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THE SUNNY SOUTH.
LOST MAN’S LANE
Si Second Spisode in the jCife of Simelia Lutterworth
BY ANNA KATHARINE GREEN.
Author of "The Leavenworth Case,” "Behind Closed Doors,” "That Affair
Next Door,” Etc—Copyrighted 1897 by the Author, and Printed in
“The Sunny South” by Special Arrangement.
Chapter III.—I Succumb.
That night the tempter had his own
way with me. Without much difficulty
ho persuaded me that my neglect of Al
thea Burroughs’ children was without
any excuse; that what had been my
duty toward them when I knew them
to bo left motherless and alone had be
come an imperative demand upon me
now that the town in which they lived
had become overshadowed by a mystery
which could not but affect the comfort
and happiness of all its inhabitants. 1
could not wait a day. 1 recalled all that
I had heard of poor Althea’s short and
none too happy marriage and immedi
ately felt such a burning desire to see if
her delicate and espiegle beauty—how
well I remembered it—had been repeated
in her daughters that I found myself
packing my trunk before I knew it.
I had not been from home for a long
time—all the better reason why I should
have a change now—and when I called
together Mrs. Randolph and the servants
and told them of my intention of leav
ing on the early morning train it creat
ed quite a sensation in the house and no
little surmise.
But 1 had the best of explanations to
give. I had been thinking of my dead
friend, and conscience would not let me
neglect her dear and possibly unhappy
progeny any longer. 1 had purposed
many times to visit then}, and now 1
was going to do it. When I came to a
decision, it was usually suddenly, and
I never rested after having once made
up my mind.
My sentiment went so far that I got
down an old album and began hunting
up the pictures 1 had brought away
with me from boarding school. Hers
were among them, and I really did ex
perience more or less compunction when
1 saw again the delicate yet daring fea
tures which had once had a very great
influence over my mind. What a teas
ing sprite she W'as, yet what a will she
had, and how strange it was that, hav
ing been so intimate as girls, we never
knew anything of each other as women!
Had it been her fault or my fault? Was
her marriage to blame for it or my spin-
sterhood? Difficult to tell then, impos
sible to tell now. I would not even
think of it again, save as a warning.
Nothing must stand between me and
been cailert to- them again. ~
¥
I did not mean to take them by
prise—that is, not entirely. The invita
tion which they bad sent me years ago
was still in force, making it simply nec
essary for me to telegraph them that 1
had decided to make them a visit and
that they might expect me by the noon
train. If in times gone by they had
been properly instructed by their moth
er as to the character of her old friend,
this need not put them out. I am not a
woman of unbounded expectations. Ido
not look for the comforts abroad 1 am
accustomed to at home, and if, as 1 have
reason to believe, their means are not of
the greatest 1 should only be provoked
at any extra effort to make me feel at
home in the humble cottage suited to
their fortunes.
So the telegram was sent and my
preparations completed for an early de
parture.
But, resolved as I was to make this
visit, my determination came near re
ceiving a check. Just as 1 was leaving
the house, at the very moment, in fact,
when the hackman was carrying out my
trunk, I sav- a man approaching me
with every evidence of haste. He had a
letter in his hand, which he held out to
me as soon 5s he came within reach.
“For Miss Bntterwortb, ” he said.
“Private and immediate. ”
“Ah,” thought I, “a communication
from Mr. Gryce,” and hesitated for a
moment whether to open it then and
•here or thrust it in my pocket and read
it at my leisure on the cars. The latter
course would be far the easiest, for my
bands were cumbered with the various
small articles I consider indispensable
to the comfortable enjoyment of the
shortest journey, and the glasses with
out which I cannot read a word were
in the very bottom of my pocket under
some other equally necessary articles of
smaller size.
But something in the man’s expect
ant look warned me that he would nev
er leave me till I had read the note, so
with a sigh I called Lela to my aid, and
after several vain attempts to reach my
glasses sncceeded in pulling them out at
last and by' their help reading the fol
lowing hurried lines:
friends to expect me, and only a great
emergency would lead me to disappoint
them. I will be glad to receive Mr.
