About The sunny South. (Atlanta, Ga.) 1875-1907 | View Entire Issue (Nov. 5, 1887)
I THE SUNNY SOUTH. ATLANTA. GA., SATURDAY MORNING, NOVEMBER 5, 1887. [FROM THE author’s ADVANCE TBOOFSHEETS—SECURED EXPRESSLY FOB THE “SUHirr SOUTH.”] THE DUCHESS. By the Author of “Phyllis,” “Molly Bawu,” “Mrs. Geof- ‘Lady Branksmere,” Etc., Etc. frey, CHAPTER XXVI. "Back-wounding calumny The whitest virtue strikes; what king so strong Can tie the gall up in the slanderer’s tongue?” At Ventry the utmost consternation holds full sway. During all the past evening ques tions had been rife, first as to the strange non- appearance of Norah, and later on about the continued absence of Delaney; and presently, as the evening wore on, every one—as if brack eting them—began to wonder, in a rather aside sort of way, as to where they could be. Uulil dinner was over, however, no very great alarm was felt, even by Madam. The already said, I have thought out this—this vile affair—-during along night, and to-day I have sent Sir Brandrum an acceptance of his offer. You are all witnesses,” lifting her head and gazing defiantly around her, "that before I beard whether Denis was dead or married, or,” —she laughs shortly, cruelly—"merely gone for a tour with her, I decidedly gave him up, and accepted Sir Brandrum. You all hear? You are all witnesses!” The poor, miserable egotistical pride of her, that rises above and crushes underfoot all womanly feeling for the terrible grief of the unhappy mother, strikes a chill to the hearts of those present. Mrs. O’Shaughnessy, who night was so inclement that 'probably Norah j had come over with the dawn, is the only one had been kept at the Rectory; and Denis, who I e( l ,la ) 10 the occasion. Well! You’re the poorest creature I know!” says she, with an emphatic shake of her head. Miss Cazilet takes not the slightest notice of her. "You hear? You will remember!” she re- had gone shooting in that direction, would in all probability have been compelled by the hos pitable O’.Shaughnessys to stay and dine with them. At least so argued Madam up to nearly eleven o’clock, with intent to allay the nervous . . . „ ... , fear that already was beginning to find a home | P ea t 8 despotically, with a little stamp of her within her breast. ,, t- . . But when midnight came and neither Norah R 18 difficult to remember anything just nor Denis had returned, her assumed calm n l ow > except Madam s grief and apxiety, and broke down and she gave way openly to the. ' l ^ 18 wearing suspense, BET 8 Miss Blake, terror that was consuming her Messengers gravely, with a cold stare. T ray try to re- were at once sent out—to the Rectory first, member that you have some small considera- ------ - j tion for her!” “What consideration is there for me?” de mands Katherine, turning upon her as though and then on to the O’Shaughnessys, aad, as the two houses were many miles apart, much time was lost in this vain quest* When the men returned with Major O’.Shaughnessy, whs was always eager for the fray and the kindest soul alive—a regular “emergency man” if ever there was one—to say nothing was known of either Norah cr Delaney at either of the houses, Madam's fear grew to agony, and the whole male portion of the household was turned out with lanterns and overcoats to search high and low. Major O'Shaughnessy undertook the command; but the night, as we know, was terrible, and unfortunately Madam was under the impression that Norah had gone in a direction diametrically opposite to that she really had chosen. As for Denis, who shall any where a sportsman’s feet will take him? “O, Duchessl If there is anything to tell, tell it!” entreats Miss Blake, in deep distress, being evidently on the verge of tears. But Norah is past understanding now. "I lost my way,” she murmurs foolishly. “It was so dark, so cold. I went od, on; I lost my way.” She looks round her with darken ing eves and an agonised expression. “Why!” exclaims Mi6s Cazalet, creeping slowly up to her, with her head bent and gaze fixed upon Norah’s gown, “what is this!” She lifts a corner of it. ‘‘It is blood.' 1 ’ she cries, shrp'y “Blood! She has murdered him. Look at her, look! It is blood, I tell you. She bas killed him.” “Don’t be a fool!”»say8 Mrs. O'Shaughnessy with more force than elegance. But even as she says it her tone trembles. That awful word has penetrated the mists that troubles Norah’s intellect; staggering to table, she leans against it, and turns her mis erable eyes on Madam. All is forgotten now, save the memory of how she left him; all that natural desire to shield herself if possible from cruel censure is dead within her. "Send for him,” she cries hoarsely, holding out both her hands. And then, with sharp remembrance, “Do not blame me! Forgive me! I could not help it. I . He would have died ” She is leaning rather heavily against the ta ble now—her face is ghastly. But they are all so puzzled, so terrified by her extraordinary speech, that they forgot to notice her. Then there is a sound at the door, a quick footstep—would she not know it amongst ten thousand? And the Squire enters the room Oh! the joy of this moment. A sharp excla mation breaks from her. "Oh, dad! Oh, dad!” she cries wildly, and falls senseless into his arms. she would annihilate her. “Am I nothing? Am I not to be considered, too?” “Afterwards! If this idle imagining of yours should prove true!” drily. "If? Have you still a doubt then? But you have not!” triumphantly. “Your eyes betray you! It is as clear to you as it is to me. ‘Do not expect me till you see me,’ she said to Madam, her ‘auntie,’ whom she so loved and caressed, and,” savagely, “played upon! Yes, you, too, know that she has run away with him.” “Well, at least, I hope so,” returns Miss Blake, composedly. Katherine would have answered this, but a The servants, too, and the out-door contin- j u P on her arm checks her. gent wore only half hearted in their search for y° u believe it. Do you think it the missing pair. Nothing so sharp as an Irishman, if you can get him to put his heart into a thing; but the Irish peasantry, as a rule, have a fatal knack of forming conclusions for themselves on every topic under the sun that is at all known to them—and worse still, act ing upon them. And as the specimens em ployed on this occasion had come to a unani mous decision that “Misther Dinis and Miss Norah wire far too cute to lose themselves in any storm,” the search—though seemingly vig orous and indeed very kindly, if protestingly, conducted—was in reality but poorly carried out, and, as we also know, resulted in nothing. The gray morning brought to Madam no tid ings of either niece or son. All night long she had spent pacing up and down her room, and from