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THE SUNNY SOU'
ATLANTA, GEORGIA
LOST MAN’S LANE
Second Spesode in the jCife of ftmelict 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 XIII.—Gossisp.
This name once mentioned called for
more gossip, but of a somewhat differ
ent uuturo.
“Tho Lucetiii of today is not like her
ancient namesake, ” observed Airs. Car
ter. “Sho may have the heart to love,
but she would never show that love by
any act of daring. ”
“I don’t know about that. ” I replied,
astonished that I felt willing to enter
into a discussion with this woman on
the very subject I bad just shrunk from
talking over with tho locksmith. “Girls
as frail and nervous as she sometimes
astonish one at a pinch. I do not think
Lucetta lacks daring. ”
“You don’t know her. Why, I have
seen her jump at tho sight of a spider,
and heaven knows that can be nothing
new to her among the decaying walls
in which she lives. A puny chit, Miss
Lutterworth; pretty enough, but weak.
The very kind to draw lovers, but not
to hold them. Yet every one pities her,
her smile is so heartbroken.”
‘ 1 With ghosts to trouble her and a
lover to bemoan she lias surely some ex
cuse for that, ” said L
“Y'es, I don’t deny it. But why has
she a lover to bemoan? He seemed a
proper man beyond tho ordinary. Why
let him go as she did? Even her sister
admits that she loved him. ”
“I do not know tho circumstances,”
said I.
“Well, there isn’t much story to it.
He is a young man from over tho moun
tains, well educated and with some
thing of a fortune of his own. Ho came
hero to visit the Spears, I believe, and
seeing Luectta cuo day leaning on the
gate in front of her !:< use lie fell in love
with her and began to pay her his at
tentions. That was before the lane got
its present bad name, but liot before one
or two men had vanished from among
us without anything being known of
their fate. William—that is their broth
er, you know—has always been anxious
to have his sisters marry, so he did not
si and in tho way, and no more did Miss
Knollys, but after two or three weeks
of doubtful courtship tho young man
went away, and that was the end of it.
Awl ay-reat. pity, tpo, say 1, for oueo
clear of that house Lucetta would grow
into another person. Sunshine and love,
two very good things, Miss Butter-
worth, especially for those that are
weakly and timid.”
I thought tho qualification excellent.
“Y'es,” said I, “I should like to see
the result of them upon Lucetta. ’ ’ Then,
with an attempt to still further sound
this woman’s mind and with that tho
united mind of the whole village, I re
marked: “The young do not usually
throw aside such prospects without ex
cellent reasons. Have you never thought
that Lucetta was governed by principle
in discarding this very excellent young
man?’ ’
“Principle? What principle could she
have had in letting a desirable husband
go?”
“She may have thought tho match
an uudesirablo one for him. ”
“For him? Well. I never thought of
that. True, she may. They are poor,
but poverty don’t count in such old
families as theirs. I hardly think she
would be influenced by any such con
sideration. Now, if this had happened
this year, after the lane got its name
and all this stir hud been made about
folks disappearing there, I might have
given some weight to your suggestion—
women are so queer, especially the wo
men of old families liko theirs—but this
happened long ago and when folks all
thought a heap of tho Kuollvs, leastwise
of the girls, for William does not go for
much, you know—too stupid and too
brutal. ’ ’
William 1 Would the utterance of
that name heighten my suggestion? I
surveyed her closely, hut could detect
no change in her somewhat puzzled
countenance.
“My allusions were not in reference
to tho disappearances, ’’ said L “I was
thinking of something eleo. Lucetta is
not well. ”
“Ah, I know! They say she has some
kind of heart complaint, but tbrt was
not true then. Why, her cheeks were
like roses in those days and her figure
as plump and pretty as any you could
see now among our village beauties.
No, Miss Buttei’worth, it was her weak
ness lost him. Slio probably palled upon
his taste. It was noticed that he held
his head very high in going out of
town. ”
“Has he married since?” I asked.
“Not to my knowledge, ma’am.”
’’Then he loved her,” I declared.
She looked at mo quite curiously.
Doubtless that word sounds a little queer
on my lips, but that shall not deter me
from using it when the circumstances
seem to requiro. Besides, there was once
a time— But there, I promised to fall
into no digressions.
