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MUfa^n
WEEKLY BANNER-WATCHMAN, TUESDAY, JANUARY 6, 1SS4.
GREENE’S BIG FARMER.
Irtsrview WlUi Mr. John Davenport, tt* Mnito*
don AgrtraUareltet ot Ooonpn.
Yesterday our genial young'
friend John L. Davenport, one of
the proprietors of the magnificent
plantation at Fontenoy, in Greene
county, dropped in to see us.
When we first knew John
he was as fine a specimen of the
genus dude as one would wish to
ccc; but alas! what gieat changes
old Father Time and roughing it
have wrought! His hair was fill
ed with hay seed, his raiment cov
ered with cockle-burrs, .s m-m.
tache was sunburned and tiil., .
looking, and his iace and h-.
showed that our friend had not
been on speaking terms with soap
and water for a long, long time,
lie spoke with a sort of gee-haw
accent, and jesticulatcd like a fellow
pulling the hell line over a mule.
When we intimated to John that
w, would like to interview him
about his farming operations he
made a bolt for the door, but finding
i; locked took refuge in a corner,
when we quietly fired up our steam
gimlet and put it to work.
••Did you make expenses on your
arm the past year?” we asked.
“Toon Powell has quit smoking
cigars,” was the satisfactory reply,
•and gone to chewing.”
We opened a drawer, took out
our horse pistol, cocked it and re
pealed the conundrum.
"About, 1 reckon. Our corn ciop
was almost an entire failure,” o\v-
it :; to the overflow, "hut we made
enough to feed the plow-stock.”
"i!ow much cotton did you
make:'’ bringing our weapon on
a dead sight with a spot of tar
stickirg over our victim's left eye.
"between four and five hundred
hales. Toon said that smoking
•gave him a nervous headache, and
he had to quit ”
"And hay? We want to hear no
'trout Mr. Powell’s tobacco
1 . .ui movement,” and we
looked business.
"Oh. we 11 ade a fine crop of hay.
Wii! begin to bale this STeck for
shipment. We will plant a big
c>op of grain again ibis year, and
expect Isi make enough to feed the
country. It was the first time 1
have known"these bottoms to over-
Rulti Itann
Uncle Calvin Johnson tells about
a man who refused to vote for him
when a candidate, because he ad
vocated temperance. The fellow
left him, and the day before the
election blew his a hrains out.
, Poor Collections.
A prominent physician above
Athens tells us that the past year
he did over $2,000 worth ot prac
tice, and did not actually collect
enough to settle a $150 drug ac
count. He intends to quit the pro
fession until he can make another
rise.
TITO PICTURES.
Iaterrtow With a Reformed Drunker! and a
Total AtuttuMice Man-
Yesterday there strolled into our
office two well known gentlemen,
one in the prime of life—the other
verging on the sere and yellow leaf-
The subject turned on prohibition,
and we iound them both earnest
advocates of the measure.
“For eight years I never drew a
An Eleclnc Girl Married.
The electric girl of Banks county,
<liss Belle Favor, has lately married.
This of course puts a-r end to any
one making a fortune with her
smashing umbrellas and tearing
chaits to pieces.
Ler.l by Leal the Roses Fall.
Information was received at the
Athens post-office last night that
D. A. Newsom, postal clerk on the
North-Eastern, between Athens
and Tallulah, has been removed. It
is thought that a young man from
St. Louis, a nephew to Mrs. W. D.
Young, of Tallulah, will be appoint
ed in his stead.
A Big Purchase.
Hon. H. H. Carlton yesterday
purchased the handsome farm of
Mr. J. A- Meeker, of our city. Thi:
is one of the finest places in Geor
gia, and we congratulate the Cap
tain on being the owner of the
Meeker farm. He will move to the
place very soon. The price paid
for this splendid place L in the
neighborhood of $15,000. It is in
the incorporate limits of the city of
Athens, and the highest state of
cultivation. The place cost Mr.
Meeker, with imp-ovements about
$30,000. Capt. C. secured a bar
gain.
It is a strange fact that the strongest-
minded women shrink from heingcangth
in.their own night-caps, but they m ver
hesitate to declare their exalted opinion
of Dr. Bull’s Cough Syrup, that has cur
ed innumerah.e coughs anil colds.
L-..1 -
"Xop right there, young man!
we sternly demanded, “and tell me
li i\v old art thou?"
"I'm 27 next April,” was the
ready response.
"Then explain how you can rc-
,m m! er Micti trifling matters as an
overflow that took place eight years
1 i-'ore yon — w the light of day?
Now tel! about your stock
•Weil,
von \v
ve have 1 j of as fine colts
uld care to see, and about
us. Some of the colts prom-
or f 1 ; stock. We are well
I v. ith this branch.”
>w many county convicts
. and they are all well and
-veil. They make good
1 there’s money in them,
at the high price "hat .we
New Year Moon.
The first month of the new year
holds .. her gift two full moons.
The niv-ou fulls on the 1st, twenty-
six minutes after midnight, and
also on the 30th, at nineteen min-
ut< s after eleven o’clock in the
morning. On the fourth the moon
is in conjunction with Jupiter and
on the 6th with Uranus. On the
13th she pays her respects to Ve
nus and 0.1 the 14th to Mercury
On the 16th »he is at her nearest
point to Mars, and, as this is the
day ol her change to new moon, it
shows how near Mars is to the sun.
Indeed, those who watch the course
of the moon will find it easy to
keep in mind th. relative position
of the planets.
JACKSON COUNTY NOTES.
• II i- the survey of the Ocoi
ln-m Powell's mill to the 1..U1
l-ridge commenced yet?”
"Yes, Capt. Locke, a member of
•lie U. S. engineering corps, assist
ed by Messrs. Tom Stanley and
Waller Childs, of Athens, begun
\ c-u-rday the survey, which will
lake .liiout two weeks to complete.
They have had two boats built, and
will carry their own tents and pro
visions and camp out. Capt. Locke
bas made a survey once before of
this stream, and is now only pre
paring estimates, so that the next
session of congress can make the
neecssary appropriation. He says
at but a small expense the river
can be made navigable for a small
I oat, and Mr. Reese will doubtless
get us the money. There are a few
roCKs to blast out and logs to re
move, vv hen a good open passage
can ! c made.”
>1
A Remarkable Eicapo
•- ,M 1 i v A. Dailey,ol Tunkhannock,
.. Was nlihcte-l (or six years with
hma and Bronchitis, 'luring which
ne the be at physicians could give no
i-i. rl'T Jile was despaired ol, until
la. 1 Oi iolaT she procured a Bottle ot
. King’s New Discovery, when imme-
iie relief was fell, ami by continuing
use for a short time she w*s complet-
i nri-d. gaming in llesh 5u lbs. iu a
.» months.
11- Trial Bottles of ibis certain cure of
it ami bung Diseases at It. T
.V Co's Drug Store, barge Bot-
Jackson Herald: Dr. W. A
Watson has been elected council
man of Jefferson.
Col. John Asbury, of Jefleison
is running for justice of the peace
In a row at Pendergrass one of
he parties got badly cut.
