlet’s ips. Lifting the tiny
possessed of an ease, an elegance, not to be creature on her lap, she drops him deliberately,
rivaled. Her voice, as it comes faintly to No
rah, who is watching her spell-bound and sick
at heart, sounds soft and low as distant music,
it would be indeed a most degenerate man, one
lost to all grace, who could dare to find a fault
in that faultliss form.
The in ill conversing with her now does not,
at all events, come under this head, as his de
votion is sufficiently marked to be seen by all
who will, lie is a middle-aged gentleman;
stout, and somewhat scant of breadth, with
the commencement of a very respectable ton
sure on i he tsp of his head. He is, however,
bending over Miss Caztlet in a semi-loverlike
attitude, and is apparently addressing him
with all the ardor of youth
* Sir Brandrum Boileau,” says Miss Blake,
seeing where Norah’s eyes were rivetted.
“You know Katherine Cazalet, of course. She
is considered the handsomest blonde in the
kingdom. Sticky, I call her; bnt then I’m a
heretic and don’t love those Ijeaux yeaujr of
hers, in spite of their saintliness. Last season
she wa B staying with the St. Lawrence’s in
I’ark Lane, and went about a good deal with
them, and after a bit she became known as the
‘Virgin Mary.’ She is so seraphic. But if
she is an angel, I confess I like the other sort
bes', the demons—I’m a demon!” concludes
she, pouncing, as it were, upon Kilgarriff, with
quite a trazic note in her voice.
“(la! no!” says he, w.th a violent star', and
in a deprecatory tone. She laughs.
“Now, shall I tell you about the others?”
she says to Norah “Thev are not of the least
consequence, taking them as a whole; but I
suppose I’d better put you up abopt them. That
little w zened-looKing man over there is an
author; ne is ail brain, no body. They say he
sold himself to the devil half a century ago,
consenting to let his body go if his briin might
lize forever, and he has been calmly dwindling
ever since ”
“Half a century! He does it with care,”
says the Duchess. Miss Blake looks at her
with appreciation.
“I begin to have quite a respect for y*u,”
she says to Kilgarriff, sotto voce, and as that
young man of course fails to understand her,
she gives him a gentle but scornful push, and
tells him to bring Lady Glandore to her aid,
as Miss Delaney is proving too much for her.
“He is such a muff!” says she, when he,
obedient, has departed. “After all, I dare
say you were right.”
“Right, how?”
“In refusing him.”
“Oh! But how do you know that?” says the
Duchess, a little shocked.
“ W by, he told me, of course,” says Miss
Blake, with charming unconcern. “Sh! now;
here he comes. Ah! Bless me, what an awk
ward creature it is.”
For Kilgarriff, in his eager haste to return,
stumbles helplessly over a little milking-stool
iD the way, and ail but measures his length on
the ground.
“What’B the good of your steaming up the
room at twenty knots an lioui ?” demands the
Hon. Nancy, half laughing. “Where does the
hurry come in? Tbe day is always uncon
scionably long, spread it out as much as you
can.”
Lad} Glandore, who has come up to them,
sinks laughing into her seat.
“Those little stools are the most treacherous
thin?s imaginable,” she says, ‘ espe ialiy
when th' y’re black. One can hardly see them;
and ready of what wonderful use are they after
all that we should keep then at the risk of en
dangering life and limb.”
“Well; I don’t know; they have their use,
you know,” says Kilgarriff, regarding with a
nobly forgiving g ance the black and perfidi
ous stool in question. “They give you the
free use of boih jour bands. It was awful,
long ago, having to hold your cup and your
cake both. Now you can put, your rup down
and eat your cake, or you can put your cake
down and eat your cup—or—er—ah!—that
18 “Qa! Never mind! ” says Miss Iilike.
and rather cruelly, with a certain force upon
the ground. A squeal is the result of this ma-
neuvre, and Denis, starting, looks in its direc
tion and straight into Miss Cazalet’s eyes.
Something in them chills him; but he has
hardly time to decide what it is, when she rises
and moves slowly to where the Duchess is sit
ting, close to Nancy Blake, and talking to a
young man, rather stout and very closely crop
ped, who rej lices in an eye glass and the short
est coat that decency will permit, and who
seems gifted with quite a fund of light and airy
converse.
Miss Cazalet, having demanded very prettily
and obtained an introduction to the Duchess,
stands by listening to the idle shafts of talk
that every now and then reach her ear.
“I’ve run down fora week,” the stout young
man with an inch or two of coat is saying with
a beaming smile. “Madam wrote me word
there was a garden party on for next week, so
I knew I was safe to meet Mrs. O’Shaughn-
essy; and as she is at present the light of my
eyes’and all the rest of it, I thought I’d come.”
