About The sunny South. (Atlanta, Ga.) 1875-1907 | View Entire Issue (Oct. 15, 1887)
THE SUNNY SOUTH. ATLANTA. GA., SATURDAY MORNING, OCTOBER IS, 1887. 3 [niOM THK AUTHOR'S ADVANCE rBOOYSHRRTS—SECURED EXPRESSLY FOR THE “SUWNT SOUTH.”] THE DUCHESS. By the Author of “Phyllis,” “Molly Bawn,” “Mrs. Geof- “Lady Branksmere,” Etc, Etc. frey, CHAPTER XIX. "Hopes and fears; belief and disbelieving.” “Is it a rehearsal?” asks she sweetly, smil ing uoon Denis. "If so, it hardly needs a re petition, I think. It will bring down any house. Yon are both, so far as I am a judge, perfect in yonr parts.” The Dncbees, pale as death, stands motion less. How much does she know? What has she seen? “Don't be frientened. I shall not betray ypu,” says Miss Cazalet, staring straight at her, with an abominable little laugh. “It is a secret, as yet, I suppose, this very-lively enter- such a cruel thing as that. See, I am going away this afternoon—in an hour or so—and I shan’t be back until tc-morrow; do not send me from you with this horrible weight upon my heart. Do not, I beseech you. I have been bo many hours—so many sleepless hours —brooding on this thing, that,” with a heavy sieh, “I would entreat you to give me akindly word; to lighten my remorse somewhat.” "A word—what can I say?” “That you forgive me. It is a great deal to ask, I know, but ” “I will not; I cannot!” exclaims she, hur riedly, her eyes always on the ground. “Well, so be it,” says he, wearily. He tainm«nt of yours, and I shall take care not to moves away from her, and then as suddenly mention it unless . You have kept it quite j comes back again, and, raSsing her face with to yourselves so far, uavo you not? How clev- ; onc_hand, compels her to return hi3 regard. er of you.’ “Katherine!” begins Deianey. “Xo, not a word. What, should there be to explain to me? Secresy is the principal thing in a matter of tins kind, is not it? It is always more amusing so, eh? Ai least, so I have been told. I' adds a piquancy to the affiir.” It is impossible to describe the smiling insolence of her whole manner. “You had better hear me,” says Delaney, coming a step or two forward, a look of eager excitement on his face, nay, more—an intense hope! “If yon think ” "I don’t, I am sure,” interrupts she with a clever haste. “But if you wish to insinuate that the extremely animated scene I just now witnessed was not acting, I fear it must mean “What a face!’’ he says. “All love and ten derness and sweetness; yet how hard, how un forgiving you can be. Are you flesh and blood, that you thus coldly renounce me? A moment since I said all th>s was nothing to you, be cause you did not care; but,” passionately, “I spoke against my better judgment then—I be lieve against everything—that you do caro. You were my friend once; you cannot be so altogether changed.” "And yet I am. I—” with a little quick frown, as though something has hart her—“I hardly know myself since I came here. Call me capricious, what you will, but only be lieve,” eagerly, “that the gill you knew at B»l- lybinch is not the girl yon know now. All my tastes are altered. What I liked then I think a very serious quarrel between you and your worthless now; what then contented me seems cousin.” She looks quite concerned. “May now of the poorest value. Perhaps this may I act as mediator?” She fixes her gaze on | explain the change in me of which you com- Xorah, who breathes a little more freely. Is that all, then? Had she only heard those last angry words of hers, only seen the indignation of her look and gesture? Is she entirely igno rant of what gave rise to them? “I think not. As I begin, so must I finish my feuds for myself," she says sententionsly. Then, “Have you no one with you?” peering into the darkness behind, where Miss Cazalet is standing just on the moonbeam’s edge. “No,” a little taken off her guard by this prompt question. “Ah! Then you can take Denis off my hands,” says the Duchess, with a swift move ment that at once separates her from the oth er two. She steps lightly past them, and a second later is swallowed up by the shadows. With her goes Miss Cazalet’s assumed indif ference and smiling unconcern. “You and your cousin are better friends than I have been led to believe,” she says, turning a searching, a rather contemptuous glance, on Denis. “My cousin hates me,” replies he gloomily. “You say that! We!l, I should not ha7e thought it.” “You, of all others should!” retorts he hotly. “You saw more than you pretend, Katherine; you saw all. And ” “All! Oh, no!” says Bhe, with an inexplica ble smile. “You saw enough, at least, to prove to you that Xorah was in no wise to blame to-night, that 1—1 only—” he stops, as though it is im possible for him to proceed, and a heavy sigh breaks from him. “I behaved abominably to her,” he bursts out at last. “I am not thinking of her—of the injury done to lar fine feelings,” coldly. “I am thinking of myself.” “I know; I understand that you havo much to complain of. I can quite see that after this you will wish to put an end to ” “I shall put an end to nothing,” steadily. “Do you think,” with a glance supposed to be fond, and that makes his heart die within him, “that I could not forgive yon so much, and that I have not formed my own opinion of this unpleasant matter? I believe the truth to be that you were led into it by a consnmmate co quette, a heartless, unprincipled flirt!” The words seem to come from between her clenched teeth. Her eyes grow vindictive. “One word, Katherine!” says Delaney, sternly. “You shall say no slanderous thing of my cousin. Remember that. It is impos sible, having seen Norah, that you should so think of her.” “I have my own views, as I told you before,” with a curl of her thin lips, “and I leave it to time to prove me right. Meanwhile,” coldly, “it would be in better taste, I think, if you were to refrain from defending her in my pres ence. However, I have ub intention of quar relling with you on such worthless grounds. Come. Let us return to the house.” *•••••** “Well, I don’t know that I ever enjoyed my self more,” says Lady (Bandore in her lan guid way, alluding to the joy of the past night. It is now once more a new day, and some of them are wandering aimlessly down the path ways that lead to the shrubbery, discussing the good and evil of the dead dance. “I’m sure I didn’t,” says Mr. Greene, who is as usual Norah’s shadow. “But Miss De laney is omniously silent. What cloud lies upon your brain, Miss Delaney?” “Norah. Nonsense!” says Lady Glandore, coming good-naturedly to the girl’s rescue. “Don’t believe her if she pretends to melan choly. To my certain knowledge Hhe danced holes iii her stockings. What could any well regulated girl desire more?” ‘ Unless it might be stockings impervious to holes, I don’t know,” responds Mr. Greene meekly. "Oh! one might desire more than that,” says Miss Cazalet, with a little subdued smile. “As for Nancy Blake ” Lady Glandore is beginning, when suddenly, the two in ad vance cry “hush” simultaneously, and come to a dead stop, their eyes are rivetted upon a little blank space in the laurel hedge before them, through which a back can be distinctly seen. Surely it is the back of Nancy Blake nerself, and surely, too, that other back so close to her belongs to Lord lvilgarriff. All this might be as nothing; but, what is that ob scures the dainty roundness of Miss Blake’s waist? With one consent the advancing army right about face and turn and flee—Lady Glandore, who is specially delighted by this little glimpse into her friend’s preoccupations, laughing im moderately all the way. The Duchess, per haps, is in a degree surprised. It is always a surprise to a woman to find that a man can see any charms in another, having once seen charms in her. “Isn’t Nancy delicious?” says Lady Glan dore. “So exquisitely simple, I call it.” “S i do I,” says Mr. Greene, innocently misunderstanding. “I’vo always said he was the dearest and simplest fellow I know.” “I didn’t mean that,” says Lady Glandore, a little warmly, who can make fun of a friend herself, but won’t hear others do it; “what I said was ” “That Nancy was 'delicious’,” pu's in Sir Philip. “And who shall gainsay you? She is one of the few charming people still left upon the earth.” “7s she so charming?” questions Miss Caza let, with a delicate lifting of her brows. “I suppose she must be, but I confess it is always a matter of wonder to me what it is you all see about her.” “It can’t be a wonder this time, at all events.” says Mr. Greene, mildly. “You saw it yourself.’, “What?” sharply. “Why, Kilgarriff’s arm. That was about *her. wasn’t it!” While Miss Cazalet is betrayiDg her very natural contempt for this mean joke, Delaney, going up to Norah, touches her lightly upon the arm. “Come this way, I want to speak to yon. I must,” he says, pointing to a side-walk that leads to the right. Something in his whole a ; r induces her to accede to his request, and turn ing aside, she goes with him down the shaded unfrequented pathway he had indicated to her. A sudden turn in it effectually oonceals them from the others on the upper walk, who, fcy this time, have swept on beyond hearing. “Well?” asks she, coldly, stopping short and looking at him. What she sees sends a sharp pang to her heart. He is pale, haggard and wretched-looking, Dark shadows lying under his eyes tell of a night passed without sleep, and his face is drawn and dejected. “Norah, forgive me,” he says eagerly, try ing to take her hand. “Is my sin so unpar donable a one that I dare not ask for mercy. Think—have pity on me. To you, who do not care, all this is as nothing, but to me—to me, who loves you so madly, so miserably, your anger is as death. Say you forgive me!” “No; it is impossible,” says the Duchess, slowly. The color has faded from her cheek and she has turned her eyes upon the ground. She cannot bear to look at him. And yet it is true; forgiveness she cannot grant him. “Do not say that,” entreats he eently, hut with a fierce undercurreat of agitation. “Tou should weigh well your words before saying plain; it must, it should,' with a vehement de sire to convince, “because there is no other rea son, not one, for the—the dislike that now I feel for you.” She has said this rapidly, with a nervous haste; and as she finishes, looks almost on the point of fainting. Delaney, who has been watching her, whilst listening with a carious light in his eyes, now draws back a step or two as if to go. “I must accept your explanation, of course. There is nothing else left to me. Well, good bye,” says he, raising his hat. “You are not going to this theatrical enter tainment to-night, then, at the Barracks?” says she, with an evident effort at ordinary conver sation. “No; I am going to nothing pleasant—not even to the devil,” says he with a short laugh, “Some fellows in my case might find a poor consolation in taking that road; but to me even such paltry comfort is denied. Will you come back to the house, or will you join the others?” “Neither. I should like to remain here alone,” replies she, turning rather impatiently away from him. To be alone, however, is denied her. The last sound of Delaney’s departing footsteps is still upon the air, when Norah, glancing appre hensively to her right, sees Miss Cazalet ad vancing towards her from the upper walk. CHAPTER XX. “Whither shall I fly? Where hide me and my miseries together?” “How fortunate!” says Katherine, seeing from the distance a desire on Norah’s part to escape, and thus cutting it short. “I had no idea you were here, and I wanted so much to see you. There is something,” with a pecu liarly unpleasant smile, “I wish to say to you.” “Yes,” says the Duchess faintly, instinct warning her that her hour is come. “When next,” begins Miss Cszalet in her clear, cutting tones, standing opposite to the girl, and fixing her with her light, pitiless eyes, “when next you want to kiss a young man, do not choose the shrubberies as the scene of ac tion, and—do not choose Denis!” “You cannot—you cannot know what you are saying,” gasps the Duchess, turning ghast ly pale. The poor child is trembling in every limb—too horrified, too