Harmony Grove feels good over
being connected with the outside
world by telegraph.
Tobe Duke, of Jackson county,
lost three hundred gallons of whisky
out of his warehouse. The barrels
had holes bored in them, and the
whisky ran out on the ground.
Harmony Grove will meet on the
Sth to consider the propriety of
holding an election under {he late
incorporation act.
A TIMELY PRESENT.
ii T
A New Jersey girl put on her
Mother's domes and voted in his
stead at tile late election.
Sralth is impossible when the blood
impure, thick, aud sluggish, or when
. tin j; an,| impoverished. Under such
•minions, lioils, pimples, Inadache9,
• i.ralgia, rheuuimistn, and one disease
):er aiiullurr ft developed, 'lake Ayer’s
•rwiparilla, anil Ji will make the blood
me, ra il, warm and vitalizing.
Yesterday our esteemed friend
SkitT, the jeweler, presented the
editor of the Banner-Watchman
with a beautiful office clock, which
is both a time-piece and a calendar.
He also presented Major Pruitt
with a fine sporting picture. Mr,
Skiff is one of the most popular and
reliable jewelers that has ever lo
cated in Athens, and by his honor
able and courteous deportment has
made a host of friends. He is
superior workman, Jieeps a tr.ag
nificcnt stock of jewelry and other
goods in that line, and when you
buy of him you get just what he
says. We cannot endorse Skiff,
the jeweler, too highly. The fol
lowing notice accompanied the
clock:
Athens, Jan 1, 1SS5.—Mr. T. L.
Gantt—Dear Editor: I send you
this clock as a New Year’s gift.
Will you accept it? Place it on
your desk, watch the numerals and
hours as given by it. Improve
them in collecting thoughts, that
you may through your valuable
paper send out to the world that
will bless mankind and lead them
in the path of the good and wise.
Many a happy New Year to you
the desire of Skiff, the jeweler.
Mark Twain and his wife are
vjul to have joint property more
lu.iu on e million dollars.
Buckten's Arnica Sails.
"lilt- Best Salve in the world for Cuts,
bmi..< s, Seres, Ulcers, Salt Khi-um, Ve,
■ rseri-A,Tetter.Chapped Hands,Obll-
i-Kiiiis. ( urns, and aji Skin Eruptions,
arm jmMiivvty cures Piles, or no pay re-
vm> il. It is guaranteed to give perfect
at -taction, or money refunded. Price
Accm* ;ai Ikix. For sale by It. T.
Br.unbv .V Co.
■ )iiliiv.i t
DID HE ROB HIMSELF?
! - vi ar, nom more so loan the forhin-
• uuiuers in tin- JJflh Grand Monthly
■rawing ofTlie Louisiana State Lottery
New- Orleans, on Tuesday {always
ii'-s'lav). November 11th. Ticket No.
•>. 'so dn-w the First Capital Prize ol
b'l.ooo. It was sold in fifths »' |i 1-
-"Heill w bleb whs held by Vrt iik Ci"- »-
’ , bnginccr of N'o. 1U Engim , in ’ v
in- )>, parinjentof San EranC.Au, ao- j
"I -‘ ltd through the Bank oi Caliior-
ea—another Huh washeidby John 31.
Assistant bushier of lilt* iler-
'■r National Bank of liarrodsbarg, Kv.
- ‘•“•tie r by Mr.Tlios. 31ulheuru, liquor
Icii.cr, No arid Washington street, Bos
on, .Mass., and the balance elsewhere.
No. drew Second Capital $25,000,
’•' dubs of which were held by Louis
W.ld. Donaldson vi lie. La-—another
! 'ui. l-v Master Frank K. Duffy, an eight
." r od son of Nir. Thus. Duffy, No.,47
"- iiingion si., Hartford, Conn.—an-
' do 1 In Mr. Robert Bitch, at- No. 2541
Ubn-ihin st., 1’hlla., Pa. No. 50,339.
•m w li,,. Third Capita) prize of $10,006
sold also in filths, one to D. I- Orr, ol
so i-lienville, Texas—another to
li.' B rot I a-1 hood, of .Milwaukee, Wis..
ijod Hie balance elsewhere. Nos. 75,-
' and 97,135 drew each one of the
* vuriii Capital p» lies of $0,000, scattered
in iiiielioual parts in St. Louis, Mo.;
' iftorill TeVioii InilianoitJilia lllf). !
victoria, Texas; Indianapolis, lnd.;
vincinatl o.
A Peddlnr Reports tiat Bo Was Attackod oa the
River Bill—Bis Sharp Practice on Nogroes.
A few days since a young white
man, who was peddling for a house
in Athens, reported that he was at
tacked on the hill near IJarberville,
knocked down and roughly handled
by highwaymen, and robbed of his
pack and money. The story was
entirely too flimsy, as no dirt could
be discovered on the fellow’s
clothes, and not a sign of struggle
found at the scene of ibe outrage.
The merchants were not long
coming to the conclusion that the
peddler had robhed himself, and
had put up this story as qn excuse
for the missing money. The police
were informed of the facts, and the
matter kept quiet so as to give them
me to operate. But when they
went to call on the peddler he m
non comeatible, having smelt
large-sized rat and decamped. An
officer, however, is on his hot trail,
and capture is only a question oi
time. The fellow has long borne
an unsavory reputation, and seems
to have made a living swindling ne
groes and ignorant whites. For
several months he has been selling
a neatly-printed certificate, charging
$5 for the same, empowering the
hearer to stake off forty acres of
land where he liked. Many ne
groes bit at this trap, and a rich
harvest was reaped. If he could
not get $5, he would sell at a less
price, and has even traded for hats
and articles of clothing. This fel
low is undoubtedly the veriest
young scamp unhung, and a soft
berth is doubtless awaiting him at
Smith’s farm.
A colot cd democratic orator of
Illinois wants to be minister to Li-
bet la.
sober breath,’’ the younger party
remarked, “and it has been ten
years now since a glass of intoxi
cants touched my lips.”
“Are bottles and jugs included in
that census?” asked the B.-W.
borer.
“They are,” was the sedate reply.
But so'long as there is a bar-room
a Athens I feel a. gnawing at ray
innards every time I pass the door.
There is no telling when I may fall,
and hence I want these death-traps
removed. After one of my long
sprees I have suffered the agonies'
of the damned. Delirium tremens?
Well, I’ve had them and that badly.
At first I saw only butter-flies, of
unusual size.”
The reporter here interrupted to
suggest that if a certain eminent
minister in Athens could have these
butterfly visions there was danger
of backsliding.
Without noticing the remark the
reformed victim continued: “Then
followed bugs and insects of al!
kinds, to be succeeded by animals,
some of them of strange breeds. In
walking the streets I could see as
plainly as that nose on your face a
drove of bulldogs, zebras, wolves,
and other varmints making toward
me. I knew in my own mind that
was an illusion, but could not
help trying to evade them. I would
cross over the street, but look
where I would the snapping, snarl
ing breed was just before me. My
brain was in a whirl, and my blood
seemed to be on fire. My head was
in a rack of pain, and it was only
by pouring one drink on another
that I could gain momentary relief.