“You should have been married your
self, Miss Butterworth, ” said sho.
I was amazed, first at her daring aud
secondly that I was so littlo angry at
it. But then the woman meant no of
fense, probably intended a compliment
rather.
“I am very well contented as I am, ”
I returned. “I am neither sickly nor
timid. ”
Sho smiled, looked as if sho thought
it only common politeness to agree with
mo and tried to say so, but finding the
situation too much for her coughed and
discreetly held her peace. I.came to her
rescue with a new question.
“Have tho Knollys ever br*u success
ful in love? Tho mother of these girls
now—sho who was Althea Burroughs—
was her life with lisr husband happy? I
have always been curious to know. She
aud I wero schoolmates. ”
“You were? Y'ou knew Althea Knol
lys when sho was a girl? Wasn’t sho
charming, ma’am? Did you ever see a
livelier girl or one with more knack at
winning affection? Why, sho couldn’t
sit down with you a half hour before
you felt, like giving up everything you
had to her. It made no difference wheth
er you were man or woman, it was ail
the same. Sho had but to turn those
mischievous, pleading eyes upon you
and you became a fool at once. Yet her
end was sad, ma’am; too sad, when
you remember that sho died at the very
height of her beauty alone and in a for
eign land. But I have not answered
your question. Were sbo and the judge
happy together? I have never heard to
tho contrary, ma’am. I’m sure ho
mourned her faithfully enough. Some
think that her loss killed him. He did
not survive her more than three years.”
“Tho children do not favor her
much,” said I, “but I seo an expression
now and then in Lucetta which recalls
her mother Saintly. ”
“They are pure Knollys’blood, ” said
she. “Even William has traits which,
with a few more brains back of them,
would remind you of his grandfather,
who was the plainest of his race.
1 was glad that the talk had reverted
to William.
“He seems to lack heart, ” said I, “as
well as brains. I marvel that his sisters
put up with him as well as they do. ”
“They cannot help it. He is not a fel
low to be fooled with. Besides, lie holds
third share in the house. If they could
sell it! But, deary me, who would buy
au old tumble down place like that on
a road you cannot get folks who have
any consideration for their lives to enter
for love or money? But excuse me,
ma’am; I forgot that you are living just
now on that very road. I’m sure I beg a
thousaud pardons.”
“I aJtn lil'ihg tlferA as a guest, ” I re
turned “I have rfffthing to do with its
reputation—except to bravo it. ”
“A courageous thing to do, ma’am,
and ono th«.t may do tho road some
good. If you can spend a mouth with
the Knollys and come out of their house
at last halo and heart}' as you enter it,
it will be the best proof possible that
there is less to be feared there than
some people think. I shall be glad if
you can do it, ma’am, for I like the
girls and would bo glad to have the rep
utation of the place restored. ”
“Pshaw!” was my final comment.
“Tho credulity of the town has had as
much to do with their loss of it as they
themselves. That educated people such
as I see here should believe in ghosts!”
I say final, for at this moment the
good lady, springing up, put an end to
our conversation. Sho had just seen a
buggy pass tho window.
“It’s Mr. Trohm,” said she. “Ma’am,
if you wish to return home before Mr.
Simsbury comes back you may be ablo
to do so with this gentleman. He’s a
most obliging man and lives less than a
quarter of a mile from the Misses Knol
lys. ”
I did not say I had already met the
gentleman. Why, 1 do not know. I only
drew myself up and waited with some
small inner perturbation for the result
of the inquiry I saw sho had gone to
inako.
Chapter XIV.—I Forget My Age or
—Perhaps, Remember It.
Mr. Trohm did not disappoint my ex
pectations. In another moment I saw
him stauding in the open doorway with
the most genial smile on his lips.
“Miss Butterworth, ” said ho, “I feel
too houored. If you will deign to ac
cept a seat in my buggy, I shall only
bo too happy to drive you to the Knol
lys gate. ”
I have always liked tho manners of
rouutry gentlemen. There is just a
touch of formality in their bearing
which has been quite eliminated from
that of their brothers in the city. I
therefore became gracious at once and
accepted the seat he offered mo without
any of the hesitation I might have
shown to ono personally as agreeable,
but not in my own way.