Gryce on my return.” And without
further parley I took my bundles back
from Lela and proceeded at once to the
carriage. Why should I show any fail
ure of courage at an event that was but
a repetition of the very ones which
made my visit necessary? Was I a like
ly one to fall victim to a mystery to
which my eyes have been opened? Had
1 not been sufficiently warned of the
dangers of Lost Man’s lane to keep my
self at a respectable distance from the
place of peril? I was going to visit the
children of mV once devoted friend. If
there were perils of no ordinary nature
to be encountered there, was I not all the
more called upon to go if only as a moral
support to these young people, who per
haps themselves w'ere paralyzed bv fear?
Yes, Mr. Gryce, and nothing now
should hold me back. I even felt an in
creased desire to reach the scene of these
mysteries and chafed some at the length
of the journey, which was of a more te
dious character than I expected. A poor
beginning for events requiring patience
as well as great moral courage, but 1
little knew what was before me and
only considered that every moment
spent on this hot and dusty train kept
me thus much longer from the embraces
of Althea’s children.
I recovered my equanimity, however,
as we approached. The scenery was
really beautiful, and the consciousness
that I should soon alight at the moun
tain station which had played a more
or less serious part in Mr. Gryce’s nar
rative awakened in me a pleasurable
excitement which should have been a
sufficient warning to me that the spirit
which had led me through that affair
next door had seized me again in a way
that meant equal absorption if not equal
success.
The number of small packages I car
ried gave me enough to think of at the
moment of alighting, but as soon as I
was safely again on terra flrma I threw
a hasty glance around to see if any of
Althea’s children were there to meet
me.
I felt that I would know them at
once. She had been so characteristically
pretty they could not fail to show some
hr.x
Dear Madam—I send you this by a swifter
messenger than mrself. Do not let anything
that I may have saiti last night influence you
to leave your comfortable home. The adven
ture offers too many dangers for a woman
Read the inclosed. G.
The inclosed was a telegram from
Obadiah Trohm, sent during the night,
and evidently just received at head
quarters. Its contents were certainly
not reassuring:
Another person missing. Seen to have en
tered Lost Man's lane. Never seen to have
come out of it. A harmless lad known as Silly
Rufus. What’s to be done? Wire orders. F.
“Mr. Gryce bade me say that he
would be up here some time before
noon, ” said the man, seeing me look
with some blankness at these words.
Nothing more was needed to pull me
together. Folding up the letter, I put
it in my bag.
“Say to Mr. Gryce from me that my
intended visit cannot be postponed,” I
remarked. “I have telegraphed to my
recogn
to know me. But while there were two
or three country maidens to be seen
standing in and around the little pavil
ion known here as the mountain station
I saw no one who by any stretch of im
agination could be'regarded as of Al
thea Burrough’s blood or breeding.
Somewhat disappointed, for I had ex
pected different results from my tele
gram, I stepped up to the station mas
ter and asked him whether I would
have any difficulty in procuring a car
riage to take me to Miss Knollys' honsa
He stared, it seemed to me unnecessari
ly long, before replying.
“Waal,”’ said he, “Simmons is usu
ally here, but—I don’t see him round
today. Perhaps one of these farmer lads
will take it ”
But they all drew back with a sort of
scared look, and I was beginning to tuck
up my skirts preparatory to walking
when a little old man of very meek ap
pearance drove up in a very old fash
ioned coach, and with a hesitating air,
springing entirely from bashfulness,
managed to ask if I was Miss Butter-
worth. I hastened to assure him that I
was, whereupon he stammered out some
words about Miss Knollys and how sor
ry she was that she could not come for
me herself. Then he pointed to his
coach and made me understand that I
was to step into it and go with him.
It was not an altogether encouraging
outlook, especially as I saw the heads
of the various onlookers draw together
and many curious looks directed at us
both and the conveyance that was to
carry us. But I was in no mood to be
daunted now, and accepting the old cod
ger’s apologies with what grace I could
I stepped into the wagon and prepared
myself for a ride into town.