* have seen the time that I would
have sold my soul to the devil for a
half-pint of liquor. The viler the
stuff the greater relief it gave. But
't was only adding fuel to the flame
hat consumed me. When I reeled
to my room that night, you may
judge of my horror to find coiled in
the middle of the bed fully a halt
bushel of venomous snakes, all,
shooting their forked tongues at]
me. When I went to remove my
boots, around each leg was coiled
an adder, while look where I would
the reptiles were seen. AH at once
there was a hissing sound in my
ears, and in the next instant every
snake in the room made a dart tor
me, and I could feel their cold bod
ies squirming up my legs, down my
coat sleeves, -^winding around my
neck, with glistering eyes and mur
derous tongues app- caching my
face. It was then that the great
strain upon my nervous system
gave way, and with a demoniac
yell I fled from one corner of the
room to the other, vainly trying to
tear the writhing bodies from my
person. My God! the very thoughts
of that night makes my blcod run
cold at this moment Were you to
take a sane man, and hurl him into
den of serpents, his horror and
agony could not have been greater
than mine. Talk about the tortures
of hell! They cannot be greater
than those of a man suffering with
mania portu. For all the wealth in
the world I would not again live
over that scene lor one single mo
ment. For weeks I lay at death’s
door, my physician’s only medicine
being stimulants administered every
few minutes. I got up a wreck, but
a sober man. It was then that the
great struggle between appetite
and resolution ensued. Forty times
a day I would start to some bar
room, but checked myself in time.
I felt like a man dying with thirst
in some vast desert, with a oasis
just in reach. For weeks, aye
months, this conflict waged, and
reason at last came out victor. T
had as soon put a goblet of strych
Beecher Stands by Evolution.
“Evolution may overthrow some
men’s Bibles, but it cannot over
throw my Bible,” said Mr. Beecher
last evening at Chickering Hall.
“Evolution will give us a better Bi
ble than we now have, for the Bible
is a child of evolution.” Then Mr.
Beecher held a large audience for
two houTS as he pointed out the
manner in which barbarous old
theological doctrines might be
knocked out by the new science,
without injuring either the Bible or
Christianity when Hewed in the
light of human knowledge as at
present developed.
lovers Cannes oa
DARK DAYS
BY HUGH CONWAY.
Author of “Culled Back.''
CHAPTER L
A PRATXB ASD A VOW.
When this story of my life, or of such por
tions of my life ss present any ont-of-tbe-
oommon features, Is read, it will be found
that 1 have committed errors of Judgment—-
that I have sinned not only socially, but also
against the law of the land. In excuse I can
plead but two things—the strength of love,
the weakness of human nature.
If these carry no weight with you, throw
the book aside. You are too good for me; 1
mm too human for you. We cannot be
friends Read no farther.
I need say nothing about my childhood;
nothing about my boyhood. Lot me hurry
on to early manhood—to that time when the
wonderful dreams of youih begin to leave
one; when the impulse which can drive so
ber reason aside must be, indeed, a strong
one; when one has learned to count the cost
of every rash step; when the transient and
fitful flames of the hoy have settled down to
• steady, glowing fire which will burn until
only ashes are left; when the strength, the
nerve, the ntellect, is or should be at its
height; when, iu short, one’s years number
thirty?
Yet what was I then? A soured, inoroso,
disappointed man; without ambition, with
out care for the morrow; without a goal or
object in life. Breathing, eating, drinking,
by instinct. Rising in the morning, and
wishing the day was over; lying down at
night, and raring little whether the listleas
eyes I closed might open again or not.
And why! Ahl to know why you must sit
with me as I sit lonely over my glowing fire
one winter night Yon must read my
thoughts; the pictures of my past must rise
before you as they rise before me. My sor
row, my hate, my love must be yours, you
must, indeed, be my very self.
You may begin this retrospect with tri
umph. Yon may go back to the day when,
after having passed my examination with
high honors, L Basil North, was duly en
titled to write M. D. after my name, and set
to work to win fame and fortune by
doing my best toward relieving the suffer
ings of my fellow creatures. You may say,
ns 1 said then, ns I sav now, “A noble
career; a life full of interest and useful
ness.”
Yon may see me full of hope and courage,
and ready for any amount of hard work;
settling down in a large provincial town,
resolved to beat out a practice for myself.
You may see how, after the usual initiatory
struggles, my footiDg gradually grew
firmer; how /oy game became familiar; how
at last 1 seemed to be in a fail' way of win
ning success.
You may see how for a white a dream
brightene I my life; bow that dream faded
and left gloom in its place. You may see
Lb# woman 1 loved.
No, I am wropg. Her J ou cannot
Only 1 myself can uo Philippa as 1 saw bar
thed—as I see her now.
nine to my lips to-day as a glass of
liquor. But as I told you, there is
Philippa and her mother left my neigh
borhood. They vent to London for awhile.
I heard from them occasionally, and once or
twice, when In town, called upon them.
Time went by. I worked hard at my pro
fession the while; striving, by (beer toil, to
drive away the dream from my Ufa Alas!
I strove in vain. To love Philippa was to
love her forever!
One morning a letter came from her. I
tore it open. The news it contained was
grievous. Her mother had died suddenly.
Philippa was alone in the world. 60 far as
I knew, the had not a relative left; and I be
lieved, perhaps hoped, that, save myself,
she had no friend.
I needed no time tor consideration. That
afternoon I was in London. If I could not
comfort her in her e-wet sorrow I could at
least svmpatnus wirn nor; coma anaertaae
the management of the many busineee de
tails which an) attendant upon a death.
Poor Philippa! She was glad to seo met
Through her teal* she flashed me a look of
gratitude I did all I could for her, and
stayed in town until the funeral was over.
Then I was obliged to think of going home.
What was to become of the girl!
Kith or kin she bad none, nor did she
mention the name ot any friend who would
be willing to receive her. As I suspected,
she was absolutely alone in the world. As
soon as my back was turned she would have
no one on whom she could count for sym
pathy or help.
It must have been her utter loneliness
which urged me, in spite of my better judg
ment, in spite of the grief which still oppress
ed her, to throw myself at her feet and de
clare the desire of my heart. My words I
cannot recall, but I think—I know I pleaded
eloquently. Such passion as mine gives
power and Intensity to the most unpracticed
speaker. Yet long before my appeal was
ended I knew that I pleaded in vain. Her
eyes, her manner, told me she loved me not.
Then, remembering her present helpless
condition, I checked myself. I bogged her
to forgot the words I bad spoken; not to
answer them now; to let me say them again
In some months’ time. Let me still be her
friend, and render her such service as I
could.
She shook her head; she held out her hand.
The first, action meant the refusal of my
love; the second, tho acceptance of my
friendship. 1 schooled myself to calmness,
and wo discussed her plan9 for the future.
She was lodging in a house in a quiet; re
spectable street' near Regent’s Park She
expressed her intention of staying on hare
for awhile.