frightened to make any further protest. “I do, perfectly. I Always know what I am saying,” says Miss Cazalet calmly. “I saw you last night with Denis; I saw him ” She pauses and casts a glance of vivid hatred upon the shrinking girl before her. “Would you have mo repeat it?” she says contemptu ously. “Do not speak to me like- that,” says the Duchess, in a tone so low as to be almost in audible. “If—if indeed .you were there last night, you must have seen that I did not—that" stammering painfully, “I was not in fault—that I did not do this thing of which you so cruelly accuse me. I,” with a sudden uplifting of her tone, “I could not. He—the affianced husband of another woman—Oh! no, no,” covering her eyes with hsr hands, “it is not like me. It would not be me if I could do such a thing. Yov must know that.” Her breath is coming heavily from between her parted lips. All her natural, honest cour age has forsaken her. She has fixed her eyes, which have grown large and wild, upon Kath erine, and even as the latter watches her two heart-broken tears roll down her cheeks. “You must know it,” she says again, abso lute entreaty in her tone. “I know only what I see and hear,” returns Miss Cazalet, unmoved. “And—I saw you in bis embrace. Your pretended anger, after wards, did not deceive me in the least. It was a mere part of a well arranged whole. How ever,” carelessly, “there is really no reason why we should dwell on such a rather vulgar episode. I only spoke of it all to warn you, to—” repeating her word3 with cold meaning emphasis—"warn you, to avoid Denis in the future.” “To warn me!” says the Duchess, recover ing her courage at this insult and flushing haughtily. “Quite so,” ca’mly. “If you interfere with me and Denis again, I tell you openly that I shall inform everyone here of what I saw last night.” “No one here wonld believe your version of it—no one!” passionately. “Still,” with an unpleasant smile, “such stories damage! And besides, I hardly think you would care for me to make the experi ment.” The Duchess makes a slight gesture with her little trembling hand. She cannot speak. A sensation of positive sickness is overpowering her. Oh! to got away from this horrible wo man; anywhere, only away. “You understand,” says Miss Cazalet re morselessly, enjoying with an only half con cealed amusement the girl’s agony of shame. “There is no reason why you should speak to me like this,” says the Duchess, making a supreme effort to be calm. “Denis is nothing tome—nothing—and lam less to him. You mistake altogether.” “And last night; did I mistake then, too?” “Denis was in fault then, I admit, pressing one hand tightly over the other as a help to sustain the difficult ctlrn. “I told him so— just now.” “I know,” says Miss Cazalet, with a pecu liar glance. “But you should remember,” with a foolish, generous desire to exhonorate him in part, “that it was only a moment’s folly—a passing temptation.” “Wereyiu the temptation?’’ with a short laugh. Then all at once a touch af passion breaks up her icy composure. “See! Once for all,” she says, coming a step nearer, “don’t imagine that you can ever impose upon me. Act'yonr part to the others, blind them if you will, but don’t hope to take me in. From the very first moment my eyes lit on you, I have seen through you. Your pretended avoidance of Denis, your care f uliy assumed coldness to wards him, your clever little role of petulant dislike; all has been clear to me, and beneath it—wha’? Do you think,” insolently, “I could not read your eyes? And what eyes you have!” with a gust of bitter hatred—“they tell for you what you dare not put into words; they wco, silently, the man you know to be in honor bound to another; they say such shame less things as you are afraid to utter. Do you think,” 'vehemently, “that, watching you daily, hourly, as I have done, that I have not read your secret in them? Yes, cower away from me as you will, you shall hear what I havo learned—that you—lore him ’' Norah puts out her band as if to ward off a blow. “Hah! Does that make you s! r nk? Does that hurt you? I,” vindictively, ••am glad of it. Now gol And—remember!” The insolence of this dismissal rouses in the Duchess a feeling of intolerable indignation. “I shall remember you—for ever,” she says, breathlessly—childishly perhaps, yet with a withering contempt that cuts deep into the haughty woman before her; “as the most ill- tred person I have ever met” *•••*• Heartsick, and wearied by this addition to the secret grief she always carries, and crashed by a sense of bitter humiliation, it is because of no feigned headache that the Duchess de clares her inability to accompany the others to the military theatricals at Clonbree, that take place this evening. “What has Katherine been doing to yon?” asks shrewd Miss Blake, looking down upon a very pale, little Norah, who is sitting languid ly in a huge arm-chair in the library, where they have all assembled, whilst waiting for the carriages. She is dressed in a pretty white gown made high to the neck, but with no sleeves, and her face is as white as her frock. “Katherine! Why should you think that?” growing crimson. “I am not well, my head aches, but ” _ ‘ Never mind. I’ll let you off the rest. Fib bing isn’t much in yonr line,” says Miss Blake, with a sapient nod. “I can wait and get it all out of you to-morrow.” She moves away with a little provoking glance over her shoulder at Norah, as she sees Madam Delaney approaching with a rather anxious expression on her face. “I hope you won’t feel lonely, darling,” she says tenderly, bending over Norah. “Oh.no. I am too tired” with a smile, “to feel anything.” “The carriage is waiting, Aunt,” says Mis3 Cazalet in measured tones, sweeping up to them ia an exquisite gown of black* and gold. “Very well, my dear,” placidly. “Now, Norah,” turning again with a fond glance to her other niece. “You will promise me, won’t you, dearest, to go to bed at once.” “An easy promise to give. I wish I was in it this moment.” Madam laughs. “To confess a terrible truth to you,” she says, “I wish with all