The bends that showed themselves at
the neighboring windows warned us to
hasten on our route. Mr. Trohm, with
a snap of his whip, quite youthful and
gallant, toitched up his horse, and we
rode in diguified calm away from the
hotel steps into tho wide village street
known as tho main road. Tho fact that
Mr. Gryce had told mo that this was
the ono man I could trust, joined to my
own excellent knowledge of human na
ture aud the persons in whom explicit
confidence can bo put, made the mo
ment one of great satisfaction to mo. I
was about to make my appearance at
the Knollys mansion two hours before
I was expected, and I was thus enabled
to outwit Lucetta by means of the one
man whom I would have chosen out of
all in the town to lend mo this assist
ance.
We were not slow in beginning con
versation. The fine air, the prosperous
condition of the town, offered themes
upon which we found it quite easy to
dilate, and so naturally and easily did
our acquaintanceship progress that we
had turned the corner into Lost Man’s
lane before I quite realized it. Tho en
trance at this end offered a sharp con
trast to the ono I had already traversed.
There it was but a narrow opening be
tween somber and unduly crowding
trees. Hero it was the gradual melting
of a village street into a narrow and less
frequented road, which only after pass
ing Deacon Spear’s house assumed that
aspect of wildness which a quarter of a
milo farther on deepened into something
positively somber and repellent.
I speak of Deacon ripcar because ho
was sitting on his front doorstep when
we rode by. Being Deacon Spear and
one of the residents on this road, I did
not fail to take notice of him, though
guardedly and with such restraint as a
knowledge of his widowed condition
I rendered both wiso and proper.
J lie was not an agreeable looking per-
; son, at least not so to me. His hair was
i sleek, his beard well cared for, bis whole
j person in good if not prosperous condi-
| tion, but he had the self satisfied ox-
| pression I detest and looked after us
with au aspect of surprise I chose to
I consider a trifle impertinent. Perhaps
i ho envied Mr. Trohm. If so, he may
j have had reason—it is not for mo to
j judge.
There had been up to now only a few
1 scrub bushes at the side of the road,
j with hero aud there a solitary poplar to
I enliven the dead level of the grass grown
road, but after we had ridden by the
fence which sets the boundary to the
good deacon’s land I noticed such a
change in tho appearance of things on
either side of the road that I could not
but exclaim over the natural as well as
cultivated beauties which every mo
ment now was bringing before me.
Mr. Trohm could nut hide his pleas
ure.
“These are my lands,” said ho. “I
have bestowed unremitting attention to
them for years. It is my hobby, madam.
There is not a tree you see that has not
received mv careful attention. Yonder
orchard was set out by me, and the fruit
it yields— Madam, I hope you will re
main long enough with us to taste a cer
tain rare aud luscious peach that I
brought from Franco in ono of my visits
there. It gives promise of reaching its
full perfection this year, and I shall be
gratified indeed if you can give it your
approval. ’ ’
This was politeness indeed.(especially
os I knew what value iJLL h*m .
ripen uni er their care^fl^stifyin-; ray
appreciation of his kindu&s, I endear-'
ored to introduce another and less
harmless and perhaps less personally in
teresting topic of conversation. The
chimneys of his house were beginning
to show over tho trees, and I had heard
nothing from this man on the subject
which should have been the most inter
esting of all to me at this moment. And
he was the only person in tow u I was at
liberty to really confido in and possibly
tho only man in town who could give
mo a reliable statement of the reasons
why tho Knollys were looked upon as
kance by tho polico as well as tho cred
ulous villagers. I began by an allusion
to tho phantom carriage.
“I hoar,” said I, “that this lano has
other claims to attention beyond those
afforded by tho mysteries connected
with it. I hear that it has at times a
ghostly visitant in tho shape of a spec
tral horse and carriage.”
“Y'es,” he replied, with a seeming
understanding that was very flattering,
“do not spare tho laneonoof its honors.
It has its nightly horror as well as its
daily fear. I wish tho ono were as un
real as tho other. ’ ’
“You act as if both were unreal to
you,’’said I. “The contrast between
your appearance and that of some other
members of the lane is quite marked. ”
“You refer”—he seemed to hate to
speak—“to the Knollys, I presume.”