'Rnt alone)* I exclaimed.
‘Why not) What have I to fear! BVD,
I am open to reason il yoq can suggest
another plan.*
1 could suggest no other. Philippa
past twenty-one and would at once succeed
to whatever money had been her mother’s.
This was enough to live upon. She had no
friends, and must live somewhere Why
should she not stay on at her present lodg
ings! Nevertheless, I trembled as I thought
of this beautiful girl all alone jn London.
Why could she not love njoi Why could
sbo not be my wife] It needed />U my self:
restraint to keep me from breaking afresh
into pacslonato appeals
Aa sbo would not give mo the right to dto-
poee ot her future 1 could do nothing more
[ bode her a sad farewell, then Went bapje
to my home to conquer my unhappy love)
or to suffer from its fresh inroads.
Conquer it! Such love as mine is never
conquered. It is a man’s life. Philippa
was never absent from iny thoughts. Let
my frame of mind be gay or grave, Philip
pa was always present
Now and then she wrote to me, but her
letters told me little as to her mode of life;
they ware short friendly epistles, and gave
me little hopo.
Yet I was not quite hopeless. I felt that
I had been too hasty in asking her for her
love so soon after her mothers death. Let
her recover from the shock; then I will try
again. Three months ifa$ tho tjme which
in my own mind I resolved should elapse
before I again approached her with words
of love. Three monthsl How wearily they
dragged themselves away I
Toward the end of my self-imposed term
Of probation I fancied that a brighter,
gayer tone manifested itpelf ip Philippa’s
letters. Fool that I was, I augured well
from this.
no safety for me, and hundreds of
others in my condition, so long as
the doors of the iiquor shops stand
so temptingly ajar. There is no
safety for a man who has once lal-
len so low as I. He can never en
joy life as before going astray, for
everything appears in a new light.
I do not believe that the effects of
stimulants ever die out of the hu
man system. By a superhuman
effort a drunkard may reform, but
the thirst will follow him through
life. The liquor sold these days is
poisonous stuff, anyway, and a
great deal of it burns holes in a
■nan's intestines, and when an ori
fice is once made even as small as
the bead of a pip, he is doomed, for
nothing can save him. Vote for
Prohibition! Why I would crawl
on my knees twenty miles to do so.
It may not rid our county entirely
of the evil, but it will clip one tang
ot the monster, and may perhaps
save some young mpo frpm a
doom a thousand times worse than
death.”
At the conclusion of tills touch
ing narrative, all eyes were turned
upon the aged visitor, to see how
he received it.
“J never touched a drop of intox
icating li.,uoy in my life,” was his
remark, “and do not kiiow even
the effects.”
The reformed drunkard cast upon
him a withering look of contempt
tor fin instant, and then spoke:
“Colonel, do you know then you
have miss.ed a great deal of fun in
your life? Take the adv:ce of cne
who has been there and go on one
first-class ‘old high’ before the curs
ed stuff Is put out of Clarke county
and beyond yoqr rpeeb- You don’i
know what it is to feel rich and
gaod until you have thrown a lew
fingers of rfd eye down your throt
tle.”
Philippa neJeatc berthan—aj Isee hrrnoie.
Heavens! bow fair the was! Howglorjou*
tier rich, dark beauty I Ho^ different from
the pink-white and yellow dolls whom lhave
teen exalted at the types of perfection!
Warm Southern blood ran through her
veins and tinged her dear brown cheek
with color. Her mother was an English
woman; bat it was Spain that gave her
daughter that exquisite grace, those won
drous dark eyes and long, curled lashes, that
mass of soft black hair, that passionate,
Impulsive nature, and perhaps that queen-
carriage and dignity. The Engiisl
mother may have given the girl many gooc
gifts, but her beauty came from the father,
whom she had never known; the Andalusian,
who died while she was but a child in arms.
Yet, in spite of her foreign grace, Philippa
was English. Her Spanish origin was to
her but a tradition. Her foot had nevi
touched her father’s native land. Its lan
guage was strange to her. She was born
in England, and her father, the nature of
whose occupation 1 have not been able to
ascertain, seems to have spent most of his
ftmo m thip cofin try.
When flid 1 learn to lpye her? Ask me,
rather, when did pre first meet? Even then,
as my eyes fell upon the girl, I knew, as by
revelation, that for me life and her love
meant one and the same thing- Till that
moment there was no woman in the world
the sight of whom would have quickened
my pulse by a beat 1 had read and heard
of such love as this. 1 bad laughed at it.
There seemed no room for such an engross*
ing passion in my busy life. Yet all at once
I loved as man has never loved before; and
as I sit to-night and gaze into the fire I tell
piyself that the objections life I am leading
is the only one possible for the man who
loved but failed to win Philippa.
Our first meeting was brought about in the
most prosaic way. Her mother, who suf
fered from a chronic disease, consulted me
professionally. My Visits, first those of a
doctor, scon became those of a friend, and I
was free to woo the girl to the best of mi
ability.
vary oemg, nu your every tuougr.s, curves
your every action, make life to you a bless
ing or a curse—if love comes to you in this
guise, yon will be able to understand me.
That night, when I first presented myself
to yon, my wounds seemed less likely than
ever to heal; forgetfulness seemed further
S I farther away. Somehow as my thoughts
k the well-worn road to the past, every
event seemed recent aa yesterday, every
scene vivid as if I had just left it Hour
after hour I sat gasing at the glowing em
bers, but seeing only Philippa's beloved
face. How had lifb fared with her? Where
was she at this moment? The resolve to
tms mood with a woman wno naa suen a
wrong to declare? She grew calm beneath
my glance.
‘•Read,” 4 she said, beseechingly, M Ah,
God! I have fallen low; but not so low as
yon thought”
She buried her face in her hands while 1
opened and read the letter. It was dated
from Paris, and ran thus:
“As it seems to me that we can’t
hit it off together, I think tho farce
ter end. The simplest way to
mamoo you 1 had a wife alive. She has died
since then; and I dare say, had wo managed
f lit my seclusion was made anew by me. LT ill .V’ . T
would go into tb. world and find her-not 2,5* “ , b8tt *f. 1 , ‘™ lia h » T *
for any nlflsh motive. I would leern from *** ' yon 8° trough the marriage oore-
toe love of a true friend can give. Yea I are blamolra.
rnercor tarn to tournees, docoido, as a .
tlinrp, strained, -hungry and savora look
Whatever tho woman’s charms might &
kavo boon she could now boast of Very
Thoro wero lines around her mouth
on her brow which told ot suffering;. -
ns I judged it. not tho calm, resigned sit
ing which often leaves a sweet it sad '
pr<ssion on tho face, but fierce, re belli •
constrained suffering, such as turns a yo
heart into an old ono loag boforo its tiro
As she entered tho room and bowed to’
her face expressed undisguised surprh :
seeing a visitor who was a stronger to I:
I npologicei! for tho lateness of my call, t
hastened to tall her Its object. Sho ILste
with poli.o impassibility. She made V.
comment when ! repeatedly spohoof my I
, ... . styled sister as Lady Ferranti, it nasc! 1
^^^^^^^^^morally you . that, as Philippa had said, Mrs. WOsen • i
■•■If Ilk* neanUM. -no - . .. . convinced as to tlio valid uaturn of the awl•]
r ooar * 1 Here I inveighed round.y again* i
would leave this wretched life to-morrow.