But it seems I was not to be allowed
to enter upon this adventure without
another warning. While the old man
was engaged in bringing my trunk, the
station master approached me with
great civility, and with a touch of his
hat asked if it was my intention to
spend a few days with the Misses Knol
lys. I told him that it was, and, thinking
it best to establish my position at once in
the eyes of the whole town, added with
a politeness equal to his own that I was
an old friend of the family and had been
coming to visit them for years, but had
never found it convenient till now and
that I hoped they were all well aud
would be glad to see me.
He made some sort of reply, showing
considerable embarrassment, then pluck
ing up his courage said with marked
constraint:
“Perhaps you have not heard that
this village just now is under a cloud. ”
“I have heard,” I said innocently,
"that one or two men have disappeared
from here somewhat mysteriously. Is
that what you mean?”
“Yes,” he answered. “Oneperson, a
boy, disappeared only two days ago.”
“That’s bad,” I said, “but what has
that to do with me?” I asked smilingly,
for I saw he was not at the end of his
talk.
“Oh, nothing,” he cried eagerly,
“only I didn’t know but you might be
timid”—
did I fail to find it fixed again upon me
as we rode by tho little but occupied by
the old woman considered so harmless
by Mr. Gryce.
Perhaps he had a reason for this, as I
was very much interested in this hut
and its occupant, about which I felt free
to cherish my own secret doubts—so in
terested that I cast it a very sharp glance
and was glad when I caught a glimpse
through the doorway of the old crone’s
bent form and toothless jaws mumbling
"Oh, I’m not at all timid!” I has
tened to say. “If I were, I should not
have come here at all. Such matters
don’t affect me. ” And I spread out my .
skirts and arranged myself for my ride?
as if the horrors he had mentioned had
made no more impression upon me than
if his chat had been of the weather.
Perhaps I overdid it, for he looked at
me for another moment in - a curious,
lingering way; then he walked off, and
I saw him enter the circle of gossips on
the platform, where he stood shaking
his head as long as we were within
sight.
Before taking his seat my driver es
cort gave me a furtive glance as he
stooped to tear from one of the spokes a
bit of rag that seemed to have been
caught there. He was evidently prepar
ing to make a good impression and to
do me suitable honor.
My companion, who was the shiest
man I ever saw, did not speak a word
while descending the hill. I talked and
endeavored to make him, too, but his re
plies were mere grunts or half syllables
which conveyed no information what
ever. As we cleared the thicket, how
ever, he allowed himself an ejaculation
or two as he pointed out the beauties of
the landscape. And indeed it was well
worth his admiration and mine had my
mind been free to enjoy it. But the
houses which now began to appear on
either side of the way drew my atten
tion from the mountains. We were still
somewhat remote from the town, were
rapidly approaching the head of that
lane of evil fame with whose terrible
history my thoughts were at this time
fulL I was so anxious not to pass it
without one look into its grewsome re
cesses that I kept my head persistently
turned that way till I felt Iwas attract
ing the attention of my companion. As
this was not desirable I put on a non
chalant look and began chatting about
what I saw. But he bad lapsed into his
early silence, and only answered by a
snap of bis whip at the horse whose jog
trot needed a little urging.
Suddenly I myself grew stilL The
houses were growing fewer on the left
hand side of the way, and I saw beyond
the dark boughs of a pine thicket. We
were nearing Lost Man’s lane, we were
abreast of it, we were—turning into it
I could not repress the exclamation
that escaped me.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“To Miss Knollys’ house, ” he found
words to say, smiting his horse again,
but with a sidelong glance at me tim
time full of uneasy inquiry.
“Do they live on this road?” said I,
remembering with a certain s!vH:VMr.
UlTL'tr~y- itJuff '
two young ladies who with their tkotliT
er inhabited the dilapidated mansion
marked in the map he had shown me.