her room down the broad staircase, and through the spacious hall to the entrance door, where, having ordered it to be flung wide’open, she would stand awhile silent, motionless, lis tening as one might for a cry from afar for help. But none came, and nothing was left her but the slow, hopeless journey back again to her desolate chamber. With the first flush of the dawn, despair seized upon her. It is now seven o’clock, and the dull daylight is putting the lamps to shame. One by one the footman extinguishes them in the library, where Madam, with Lady Glandore, Miss Blake and some of the others, is walking up and down, waiting, waiting always, as she has waited since ten o’clock last night. She is still in her dinner dress of black velvet, and her face is ghastly pale. From one side of the room to the other she walks incessantly, not talking, bu. always with that terrible look of expectancy upon her face. What is it she ex pects? To her, as to Norsh, the face of the man Mo loney has stood out clearly, with a horrible persistency, all through the changes of the past miserable night. J.ady Glandore, who has risen out of her languor and her rather hot-house style to quite an extraordinary degree, has ordered coffee, and now tries to induce her to partake of it. But Madam repulses her with a harshness hitherto unknown to that sweet and kindly nature. "No, no,” she says hoarsely, almost pushing Lady G'andore away from her. •But, dearest Madam, consider,” says tbat spoiled beauty, taking her rebuff with the ut most mildness. "This may be. after all, only a dreadfully mistaken affair all through, and when presently they come back, we ” “They 1” Madam looks at her strangely, questioningly, as if not. understanding, and then all at once a slow red burns like fire upon her cheeks. She is expecting them, of course; but something in the way Lady Glandore has spoken has widened her vision and shown her a solution of the problem hitherto uuthought of. “He—Danis,” stammers Lady Glandore, col oring in turn and altering her mistake a little too late. “You think?” says Madam, fixing her with her large, bright gaze, grown brighter since her unhappy vigil. “And even if so, dear Madam, would it not be better than ” Lady Glandore pauses, a little frightened and confused, yet sure that there bas suddenly come into Madam’s de spairing face an expression that is nearer hope than anything she has seen there since yester day. She is stiir struggling with a desire to say a little more to the same effect, when the necessity for it is removed by the abrupt en trance of some one. All eyes are turned to the door, and a little breathless hush falls upon those who form an audience to what suggests itself as being very likely to create a scene of a rather tragic order. There is a clear promise of it, indeed, in the very way Katherine enters the room. For one thing she is remarkrbly pale, and it must be is true asxs Madam, in a slow, unsteady tone, her tired eyes seeming to burn into the other’s, as though with a determination to force her real meaning from her. Something in their extreme earnestnese, yet apart from it —something quick and bright, and altogetner different from the misery that shone in them awhile since, betrays itself to Miss Cazalet. She flings off her aunt’s clinging fingers with a passionate gesture. "You are glad,” she says in an indescriba ble tone. "You hope it may be so. The very idea has given you new life. Is that what I am to learn now, after all these years? You would gladly take this girl to your heart. You would condone this odious offence of hers?” "Oh, that I could know that he lives,” fal ters Madam, clasping her hands. "You would sacrifice all to do that—his hon or—mini. Whilst I,” she draws her breath J quickly, "I wish I could see him now, this moment, dead at my feet.” She looks on the ground as she says this, and spreads out her hands, palms downwards, as though picturing him to herself there. His mother, with a little sharp, grasping cry, shrinks away from her. “Oh, no, no, no!” she says faintly. “Any thing but that! Oh! to see him once again alive—alive! Oh! Denis. Oh! my son—my cbildl” With this she falls a-sobbing as though her heart must break. "Well, eo you will,” says Miss Cazalet with a fine contempt; “not only him, but her too. The daughter you were always wishing for in one guise or another. I hope you will like her when you get her. At all events she will give you scope for the superfluous sentiment that must be such a trouble to you.” She laughs again insolently, and moves to wards the door. Nancy Blake, who happens to be standing near it, draws away as she ap proaches, with an unconscious but very elo quent display of condemnation. But of this Katherine takes little heed. Opening the door she steps out into the hall and there come face to face with CHAPTER XXVII. “I Bad she loves him much, because she bides it. Love teaches cunning even to innocence.” Such a poor, little, forlorn, draggled, fright ened girl, that for the moment she scarcely knows her. Can this be the dainty Duchess? It is? With a quick exclamation she goes forward, and lays her firm white hand upon the shrinking Norah’s shoulder, and twists her reund so that the light may fail more fully on her. “So you have come home! I wonder you weren’t ashamed,” she says. “And in such a plight too! Where is your beauty gone, I wonder.” She seems to find a rich enjoyment in the girl’s miserable appearance. “Come, you have now to explain,” she says, and using a little (a very little is all that is needed) of the strength that belongs to her, she compels the worn-out child to follow her, and enter what seems to her sad, terrified, half-dulled brain, a room crowded with condemnatory eyes. When she left Denis she had been fortunate in taking at first the path that led direct to Ventry. At the gates she had met two of the stable men, whom she had at once despatched to the cabin where lay the unconscious Dela ney. A third man she had sent off for the doc tor; and having, as she felt, done now for him all she could do, the strain at last relaxed and she gave in. It seemed to her as though some thing had given way within her head, and she lost thought for most things, beiDg only desir ous of getting away from everyone, that she might be alone, beyond the view of prying eyes; able to give herself up to the deadly leth argy that is so surely overcoming her. Then Katherine had seized upon her as she was endeavoring, like some wounded thing, to some powerful emotion indeed, something creep upstairs unseen to her own room, and worse than mere anxiety, to create emotion of ; now she puts up her hands as if to shut them so high an order in that well regulated mind; i