“What a name!” says Miss Cazalet.
“Fine old Irish name, I give you my word.
There’s a good deal of it, I allow, but you can’t
have too much of a good thing. She says she
is descended from a king or a queen, or several
kings and queens—I really forget. At ail
events, she is the one woman upon whom my
affections are at present set.”
“Don’t be cruel I What on earth will be
come of the oihers?” says Sir l’hilip.
“Well, lhat’B it, you see! What is a fellow
to do?” says the stout young man, Mr. Greene.
“I bale garden parties—paltry things,” sajs
Miss B ake. “1 have fixed any fondest hopes
upon tbe fancy dress ball to come off later on.
Wh’ch would yon prefer?” turning with a little
friendly air to Norah.
“The ball, I tliink,” says she, half shyly. It
is an adorable shy ness that brings Mr. Greene
to her feet in no time.
“Trust the Duchess for that,” says Kilgarriff
with a lingering glance at bis old friend and
playfellow.
“The Duchess!” repeats Miss Cazalet in her
clear, sweet voice. “Is that how they call
you?”
“Dad does,” says Norah with a rather pain
fu! blush—her voice about a whisper
“The Duchess! Arather—er—pronounced
sort of sobriquet, don’t you think? But of
course very appropriate,” with a polite smile,
but in a tone that says plainly that tbe Duchess
in question is in her opinion of very inferior
quality indeed.
“And a right good I> ichess, too,” sayB Kil
garriff, resentful of this tone.
“No doubt,” says Miss Cazalet with asteady
■mile.
“Has your Grace any vacant place in your
retinue that you might offer to a deserving va
let?” demands Mr. Greene humbly. “If so,
here he stands. Any post, however low, would
be gladly accepted. Scullion—turnspit—any
thing to serve you!”
“Bnt that your rank precludes the idea, you
should feel honored says Miss Cazalet, fixing
the girl’s nervous, shrinking eyes with her own
cold, mocking gaze. There is a sense of keen
pleasure to her in the agony of shyness that has
overtaken the poor little Duchess at thus find
ing herse f the central object of this unknown
circle. ‘I)> you know,” Miss Cazalet ia just
beginning afresh, some subtle cruelty upon hei
lips when there is a little stir behind ner, and
Denis, pule and s'.ern, presents himself. He
looks alone at N irab.
“My mother wants you,” he says curtly, and
drawing her hand within his arm, carries her
away.
CHAPTER XV.
“The human heart, at whatever age, opens
only to the heart that opens in return.”
However, the end of a week brings too the
end of Norah’s shyness. Se reral things helped
In r to conquer this very natural mauvaise honte
that had overtaken her on finding herself
brought so suddenly in contact with such a
number of strangers. Misa Cazalet a subdued
but perfectly unmistakable hostility for one
thing—expressed by small impertinences and
smiling sneers—and for another, Delaney s ev
ident determination to protect her from it.
This last touched her pride most nearly. Hie
protection she would not have—she would ac
cept no help from him of any kind; therefore
it behooved her to rouse herself and win a way
for herself out of her troubles. Very email,
v*y silly troubles no doubt—but often very
cruel. She had plenty of spirit to bring to her
own aid, and a stout little heart; and very soon,
too, she made to herself friends of Lady Glan
dore, who was amused by her, and of Nancy
Blake, who honestly liked her. These two
friendships greatly strengthened her hands—
especially in the matter of Miss Blake, who
was always only too eager to scent battle in the
breeze where Katherine Cazalet was concerned.
“A word with you, Duehese,” eaye this
yonng lady, seating herself in the deep window
recess of the room where Norah ia scribbling a
letter to her dad. “We’ve sworn a friendship,
yon and I—and if I’m nothing else, I am at
least faithful to my bonds. Now, as to Kilgar-
nff: have yon quite done with him?”
“Wbat?” coloring furiously. “I—I don’t
think I understand.”
Then why are yon growing so dreadfully
red?” asks Miss Blake, with a practicability
that does her honor. “However, if you want
an explana ’’
‘No, no,” interrupts the Duchess in horrified
haste. “<)nly—how did you know?”
“Why, he toid me himself. Last summer—a
month or two ago, when I met him abroad
If,” laughing, ‘‘you could only know how I
once execrated your name. It used to ring in
my wretched ears morning, noon and night.
Young men in that stage ought to be locked up
until the paroxysm is over, or else given over
to the tormentors. I did my little best in that
last role But—er—if you are sure you have
quite finished with that little affair—”
“It was never an aff tir of that sort—never.
I have known him all my life. I’m fond of
him as a sister might be, bnt ”
“I know. That sisterly touch is always fa
tal. To his hopes, however; not mine Weil,
I’m going to be fond of him too,” she leans
back in her chair and langbs softly but heartily.
