About The sunny South. (Atlanta, Ga.) 1875-1907 | View Entire Issue (Sept. 24, 1887)
I 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.] Kansas Sorghum Sugar. Experiments made by the Department of Agriculture in making sugar from sorghum by the diffusion process in Fort Scott, Kansas, has proved a decided success “All Men Are Liars,” '> s lid Dtvid of old. He was probably prompted to make the above remark aft< r trying s ime unreliable.catarrh remedy. Hid he been per mitted to live until the present day, and tried Dr. Sage’s Kerne iy, he might have had a bet- ter opinion of mankind. We claim that no case of catarrh can withstand the magic tff cis of this wonderful medicine, One tiial of it will convince you of its efficacy. By druggists; fifty cents. 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