“Certain,” was the laconic answer,
and, obliged to be satisfied with this, I
drew myself up with just one longing
look behind me at the oheerful'highway
we were so rapidly leaving. A cottage,
with an open window, in which a
child’s head could be seen nodding
eagerly toward me, met my eyes and
filled me with quite an odd sense of dis
comfort as I realized that I had caught
the attention of one of the little crip
ples who, according to Mr. Gryce, al
ways kept watch over this entrance in
to Lost Man’s lane. Another moment
and the pine branches had shut the vi
sion out, but I did not soon forget that
eager, childish face and pointing hand
marking me out. as an intruder if not a
possible victim to the horrors of this ill
reputed lane. But I was aware of no
secret flinching from the adventure in
to which I was plunging. On the con
trary, I felt a strange and fierce delight
in thus being thrust into the very heart
of this mystery which I had only ex
pected to approach by degrees. The
warning message sent me by Mr. Gryce
had acquired under it a deeper and
more significant meaning, as did the
looks which had been cast me by the
station master and his gossips on the
hillside, but in my present mood these
very tokens of the serious nature of my
undertaking only gave an added spnr
to my courage. I felt my brain clear
and my heart expand, as if even now
before I had so much as set eyes on the
faces of these young people I recognized
the fact that they were the victims of a
web of circumstances so tragic and in
comprehensible that only a woman like
myself would be able to clear them
away and restore these girls to the con
fidence of the people around them.
I forgot that these girls had a brother
and that— But not a word to forestall
the truth. I wish this story to grow up
on you just as it did upon me, and with
just as littlo preparation.
The farmer who drove me, and whom
I afterward learned was called Sims
bury, showed a certain dogged interest
in my behavior that would have amused
me or at least have awakened my dis
dain under circumstances of a less
thrilling nature. I saw his eye roll in a
sort of wonder over my person which
may have been held a little more stiffly
than was necessary and settle finally on
my face with a look I might have
thought complimentary had I had any
thought to bestow on such matters. Not
till we had passed the path branching
up through the woods toward the moun
tain did he see fit to withdraw it, nor
over a piece of bread she was engaged
I in eating as we passed her.
“Mother Jane, ” explained my com-
I panion, breaking the silence of many
minutes. “And yonder is Miss Knollys,”
bo added, lifting his whip -and pointing
toward the half concealed facade of a
large and pretentious dwelling a few
rods farther on down the road. “She
will be powerful glad to see you, miss.
Company is scarce in these parts. ”
Astonished at this sudden launch into
conversation by one whose reserve even
I had found it impossible to penetrate, I
gave him the affable answer he evident
ly expected and then looked eagerly to
ward the. house. It was as Mr. Gryce
had intimated, eminently forbidding
even at that distance, and as we ap
proached nearer and I was given a full
view of its worn and discolored front I
felt myself forced to acknowledge that
never in my life had my eyes fallen
upon a habitation more given over to
neglect or less promising in its hospital
ity.
Had it not been for the thin circle of
smoke eddying up from one of its bro
ken chimneys I should have looked up
on the place as one which had not
known the care or presence of man for
years. There was a riot of shrubbery in
the yard, a lack of the commonest at
tention to order in the way the vines
drooped in tangled masses over the very
face of the desolate porch, that gave to
the broken pilasters and decayed win
dow frames of this dreariest of facades
that look of abandonment which only
becomes picturesque when nature has
usurped the prerogative of man and
taken entirely to herself the empty
walls and falling casements of what
was once a human dwelling. That any
one should be living in it now and that
I, who have never been able to see a
chair standing crooked or a curtain
awry without a sensation of the keenest
discomfort, should be on the point of
deliberately entering its doors as an in
mate filled me at the moment with
such a sense of unreality that I descend
ed from the carriage in a sort of a
dream and was making my way through
one of the gaps in the high antique
fence that separated the yard from the
gateway when Mr. Simsbury stopped
me and pointed out the gate.
I did not think it worth while to
apologize, for the broken palings cer
tainly offered as good an entrance as
the gate, which had slipped from its
hinges and hung but a few inches open.
But I took the course he indicated, hold
ing up my skirts as well as my pack
ages would allow and treading gingerly
for fear of the snails and toads that in-
cumbered such portions of the path as
the weeds had left visible. As I went
on something in the silence of the spot
struck me. Was I becoming oversensi
tive to impressions or was there some
thing really uncanny in the absolute
lack of sound or movement in a dwell
ing of snch dimensions? But I should
not have said movement, for at that in
stant I saw a flash in one of the upper
windows as of a curtain being stealth
ily drawn and as stealthily let fall
—■ A .
ise of some sort qf greeting there was a
furtiveness in the action that was so in
keeping with the suspicions of Mr.