all away from her. and besides this, for ouce the calm, supercil- , “Norah! Norah!” cries Lady Glandore, ions mouth is a little from under control. i rushing to her; but she is not first—Madam is It hardiy takes her a moment to get from the before her, and has caught the girl by both her door to where Madam is standing, quite still j shoulders, and is, in her agitation, swaying now, and as miserable as a human being can i her gently to and fro. be. The opening of the door that had brought i "Norah, where is Denis? Where is my son?” no tidings had been one disappointment the The poor child, bewildered, gazes from one more. For a little while the two women re- j to the other. A feeling of faintness is over- card each other critically, uncertainly; and ! powering her, iringled with that terrible dread then Madam, by an effort, breaks the silence of what they will sav of her—of public censure that has become almost painful. j —that had tormented her all through the past “You have boaid some news,” she says, with ; interminable night. Oh, to escape—to get dry bps, "of Denis.” j away! She looks round her helplessly, and “Of Denis? No; I don’t expect any.” Then makes a feeble effort to shake off Madam’s de- with a cold uplifting of her brows, and a colder smile, "Do you? ! “What else is there to expect?” says Mad am, tremulously, her eyes dilating. “A great deaf, as it seems to me; but you must wait for a post or two. As for me, I have been thinking—the night has been long— and I have quite thought it all out. ” Her voice is so clear as to be positively grating. “There is, in my opinion, no longer room for conject ure. As I tell you, the post bag is the one taining grasp. “Norah, speak,” says Lady Glandore in a kind, conciliatory tone. "Where have you been since last night?” “In the wood,” says the Duchess, trembling, repeating half unconsciously the words she had drilled herself to say in the lonely hours spent beside the insensible body. He is safe now. The men must have found him. She cannot lay herself open to the cruel insinuations of Katherine Cazalet. How if she were, in her thing to look forward to. I felt it to be nay ' fury, to tell them all of that scene in the gar- duty to come down and warn you of the truth, i den! Oh, no, no. Don’t look for Denis—look for the post.” A I "I lost my way,” she stammers foolishly, low contemptuous laugh escapes her. Madam, that horrible pain in her head beating with drawing back a step or two, looks with such I maddening force. “I went on—on. I could heartfelt unhappiness around her, that Lady ; not come back; There was rain. It was very Glandore at once steps into the breach. dark. I ” She breaks off this incoherent “You are pleased to be enigmatical,” she speech, trying in a little piteous way to collect says, turning rather bellicose eyes on Miss , herself, and only succeeding in repeating again Cazalet, between whom and herself indeed the words she had impressed upon her tired little love is lost. “But if you could explain j brain in a more lucid moment. “I lost my yourself, and put what you have so evidently i way,” she says slowly, come to say into language adapted to our in- ! Miss Cazalet laughs out loud, tellects, it would be, I think, a kindness to— “Did Denis lose his way too?” she asks. “It Madam. As you see,” sharply, “she is suf- is really refreshing, in such a material age as fering; come, let her know at once what you ( this, to hear ef two beings so charmingly un- think the post will tell her.’’ sophisticated. Two veritable babes in the “Of her son’s marriage to the little advent- i wood!” tress, returns Katherine, with a venomous ' "Be silent, girl!” cries Mrs. O’Shaughnessy, flash from her blue eyes; “I warned you,” with honest indignatio n turning to Madam with a touch of rage that all i “No. I shall not be silent. What! Is all her cleverness cannot conceal—“I told you her path, however depraved, to be made what the end would be if you persisted in j smooth for her?” seeping that wily wretch here; I showed you ! "What path?” demands Nancy Blake, quick ie'. at she would do with him when the time ly. “Confess at least that your first surmise was ripe, but you would not listen. You per- j was a false one. There has been no elope- mitted her to deceive you, as she has deceived j ment.” /iim. but - , facing round about the room, "I am nevertheless as firmly convinced as and speaking with slow deliberate enunciation, lever, that she, and she alone, knows why I tell you all, that she has never deceived me, i Denis is absent from his home.” nor has he jilted me. Here,” laying a letter I At the sound of I)8laney’s name, Norah s.ovrly ana with care upon the table, “is a let- I starts violently. ter from Sir Brandrum Boileau (whoyouknow j “Ha! do you see that?” cries Miss Cazalet, left last night when the truth or this disgrace- j triumphantly. '“Deny now. if you can, that ful elopement first dawned upon us), asking j she is hiding something from us.” me to torow up my engagement to—to my , “Norah, dearest, try to explain,” says Lady c0 !!f r ', , ■ Glandore, going nearer to the half-fainting girl ohe beais. her hand slowly upon the table as . and passing her arm round her. she says this in a curiously compressed fash- “5es, do. Do my dear! Sure a word will ion, and then goes on again as if no pause had J settle it one way or the other,” savs Mrs. occurred. < O’Shaughnessy, eiving her an encouraging pat Asking me also to marry him. As I have on the back. CHAPTER XXVIII. "But tiie soul Whence the love comes, all ravage leaves that whole, Vainly the flesh fades-soul makes all things new/' “Why, how is this? Look up, my lamb; my precious. Why Norah! Why Duchess!” The Squire, as he holds his daughter’s insensible body to his heart, appears at his wit’s end. He is bending over her, and is looking with heart broken anxiety into the white, worn face. Then suddenly he lifts his head and gazes sternly at Madam across her body. “What have you done to her?” he asks fiercely. “I lent her to you. I trusted you And you . Is this the way you give her back to me?” He pauses here and looks so indignantly around him that, as Nancy Blake afterwards expressed it, they all went Into their shoes. “Had none of you compassion on her, after all she bad just gone through?” This of course, is not understood by any of them, and he turns back again to Madam “Answer me,” he says. “What have you done to my daughter?” Nancy Blake and Lidy Glandore are doing what they can for Norah, whilst Madam takes a step forward and confronts her brother-in- law. “Oh. man!” she cries in broken accents, “You have her. She is there within your arms. But I . Where is my son?” Thera is tragedy in her whole air. “Have you