I endeavored to treat the subject
lightly.
“To your young enemy, Lucetta,”
said I.
Ho had been looking at me in a per
fectly modest and respectful mauner,
but be dropped his eyes at thifi and bus
ied himself abstractedly, and yet I
thought with some intention, in remov
ing a fly from the horse’s flank with the
tip of his whip.
“I will not acknowledge her as an
enemy,” said he quietly and in strictly
modulated tones. “I liko tho girl too
well—and her sister. ”
Tho fly had been by this time dis
lodged, but ho did not look up.
“And William?” I suggested. “What
do you think of William?”
Slowly he straightened himself. Slow
ly he dropped tho whip back into its
socket. I thought ho was going to an
swer, when suddenly his whole attitude
changed and he turned upon me a beam
ing face full of nothing but pleasure.
“The road takes a turn here. In an
other moment you will see my house. ”
And even while he spoke it bnrst upon
us, and I forgot myself that I had just
ventured on a somewhat hazardous ques
tion.
It was such a pretty place, so beauti
fully and exquisitely kept. There was a
charm about its rose encircled porch
that is only to be found in very old
places that have been appreciatively
cared for. A high fence painted white
inclosed a lawn like velvet, and the
house itself, shining with a fresh coat
of yollow paint, bore signs of comfort
in its white curtained windows not
usually to be found in tho solitary
dwelling of a bachelor. I found my eyes
roving over each detail with delight and
almost blushed, or, rather, had I been
20 years younger might have been
thought to blush, as I met his eye and
saw now much my ple%»|jl
him.
p-atinec.
al
“You must excuse me,” sai<J* with
what I have every reason to beliew was
a highly successful effort to hide my
confusion, “if I express too much ad
miration for what I see before me. I
have always had a great leaning toward
well ordered walks and trimly kept
flower beds—a leauing, alas, which I
have found myself unablo to gratify.”
“Do not apologizo,” he hastened to
Bay. “You but redouble my own pleas
ure in thus honoring my poor efforts
with your regard. I have spared no
pains, madam, I liavo spared no pains,
and most of it, I am proud to say, has
been accomplished by my own hands.”
“Indeed!” I cried in some surprise,
letting my eyo rest with satisfaction on
tho top of a long well sweep that to mo
was ono of the picturesque features of
the place.
“It may havo been folly,” ho re
marked, with a gloating sweep of his
eye over tho velvet lawn and flowering
shrubs—a peculiar look that seemed to
express something mere than the mere
delight of possession, “hut I seemed to
begrudgo any hired assistance in tho
tending of plants evory ono of which
seems to mo like a personal friend. ”
“I understand,” was my somewhat
un-Butterwcrthian reply. I really did
not quite know myself. “What a con
trast to the dismal grounds at the other
end of the lano!”
This was more in my usual vein even
in its tone. Ho seemed to feci the differ
ence, for his expression changed also.
“Oh, that den!” ho exclaimed bitter
ly; then, seeing me look a littlo shocked,
he added, with an admirable return to
his old manner, “I call any place a den
where flowers do not grow. ” Aud jump
ing from the buggy he gathered an ex
quisite bunch of heliotrope, which he
pressed upon me. “I like sunshine, beds
of roses, fountains aud a sweep of lawn
liko thi3 we see beforo us. But do not
let mo bore you. Y T ou have probably
lingered long enough here and would
liko to drive on. I will be with you in
a moment. Doubtful as it is whether I
shall soon again he so fortunate as to be
ablo to offer you any hospitality, I
would like to bring you a glass of wine
—or, for I see your eyes roaming long
ingly toward my old fashioned well,
would you liko a draft of water fresh
from the bucket?”
I assured him I did not drink wine,
at which I thought his eyes brightened,
but that neither did I indulge in water
when in a heat, as at present, at which
ho looked disappointed and came some
what reluctantly back to the buggy.
He brightened up, however, tho mo
ment he was again at my side.
“Now for the woods,” said ho, with
what was undoubtedly a forced laugh.
I thought the opportunity one I ought
not to slight.
