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slavery, ard that his revenge was near.
His oondi» would be no barrier to his
vengeance; ti cy wouid break like ournt
tow, he knew, in the fire of his aDger.
Long slrce, in tis old wanoer'ng nays,
CalypHO, nls love, bad taught hi'n in tne
summer itiaure of her sea girt isle how
to tie knots that no man con d untie, and
to uiido all the knots that men can bind.
He Ttmetnbtred this levson in the night
7ben the bow ► an* of war. So hethought
.o rcor* of sleeping:, but cunnicgly and
winlj unkn* tted all the cords and the
jonds which bound him to a bar of iron
in the bold. He might nave escaped now,
perhaps, 'f be bad stolen on deck with
mt waking the guards, dived thence and
warn under water toward the island,
here he might have hi' den himself in
be bush. But he des'red revenge no it es
’tan freedom, and had set his heart on
>ming in a snip of his own, and with all
e great treasure of the Sidonians, be
fore the Egyptian King.
With t* is in his mind, he did not throw
off the cotds, but let them lie on bis arms
and legs and about tis body, as if they
were still tied fast. But he fought
against sleep, lest io moving when he
woke he might reveal the trick aDd be
bound again. So he Jay aDd waited, and
in the mornir g the sailors came on board
and mocked at him again. In his mirth
one of the men took a dish cf meat and
of leDtiJs and set it a little ont of the
Wanderer's reach as he lay |bound, and
said in the Pt c atclan tongue:
“Mighty loro, art thou some god of
Javan?’* • *or so tne Sidonians called the
Act&an* ' “and wilt thou deign to taste
oar sacrifice? Is not the savour sweet in
the nostrils of my lord? Why will he
not put forth his hand to touch our offer
ing?'*
Then the heart of Odyssens muttered
sullenly within him, in wrath at the in
solerce of the man. But be constrained
iiimsflf aDd smiled and said:
“Wilt thou not bring the mes3 a very
little nearer, my friend, trat I may
smell the sweet incense of the sacrifice?”
They were amazed when they heard
him speak in tueir own tongue, but he
who held the dish brought it nearer, Jlke
a man that angers a dog, now offering
the meat, and now taking it away.
So soon as the man was within reach
tbeWanderer sprang out, the loosened
bonds falling ai his feet, and smote tne
sailor beneath the ear with his clenched
nst. The blow was so fierce, for all his
anger went into it, that it crushed the
hone and drove the man against the
mast of the ship so that the strong mast
shook. Where he fell, there he lay his
feet kicking the floor of the hold in his
death pain.
Then the Wanderer snatched from the
mast bis short bows and word, slung
<Jtie quiver about his shoulders and rau
ou to ihe raised decking of the prow.
The bulwarks of the deck were high
and the vessel was narrow, and before
?h6 Hftilors could stir for amazement the
Wanderer had taken his stand behind
the lllt.e a ter and the dwarf gods. Here
lie stood with an arrow on the string and
the bow drawn to his ear, looking about
him terribly.
Now paulc and dread came on the Sido
nians when they saw him standing
thus and one of the sailors cried:
“Alas! what god have we taken and
bound? Our ship may not contain him.
Surely he is Resef Mikal, the Ood of the
Bow, whom they of Javan call Apollo.
Nay, let us land him on tbe isle and come
not to blows with him, but emreat his
mercy, lest he rouse tbe waves and the
winds against us.’*
But the Captain of the ship of Sidonians
cried:
Not so, ye knaves! Have at him, for
be n no god, but a mortal man; and his
armor is worth many a yoke of oxen!**
Then he bade some of them climb the
decking at the farther end of the ship
ad& throw spears at him thence; and be
called others to bring up one of the long
spears and charge him with that. Now
these were huge pikes that were weilded
by five or six men at once and no armor
could withstand them; they were used in
the lights to drive back boarders and to
ward off attacks on ships which were
beached on shore in the sieges of towns.
The men whom the Captain appointed
kittle liked the task, for the long spears
were laid on tresBels along tbe bulwarks,
And to reach them and unship them it
was needful to come within range of the
bow. But the sailors on the farther deck
threw all their spears at once, while five
men leaped on the deck where the Wan
derer stood. He losened tue bowstring
and the shaft sped on its way; and he
drew and iosed, and now two of them
Lad fallen beneath his arrows, and one
was struck by a chance blow from a
spear thrown from the furtuer deck, and
the other two leaped back into the hold.
Then the Wanaerer shouted from the
high decking of the prow la the speech
of Che Sidonians:
“Ye dogs, ye have sailed on yonr latest
seafaring, and rever again snail ye bring
the day of slaveiy on any man.”
So he cried, and the sailor* gathered
together in tne hold and took counsel
how they should deal with him. Bat
meanwhile the bow was not silent, and
of those on tbe hinder deck who were
casting spears one dropped and the others
quickly fled to their fellows below, for on
oecfc they had no cover.
The sun was now well risen and shone
on the Wanderer’s golden mail as be
stood alone on the decking with his bow
drawn. The sun snone; there was silence;
the ship swung to her anchor, and still
be waited looking down, his arrow point
ed at the level of the deck to shoot at the
first head whicu rose above tbe planking.
Suddenly there came a rush of men on to
tne farther decking, and certain of them
tore the shields that lined the bulwarks
from their pinr and threw them down to
those who were below, while others cast
a shower of spears at the Wanderer.
Some ot the spears he avoided; ctuers
leaped back from his mail; others stood
fast in the altar and in the bodies or the
dwart gods, while he answered with au-
arrow that did aot miss its aim. But his
•eyes were ala ays watcnlng most, keenly
the hatches nearest him, whence a gang
way ran down to the lower part of the
ship where the oarsmen sat for only
thence could they make a rusn on him.
As he watened and drew an arrow from
tne quiver on his shoulder, he felt, as it
were a shadow between him and the desk.
He glanced up quckly, and there, on tne
yard aoovc his nead, a man who had
climbed the mast from behind, was
creeping down to drop on nim, from
above. Then the Wanaerer snatched a
short spear and cast it at tne man. The
spear eped quicker than a thought, and
pinned nis 1*0 hands to tne yarn so that
lie hung there helpless, sherkinp to his
fnencs. Bat tne arrow*, of the Wanderer
ktptraiLiig on the rurther deck, and
presenuy some of them, too, leaped uowu
in terroi, crylDg that he was a god and
not a man, while owners threw themselves
into the sea tnd swam lor the island.
Then the wanderer himseic waited no
longer, seeing them all amazed; hut he
oieW ilia swoid and leaped down among
them witn a cry like a sea eagie swoop
ing on seamews in tne crevice of a rock.