“Infant in all but years though he be, was
there ever so absurd a boy? It is a defect in
my nature no doubt, but I know this, I
couldn’t endure a master. They say women
like to be domineered over—kept down; that
they find their real happiness in being gov
erned by a spirit stronger than their own. If
it bo so, b«hold in me the glorious exception to
that rule?”
“Yes. But about Otho?” slightly puzzled.
“What is it you mean to do about him?”
"Marry him,” promptly. “As you assure
me, you, my friend, have no tendrecse in that
quarter. And now baste thee, haste thee,
good maiden. Have you forgotten it Ts the
day of Madam’s garden party, and that already
the county arriveth. Ccme, let me put you
into your gown.”
It is a day as beautiful as thongh it were
“bespoke,” to quote the peasants round about
hero Queen’s weather of a verity, with a
gleaming yellow sunshine that scorns to think
of autumn, though already one begins to talk
of golden September as though it was indeed
here, so short a shrift has August now, before
it drops into the greedy past.
The Duchess, very lovely in a soft white In
dian silk, one of Madam’s gifts, glides into the
long drawing-room in her pretty girlish way,
though with her charming head well up; and
becoming at once conscious that some stran
gers are present, grows faintly pink and hesi
tates, until Madam calls to her in the tone she
has learned to love.
“Come here, darlirg, just for one moment.
The others are for the most part outside, but I
want to introduce you to a very old frieud of
your father’s—of mine.”
Sitting near her is an old lady whom Norah
had not until now seen—a stout old lady with
the orthodox corkscrew ringlets and a large,
fat, most benevolent face. She seems, indeed,
beaming with good na'ure, and as the Duchess
draws near, rises, and laj ing both her hands
on her shoulders, kisses her warmly.
“So this is the little niece,” she says “A
veritable and a very charming breath from the
old d tys. You are like your mother, my dear,
a little, and she was a lovely woman; but your
eyes, your mouth . Ah! my dear,” turn
ing to Madam, “have you noticed it? She is
so very like your husband.”
“Yes, I sec it,” says Madam in a low con
strained tone. Even now, after all these years
that have passed, that one unapproachable
grief does not bear talking about.
“I suppose your father, Niel Delaney—I sup
pose he never told you about me,” says the old
lady, still holding Norah’s hand very kindly,
and smiling at her as thongh pleased by what
she secs. “It is years ago of course. One
..dv ox-l! ho i U„ SIS -rr—,v •»
cl of Mrs O'Shauganessy.”
“Oh, yes! Yes, indeed!” says the Duchess,
eagerly. "Often. I think ” with an ador
able blush and a soft shy movement of her
eyelidc ■ he used to call yon Bessie.”
“And so he did,” says Mrs. O’Shaughnessy,
plainly enchanted by this touch “And so he
still remembers me? That’s nice now amongst
old friends, and you must tell him from ine—
when writing, mind—"with asoftsqueizeof her
hand, “that I remember him too, as well as
when I was Bessie MacGilli tuddy. God bless
you, mv dear; you are a very sweet child
And now sit here by me for a minute or two.
I’d have called on you long ago; but I’m only
just back from Italj —yesterday, indeed—
and ”
At this instant, somebody from bohind lays
his hands over Mrs. O’Shaughnessy’s eyes and
surprises her into silence. The same somebody
still further adds to his offense by bestowing a
hearty salute upon her plump cheek.
“Now, Denis! And that’s yours»lf, of
course. Not another one would have tbe au
dacity. Worse luck!” cried Mrs. O'Shaugh-
nessy, gaily disengaging herself, “Pity it is
the Colonel isn’t here to see. Well, and even
if I was twenty years younger, I daresay I
wouldn't say no to that kiss, even though I
might pretend to. Come, tell me everything;
it seems like years since I saw one of you
When s the wedding to be, eh? I’m young
enough to dance yet,' I can tell you I’m not
betraying secrets, eh?” smiling at Norah.
“Yon know of course of this cousin’s” laying
her hand on Denis's arm, “engagement?”
“Yes, I know,” says Norah, steadily, who
has grown very white. Delaney has turned
away to the window, and is apparently lost in
contemplation of the exquisite view outside.
What dreadful things it this kindly old lady
going to say next, who would have bitten out
her tongue rather than say anything—had she
only known
“We’re getting quite impatient for a wed
ding, I must tell you,” she ratth s on merrily.
“We haven’t had so mnch as a ghost of one in
the parish for the last two years. You should
come to the rescue, Denis. Come, now, when
is it to be?”