not heard, then? Has she not told you?” exclaims the Squire, startled. “They told me to break it to you, bui I thought No rah would have been able to Why, they are bringing him here. He has been hurt— and ” “He is dead!” says Madam in a low but pierciug tone. “Bless me, my dear creature, no. Not a bit of it. Far from it, I hope. He There now, Norah!” as the girl opens her eyes. “Come now, there’s a good girl! That’s right now! Look up at your old dad! He,” turning again to Madam, “was attacked, it appears, by one of those damned Land Leaguers. I really beg your pardon, my dear Madam—but—er— anyway” (with an airy gesture) “it was one of those damned rascals who fired at him, and the bullet hit him, and his arm There, now , that’s my own girl again. Why, Nod- dlekins, to think of your fainting at the sight of your old father.” “Oh his arm. What of his arm?” asks the poor mother, distractedly. “It—I’m afraid it’s broken,” says the Squire, gently. “But hasn’t Norah told yon?” “Norah! No.” They draw closer together. What does she know of it?” “Why, bless my heart, everything,” says the Squire, looking proudly down upon the Duchess, who, now, safe in the shelter of his embrace, and somewhat fortified by the wine that Lady Glandore has insisted on her drink ing, is listening with some composure to her father’s tale. “Why, it was Norah who found him in that ruffian’s grasp, and somehow sav ed him. I don’t quite know all about it my self yet, but, anyhow, she must have succeed ed in dragging him into a sort of hut that is in the woods, and there she stayed with him all night, nursing him and binding up his wounds, and—and—covering him up from cold with her own poor little petticoats. ’Pon my soul!” says the Squire, two tears stealing down his cheeks, “she’s a heroine, that’s what she is, though I say it of my own flesh and Hood.” "Oh, Norah! But why didn’t you tell us, darling?” says Madam, taking the girl in her arms and kissing her somewhat reproachfully. “To know he was alive ” Here the door is pushed open very gently, and the butler thrusts in his hoary head. “If ye plaze, Madam, they’ve brought the Mastber,” he begins, genuine fear and sorrow in his tone. "Bring him in here,” says the Squire, has tily. “And send another messenger for the doctor.” He Is quite conscious as they bring him in on his improvised conch, a door covered with coats, and his first word is for the mother who bends over him in speechless grief. “Dear mother! It might have been worse,” he says, feebly, with a touching attempt at the old lightness of manner; and then his gaze wanders. “Norah” he asks. “She is here,” says* Madam, drawing her ea gerly forward; and indeed no pressure is need ed. She is at bis side almost as her name passes his lips, love, unforbidden, in her eyes. It seems to her now as though nothing mat ters, and that for this one supreme movement he is still her own. The influence of the past night, when he was given so utterly into her keeping, is still strong upon her, and regard less of all eyes (they are very kindly ones) she kneels down beside him, and presses her lips to his hand. “You are better,” she says softly, joyfully. The morrow may give him again to Katherine. The morrow may, nay it shall, take her away forever, back to her old home, but just now, now, she will hold him as her own. "Mother!” says Denis, turning to Madam with some excitement, “she is worn out, ex hausted. Don’t you see it? Take her away; I give her into your oharge. See to her as you love me. But for her, I—” He ceases somewhat suddenly, and falls backwards, whereupon the doctor, who has providentially arrived at this critical instant, puts them all out of the room, save Madam, and the Squire, who proves a most efficient surgical help. [CONCLUDED NEXT WEEK.] BO lYS 1 1 SI R] \S DEPARTMENT. Chats with Home Makers—The House. BY MATTIE H. HOWARD—NO. 4. We all love pretty homes. Who does not? Now, what constitutes a pretty home? Why, of course a house neatly buiit and tastefully furnished, aud grounds well kept with grassy lawns and beds of blooming plants. Yes, all that is pretty to the eye; but one maj - have such and still it may not be pretty in another sense. The inmates may be unkind to each other—always speaking cross words and not being willing to help each other. They may be without courtesy and sympathy for each other, and may show no respect for home at all. Their manners may be coarse and boor ish, and the people may destroy all the first impression of beauty the house made. A truly pretty home is not obliged to be fine aad cost ly. What constitutes true beauty in a home is to see a neat, sunny, well kept house and premises with refined taste displayed in every thing, and with people, and not brutes, its in habitants; people who live to make each other happy, and who do not stint and starve and use niggardly economy in order to make a grand display now and thee. It is not econo my to starve the better part of man. A father should do all in his power to develoD his chil dren’s good traits, and a mother should en courage their taste for what is refined. Chil dren should not be reared to think that any thing will do at home. Nothing ugly and un sightly should be used about a house when something better could be had. An old broken, patched up chair gives a room a mo3t dilapi dated appearance. Now things can be mended neatly and used a long time, and often house hold furniture is good when mended neatly; but if carelessly done it is quite unsightly. The manner in which a house is put in order makes a difference. For instance, the beds. If tumbled up, with bumps all about over them and soiled pillow cases apd spreads, they look very ugly; but if smoothed nicely, tucked in all around and clean spreads and pillows on them, there is quite a difference. But some want to lie down in the day time, and do not like such a dressed-up bed. A small lounge or single bed can be had for that purpose, or there can be a room in summer where the chil dren a id girls can take their ease. It is quite untidy to see things thrown about everywhere, and saves much trouble to have a place for everything and everything in its place. Articles to be used by ai! should always be in place, and every member of the family should know where they are hept s.v as to be able to go and get them without making a noise, for a house of confusion is not pleasant to live in or to visit. Of course we refer to those large enough to get such things. Small children should ask older onos for what they want, and the older ones should be polite and willing to wait on the little ones. For in stance, if a little one should want a towel, a key, some soap, something to eat, or anything it cannot get itself, if