About The sunny South. (Atlanta, Ga.) 1875-1907 | View Entire Issue (Oct. 22, 1887)
-n ev THE SUNNY SOUTH. ATLANTA. GA., SATURDAY MORNING, OCTOBER 22,1887. (non Tm anoi'i adtanc* pboof*h*«t§—sicurbd kxfresslt fob thb “sunny sooth.”] THE DUCHESS. By the Author of “Phyllis,” “Molly Bawn,” “Mrs. f” “Lady Branksmere,” Etc, Etc. frey, Geof- CHAPTER XXL "Now all is hash’d as Nature were retired, And the perpetual motion standing stilL” The night is dark and moist and windy. Low, thunderous sounds come up from the shores below and are swept inland by the heavy force of the wind. Now and again the moon burst forth from behind the leaden clouds that almost over weight the sky, giving a brilliant if evanescent glory to the shivering earth beneath. For the most part, however, it lies hidden behind this pall of dense, watery cloud that lies across the heavens, and only a general darkness draws everything into one universal net. Sometimes a star or two peeps forth through a chink in the black wall, breaking the inky dullness; but a more sure and certain irradia tion comes from the light-house, the lamp of which shines out every other moment with a fervid power—to disappear, certainly, but then as certainly to appear again. To the solitary horseman riding along the road, that stretches like a gray ribbon on the right, the coming of this light-house star brings a sense of comfort—foretelling as it does the nearness of his home. The road is a narrow one, hedged in on either side by thick, warm masses of yellow furze, still aglow with its gol den bloom, though the season is so far ad vanced. Delaney, breathing the fragrant per fume of its flower, thinks, with a feeling of ra ther fatigued satisfaction, that he is now close upon his journey's end. It is long past midnight, and cold with a deadly chill has grown the air. Now once again the moon bursts its bonds and lights up the surging, glittering waves away over there, that dance and heave and roar in the moon light; whilst on this side it shows up the gray, misty vapors that rise from the bog. Gray atd cold and colorless as his own life is bound to be, so Delaney tells himself, gazing with heavy eyes upon the impure vapor; gray as the melancholy thoughts that have been his during his twenty-mile ride; thoughts not alto gether devoid of self-contempt, for had he not declared his intention of not returning to Ven- try until the morrow—that is already, to-day? lie had fully intended not to return when setting forth upon his journey, but time had destroyed that resolution. To stay away from her he found would be impossible to him. He could not. lie must return—10 see her, to plead with her afresh for the pardon she had so eruelly denied. He thought, he honestly believed that if she had forgiven him he could have stayed away; but she had refused him absolution, and always that pale, small, sor rowful, unforgiving face was before him. He could not rest. It was madness, no doubt, but she drew him to her with a force he could not resist. There was no train to be had at that late hour when he had felt that overpowering de sire, to see her again, grow upon him with a strength not to be conquered. So he had bor rowed a horse from his host, urging instant business as an excuse, and had set out upon his long ride to Ventry with a feverish impa tience that rendered him impervious to cold or rain or fatigue. Now at last, as the miles grow fewer, he con fesses to himself that he is in a degree tired. Two nights without sleep will teli on most men, be they never so happy; but with a gnaw ing pain forever at the heart, the loss of those precious hours of forgetfulness is sometimes worse than death itself. Everything seems to recur to him with a startling vividness as he rides on his silent way—everything connected with his ill-advised engagement, to Katherine Cazalet; his first meeting with her years ago, when she had come—a tall, slender, wonderfully self-pos sessed orphan—to share her aunt’s home till she shouli be of age. He remembers now, with a rather idle wonder, how lovely he then had thought her; he, a very young man at that time, a mere stripling, only one or two years her senior. Then there was the .ousinly rela tion between them, that ever seemed to draw them closer together, and the natural pleasure he had felt when it dawned upon him that she was warm and tender in her manner to him alone, w hilst cold to all the rest of the world. And after that there was the insensible drift ing into that closer tie—the knowledge, vague ly but certainly conveyed to him (how or by whom he hardly knew then), that a marriage between the cousins was a matter widely dis cussed and looked forward to by the world at large. To draw back now would be to bring down on Katherine the sneers of their many friends, to subject her to much unpleasant ness—nay, to leave himself open to a charge that touched his honor. There was but one thing to be done, and he had done it with a sufficiently good grace. It seemed to be the most natural thing in the world, Katherine so evidently had expected it, and so had his mother. There was no chance for withdrawal, and besides, it had really seemed a very usual finish to a long friend ship; so the engagement was speedily made public, with a rapidity indeed that had aston ished him at the time, and things had arranged themselves, and everything had settled down into the usual and good commonplaceness of an orthodox betrothal. And then—came No- rah! How loud the wind roars; what a sullen cry uprises from the sea. Delaney, who is more worn out in body and specially in soul, than he at all believes, reels a little in his saddle, and then i nils himself together again, with a fierce, vain t. ish that it might all end, now, here, this moment! Life! what a worry, a turmoil it is! So much labor of spirit, so little resl; little! none, it seems to him. What a flash was that! so blue, so vivid; yet no thunder. There is strong promise of rain for the morrow, to come out of these lowering clouds. Delaney hardly heeds the tempestu ous signs of coming storm, riding ever onward in a half-dazed fashion, and conscious only of a passionate longing to see Norah once again. The moon again! How clear, how wildly brilliant it makes all things seem. To his dis ordered fancy it lights the dark and gloomy earth with a radiance almost supernatural; and somehow, too, at this time he cannot help thinking that something is running by his side! But what? He looks down involuntarily, and—it is ab surd, of course—he almost laughs aloud at this fantastic trick bis eyes are playing him—but is it a little child that is clinging to his stirrup leather? A little dead child! with white up lifted face, and wide unseeing eyes! The moon goes out again, leaving the world once more to its darkness, but still