my heart that I too was in mins.” She kisses the girl affectionately, and soon afterwards they have ail gone cut of the room; there is the last sound of their footsteps in the hall; a faint far-off laugh—that was Nancy— and now even the roll of the carriages up the avenue has ceased upon the air. What a curious scene of loneliness has fal len upon the house, almost it seems as though the very servants had left it. There is cer tainly nothing to sit up for, and yet in spite of that promise given so readily to Madam, Norah cannot bring herself to go to bed. The spirit of restlessness has taken possession of her, and rising from her chair, she wanders in an aimless fashion about the library, touching a book here, trifling with a set of rare prints there, now stirring the already glowing fire, now stanng idly at the large well-filled book cases, but always and in every case without interest. One of the servants brings her presently a cup of tea, which she accepts gladly, yet after all forgets to drink; and after that no one comes to disturb her solitude, which is per haps the worst thing that could hare happened to her. Left thus, entirely alone with her thoughts, they turn to, and dwell with a most unhappy persistency upon, the events of to day and the past night, painting tham in their blackest colors, until finally, worn out with grief and misery, sh8 sinks upon a low lounge and bursts into bitter weeping. And then, wearied by her emotion, her head droops heavily upon the soft cushion of the lounge, and rests there gratefully, with a vague but happy sense of relief; and after a while that sense of relief changes to kindly sleep, which growing on her, she draws up, half unconsciously, her feet to this welcome restful couch, and with a few faint, lingering sobs, fails into a profound slumber. [to be continued.] Latest Foreign Cablegrams Con densed. The South Sea Islands, at their last mission ary meeting, raised $1,531 for a new yacht to carry the Gospel to New Guinea. A complete systematic botanical survey of India is to be made. The country has been divided into four great districts, in each of which the work has been placed in charge of a botanist familiar with the region. Bismarck is making efforts to reconcile the King of Italy and the"I’ope. At Madrid several thousand female cigar- makers gathered in one of the factories and engaged in a riot. The civil guards surround ed the factory and the women took possession of the building and barricaded it. The preliminary agreements with reference to the projected tunnel through the Simplon mountain have been signed. The tunnel will open in Italian territory. The Swiss and Ital ian governments each contribute 15,000,000 francs. The London radical clubs are making ar rangements to hold a general meeting to urge another trial of the Chicago anaichists, and a delegation to America to speak in behalf of the condemned men. El Combate, the organ of the army officers, is fiercely attacking the order of Jesuits. Its bitier tone is attracting much attention as it expresses the sentiment of the military lead ers. London, Oct. 7.—A dispatch from Rangoon states that the British troops recently sur prised a Dacoit camp, killed the leader, Bosh way, and dispersed his followers so effectually that there is little likelihood of their reassemb ling. Shanghai, Oct. 0 —It is believed that the British gunboat Wasp, from Singapore, was lost with all bands in the recent typhoon. A Parting Wish. [W. F. Butts in the Century.] W» bade each other a long adieu, With looks and tones regretful. “Whatever happens,” I sadly said, “Wenever shall be forgetful.” “Ah. never!” replied my faithful friend, ‘ Osr past Is a pleasant story. Ana. oh, I hope we shall meet again i his side of the crematory 1” No Excuse. A quiet lookiDg man went into a saloon re marking to the bar-tender: “I would like very much to have a drink. I haven’t any money, and it is unnecessary to make a promise.” “Are you sick?” “No, Bir.” “Got a pain in your stomach?” “No, my stomach is all right.” “Haven’t got the rh^inatism?” “No, sir.” “Toothache?” “No.” “Been disappointed in anything?” “No, sir.” “Here, sir, allow me to make you a present of a fine bottle of whisky. You are the only man I ever saw who makes no excuse for drink ing. Whenever you want anything come around,” and he turned away to wait on a man who was suffering with neuralgia—American Traveller. There Is a man in our town, and be Is wondrous wise: • Wnene’er he writes the Printer-man, he do Ret h all his i’s; And when he’s dotted all of them, with great “sang frotd” and ease. He punctuates, spells ont each word and crosses all nts t’s Upon one side alone be writes, and never rolls bis leaves; And from the man of Ink a smile, and mark “In sert” receives, And when a question he doth ask (tanght wisely he has beet.) He doth tbe goodly two cent, stamp, for postage back, pat In. It Astonished the Pablic. to hear of the resignation of Dr. Pierce as a Congressman to devote himself solely to his labors ns a physicion. It was because his true constituents were the sick and afflicted every where. They will find Dr. Pierce’s “Golden Medical Discovery" a beneficent use of his scientific knowledge in tbeir behalf. Consump tion, bronchitis, cough, heart desease, fever and and ague, intermitted fever, dropsy, neuralgia, goitre or thick neck, and all diseases of the blood, are cured by this world-renowned medi cine. Its properties are wonaerjjil, jts actioji magical. By druggists. ^ • — «t, * • . The doctor grabs the sick flan’s gold And adds It to Dls pelt; ’Tls thus ho heeds that warning old! “Physician, heel tbyself.” I suffered from a very severe cold in my head for mouths, and used everything recom mended, but could get no relief. Was advised to use Ely’s Cream Balm. It has worked like magic in its cure. I am free from my cold after using the Balm one week, and I believe it is the best remedy known. Feeling grateful for what it has done for me, I send this testi monial.