To right ana left ne smote with the short
sword, making a havoc and sparing
none, for the s^ord'ravened in his hand.
And some felt over tne benenes ana oars,
but sued of the sailors as could flee rush
ed up ihe gangway into tne furtuer deck,
ana thence sprang overboard, while
those who bau not the luck to flee fell
where they stoed and scarcely struck a
blow. Omy the Captain of the snip,
knowing tnat all was.lost, turned ana
threw asptar in the Wander’s face. But
he watchid me fl*sh of the bronze, and
stooped his neao a o that the spear struck
only me golden htim and pierced it
througn, but scarcely grazed his head.
Now me \\anc.ertr sprang on the Sido-
man’s Captain and smote him with the
flat of hie s word so tuat he fell senseless
on the otek, and tneu tc bound him
hand and.oot with cords us he himself
haa teen bound, and made him fast to
the iron Lar in the hoid. Next he gath
ers d up the dead in his mighty arms and
set them against the ouiwarks of the
loreaecas—harvesting the fruits of war.
Above the deck the man who had crept
along the yard was hanging by his two
nanos which the spear naa pinned to
geiner to the yard.
Art thou there friend? cried the Wan
derer, mocking him. “Hast tnou chosen
to stay with me rather than go witn thy
friends or seek new service? Nay, then,
as tnou art so siancn, aoiae there and
keep a good lookout for the river mouth
ana the market wnere thou art to soil
me*for|a greatlprice.” So he spoke, but the
man was already dead of p*in and fear
Then the Wanderer unbuckled his gol
den armor, w hich clanged upon the deck,
and oiew fresn water from the hold to
cieante himself, for he was stained like a
non that nan devoured an ox. Next with
a golden comb he combed his long dark
curis, and he gathered his arrows out of
me bodies of me dead and out of the
thwarts and the sides of the ship, cleans
«d, tnem, and lain them back in tne quiv
er. W ten all mis was ended he pu*. on
his armor again; but strong as ne was,
he could no*, tear the spe**r from the
head without breaking me gold, so he
snapped tne shaft ana put on the nelmet,
witn the point of the javelin still flxed
firm in the crest, as late would have it
ao, and this was the beginning of his sor
rows. Next he ate meat and bread and
draDk wine, and poured forth some of the
wine beiore his goes. Lastly he dragged
up the heavy stone witn which the snip
was moored, a stone heavier f»r, they fay,
than three orber men coaid life. He took
toe tiller in Lis hana; the steady north
wind, the E-esian wind, kept olowing in
tbe sails, and he sUerea straight south
ward for the mouths of the Nile.
(To be Continued.)
Written for the Sunsy South.
JIMMIE.
BY SAM LEAK.
o. IMMJE is a good boy and j
jg goln* to help him,’’ said
‘ old man Willis to himself,
as be threw the last ears of
3Hb| corn out of the wagon,
^ \ while Jimmie waB at the
well drawing a bucket of
watc r for his mother.
It was In the last days of
October, Jimmie and his
father were finishing the
corn gathering.
Jimmie Willis was the
most matter-of-fact yonng
man. He had recently
thrown his family into a state of excite
ment and supplied the gossip of tbe vi
cinity with a freBh topic by announc
ing at home and abroad that he was go
ing West as soon as the crops were gath
ered. He was a hard working young
man and his father’s only son. But the
father was a close fisted old fellow and
when Jimmie became of age, he made no
new arrangement with him, offered him
no start, paid him no wages and gave
him no shsre In the produce of the fields
It was encugh, the father thought that
Jimmie would succeed to a large part of
the property at his death. Jimmie told
bis father of his intention of going West
wbere land was ch*Bp and start a little
farm of bis own. In vain the father
urged him not to go, that there wouid
be no one to look after things and that
he could not get along without him.
But Jimmie persisted that he must do
something for himself and that his fath
er wouid have to hire a man to work in
in his place.
Jimmie's mother and sisters were evsn
more opposed to his leaving than the
father was. They did Dot hesitate to
blame the father for not having done
something for Jimmie. The old man had
never before known bow unpleasant a
home may come to oe. He was remind
ed that Jimmie had not an acre of land,
not even a colt, he could call his own.
Tbe old man coaid no longer stand the
racket of the ••wimin folks” so he resolv
ed not only to do something for Jimmie,
but to do it in such a way tnat bis son
wonld begin life very well provided for.
He wanted to hush the olamor of toe
home and the neighborhood once for all
and prove to his critics how much they
were mistaken.
It was nearly a week, after Jimmie’s
first resolution was taken, that he and
his father were finishing the corn gath
ering.
“Well Jimmie, snppose we put on the
side boards” said the father, “and we
can finish the field this load.”
Wnen the piles of corn within easy
tbrowmg distance had been gathered,
Jimmie, wonld slip tbe lines from the
standard over the fore wheel and drive
forward the horses.
“Look yer., Jimmie” said the father,
while tne two were picking np corn near
together, and throwing it over toe tail
gate of the wagon, “If you'll give np
leaving, an get married rite away an
settle down here, I’ll deed yon that South
Ninety acres over yonder,and erbout six-
acres of that timoer land on ’tother
side.”
“Well, Pa, that's purty good," replied
Jimmie, “bat if I waits till I finds a wife
it may bs that I’ll never get settled
down.”
“Yea, and that Ninety acres lays long
side of Arp’s medder and that large cot
ton field of Uisen,” said the father, sig-
nificntly.
-Do yon mean, Pa, that If I was to
marry Martha, that Arp would give ns
another lilt? ’
“Tnat’s what I means, Jimmie, an I'll
help you pat up a good frame hoose. I’d
let you take the big mare and tnat red
h.'lfer.”
-But Pa,I don I much bslieve I can get
In down thar. Cause ther’s too many of
them sparkling fellers knocking at tuat
door.”
"But, Jimmie, that gal ain’t no fool!
She knows when the rite kind er stock
comes er ’oug.”
“Well, Pa, I takes you up provided
yon’U he.p me to baild my house right
away.”
“Weil Jimmie, you wants to build your
house fore yoa finds yer wife?”
“Yes, Pa, that’s bizaesz,—she’ll see I
means biznez!”
On the following Monday Jimmie and
his father, assisted by two carpenters,
commenced work on the house, erecting
it on me east corner of the Ninety acres.
The house was neatly finished in three
weeks time.
One afternoon shortly after its com
pletion, Jimmy said to himself, “well, I
might giet as well go head and reek it.
Arp s gut an all fired good place and all
out of debt.”