Delaney has seen that little form, and feels certain it is there, running with him, always with the tiny stiff fingers entangled in the stirrup leather, and always with the little dead face uplifted. And now at last he reaches the gates of Ven try, and passes through them down the long avenue, the dead child entering too, and cling ing to him. All at once a horrible certainty smites upon j him, a certainty that it, tbe sad corpse face, is venly it comes, with every now and then a lit tle sobbing sound that tells of tears but lately shed, the traces of which are even now lying sadly upon the long silken lashes that sweep her cheek. How fragile, how white she looks! Almost as one might, sickening for death. Her right hand drooping a little with the soft pink palm uppermost, and half unclosed in the langour of slumber, touches him with a sense of help lessness. Stooping, he presses his lips to it, very softly, lest he shall awaken her. A great longing to kiss her—her cheek, her lips—pos sesses him; but she looks so tranquil, so child like, so unconscious, that such a deed would be impossible. So calm she lies, she might al most be dead, and therefore sacred. Even as he gazes on her, roused perhaps by that gentle caress upon her hand, she wakes, the white lids unclose, and the large dark eyes look up at him, filled with a soft wonder ment. CHAPTER XVII. "He looked at her as a lover can; She looked at him as one who awakes, The past was sleep, and her life began.’’ Not coldly, not scornfully now, do they meet his, but with a tender welcome in them. Soft ly she turns to him, with a little loving ges ture, and with her lips parted by a happy smile. She has forgotten everything in this supreme moment, save those old sweet days when first they met, and still half wrapt in the tender dream that had carried her back to them, she whispers fondly, sleepily, as a child might, "Denis.’’ It is all so unexpected, so terrible, because of the hopelessness that must follow it, that Denis stands beside her as one stricken dumb. All his being had rushed t» her as the sound of that loved voice calling on him, fell upon his ear; and it is by a superhuman effort alone that he now stands beside her, irresponsive, motionless; oh! the sweetness of those parted lips! The lovelight in the deep grey eyes! Once again it is the old Norah who is with him —his darling—his Duchess. And then there is an end of it. He drops her hand and turns away, and, leaning his arms upon the chimney-piece, lets his face fall forward upon them. “You here!’’ says the Duchess, now in a tone that trembles. She has sprung to her feet, and is wide-awake staring at his back with astonishment that is half-fear shining in her eyes. “I thought you were in Bandon?” “I could not stay there. I could not rest.” "But at this hour,’’ glancing at the clock, which points to two, “there was no train.” “No. I rode.” “Twenty miles in the middle of the night! What madness!’’ cries she angrily. “Well, you must be tired indeed, so I will wish you good-night.” “Stay one moment,” exclaims he, turning his haggard face to her. “You know what brought me back. You know why I could not rest. Your ordinary coldness was bad enough to bear, but to feel that I had angered you, wounded your past forgiveness—that you had actually denied me pardon—was intolerable. I have come back to ask you again, to entreat you to put your hand in mine, and try to for get what I have done.” “Let it be as you wish then,” says she with a sad, cold little glance, and with a touch of weariness in her tone. “I shall try to forget. But ” turning suddenly up to his her large mournful eyes, “if only I might go home!” A pause. “You are unhappy here?” asks he at last. “I am. I confess it. I,” with a desperate attempt at an everyday manner, “miss dad, I think. I want him, oh, so badly,” with a sharp burst of grief. “Well, you shall go, Norah. We have no right to keep you. But you know your father is coming here the day after to-morrow, and after a little while you can return with him.” "That will all take too long,” cries she, fe verishly. "I don’t want him to come; I want to go home to him—to be alone with him.” “But,” questioningly, “must it be at once?” “As soon as possible. At once, yes; I mean —to-morrow,” in a nervous, uncertain way, trifling absently with an ornament on the table near her. “Not to-morrow, I’m afraid,” coldly. "You must try,” with a rush of reproachful anger, "to curb your mad haste to be rid of us for a day or two. I can telegraph to your father in the morning to expect you, but there are one or two things I must see to before I can take you back to Ballyhincb.” “You take me! You! Oh, no; you must not; you shall not,” vehemently. "I can go back alone.” "Certainly you can not,” decidedly. “I brought you here, and I am responsible for your safe return. I shall most undoubtedly accompany you.” “I tell you, you shall not,” in sore distress. The cruel meaning in Katherine Cazalet’s face recurs to her like a stab at this moment. “Do not insist on this, Denis. Understand me when I say,” going nearer to him, and speak ing in a low voice, but with intense excitement, “That rather than have you as my escort home. I would even prefer to remain here.” “Even! I thank you for both my mother and myself,” says he, with a bitter laugh. “We may, indeed, congratulate ourselves on the success of our efforts to make your stay a happy one.” “Do not say such things to me,” says she, her eyes filling with tears. “You know well how I love your mother.” She is standing close to him, looking up wards, with a grieved expression on her charm ing face. Her pretty, naked, rounded arms bang loosely before her, the fingers interlaced; her eyes, still large and heavy, and drowsy with sleep, are full of unshed tears; and the hair upon her brow is a little ruffled, as if from slumber. Her white gown clings to her lis some form. Never has she looked so lovely. “I hardly know what to say,” says Delaney, “Sometimes I am mad, I think; I know, that ” Suddenly he falls on his knees before her and buries his face in her gowr. “My dariing! My beloved!” he breathes passion ately. “Oh, remember! Oh, shame]” cries she in a low, thrilling tone. “I do remember; all—everything! Do you think I could forget?” He has caught her hands now, and is kissing them feverishly. sort Nay more—she dares not deny it to herself—she had been happy there. She had been g'ad to have them round her. Even now, when released from the influence of his pres ence, she knows that she feels no anger to wards him. Anger! Where is there place for it in the warm, loving, miserable heart that is beating so wildly in her breast? But what is to be the end of it all? She must go. She must leave him. Never, never, never, can he be anything to her, save worse than a stran