—Samuel J. Harris, Wholesale Grocer, 119 Front street, New York. Two bottles of Ely’s Cream Balm cored the wife of a well-known U. S. A. General, and also two army officers in Arizona, of catash. Chat with the Heme-Makers — The Kitchen: [by HATTIE n. nOWAltD —NO. 3 ] The kitchen, no doubt, i3 the bete noire to many of our Southern ladies—to those who were reared m an*e helium ease, at any rate. They cannot get over the feeling that such work is not in their sphere: that they were torn to something higher, and that they cannot bo reconciled to this turned around state of things. Especially trying is it to them to ho looked at by those who once served them, and to see these put on such lady airs. Cooking, as an every-day business, come® too often. It is work that is obliged to be done, and unless it is done as it should be there is unpleasantness somewhere. Cheerfulness is the great ingre dient or constituent for sucsess in this depart ment. It does no good at all to say “I do hate to cook. I wish we did uot have to eat. I de spise the kitchen.” It does no good to worry about it and dread it and put it off as long as possible. Ail that makes the business ten fold harder. Begin in time, so that nothing will have to be hurriedly cooked. If it is, some thing will surely be ruined. Do not go into the kitchen with your mind full of something else. Do not try to make something which should have your entire attention while pre paring a meal. If, for instance, you wish to make a large cake and also have dinner to pre pare. Either beat up the cake and put it in the stove before beginning dinner or wait un til dinner is off hand, for if you hurry a cake it will not be nice. Then if you undertake too much at a time you will be tired, and first one then another will ran in saying, “How long before dinner?” It is mnch more agreeable to have a neat, clean kitchen to work in, but there are times when it will get greasy and smutty. Such times require an extra amount of patience and cheerfulness; and if by accident a smut spot gets on yonr face and you are laughed 8t on going in the house, laugh back. A laugh on your face will add to the fun, and we should all contribute fun now and then as well as any thing else But mind you, do not send in the smut and grease on the dishes. It detracts greatly from the food, and the white linen cloth will be soiled. Soft soap in the kitchen is easily had, and is belter than “store bought" hard soap. Some object to having their kitchen ceiled overhead for fear of fire Where they are not ceiled we cannot prevent soot from falling—hence the difficulty in keep ing a neat culinary department.; but we should make the best of the situation. A good cook can make nice food almost anywhere. We should be thankful for stoves. How could we manage to havo to bend over the fireplace in midsummer? With a cheerful spirit, some thing to cook and a good stove, one ought to make dishes fit to set before a king. Yet some have all those and still can’t cook. .“Poets were born, not made;" and why ean’t cooks thus defend themselves saying “Cooks were bom, not made?” No, the excuse will not be accepted, for all women are expected to be able to cook; and for a woman to say “I can’t cook” is very strange, and we are disposed to believe she won't cook is the reason she can’t cook. The will has a great deal to do with it, any way. It is the will that helps us do every thing, and if one really wanted to be a poet he might keep trying until he made something that might pass with a class as poetry, though it might not compare with verses of the best poets. So any woman can prepare food of some kind; and the'moterrifcc tries and prac tices the better she will snoceed. A secret of snccess in the kitchen is to know what you are going to do, then get everything ready before beginning. Have plenty wood and water at hand; have every utensil in its place. Decide what you intend preparing and get out everything; then begin. If you start Without first thinking of all these things, may be after you have begun making up something you will find some of the ingredients out; then what you have begun will be wasted unless you are near town or a neighbor. It is well to keep cake and lightbread all the time. Company coming in unexpectedly finds improvident cooks in great confusion some times. Canned fruits, vegetables, cakes and cold bread lessen a housekeeper’s worry many times, and enable her to meet her visitors with hospitality. “She” as an Allegory. Dear Mother Hubbard: Our friend Veritas, has said pretty nearly all that I wanted to say about “She;” and he says it so well that I feel some hesitation in putting in my voice again. I think I said in my last letter that “She” seemed to me a hook written “to sell,” as Veritas “learned author” said. And I don’t think I offered the “allegory theory” as any thing more than a suggestion, and even at the best, a suggestion claiming to be worth noth ing beyond my own unpretending idea. I simply took the “allegory theory” as my rale in reading the book. But never for once, did I have the ambitious notion of making my idea of the book the rule for other people’s reading. If you will all read that interview between “She” and “Holly," contained in the thirteenth chapter of the book, you will get the nucleus around which I wove my "allegory theory.” Here is where I first clearly saw my way “out of the woods,” here “She” seemed to me to develop herself as the great unsanctified Wis dom of the ages. It is hard for me to explain myself, because allegory—even plain and avowed allegory—is a hard thing to handle. In this thirteenth chapter “She” inquires about Egypt and Persia first, and be it observed, al ways with a reference to their religions in which, we all know, were hidden all the knowledge and the science of these nations. To learn the wisdom of Egypt arid the wisdom of Persia, one must study the priest-hood of Egypt and Persia Then, in the aext breath, “Sue” asks about Greece, Rome, Jerusalem and the Jews. The subtlety of her questions always drawing from “Holly” information concerning the religion and faith of these peo ple. “She” herself, in