Gryce that I felt my nerves braced at
once to mount the half dozen uninvit
ing looking steps that led to the front
door.
But no sconer had I done this with
what I am fain to thing was my best
air than I suddenly collapsed with what
must have been a movement of sudden
and to me quite comprehensible fear,
for, while I do not quail before men
and have a reasonable fortitude In the
presence of most dangers corporeal and
moral, I am not quite myself in face of
a rampant and barking dog. It is my
one weakness. I can divulge that much
now, and while I usually can, and un
der most circumstances do, succeed in
hiding any outward manifestation of
my umer trepidation I always feel that
it would be a happy day for me when
dogs would be banished from the affec
tions and homes of men. Then I think
I would begin to live in good earnest
and perhaps enjoy trips into the country
which now, for all my apparent bravery,
I regard more in the light of a penance
than a pleasure. 1
Imagine, then, how hard I found it
to retain my self possession or even any
appearance of dignity when at the mo
ment I was stretching forth my hand
toward the knocker of this inhospitable
mansion I heard rising from somewhere
I never rightly knew where the howl of
a dog so keen, piercing and prolonged
that it frightened the very birds over
my head and sent them flying from tho
vines in clouds.
It was the unhappiest kind of wel
come for me. I did not know whether it
came from within or without, and when
after a moment of indecision I saw the
door open I am not sure whether the
smile I called up to grace the occasion
had any of the real Amelia Butterworth
in it, so much was my mind divided be
tween a desire to produce a favorable
impression and a very decided and not
to be hidden fear of the dog who had
greeted my arrival with such an omi
nous howl.
“Gall off the dog!” I cried almost
before I saw what sort of person I was
addressing.
Mr. Gryce, when I told him of this
later, said I could not have made a more
significant introduction of myself to the
Knollys mansion.
Chapter IV.—A Spectral Home.
The hall into which I had stepped
was so dark that for a few minutes 1
could see nothing but the indistinct out
line of a young woman with a very
white face. She had uttered a sort oi
murmur at my words, but for some rea
son was strangely silent, and if I could
trust my eyes seemed rather to be look
ing back and over her shoulder than in-,
to the face of her advancing guest. This
was odd, but before I could quite satis
fy myself as to the cause of her abstrac
tion she suddenly bethought herself,
and throwing open the door of an ad
joining room she Jet in a stream of light
by which we were enabled to see each
other and exchange the greetings suit
able to the occasion.
((
\Better the Feet Slip
' Than the Tongue.”
Slips of any kind are y to
be deplored, but there is one
slip Nature never forgives.
It is the carelessness that ig
nores the signal that the
body is in danger of wreck.
It may be that the kidneys
or the stomach or the head
gives the warning sign. But
remember, the blood feeds
every organ of the body.
Make no slip, but first tone up the
system through the blood, and health
will surely follow. Hood’s Sarsaparilla
is the best preparation man has devised
to make pure, life-giving blood. It
never disappoints.
Scrofula — “ I was almost bedfast with
scrofula and catarrh. Had no appetite.
Hood’s Sarsaparilla soon made me stronger
and later all the sores disappeared and
catarrh stopped.” Nellie Osmeb, 414 Lyon
Street, Des Moines, Iowa.
Rheumatism—Rheumatism is a dis
ease of the blood, and the acid must be
neutralized to effect a cure. “ I was troubled
with rheumatism so badly that I could not
walk. Hood’s Sarsaparilla cured me.” Mrs.
Mitchell McDermott, Southbridge, Mass.
Malaria—” I was very low with malaria.
My doctor did not help me and scolded
because I would not stop work. Took
Hood’s Sarsaparilla and got sound and
well. Can eat, sleep f«id work weli.” Mrs.
Julia Stockibg, Bath, N. Y.