ger. Ob! that he were indeed a stranger. Oh! that she could tear him from her heart! But it is too late for that. All her long miserable life he must lie there, cherished secretly, wept over in private, loved with a fervor grown strong from sad thoughts indulged when no one can see her. No, she could not listen to that proposal of his to end his engagement with Katherine. And yet had she done so, would it not have been for the welfare of all, even of Katherine; for wherein lies the good to be derived from loveless union? She covers her face with her hands and walks swiftly up and down the si lent chamber. But no hope comes to her. His face rises before her, sad, reproachful, pas sionate, entreating. He is hers, hers only, by all love’s laws, and yet she must thrust him from her with all her might. Oh! how miser ably ill he looked. Oh, Denis! Oh, darling, darling! Oh, Denis! She has thrown herself on her knees beside the bed and buried her face out of sight. [TO BE CONTINUED.] RoiJsq/ol!) “ ANb _ _ like Norah! Norah! What madness! He can reason still, yet a strong shudder shakes him as the thought declares itself. It follows him all round to the stables, where he dismounts, and with that wild fancy still strong upon him, actually in the darkxess brushes down that side of the saddle where the small stiff hand had seemed to be—to find, of course, nothing. He breathes rather more freely after that, and presses his hand to his forehead, which is throbbing to an agonizing degree. The whole thing was ridiculous, he tells himself, as he flings the reins to a sleepy groom, and yet it was a powerful bit of imagination, like a pre sentment—a presentment of death. But death to whom? A hideous fear thrills him. Yes, the face, he is sure now, resembled Norah’s. Entering the house by a small side door, heavily clamped with iron, of which he has the key, he goes softly up the staircase that leads to the hall above. If anything should have happened to Norah! Perhaps even now, as he standi here useless, some accident may be taking place. Oh! to be certain that she is safe at Clontree with the others! He has opened the door of the library, and is standing just in side it, his mind full of one thought only, one longing, to see Norah again, alive, safe. His eyes wander carelessly round the room, and then all at once he starts convulsively. What is that lying over there! Almost it seems to him it must be Norah’s lifeless body—the realization of his fears and his presentiments—so still, so death-like is her repose. But a second later what a wild rush of relief is that that overwhelms him. She is only sleeping, and with that blessed certainty, all his fatigue vanishes, with that curious dull ness of the brain that had been troubling him, and his senses grow bright again and a great wave of joy breaks over him. Bending over her, he watches the soft breath coming from between her parted lips. Une- know what you would remind me of—my en gagement, the hour, the fact that we are alone. But,” recklessly, “I don’t care. I will speak!” Then, seeing how pale she grows, and how she draws back from him, “My love, my sweet heart, forgive me. All I would say is, that I will break this engagement with Katherine, and—,” confusedly, "perhaps then ’ “Why will yon break it? What will you gain by so doing? It seems to me that you have too quickly believed that I—I ” put ting up her slender, trembling hand to her throat, "fore you. What cause have I given you to think that? Oh, dad. Oh, to be with you; to be near you!” “Why, none,” says he, dejectedly. “And yet,” with a sudden fire, "there have been moments for which I would barter all that I possess—when ” "When you were vain enough to imagine otherwise,” interrupting him hurriedly, and with a painful flush. “Well—you were wrong —wrong.” She is telling her lie with such a miserable passion that he does not dare openly to disbe lieve her, but yet he knows. Those large, sad, honest eyes cannot withhold the truth, what ever the cruel lips may do. “Still I shall break with Katherine,” says he, after a pause. He had risen to his feet some time ago, and is standing before her, watching her gravely. “And then, perhaps,” very humbly, “in time you might let me tell you all that is in my heart to-night.” "Never, never. I shall not listen. What! do you think I have no pride! Do I want an other woman’s lover? Would I have one who had sworn allegiance here and there? No, no!” “So be it. I shall end this farce between Katherine and myself, nevertheless,” replies he, steadfastly. "That must be as you will. Good night,” says she, holding out to him a slim, little hand that trembles. Her eyes are downcast, but even as he looks at her, two large tears fall from beneath her lids and travel slowly down her cheeks. In a moment his arms are around her, he can feel the quick beating of her heart on him; for a cruelly short time she lies passive in his embrace, as though tired and beaten, and then she rouses herself, and with slender palms, pushes him from her, and with out word Or glance leaves the room. Swiftly she goes up stairs and leeks herself into her room. That one moment of weak ness—of indecision—has frightened her. She had lain in his arms without protest of any Special for the Sunny South. Topics of Ton. Wider margins are allowable on the note sheets of wedding invitations, thus making them considerably larger than any yet seen consequently, the small square envelops are replaced by larger onts of oblong shape. Pure white and cream tints prevail, and the engrav ing is in clear, plain English script minus mon ograms or ornamental initials. Many new reception dresses shown at Lord & Taylor’s are trained. Pale blue, India red, old-gold or cream-white moire combined with metal-brocaded flowers in their natural colors, are the preferred colors for these costumes. Directoire costumes of white moire or wool, are made with long coats embellished with deep, rolled collars of yellow velvet and folded vests of China crape caught at the waist by pretty knots of yellow roses. These dresses will be adopted by bridcmaids of unique tastes in emulation of the English fashion, supple mented by large Directoire hats and tall silver- mounted ebony walking sticks of the Direc toire period, to the' ends of which these demoi selles attach their boquets. Evening wraps of white and gold are a dainty novelty. They are made of velvet like white cloth and profusely braideiwith gold cord in stripes. Wide sleeved paletot and dolman shapes are preferred. Ladies who find heavy materials and draper ies a burden to their backs are loud in praise of Madame Foy’s corset, which is easy and comfortable in feeling and transfers the weight of clothing from the spine to the shoulder. It has a bustle at the back which holds the skirts ‘trim