Newspaper Page Text
THE SUNNY SOUTH. ATLANTA. GA., SATURDAY MORNING. OCTOBER 8. 18*7
3
fpROM THE AUTHOR'S ADVANCE rBOOFSHKBTS—SECURED EXPRESSLY P"R THE "8UNNT SOUTH.’’]
THE .DUCHESS.
By the Author of “Phyllis,” “Molly Bawn,” “Mrs. Geof
frey,” “Lady Branksmere,” Etc, Etc.
CHAPTER XVII.
*•Wherever there Is authority, there is a mt-
oral inclination to dsobedicnce."
“For murder, though it have no tongue, will
speak."
The last guest has departed; only the house
party i* left to enj >y the glory of the dying
sunset Loungin' about on the shtven grass,
or else cosily nestling dom in the garden
chairs, they see:n one and all loth to leave the
sweetness of the even ng to go indoors and
dress for dinner.
There is an almost unwonted s'illness over
ereri thing; a calm that bodes well for the
petcefii ngfit, fiat already shows signs of de-
ssending upon them A little tired, a iittle
languid, tbev are sitting vo’celes*—a sense of
such pleasurable laziness upon them as for
bids the desire f»r speech—when suddenly,
from s one unknown distance, sound reaches
them; sound that ever gathers in volume, and
at last disp r es rudely the delicious t m'*h of
rest in whim they had been indulging. Nearer
and nearer c ones this unpardonable break
upon their tranquili’y resolving itself present
ly into the measured tread of many Let, and
the dull muttering of su 1 n voice'. Madam
starts perceptibly and grows a little pa e, a id
one switt glance she gives at Denis, as round
the curve of the avenue an UUCJU h crowd of
half frightened, half angry peasants, comes
with a rush as if pushed on by those behind.
It is one of the very frequent scenes of
which some of us have b *en eye-witnesses, and
of which we all have read in the daily papers,
the monthlies and the magazines. A band of
sullen, ill-looking men, headed by their parish
pri gt (in this instance a well-meaning man,
though that cannot he said of others), witn no
honest entreaty on their lips, but rather a de
mand for a still f irther reduction of lhe rents
that already have been most generously re
duced.
Dulaney seeing them—and that they have
come to a halt on the central part of the grav
elled sweep before lbs hall door, that has full
command of that part of the lawn on which be
and his guests are seated, moves lightly from
his loungi' g position on th« grass and goes for
ward to meet them. The Duchess, as le pass
es her, can see that he has changed colo'. and
a cold, haid expression has settled round his
lips.
“Wei ?’’he says, icily, addressing himself
exclusively to the priest, and treating the oth
ers as though they were outside his vision.
His lore is unc >mpromising; his whole air stu
diously contemptuous
A id then the priest begins the speech, al
ready preoa-e I, and which it would be use
less to reproduce here. The people’s wants
and wrongs, set forth in fl >rid language, yet
with a he u edge of heartfelt, eloq tent, coin
passion to it, that touches N trail, out leaves
Dulaney as stern and unmoved as before. The
emuid for redrsss; too up laker’s conviction
h it they, his parishioners, have it not lu their
power to pay the money stid by the law to be
due, but winch in the sight tf heaven and man
Is an unjust taxation And so >n—and o t.
It is a etiango scene, full of incongruities.
On one ride i xre-ne poverty and general de-
mora ization; on the other, riches and all the
little r ti mm n s that go to make up a well-to-
do, se;f s iti-fiid moiety. There, the ill-dress d
(alth nigh each mtniu i is wearing his Sun
day's nest) ill lo iking crow i, stuffing togeth
er in a nervous, treaeherou3 fashi m, half un
easy, wholly vindictive. Before them, their
spokesman as it were, their lean, ascetic parish
priest., Fsther Dooliu, a slight, emulated man
with dark pietcing eyes, that now are aglow
with fervid e eq i-nee. Facing him, the tall,
bandsora > you ig man, faultlessly attired, with
bead well up, and stern, t! iely-cut mouth, and
aristocrat written on every line of him; and
behind ad, tno fashionably dressed few gazing
with wfl'-bred anuz-'ment, at tho picture of
which they make a port
Father D loliu has brought hi* speech to a
rather abrupt terminatio i It is difficult to be
diffuse or explanatory orp-rsuasive witn those
handsome, uusjmp ith-tic eves fixed upon one.
as though compelling a speedy finish to one’s
harangue; and now that it has reached its end,
De auey throws out h.s hand wi.h an openly
aggressive gesture.
“It is useless ” ue says, taking advantage of
this unexpected break in Father D mlin’s ap
peal. ‘ A y. u're coming to me on this errand.
To those ’’ turning c ild, angry eyes up m the
crowd, “who have shown no mercy, no meicy
will I show."
“Take care, sir," says the priest in a sort of
sharp involuntary way, as if a little frightened.
“Do you threaten me, sii?" asks Delaney,
turning upon him Here ly. ‘ Nay, then, threat
en as you wi 1. What I have said remains.
These people," with a light and scornful wave
of his hand in their direction, “have chosen to
defy me, even t > tho t xtent of kiliin-g my rust
ed agent; let them abide by that choice. I s'tall
not abate one fraction more of my just dues.
I have said this before, publicly. I say it
again. Twenty p-r cent h is b ten offered and
refused. N > other offer shall be made And
I may as well say now, too, as the opportunity
presents itself, that It was against my better
judgment, my sense of just ce, that such grace
was ever shown.”
An angry gro w! rises from the crowd, and
the Du hess blanches a little, and makes a
quic-c movement, as though she would rise
from her seat.
Then a tail man steps for h from the crowd
and stands in ironl of it, as though he feels
trimsdf to be their leader—though perhaps au
unacknowledged one.
He is a great powerful fellow, with a rather
brutal appe-rai c*. A heavy bull 1 ke neck, a
lowering brow, and a type of feature tba. sug
gests strongly that of the gorilla.
“Say forty per cent an' we might he listen
in’ to ye,” says this giant with a threatening
air.
“Stand back, Moloney,” says Father Doolin,
with a frown.
“Why would I, thin? Why shouldn’t he
hear the trull for wauct- in his life? If you
won’t spake it, I will. Why shouldn’t I U li
him what we a.l think of liiui au’ his comei-
ades ! ”
“Why not, indeed?” says Delaney, with a
curious laugh. “ fuere is, however, something
even more than that that you might teli me ”
He goes a step nearer t > M iloney and fixes his
gaze on him. ‘The name of him who mur
dered Mr. Meredith!”
A convulsive shudder seem* to tun through
the ragged crowd. Many anary face* show
themselves there—many carefniiy expression
less.