Eczema — “ My mother’s face was
covered with eczema, face, hands and feet
were swollen. Hood’s Sarsaparilla cured
her. We keep it on hand and recommend
it highly.” Rev. E. E. Jenkins, 407 Govern
or Street, Evansville, Ind.
sick Headache — “ I am now 22. Since
I was 8 years old I suffered constantly with
impure blood, biliousness and sick head
aches until I took Hood’s Sarsaparilla by
doctor’s advice. I owe my life to it.”' Elvira
A. Rumkill, Claremont, N. H.
Catarrh—“I suffered from childhood
with catarrh. Was entirely deaf in one ear.
Hood’s Sarsaparilla cured me and restored
my hearing.” Mbs. W. Stokes, Midland, Tex.
“Ob, no!” she said, but there was no
heart in her voice.
“I had almost forgotten those days, ”
I proceeded, seeing I must keep up the
conversation if we were not to sit in to
tal silence, “till I happened to hear the
name of Althea mentioned the other -
day. Then my whole early friendship
with your mother recurred to me, and
I started up—as I always do when I
come to any decision, my dear—and
sent that telegram, which I hope I have
not followed by an unwelcome pres
ence. ”
“Oh, no, ” 6he repeated, but this time
with some feeling, “we need friends,
and if you will overlook our shortcom
ings— But you have not taken off your
hat. What will Loreen say to me?”
And with a sudden nervous action as
marked as her late listuessness she
jumped up and began busying herself
over me, untying my bonnet and laying
aside my bundles, which up to this mo
ment I had held in my hands.
“I—I am so absentminded, ” she
murmured. “I—I did not think—I hope
you will excuse me. Loreen would have
given you a much better welcoma ”
“Then Loreen should have been
here,” I said, with a smile. I oould not
restrain that slight rebuke, yet I liked
the girl, notwithstanding everything I
had heard, and her own odd and unac
countable behavior there was a sweet
ness in her face when she chose to
(Continued on Page Nine.)
EPILEPSY
or falling
Firs.
A member of my family having: been
cured in a wonderful manner of the ter
rible disease, I will, for the benefit of
humanity, gladly make known the reme
dy. free of charge, to any one addressing
MRS.H.JONES, Box 606. Philadelphia. Pa.
JtocdS St
Rood’s Pills cure liver ills, the non -irritating and
only cathartic to take with Mood’s Sarsaparilla.
“Mias Butterworth, my mother’s old
friend,” she murmured with an almost
pitiful effort to be cordial, “we are so
glad to have you visit ns. Won’t yon—
you sit down?"
What did it mean? She had pointed
to a chair in the sitting room, but her
face was turned away again as if drawn
irresistibly toward some secret object of
fear. Was there any one or anything at
the top of the dim staircase I could
faintly see in the distance? It wonld not
.. do for me to ask nor was it wise for me
strange one. Stepping into the room she
pointed ont to me, I waited for her to
follow me, which she did with mani
fest reluctance. Bnt when she was once
ont of the atmosphere of the hall, or ont
of reach of the sight or sound of what
ever it was that frightened her, her face
took on a smile that ingratiated her
with me at once and gave to her very
delicate aspect, which np to that mo
ment had not suggested the remotest
likeness to her mother, a piquant charm
and subtle fascination that were not un
worthy of the daughter of Althea Bur
roughs.
“You—you must not mind the pover
ty of your welcome, ” she said, with a
half proud, half apologetic look around
her, which I must say the bareness and
shabby character, of the room we were
in fully justified. “We have not been
verv well off since father died, and
mother”—again that look, this time
one of unmistakable fear, bnt she soon
checked it and smiled again, though
without any show of piquancy—“and
mother left ns. Had yon given us a
chance we would have written you that
our home would not offer many induce
ments to you after your own, but you
have come unexpectedly and”—
“There, there,” I put in, fori saw
that her embarrassment wonld soon get
the better of her, “do not speak of it. I
did not come to enjoy yonr home, but
to see you. Are you the eldest, my dear,
and where is yonr sister and brother?”
“I am not the eldest,” she said. “I
am Lucetta. My sister”—here her head
stole irresistibly back to its old position
of listening—“will—will come soon.
My brother is not in the honse. ”
“Well,” said I, astonished that she
did not ask me to take off my things,
“you are a pretty girl, but yon do not
look very strong. Are you quite well,
my dear?”