and taut,” and is, in short, a benefaction alike to lovely, languid ladies and those blessed with an abundance of vitality, in relieving the former and preserving the latter form the grievous restrictions caused by an imperfect system of underdressing. Tbe Double Ve waist for children of both sexes is another innovation in this line for which grateful mothers and hearty happy chil dren may well thank the inventors Messrs Toy, Harmon & Chadwick. Metal or chemiile fringe and silk cords, and bands of fur and feathers, edge many elegant evening wraps which are lined throughout with fur, Yoke slips of fine white French nainsook trimmed with drawn work (hemstitching) brier or feather stitching and hand-sewn tucks, are adopted for the first short frocks put on the infant of six or seven months. Well grown children when a year old wear white muslin dresses with belted waist, and the charming China silk, cashmere or flannel gowns with their fulnqss "smocked” from the neck almost to the waist line, in the English style. The smocking is of elastic accordion pleats caught in honey-comb or diamond shape by silk stitch es in white, rose or blue. (The pure white smocks are prettiest.) These little frocks re quire three breadths of China silk attached to shoulder bands. Feather-stitching trims the skirt, the turned-over collar and the smocked frills of the gathered sleeves. Little girls wear short pea. jacket cloak3 dur ing the autumn; these will later on be replaced by very long cloaks which fit the figure like redingotes, and may be supplemented by one cape or by a series of small capes gradually enlarging until the last covers the shoulders and extends nearly to the elbows. The cuffs are likewise in series. Soft, yet rough-appear ing English cloths, barred and striped, are chosen for school or general service; while for dress purposes, smooth livery cloths are pre ferred. There are great possibilities vouchsafed alike to parents of wealth and of very moderate means in these days, by .the enterprise of Best & Co., whose Lilliputian stronghold of supply in 23rd street, is patronized by grateful moth ers all over the land, who find they cannot, by any contriving at home fashion garments pos sessing the excellence and elegance of those shown in the greatest profusion and variety at this caravansary for children. The sewing is ccrporatively done, and the material, being purchased at wholesale prices, garments of ir reproachable material, fit and finish can of course, be furnished for figures which defy duplication. After the raw material and other necessaries are bought, and after all the moth er’s wearisome labors thereon, the homemade garments cannot approximate the elegant mod els manufactured by Best & Co., which have an inimitable “set” and style peculiar unto themselves. Young ladies will wear Enelish round hats during autumn and winter. The low-crowned toque for morning and traveling wear, which may be worn with either a high or low coiffure, is a favorite with fair young feoninines. Jerseys of wool and silk, with gathered and yoked waists, shoulder-shirrings, and pleats drawn down to meet a pointed half-girdle of velvet, are particularly becoming to slender figures. Some very handsome specimens are shown at Ridley’s, notioeably one in robin’s- egg blue and another in copper red, for wear- g with various skirts. There are countless curios to chronicle in hosiery. One beautiful specimen woven with fil a’ ecosse has the front part of the foot and heel of scarlet. The leg part Is covered with a Vandyke pattern in blue silk. Another style of stocking in brown shows top, toe and heel of black ground, striped with brown and yel low dots. French petticoats designed for wearing with black-silk stockings, are jupons made of black taffeta with two pinked flounces at the bottom and several narrower ones crossing the back breadth from the belt downward. Ladies who have already purchased Warner Bros’ health underwear, find it as soft as silk to the skin. It is certainly an article which leaves nothing to be desired in this line of un derdressing. No harsh or uneaven hairs are left in the wool or camel’s hair composing these garments, to irritate the most sensative skin. Matinees of cashmere are made with flo wing vest of tncked white surah. They are shirred across the waist in the back, where a stripped belt is buttoned across the back only. The fronts are loose, slope open from the throat, showing the vest, have wide hems and briar- stitching in white. The sleeves, which have tumed-up cuffs, are slightly full. Ladies, who are prone to perspiration at all timeB and seasons, continue during the season of sleet and snow, their patronage of the Cau- field Seamiess Dress Shields, which should, under all circumstances of clime or condition, supplement handsome dresses as a matter of course. Sallie J. Battey. BOYS & GIRLS’ DEPARTMENT. Dear Mother Hubbard: Have just spent an hour or two very pleasantly—reading the dear Sunny South of course. But hold on a min ute! Was it very presumptuous in me to ad dress you as I did, when this is my first ap pearance before your very peculiar, in many respects, circle? Wei 1 , if it was, you wiil I feel sure pardon me for the nonce and per mit me to seat myself “kinder steady,’’and then —why, read me a lecture from the tip end of your redoubtable tongue. Bat when I say that for some time I have been longing to be come an inmate of the Household, and, not knowing how to gain admittance, had to con tent myself with worshipping from afar, and say to you that the many brilliant remarks, and bright repartee, and charming talks that have appeared from time to time, have been greatly eDjoyed by an ardent admirer, and that I will promise to behave myself very nice ly and circumspectly, and aid your circle by at least keeping the door closed these cold winter days that will sweep down upon us ere long. I am sure Mother Hubbard will forgive me for any offense I may have unintentionally com mitted, and give me a place near her, for I am only a timid, bashful, “Tar-heel” boy. It fills me full cf gladness and pride to read such a letter as the one from Little Bees, in the last S. S. I am glad to know there are some of the good old-fashioned mothers left who have sense enough to learn their daughters how to cook. Those dear old mothers are, most of them, gone; or at least that is my opinion, and I am sorry. Sorry besause I be lieve every girl should know how to cook. Little Bess’s mother was quite right in her estimate of men. They can be approached through the stomach more easily than else where. The girls may first attract the men with their fair, fresh faces, winsome ways and merry laughs and smiles; but the surest way to hold them is to feel them well. I think 1 only voice the sentiment of the majority