“Do you think, ” said I, “that it is
in those woods tho disappearances take
place that Miss Knollys has told me
about?’ ’
Ho’showed the same hesitancy to talk
I had seen in him before.
“I think the less you let your mind
dwell on them the better,” said he—
“that is, if you are going to remain
long in this lano. I do not oxpond any
more thought upon them than is barely
necessary, or I should have to leave my
roses and my fruits. And that—Miss
Butterworth, they are all that keep me
in this neighborhood. I wonder—par
don me the indiscretion—that you could
bring yourself to enter it. Y'ou must be
a very bravo woman. ’ ’
“I thought I had a duty”— I began.
“Althea Knollys was my friend, and I
felt I owed a duty toward her children.
Besides”— Should I tell Mr. Trohm
my real errand in this place? Mr. Gryce
had intimated that he was in the con
fidence of the police, and if so his as
sistance in case of necessity might be of
inestimable value to me. Yet if no such
necessity should ariso would I want
this man to know that Amelia Butter
worth— No, I would not take him into
my confidence—not yet. I would only
try to get at his idea of where the blame
lay—that is, if ho had any.
“Besides”— He smiled after wait
ing a minute or two for me to continue.
“Did I say besides?” was my innocent
rejoinder. “I think I meant that after
seeing them my sense of the importance
of that duty had increased. William es
pecially seems to bo a young man of
very doubtful amiability.”
Immediately tho noncommittal look
returned to Mr. Trohm’s face.
“I havo no fault to find with Wil
liam,” said he. “He’s not the most
agreeable companion in the world per
haps, but ho has a pretty fancy for fruit
—a very protty fancy. ’ ’
“One eau hardly wonder at that in a
neighbor of Mr. Trohm, ” said I, watch
ing his look, which was fixed somewhat
gloomily upon the forest of trees now
rapidly closing in around us.
“Perhaps not, perhaps not, madam.
The sight of a full bunch of honeysuckle
hanging from an arbor such as runs
along my south walls is a groat stimu
lant to one’s taste, madam, I’ll not de
ny that. ”
“But, William,” I repeated, deter
mined not to let tho subject go, “have
you never thought he w*o a little indif
ferent to his sisters?”
“A little, madam. ”
“And a trifle rough to everything but
his dogs?”
“A trifle, madam.”
“The girls”—I was almost angry—
“on the oontrarv, seem devoted to him?”
“Women have that weakness.”
“And act as if they would do—what
would they not do for him?”
“Miss Butterworth, I have never seen
a more amiable woman than yourself.
Will you promise me ono thing?”
His manner was respect itself, his
smile genial and highly contagious. I
could not help responding to it in the
way he expected.
“Do not talk to ir.o about the Knollys.
It is a painful subject to me. Lucetta—
you know tho girl, and I shall not he
ablo to prejudice you against her—has
conceived the idea that I encourago
William in an intimacy of which she
>1
8
u
does not approve. She does not want
him to talk to me. William has a loose
tongue in his head and sometimes drops
unguarded words about their doings up
<|^re, which if any hut William spoke—
Li there, I am forgetting one of tho
t important rules of my own life,
h is to keep my mouth from bab-
. and my tongue from guile. Influ
ence^ a congeninl companion, madam
—it' ^irresistible sometimes, especially
to a man living so much alone as my
self. ”
I thought his fault very pardonable,
but did not express it lest I should
frighten his confidences away.
“I thought there was something;'’ I
said. “Lucetta acted almost afraid of
you this morning. I should think she
would bo glad of the friendship of so
good a neighbor. ”
His face took on a very somber look.
“Sho is afraid of me,” he admitted,
“afraid of what I may see or havo seen
—of their poverty,” he added, with an
odd emphasis. I scarcely think he ex
pected to deceive me.
I did not push the subject an inch
further. I saw it had gono as far as he
would allow it at this time.
Wo were by this time in the heart of
the forest and rapidly approaching tho
Knollys house. As the tops of its great
chimneys rose above the foliage I saw
his aspect suddenly change.
“I don’t know why,” said he, “hut
I hate unaccountably to leavo you here. ”
I thought tho prospect somewhat un
inviting myself after tho pleasant rido
I had had and tho glimpse which had
been given me of a really cheery homo
and pleasant surroundings.