it asks mother or sister for it it should be attended to promptly before it becomes impatient. Fancy adornments add to the charms of a home when well done, but they had better be left unmade when the maker has no taste; then they only attract attention by their de fects instead of adding beauty. The money spent in material for making such things, un less they are neatly and tastefully made, would be better spent in buying some ornament—a picture, a book, vases, or some pretty bric-a- brac. Of coarse cleanliness is essential in house keeping. Dusting, driving away spiders, dirt ctnuhors and flies. sumHE* bc-Js and «pplying quicksilver is work that should be don’J fre quently. Ants, too, are troublesome insects. Flannel strips, satnrated in kerosene oil and bound around the legs of yonr sideboard or safe, will stop ants. Be careful to remove all crumbs out of their reach, and never throw anything to eat in a fireplace They come in to onr houses from the fireplace. “Rough on Rats” is good to destroy rats and insects; but it is best to put things to eat away, so as not to tempt the rogues, for people are sometimes poisoned by leaviog the dangerous drug about the house. By using care we can keep provisions out of reach oi rats, and ants also. Have lat-proof boxes and pantries, and observe neatness. with all my power to see something worthy of mention. With the persistency or Foe’s raven I repeat, “as idle as a painted ship on a paint ed ocean.” Tis all the picture suggests. There are others, but they possess no merit. Come Ira Jones, my much valued friend, let me show you two pictures. I pull back the curtain, hoist the windows. Listen! do you hear that shrill unearthly noise? Look! Isn’t it lovely? that brillaint light ahead. With the noise of a loosened demon the train dashes past and you hear another whistle in the dis tance announcing its approach to the depot. That is but a prelude. Look across that field of cora and cotton, to the left of that bunch of pines, in the top of a ball of silver that sends its rays above and around throwing abroad a halo of glory that mellows the whole country; and those pretty clouds, that seemingly pause to sive the charming moon a kiss of welcome. Did you ever behold a lovelier picture, as it rises higher and higher, and grows more and more beautiful? I always leave the full moon with regret. Come to this door and see my other picture. The room is plainly but comfortably fur nished. There is my michine. That table, piled with books, on which stands a shaded lamp seems a magnet of powerful attraction. Observe closely. In the hands of that young man is the “Daily Charleston News and Cou rier,” aud he earnestly scans its pages. They are inseparable He comes home at half past eight with it affectionately clasped in his hand, aud in the morning he triumphantly marches out of the front door still holding his beloved paper. I watch my opportunity and read it while he works a sum for one of those girls. That handsome boy not yat twenty-one, is his partner, and they are in the mercantile busi ness. Honesty and goodness of heart is very clearly expressed on the countenance of them both. The latter works a sum for that | girl of seventeen by his side. She is a good student, but that puckered forehead shows that mathematics is her pet abomination. However she was third on “Roil of Honer.” That girl seated in the low rocker is deeply engrossed in preparing her history for to-mor row. She is kind hearted and generous to a fault, ard was second on Roll of Honor. That one by her side has also a book. ’Tis “Alice in Wonderland.” She is thirteen and attends school. Her lessons for to morrow have been prepared, her name for last month stood head on Roll of Honor in a school of over one hun dred pupils, so she may eDjoy the adventures of Alice. Seated by her is a boy of the same age, her twin brother, busy with slate and pencil. He has a good mind, but a hoys mind generally matures more slowly than a girls, so his seemingly slow progress need give no unea siness. A word of cheer and encouragement now and then will be a great stimulant. That little fellow of nine has good reports, but is not very fond of study. They see us, all look up and smile. Only your presence prevents my being asked hundreds of questions. They seem to think me a perambulating encyclope dia, and question me accordingly. Do they interest you mon cher ami? Come again some Friday and you will find them gay and happy, and all will give you a hearty welcome. Timid Stranger. Lock Box H., Johnston, S. C. UNCLE PUNCH’S CHAT. .Well, I guess it is about time for me to.ije- tum to this Box ffl nortet to kwp things straight. It has drawn up into one colnmn, when really there should be from two to four. Come to your Uncle, Lois, that he may give you a cordial welcome. Ha, ha, you made an amusing mistake. I heard of the person you took for me. Don’t, don’t impose upon the innocent, fair belle. And they tell me Bridget came and saw Aunt Judy. Yes, Bridget came, with slender form, Far from her South Carolina home; With eyes ah, what are they to me, Since Bridget’s face I could not see? The other girls she did eclipse, And left her kiss on Judy’s lips. If there ever was a person left, it is Left—:: he thinks I am “the brown-eyed young man of the drug-store.” Welcome, Tyro; just take a seat over there by Billy Cucumber. You will find him green and rough, but the girls all like ’em. I like Dearie—zspecially when accompanied by a Sea Breeze. Have seats by A winsome lass—a girl for me The maid of Franklin, Tennessee; Her name? oh! guess! I cannot tell l’erhaps you know now full well. I’iuto! And have you come? Oh, give me mind and mien and Milton’s gun! Bold Pluto’s come! ]Welcome! How dare I refuse you! Have a seat over by Frigid Bill and see if you can warm him up a little. As I have some important business at the court-house—“please excuse me." Home Ho! Ye “Lords of Creation.” Dry Cellars.—In dealing with a cellar in springy ground, the first thing to be done to make it dry says the Sanitary Engineer, is to provide some chance for toe water to run away before setting into the cellar. This may be done by laying a two-inch tile drainpipe in a trench dug all around the foundation out side of the walls, and from one foot to two feet below the cellar-floor. Put this pipe to gether with mortar, and cover it with cobble stones to keep out the dirt and sand. If it is not practical to lay the drain outside, it may be laid inside of the cellar-walls, directly in the cellar-floor; but the operation of such a drain is less efficient. The back-filling of the cellar-walls should be porous enough to allow the water to go directly into the drain. Chocolate Macaroons.