when I say this. I am no epicure or gourmand, either. Don’t get afraid of the "strong-minded members of the band,” Little Bess. If you need any one to champion your cause, I will be your loyal knight, and never will knight of old be more zealous and leal in the cause of fair woman than I. Your expressions are true human nature, and have the genuine ring of experience about them. The clock strikes one 1 ’Tis a lovely knell; and its solemn warning of time’s rapid flight stirs a train of reflection in my mind as I sit here in the “ghostly silence,” with only the "scratch, scratch” of my pen, and the sharp, dreary chirp of the night crickets for company. “What fools we mortals be” to wear away our lives, to toil on in the still, small hours of the moraing, with dizzy brain, with aching eyes, with trembling hand, cl mbing rapidly over the short span of life, and for what? Oftentime, •Nicht’s candles are burnt out, And jocund day stands tiptoe on the E istern hills,” before these “fools” are done with their in sane rambles in the "misty fields of doubt and speculation.” Who will be the wiser for our ‘midnight oil” a thousand years hence? Who cares even now whether we “survive or per ish?” And yet, ’tis some reward to climb the heights of Parnassus, to be a little above the common herd, to pierce through the gross su perstition that veils the vulgar mind, to live in the etherial atmosphere of spirit. There is a species of ecstacy derived from deep draughts ►from the Pierian spring, quaffed only under the sable wing of old Night, as she broods o’er the great world. ’Tis above and beyond this dull, cold earth that we see our reward, ready for us when we "shuffle off thif. mortal coil.” But have I tresspassed too far? H so, good bye. More anon. Greenville, N. C. Claude. Consumption, Scrofula, General Debility, Wasting Disease of Children, Chronic Coughs and Bronchitis, can be cured by the use of Scott’s Emulsion of Pure Cod Liver Oil with Hypophosphites. Prominent physicians us9 it and testify to its great value. Please read the following: "I used Scott’s Emulsion for an obstinate Cough with Hemorrhage, Loss of Appetite, Emaciation, sleeplesness, &o. All of these have now left, and I believe your Emul sion has saved a case of well developed Con sumption.”—T. J. Findley, M. D , Lone Star, Texas. Dear Householders: I’ve made an important discovery ard I wish to reveal it to you at once, My knowledge was obtained in an odd way, yet ’tis true, absolutely true. Oh, yes, ye gents, Eve did not eat the forbidden fruit, after all, but ’twas Adam. When night had drawn together her myste rious sable robes and all nature was bushed in slumber, I, very suddenly "as in the twink ling of an eye,” seemed to be wafted into another land by wfhgs of snowy whiteness. Everything was changed. The sun was shin ing brightly, the birds singing merrily and everything was rejoicing in the beauty of the morning. How supremely happy I was, as I went gliding thro’ space, far above the lovely •ountry lying beneath. I could see neither cities, towns nor villages—not even a house— nothing but green trees, placid lakes and bright and sparkling streamlets. On and on I went, not for a moment, thinking where my journey was to end. Hark! what was the sound that foil upon my ear? It was a low murmur of voices, the sweetest I ever heard. Glancing in •that direction, a most exquisite sight met my astonished eyes. It was a large spot of land, covered with luxuriant growth; flowers of every hue were blooming in magnificent pro fusion—trees were loaded with luscious fruits, gently meandering brooklets flowed in every direction. In the midst of this lovely spot stood an enormous tree, loaded with exquisite fruit—the most tempting and beautiful I had yet seen. I was so charmed with my surroundings that I had entirely forgotten the musical voices that had drawn me thither. Taking my seat «pon the topmost branch of this tree, I began to look around and listen for the voices again, but horror of horrors! Can I ever forget the scene that lay beneath me! A lovely Dymph was seated upon the green sward and by her side sat a man and just above their heads coiled a huge serpent. Like a flash, it oc curred to me that I had heard of this place be fore, and on reflection I realized that I was ia the garden of Eden and the two figures were Adam and Eve. This fact caused me to be more interested than ever, for I had always heard Eve basely accused of eating the “for bidden fruit,” (a fact which I had always doubted) and now I had it in my power to as certain, for myself the truth or falsity of this assertion. I never, for ene moment, took my eyes off of the two figures, but, very much to my displeasure, I could not hear a single word that was uttered, for my position was so far up. They kept up the conversation for several moments, and finally tbe serpent plucked off an “apple” and before I could see what he was going to do with it, the impolite Adam grabbed it and "gobbled” it down without giving Eve one bite. So you see, Eve did not eat the ap ple after all, but had she wanted to could not have had an opportnnity. But, for my part, let others blame as they may, I just don’t be lieve she would have eaten it under any cir cumstances. When this little panorama was completed, the serpent began to ascend the tree and to come nearer to where I was perched, I became so frightensd that I forgot all about my wings and attempted to jump from the top of the tree. When I hit the ground I awoke, and with a sad heart realized that my visit to Eden was not a real one but had only been taken thro’ the sunny paths of Dreamland. Ha! ha! Don jour. Goldie Ashbukx. Austin. Dear Mother Hubbard: In reply to the in quiry of Camille, Marshall, Tex., please say to her (or any one else) that if she will send a self-addressed stamped envelope and twenty- five cents in silver, to P. O. Box 583, Jefferson, Ga., she will receive the prescription for re moving pimples, flesh worms, etc. Her first letter never reached its destination. Queen Mab. THE HOUSEKEEPER. PARSNIP FRITTEES. Many consider this the best way of cooking parsnips: Boil tender and mash very smooth removing carefully the strings or woody po tions. For three or four parsnips allow two beaten eggs, three tablespoonfuls of cream, one tablespoonful of melted butter and a tea spoonful of salt. Stir in a very little flour, and fry either as fritters or griddle-cakes. FRENCH MUSTARD. The cheapest way is to purchase this article at the grocer’s; but if one desires to make it, the following is the recipe: One ounce of mustard and two pinches of salt are mixed in a large wineglass full of boiling water and al lowed to stand twenty-four hours. Then pound in*a mortar one clove of garlic, a small handful of tarragon, another of garden cress, and