My cheek flushed aa 1 contrasted whet I woe
with what I ought to bo. No man has a
right to ruin his life or hide his talents for
the sske of a woman.
I bad another inducement which arced trust .1' IT,*.—UT conveyed uy til" action was ti
n» to make a change in my mode of life Uhall rm^cr£?^X J? ^ ±, P "' tT ’' • h « repotted family jam, the,
I am ashamed that 1 have not spoken ot It r .k.u Of™ of here She seemed quit
mat tore At Ihate to hare ^tUngT^ ! ” ’S‘* ct ° f ** ‘
tog over me unsettled, and do'not LrTS £«* £tJ»wTt& %
Telling myself that such love aa mine
must win in the end, I went to London, and
once more saw Philippa. She received me
kindly. Although her garb was still that of
deep mourning, never, 1 thought, had she
looked more beautiful. Not Ipng lifter ouy
first greeting did 1 wait before J began to
plead again, ^be stopped me at the outset,
“Hush,” she slid; “I have forgotten your
former words; let us still be friend*.”
“Never!” 1 cried passionately. “Philippa,
answer me once for all, tell me you can love
me!”
And this teas her husband—Philippa's hus
bandt
Four day* after my interview with Phil
ippa I was walking with a friend who knew
every one in town. As we passed the door
of one of the moat exclusive of the clubs I
saw, standing on the fcteps talking to other
men, the man whom I knew was Philippa’s
husband. His face was turned from me, so
I was hblf to direct my friend’s attention to
him,
“Who is that man?” I asked.
‘•That man with the gardenia in his coat
U Sir Mervyn Ferrand.”
“Who is he? What is he? What kind of
a man is he?”
M A baronet. Not very rich. Just about
the usual kind of man you see on those
steps. Very popular with the ladies, they
tell me.”
Is be married r
Heaven knows! I don’t. I never heard
% Lady Ferrand, although th*re most be
several who ore morally entitled to use the
designation.”
And this was her husband—Philippa’s
husband!
1 clinched my teeth. Why had he mar
ried under a false name? Or if she knew
that name by which she introduced him to
me wus false, why was it assumed* Why
ha4 the marriage been clandestine? Not
q*ly Sir Mervyn Ferrand. but the noblest in
the laqd should be proud of winning Pbiljp>
pal The more I thought of the matter the
more wretched I grew. The dread that she
had beep in some way deceived almost drove
me mad. The thought of my proud, beauti
ful queen some day finding herself humbled
to the dust by a scoundrel’s deceit was an
guish. What could I do?
My first impulse was to demand an expla
nation, then and there, from Sir Mervyn
Ferrand. Yet I had no right or authority
go to do, What was I to Philippa save an
Unsuccessful suitor? Moreover, l felt that
she had rpvpjiled hep secret tp me in confi-
d'enca If there were good reasqns for the
concealment, I might do her irretrievable
harm by letting this man know that I was
aware of his true position in society. No, I
copld nof: call him to account. But { must
do sometJjiug, or ip time to com® my grief
may be rendered doubly deep by self-re
proach.
The next day I called upon Philippa. She
would at least tell me if the name under
which the man married her was the true or
the false one. Alas! I found that she had
left her home the day before—left it to re
turn no more! TIiq landlady had no if}ea
whither she bad gone, but believed it was
her intention to leave* England.
After this I threw prudence to the winds.
With some trouble I found Sir Mervyn Fer-
rand’s town address. The next day I called
on him. He also, I was informed, had just
left England. His destination wa§ alsQ uu*
knbwji.
I turned away moodily. All chance of
doing good was at an end. Let the marriage
be true or false, Philippa had departed, ac
companied by the man who, for purposes of
his own, passed under the name of Farmer,
tyjt who W3? really Sir Mervyq FerrancL
I went back to my home, and amid the
wreck of pay life-’s happiness murmured a
prayer and registered an oath. I prayed
that honor and happiness might be the lot
of her I loved; I swore that were she wppnged
{ would with my own hand take vengeance
pp the mqi} who >frcnge4 hcf t
For myself f prayed nothing—not even
forgetfulness, I loved Philippa; I had lost
bor forever! The past, the piveent, the fu
ture were all summoned up in t). - w. >ds!
spoken
That morning I had received a letter from
my mother. I had not seen her for *ix
yean. Just as I entered man’s estate she
married for the second time. My stepfather
was an American, and with many tear* my
mother left me for her new home. Some
months ago her husband died. I should
have gono to her, but she forbade me. She
I shall reach Rodingon Wednesday evening.
Do not send to the station to meet me; I
would rather walk.” ‘ >
Tho letter was unsigned. My blood boiled
as I read it; yet* in spite of my rage, <1 felt a
gnm humor as 1 realized the exquisite cyni
cism possessed by the writer. Here was a
hid”“”h X ,,UO ”,T 4 ,^ OD 5 £ n, ow blow that j Un * tor » wbu ”t™* 1 on‘bocontW
Imd no children by her recond hmbaod. and . mmt crush her th# “ !lr i 0d ^ owa w^U to. told that my .UW, healto would ,
were no c
quite without l
terest in the matter; yet a suspicion that e i
was acting, indeed rather over-aoting,' J
part, crossed my mind once or twice. * 1
When I told her it was Lady F«*rranf :
intention to place herself tomorrow \
my protection, she simply bowed. Whet
said that most likely wo should leave Et |
now that his affairs were practically wound
up she pro] ‘
letter told
in three
should meet her there.
Although of late years we had drifted
apart, she was dear, very dear to me. I
hated the thought of her soeing me, her
only child, reduced to such a wreck of my
former self; yet for her sake I again re
newed my resolve of leaving my seclu-
»ion.
Yet I knew that to-morrow I should for
swear myself, and sink back into my apathy
and aimless existence Ah! I kn*w not
what events were to crowd into the morrow 1
But now back to the night. It was mid
winter, and bitterly cold out of doors. My
lamp was not yet lighted; tb e-glow of my
fire alone broke the darkness of the room.
I had not even drawn the curtains or shut
the shutters. At times I liked to look out
and see the stars. They shone so peacefully,
lo calmly, so coldly; they seemed so unlike
the world, with its strife apd fierce prions
and disappointments.
I rose languidly from my chair and walked
ndow. to see what sort of n ‘lizht it
shame, without remorse;
ly heartless!
villain, absolute-
Sbe looked at me compassionately. “Roif
can 1 best answer you?” she said musingly.
“The sharpest remedy is perhaps the kind
est Basil, will yon understand me when I
say it is too late?”
“Too late! What can you mean? Has
another—”
T^e words died on my Ups as Philippa,
drawing a ring from the fourth fingepof her
left band, showed me (hat it concealed a
plain gold circlet. Hep eyes met xn}ne im
ploringly.