her comment upon ail nations whatever, is always introspective con cerning them—metaphysical—desiring sub jective, rather than objective, information; de veloping steadily my idea of the great Spirit of Wisdom which holds all nations in its mighty grasp. Unsanctified Wisdom, I say, earthly materialistic Wisdom, which fully discovers itself when she finally comes to rendering judgment touching the Jews and their mur dered Christ. The words of the book are as follows: So they crucified their Messiah because He came in Lordly guise, and now they are scat tered about tbe earth Well! let them They broke my heart, those Jews, and made me look with evil eyes across the world, ay, drove me to this wilderness of a people that was before them.” Now, here we have it, Veritas. By man’s first transgression he lost, in the fail, the per fection of his wisdom. Now, you may not be lieve that Adam, while father of all men, was emphatically and pre-eminently father of the Jews. Ido. Hence; by this belief, it becomes quite clear to me that when the spirit of Wis dom was broken by the fall, it was al30 driven out with the first man, and henceforward be came homeless, fugitive, fleeting; pausing with the Egyptians for a time, which, to us, may seem ages, but to "She” is a mere instant; going on forever, restlessly and without con trol; carrying always a misleading gleam of that true light which “shineth upon every man that cometh into the world;” sweeping through the ages, changing in ferm but never in sub stance; groping always along dark and devious and dangerous ways for that perfection and that renewal towards which “She” traveled through the bowels of the earth, and finally to be brought to confusion and nothingness, just as “She” became a living horror to her fol lowers. I cannot say with Veritas that I read the hook to no purpose and have gained nothing from it. It often happens that I have to twist and bend and double up things to suit them to my mental capacity; but there are few things, even of the simplest, that I read entirely with- ont profit. Unfortunately tue tendency of my mind is to unbelief. Modern scepticism, I regret to say, is a fascinating; thing. I was therefore t-e more glad to be able to trace out for myself in “She” what seemed to me to be a most un conscious, but none the less effective, argu ment on tbe part of its author for the immu tability and the preciousness of the Divine Spirit of Wisdom given back to us by the Messiahship of our Lord. That Haggard is a clever writer and can handle English with masterly precision and aptness, is demonstrated iu the fourth chap ter, in the last part of which you will find his description of a storm. Now, my dear Musa Duun, while I do not advise you to waste time over these books written merely for their little day, I think if you read from the thirteenth chapter to the end again, you will form another opinion of “She.” Florida, my girl-sweetheart, what must you think of me? The bird hangs just by my dressing-case. It signifies to all of us that veritable “dove of peace” which abides in our little family. Do you know what nervous prostration means in all its unending varia tions? Then you will know, dear, that when solid cold weather comes I’ll do something more than systematic desk-work—I’ll write to you, Bright Eyes. Greenviile, Ga. N. L. B. “Ashes of Boses.” My room would hardly afford material for such a charming description as Ira Jones gives in his last letter, but I will give the Householders a glimpse into a little keep-sake of by-gone days. I found it in an old trunk this morning—a tiny autograph album. The gay cupids and wreaths of crimson roses that adorn the covers are faded and tarnished. The once dainty pink and white pages possess but a shadow of lormer freshness. What a host of memories rise as I turn the familiar pages—memories of my earliest school days, and th9 half forgotten faces that the fh^gd au tographs bring to mind a faint sweet •rfler of violets greets me as the first leaf is turned, and by a subtle transformation, instead of the withered bouquet I see a dear face. “A face like the flower, with violet eyes, And hair a tangle on neck and brow, Away on the hills of Paradise, The face like a violet is shining now.” Some German writer says that a person’s in dividuality is shown in his handwriting. How ever this may he, “my lady’s” personality is revealed in the artistic shading, and graceful flourishes with which a verse from Moore is carefully penned. None but slender white fin gers could have formed these dainty charac ters. Grace, beauty and eleganoe characterize the whole, and the writer is wanting in none of these. On the opposite page, in direct con trast, is the autograph of an old maid school ma’m, precise and exact as oopy-plate—not a hint of softness, but firm and decisive as her self. On another page I find a quotation from Mrs. Browning inscribed to “My Little Girl.” The handwriting is beautifully plain and clear, and the signature, “Mother.” Next, in queer cramped characters is 15 verse in German, and a quotation in French, written by some of the Senior girls at school, with a view to puzzling an ignorant Freshman, to whom the languages were then an unexplored country. I turn a dozen or more pages; they are closely written in the usnal album style—protestation of un dying friendship, unchanging affection, etc., and in almost every case signed, “yours de votedly.” It looks silly now, but I remember that we thought it the very essence of good style then. Two or three sketches in water- color, showing very plainly that an amateur handled the brash, some elaborate designs of birds and scrolls done with pen and ink, further adorn the faded pages. The careless fingers have learned to do better work since then, and although hands grow tired and the heart sad, the busy fingers must keep on weav ing brightness to gladden other hearts. I am more familiar with the writing that comes next, for more than five years the writer and I have continued the school-girl corres pondence. Although we have not seen