So he goes upstairs and puts on a new
suit of dark geans fresh from his moth
er's loom. Th6n he walks over to Arp’s
to find Mrrtba sewing in the front porch.
Martha was “kinder hyfaluten like” as
her motner expressed it, Blnce her visit
to Kingston town. She had received as
many attentions as usual,but she didn’t
seem to care much for any of them.
When she looked np and saw Jimmie
Wiilis coming in at the gate she felt a
strange surprise. Never before had she
seen him in Sunday clothes or visiting on
a week day.
“Hello, jemmie. Looking for Bud?”
she asked, with neighborly friendliness.
“Not that anybody knows. I’ve come
over to see you, Martha.”
“To see me? Why, you’re the last one
I'd look for to see me, and on a week day
and corn shacking ain't began yet.”
There was an air of excited curiosity
in her manner. One could readily imsg
ine that she was inwardly asking, “What
can it be that Jimmie Willis is up to,
anyhow?” But sne said to him:
“Come on in, Jimmie, an’ take a
cheer.”
“No, I’ll jest set’own right here,” he
answered, taking a seat on the edge of
the porch.
Jimmie and Martha had played “hide
and whoop” together in childhood, and
times innumerable they had gone on
blackberrying and other excursions to
gether. He had s wung her on long grape
vine swiDgs on the hill-side. They had
walked together to and from school, ex
changing sweet cakes from their lunch-
basket, and still they had never been
lovers.
“Martha,” he said, locking his broad
sun-burnt nands over his knee. “Pa has
give me that South Ninety acres to git
married, settle down, and not to go otf
West.”
“1 expect you'll be a long time getting
married, Jimmie. I don’t think yon ever
wus a hand to go after tne girls.”
“I know that, Martha; but what does
running all er round here going to see
the girls, amount to unless you means
buznez. I see that Mat Horton drops in
to see you rite freeswent these days.
The boys that do a great deal of spark
ing and the girls that a lots of beaux,
don’t always git married first.”
Martha smiled and waited with curi
osity to see what all this was leading up
to.
“What I’ve got my mind on,” said
Jimmie, with the air of a business man
approaching a trade, lest he shonld make
a false step, “is tnle—that ninety acres
of mine Jlnes onto yonr medder and that
big cotton field.”
“Well Jimmie, if you wants to sell it, I
expect pa wonld like to buy it from you.”
Don't yon have no idee what I’m try
ing to get at?”
“No, I don’t Jimmie, not ti save my
life.”
“Look yere Martha, the two farms jlne
—now—now, what if—if you—yon and
me—wus to jine?”
“Lor me! Jimmie Willis, if you don’t
beat the world! I never Heard the like
in all my born days!”
Martha had heard many proposals, bat
this sort of love-making was quite a nov
el to her.
“Now look yere, Martha, I've knowed
yon ever since yon was knee high to a
grasshopper. Now I can’t see any use of
fooling and nonsense betwixt you and
me? Yon knows what I is, a sober, study
going, nard working farmer; shore to
get my sheer of whau. to be had in tbe
world without scrouging anybody else.
We is always got er long mighty well
with each other and if I hav’nt ever
made a fool of myself about your face, its
so much the better forme. Nowwhadfy
yeh saj? Will you make it a Bargain?”
“Lor me! Jimmie Willis, what kind of
way do you talk?”
“Come on Martha and go er long with
me ana I’ll snow you my little house, it's
down by the spring, je?t beyond your
medder fence. Won’t you come bong
and go?”
“Weill don’t care; I believe I’ll go
down there with you Jimmie, hut its
awful'uunyto approacu sucaasuMect
in that manner.”
Martha put on her sun bonnet and
they went through the orchard together.
“Now Martha, pa has gtve me plenty
of timber land, a nice herse aDd a good
milk cow. We d be fixed op to begin, no
matter what yonr pa done, wneiDer he
hope ns any or no. Don’t you think it a
good plan?”
“Wny Jimmie, you—yon bav’nt said
yon loved me! What a curious person you
art?”
“Dsn't you think I’d made a good hus-
bsno?’
“Yes, I believe yon would.”
“And a good provider?”
“Yes, I’m shore of that.”
“Well, now, Martha, I’m not going to
give you any taffy. If you is going to
say ‘no’ it's alright, that one's it. I wont
grieve myself to death er boat it, nor
worry into consumption. Yon is got the
privilege to do what yon please, I’m not
going to have the nabors Bayin that I’m
another one of them fools that s broke
their hearts over Martha Arp. If I can’t
get yon, then I’ll shore not set my heart
on you; cause i never set my heart on
anything I mightn’t be able to git.”
Martha was silent. She did not respond
to this bit of philosophy. Jimmie showed
her where the barn would De built, where
they could have a garden and then open
ing tbe door of Mb little house, invited
her to walk in.
-Looky here, Martha,you see this little
nail, I drove It there yesterday for you to
hang yonr sun bonnet on, and I stood
here and looked at tuat little Dail till I
swear I could see that leetle bonnet a
hanging thar.”
Martha listened to Jimmie Wiilis’ cool-
blcodod proposition with rather more
tolerancb than she felt when hearing the
kind of love talked she bad been used to.
Why not get ner father to do as well by
her as tbe Willises’ wonld by Jimmie
or to do becier, seeiDg he was De richer
and had but two children. Martha felt a
certain pleasure in fancying herself mis
tress of such a place. But it was contra
ry to all tbe precedents laid down in the
few romances she had read, for a woman
to marry a man wno was not her slave.
She tried to coquet with Jimmie in order
to draw from tom some sort of profes
sions of love bnt a flirtation with a lay
figure would have been quite as success
ful. He was plain prose and she present
ly saw that if she accepted him it must
be done in prose, She couldn’t help lik
ing his very prose; she was a little tired
of slaves. It seeiuedon the whole better
to have a man at least capable of being
master of himself.
In the same tone, the tone of a man
proposing a co partnership for business
purposes. Jimmie carried on the con
versation all the way back antil taey
reached the corn-crib, where he came to
a stand-still.
“Wnaddy yeh say, Martha, Is it a bar
gain?”
“Now Jimmie this Is so sudden like,
give me time to think it over.”
“Then I’ll take back the offer. I’m not
a going to have my skelp a hanging to
your belt for days and days, like me rest
of tnem. I don't see no nse of tninking?
Do you want to take Mat Horton?”
“No bis nose Is too red, be lives in
Klng»toa town there,and drlDks whiskey
and ihen he Is too old anynow. But Mat
told me the other Sunday, if 1 didn’t
marry him that he’d kill himself and me
too, but I’ve never told it oefore.”