—Melt over a slow fire, and in a tin pan, three ounces of choco late without sugar; then work it to a thick paste with one pound of pulverized sugar and the white of three eggs. Roll the mixture down to the thickness of about one-quarter of an inch; cut it in small round pieces with a cutter, either plain or scalloped; butter a pan slightly, and dust it with tijur and sugar, half of each; place the pieces of paste, or mixture, iD, and bake, in a hot but not quick, oven; serve cold. The Clarks. Scotiish manufactures of spool thread, lost *100,000 betting on the Thistle. “Throw Physic to the Dogs” when it is the old-fashioned blue mass, blue pill sort, and insist on using Dr. Pierce’s “Pleasant Purgative Pellets,” a modern medi cal luxury, being small, sugar-coated granules, containing the active principles of certain roots and herbs, and which will be found to contain as much cathartic power as any of the old- fashioned, larger pilis, without the latter’s vio lent, drastic effects. The pellets operate thor oughly but harmlessly, establishing a perman ently healthy action of the stomach and bowels, and as am antibillious remedy are unequaled. Dear Mother Hubbard-. Nature’s verdant scenery is fast fading a say. The forest trees —especially the maple—are shedding their beautifully tinted leaves, and wrapped up in their tight fitting, protective clothing will face the cold storms of winter until the life-renew ing breath of spring reanimates them into budding, blooming beauty again. And the lovely, sweet scouted flowers are fast disap pearing, and they too, will sleep beneath the winter’s long continued snow, till Sol’s direc tor, genial rays, absorbs aud melts their chilly covering and smiles them into life and loveli- nessence more. And I, too, am approaching the sere of life; my spring and summer—and a part of autumn—are past and gone forever, Even so, should I regret the past and in sad sorrow sigh because my life’s long toilsome day is coming to a close? Ah no; the winter precedes the spring, and I feast on the pleas ure of hope. -ir.. Cornflower, I would like to visit the House hold every week; but would it be prudent or expedient that I should do so? I am afraid that my too frequent intrusion would weary my frieDds and that my seat would be more acceptable than myself. I must say that my duties are constant, tedious and onerous. The only time I have to write is at night in my of fice where I have to be every night till near 11 o’clock, and then it is only the intervals between my official duties that I have for let ter writing. If pleasure includes holiday, and travelling or visiting friends or noted places, then I have had none this summer. And after all few of the numerous Household have made more calls than Veritas. Italie, let me have your address and I shall send you the fixed shadow of myself. Muda Hetnur, 248 pages of the proof sheets have come to me for my inspection and cor rection. I think some fifty or sixty pages more will complete the volume, and then the binding will take some time, so it may be : month or more before the work will be comple ted. I believe the duty tariff wifi be too high for my book to go to the United States—un less specially by mail. I intend that my book of poems will be reviewed or noticed in the Sunny South and then any of my Southern friends can have a copy of my book by writ ing for it and having it sent through the post. I suppose after my book be published I must lay aside my mask and show myself in my ieal likeness, which I hope will be as accepta ble to the Household as my old nom de plume —Veritas. Some one of my Household friends has ask ed my opinion of the temperance question. 1 need only say that I am, and long have been, a total abstainer—aad have been an earnest worker in this laudable cause. I have a vol ume of temperance poetry ready for the press which I hope, ere long to see in print. I am glad to meet new friends in the House hold from time to time, but O! I long to meet more frequently my good old friends of long ago. Is it needful that I again go over the list? Let conscience speak and then say can you justify your treatment of your friends in thus disappointing their hopes so long? Let more friends come and room will be made for them. If the space now given to the House hold department be small we may blame our selves for it. With love to yon all, I am as ever, Veritas. Quebec, box 74 St. Rochs P. O. Dear Mother Hubbard: The Household is something of a monopoly, as Italie says. Those of the “stronger sex” give it a wide berth (with one or two exceptions). Why is this? Evidently they (the male bipeds) do not believe with Jean Ingelow where she says, “I do not know why a girl should be expected to talk well until she is twenty. There cannot be much in her. She may be prettly exacting, or charmingly modest, but her attractions must be personal, not intellectual.” How many of us agree with them (the bipeds)? Ye “lords of creation,” arouse from your lethargy and join onr kingdom. We’ll promise not to rush at you en masse. Won’t we, friends. Veritas, “thanks, thanks—ever thanks,” (to quote Shakspeare), for your kind offer. I be lieve I have a “wee bit” of your poetry in my “Southern Household” and private scrap book. Let me see. Do you recognize the following: “Kissing not Always Sweet,” “The Death of the Old Year,” “Sowing and Reaping,” “Envy,” “Hope.” “To Qnien Sabe,” and others? I wish I had reserved them for my poetical album, for you must know I have in my mind’s eye a large, beauti tiful “bouquet” scrap-book (as the children say), which I mean to get “when my ship comes in.” All my others are made of old account books, and agricultural reports, there fore I do not prize them very highly. This big, new book, that is to be, will be filled almost exclusively with poetry—the sayings and “do ings” of poets, and pictures to rest the eye when the brain has become wearied with so much “sameness.” I have clippings sufficient to fill a moderately sized album. Some of S. Moore’s will occupy a place in it. Nixy, you would have given much (how much—a little friendly shake of the hand?) if your letters had been deemed worthy a place "Southern Household.” Know then, they are “deemed worthy.” And pray tell me who wrote “NepentlP” and "Renunciation’’ which occupy a niche in its columns—if it were not Nixy? Musa Dunn, won’t you please take pity on my ignorance (?) and tell me who the author is of these two exquisite verses—“Through Suffering?” Take a peep into “S. H.” Tarn the pagee o’er. "Musa” is signed to a lot of those letters, is it not? Johnson Esse, I enjoyed yonr "Night Thonghts.” Come again soon. Cornflower, I don’t think you'll regret dedi eating your scrap-book to our