each other in that time, the separation has been one of time and distance, not of heart. Is not that a good answer to some of the "Friendship” queries, Mother Hubbard? On the very last leaf hut one, is pinned a cluster of wild roses and honeysuckle. Ah! this is the pleasantest memory of all. The lonely quiet home on the banks of the Alabama river, and the happy hours spent in exploring the tangled growth of cane and cottonwood that grow along the river; what wonderful pebbles we found on the lime stone banks, clear as crystal and again dark red like a ruby. We were always expecting to find some great treasure, but the muddy waters flowing so swiftly by, never gave up lhe gifts—snatched cruelly from many a sunken steamer. A pleasant picture where the sun light always lingers! The tiny record is finished, the curtains fall on these old familiar scenes. Farewell to the days so full of youth and beauty. They seem but yesterday. The Household is improving in general in terest and the last letters of Ira Jones and Musa Duun accentuate that fact charmingly. Fa’s, the Household misses your poetry. Ira Jones, write again and tell us something of yourself. Morana’s cold mantle has at last fallen on our Sunny South. Veritas, is it cold up your way? I infer as much from your welcome, or rather, non wel come of a certain new member. I think it’s Dayton, Ala. Lita Vere An Old Maid’s Chat. Dear Mother Hubbard: I wonder if you will welcome a little old maid into your midst. I am lonely to-day—very loneiy. The rain pat tering against my window, the leaves falling so swiftly, the sighing of the wind all seem to say “passing away—passing away.” I have lived many years in this beautiful world God has given us, for it is a beautiful world after all, did we but appreciate the little biessiDgs showered upon us day by day. Now I am nothing but a little old maid, it is true, but I am a contented and happy one and as bright and jolly as many a younger one perhaps, and if but one of you will bid me welcome I will promise never to be found in your way; and, should you care to have me, will write you a letter once in a while, for I am quite a busy little body and might tell you an interesting little bit of life once in a while. Are any of yon students of Chantauqua? We have organized a circle here, and are to have a meeting here next week. Several of the young girls here have been taking the course during the past year. I am thoroughly interested in Chautauqua, and live in hope of going there some time soon. I haven’t seen a letter in your paper from any one in Virginia as yet, so hope I will have the chance of praising “my own, my native land.” I would like to tell you what we are doing here in our little city of 12,000 inhabi tants; what true workers among the young people; of their plans and of their love for me. I have the opportunity, and I try earnestly to teach them to be true and noble—to do good deeds, not dream them. Oh! but there are finer shades of feeling I wouid teach them. There are hopes and fears which I cannot in words express, and that thought reminds me of this : A Bough Diamond. There is many a spark of genius that smoul- d*rs under the ashes of ignorance and finally perishes for the want of culture and opportu nity. And often we fipd it midst the roughest and coarsest surroundings, and sometimes sparkling and blazing forth with startling bril liancy, hut most frequently in its'erudest state, and yet showing beyond donbt its true worth and beauty. I went a few days ago to see my dear old “Mammy” who lives not far from me. She has a place of her own and snch a rustic little nest of a place it is. All the sur roundings rude and coarse and primitive in the extreme, but most delightfully picturesque and neat. As I stepped up on the little porch with its clambering woodbine vines, the dear old woman met me at the door with her gentle placid face brightened with its usual welcom ing smile, and selecting for me the most com fortable of the home-made spl.t-bottomed chairs, placed it in the low door-way where I could get the breeze. I bade her go on with her work, and we wore chatting most comfort ably and contentedly, when, as I glanced around tbe picture-plastered wails, my atten tion was suddenly arrested by something very unusual in such a place. On a long shelf were ranged stuffed rabbits and squirrels in posi tions that did fair justice to Nature; and on the wall above hung strings of various kinds of eggs, and dotted all about were bits of plum age from bright colored birds; hare a win_ there a breas', and elsewhere a cluster of bril liant feathers. “Who did it?” I asked my kind hostess, attracting her attention to the little museum. “It’s some o’ Kates butcher in’,” she said, looking a little shy at first, hut seeing my pleased surprise and interest she went oa to teil me, with a little timid pride, how Kate was “forever projeckia’ wid some sich foolishness;” and how she hal first used ashes for stuffing her subjects, and finding that didn’t do so well, had tried bran with a better result. “But where did she get the idea,” I asked in a great deal of wonder. “The Lord knows, honey, I don’t; she jes’ took it up her- se’f.” I thought of Kate and there arose be fore my minds view a great tall, awkward, shy, stupid-looking girl, whose life had been, thus far, one of coarse hard work in the field, without the advantage that some of her race have of the influence of white people, and my wonder turned into amazement that such a rude casket should contain a jewel of such worth and brilliancy that it flashed through the dress that covered it. The tiny spark was growing and glowing without a breath to fan it into life. Pansy. Fruit Hill, S. C. Dancing, and Its Consequences. Dear Household:—After a long silence I come again for a brief chat. Hemlock, I like your suggestion, and think a debating society would be very entertaining. As dancing is the theme you suggested I will give a few of my stray thoughts on the subject. Ia dancing right, or is it wrong? The bible says it is wrong; the church says