Is it a time for talking of marryirg an!
giving in marriage,” replies he, facing r. und
anain, and speaking with really a marvellous
nnnchalence, “with wars and rumors of wars
afloat? Why, the very air is thick with the
odor of rebel !i m. Never has Kerry been in
such a disaff'-cted state ”
“Kerry? Say Ireland, and be done with it,”
says Mrs. O’Shaughnessy.
“Well, whose fault is it?" says tho Duchess
suddenly, a little fiery waking into life. “Who
cares for Ireland whetberahe swims or—sinks?
Not England. She is a worry, a nuisanct; no
more. If, honorably, she could be got rid of,
there wouldn’t be a second's delay about the
disposing of her. She is an incubus—a thing
at which to shrug the shoulder. But has she
ever been shown fair play? You know, look
ing at Deni', “I have always said that poor
Ireland has been slighted—kept at a dis'ance
as it were; whilst the rest of Great Britain,
Scotland notably, has been petted ad nauseum.
And yet I am sure a little, a very little love,
would have made her loyal to the backbone.”
“There’s a rebel for you!’’ says Dulaney,
laughing, glad to an absurd degree in that any
thing has led her to spontaneously address him
again.
‘ Faith, there’s a deal of sense, though, in
what she says,” declares Mrs. O’Shaugneszy,
shaking her ringlets vigorously, “A rare good
smattering of reason. Only the day’s too hot
to follow it up. Let us come out and see what
our friends in the open air are doing.”
[to be continued.]
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ffl A Nb
cue. I
Will it be possible for® Household to have
re-union during tho edmont Exposition?
According to the c*xpre*l sentiments of sev
eral membrrs it will. 1* pleasure of meeting
and greeting one aaotben person; of passing
a social evening togethaof comparing notes
and “experien 3es, '.10 topeak,would be great.
Tbe idea is a plausible O’, for the cheap rail
road rates have placed Janta within reach of
all; then there will be saany attractions for
visitors during the Expition, that for a time
we might put dull care >m us, and in a body,
assemble and participat in the enjoyments
incident to such an occ*>n-
So let's seize this favoble opportunity, ap
point a day of meeting si in reality, hold a
reception—a convrrsazio—a Household party
fit for the gods—the socigods!
Little Bess, I fear myuwstance will not
help you much, when yoaak lor advice about
the circulating library. Perhaps others can
render a few suggestionsbout both the plan
upon which a library shdd be run, and the
books to be used.
As to the lighter form? literature desired,
that is easily answered—ut would the hints
prove practical?
Some have refreshed tir minds with such
works as Dicken’s “Da? Coppertield,” “Lit
tle Dorrit,” aye any of iis noveh; or such
historical romances as ^anhoe,” “Old Mor
tality,” “Thadeus of W*aw,” “The Knights
of the Golden Horseshoe* anything upon tbe
order of these books the have in them high
morals and tendencies ©rating to the mind.
To others these sametories are regarded as
of the heavier order, thf are not quickly di
gest* d, as it were, and Jat require a careful
reading, an additional fcatiou upon the Drain.
have known eminenteople as a recreation,
read what is termed t) yellow back series.
These, they averred, 'ere more refreshing
after hours of toil or stey than anything else
to the mental and phytal system. To please
all, suppose as an offsiloyoureiicycl^podias,
books of science, phisophy, Sh^kspeare’s
pieces, etc., etc , you av© a sprinkling of
George Eghert Craddo^s tales, something
from the pen of Oharlei)udley Warner, those
sweet and tender poemiuade dear to all by
Longfellow; add if datable, anything from
Southey—or perhaps omething of Victor
Hugo’s would not be « of place. Then to
those who indulge in th “seaside" style, have
ready such authors as lUgusta Evans, Mrs.
Southworth, the I)jche&, Florence Maryattor
II. Rider Haggard.
To me, all of Miss vindon’s stories were
ever beautiful; .you $;ht try her. Many
more could be added, b» for the present this
will do. Let us know if have been of any
service. If others hr < light upon the sub
ject we £~'omd be gla °(
/
Immortelles.
HOME LIBRAE?, OF 59 YOLOHES, AT JIOOJACH.
Oat of mare than ten thousand new books published
ever, year, there are less than one han
dled that remain “in print” twenty years. In
other words not one book in one handled lives
twenty years. Of the millions of different books pub
lished previous to this oentory, there are but a few hnn-
dred that are still alive—in print—and the best of them
ell • ill be found in the following list. The balance of
the list is mode np of the very ohoioeet of the more re
ent publications. Almost any ods should be ashamed
not to read them all. They are printed in large, olesr
type, and beautifully bound. They will all ue supplied
postpaid at th# very low prioe of $1 per volume.
fi
• from them.