add to the mustard, putting vinegar ac cording to taste. CEMENT. A good cement for broken china consists of gum acacia dissolved in boiling water, as much plaster of Paris being added as will form thick paste. The proportions of the gum and water are half an ounce of the former to wineglass full of the latter. Apply the paste with a brush to the fractured parts. A CHEAP PROTECTION. Newspapers placed over or under the bed spread will keep the impecunious editor or “exchange fiend” as warm as an additional pair of blankets, and they are an excellent pro tection where there are no blankets. The larger the sheets are, of course, the better, and it might be best to stitch them to the coverlet, "Red-hat” campaign newspapers are of course the warmest. * A FINE TOOTH PASTE. Take red coral, three ounces; cuttle fish bone, one ounce; bisulphate of quinine, one-half drachm; mix. Triturate to a very flue powder; add honey “white,” four ounces, and a few drops of otto of roses, or neroli, dissolved in rectified spirits, three fluid drachms, and beat the whole to a paste. A little powdered myrrh one to three drachms, is sometimes added. LOOSE SOUND TEETH. Turkish myrrh diluted in water—at first teaspoonful to a tumbler, and gradually strengthened—and used as a wash four or five times a day will generally give relief. There are only two causes for the above trouble, viz calomel and soda, and the use of both must be stopped entirely. STUFFED WHITEFISH. Cut the backbone to within two inches of the tail. Make a dressing of stale bread that has been soaked in water. Melt an ounce of but ter, chop into it a small onion and add the bread, with salt, popper and a little nutmeg, moisten with the broth, and, breakiag in the yolk of an egg, put the mixture on the fire having added a teaspconfulof chopped parsley, Fill the fish with this and tie with twine. Put it in a baking dish with salt, pepper and butter rubbed over the top, Pour in a little cold wa ter and serve with its own gravy. How to Tell Good Eggs. A good egg will sink in water. A boiled egg which is done will dry quickly on the shell when taken from the kettle. The boiled eggs which adhere to the shell are fresh laid. After an egg has bf come a day or more old the shell comes off easily when boiled. A fresh egg .has a lime like surface to its 6hell. Stale eggs are glassy and smooth of shell. Eggs which have been packed in lime look stained, and show the action of the lime on the surface. Eggs packed in bran for a long time smell and taste musty. With aid of the hands or a piece of paper rolled in funnel shape and held towards the light, the human eye.can look through an egg, shell and all. If the egg is clear and golden in appearance when held to the light, it is good; if dark or spotted, it is bad. The badness of an egg can sometimes be told by shaking it near the holder’s ear bnt the test is a dangerous one. Thin shells are caused by a lack of gravel, etc., among the hens laying the eggs. Many devices have been tested to keep eggs fresh, but the less time an egg is kept the better for the egg and the one who eats it, Bulgaria. Sofia.—A riot that almost culminated in s revolt occurred at Rutlovitza Sunday. A new Iy arrived Russian priest led a party of peas ants in an attack upon the government offices. The gendarmes on duty at the government buildings fired upon the mob, but it was found necessary to call out a body of cavalry in or der to disperse the rioters. Many were injured. Prince Ferdinand seems to have had better knowledge of the situation than those who criticised his “folly” in going into Bulgaria. His position seems to grow stronger every day, and his throne may become as stable as that of his great neighbor, tbe Czar; and he has the advantage of knowing that none of his subjects want to blow him up with dynamite, From the East. London. October 10—Advices from Shang hai, report that the English gunboat, Wasp, which left Singapore for Shanghai, is believed to have been lost, with all on board, during a recent typhoon. October 15.—Advices from Shanghai report that the gunboats which were sent out in search of the gunboat Wasp, supposed to have been lost near Singapore, have returned without find ing her. Africa. London, Oct. 10.—The death of Sultan Muley Hassau, of Morocco, is an event from which the future historian may date important move ments in southwestern Europe. While this African potentate lived no one cared to disturb him in his fabulous wealth and valuable terri tory. But with his death there have sprung up rival ambitions between France and Spain which bid fair to lead to interesting complica tions. The sudden activity of Spain in send ing a fleet to the African coast is now said to be due to the secret receipt at Madrid of infor mation that France had acquisition designs upon the late Sultan’s domains. A new railroad is to be built in equatorial Africa, crossing the continent from Loanda, Lower Guinea, eastwardly, to some Portuguese port in Mozambique. A scientific exchange asks: “What is rotary motion?” Why, it is that experienced by a drunken man when lying fiat on his back and clutching the sidewalk for fear he’ll fall off. Tennyson’s “May Queen.” Who knows but if the beautiful girl who died so young had been blessed with Dr. Pierce’s “Favorite Prescription” she might have reigned on many another bright May-day. The "Fa vorite Prescription” is a certain cure for all those disorders to which females are liable. Wretched, indeed, —A Are those whom a confirmed tendency to bil iousness, subject to the various and change ful symptoms indicative of liver complaint. Nausea, sick headache, constipation, furred tongue, an unpleasant breath, adullorsharp 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 ing, 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 of tbepublic and the medical profes sion. that Hostetter’s Stomach Bitters is a medicine which achieves resnlts speedily lelt, thorough andbenign. Besides rectifying liver disorder, it invigorates the feeble, con quers kidney and bladder complaints, and hastens the convalescence of those recovering from enfeebling diseases. Moreover, it is the grand specific lor fever and ague. Dear Aunt Judy : Seated, one quiet after noon, in my favorite nook on the veranda be hind my spider, vreb, my hands folded idly in my lap, these beautiful lines suggested them selves to my mind ao constantly that I gave myself np to the further pursuit of the thought. “If life an empty bubble be, How sad are those who never see The rainbow in the bubble!” I thought of bright, promising minds going down into the depths of doubt aad misery, not understanding affl'ctions sent upon them, losses, troubles and disappointments. They are lashed in pieces on the cruel rocks of skep ticism, as a gayly-decked pleasure boat