“O, he’s jest trying to bluff you Mar
tha, ne don’t mean half he says, Mat
Horton don’t. But if yon think you can
do better by waiting, then I’m off. If yon
think, I is about as good a man as you’re
likely to pick np, here's yonr chance. If
I don’t marry yon I’ll jest gether np my
Ushln pole, my hook and line and my
bait gourd and move to some other hple
in the mill-pond, because we both got
sense ’nougn to know that the good Lord
aint one tnat makes jes one loue fish by
“Itself. And if I never has no luck, why
then my little house will stand down
yonder, till it falls away, board by board.
1 don’t ask you to think I’m perfection,
bat jest to take a sober commonsense
look at things.”
Martha, plainly saw it was no use to
expect Jimmie to court her, but she
could not help liking him the better lor
his honest straight forwardness, tthe
hnng her bead with tbe hope that he
wonld eventually say something that
might make it easier for her to answer,
but he keptrbts 8<!ence.
* Well Jimmie,” she said at length roll
ing a corn cod over and over under tbe
toe of her shoe, “I’ve got a good notion
to say “yes.” You don’t make me sick
like the rest of them. But pa’ll be struck
when he hears of it. He always said
that I’d marry some good-for-nothing
town feller.
“Is it a bargain, strong and true?” said
Jimmie, reacnlng out his hand to her as
ne would have done to clinch the baying
of a piece of land.
“Yes,” said Martha, smiling at the
oddness and suddenness of It. “I’m tired
of fooling. It's a bargain, Jimmie, good
and fast.”
“Then Heaven bless yon, Martha. I
love yon and you is mine. Let’s get
married this week, move in our leetle
house, and what’s mine la yours.”
They were married on the following
Sunday. Everybody in the settlement
assembled there npon that day t* wit
ness the marriage.
Old man Arp and his family were
highly pleased with Martha’s companion
and gave them more than double the
amount of property wnich they had
already received.
They were happy in their little house
by the Bpring. The neighbors all thought
a great aeal of the young couple and vis
ited them often.
The Chateeu De Courcy.
A TALE OF FEUDALTIMES.
FUN AT CAPE MAY.
Crouds of Visitors and Lots of
Fun at this Popular Place.
A correspondent writing from this
popnlar summer resort on the 2nd inst.
says, a new fashion among the women
who are fond of alchoholic beverages and
who don’t go behind tbe door to gratify
their appetite, is the soaking of cabes of
sngar in any favorite liquor and then
leisurely dissolving the delectable mass
in tbe month. It’s more like eating than
drinking. The plan has its advantages.
It’s mnch easier to carry about some of
these consolidated cocktails than the
kind wnich comes in glasses. Then the
uninitiated think the fair “soak” is only
eating caramels or eome kind of fancy
bon bons. A lady guest of one of oar Dig
hotels made the statement tnat this
form of imbibing intoxicating drinks
haa become very common and threatens
to drive ont tbe tall cobblers and punches
so common in the Stockton cafe a few
years ago.
August is the outing month for the
over-worked city clerk. He will use up
his two weekB of vacation and his year's
savings with reckless unconcern. The
livery stable man looks npon him in
great favor, and Commodore Black,
down at the Inlet, rejoices to see him
come. He has on nls list a half dozen
summer girls, each of whom is entirely
willing to go out with him on the drive
or take a sail over the Inlet waters till his
money is gone When this event hap
pens he folds bis tent and, with a pocket
ful of tin-types, goes back to work a
pretty thoroughly plucked youth.
There is, in all probability a double
vacancy in the ranks of bathing freaks.
Colonel D. Flaerckey caught a ten foot
long monster a day or two ago and on
exposing the contents of its stomach
found therein a red jersey duster, pair of
blonde side whiskers and a hoopskirt.
There are other freaks to spare, a con
spicuous one being a big fat man, who
insists that an umbrella is a necessary
equipment for bathing in the surf.
Mrs. Harrison’s Cape May callers have
been very few this week. Miss Tillie May
Forney and Helen Crawford Dorsey, both
members of Cape May’s Literary Guild,
were over at the cottage and had pleas
ant chats with the laaies of the White
House cottage. Bnt it has gone out that
the general public are not expected; and
the people now nere respect the wishes
of the President’s household as they
should. The time for closing up the
Cape May Phlnt establishment is sup
posed to be fixed for an early day in
August.
Gas was struck at Knoxville yesterday,
at a depth of 900 feet, and tbe flow is
estimstsd at twenty million cubic feet a
day. Tne roar is deafening, and the
people ot that city are wild with delight.
“I'm all in a perspiration,” said the
mutton-chop to the griniron.
BY FRANCIS A. DCRIYAGE.
HE aged Baron de Cour-
” ^ cy sat in his carved oak
en chair, in his great an-
- cestra! hall at the decline
of dey. Though it was
yet early autumn, and
though the rays of an
unshadowed snn pourfd
through tbe high western
windows of the vast
apartment, a huge fire
was burning on the
hearthstone, near to
which the noble had es
tablished his seat. So motionless and
stern he sat that he seemed more like
one of those sculptured effigies of chival
ry that kept watch and ward over the
tomba of the crusaders than a living be
ing. A large robe of crimson velvet,
lined and trimmed with costly ermine,
enveloped his limbs, descending from his
throat to his feet.
A cap of crimson cloth and gold was
on his head, and beneath this descended
the long, silvery locks that betokened
his extreme age. His cheek and brow
were furrowed by a thousand wrinkles,
and his eyes, ditn'y visible beneath their
heavy, overhanging brows, seemed lustre
less and rayless. His sunken mouth was
entirely overgrown oy a while mustache,
which mingled with a long and flowing
beard of the same color. His age was
nearly fourscore years and ten.
On the other side of the tire, sat, sur
rounded by her handmaidens, the Baro
ness de Courcy, a pale and sorrow strick
en lady of apparently not half the age of
the haron. A low word addressed by
her from time to time to one or tne maid
ens alone broke the chilling and almost
sepulchral silence of the hail.
At last the sound of a trumpet echoed
through the hall. The baroneBB dropped
her embroidery, clasped her bands, wnile
tbe baron started, as a dead knight
might start at the trumD of the archan
gel.
“It is he: it is Victor!” exclaimed the
baroness, glancing at her husband.
The Baron Hugo frowned darkly, but
made no reply. The next moment a glit
tering figure advanced through the arch
ed doorway in the further end of tne hat),
the sunshine projecting Its shadow far
before It.