“Ha! That allusion troubles you,” erDs
Deni*, with ill-suppressed passion. “That
we.it straight home. Does there stand one in
nocent man amongst you, I wonder—one who
did not know of or connive at that devilish
deed? Until t ie limr ertr is given up to nre I
shan’t believe it. I sent that kind, good man
amongst you—that lenient, loyal gentleman,
my own best friend—who had, I su-ear it to
you,” with growing vehemence, “your ipler
ests most honestly at heart. Ha came—he ae-
ceoted you as his friend* On! if you could
have seen bisht’ers tome—how he trust'd,
how he believed in you, how his heart was
wrapped up in a scheme that was to do you
and your* a life-long good— And youl You,
for reward, me,t foully, most brutally de
stroyed him!” He draws a long breati'; his
eyes aie aflame. “Hi* blood,” he says in a
low tone, “his Mood forever cries to me for
vengeance. I declare to you,” throwing one
baud heavenwards, “I shall never rest until I
brn g his murderer lo the scaffold!”
“Sir! Think! Consider,” says the priest
bastilt. “Can you not leave him to time, to
his own conecience for revenge.”
“His conscience!”
“Yes, sir. HU surely. Bs it soon or be it
ia’e, be assured that the memory of that awful
crime will some time seize upon that man and
burn into his soul like a red-hot iron. Sir, 1
entreat you, be content with that certainty and
do not pnni-h the innocent for the guilty."
“N >. I shall be content only with a justice
that I shall sie." replies Delaney grimly "A
life for a life is but meagre satirise iou in thi*
case, for whjl dozen lives amongst that sori!
crew”—indicating the peasants by a gesture
full of wilh.Ting contempt—“could compensate
for tho life they took.”
■‘E ich man, Delaney,” says the priest sol
eremy, reprovingly, “has his own s- ml. That
is as prc-cous to'.he lowest a* to the higiiest
And you—are you just? Is it justice you seek,
or only vengeance? Is it right?”—with agita
tion—“to punish the many tor the few? I be'
you to hear me, sir, in a kindlier spiiii; I en
treat you to be ieve that tney are animus to be
reconciled to you—V ’
“I respect you, Mr. Doolin,” says Ddancy.
interrupting him gently, but delibt raiely. “I
honor you indeed, became 1 know you 10 be a
good mac, who U wasting his life in a vain en
deavor to reform a hopelessly vicious peo-
P “Not vain. I hope, sir," protests the priest
in a tone of d -ep di-tre*s.
•St I at hast believe,” with a slight bow,
“ana yet you would ask me to regard these
p -ople as Deiug d< s rous of returning to their
alltg ance, to a *ense of their duty towards me,
their landlord, when you must, know what hap
pened at that farm at Gullagh only last week
Was thy brutal mulila .ion of a number of help
less cattle a sign of their desira to be ou good
terms with me? I c tnfess it looked to me
moie like a declaration of war. I really be
lieve,” raising his voice so as to be heard by
ati, “it wa* meant for a threat. But threats to
me,” with a short, insolent laugh, “are, I as
sure you,” ad Ircssing himself with an a, gra
vating air to the people, “ die as the wind ”
Agiin that a- gry murmur rises from the
heart of the crowd.
“ Tno wind is.i’t always idle. It has over-
t.h own many a strong man before now," says
Moloney ominously, a villainous scowl up<vn
his brow.
“If, sir, you would make some further abate
ment,” got8 on the priest, hurriedly, as if try
ing to drown tnis mu imm* speech; * anything—
say thirty, even twenty-five per oent.”
“Not a penny,” briefly, “as matters now
stand. O >e h >pe, h >wever, I still hold out.
Let them deliv- r into my hand the man who
assassinated Mr Meredith, and I may—I do
not promise, remember—hut I then mig-t be
indue d to listen to their complai ts; until
then, nothing You hear, ail of you.” speak-
i g iii a clear, cold, steady v >ice, “and I give
you notice that you have from this until No
vember, only, to settle your rents; after that I
shad evict the non-payers, man by man.”
There is something about h.s manner that
preclude* the idea of cnange. What he has
said, that will he surely do. There is no ap-
p al from that sternly delivered fiat. A hoarse
cry runs through the crowd from mouth to
mouth, partly fear, partly hatred. There is
something at once so savage, yet so thrilling in
it that involuntarily one or two of the men
lounging on the la vn get up hastily, and a
magnificent old h mnd, that lies stretched at
Delaney’s feet, springs from the ground with a
growi and stands trembling, as if waiting for
me word to spnng upon the foe. -
At thi* moment Mol mey makes a fierce ges
ture. and the dog, 1 ising til con'rol over its
awakened temper, with a bound reaches him.
With hair basiling and lips drawn back, show
ing the fangs within, he looks a more farmida-
b.e enemy than he really ie; and Moloney,
yielding to a vil* impulse and a longing for re
venge, lifts his heaw foot and gives the poor
old brute a cruel kick.
With a sharp yell the hound rolls over on the
gravel, bis leg broken.
“Dimn yi u! y on scoundr-11” cries Delaney,
forgetiui of everything, in tis mad rage, as he
sees the dog lying ill mortal pain bef >re him.
It is big favorite d >g, old now, but a fai hful
creature who has had good share of his mas-
ier’s heart for many a long day. In a stcond
Denis has flung himself upon Moloney, and,
seizing him by lhe co lar, in s file of hi* pow
erful struggle shakes him to and fro asa terrier
might a rat, and then dashes him heavily to the
groixud.
F >r a minute or two he lie* there stunned—
D. lauey looking down upon him—pale, pant
ing more wiih pasion than fatigue. Then he
recovers himself ai d ri-.es slowiy to his feet
One dark, uulignant glat c > he casts at D -
laney, one bit er curse escape* hi* lips, and
then he moves awav, followed by the crowd,
now grown strangely silent.
Ou iy the o d priest remains, and turns in an
agitated fashion to Madam, who, with some of
the others, has hurried up, looking pale and
hurrifi d.
‘I wi-h ho had not done that, Madam,” said
Father D mlin, in a trembling voice. “It was
most uutortuuate. They are already much in
censed against him; and—I wish he had not
done that.”
“I wish he had not indeed,” says Madam,
who i* very white.
‘And I wi*h he had done more," cries Mis*
Bake, looking np with flishng eyes, from
where she and the Duoness, with Delaney, are
kneeling over the injured dog. “I wish he had
killed th6 cowardly wietch who dealt that blow
lo this poor brute.”
Tears are standing thickly in her eyes, and,
seeing them, Kdearff, who is never proof
against beamy in distress, goes up to her. The
Duchess, sitiing on the gravel, has got the
dug’s head in her lap; warm drops are falling
from her eyes on his handsome old head. The
poor brute, more hurt than they at first had
ihonght, is dying; even as Denis ca ls to him,
in the hope of cheering him, and Sir Philip,
who is a olever m tn about dogs, is examining
the brok-n leg, be gives a groan or two, and,
with a last vain effort to struggle to bis feet
and go to his mas-er, drops buck dead.