“This morning I looked upon yon as
a somewhat daring woman, the progress
of whose stay here would be watched
by mo with interest, but after the com
panionship of the last half hour I am
conscious of an anxiety in your regard
which makes me doubly wish that Miss
Knollys had not shut me out from her
home. Are you sure you wish to enter
this house again, madam?”
I was surprised—really surprised—at
the feeling he showed. If my well dis
ciplined heart had known how to flut
ter, it would probably have fluttered
then, but happily the restraint of years
did not fail me in this emergency. Tak
ing advantage of tho emotion which had
betrayed him into an acknowledgment
of his real feelings regarding the dan
gers lurking in this home, despite the
check he had endeavored to put upon
his lips, I said, with an attempt at na
ivete only to be excused by the exigen
cies of the occasion;
“Why, I thought you considered this
domicile as being perfectly harmless.
Y r ou like the girls and have no fault to
find with William. Can it be that this
great building has another occupant? I
do not allude to ghosts. Of them neither
you nor I can think it worth while to
talk.”
“Miss Butt- rweith, you have me in
g corner. I do not of any other
occupant which ths hdKso can hold suve
the three young people’ you have men
tioned. If I seem to feel any doubt of
them—but I don’t feel any doubt. I
only dread any place for you which is
not watched over by some one interested
in your defense. The danger threatening
the inhabitants of this lane is such a
veiled one. If we knew where it lurked,
we would no longer call it danger.
Sometimes I think the ghosts you al
lude to are not as innocent as mere spec
ters usually aro. But don’t let me
frighten you. Don’t— Ah, William, I
havo brought back your guest, yon see!
I couldn’t let her sit out the noon hour
in old Carter’s parlor. That would be
too much for even so amiable a person
as Miss Butterworth to endure.”
I had hardly realized we were so near
the gate and certainly was surprised to
find William anywhere within hearing.
That his appcarunce at this moment was
anything but welcome, at least to me,
must be evident to any one. The sen
tence which it interrupted might have
contained the most important advice or
at the least a warning I would bo the
better prepared for having. But destiny,
which was against me, said no, and be
ing one who accepts tho inevitable with
good grace I prepared myself to alight,
with Mr. Trohm’s assistance.
The bunch of heliotrope I held was a
little in my way or I should have man- |
aged tho jump with confidence and dig- j
nified agility. As it was, I tripped
slightly, which brought out a chuckle
from William that at the moment
seemed more wicked to me than any
crime. Meanwhile he had not let mat
ters proceed thus far without putting
more than one question.
“And where’s Simsbury? And why
did Miss Butterworth think sho had got
to sit in Carter’s parlor?”
“Mr. Simsbury,” said I as soon as I
could recover from the mingled exertion
and embarrassment of my descent to
terra firma, “felt it necessary to take
tho horse to tho shoer’s. That is a half
day’s work, as you know, and I knew
that he and especially you would be
glad to havo me accept any means for
escaping so dreary a waiting. ”
Tho grunt he uttered was eloquent of
anything but satisfaction.
“I’ll go tell the girls,” ho said. But
he didn’t go till he had seen Mr. Trohm
enter his buggy and drive slowly off.
That this did not add to my liking
for William goes without saying.
(To Be Continued.)
44 Love and a Cough
Cannot be Hid.”
It is this fact that makes
the lover and his sweetheart
happy, ana sends the suf
ferer from his cough to his
doctor. But there are hid
den ills lurking in impure
blood. 44 'Hie liver is wrong,
it is thought, 44 or the kid
neys." Hid it ever occur
to you that the trouble is in
your blood?
Purify this river of life with Hood’s
Sarsaparilla. Then illness will be ban
ished, and strong, vigorous health will
resr.it. Hood’s Sarsaparilla is the best
known, best endorsed and most natural
of all blood purifiers.
Nervousness My mother suffered
from nervous weakness and loss of appetite.
My trouble was impure blood, disordered
stomach and sleeplessness. Hood’s Sarsa
parilla cured both.” John V. Gebhart, Box
170, Middletown, X. Y.