“J toouid tare tol$ foa befcfft” to, tai$
softly, and bending her proud head; “but
there were reasons—even now I am pladjto
to tell no ona Basil, I only show yon thii
because I know 70a will take no other an
“Too late! iVhdt can yon meant Has an
other—
X rose without t word,
whirlin': nroimil —»
..as clear to h>7 sigSt was that cursed gold
band on tho lair white hand—that symbol ol
possession by another! In that moment hope
qnd all the eweetnees ot life eoemed swept
away from me.
Something in my face must hm»e told ho,
how her news affected me. She came to
CHAPTER It
A VILLAIN'S PLCta
They t$ll l.-io thoro are naturesstofu enough
to be able to crush loye out oftheir lives. Ahl
not such lovq as mine l Time, they say, can
heal every wound. Not such a wound as
mine! My whole existence unijarwont a
change when Philippa sho wed me the wed*
ding-ring on her finger. No wonder it did.
Hope'was eliminated from it- From that
moment 1 was a changed man.
Xife was no longer worth living. The
spur ot ambition was blunted; the device for
fame gone; the interest whjoh I bed hith
erto fe|t to lay profession vanished. All the
spring, the elasticity, seemed taken out of
my being. For months and months I did
my work in a perfunctory manner. It gave
me no satisfaction that my practioe grew
larger. I worked, but I cared nothing for
my work. Success gaye me no pleasure An
(pproaw tQ th, number of toy patients wee
positively unwelcome to me. So long as I
tnade money enough to supply ray daily
needs, whnt did it matter! Of wtyit use
was wealth to met It coqld not buy mo the
one thing tor whiph I craved. Of what nse
^ps l|fel No wonder that suoh friends os X
bad once possessed all but forsook mo. My
mood at that time was none of the sweetest
I wanted no friends. I was alone in the
world; I toouid be always alone.
So things went on for more than a year. I
grew worse instead of better. My" gloom
deepened; my cynicism grew more con-
Iton^edj tpy ltfq became more, and more
1 "Three ape not lovers! rhapsodies. I would
spare you them if I could; but It p, necessary
that you toouid knqw !he esact state of my
tntofl ip P r fi er 40 Understand‘my subsequent
conduct Even now it soetps *0 me that I
am writing this description with my heart’s
blood.
Not a word came from Philippa. I made
no inquiries about her, took no steps to trace
her. 1 dared not Not for one moment did I
forget her, and through all those weary
months tried to think ot her as happy and to
. ... —. , ... if, r
be envied; yet in spite qf piy«elf, I shud-
’ ’ ' ired ’
Philippa and her mother lived in a umaU ! ^ nnd hud her hand upon my *rm. J
bouse on the outskirts of the to*ni. They trembled like a leaf beneath her tonoo.
were not rich people, but had enough to keep . She looked beseechingly into my face,
the piuch of poverty from their lives. The “Oh, not like that 1” she cried. * Basil, I
mother was a sweet, quiet, ladylike 1 ^ not worth * t I should not have made
sufferings 3T° U ha PPy* You will forgeV-you will find
ith wak ■ anotlx ’ r - If I have wronged or misled you,
say you forgive me. I*t mo hear you, my
true friend, wish me happiness,"
f strove tq fo^ca my 4*7 ll P* *» tram*
some conventional phrase. In vatol words
would not ooiue. I sank Into a chair ana
woman, who bore her
with resignation. Her health was.
ipdeod, wretched. The on!y thing
wE’cb seemed likely to benefit her was a
continual change of air and seem*. After
attending her for about six months, 1 was
to conscience bound to indorse (be opinion
of her former medical advisers, and tell her
it would be wetl for her to try another
change.
Xfy heart was heavy as I gave this ad
vice. It adopted, it meant that Philippa
and I must part;
But why, during those six months, had I
covered my face with my bands
The door opened suddenly and a man en
tered. He may have been about forty years
of aga He was tall and remarkably hand
some. He was dressed with scrupulous
care; but there was something written on
his face which told «n« it was pot the few
* ' *-* * ’■-’tbit
of a' good man. As I rose from my chair t
A Physician's Testimony
* *** called to aee Mr. John Pennon,
•no was confined to bis bed with whnt
-I’lH'ared lo be consumption of the worst
,r "‘. As all of his family bad died with
I‘? t , u . r **d discaae (except hla half broth?
see!. 11 * .I*' 1 * W ** regarded as certain and
uu?'i okhauatlng all thereme-
bmt'i 1 W* u * lut sent for a
aciiif ,°f Brewer ’* Lung Restorer, and it
of lit lkc He continued tho use
*• u - Holliday m. n. it.
Ayer’s Cherry Pectoral is recommend
ed by physicians of the greatest eminence
on both sides oi the Atlantic, as the most
reliable remedy for colds and coughs,
and all pulmonary disorders. It aflords
prompt relief In every case. No family
should ever be without It.
e Voltaic Belt Co., of Marshall,
agsevgg
Appliances on
men young or o
debility, loss of
• — —* * At AO *AAV>«
. Holliday m. D. BarnesviUe, G»
trial U allowed. ’Write them at once for
illustrated pamphlet feee. •
Oscar Wilde’s new book, “Impres
sions of America,” will be eagerly read
by all who assisted to make the poet’s
trip so decidedly pleasant. His impres
sion of Dr. Bull’s Cough Syrup is amat-
terof little consequence, as the public
have already pronounced It the remedy
for coughs and colds par excellence.
not. passionately in love asl was, woo the glanced from me to Philippa with an air of
young girl’s heart? Why did sh. not leave suspicious inquiry.
as my affianced bride! Why did I lej , -Dr. North, an old friend qf my mother’s
iyrleavs ms at all? I and mine,” she said, with composure, “Hr-
?£ I<,T * J 9* g0 ^. ! Parmer,* she added; and * *<*¥ bl H*b P»IS
Not that she had ever told roe eo ip wordt round her neck as she todipated tho new
had never askal her m words for her tore, comer bribe name which I felt sure wae
“Dark Days.”
We commence, with this issue,
a serial story of thrilling interest,
entitled “Dark Days.” Old Judges auooeedtog fairly well for a beginner, ai
of literary effect pronounce this present I could qniy ask the woman I made
But Shs must have known—she must have
known! .When I was with her, every look,
every action of mine must have told her the
troth. Women are not fools or blind. A
man, loving as I did.fwbo can conceal the
tree state of his feelings most he mage than
mortal,
I had not spoken: I dared not speak. Bet
ter uncertainty with hope than certainty
with despair. The day on which Philippa
refused my love would be as the day of
death to me.