It is after all only a very small affair; tho
ieath of a dog only. A mere trifle beside the
bloody deeds tint night by tigbr., and day by
i1:*y are enacted in ail pans of ill famed Kerry,
whilst our Enslish protectors talk, and talk,
ami talk, at ihe other and safe side of the wa-
ier, and do nothing The death of a d ig, a id
iins knocking down of hisslaver. yet, insignifi
cant as this sounds, it bears ia the future bit
ter fruit!
CHAPTER XVIII.
“Let it be now lovei All my soul breaks forth.
How Ido love youl Give my love its way!
«***«•
Grant me my heaven now.”
»*»*•»
“Norab, mav I Lave the pleasure of this
dance?” says Denis gravely, looking down at
his cousin. Tne o'd familiar “Duchess” has
long been laid aside
Madam's Calico Bill has come off at last in
spite of many delays. It is now October,
warm and bright on its pet day, lowering and
dark enough on the others. To-night, howev
er, is beyond expectation, loveiy and mild as
though a last breath of the dead summer bad
been wafted to It by spirit hands. AH the
gardens are aglow with colored lamps, poor
counterfeits of the myri id stars that deck the
firmament above where, too, Diana sail* in
perfect splendor. It is an ideal night, balmy,
and calm as death ittelf, with no s und save
the whispering of the lime trere under the ten
der moonlight, and the far off breaking of the
wave* upon ttie pebbly shore.
“With pleasure,” responds the Duchess,
coldly, not looking at him. She is staring
past him, with unseeing eyes, however, very
pale but lovelv as a dream, in the quaint cos-
utrae she wears. S ie is a very exqui-ite
“Mis* Muff t,” in her short-waisted gown of
Irgbl. ie*:heiic saffron tin', a veiy big mob
cap at d long soft 2love t that reach up to her
white shoulder, at d then gently wrinkle ail the
way down again from that to her wrist. A
more admirable picture than she makes it
won'll bs in possible to conceive.
She is without doubt the belie of the even
ing, though Katherine Caztlet, wLo is supre
mely lovely as Queen of Hearts, in long trail
ing skirts of white and gold, runs her bard
Miss Blake, too, as “My Pretty Maid,” is
charming; and Lady G'audor© a thing of bsau-
tv as “Mistress Mary.”
* The Duchess, indeed, seems quite trans
formed. A br.lliant fire has iit itself in each
of her great grey eyes, and though her cheeks
have turned strange'y white within the last
few minutes, her Ups still are crimson.
“But to danct 1” she says, still not looking
at him. “I «m tired of dancing! Is there no
place to be found for the sole of one’s tired
foot this evening?'’
By intuition he knows that she will rot suf
fer his arm around hi r waist, and a bitter pain
beats within his heart; pain mingled with an
anger as bitter.
“If ycu are tired ws can sit down in one of
the conservatories, or, better still, in one of
the gardens,” he says, as calmly as be can.
“Will that suit you, or shall I give np my
p ace to another?”
“That is a very rude speech, isn't it?” says
the Duchess, at las' turning her eyes on his
“And might almost lead me to believe—”
* No.” Interrupting her with a sternness
that yet i* agitated. “Yon could never believe
that!” He draws her hand with a touoh of
determination witnin his arm, and moves to
wards a door on his left. This leads to a con
servatory. Entering it, they come to an open
glass door beyond, that opens on to a veran
dah. Three or four step* lead from this to
the terrace beneath, which in turn gives ac
cess i n the * ardens glowing in the moonlight.
“What a lovely nitht,” says the Duchess,
lookingrou; d aer, evidertly with a view to
m iking convi-rsa inr. There is a slight touch
of nervousness in her manner, a soupcon of un-
1 easiness.
“Yes I am glad it has turned out fine. Such
a mere chance as it was. You are enjoying
yonrsdf?” with a steady glance at h«r.
“So much!” with enthusiasm. “I hardly
thought it possible that one cou’d compress
such an amount of thorough enj tvment into
one short evening. Oh, yes. I am feeliDg ab
surdly happy.”
‘ You should,” bitterly. “The right is all
your own. You have the world at vour feet.”
“The world! A large statement.”
’Not so large as it sounds Each of us has
a wot Id of his own in which to kHOW grief or
joy; your world is a most submissive one, it
owns itself cap ive to your will ”
“Does it?” with a little unmirthful laugh.
“And who are my captives?”
“ I'he q icstion is not like you,” says be,
bitterly * But you are so changed, so differ
ent from the cousin I once knew, tha'
Is it to grat’fy your vanity yon ask i'? Snail
I speak of Greene—of Kilgarriff—of—”
“Pray don’t, if you want to make yourself
interesting; I know quite as mucu of them as
I wish to know."
“Is that true, Norah ? Is that slighting
tone honest? Am I really to believe that—
they ail—that Kilgarr.ff is of no account in
your eyes?’’
“Why should you seek to believe anything
of that son?” demands she, coldly, lifting
large resentful eyes to his. “Are you my
guaroi*n, my—my brother, that you thus
speak?”
‘ You do not deny, than,” exclaims he reck
less y, “that there is no in at all events, some
thing between you and Kilgarriff.” There is
snch passionate anguish in his tone that, had
her own heart been free from care, she must
have condoned his words.
"Tnis is an examinati on to which I refuse
to be subjected,” Bays she, lightly enough, but
with an angry glance. Her heart i* beatiDg
wildly, painfully; a fear of his next words is
oppressing her, with a vehement indig
nation that he—he—engaged to ai d doubtless
in love with another woman, as he is—should
dare to thus take her to task.
“It is true—I have no right to speak,” says
Dilaney, controlling hitn*uf by a visible ef
fort. “But vou are very young, and much as
you may dislike the idea, 1 am in a sense your
guardian whilst you remain here.”
“You are not mv guardian, here or else
where. Yon,” with a cold steady giance, “are
nothing to me. Please understand that at
once. I am under my aunt’s care, not yours.
If I thought otherwise I should not remain an
hoar longer under this roof. I cannot permit
you to interfere with me in any way.”
“Not even for ”
“Not in any way,” haughtily. “Now," with
a sligot curl of her lip, “tf you have quite fin
ished your i npromtu lecture, I should be glad
,o return to the hou*e.”
“I have not finished,” breaks he out fierce
ly, goaded to quicker wrath by that last un
friendly glance. “I have still to ask you by
what right you treat me a* you do. What
have I done that I should b8 placed beneath a
ban—tba. I should receive from you none but
uncourteouB words and looks? Not so many
weeks ag ”
Hush," saysBhe in a low, bat peremptory
tone.
No. You shall hear me. Why should I be
silent?”
I warn yon,” says she, in the same intense
way, speaking almost under her br6ath.
“And I refuse to listen. I tell you I cannot
live this thing out; I must end it, one way or
theo'her. You know—you must—that if you
wifi say but one word—one—1 ” 1
“Are you mad that you speak to me like
this? ’ fxciaims she, recoiling from him; there
is horror and condemnation; and—something
else—in her glaDce. la it despair? She leans
heavily against the tronk of a tree, and put*
back both her arms as if to hold and efing to
it. “I don’t pretend to misunderstaud you,”
she goes on presently, “but what I ready fail
to see is, why I should say that wordl D > you
know?" with a taint and most unkind suiiie.