Victor de Courcy was 22 years old; a
handsome and well-built figure, a bold
and material bearing, a frauk and open
countenance well became tbe splendid
armor he wore and the military profes
sion he had adopted.
“Father,” he said, bowing before the
old baron, “you sent for me, and I am
here.”
“You are tardy,” replied the baron
coldly. “Yon knew the castle was me
naced by enemies.”
“And I have reached it before them,”
was Victor’s reply. “Mother,” he added,
rushing to the side of tne baroness, “yon
at least, have a welcome for your son!”
Tbe Baroness Erminla clasped him in
her arms and blessed him. Then, with
a gesture of her hand, she dismissed her
train and Victor and his parents were
left alone together.
“Why did you not come hither sooner?”
asked tbe baron, sternly. “Your pres-
ercs might have held tbe knignts of Val
moot in check.”
“Would it have prevented my brother
Enstaoe from hunting on their lands—
from beating their vessals and driving off
their cattle?” asked Victor haughtily.
“Whence get yon these falsenoode of
yonr brother?” asked the baron fiercely.
“From the complaints or the knights
of valmont before the throne of Puiilp
Augustus ”
“Do you believe the charges of your en
emies?”
“Before the king, I said they lied. Be
fore yon, father, I confess that 1 believe
them trne.”
“Are you come hither to sustain them?”
“1 come hither to tight them. Tney
shall not touch a stone of tne castle,
while I remain between them and the
ramparts.”
“it is well,”;s*iid the aged baron. “But
tell me what hdst tnon been doing in the
four years of your absence from tne Cha
teau de Courcy?’
“In An.uir.aoie I fought for the Gascons
against - ”0 Han hearted Rlcbaru of
England. Il’nr ion did I meet him in tbe
field—tlu;.-la did our lances shiver, with
out either yielding a foot of ground.”
“And from Aquicaine whither went
you?” coniinued tue baron.
“The next year 1 was with King Henry
VII. before the walls of Rouen. Twice
did I scale the walls with no other help
than my good sword.”
“And afterwards? ’
“I fought against Henry II., king of
Englana, In the Duchy of Berry.”
“And thence?”
“I went witn Henry of the Short. Man
tle to Paris, where I took port in all the
games and tournaments.”
“And what happened to you then?”
aaked the baron, with a keen inquiring
look.
“Nothing worthy of rocltal,” said the
youDg man, casting down Mb eyes.
There was a silence for some moments;
and perhaps the baron wonld have renew
ed Ms inqalres bad it not been for the
entrance of Eastace, the son of the old
noble by his first wife. The wretched
yonng man came before his father with
an unsteady step—his eyeB were blood-
snot, and his face was flushed with drink
ing—he had fallen from Ms horse and his
garments were covered with mud. A
flush of anger colored the pale cheeks of
tne old warrior, bnt he nttered not a
word of reproach against his favorite
bnt nnwonny son.
‘TJal” exciaioued Emtace “My brother
here. I knew not this. Let me clasp yon
to ity neart, Victor.”
But the young man stood with folded
arms.
“Victor!” exclaimed the baron, sternly,
“embrace thy brother!”
Victor obeyed; bat the ceremony ended,
he called a page, and said, disdainfully:
“Wipe this filth from my armor. Tne
purest steel will met and tarnlsn if such
stains are not speeaily effaced, and tnen
tne time comes when the goodly armor
thus devoured refuses to derena its miB
ter.”
The baron was preparing to make an
angry comment on this speech when a
trumpet again soanded within tne castle,
and he rose with an effort to his feet,and
thus addressed Victor de Courcy:
“You are summoned home, sir, fora
douole purpose. In tbe first place, to
gnard the chateau against the menaced
attack of enemies wnich 1 am too feeble
to repel and chastise; and in the second
place to be present at the nuptials of
your brother.”
“At the nuptials of my brother?”
‘•ifes, Victor,” stammered Eustace,
wish me joy.”
“And tue lady?” asked Victor.
“ifou will know her soon enough,"said
the baron with a smile of peculiar mean
ing.
At this moment the folding doors at
the lower part of the hall,and surrounded
by pages and attendants, a beautiful and
richly attired lady entered.
“Biancuede Montreal!! ’ muttered Vic
tor, as Ms eyes rested fora moment on
her features, “this iB too much.”
The oaron and baroness welcomed the
lady courteously. Eastace staggered for
ward and sougnt to take her nand, bnt
she turned from him with disdain, and
Bank into a seat, pale and agitated.
“This is a marriage of my making”
said the baron, leading Victor foward to
tne lady. “Have I not been happy in
my choice? Lady Biancne, this is my
second son.” >
The lady gazed for an instant on the
young knigu:: and then, with a faint cry
sank back in‘her chair. Erminia bent
over her ana then motioned to her hus
band and sons to retire.
It was midnight — a wild storm was
howling over the turret of the chateau
de Courcy. Victor, in whose breast a
storm of passion, tierce as the strife of
tne elements without, was raging,
strode up and down in a lonely corridor,
lit only by the flashes of lightning that
momentarily penetrated the deep loop
holes in tne walls.
“My father is right!” he muttered. ‘ I
most fly, I cannot remain to see the wo
man 1 once loved sacrificed to another.
Henceforth my home must be among
strangers. He gave me an honr to de
clde. I nave made ap my mind—I will
return to him and tell him that I yle'd ”
Victor soon regained the bedside of nis
father, beside wMch his mother was
seated.
Father! mother!” cried the young
man, “I nave returned to bid yon adieu.
Perhaps, if in the rude and perilous ca •
rear to which I have d ivotect myself, my
life may be spared, ai some future time
I may return to these towers, but never
to aside.
“Farewell, my son,” said Ermnia,
“Farewed, and heaven h!e‘s yon.”
“And you, father, will you not give me
ycur blessing? asaed tbe young anight.
“Of wtat avail is it?” asaed the baroD,
coldly. “Depart and loave me in peace. ’
“How have I offended you father?”
askt d Victor, in tones of deep sorrow.
“lu tne daily contrast you nave offered
to Eustace," ai swered the old man, bit
terly. “In the opposition of yonr brav
ery to his cowardice—your beauty to his
ugliness—your honorable life to his ais
gusting excess's. Yes; for Ms faults I
nave loved him—for your virtues I have
batenyou.”
“Hatedme, father?”
‘ Call me not father—you are no son of
mine. The hour uas arrived for the
avowal of the truth. After my marriage
to your motner 1 learned that previous
to our nuptials sbe had married in early
life, secretly married a man far beneala
her in rank, who fell in battles year af
ter their unhappy union. You Victor
Tracy, the son of a poor Gascon kMght,
1 nave reared as my own child to shame
my unfortnnate Eustace.”