interesting king dom (even if it is monopolized by ourselves). I enjoy a keen delight in looking over the old letters of the contributors. I don’t think I have slighted any one of the members I should love to know their real names. Little Dorrit, your letter awoke in my heart a tender chord. I have found myself a stran ger in a strange land “many a time and oft,” and can truly sympathize with you. I recog nize you as an L. "B. member. Welcome to the Hsusehsld. Mother Hubbard, I should love to advise—or assist—Little Bess about the circulating libra ry. I have thought lots about such things, and dreamed a great deal more, but never hav ing had any experience about such matters, will not venture upon any hints as to how it should be run. Come forever, dear obliging, Italie, and add your experience and sugges tions to those of Mother H. It would be real nice to give pen-pictures of the Householders we know. Rural Widow, can’t you—or won’t you—give us a pen-picture of our Texas frieud, Musa Dunn? With good wishes to all, Vaiden, Miss. No Nom. Dear Aunt Judy and Cousins mine: again, aud resting up from a most enjoyable visit to the Gate City and the Piedmont Expo sition. I must drop in awhile and tell you all about my trip. Early Monday morning just as “night’s candles were burned out,” a party of girls and boys from our little villa, boarded the train for Atlanta—but oh! what a time we ex perienced on the way! Just beyond Griffin the coupling-pin attached to our coach broke. The engineer, not being aware of this, pushed on and left us behind—so there we were left! in every sense of the word. Oar tram being considera bly behind time any way, they told us twas liable at any moment lor another train to come and dash us off the track. Sure, aud most sure, this was no pleasant leeling. Sev eral got eff, but we did not, because twas as dark as Egypt, raining, and mud ankle deep! “Patience almost ceased to be a virtue, but after a little while the engine came puffing back for ns, and then the delay was several hours It was 1 p. in. when we rolled into the city—was due 5:40, but nevertheless the bad time was counter-balanced by the good in the time to come. ■ Next morning (Tuesday), we went out to the grounds. At t&e amphitheatre wa waited the arrival of President and Mrs. Cleveland their carriage was elaborately and beautifully dec orated with fiowers and drawn by six white horses. He ascended into a stand and ad dressed the people amid hurrahs and shouts of welcome. r. , . . _ In the afternoon we took in the Exposition. First went through the main building and the art gallery, then the agricultural hall, stock and poultry departments. All the exhibits were good—would that I could specify some, but ’twould consume too much space. Wednesday we saw the sham buttle, which I enjoyed exceedingly, ’twas very exciting, es pecially the charge of the cavalry, to see the soldiers come dashing on their fiery steeds, firing at the enemy—I could almost imagine it was war, real! Tnat night we pushed our way through the immense crowd on Marietta street and barely secured standing room, to witness the grand torch light procession. Looking up the street just so far as the eye could reach, torches could be seen—’twas a beautiful sight. “Welcome Our President,” was displayed in fire works. The music was splendid. Thursday we called ’round on Crew street to see a friend, and she acted as our pilot over the city. I was perfectly charmed with Atlanta think it a lovely city. I enjoyed going over the Kimball. T Friday we again went to the Exposition. In the afternoon saw the balloon ascension and horse-racing. We remained until after night to see the fire-workB—said to be the most won derful ever exhibited Soith. Among the most attractive work3 displayed were, the playing fountain, Bombardment of Canton, China, Jumbo, with the Atlanta, mosquitoes troubling him—this was very laughable. The Niagara Falls, portraits of President and Mrs. Cleve land, aud hosts of others. The band furnished magnificent music during the displays. Saturday morning we bade farewell to the Gate City, hoping that it would not be our last visit, and was soon hurled along, as fast as the engine could *arry us, homeward bound. We arrive3 home without any accident, “right side up with care”—sustaining only a few “damages!” “Farewell, is a lonely word, And often brings a sigh; But give to me that dearer word That comes from the heart—good bye. Spicy. We 1, cousins, I paid Aunt Judy a visit. Dear old(?) auutie; if you could have seen her take off ner spectacles and wipe them on her apron as she welcomed “the dear child,’ your heart would have gone out to her as mine did. Such a sweet face she has. I had a peep into her album also. Bonnie Sweet Bessie, I am very much in love with you. Alabama is charming with his brass buttons. . , .. I arrived in the city the night the I resident did. It seemed to ma tha whole United States had arrived before, and when I took the train homeward bound, I thought every one in the city thought of home at that time. Notwithstanding the rain, I enjoyed the Ex position. The art display was the grandest collection I had ever seen. I bad just returned from a trip north; vis ited Washington, Baltimore, Gettysburg and Philadelphia. Space will not allow my giving a description of all I saw. The Park E air- mount, on the Schuylkill river, was the pret tiest sight I saw in Philadelphia. Visited all of the places of importance in Washington. Was delighted with Corcoran's Art Gallery, the Museum and the Soldier’s Home. From the last we entered the Rocky Creek Ceme tery, where, in a vault, lies the body of Gen. J. S. Logan, guarded by United States sol diers. It will remain there until next memo rial day. Our train that took us from Atlanta was wrecked. Fortunately I was not hurt. Im possible to describe to you the sight that met my gaze when I left the coach. One mass of ruins were the engines and two coaches. How touching to hear the screams of the poor lady whose sister had so suddenly been taken from her. How sad to think of it. Spaoe forbids my writing any more. Good bye. Bridget. Used by the United States Government. En dorsed by the heads of the Great Universities as the Strongest, Purest, and most Healthful. f? r - Frice’s the only Baking Powder that does not contain Ammonia, Lime or Alum. Sold only in Cans. PRICE BAKING POWDER CO. NEW YORK. ST. LOUIS. 576 lyr Dear Mother Hubbard: “My pictures come next.” I repeat the beginning of Ira Jones’ letter when i have read the last lines. Me chanically my eyes are raised to my pictures. There are no works of art Two life sized drawings valued because of a slight resem blance to the originals. Over the mantel hangs a large picture of a yacht-race. I stare DOMESTIC ECONOMY. A Simple Remedy - for Rheumatism.