‘’Can you tell me?"
“Norahi”
“Nay, hear mn out. Now, once for all. It
seems to mo that you are lab luring under a
delusion tint I woult gladly dispel. Is it in
deed the matter of life and death with me, the
speaking of ‘this werd,’ Lhat you,* with a
chiding emphasi* “seem to think? Am I so
madly desir *usto see you free, that I—— Oh! ’
breaking off suddenly as if suffocating, and
making a passionate movement with her love
ly naked arm, as if flmeing from her some hate
ful thing. “It is in8uffer.bltT’
“Don’t go too far!” says Denis, in a curi
ously compressed tone.
“I c>uld not," vehemently. “To say
enough, that is the d ffi iuI y. But who could
und worcs sufficient for such a cause. Has
my manner, the matmer of which you so sadly
oomolain, not taught you that-—that—
“What?” catching her wrist.
“Hut I hate and detest youl” cries she with
a sudden burst of indignation, wrenching her
self free. Her eyes are aflame, her lips quiv
ering. Never even in her loveliest moments
has she ever looked so beautiful.
• ■St!” gays he, bitterly. Her beauty is lost
to him just then, theugu in a sense he sees it,
and afterwatd* remembers and recalls every
charm; but now such wild rage governs his
heart, that only the keen hatred that is always
so near allied to a keen love, surges within his
breast.
“Has it never occurred to you, says he, his
own eyes flashing, “that you might teach me
to return that feei ng."
“Return it as heartily as you will. The
more heartily, the better I shall be pleased.”
“It has come to this, then. It is to bo open
war between us?”
“I don’t know about the coming, the new
ness of it- I have thought of you for a long
time as I think now.”
“In the old days, at BUlyhinsh?" His tone
has again sof'ened. There is even eager ap
peal now in the eyes he turns on her. B >th
the appeal and the altered t me only serve to
madden her. Alas, alas! for those old dead
davs. .
“At BiUyhiicb,” says she, growing deadly
white, but still regarding him with an unwa
vering gaze, “you believed I was in love with
you! Is not that so? You thought”—with a
litt'e, low laugh—“that you wore a hero, a be
ing from another, a fashionable worid, in the
eytsof the little, si uple, country girl, with
whom it p eased you to wh le away the tedious
hours. Come—” standing back from him w.t.h
her arms still clasped behind her, and a mock
ing smile upon her lips that hides from hi □
the misery of her eyes—“confess you did not
know me then. That I was a silly country
baty, if you will, but that, at all events, I was
not toolish enough to bow down and worship
you.”
Oh, the terrible self contempt that awakes
within her as she says thi-! The burning pain
at her heart! Had she nof bowed down and
worsh pped—and given, unasked, all the firet
sweet love of her life, into his keeping? Il-r
breath is coming quickly through her red, ripe
lij s; her eyes are blazing with an unnatural
brilliance; ihe mombeams falling on her, light
up each separate charm, clinging softly to her
as thnu'h loth to let her slip from their etn-
as though well aware that, never yet did
goodlier sight s and here xevealtd, in this old,
tim< -honored garden.
The insolence, the beauty of her, rouses in
Delaney an anger uncantroliab e, bnt with it a
pission more uncontrollable still. As she
stands 'bus before him. defiant, lovely, he
makes a sudden step forward and ca’cbes her
n his arms. There i* a second’s deadly pause
—heart bea ing agsiast heart—» last touco of
remoree—and then he kisses her as ho never
yet kissed any woman, as he will never kiss
another.
He loosens his arms—too late! A sense of
horror at his own act, a knowledge that he has
sinned beyond redemption, so overpowers
him, that he can find no words in which to ex
cuse himself. As ho stand • silent, stricken
with regret, a low, sobbing breath fails upon
his ear.
“Oh! that I could kill you!” exclaims the
Puch-ss, in a tone so intense as to be almost
n*ulible.
Tuey are tha* standing, facing each other—
she trembling, unnerved; be, silent, remorst-
fui-Lwhen a light footstep sounds upon their
right. Involuntarily both raise their heads
and move a iittle further apart, as Miss Carder,
come*, with her usual si »w, undulating s-.ep
from out t*e shadows that lie thickly on the
eastern walk.
[TO BE COBTIXUED.l
Young men or middle aged ones, suffering
from i ervous debility and kindred weakness, s
should s=nd 10 cents in stamps for Ulus rat. d
book suggesting eure means < f cure. Addre**,
W nld’e Dbprnsary Medical Asstciation, 603
Main Street, Buff*le, N. Y,
CHAT.
The eighteenth of October is the appointed
day for our reunion. We feel sure success
will crown onr (flirts to ga'her together a'l the
Household; aDd to make the success certain
let all who possibly can, be in the city on the
day set apart for our “meeting” The good
editor is with ns, and has kindly consented to
allow the use of his residence for our recep
tion. He assures us a nice time, and has or
dered a full moon and that sort of thing bifore
hand. Or if lovely Lunar proved ungracious
we will manufacture our owh moonshine.
Musa Dunn, your picture and private note re
ceived. Many thanks for both; they are very
much appreciated. Any privilege is allowed
the Householders, and pen pictures of the va
rious members would be amusing. But per
sonalities to too great an extent must be avoid
ed.
Those sending communications for the
Household will remember the rules. L’t the
letters be directed to this department—not Col.
Seals—and those writing must reveal their real
address to us.
Leona of our band is to be congratulated;
one of the prizes recently drawn, fell to her
l 0 l_ Mother Hurbard.
‘•No woman can make a foil of me,” remark-
el a yourg man who had signally fatbd in do
ine that same for a smart Dupont Circle girl.
“ Well, hardly,” “seeing tha' nature has ant c -
p ated such action on tte part of any of our
sex.”
FITS: All Fits stopped free by Dr. Klir.e«’
Great Nerve Restorer. No Fits after first day’*
use. Marvelon* cures. Tree ise and 2 00 trial
bottle free to Fit case*. Send to Dr. Kline,
031 Arch SU Paila. Pa.
Chat With Home-Makers—The Gar
den.
[nr MATTIE II. HOWARD—NO 2 ]
“Howdy do, Miss E 'a; I co ne to ax you to
please ti' me a mes* er turnip greens. As I
passe! ’ioug by jer gwarien l seed yer greeiiH
i eeds ihinnia* otic, so ( thought I’d come by
and ax ver tursome. E iy little thing l can do
fur you I a in willin' to do. I is m.ghty tired
ea in’ cry bread an' meat. lhe c »ws got in
my gwarden au* finished it, an’ my ole man
done cut all de peas fur hay ’fore dey was
ready to gather, an' it’s aioa*trm* dry t mas
wi 1 dis mgrer. We got a'l our rented grnui.d
planted in c itton eve i up to de door steps al-
mo8’, cepiiti’ a small ’tato-patch, an’ we can’t
begin ou dem yit; if we do, dar will be none
fur winter." , „
“ Well, go and gather some and I wul can on
you when 1 need you ” [Aside.— 'Tnat is the
last of her, no doubt ’’]
Sep einher garden* are not very full, home
ooliards, strawberry vines, okra, butter-bean
vines and a bed of turnips. But the season is
over and seeds are harv- sted for ano h -r year.