She started, looked at me eagerly, al
most anxiously, for a moment, then
straightened herself and began to lose
some of her abstraction.
“I am not a strong person, ” she
smiled, “bnt neither am I so very weak
either. I was always smalL So was my
mother, you know.”.
She seemed to think she must talk of
her mother, though I noticed that the
word gave her pain. As for me, no topic
coaid be more agreeable save one. I
therefore answered her in a way to pro
long the conversation.
“Yes, your mother was small,” said
I, “but never thin or pallid. She was
like a fairy among us schoolgirls. Does
it seem odd to hear so old a woman as
I sneak of herself as a schoolgirl?”
“AMONG THE OZARKS."
The Land of Big Apples, is an attrac
tive and interesting book, with views of
South Missouri scenery. It pertains to
fruit-raising in that great fruit belt of
America, the southern slope of the
Ozarks. and is of interest to fruit grow
ers and to every farmer and home seek
er looking for a farm and a home. Mailed
free. Address.
J. E. LOCKWOOD,
Kansas City — — — — Missouri.
^.LIMITED
DRAINS'
DOUBLE DAILY
SERVICE ,
ATLANTA
EAST.
$3 SAVED*
BY THE
SEABOARD AIR LINE.
Atlanta to Richmond J14.50
Atlanta to Washington 14.51
Atlanta to Baltimore via Washing
ton 15.70
Atlanta to Baltimore via Norfolk
and Bay Line steamer 15.25
Atlanta to Philadelphia via Wash
ington 18.50
Atlanta to Philadelphia via Nor
folk 18.05
Atlanta to New York via Richmond
and Washington 21.00
Atlanta to New Tork via Norfolk.
Va. and Cape Charles Route 20.55
Atlanta to New York via Norfolk,
Va., and Norfolk and Washington
Bteamboat Company, via Washing
ton , 21.00
Atlanta to New York via Norfolk,
Va., Bay Line steamer to Balti
more, and rail to New York 20.55
Atlanta to New York via Norfolk
and Old Dominion S. S. Co. (meals
and stateroom included) 20.25
Atlanta to Boston via Norfolk and
steamer (meals and stateroom in
cluded) 21.50
Atlanta to Boston via Washington
and New York 24.00
The rate mentioned above to Washing
ton, Baltimore, Philadelphia, New York
and Boston are $3 less than by any other
all rail line. The above rates apply from
Atlanta. Tickets to the east are sold
from most all points In the territory of
the Southern States Passenger Associa
tion, via the Seaboard Air-Llne, at $3 less
than by any other all rail line.
For tickets, sleeping car accommoda
tions, call on or address agents or
E. J. WALKER. C. P. & T. A.
W. B. CLEMENTS, T. P. A.
B. A. NEWLAND. G. A. P. D.
ATLANTA. GA.
E. ST. JOHN, V. Pres, and Gen. M gr.
V. E. M’BEE, General Superintendent.
H. W. B. GLOVER. Traffic Manager.
L. S. ALLEN, Gen’l Pass. Agt.
PORTSMOUTH. VA.
Finest Passenger Service
IN
TEXAS.
No trouble to answer questions. Writ*
for new book on Texas free.
E. P. TURNER,
General Passenger and Ticket Agent,
L. S. THORNE,
Vice-Pres. & Gen. M’g’r.
DALLAS, TEXAS.
Light, Durable Harrow, with Steel
tar-ch of all. Low in price and does the
Here Is something that will nave vou
labor. It Ota on any common Iron foot
Ran It over your Cotton ao<l corn
Jmt oa ft In
coming up. It
, ^ will palverlie
1 thesou and kill the fine crop of
gram. It makes chopping
» eaaier and
quicker.
'wrrrn%&£*
AddnasF. a PMBAOH, Athesw, a*.
them.
FOR SALE
Within twenty-three miles of Atlanta,
three hundred ana twenty acres of good
farming land at Jlo per acre. About
seventy-five acres are cleared. One hun
dred acres especially adapted for a stock
farm, balance heavily timbered. For
further Information address W, 35 West
Baker, Atlanta, Ga.
i
"v'a* vTk*"*"***** * a a*