it is wrong, or “at least,” that branch of the church of which I am a member, forbids it. The world says it is right; and some professing Christiani ty say tgat there is no harm iu dancing. Now which is right—the ctmrch or the world? It is my object to prove that the church is right. Has dancing ever done any good ? Has it ev er led to the founding of a college, or the or ganization of any benevolent society? Is it elevating to the mind? D >es it prepare those who engage in it, for the active duties of life? I must answer all of these questions in the negative. Dancing is unholy; it is sensuous, it is frivolous. Tue book of books, God’s Ho ly Word, teaches ns that whatever wo do must be done in tbe name of the Lord Jesus. Can we engage in the dance in his name? No. Then it is wrong to danc8. There is not a per son living who wants to die in the ball room. A sinner who was dying and wanted some one to pray for him, would not send for a dancing christiau. O, Hemlock! you say that you are a Sunday school teacher and president of a Woman’s Mission Society, and that you would like to be influential for good, and you have not given np dancing. Be noble, and give up this vain frivolous pastime that is one of the broadest avenues leading to—eternal punish ment. “Better not be at all, than not to be noble.” I know that you wdl agree with me in this assertion, that there is nothing enno bling or elevating about dancing. How my heart goes out to you when I think of the im portant position you occupy. I hops some of the older and more able members of the Household will give us their ideas on this sub ject. Victoria Regia. Holly Springs, Miss. PIEDMONT EXPOSITION, ATLANTA, GA.—Oct. 10 to 22,1887. The Georgia Pacific By., via Birming ham Quickest Boute. No change of cars from Texas, Louisiana and Mississippi to Atlanta, Ga. One fare round trip for points wast of Mis sissippi River. One cent per mile from Columbus, Miss., and intermediate points to Atlanta. Passengers from Texas should see that their tickets read via Shreveport or New Orleans and Birmingham to Atlanta, Ga. Mann Boudoir Sleeping Cars, New Orleans and Shreveport to Atlanta without change. For further information call on or address P. F. SMITH, Pass. Agt., 34 St. Charles St., New Orleans, La. ALEX. S. THWEATT, Gen. Trav. Agt., Birmingham, Ala. GEO. S. BARNUM, Gen. Pass. Agt. PLAIN HOME TALKS BY DB. E. B. FOOTE. For three new subscribers we will send b copy of Dr. Foote’s Plain Home Talks about the human system, the habits of men and women, the cause and prevention of disease, our sextual relations and social natures, embracing medical common sense applied to causes, prevention and cure of chronic diseases, the natural relation of men and women to each other; society, love, marriage, parentage, &c., embellished with 200 illustrations. The book contains fi00 pages, handsomely bound in cloth and gilt A GOOD PROPOSITION. “Out on the sea there are billows Which never can break on the beach; So in the sonl there are feelings Which never will float into speech.” Old Maid. Portsmouth, Va. Our Family Physioian will save hundreds of dollars in any family in which it is used 1 It is Btriotly a Medioai book, and is not devoted to advertising some “institution,” quack doctor or “patent” medieine. We will send this book (which sells for $3,) and Sunny South one year and The Saturday Evening Gall, a good family paper ail for $3.50 PERMANENT CUREibrs. fcQ>WSd\£Jt , & Drt "“T-i0 8T MANHG0B.s 4r y Tit , t iwi< m P“riPHn.nr FREE. J* Si GRIFFIN. £ut QUITE AS BAD AS BULLETS. ~| An Old Soldier Talks of Ills Cnmpalga la Virginia—The Eaimj in Ambush— Twenty Years After. j Selma, N. C., Feb. it, 1887. Gentlemen:—Yours inquiring wheth er or not I had been benefited by Kas- kine, and if so to what extent, &c., to hand. In reply will say that my health has not been as good in twenty years as now. I suffered with chills from malarial poison contracted while serv ing in the Confederate army on the Peninsular Campaigns in Virginia. Did not miss having a chill at least once in twenty-one days, and more frequently once in seven days, for more than fif teen years. In this condition I visited New York in November, 1S85, on business. While there I stopped with Mr. E. D. Barker, of the University Publishing Company. I told Mr. Barker of my condition. He called my attention to your Kaskine and procured for me a bottle. After my return home I took the pellets as directed and found much relief afforded thereby. Of this change I wrote Mr. Barker, who sent two or three bottles during the past year. My health greatly improved. I increased in weight from 165 pounds to 200 pounds, my present weight. ’ I believe the Kaskine did it. Quinine had fail ed, as had other remedies usually ad ministered in such cases. , Now, unless in case of exposure to extra bad weather, I do not have chills, and my general health is quite good. I turned over half a bottle to a young lady friend a few weeks since. I learn from her mother that she was much benefited by it while it lasted. I trust you maybe able to introduce Kaskine generally in this country, in which many suffer from diseases con sequent upon malarial poison in the system. From my own experience I can emphasize its excellence for such . diseases. If I can serve you call on me. I am very truly yours, John C. Scarborough. Seven years ago I had an attack of bilious remittent fever, which ran into intermittent malarial. I tried all the known remedies, such as arsenic, mer cury and quinine. The latter was ad ministered to me in heavy and contin ued doses. Malaria brought on ner vous prostration and dyspepsia, from which I suffered everything. East win ter I heard of Kaskine and began us ing it. A few bottles of the wonderful drug cured me. Malaria and dyspep sia disappeared, and as you have seen a June day brighter for the summer storm that had passed across the sky, so the cloud left my life and my health became steady and strong. Mrs. J. T.awson, ! 141 Bergen St., Brooklyn, N. Y. 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