Besides, what had I to offer her! Although
story one/ofthe best, and say that K^STiToSThi”^ '
, - . . . ^ - « m. aoalippa! Ah! 1 would have
from beginning to end the interest ippa in fr^-rvi All that * «y
never flags. We recommend it to ; o&ghtto Denar* Jlad you seen her in'tha
our subscribers as one that will $to*T h*r fresh ycemg beauty, yen would
-- - W1 have smiled at the presumption of the
well repay *11 effort, and trust that T* "TT prreumptm,«tn. n-a
at,.., _J*n 'rur-r^- : W«0 fouW * Oeing to Depooie of tbe wedding, or toe evils so often coi
appreciate our desire to I the Wife of a hard working and a* yet Ill, . quant to such concealment But, with a U
furnish them with a paper full both paid doctor. Yoq would have felt that she 1 boding otevil to come, I begged her to rem
come:- by the name which
now also her own.
' I bowed mechanically, X made a few dis
jointed remarks about the weather and kfe
ared topics; then I shook hands with
Philippa and left the bouse, the most miser,
able man to England.
Philippa married, and married secretly!
How oould her pride have stooped to a clan
destine union! What manner of man was
he who hod iron her! Heavens! he most be
hard to please if he cared not to show his
conquest to the light of day. Curl sneak!
coward! villain! Stay; he may have h;s
own reasons for conoealtoeqt-qretotns knowq
to Philippa aad approved of by htoC Not a
word against her. She to still toy
the one woman to the world to me.
she has done Is right!
X peered a sleepless night In the morning
I wrote to Philippe. I wished her all happA
ness —X could command my pen, if not my
tongue. I sold no word atxtot the secrecy
of the wedding, or the evils so often oonae-
of tLc news of the day as well as
unobjectionable literature.
A CARD.
To all who are suffering from til* errors and
Indiscretions of yonth, inarms weakness, early
decay, lore of manhood, da, I will send a recipe
that win cars JOS, FREE OF CHARGE. This
great remedy was discovered by arsireleuaty to
Sooth Amalies. Sand a self-addressed envelops
tetbe Bey. JocsraT. Irnun,Shdum D.Nete
TertfXti. niajfdAwly
A Chicago surgeon became in
sane, entered a bank and demand
ed mon6yl • He .was mistaken for a
burglar and fired at, but faia watch
stopped the bullet and laved his
tfe.
should have had tbs world at her feet I ber that we were friends; that although
Had I thought that too loved me I might I I oould see ber no more, whenever toe
perhaps have dared to hope ehe would even ; wanted a friend’s aid, a word would bring
then have been happy as my wife But she
did not love ana Moreover, ehe wae ambi-
She knew—small blame to her—how bean-
tifnlahe was. Do I wrong her when I «ay
that in those days the looked for the gift of
tank and riches from toe man who loved herl
She knew that she was a queen am
women, and expected a queen’s dues
, (8weeteet, are my words cruel! They
tho crudest I have spoken, or shall speak,
against yoq. Forgive themO
”we were friends greet friends. Booh
friendship is love’s bans. It buoys false
hopes; ft lolls to security; it leads astray; It
Is a staff which breaks suddenly, and srounds
tbs hand which leans upon It 80 little It
seems to need to make friendship grow Into
love; and yet bow seldom that little is
added 1 The lore which begin* with hate or
dis!it-,< Is nrtrn ln.-kier than that which
me to her side. 1 used no word of blame.
I risked no expression of love or regret No
thought of my grist toouid jar upon tb*
happtaea which she doubtless expected to
find Farewell to the one dream of my life!
Fare well, Philippa!
matter-of-fact, unromantic days, set
anachronism No matter whether to-.—
patky or ridicule, I am but laying bare my
tray thought* and feelings. "
X w. old not return to my home at one*.
I shrank from going back to my lonely
hearth and beginning to eat my heart out
X had made arrangements to stay in town
for some days, so I stayed, trying hj a
coarse of what Is termed gayety to drive
remembrance away. Fuhlo effort! How
many have tried tho same reputed remedy
without success!
really be.
But all the while I knew that the day
would come when I sbould learn whether X
was to be thankful that my prayer had been
answered, or tq & pre^refl tq keep my
T«»;
In my misanthropical state of mind I
beard without tho slightest feeling of joy or
elation that a distant relative ot mine, a
man from whom I expected nothing, had
died and left me the hulk of his large prop
erty. X cared nothing for this unexpected
wealth, except for the fact that it enabled
me to freo myself from a round of toll fe
which by now I took not the slightest inter
est Had It bnt corns tffo op toree year*
t^tofe ***'■ th W2‘ i 9l Uu » lif ecomo
Now thyt 1 wgs no longer forcod to min
gle with men in order to sain the means ot
living. I absolutely shunned my kind. The
wish of my youth, to travel in far countries,
no longer existed with ma I disposed of
my practice—or rather 1 simply handed it
over to the first comer. I left tliq to-fn q$
my adoption and bought * spin',I home—it
to thi - llli;u , w
was. As 1 approaciieti to© casement 1 coma
ae© that the skies had darkened; jnoroovar, I
noticod that feathery flakes of snow were
accumulating in th© corner of each pauo. I
went close to th© window and peered out
Into the night.
Standing within a yard of me, gazing into
my dimly lit room her face stern nnd pale
as death, her dark eyes now riveted on my
own, was a woman; and that woman was
Philippa, my love!
For several minute* I stood, spellbound,
gating at her. That I saw more than a
phantom of my imagination did uot at once
enter into my head. In dreams I had seen
her I loved again aud again, but this was
the first time my waking thoughts had con-
jqrcd up suoh a vision. Vision, dream,
reality! I trembled as I looked; for the form
was that of Philippa in dire distress.
It was seeing the hood which covered her
head grow whiter and whiter with the fast
falling snow which aroused me to my senses,
and made every fiber thrill with the thought
that Philippa, in flesh and blood, stood be
fore me. With a low cry qt rapture 1 tore
asunder the $t»*t«»wings qf $he French ca«e-
ipeut, threw the sashes apart, and without a
wqrd my love passed from the * cold, bleak
flight into iny room.
She was wra pj*ed from head to foot in a
rich dark fur-trimmed cloak. As sb& sw*pt
by me I felt sh? was dump with partially-
thawed snow, l closed the window; then,
with a throbbing heart, turned to greet my
visitor. She stood in the centre of tiie room.
Her mantle had fallen to tho ground, and
through the dusk I could see her white face,
hands and neck. I took her haqds in mine;
they were as cold fts icicle^
“Philippftl Phil ippa 1 why are you here?” I
whispered. “Welcome, thrice welcome,
whether you bring mo joy or sorrow.”
A trembling ran through her. Whe said
nothing, but her pedd bauds clasped mine
closer. I led her tb the fire, which I stirred
until it blazed brightly. She kneeled before
it and stretched out her hands for warmth.
How pale she looked 1 how unlike the Phil
ippa of old! But to my eyes how lovely!
As I looked down at the fair woman kneel
ing at my feet, with her proud head bent as
in shame, I knew intuitively that I should
be called upon to keep my oath; and know
ing this, I re-registered it in all its entirety.
At last she raised her face mine. In
her eyes was a sombre fire, which until now
I had never seen there, “Philippa! Philip
par J cried, again.
“Fetch u light,” she whispered. “Let me
tee a friend’s faco once more—if you are still
my friend.”