It is w. 11 to gather plenty of seeds. Dj not
allow any to waste. Some one is sure to want
some, and by having an abundant supply of
the Kinds you can save, you are enabl a lo ex
change with your neighbors or even to sell
some. Seed selling is getting to be a popular
business am mg us. Watermelon seed are in
demand, and it is wall to save au abundance of
cucumber and melon seeds of ail kmd3
Pickles can be made as easily at home as
anything else. Raise a patch of cucumbars.
Gather them while small, about as long as
your finger; pack away in salt and they are
ready for use all winter. Tomatoes, too, are
very nio *, and easily raised. The seed are not
tioublesome to save. GatheY^rtf the tomatoes
that are over-ripe. Have an old sieve, take out
the see 1 from tne fruit. They are surrounded
by a pulpy subsumes which when run throng t
the sieve leaves the seed almost dry. Spread
on a dish or paper—i paper is better as it ab
sorb* the remaining water Stir occasi inaily
to prevent sticking to the paper. When dry
put in labeled papers and store away
out of reac i of rata. Cucumber seed cau be
saved in the tame manuer, also watertnelo i
and other similar seed. Gather all the dry
butter beans and have realy for winter; they
are good when boiled aDd baked. Okra dried
keeps well, and i* very nice to saison soup in
winter The sick like it especially. Some can
okra, com and tomatoes all together for sea
soning soup. .
ii, is almost time to set s'riwberries and
plant outons, esshalots and buli3 of various
kinds. Fertilize bulonus roots wi:h raKings
from the poultry h-tuse. R(kings from the
wo d-pile are good tor strawberries
English pea and bean seed should be sun
ned often to keep out weeviis. Keep ail see 1
fr*n rat*. A good plan is to bouie such see!
a* rats eat. Label the bottles and write the
date of tho seed, also tha name and variety.
Be sure the battles are perfectly dry, else tne
seed will spoil.
If crab grass has grown luxuriantly in yonr
garden, do not let it waste, but cut for hay. It
is surprising how much hay a small space will
make. “Waste not—want not.” By gather
ing garden products in tune a great deal i*
saved; b it often much is wasted, and sooner or
later wsn ed. We buy so many of our seed
from the North. Why can’t we save them our
selves? Home-saved seed have been known to
yield batter t lau bought ones, and bv a little
care they can always be sav< d. A little care—
yes, a little; but in summer such work is often
fatiguing, and easly put off from one day till
ihe next. Tnen a rain comes and ruins suci
things and they are ost. Maybe we want to
go off on a visit, and thus we lose much that
could be saved; but recreation is necessary,
and the summer is a long, dry, dull one to her
who stays at home and g>-s through the same
routine day after day these warm days. S icb
a one takes up pen for diversion, and to ch it
wita congenial spirits on topics other than
home ma ters is more refreshing than to write
about what is before her a l'Ua rime. Still,
one should alwa)S be unselfish, and words
*poken and written should be for the editica
lion of a ! l listeners and readers
In spring the garden is a more pleasing topic
than now.
Gleamings of Stray Thoughts, from
the Pea of Little Bess.
Dear Mother Uuhbard: How dare you in
sinuate that we H mseholders never eat, which
of course means that we know nothing ab >ut
cooking. Now we a'.! kaow lhat onr mothers
and grandmothers were noted for the excel
lency of their generously loaded tables and my
own knowledge and experience teacoes me that
there is a great deal of the old life t) be found
in our sunny land yet. I sometimes look a
little a xionsly at my own table, fearing that
some fastidious guest may find the same fault
the foreign minister’s wife did with “lovriy
Do ly Madison’s;” that it “looks like a harvest-
home supper," but surely I can make the same
excure she did, and gentlemen never fail to en
joy aid compliment I was a dreamy, care
free gri bat was so fortUHate a* to have a
practical mother who init ated me into all the
mysteries of the kitchen and early taugot me
that tho easiest way to a ra sn’s heart is urough
hi* stomach—not a very elegant expression,
b it a v»rv true one, as I can prove by my
cnmpaqn'm du vo'/a-ge who was first woo by
my frtah young face and merry talk, but is
h i! (*no know* hjw much?) by a skillful ot
tering to his tastes. At, I know our pr-siling
genius only wrote those lines to put us upon
our mettle and make ns show now much wo do
know of practical affairs. I had always a
scribbling propensity, but never any fondness
for sewing, practicing or painting, 'hough I
find real pleasure (re the surprise of my
friends) in the kitchen, and a literary friend
who writes well and era-refully gives the same
experience. Is there any eSnity between
writing and cooking, or is it the same feeling
that mates a man of sedentary employment
take snch delight in gardening!
I* it too late to answer the riddle propound
ed in the Scnnt South of two weeks ago? I
imagine the answer must be “perfect happi
ness;” am I not righi! Surely the author of
that riddle must be a cynical lady or gentle
man of nacertaic age, for I know married peo
ple enjoy more real true happiness than the
sin ;le ones though perlect bliss is not found
anywhere.
Iam by no means one of the cl nging vine-
like women, but I am a warm advocate of mar-
ri g* and believe in ihe good olf- ime “falling
in love" theory. Always feel a warm sympa
thy for and take a lively interest in a c uple
young enough to have a v.olent attack and too
ingenuous to conceal it. Last winter there
wa*inour circle a Her sweet b'onde and a
good -lore- i ig dark eye! ‘ fell i v” who found it
im ossible to appear indifferent, and we all
felt drawn towards them and rendered all
the assistance iu our power. Tne result is
that a c >zy little cottage near by is being
remodeled and tastefully furnished and next
week our pair of lovers will take posession,
r.ch in you h, health and love, and many a
callous h*art will throb more wa’mly at sight
of their undisguised haDpiness Laugh as you
will, love sweetens and beautifies everything
in a woman’s life, and though in its absence
she may fill the void with other thing*, yet
depp down in her heart all girls feel like the
saucy little Duchess N >w, Mothsr Hub-
bar.!, please have your voluminous drapery
ready to sbi-ld me, because ihe str mg-miuded
members of tne band will surely be after me.
Am sorry that I did n it read chapter foriy-
ni e of the New Columbus, bit was so unfort
unate as to miss that paper— will try to hunt
it. up among my fne ids I cannot imagine
Wauhama saying anything ab u r , married life
then, for it was before he nad any experience.