on the treacherous rocks aloDg shore. Why not ac cept everything with fortitude and resignation, hoping all will be well in the end? Often and often have I thought how like a bubble is my life; yet many rainbow tints are reflected there. My rambling thoughts were just here inter rupted by a gentle, fair-haired girl who said softly, “Sister is so restless, and wants you to ' sing to her.” How gladly I responded! “In one moment, dear, I’ll go with you.” Only a few steps brought me to the door of the sick room, and, slipping in, I took my position by the bedside as noiselessly as possible. The spirit of this young lady had long hovered on the very borders of the grave; and as I sung to her of our Savior, who “ieads us all the way,” and came to “He leadeth me—oh! blessed thought!” she closed her eyes as if she felt conscious of His hand guiding her. As reached the last two lines, “E’en death’s cold wave I will not flee, Since ’tis my God that leadeth me,” I said in my heart, “Oh! thank God, who has led her back to us from the borders of the spirit land!” I left the loom just as the first rays of pure, sweet moonlight fell aslant on the bed, showing the face of the sufferer calm and sweet. IIow happy I was when I realized that I had helped bear another’s burden, even so lightly. Life is composed of small things. Dream and Bonnie Sweet Bessie, your dear letters shall be answered very soon. I do not fail to appreciate affectionate remembrance from the cousins. B. S. B., 'twas so like you to remember me as I passed through Atlanta, even though I •acted so.” Monk, let’s bury the hatchet. What do you say? Hermit, why call yourself so? Tell me who you are. What is the favor? I’ll be glad to help you. Do you call me belle of the L. B. in irony, or why did you call me that? I never was made to be a belie. “Faint Heart,’’ you know. But then you’re a girl. B. S. B. did indeed look charming Tuesday last. H dear Dr. B. will allow us to attend the Exposition, I will be so glad to be at the Let ter Box re-union. I have met the Princess, and formed a most favorable opinion of her. It is twiiight now, and I have long since de termined to write no more. May the evening zephyrs waft to a’l a fond good-bye and kindest thoughts to S. W. and B. M., in J , who helped so much to glad den my vacation. I am still Dearie. Dear Auntie and Cousins: For four months I have been patiently waiting for a welcome to the happy band of cousins dear, and an in vitation to again visit you, but, alas! alas! as in almost everything else, I was doomed to dis appointment, only two of the cousins having noticed me, but this I suppose is owing to my own stupidity. I want a lively Little Darling and think I have found her among the cousins; so L. D., if you have no serious objections I would like ever so much to exchange a few letters with you. I am a little bashful, but as we are some distance apart you will not be able to observe any of my blunders, and I think I can write a letter without betraying myself; so if you will correspond with me, tell me so in your next letter to the L. B. I called on a friend a few days ago and while there some young ladies came, and they befog aware of my timidity, poured out such a train of flattery that they soon had me so teased that I couldn’t breathe good, and in my con fusion I made a hasty retreat, leaving behind a girl with a mashed foot, my hat and um brella. The bashful are always in trouble, and I do honestly believe I have more misery arising from that than any one else. It is always a source of mortification to me to know that I cannot conduct myself like a gentleman, when in company, and therefore 1 have about re nounced society altogether. I hope the cousins will not ridicule me too much for thjs confes- m. If I am welcomed in your presence this time, I will coine again sood; otherwise I will retire on the list of the neglected. T. J., I guess you will have to do as I did, that is, overcome your troubles. I have fully recovered from my sadness of which I wrote before, but have greater troubles. With love to all the cousins, I remain a Mountaineer. Now, I must say good-bye to deer Aunt and cousin*, patiently waiting to bear if they have room for a lonely little wanderer into the many happy hearts of the L. B. Donahue. Dear Aunt Judy. The Sunny Sooth, taken M a *h°|®i Is one of the most interesting and entertaining papers I have ever read. It b$s '*ee*a most weteonM visitor to oar.^hqfte for many years past, and, though its visits are “Sjkrijf. “i 1 “ e “° h w e never tire of it. •But this is drifting from what I wish to ask. That f pace in your paper which you so unselfish ly devote to the enjoyment of the young people has afforded me much real pleasure. The let ters are very interesting to me, even though I do not participate actively. Will ycu admit me, a Creole boy, one of those real Louisiana Creoles? You have none in your happy circle composed of the L. B.’s, though there are hundreds of them who love and take your paper. I am the first to brave the perils of that “thriving demon,” the waste basket. Shall I fall a victim to this terror of tbe youth ful literary aspirants? Nobody’s Darling, be a friend of mine, and —and a change there will be to somebody. Who will say welcome? I wait in terrible suspense. Creole Bor. Dear Cousins: “He either fears bis fate too much, Or his deserts are small, That dares not put it to the touch, To win or lose it all.” So I have ventured to seek admittance into the friendly circle of Letter Box cousins. Often while reading the bright and interesting letters in tbe dear old Sunny South, I have longed to gain admittance into the acquaint ance and confidence of such charming crea tures as Bonnie Sweet Bess, Grace Darling, Fernie and all the host who acknowledge alle giance as good subjects to Aunt Judy. Now I seek naturalization, and won’t some of you give me the right hand of fellowship and wel come me into the merry band? Please do. I live in the beautiful “Rock City,” the capital of fair Tennessee. I often wonder if any of the cousins live in this great city. We are now right in the midst of two very exciting and interesting campaigns, for Prohibition and the Tennessee Midland Railroad. The elections will take place on the 21st and 23d of this month. Indications shadow forth successful issues of both elections. The cry is: “Follow who may, falter who must, and Heaven defend the right.” “Methinks it is the weakness of mine eyes, That shapes this monstrous apparitiou.” At least I hope it is nothing more, for I see in my mind’s eye the form of a cavernous, gape- ing waste-basket swallow this up into oblivion. So I must “ring off, please.” I hope to come again. Au revoir. Expectantly yours, The Greek God. C. G. WALKERLY Dear Aunt Judy and Cousins: Many weeks, aye, even