Hi nn \ri>.
ScuhiFwoodfs and P^c'rsopny CL‘1-
otftfcV August Da^lUpenence.
Scuppernongs are ripe. The arbor is full of
tempting, brown grapes, td, gathering them,
I think of my Household riends and wish they
were with me to enjoy tern too. I philoso
phize also, in a small wa; they remind me so
much Of life, its pleasure; and ambitions, and
I with bonnet banting ffactionately around
my neck, disordered hair scratched bands and
ejesin imminent dangei of being put out,
represent human kind ii general. How ea-
geriv do I reach up for ocious bunches, al
most and, sometimes, qu* beyond uiy grasp,
disdaining those within r.J reach, though they
are just as ripe, just as hown as the coveted
treaHiues that are fartheroff. Thus in life; we
often ignore sweetest bresings and dearest
joys that lie ar mnd our pth and, with eyes
fixed on some distant god, press on through
innumerable difficulties, vainly striving for
treasures meant for otberhands.
We are so dull and thautess and too slow
To catch the sunshine til it slips away.
I would like very much to give a First of
August experience, but a-that day was simi
lar to many others both previous and subse
quent, it is not indelibly impressed upon ray
memory. They were spelt alike at a delight
ful spot among the pine tills of west Alabama,
where 1 quaffed the healng watera and en
joyed the pure, fresh, .nadnlterated, piny-
woods air. Wbat delicously care free, idle
days they were, and whfc pleasant recollec
tions are recalled of the friends I made. I
clow my eyes and the swne rises vividly be
fore me. A lovely stream, clear and musical,
out of which bubbles a veritable fountain of
life—a spring whose curative powers are won
derful, and the water so cool and refreshing, a
drink that one craves it even as the toper longs
for his glass of rum.
The tall bay trees and wide-spreading mag
nolias, and the rustic benches around the
spring house whereon we atf* drank and were
merry. One thing my mud reverts to with
incredulity was tur appetites; mine was an
object of fear and wonder to m> self, and would
have been to others, also, bad they not been
preoccupied in considering tneir own.
No N<*ni, I quite envy yeti your supply of
scrap-books; how interesting such a collection
must be! 1 nave only one, but in it are my
choicest bits, mostly poetry, of which I am
very fond. Some of its pages are devoted to
our Household, but I have decided to procure
another book and dedicate its paces solely to
the use of this interesting department.
Veritas, why are your visiis now so few and
far between? Is it duty or pleasure that de
prives us of your agreeable P 1886 * 10 ®?
Hemlock, did I lay the charge of flirting at
your door? Rather were 1 not interfering in
your behalf? No, my friend, my opinion of
you is altogether too good for me to entertain
any such suspicion. But, I J c®nnot say
as much for my other friend, 1 andora, (of
course you meant her, Tansy being a mis
print), she has very strong propensities and I
think one of them leads her in that direction.
However, even with this knowledge, I was
merely jesting when I referred to you two
“gettirg up a flirtation.”
Dear Musa Dunn, why should my words of
praise make you meditate bo deeply f Most
assuredly your mission is a divine one, but to
you it is perfectly easy, being naturally merry-
hearted, frank and true, with a smile and
kind word for every one, and these traits make
np the sunshiniest dispositions in the world.
But sunshiny dispositions, like the rest of
snnsbine, have shadows, too, ard I suppose
your friend has basked in both "'df 8 , of > ou ?
character and noted the play of both light and
shadow. And, do ycu know, I like you all
the better for that answer of your frieud—ain
really glad you are not good all the time. That
struck a sympathetic chord in my heart, and it
indicates ioo, that yon <3o all things well, even
to being naughty. Sometimes this old world
seems very gloomy, especially when my at
tendants are certain small mips of darkness,
the “blue devils;” but ‘ not all the time some
times” as the children say. ,, T ,
I have many blessings and, cou d I learn
well the lesson of patience, would never grow
df LdIle Bws, I Shall never yield to the temp
tation of cynicism again; not while I have such
a sweet admirer as you. .
Rosa Alba, we miss your pcn-pictures.
Wilh 1 ive to all, 1 a’-n
A balmy morning with juat enough clond to
temper the sun flushed skies! The glories of
natnre enhanced by the perfume of roses that
fills the air. Such ia the erchanting picture
which is marred by a plaintive voice begging
for bread. Shaking off the dreamy languor
which has enveloped us, my sympathies be
come instantly enlisted as I gaze at the suffer
ing piece of humanity before me. A dirty ur
chin five or six years of age, black as ebony,
yet with a gleam of intelligence in the eye that
beseechingly urges the request be has made.
“What is your name?” I asked. “Meshad
Tbadrack Abednig,” he glibly answers.