Dyspepsia — “ For six months my sys
tem was out of order with dyspepsia and
impure blood. Spent lots of money in vain,
but Hood’s Sarsaparilla cured me thor
oughly for $1.” Jos. S. Zaniia, Genoa, Neb,
fViaiaria —” I was’a soldier, and after
typhoid fever, I had fever and ague, rheu
matism, and nervous prostration so that I
could not work. Nothing helped until
Hood’s Sarsaparilla cured me completely
so that I lose no time now.” J. H. Stillman,
Cheltenham, Pa.
Scrofula —” For months I went to hos
pital for treatment of scrofulous ulcer
without results. They said it was the
worst they ever treated. I tried Hood’s
Sarsaparilla. Twelve bottles entirely cured
me.” Cyrus G. Upham, Needham, Mass.
Diphtheria — “ My little nephew was
troubled for two years with sore throat
and tonsilitis. Was threatened with diph
theria but"IIood’s Sarsaparilla warded it
off. He is now entirely well.” Inez G.
Reed, Oak Hill Ave., Waterbury, Conn.
Poor Health—“I never saw anything
beat the way Hood’s Sarsaparilla lifted me
up. It sharpened my appetite and gave me
a newjiease of life. I can work every day.’"
Freeman N. Bixav, Meredith, N. II.
JfcodA SaUafmAiffu
WASHINGTON AS A YOUTH.
That Washington had an exception*
ally keen sense of observation is shown
in his youthful “Journal of Survey.”
When but a boy of 16, he wrote the
following dosoription of an Indian wai
dance:
“They clear a Large circle & make a
great Fire in ye middlo. Men seal
themselves around it. Ye speaker makes
a grand speech. After be has fini6hod
ye best Dancer jumps up as one awaked
out of a sleep, & Runs & Jumps about
ye ring in a most cornicle manner. Ye
music is a Pot half full of water, with
a Deerskin stretched over it, & a goard
with some shot in it to rattle, & a Piece
of an horse’s tail tied to it to make il
look fine.”
Hood’s Pills cure liver ills, the non-irrit;ttinp: and
only cathartic to take with Hood’s Sarsaparilla.
ONE ON DEPEW.
One of the best stories told at the recent
dinner in Albany given by Senator Tim
Sullivan was this:
“Dry Dollar” wont into Chauncey M.
Depew’s office recently, and Senator Depew
greeted him.
“Well, Tim, you are looking real pros
perous,” he said. “Y'ou must be havibg a
profitable .season at Albany.”
“Oh, yes, senator!” replied Tim. “I
can’t complain.”
“Well, now—tell me, Tim,” said Depew,
“are theso stories true about all this
crooked business in the legislature?”
“On the dead level, senator,” was Tim’s
answer, “now, I’ll tell you. The only
crooked thing tip there this session was
your election as United States senator.”
‘"■“DRAWS'
DOUBLE DAIUT
SERVICE
ATLANTA
TO THTia
EAST.
S3 SAVED
BY THE
SEABOARD AIR LINR
Atlanta to Richmond $14.50
Atlanta to Washington 14.1C
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 18.60
Atlanta to Philadelphia via Nor
folk 18.05
Atlanta to New York via Richmond
and Washington a.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
Steamboat Company, via Washing
ton 21.00
Atlanta to Now 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 9. S. Co. (meals
and stateroom Included) 20.25
Atlanta to Boston via Norfolk and
steamer (meals and stateroom in
cluded) 2LS0
Atlanta to Boston via Washington
and New York M.00
Tho rate mentioned above to Washing
ton. Baltimore, Philadelphia, New York
and Boston are $3 less than by any other
all rail lino. The above rates apply from
Atlanta. Tickets to the cast are sold
from most all points In the territory of
the Southern States Passenger Associa
tion, via the Seaboard Air-Line, 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. OA.
E 'J S T- JOHN, V. Pres, and Gen. M’gr.
v - E. M BEE General Superintendent.
H t T’ P t ‘ tTx? VER ' Trafflc Manager.
L. S. ALLEN, Gen’l Pass. Agt.
PORTSMOUTH. VA.
for sale
Within twenty-three miles of Atlanta
three hundred ana twenty acres of good
farming land at *15 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 36 West
Baker, Atlanta, Ga.