The New Columbus has been a strange, weird
tale to me, as full of woLders as the Arabisn
Nights, but the “Duchess” promises to ba very
fasc mating.
Our State expects to have an Exposition in
November, and every lady is planning some-
tniog for the irapiriam occa i >n, and if Moin-
er Hubbard’s northern friend wants a p-acti-
cil demonstration of our cooking ability, let
her vi*it our c ty of Rose.* during that tim“,
as we hope to m ike a display of everything
that is toothsome or appetizing, from au im
proved vari tv of strawtH-rey to our enormou*
Saaniion apples. Then we will have all kinds
of needle and fine? work, painting*, crayons,
eic Come one cime all, and we will give
each a true Arkansas welcome.
Little Bess.
Summer Fr encU.
Sutntn'r honr3 are l a-aing swlfily,
Summ-r (lays are almo*t dead,
A"<1 I muse n’er t iem tn «ado-s*,
Muse wire mingled J tv and d'« id—
Win these da.s tnat s > q llckly
Rear awav mv pi asure- b let?
Win me frl-iiu* mat 'louua me nng*r
Ls.ve me soon to ptue la grief?
Btunmerfriend*f-ngb wlih me bljthelv,
Wnile we gather roses gav;
W -i the Autumn winds m >an drearl y^
W 11 these friends b • far aw ij ?
W i cnere c m* n it one to cneer me
In ib ise lone ;, silent hours,
W -n m re falls "o rav of gia mess
Taro’the cnttl November saowers?
Ah t I fear not.. B .on w!l' wl'h- r
Su nm- r fl .wers and f. lendablus fair;
T i-y are trait and cannot blossom
lo winter snows or frostv afr.
O 'n-llsn heart! There is in Ilfs
No j y out w tn witch so row blends.
Bo v ep n ■( as “l y fade awav—
Yonr summer fl >«er* and summer friends.
Cornflower
Oar Butterfly Found.
Dear Jlou^ehotders: It has been a long time
giuie I h ive fluted am >ng this gay circle, and
ihat Tims has brought with it maLy changes,
instead of the gay bright Bu'teifly of old, you
find me sedate, settled and matronly—no
more silly discussions on flirtations, dancing,
etc., but instead occupied and interested in
household du ies. There are many of the old
members who will wonder what has wrought
this change in the once flighty gay being of
old. ALs! my friends, it is matrimony that
has done it all—ye-; the gay, giddy girl who
railed against mairimony—neid it up to ridi
cule, has at last b -come a v.c.im, aud, I mu*'.
*»y, a very happy victim. Tae melancholy
picture my fancy painted has not been real-
iz d.
Whire are all the bright light* that il'umt-
nated the Ho isehold in tha happy days of the
past? II >w eagerly I look each week for a
glimpse of one familiar. Thrre are only a few
of tue “'d members that still remain faithful.
Alai-1 after such a long absence, t an I hope
to ta u admittance, breathlesslv awaits &u
anxious Butterfly.
An Inquiry for Queen Mab.
Dear Mother HulMird. I wish to ask Queen
M ib mr mo addr. s< given in a reo nt etter of
me lad7 who offered to give a prescription for
pimples I wrore a* she directed, enclosing
the amount, but have failed to hear from it.
VViil Q men M ah please give me the adoress
again? Ferhapi there was some mi-take.
Marshall, lYx. Camille.
Makarv xt ouquets.
Flowerii g grasses dried and arranged with
pressi d leaves, palm-fronds, peacock leathers,
berri-8, e:c., compose graceful vase-bouqueis
which are very desirable for that season of the
year when, in northern climes, no fresh fl iw-
ers, excepting exotics and hot-honse blossoms,
can be obtained.
The feathery pampas grass, which can be
ob ained dyed ia diff-rent colors, as well as in
its natural state; various immortelle fl iwers,
edelweiss, etc ; the beautiful silky pods of the
mi kweed; pimpoa* made of these pad.*; strips
of dried palm-fionds, and carefully pregs-d
ferns are used. Any of the grasses or iu no--
teiles may bn dyid at home by carefully dip
ping them in a solution of the desired color.
Directions ior use accompany all the packets
of dye-coior8 sold for general use.
In making up the clusters, the contrasts and
harm mies of col tr should bs (V-u more care
fully considered than in a bouquet of fresh
ent-fl > vers, for the tins are not as natural.
Any specimens of insec's, bri;liant-liU“d bugs,
inutns, or butteifl es will add to the , Sect, aud
so wi 1 small at: ff-d bir s of gay plumage.
For convene nee in working, professional
d irists a!wai s moisten immortelles and dri-d
grasses and lei them dry out after making up.
Cuis is almost necessary, for otherwise the
dried aud brittle stems may snap while they
are being manipulated, and pos-tbie a most
desirable spray Do utterly spoilei iu this way
Bouquets like these should always be re
moved from the room before sweep ng or dus
ting, as their beauty is greatly impaired by
dust, which cannot be removed. Pampas
grans, howeve;, may be cleansed by dipping it
in a strong lathery end*, rinsing through sev
eral clear waters, and drying the plumes in
the sua.
Dr. Pierce’s “Favorite Prescrip iotv” perfect
ly ana permanently cures those diseases p-eu-
1 ar to females. It is tonic and neryine, i ffec-
tually allaying end curing those sickeuinp sen-
Sitions that affect the stomach and bear,
ihrou.h r. fl x Hction. The hackacae ai u
“draggiug-do vn” sensations all disappear un-
per the strengthening tfLcts of thi* great re-
s-orat've. By druggists.
The Southern Medical College, At
lanta
We lavffe especial attention to the card of tte
ib vi IB-U'ntloa In ibl-i Issue of thefu.tNY • ooth.
TMs school stands deservedly high, aua has me
of the at)I“St corps of teaohers to be found on Ihe
confine.-t,and possesses all Ihe required faclilti.s
f>r lr.piiflng toe highest medlcii education. Ic
has concreted >ri:h It a hospital wn cti gives impor
tant ad?.nt ages, so ttiorou-hy i q tipped as to in
sure luitrue.i m In vverj department of Medlea'
s lenee I: >111 be seen teat a Distal department
ba* been added to this schoo su e- Its la*', session,
wbie'i will also gfv* thorough lustrucrioa in Dmtls-
rj. B ndeals la Deutfs ry aid in M-dlctne will find
tn this rx (client schoo? at! that is re qitred to obtxfti
Ik* Highest education in these departments.
BOYS & GIRLS’
DEPARTMENT.
Dear Boys and Girls: Aluougb L has been
only a short time since my last visit, yet l can
not resist the temptation to come again and
tell you ali that I’ve been up to see Aunt Judy.