“Tbad,” I ask, involuntarily shortening his
cognomen, “why should you beg bread ” The
pent up agony breaks f rth and ’it s little ne
gro child tells a tale of woe that stouter hearts
have echoed. Not for himsslf is the food
begged, but for his "mammy’s young mistis.”
Investigation proves tbe story all too true.
Reared in tbe affluence of a Southern home,
Mrs. , had seen swept from her, wealth,
parents, brothers, all save the young husband
who had vowed so faithfully to shelter from
the storms of life, this flower which had re
ceived the sweet and gentle culture, the shel
tering, fostering csre of a reffned and wealthy
baaie. What caused this downfall of a happy
fortune? Ah! the fiery lightning which brought
oblivion for a time, to him, who was too weak
to overcome the sorrows of his fate. I found
her dying with consumption. The wasted
form, the sunken check too plainly showed her
days on earth were numbered. Hungry chil
dren wept a daily requiem over her shattered
life. But not even the cries of those starving
babes brought the poignant pain that did the
blood shot eye and stageerisg step of her once
revered husband. “Willingly would I,” said
she, "give my poor body to be burned, if by
that one act I could redeem his soul from
bell.” Ah, the agony of a heart that must
pronounce condemnation on the one she loves!
As her thankful prayers (for mercy) ascended,
that I had ministered to her children’s warns,
my heart burned and I could but murmur, “It
is twice blest, it blesses him that gives, and
him that takes.”
The effort to place beyond the reach of the
inebriate the liquor with which lie seeks to as
suage a perennial thirst, is no new sudden
freak. Good, true men, from time immemorial
have besought their friends to fly the enven
omed cup. But are women doing their part in
this brave fight? While one poor wt man
weeps 'ears of blood, another puckers smiling
lips to those whose breath is damned with
the fumes of the subtle poison. Never before
has this solemn question obtruded itself upon
my mind; but now, my God, 1 can scarcely
close my eyes without the voice of conscience
whispering “Choose thou this day.” I have
made my choice. This shall be my pledge
“The lips that touch liquor can never touch
mine.” How many of you will join me? Wo
men, this is our work. Since the fatal day
when Adam was beguiled by Eve, woman’s in-
flaence overman has been proclaimed, oh!
sisters, let that influence be wielded with the
golden rod of love, and the work, brave, earn
est and true, will prove a precious jewel in tbe
crown of womanhood. In sparkling, crystal
water drink destruction to the serpent. In tbe
strength of womanhood goon with a work that
God and the angels shall call beautiful. Only
last week the death angel entered a happy fam
ily here and bore away the one child oi a wid
owed m ither. Peculiarly sad seemed the deai h
ojj-hig l tor e e u r yieY^s^. l i* d vA , f I , 0 .Wf‘L r i
had lovad her from childhood. Friends won
dered at the strange fortitude with which the
mother, who had idolized her daughter, bore
the heavy blow. To one alone sLe unburdened
her aching heart. “I buried my idol with
scarce a heart throb,” said she, “for Herbert,
her affianced lover, has never since his man
hood drawn one pure breath, untainted with
the fumes of liquor. Was not reath far prel-
erable to the heart burnings the agony, the un
told misery that would have crowded her life?
Yes, I repeat it—I buried ber almost resign
edly—far more content to know that my treas
ure is now resting in the pearl-paved city of
light." Do not these sad words of a bereaved
mother convey a lesson to all womanhood?
We have the key to a happy life, each of us, in
our own possession. Shall we unlock the door
cf the great future and by deeds of right sow
immortelles along sur pathway? Or rather
shall we close and bar the door, doling each
portal and tilling each crevice with duties left
undone—thorns and thistles that will confront
us with painful approximateness in every by
path of life? Ah, in the field of destiny we
reap as we have sown. Then
“Let us sow good seeds now,
And not briars and weeds—
That when the harvest for us shall come
We may have good seeds to carry home;
For the seed we sow in our lives to-day
Shall grow and bear fruit to-morrow.”
Lkslik Avon.
Nashville, Teun.
Ad vies to Wife and Mother.
Stop’s Fables.
A Leeeon to Fathers.
Andersen's Fairy Tales.
Arabian Nights.
Boy’s Own Book.
Children of the Abbey.
Orioket’s Friends.
Daffy Down Dilly.
Dean's Daughter.
Dickens’ Child's
England.
Diehens’ Xmas Stories.
Don Qaixote.
East Lynne.
Evenings at Home.
Fire Weeks in a Ballon.
Fox’s Book of Martyrs.
Fur Country.
Girl’s Own Book.
Grim’s Popular Tales.
History of
THE LIST:
Grandfather’s Pooket Book.