months, have elapsed since I penned my last letter to the L. B. But that brilliant production was consigned to the waste-basket, so have concluded to “try again.” So many changes have taken place since then. Death has been in our midst and borne away my mother thro’ the pearly gates to the arms of Oar Father. I am not personally acquainted with many of the Letter Boxers, only wish I was—know you are a jolly set from your letters. Ruby Lynn and I are very good friends. You must write oftener dear girl; I assure you your let ters are enjoyed by more than one personage. Patsy Lee, I know you; your letters are always hailed with delight. Jake you must come again. How do you like Chatta? "Bonnie Sweet Bessie,” do you recognize me? How are you and C. W. T.? “Peck’s Bad Boy,” I can’t imagine who on earth ycu are; if you’ll tell me where you reside I bet I won’t be long finding you out. You must call again. If some one will extend to me the right hand of fellowship, I will most assuredly call again. For fear I am occupying too much of Aunt Jndy’s valuable space I will close. With much love fcr Auntie and the cousins, I am Jolly' Lassie. Ringgold, Ga., Sept. 20, 1887. Dear Auntie and Cousins: I have as usual just finished reading that dear old paper, the Sunny South, and was most highly enter tained with the letter box. Whilst I was reading the thought passed through my mind of how much I would enjoy having a short chat with dear aunt Judy and the many happy cousins. But perhaps I am asking too much. have been tempted to back out of writing this letter for fear—well, I won’t say of what. But, dear cousins, perhaps if I give you a slight despription of myself ycu might take pity on I am a little Irish paddy, born in Dublin and brought up in “Americee,” my height is a few feet in the air and two on the ground, my weight is one hundred and fourteen. I have long black curly hair, blue eyes, and fair com plexion, full of life, and as mischievous as a playful little kitten. 0, me, I think I had better quit for fear some of those sweet male cousins might get themselves into trouble by a severe fall. Went West many years since and became a merchant and manufacturer and recently died there at the age of 60 years. Should this meet the eye of his relatives, they may learn infor mation of value if they will communicate with John D. Creech. Raleigh, N. C. r—WEIQHT Used by the United States Government. En dorsed by the heads of the Great Universities as the Strongest, Purest, and most Healthful. Dr. Price’s the only Baking Powder that docs not contain Ammonia, Lime or Alum. Sold only in Cans. PRICE BAKING POWDER CO. NEW YORK. CHICAGO. 576 lyr ST. LOUIS. YOU? Do you feel dull, languid, low-spirited, life less, and indescribably miserable, both physi cally and mentally; experience a sense of fullness or bloating after eating, or of “gone ness,” or emptiness of stomach in the morn ing, tongue coated, bitter or bad taste in mouth, irregular appetite, dizzii\ess, frequent headaches, blurred eyesight, “floating specks” before the eyes, nervous prostration or ex haustion, irritability of temper, hot flushes, alternating with chillv sensations, sharp, biting, transient pains nere and there, cold feet, drowsiness after meals, wakefulness, or disturbed and unrefreshing sleep, constant, indescribable feeling of dread, or of impend ing calamity? If vou have all, or any considerable number of these symptoms, you are suffering from that most common of American maladies— Bilious Dyspepsia, or Torpid Liver, associated with Dyspepsia, or Indigestion. The more complicated your disease has become, the greater the number and diversity of symp toms. No matter what stage it has reached, Dr. Plerce-s* Golden Medical Discovery- will subdue it, if taken according to direc tions for a reasonable length of time. If not cured, complications multiply and Consump tion of the Lungs, Skin Diseases, Heart Disease, Kheumatism, Kidney Disease, or other grave maladies are quite liable to set in and, sooner or later, induce a fatal termination. Dr. Pierce’s Golden Medical Dis- covery acts powerfully upon the Liver, and through that great blood-purifying organ, cleanses the system of all blood-taints and im purities, from whatever cause arising. It ia equally efficacious in acting upon tne Kid- nej's, and other excretory organs, cleansing, strengthening, and healing their diseases. As an appetizing, restorative tonic, it promotes digestion and nutrition, thereby building r.p both flesh and strength. 'In malarial districts, this wonderful medicine has gained great celebrity in curing Fever and Ague, Chills and Fever, Dumb Ague, and kindred diseases. Dr. Pierce’s Golden Medical Dis« covery CURES ALL HUMORS, from a common Blotch, or Eruption, to the worst Scrofula. Suit-rheum, “Fever-sores,” Scaly or Hough Skin, in short, all diseases caused by bad blood are conquered by this powerful, purifying, and invigorating medi cine. Great Eating Ulcers rapidly heal under its benign influence. Especially has it mani fested its potency in curing Tetter, Eczema, Erysipelas, Boils, Carbuncles, Sore Eyes, Scrof ulous Sores and Swellings, Hip-joint Disease, “ White Swellings,” Goitre, or Thick Neck, and Enlarged Glands. Send ten cents in stamps for a large Treatise, with colored plates, on Skin Diseases, or the same amount, for a Treatise on Scrofulous Affections. “FOR THE BLOOD IS THE LIFE.” Thoroughly cleanse it by using Dr. Pierce’s Golden Medical Discovery, and good digestion, a fair skin, buoyant spirits, vital strength and bodily health will be established. CONSUMPTION, which is Scrofula ortlie Lungs, is arrested and cured by this remedy, if taken in the earlier stages of the disease. From its mar velous power over this terribly fatal disease, when first offering this now world-famed rem edy to the public. Dr. Pierce thought seriously of calling it his “Consumption Cure,” but abandoned that name as too restrictive for a medicine which, from its wonderful com bination of tonic, or strengthening, alterative, or blood-cleansing, anti-bilious, pectoral, and nutritive properties, is unequaled, not onlv as a remedy for Consumption, but for all Chronic Diseases of the Liver, Blood, and Lungs. For Weak Lungs, Spitting of Blood, Short ness of Breath, Chronic Nasal Catarrh, Bron chitis, Asthma, Severe Coughs, and kindred affections, it is an efficient remedy. Sold by Druggists, at $1.00, or Six Bottles for $5.00. SS~ Send ten cents in stamps for Dr. Pierce’s book on Consumption. Address, World’s Dispensary Medical Association, 663 main St., BUFFALO, N. Y-. Avoid cheap imitatioES made of various kind? of cord. None are genuine unless “OR. WARNER’S CORALINE’ is printed on inside of steel cover. • FOR SALE BY ALL LEADING MERCHANTS WARNER BROTHERS. 389 Broadway, New York City 621-9t