••And yet in the pride of my name and
lineage X eccrned to wed Blanche de
Montreuil, though I loved her as my life,”
said Victor.
“lies,” said the baron bitterly. “I
heard of that affair. I wooed her for my
son, and Bbe accepted the offer that she
might paHlsh yourpiide ”
"Anusoehas sacrificed her happiness
in so doing,” said the baroness.
“Silence!” said the baron. “Not a
word—not an insinuation against my
boi ! And now, Victor Tracy, begone!
The world is before you.”
“Remember that you bear tbe name of
an honorable man," said Erminia
“I will Dever disgrace it,” said the
young soldier. “Farewell, mother; fear
not for my fature. There is room for
brave hearts beneath the banner of Phil
ip Augustus. One embrace, dear moth
er! Tulnk of me—pray for me; I shall
never cease to ttink cf you.”
“Do not go hence in this wild storm,
my child,” replied the weeping baroness.
“Hencefortu ail seasons are alike to
me.” said Victor. “The wilder the night
the better BUlted to my fortunes.”
He tore himself away and hurried down
into the courtyard where Ms cnarger
stood saddled and chafing at tbe delay.
A page was beside him, mounted on a
palfrey, Victor rnrew himself into the
saddle, and, accompanied by his atten
dant, robe forth from beneath tbe turrets
of tbe Chateau de Courcy nor did ne
draw bis rein till the lightning had ceas
edto play upon tthe batlements.
As tie slackened his pace, the page was
enabled to join Mm.
“Eugene!” said the young knight.
“It is not Eugene!” answered tne page,
timidly.
“Who then?” asked Victor, in aston
ishment.
A soft hand was laid upon h!s steel
glove, and a soft voice answered:
“What if it should be Biancne de Mon-
trenil?”
“Blanche! thou! Canst thou have for
gotten my pride my madness?”
“Forgotten and forgiven all—all bnt
my deep love for thee.”
And Eastace!”
“Name him not. Thinkest thou I could
accept the hand of a base profligate?”
“but I no longer bear tbe name of De
Courcy. I am tbe Bon ot a landless man
—I have no fortune but my sword and
horse. Canst tbou be thb bride of the
humble Victor Tracy?”
“Victor! Victor! wnatsver be thy name
and fortune, I am too happy to share
them!”
“Then by this hand fair Blanche, I envy
not the proudest noble In the land
Ride on, we are Dot far from shelter—
aDd tomorrow, dearest, in fair Paris I
will claim you for my own.”
The flight of BlaDcbe was not discover
ed till tne next day when pursuit was
unavailing. Eustace de Courcy readily
forgot the disappointment, and tbe
young lovers, protected by the favor of
the king, cared little for the menaces
that from time to time reached them
from the Chateau de Conrcy.
The Wifdom of Shacabac the
Wayfarer.
Shacabac, the wayfarer, like other
great philosophers, did not escape the
charge of inconsistency both in his teach
ings and in his conduct. To the first he
replied that human nature being per
verse wonld seek opportunities of evad
ing aDy cede of ethics; therefore, by
making one whii£ should cover all sides
of a question, hel hoped to circnmvent
the most ingenious of evil doers. On
the same principle be favored sumptuary
laws, saving that they supplied a new
happiness to humanity in the Joy that
came of breaking them. When he was
accused of indMgence in the strong drink
of the unbeliever, after he had labored
zealously in support of the Bagdad pro
hibitory law, he made answer: “A drown
ed man dreadeth the water, bnt a wise
one shunneth it from the beginning”—
which, as they did not understand it,
greatly amazed and edified his hearers.
To his friend and biographer, Ben Ha
ronnd, the pauper poet, we are Indebted
for the preservation of many of his choic
est aphorisms, among ethers the follow
ing:
Save up thy money for a rainy day, and
It will not fail to ralD.
Be not concerned if thou findest thy
self in possession of unepected wealth;
Allah will provide an unexpected use fer
it.
It hath been said if the son of the des
ert, “Lo, he hath sand,” but what avail-
eth a whole Sahara, and no sngar to
blend therewith; or who that hath a river
before his door aDd never a cow in his
barn, shall grow rich in the milk busi
ness?
Be not quick to take offence. If tbe
conductor pass tnee by without asking
thy fare, resent it not; he is beneath tby
notice.
The infidel tosseth on his conch when
he heareth the mnezzin call to prayer,
bat the good man goeth to the mosque,
yet looseth no sleep thereby.
The safest side in a quarrel is the out
side.
The fool offereth a bribe to tbe cadi,
but the wise man maketh himself solid
with the cadi’s friend, which is called
the “lobbl.”
The best memory is that which know-
sth how to forget judiciously on the wit
ness stand.
Speak not scandal gratuitously of thy
neigboor. for, verily, the society Journals
will pay the for the same.
Well hath, tbe prophet said: “Princi
ple is the corner stone of the mosque
and the ridge-pole of the tent. The
meanest slave may do, but only the wise
and tbe learned know that which is
right. Wherefore see always that thy
principles are correct, let thy practice be
as it may.
Bend not thy knee to the mighty, for
of it shall come but weariness of soul and
bagginess of pants.
Neveriheie-s, tbou wilt wisely honor
the aged and seek not to take precedence
of those who are in high places. A cer
tain yonng man named Al Kali once at
tained unto great wealth and length of
days by refusing, even when commanded,
to go nefore Ms master, tbe Sultan, Ros-
El-Dasl, in crossing an ankaown river.
“Tbe dog follbweth his master,” said Al
Kali, whereat the saltan, being highly
pleased, plunged into the stream ana
presently sank in a quicksand, so that
nanght of him was v.slble save only his
turban, in which be had hidden for great
er security, the crown jewels and other
valuables. These, with great difficulty,
did Al Kali save, and, by Judleously in
vesting them, was enabled to secure the
nomination and election to the vacant
snltanship.
It is a striking tribute to the inherent
truth of Shacatac’s teachings that, al
though his Book of Wisdom has never
before been given to Occidental readers,
the sound principles of conduct therein
laid down are widely practiced by thon
sands who never even heard of the great
philosopher Tae translator will en
deavor to supply farther extracts at an
early date. Amasa B. Sewell.
Tbe queen of the Belgians is a clever
nurse and quite as good as a doctor in
emergencies. When one of her servants
was stricken with apoplexy recently she
applied the correct remedies so promptly
and efficaciously as to secure his recovery
in a very short time.
yeuralgic Persons
And those troubled with nervousness resulting
from care or overwork will be relieved by taking '
Brown's Iron Bitters. Genuine 1
h&s trade iD&rk and crossed red lines on wrapper^
Hove to Avoid the Troubles Inci
dent to August, the Most Try
ing Month of the Year.