Gulliver's Travels, eto.
Gypsy Qieen.
Hirtory of A. B. C.
Irving’s Hketoh Book.
Ivan hoe.
fane E/re.
Kettle’s Birthday Party.
Kingsley’s Harmons.
Lset Days of Pompeii.
Last ef the Mohioans.
Life o- Franklin.
Life of Lincoln.
Life of Walter Raleigh.
Life of Webster.
Li/ht-House Keeper.
Mysteri-'us Island.
Oliver Twist.
Paai and Virginia.
Kasselas, and Vioar of Wake
field.
I Peter the Whaler.
| Pilgrim’s Progress.
I Red Gauntlet.
I Robinson Crosoe.
I Rob Roy.
! S-ottish Chiefs.
Swiss Family Robinson.
I Thaddeos of Warsaw.
i The Wonderful Bag.
Toe Privateersman.
I The War Tiger.
[ Tom Brown at Oxford.
| Tom Bro vn’s Hohooldaya.
I Tonr of the World in 80 Days.
20 000 nssgoes Coder the 8m.
I Use of Honshine.
I Vunity Fair.
Voyage in the Hornbeam.
I Waverley.
I Willy Reilly.
For three new subscribers we will send any volume in the above list, beautifully bound.
LIBRARY of the POETS 1
SEVENTY VOLUMES RED LINE.
For three new subscribers we will send the
works of any of the following standard poets.
The list includes about seventy volumes, all hand
somely illustrated and bound in the best cloth,
full gilt and gilt edges. Every page has a red
line uorder and the paper and printing are un
surpassed. The price is
One DoUar and Fiftv Cents Per Volume.
^Arnold.
Aurora Leigh.
Aytoun.
Browning.
Burns.
Byron.
Campbell.
Chaucer.
Coleridge.
Cook, Eliza.
Cowper.
Crabbe.
Dante.
Dryden.
Elliott.
Famous l’oems.
Faust, Goethe’s.
Favorite Tocins.
Female l’oets.
Gems, 1001.
Goethe.
Goldsmith.
Heine.
lieman’s, Mrs.
Herbert.
Homer’s Odyssey.
Homer’s Iliad.
I Iood.
Household l’oems.
Hugo.
Ingelow, Jean.
Johnson’s Lives of the
Poets.
Keats.
Kingsley, Charles.
Leigh
Lucille.
Macaulaj.
Meredith.
Mackay, Cnarles.
Milton.
Montgomery.
Moore.
Mulock.
Norton.
Ossian.
Petrarch.
l’oe.
Poetry of Flowers.
Poets of America.
I’ope.
Proctor, Adelaide.
Rogers.
Rossiter.
Schiller.
Soott.
Sliakspears.
Shelley.
SongB for the Household.
Songs, Sacred and De'
al.
Spencer.
Tasso.
Tennyson.
Thompson.
Tupper.
Van Artevald, I’ll.
Virgil.
Wesley.
White, Kirke.
Willis.
Wordsworth.
Young.
Splendid Pocket Knives!
Fortwo new subscribers we will send a Northfield “Clipper ’ “Hoys Own, or a Jena;
Lind" knife. For three subscribers we will send a handsome Columbia.
A Few Domestic Wrinkles.
JBLLY Cl'STAKI) T'lB.
Four eggs, whites beaten separately, one cup
of sugar, two tablespoons of butter; beat well;
add one cup nearly fu.l of jelly; last thing add
the whites of the eggs, bake on thin pastry.
FRUIT CAKE.
The yolks of fen eggs, ten ounces butter, one
pound sugar, one pound flour, one pound cit
ron, one pound raisins, two pounds currants,
one’teaspoouful cinnamon, cloves, mace, nut
meg.
COTTAGE PUDDING.
One cup of sugar, one egg, one cup of sweet
milk, three tablespoonfuls of melted butter,
one tablespoonful of baking powder, two-and-
a-half cups of flour. Bake about forty min
utes. Eat with sauce while warm.
GINGER SNAPS
Boil slowly for fifteen minutes two cups of
molasses; add one half cup of butter, cool and
add two spoonfuls of cold water, one heaping
teasjieonful of soda, one teaspoouful of ginger
and flour to roll.
BLACKBERRY JAM.
Take four pounds of fruit, put into a kettle
with two pounds of good coarse sugar, and set
over a slow tire, gently boiling it for one hour,
occasionally stirring it to prevent burning.
When done put in jars and seal.
Salt is preservative in its nature. If too
much of it is used in cooking food, it wars
against tbe juices of the stomach and thus re
tards digestion, and will in time derange tbe
digestive organs. It is best to use it in small
quantities.