You can’t imagine with what restless impa
tience I awaited tha morning of my depvrture
from home. At last the eventful morning
came, and I was off by six o’clock whirling on
ward toward At anta Ii only to >k three hours
to go, but goodness gracious! it actually seemed
weeks to me; aud when the train rolled into
the cat shed my escort had a “sweet time”
keeping me qniet. When I stepped from the
car of course I expected to see old Aunt July
and old Uncle Punch waiting for me. But in
stead of the two old folks I expected, thi re was
the sweetest, freshest looking couple my eyes
ever looked upon. Positively, cousins, my
eyesight came very n-ar tailing tne. I wou’t
say who that couple was; perhaps you can
guess.
Aunt Judy is just the cutest littie(’) “old
lady” I ever saw, and oh! solivelil But she
is terrible on * knocking folks’ heads off.”
She is ever so fond of her “boys and girls,”
and well she might be, for they are all very
handsome.
Johnny Tuberose, who baked those Graham
biscuits? Oh! yes, I found out wby you hung
your coat so high.
M ink, ycu did not know that l was the same
little miss you “sassed” so ou"rageou*ly once,
did you? Well, I am the self same on*. But
if ever Ichershed any bi.t'T feeling* toward
you, they are all gone now. I enjoyed our lit
tle telephone chat more than I can tell. Don’t
forget your promise, couniu Monk.
Palmetto, I fell in love with ycur photo.
Yon are awful tandsome.
My dear ma—oh! Aunt Judy, I mean—how
is our big brown-eyed mash, eh? By the way,
has there been any epistles left for Now,
you need not look so “«keered,” I shan’t
“give” you “away ”
Just ote word for Red Head, and then I’m
off Yonr dear, Bweet face just won my heart
completely. Wish I knew you.
The most I cau say concerning my visit to
Aunt Ju ly is that I never did enjoy anything
as much in my life. But when the time for
going home came aroun l it was more than I
could staud. “It is hard to part from those
we love.” And after my g lod byes were said,
and I was alone in the car, I gave way to my
grief to such an extent that a very sympaihetic
looking young man wanudto know of me it
any of my relatives we e dead.
I will hush my “gibbing” light here, and I
won’t stay so long next lime.
Yours lovingly, Lois.
Dear Auntie: You were so kind to Kittie,
Jinkie auil 1, when we wrote together ihat 1
will write again. Kittie and Jinkie l-.ft last
night for i heir home iu oue of our beaut ful
Southern cities. I am goiug to visit them this
winti r.
Biliie the Ki!, vou will be Billie the Goat,
bye and b?, won’t you?
Well, well, Cleopatra, I didn’t know you
was so bad.
I wonder if any of the cousins know a fellow
named Lre ely Tony. Wnat do you say, E<-
teile Staff trd? Ah, there, Estelle, docs he
know ab >ut Bobbie?
Auut Judy, it is whispered around among
us ihat you are just too 1 ivciy. Will so ue ot
the luckier cousins tell me if it i* so? f ’speck
Uncle Pun oh is some haudsome young lellow—
perhaps one of the Householders.
Ferine, you say Left “taKes the cake.’’ I
’spook ho takes tae entire bakery.
D ar Goldie Ashhurn. I luva you. Do come
cf on; “we both like ashes.”
E. S., do you three remember the serenade!
Jinkie. I “wish I hai a little time.”
Aunt July, I am going to see you soma
t me, because I am going to come up there to
sch >ol when I get through here. I am goii g
to be a young lady nix; year. I will fluish
school in J one.
I have a friend in Atlanta. T wish she would
write; won’t you, Go-one? D » you rememoer
York and the May Queen, an! Prof. C.? I
know you can’t mistaKo me. If you don’t re
member, get my address from Aunt Judy.
C me to see me; [ have more tun now
Dear Auntie, please don’t scold; I conldu't
help it. Justa word to Veritas, of th8 House
hold, and I will fly. Veritas, please tell some
more about Quebec. S. Moore, all your verses
find a place iu my scrap-book.
Ah, there, I just must say that sad word,
Good-by,
Shenigbx.
Dear Aunt and Cousins: After a most in
tent perusal I nave jaid aside the last dear
Sunny. The boys and girls department was
excep ionally interesiing; and I am imbued
with a burning d*s re to gain admittance into
your charmihg circle. Frequently have I ex
perienced the sami, but m> close confinement
to the school room prevented However, as a
few weeks since found me “where the brook
a id river meet,” there is nothing (?) now to
prevent the happy realization of that fond
longing. Do not, oh! do not, most beloved
members, decree otnrwise and blight ali my
hopes and glorious anticipation*, nut deign
me a few kind words of we come. Yoir cha-s
are so delightful that I long to become ac
quainted, so as to participate. Would that I
knew some of you personally.
I wiii teil you something of myself. Am
seventeen summer* of age. Live in a little
piedmont town. Q ilte often “a feeling of
lonelim-s* s »*.!* oVr me” as sweet recollec
tions of au d iang syne lays With loving *cho >1-
rnates are wafttd tome, and I sigh for my al
ma mater.
•‘Oh, they have gone, those shining days,
So beautiful and so bright;
U"dimmed they were by care or pain
Or sorrow’s withering blight.
Th-y sped away like moonlit waves
Upon the ocean shore,
Ard their calm light shall flood my soul
In peace, no—nevermore.”
I was ore of those few to whom school days
were trij >yabl«.
How much I was contemplating to say! But,
from an insinuating lo >k by AuLtie at the
waste-basket, I perceive I must withhold it
and—hastili —away.
Inexoressib'e love to Aunt Judy and each of
tba cousins.
Will not some one become the correspond-
ent of Fidkle.
Dear Aunt Judy and Cousins: I feel some
what shy an ui entering tne L B soabrnptlv;
hut 'hen. i have been reading the d.-ar Sunny
South so 1-ng that. I fee! just like one ot the
“happy famiiy” myself, and then “I c nld
not Slav behind. My de.sires, more sharp
than filed steel, did spur me forth, and ail
through love to see you.’ So I hope to find a
welcome into the fraternity of cou-uns and be
“one of ns ” I wonder if anv of the cousins
live in this beautiful City of Rocks. I think it
ig the loveliest place on earth and just ‘ chuck
full” of pretty girisand handsome hoys, it is
hard to tell which of the cousins I love most,
but I assure you there is a warm spot in my
heart for vou all.
Fearing these imes will meet their fa’e in the
shape of the waste-basket, i will not ex. rt my
self to much; but if favorably received I will
com* again.
With love to ali the cousins, I am yonr new
friend, Lucifer.
Dear Aunt Judy ami Cousins: Here is an
Aiabim-gtri kuocKiug for admittance to the
L. B. I have read the cousins’ letters with
muci interest for a long time. I hope that you
all wi'l welcome me into j our charming circle.
I am deeply interested in all the letter.—and,
Bashful Bill, I especia ly admire you I do
not believe that your name and nature corres
pond, aud I hope that you will think I am in
the same case when you read my signature
l guess that you ail will want to know how I
look. Iam a perfect bio ide (beauty of
course). Who will bid ne welcom- ? What
has become of Mountain II tosier? Well, bye
bye, if this escapes the waste-basket I will
write again. Who will welcom* a
Hypocrite.