UGDST is most unde
niably the trying
month of tbe year to
honse k eepers. The
heat is intolerable,
dust ditto; appetites
ifj-b fail, food spoils, the
children are cross, and
_ „ . ^ ^ baby don’t seem well;
w T .^/><V\c) altogether it is enough
v j to drive one dis-
<SfV j-rtx traded, especially if
one hes ta be strictly
economical. E c o n-
' omy always means
steady work and unceasing vigilance; bnt
when it includes doing without ice, or
something else, so that we may indulge
in this most grateful necessity, then it Is
hard, indeed. What would we not give
for a few words with some of the notable
housekeepers of fifty or a hundred years
ago—before tbe rumble of the Ice wagon
was heard in our streets!
An article has been going the rounds of
the papers, recently, statiDg thst cold
foods are injurious to the health.
Whether that was gotten up in view or
the ice famine or not, we might as well
make a virtue cf necessity, and while we
dunk our warm milk and eat so't butter,
comfort ourselves with the reflection
tnat, if this statement be true, we are
the better tor so doing. Doubtless the
scarcity of ice will advance tbe price of
meat, so that less will be eaten; and this
very circumstance will bens lit us, whether
we will or no. Meat is known to be very
heating to the blood and is now said to
be tbe cbiet cause of tbe disorders Inci
dent to hot weather, those disorders
which in limes past have been attributed
to fruit and vegetables. Let those who
eat meat three times a day and find the
heat insafltrable, try, for a while, doing
without it at two of the meals and U3e
ripe food instead. Fruit cools the blood
and costs far less than meal; therefore,
if our blood is cooler.and we have the
p’easant satisfaction or saving money by
the operation, we ought surely to feel
cool r, besides the money we save can go
towards buying ice. Let us leave oB our
oatmeals in the mornings and substitute
molded farina with cream and cngai;
gtve up hot cakes and eat bread made of
the whole wheat flour. Let cool, cusp
salads form part of our August break
fasts, and witn fragrant coffee and sweet,
fresh butter, wo will not miss meat.
Fresh fish, boiled or broiled, Is a good
substitute for meat in summer, ss it con
tains very little, somekinrs noneat all,
of the heat producing elements.
Frequent spoDge bath, using tepid wa
ter, will also reduce our temperature;
but tbe greatest and best cure of all is to
keep so busy that we will not have time
to think how warm we are. Those who
wander np aDd down the house, vigor
ously fanniog themselves, sighing and
groaning over the heat and fretfully re
marking that they “can't stand it mnch
longer” and “isn’t it perfectly dreadful,”
are only making themselves more un
comfortable. They keep their blood at
fever heat and would not feel nearly
so warm if they were sweeping a room
or scrubbing a floor. Not that I advocate
a recourse to such extreme measures
when tbe mercury is In the nineties;
there are enough cool mornings through*
out the summer when such needful work
be done; butlt is certain that those whose
head ana heart aDd haDds are occupied,
do not feel the beat as do those who
think of notMng else.
Dust—well, yes, dnst is trying, very;
and disheartening, too, if we will allow
it, but here sgain I can say don't worry
about it. Put away delicate articles that
“will be ruined; ’ banlBh all draperies that
will collect the dnst. Have the street
thoroughly wet every morning and even
ing, in front of and as far each side of
your bouse as tbe hose will reach, even
though you should sprinkle in front of
that neighbor who never returns ths fa
vor. The more the street is wet, the less
dust and the cooler tne air will be. If
you;will have the windows closed and
the hose turned on the house Itself as
high as the water will reach, It will not
only wrsh off gh-3 dust, but help to cool
tbe heated bricks.
For the failing appetites try a break
fast of iced cantaloupes, cold boiled rice
moldod in small caps, with a sprinkling
of powdered sugar aDd a little sweet
cream. A piece of broiled salt fish, good
coffee, brown bread and sweet, fresh nat
ter. A little of each—'just a daiDty,
tempting bit—not a huge platter thst
wonld disgust. For dioner a salmon sal
ad, sliced tomatoes, bread and bntter
and enp custards, with Russian tea. At
supper have pretty bowls half filled with
milk, into which crumb white, home
made bread; add a couple of teaspoon
fuls of huckleberries and a sprinkling of
sngar. Try this, varying the menus, Dut
keeping the same simple style, for a few
days. Perchance, the entire change
from the regular ccurse of cooked meats,
vegetables and pastry may woo back the
capricions appetites.
A housekeeper, some years ago, gave
her family, who for a while rad not
wanted “anything to eat,” one day for
dinner notMng at all but apple pies
(freshly baked ;, milk and cheese. Anoth
er day, it was a boiled huckleberry pud
ding; and a third time, a large nidi of
tne freshest, tenderest, yonng peas, with
plenty of fresh bread and butter and a
pitcher of cool, rich milk. These simple
dinners were hailed with delight and
they always had the desired effect.
If the food spoils, buy only what is
needed from day to day if this is possible.
If not practicable to buy every day, keep
frnit and vegetables in as cool and dry a
place as possible. If you have no ice,
E ut yonr meat in a thin muslin bag which
as been dipped in vinegar, and hang it
where it will get the air, but no sun; or
it may he dipped in melted suet and so
keep for a day or two. Empty the bread
box and wipe it carefully every morning,
allowing no scrips or crumbs to accurnu
late, as they indues moisture and conse
quently mold. Be very particular with
all pitchers or other utensils used for
milt; wash them with boiling suds, rinso
them In scalding water with a piece of
washing soda In it; scald them again with
clear water and ary them thoroughly.
See that they are psftctly cold before
puttiDg tbe milk in them. It is advisable
in warm weather, this month especially,
to scald the milk ss soon as it comes;
not boll it, as that gives it a flavor very
disagreeable to some persons. Put it in
a farina or double boiler, and wUcd tbe
water boils in the lower part, the milk is
scalded sufficiently.
ir the children are cro«s, perhaps you
are irritable and their mood is the re iiec
tion or your own. Try to seem patient
and kind, calm and coo], and, my word
for it, if yon persietently make the effort
to seem so, yon will soon lc-om to feel so,
and the children will be what “mother”
Is. Probably they too feel the heat, but
do not know what, ails .them. Do not
burden them with many clothes; let them
wear low shoes and the thinnest stock
ings, cambric drawers sewed on to a
sleeveless, low necked ws st., and a thin,
glDgham slip, not so long that it will
hampertheir movements. Lstthem play
ont of doors all tbe morning bat during the
heat of the day providosome quite amuse
ment—colored paper and scissors, a bot
tle of mucllags and a few water colors,
will be an endless fund of entertainment.