To take creases cut of drawing paper or en
gravings, lay the paper or engraving face
downward on a sheet of smooth, unsized while
paper, cover it wi h another sheet of the same
very slightly damp, and iron with a moderate
ly warm flatiron.
Tea stains are very difficult to get out if neg
lected. They should be soaked in either milk
or warm watqg as soon as possible, and then
soaped and rubbed out. The next washing
will efface them wholly.
Claret stains should, while wet, have dry
salt, spread upon them, and afterwards dipped
into boiling water.
To test jelly drop a little into cold water or
on a cold plate, stirring it for a few seconds.
If it c lagulatrs it is done. The best j lly only
requires ti le minutes’ boiling.
is ironing, have a piece ut sandpaper, such
as carpenters use, lying on the table bandy: it
removes the stickiness of march from the iron
perfectly with ouly 'a rub or two across it.
Dickens’ Works in 15 Volumes!
For thirty new subscribers we will send a Long Primer edition of 1 tokens works in
FIFTEEN VOLUMES.
Probably no author at the present time is more uni
versally read than Dickens. There are in the market
more than fifty different editions* of hi* works, printed
by nrnnerooB pablik-herp, and ranging in price from
to $Ti00 per pet. We have peleoted for onr Ii w t the mont
desirable one we have Been for the prioe. The type ia
large (Long Primer Old Style). The plates are new.
The paper ia excellent. It ia well printed.and handaome
ly bound in oloth aDd gilt. The roll-page llloRtrationa
are nnmeroo* and are well executed. It i* believed to
be the moat complete edition yet publh hed The priee
is very low in proportion to the aize ard quality of the
books. The edition ia oomplete in fifteen volumes aa
follow*: 1st Piokwick Papers, P09 pagea and 11 il na-
trationa. 2d. David Oopperfield, 8TA nagea and 10 lllns-
_ trations. 3d. Mur-in Chuzziewit, 840 pages. 8 iflurtrs-
a- iiL vi.Kniot) Ninklflbv 831 oauea, 10 illustration*. 5 h. B eik H *uae, 862 pages, sfillBS-
tions. D irrit 8T> pagof 9 illustration*. 7eh. Dom v jev an! Son, 840 pagea, 10 il-
trations. 6 11 Little Durm^oX. pages,on m^a illustrations. 9 h. Oliver Tvist, Pjotares
from Italy and Amerioan 1
Times, 832 pagew. D “""a ‘MvRter^ of E !win D-ood, 838 pages, 11 illustrations,
illustrations. 12 h. Barnabv Radge and or K*tf nu voa ft ilhAtn nnff.
11th Tale of Two Citiea and Skd-ohea by Boz 824 pages* 11
~ * 000 M illustrations.
8 illuatra ions.
Hon. n K3n^foTb-^ hardlydA withoat a oomplete set <
The set will not be broken.
For Six new subsribers we will mmdito Triple any pattern For
Ten new subscribers we will send six table Spoons, any pattern. For
Twelve new subscribers we wi send s x tr p e plated tab e Yatteru. For
Twelve new subscribers we 3 ‘V,ndsor Kn7ves For foire new subscribers we
fw “—*
we willpuus a triple plated Uutter Knife,;
, any pattern.
Stale Line, Miss.
Cornflower.
FITS: All Fits stopped free by Dr. Klines’
Great Nerve Res O'er. No Fits after firs' day’s
use. Mai velum cures. Treatise and 2 00 t rial
bottle free to Fit cases. Send to Dr. Kline,
931 Am S', l’uila. l’a.
HAIR GOODS
BY MAIL
T« anv Part of the U. &.
Send for Illustrated Cir
cular of Latest Styles
JOHN MEDINA,
403 Washington Street
BOSTON, MASS.
O PIUM. CHLORAL AND WHISKEY HABTO
Bnccenfuliy treated without p«n or dWMttor
f.xim daily bus* ims.
HO BESTRICTIOII8 OH DIET.
▲il communications strictly contedMOni.
BY A. 8. WOOLLEY, M. D,
HF.I.MA, ALA
I 1 VrOWNSENU’J COIN SAl.VK 18 A
)A 1 sureOuiH fnrOorue. Smu lb cents, (i.
10 end, M. D. Bowling Given, Ky.
CONSUMPTION.
* twTSij r»T«■ .Love V'“
tie* thousands of cases of the worst k . lnd J57J5
iRrStl“wTt?;»VALOABLBTBEATISBoIlthl 1 dl«Ma,
Give E,pi»« .tide. <>•
w 1 Dit. T. A. SLOCUM, lui Pesrl 8L, New fN%
'foa oax now »
chance of a li-Wime, to wrfta »•
once to J. IaYNM ACO.
709 Brwriwif* Si* York