Wretched, Indeed,
Are those whom a confirmed tendency to bH-
lousneea, subject to the various and change
ful symptoms indicative of liver complaint.
Nausea, sick headache, constipation, furred
tongue, an unpleasant breath, adu’.lorsharp
pain in the neighborhood of the affected or
gan, impurity of the blood and loss of appe
tite. signalize it as one of the most distress-
jn" as it is one of the most common, of
maladies. There is, however, a benign spe
cific for the disease and all its unpleasant
manifestations. It is the concurrent testi
mony oi the public and tue medical profes
sion, that Hostetler's Stomach Kilters is a
medicine vhich nchi^vee results si>eeaiiy
left, thorough andbeni>m. Besidesrecuiyin^
liver disorder, it invigorates the feeble, con
quers kidney and bladder complaints, and
hastens the convalescence of those recovering
from enfeebling diseases. Moreover, it if the
grand epeeiU© for fever »uid ague.
HE WAS GREATLYJviTAKEN.
A Maryland Chemist K.-ekoned WlthMt
Hi, Host.
I live in the midst of the malarial dis
tricts of Maryland, near the city of
" a 'lington, and am exposed to all the
dangerous influences of the impure air
and water of that region.
Being naturally of a strong consti
tution. I had frequently boasted that
no ch ills and fever or other malarious
complaint would ever trouble me.
This was my experience and the con
dition in which I found myself si*
months ago. I first noticed that I did
not feel so sprightly and vigorous as
was my wont to do. I felt tired and
enervated. Soon I noticed a distinct
and distressing back ache would make
its appearance in the afternoon, in
creasing in severity if the exercise was
more than usually violent. Then A
stretchy feeling with profuse gaping
made its appearance. Then my head,
always clear as a bell, would feel heavy
and I began to have headaches. |
The cold stage was marked with chat
tering of the teeth, severe rigors passed
over me, and no amount of clothing
could keep me warm. The chill was
succeeded in turn by th- cer, in which
I seemed to be burnt ng up, the con
gestion in my head produced a violent
pain in the frontal portion aad a heat
ed sensation of the eyelids, with an in
describable aching of the lower limbs.
Nausea and vomiting occurred with
severe retchings, and when the parox
ysms passed off I was thoroughly pros
trated by a weakness that was felt in
every part of me.
I drugged myself with quinine, and
obtained some relief. But my respite
was of brief duration. I was now so
much reduced that I could hardly walk
or stand upright. My disease soon
culminated in a continued malarial fe
ver which kept me closely confined fo»
about a week. I became exceedingly
depressed and melancholy, so much so
that I lost interest in my work, and,
indeed, scarcely cared what happened
to me.
During all this time, it must be un
derstood uiat i did noL neglect medical
treatment All the most powerfal
remedies were tried, such as liquid ar
senate of potash, valeriante of iron,
mercury, brom'de of potassium, chlo
ride of bismuth, chinoidine, chinchom-
dia, quinine and several others. Afl
this I did under the advice of eminent
physicians. j
It was while I was in this deplorab’a
condition that the claims made for
Kaskhig, lire new quinine, as a s; ecifie
for malaria, were first brought to my
attention. I knew nothing of its value
to justify my having any confidence in
it, but as everything else had failed I
deemed it my duty to try it, so I began
its use, and its prompt and radical ef
fects were of the nature of a revelatiok
to me. Many people may think tho
statement scarcely credible, but it is a
fact that after only a few days’ use of
Kaskine ali the leading symptoms in
my case were decidedly abated or
ceased altogether; and in a few week*
from the time I took the first dose I
was cured. J ,
This was about the first of January
and since then I have experienced no
recurrence of the malarial symptoms
in any form. A remedy of such ex
ceptional virtue for the cure of malaria
ought to be commended and univer
sally made known. I have therefore
urged it upon the attention of my
friends, several of whom have used it
with like good results in every caset
and it is with the greatest pleasure
and sincerity lhat I commend Kaskine
to sufferers from malaria everywhere.
Respectfully yours, . ,jf
J. D. Hird, B. A, i
AfleMant Chemist Maryland Agricultural Cartogfc 4
1\ S.—blioitid any one wish to ad
dress me as to the genuineness of the
above letter, I will cheerfully respond
Other letters of a similar character
tom prominent individuals, which
stamp Kaskine as a remedy of ue
doubted merit, will be sent on appS-
cation. Price $1.00. or six bottles,
$5.co. Sold by Druggists, or sent by
mail on receipt of price.
The Kaskine Company, 54 Worm
St., New York, and 35 Parnngdoa
Road, London.
H&assU
Is an li 11 ’meet conditio
f fclie liuiog m^mbran
of f ho nostrils tear due
Mid tbroaf, bff^t'nci-* 1
uue*. An mucu
h tc etfd. ti'e di-cnan
a re mp nied wi h
b uplug sensdtfon. Tb^r
ir* rp spasms. •
4 ft fr q'lei.i Attach
hhafiMCb**, watery a
ii fl m-d eyes.
CREAM BALM|
A positive Cure.
A pdttitile <9 ai'P'ittd luto t*actt u*»a tit i
ifcreeabic. FriceM conrs at Drospl^: «aL
regts»^ r »»d, eo centa. Circular* free. KLY BEOS.,
5T7-*r O N X
IAY-FEVEI
Old Picturns Copied and tnlarged
Agents wanted In every town und ecaaty In tte
south. 8end for terms and circular*. If you eat -
mt take an agency gel onr retail pneee and see©
•tenures dtreetto us, they wfIt be dona proasEtly aid
u best style. Address SOUTH BKN OOPYINU 00.,
Me g Wuric'ta afreet. S'lentu II, -«#?-*(
TUITION WAN TED-To leach I gn*h aid
<11. sic I- a p.-ivate ssbeoi. Aliiren- **••* 6
Du iiisvlde. Va #!•*!
FIUM, 11H.OKAL AND WHISKE* HABiM
nm-wfiiUr '-oated without pare or datenttev
from daily busmen.
so ttk»TRI<moNS ON DIET.
All »■ .nltdoBtfla',
BY A. 8. WOOLLEY. M. D„
SELMA ALA
s
Whet I »*? cui
ft Km end then _ _
|eaj e«re. I Lave aa«4e the ditcA-e ot PITA
LEP8Y or FALL!NO biCKNESfl * life Mod*
vtrrait my lemedjr
FITS|
:*ta. I iimi • at*
ot FITft,
others h*»e la
new neetMef t
I tr«*«tlee aad a Free (total# oC ac
Infallible remedy Cl»e UnrrM aad PoetOflhaa U eoata f»
for a trial, and I will cure you.
Addrwa* i»« II. O fHMlT
a*, towwftorfe
a «n>*sde tc.
with *440 fle>« aft
[ Free to anr peroos w-a
chaneeof h nietlaDC. ft-