An afternoon nap, a tepid bath and fresh
clothes, will give them new vigor for tbe
evening. Put them to bad not later than
eight o’clock, so that they will want to
get np early, while the day is fresh and
cool. If baby does not seem well, prob
ably it l.i from the same cause as all your
other worries—the heat. Perhaps ycu
hold it or carry it around unnecessarily.
Think how very disagreeable it would be
to you to be mauled, and kissed, and
lagged around when it Is so warm. Ac
custom it to lie on the bed or on a thick
qnilt on the floor, as long as it is happy,
changing ts position or amuBing it when
fretful. PosBlbly, the poor little creature
is dressed too warm. A shirt made of
the finest, thinnest, all-wool, French
flannel, the neck cut rather low and
sleeves short, a napkin and a thin slip,
are all the baby needs on hot days—even
the little feet can go bare; and long skirts
and bandages are very weakening. Has
it occurred to you that baby may be suf
fering for a drink of cool water. Remem
ber that milk is food and not drink, and
even very young babies require water—
not ice water—but that wnich is fresh
and cool. Do all you can to make the
baby com'ortable and it will be good and
happy.—E. H. B., in Table Talk.
Nobody can have dyspepsia if they
take Simmons Liver R igulator.
THE KAISER IS LAVISH.
Ilis Expenses are too Great for
His Fortune.
A corrfspondont of the Philadelphia
Times, writing from Berlin July'Jl, says,
I hear it. whispered in financial circles
that tne Emperor s taste for luxury and
royal display is sure to land him into the
Bnnferupcy Courts, sooner or later, if the
Reichstag does not vote him a German
civil list.
At present he receives as salary from
Prussia only twelve million marfrs per
annum, the Reichor the smaller royal
and princely dependencies not paying a
penny towards the extraordinary ex
penses incurred by William to keep up
tbe dignity of his position.
When the Prince of Wales was in Ber
lin a few months ago Albert Edward
alluded to the money grabbing or,
rather, money keeping traits of his royal
mamma, saying among other things that
he was obliged to pay all liis traveling
and other expenses when acting as the
repref entative of the Queen, who, in her
turn, was extremely well paid by Eng
lishmen to impress other nations with
their r’chos aud their importance in gen
eral.
William listened to the time worn
complaints of his uncle with many a
sigh.
••You are lucky,” he said finally, “in
comparison witn me. If you want to
have your expenses paid you must pro
test, it is true, but only one person is to
be argued with and i daresay you suc
ceed at times in gaining your point, as
you have tbe whole English nation to
back yon. I, on my parr, must reckon
witn two dozen or more petty sovereigns
and their different parliaments and I al
most despair of ever mustering up cour
age enougfajto ask these opora boufie mon-
archs, whose worthlessness I sbield from
tne eye of Europe, to pay what is right
fully due me.”
Tne Kaiser is evidently too generous.
His rerusal to demand a civil list from
the Reich must necessarily get him into
financial troubles, as his private fortune
is smal. 1 land will remain so during the
lifetime of Empress Frederick.) He has
a large and Hungry court to keep. His
travels cost millions, while the keeping
up so called “roval rts'dences” in tho
annexed provinces demand many hun
dred thousands. All this money is simp
ly thrown away, as far as his Majesty
personally is concerned, but there are
state reasons which do not allow a cur
tailing of expenses in these directions.
FiU alter first day’*
use Marvellous cures. Treatise aud S^.OO trial
bottle free to Fit cases. Seud vo Dr. Kline, 931
Arch St., Philrdelphia, Pi. 741-ly
// "ake Up.
If you wake up in the
morning with a bitter or
bad taste in your mouth,
Languor, Dull Headache,
Despondency, Constipa
tion, take Simmons Liver
Regulator. It corrects
the bilious stomach,
sweetens the breath and
cleanses the furred tongue.
' Children as well as adults
sometimes eat something
that does not digest well,
producing Sour Stomach,
Heartburn, Restlessness,
or Sleeplessness—a good
dose of Regulator will
give relief. So perfectly
harmless is this remedy
that it can be taken by
the youngest infant or
tho most delicate person
without injury, no matter
what the condition of the
system may be. It can
do no haym if it does no
good, but its reputation
Vor 40 years proves it
never foils in doing good.
The strongest, simplest and most ac
curate Watch in the market. Fend for
catalogue.
•i. p. xTa:vi:.\s a lino.,
47 Whitehall Street, - ATLANTA. CA.
Please mention this paper. 2p n r m.
JFJMSFIELDS
■ FEMALE-
-JL Regulator
MENSTRUATION
MOTHLV SICK*!ESS
IV TRKE'-t OUWtiS CHSMGt bV UVE -
6RLM SUff tmGWU.BE WOIDER
> JBOOK TO'W 0 M AN "MAILEDfMUf
BRADF!ELD REGULATOR CO. ATLANTA GA.
zbLn a y.ui oajsais r s.
We wish to
employ a re
sponsible agent
in every local-
duce, “Ray’a
„ Germicide.’*
Large commission and exclusive territory given.
$2.00 outfit sent for 2.*> cents, or a $«;.oo outfit,
consisting of one case, six quarts ol Germicide,
put up in elegant baud painted jugs will bet-eut
for 31.00
ADDRESS AT ONCE
and mention that yon saw this advertisement
In the Sussv South and yonr letter wUl hav.
prompt attention.
Ray’s Germicide Co.,
749 Louisville, Kentucky.
Organs
CLEARANCE SALE
I Organs from
standard mv / tfy / .
ker»T«t SPOT CASII PRIIE8/aV> / *
with yenrttopnyin. New planWORD
ol unle—rented^ until paid ABOUT
PIANOS.
Ita I n in over 20 ye
•50 8AVE»
trade. Send quick^DV^very purchaser,
for BARGAIN ACa/We have in-ride trac*
Sheet. Hale on Piano*. OurS225
limited to
60 Dan
I Don’t
Bum it.
1 l® X^/PIANO la told by the
a- /.wry ksmt dealer, at 827.5.
Ayy —and Is worth It, too.—
Cheap
'fSStf/Pianoa sold.
vr
Oor cheapest am
'Perfect A durable.
CHEAP
Saw! Grist Mil!
*4 Horse Power
and Ioartrer. Cataloouk Free. Addr»-s*
Deloach mill co.. Atlanta, ga.
Please mention this paper 747 xj