—One who has seen the following simple remedy tried in a case of acute rheumatism, with pain ful swelling in the feet, says that it quickly removed the agon izing pain. Into one quart of quite hot milk stir an ounce of alum; this manes curds and whey. Bathe the affected parts with the whey until cold. la the mean time keep the cards hot, aad, after bathing, put them on as a poultice and wrap in a flan- ■ ter Box for some time net. T " ° The Shrinkage of Flannel.—To keep fl tnaels as much as possible from shrinking and felting, the following is to be recom mended : Dissolve one ounce of potash in a bucket of water, and leave the fabric in it for twelve hours. Next warm the water, with the fabric in it, aud wash without rubbing; also draw through repeatedly. Next immerse the flannel in another liquid containing one spoon ful of wheat flour to one bucket of water, and wash in a similar manner. Thus treated, the flannel becomes nice and clean, has barely shrank, and almost not at ail felled. Dear Aunt Judy and Cousins: After a de lightful visit to the Gate City and Piedmont Exposition, I am with you again to have a pleasant chat. I am perfectly delighted with Atlanta, and I think in a few years it will be equal to New York. I was constantly looking about to see if I couift see Aunt Judy or any of the cousins with a’Letter Box badge on, but I had to re turn without seeing even the Sunny South building. But, as thousands of other visitors did, I saw the President and his wife. While in Atlanta I was the guest of “Uncle Remus.’* I wonder how many of the cousins know him. He is a jolly old fellow, and, as he is a native of our county, we are ail proud of him. I am going to try for the horse and saddle offered by the Sunny Socth, and I am going to work hard, too, for if I succeed it will be so nice for me to have a pony so I can go horse back riding. What has become of Cecil and Billy the Kid. have not seen a letter from them in the Let- I JJ'IA 1UI BUU1C U1UO. I save all of my Sunny South papers, and I am going to have them bound. I nave every j one I have received since I began taking it. , Now, Aunt Judy, I have written as Dice and j as well as I could, so don’t put me in the waste basket. Gocd-night. TkTK-A TfeTE lam sorry you failed to call on me. Iam disappointed, for I have been anxiously await ing your arrival, and was sure that you would come Perhaps you saw z Letter Box badgd and did not know it. I saw four. Aunt Judy. HE MfttS (itiatfifl Iyi.oI AKEH. A Maryland Clieiniat Reckoned Without Dm Host. I live in the midst of the malarial dis tricts of Maryland, near the city of Washington, and am exposed to all the dangerous influences of the impure air and water of that region. Being naturally of a strong consti tution, I had frequently boasted that no chills and fever or other malarious complaint would ever trouble me. This was my experience and the con dition in watch I found myself six months ago. I first noticed that I did not feel so sprightly and vigorous as was my wont to do. I felt tired and enervated. Soon I noticed a distinct and distressing back ache would make its appearance in the afternoon, in creasing in severity if the exercise was more than usually violent. Then a stretchy feeling tvith profuse gaping made its appearance. Then my head, always clear as a bell, would feel heavy and I began to have headaches. The cold stage was marked with chat tering of the teeth, severe rigors passed over me, and no amount of clothing could keep me warm. The chill was succeeded in turn by the fever, in which I seemed to be burning up, the con gestion in my head produced a violent pain in the frontal portion and a heat ed sensation of the eyelids, with an in describable aching of the lower limbs. Nausea and vomiting occurred with severe retchings, and when the parox ysms passed off I was thoroughly pros trated by a weakness that was felt in every part of me. I drugged myself with quinine, and obtained some relief. But my respite was of brief duration. I was now so much reduced that I could hardly walk or stand upright. My disease soon culminated in a continued malarial fe ver which kept me cioseh co ' ed for about a week. I became exceedingly depressed and melancholy, so much so that I lost interest in my work, and, indeed, scarcely cared what happened to me. | During all this time, it must be un derstood that I did not neglect medical treatment. All the most powerful remedies were tried, such as liquid ar senate of potash, valeriante of iron, mercury, bromide of potassium, chlo ride of bismuth, chinoidine, chinchoni- dia, quinine and several others. All this I did under the advice of eminent physicians. | It was tvhile I was in this deplorable condition that the claims made for Kask’nq, the new quinine, as.a_specific for malaria, were first brought to my attention. I knew nothing of its value to justify my having any confidence in it, but as everything else had failed I deemed it my duty to try it, so I began its use, and its prompt and radical ef fects were of the nature of a revelation to me. Many people may think the statement scarcely credible, but it is -a fact that after only a few days’ use of Kaskine all the leading symptoms in my case were decidedly abated or ceased altogether; and in a few weeks from the time I took the first dose I was cured. J This was about the first of January, and since then I have experienced no recurrence of the malarial symptoms in any form. A remedy of such ex ceptional virtue for the cure of malaria ought to be commended and univer sally made known. I have therefore urged it upon the attention of my friends, several of whom have used it with like good results in every case, and k is with the greatest pleasure and sincerity that I commend Kaskine to sufferers from malaria everywhere. , Respectfully yours, 4 j J. D. Hird, B. A., i Awistant Chemist Maryland Agricultural College. ^ P. S.—Should any one wish to ad dress me as to the genuineness of the above letter, I will cheerfully respond. Other letters of a similar character from prominent individuals, which stamp Kaskine as a remedy of un doubted merit, will be sent on appli cation. Price $1.00, or six bottles, $5.00. Sold by Druggists, or sent by mail on receipt of price. The Kaskine Company, 54 Warren St., New York, and 35 Farringdon Road, London. Old Pictures Copied and Enlarged Agents wanted in every town and county in tie 8ontb. 8end for terms and circulars. If you can not take an agency get our retaU prices and send picture* dlreetto ua.they wUl be done promptly and in best style. Address SOUTHERN COPYING OO No. 9 Marietta street, Atlanta, Ua.