“Your friend, your true friend forever.” I
said, os I hastened to obey Her*
As I placed {ha telMP on tho table Philippa
arose from her knees. I could now see that
th® was in deep mourning. Was the thought
that flashed through me, that it might b*
that she was a widow, one of joy or sorrow?
I hope—I try to believe it was the latter.
We stood for some invents in silence.
My agitation^ ray rapture at seeing her once
mots seemed to have deprived me of speech.
I could do little more than to gn*o at her
and fell myself that I was not dreaming;
that Philippa was Really herej that it was
her voice that \ had heard, her hands I clasp
ed. Philippa it was, but not the Philippa of
aid!
The rich, warm, glowing beauty seemed
toqed down. Her face had lost its exquisite
color. Moreover, it was the face of one who
has suffered—one who is suffering. To me it
looked as if illness had refined it, q3 itsomer
times will reflue a faco, Yet, if she had
been ill, her illness could not have been of
long duration. Her figure was as superb,
her arm* os finely rounded as ever. She
stood firm and erect. Yet I trembled as I
gazed at that pale, proud face and those
dark, solemn ayes. I dared not for the while
*9k her why she sought me.
She ‘was the first to break the silence.
"You are changed, Basil,” sho said.
<<Time changes every one,” I answered,
forcing a smile.
“Will you believe me,” she continued,
“when I say that the memory of your faca
as I saw it last has haunted even my most
joyful moments? Ahl fee* Basil, had I been
true to myself I think I might have learned
to loy© you.”
Bhe spoke regretfully, and as one who has
finished with life and its love, My heart beat
rapidly; yet I kqew her words wero not
spoken in order to hear me tell her that 1
lOTed her- passionately as ever.
“4 have heard of you oaco or twice,” she
uld softly. “You ore rich now, they tell
me, but unhappy.”
“1 loved you and lost you,” I answered,
“How could I be happyr
“Help vie, Basil! I come to you as a sis
I folded the letter and placed it in my
breast. I wished to keep it, that I might
read it again and again during th* next
twenty-four hours. Long hours they would
be. This letter would aid mo to rr.ako them
Philippa made no objection to my
cecping it. She fat motionless, gazing
gloomily into the fire.
“You knew the man’s right name and
title T’ I asked. .
“Yes, from the first Ah! there I wronged
myself, Basil! The rank, the riches, perhaps,
tempted me; aud—Basil, I loved him then!”
Oh. the piteous regret breathed in that
last sentence! I ground my teeth, and felt
that there was a stronger passion than even
love. “That man and I meet to-morrow,” I
told myself softly.
“But you spoke of a child?” I said, turning
to Philippa.
“It Is dead—dead—dead 1” she cried, with
wild laugh. A fortnight ago it died. Deadl
My grief then; my joy to-day! See! I am
in mourning; to-morrow I shall put that
mourning off. Why mourn for what is a
happy eventl No black after to-mo brow.”
Her mood bad onee mors become excited.
As before, her words cam* with feverish
rapidity. I took h^r hands in mice; they
wore now burning.
“Philippa, dearest, be calm You willsee
that man no mora?”
U>«p q fpUagfH-Kmie fly*
from the tiny town of
miles away i
- — *lii»^
Her • 4 Win uttorly. unknown, aad c ul l live
exactly as I cboae; an! for' mdutlD {,
my choice to live almost '.jlp. n qvrir.it.
Mr ri'-odt !Hjre mfei-itrrad *q 4>r a nvm
r'uo i'ad beta fee * m« yearn in mv. vn>-
ploTincaL He. vri.-s q handy. fe|ferqt r. (
jou ; honest ;is th« day, st.iilt ui tli w Sphinx;
.'1(11, for tome reiwq-o .Ohon, much at
tached to m' feqt ho wc.q wilt;,'- to tt-rforni
'It my behalf tb' Untie, or b< nsrlceopine
which are bsqatly relegated to female «ci’
vflnta
Looking took nron that time of a-clnsi.,n.
.<* a medical man, 1 wonder irhnt nouhi
eventually have bren my fete if event, had
not occurred ahlch once more f"rc«.l m~
into the world ot men! X firmly l.lii-vo that
rcodine in Militud. over my srk-{ Would at
last have affected mv jeapi; that sooner or
later 1 mud have develop,,! »y mutonia o!
m.-lnnc'.iolix ITpfe-iioqaily *P<akin ; , the
probabilities are I should have cu'Umittvd
suicide.
Even in the depth of my degradation 1
mint have known the dan.-era of the path
which 1 was treading; for, after having
passed six drwary months in my lonely cot
tage, I was trying to brace myae.f to seek a
change of eedna I shrank from leaving
my quiet abode; but every day formed
afresh the reeolve to do so.
Yet the days, each the same as its fore
runner, went by, end I was still there. I
had books, of course. I read for days to
gether; then I would throw the volume,
aside, and, with a hitter smile, ask myself
to what end was I directing my studies.
Tbs'" accumulation of knowledge! Tilth 11
vroold give all the learning 1 had acquired,
all that a lifetime of research could acauira
to hold Philippa for one brief roomahttet
my heart, and hear her say sho loved inoi
If in the whirl of pen, in’ the midst'ot hard
•P Hying as I at present UT*d |
There\ my egotistical descriptions are al
most over.* Now you know why I said that
you must sit by the fire and think with me;
mutt enter, as It ware, into my Inner eeli
bate* you can understand my mental state.
Whether yon sympaihiso with ma or not
lvpends ' ii'ir-ly on y nr non ■ r-m:’?.
f yin are s.. <o.',<-ll •. ,t lint th. .
“And men can love like tbisl* toe said
sadly. “All men are not alike, then!”
“Enough of me," X said- “Tell me of your
self. Tell mo how X can aid you. Your
husband—i”
Rhe draw a sharp, quick breath. The
color rushed back to her cheek. Her .yes
glittered Strang ly. Nevertheless, she spoke
calmly and distinctly.
“Husband 1 1 have none,” the said.
“ Is he dead T
“No”—she spoko with surprising bitter
ness—“no; I should rather say X never was
a wife. Tell me, Rasil,” she continued
fiercely, -‘did you ever hate a man!"
“Yes,” 1 answered emphatically and
truly. Hate a man! From tho moment I
saw the wretch with whom Philippa fled I
hated him. Now that my worst suspicions
wore true, what were my feelings!
X felt that my lips compressed themselves;
X knew that when 1 spoke my voice wan as
stern and bitter as Philippa’s “ Sit down,"
I said, “and tell me alL Tell me how you
knew I was here—where you have come
from,*
lot me but learn whence she came, and _
felt sure the knowledge would euable me to
lay my hand on the man I wanted. Ah!
life now bold something worth living for 1
” I havo been here some months,” said
Philipps.
“Here! In this neighborhood!”
“Yea X have seen yon several times
kayo been living at a house about three
(piles away. I felt happier tp knowing that
iu ca-‘ of n.i-d I had cue friend near ms.
I pressed fast hands. “Go on,” I M
kpareely
“He sen: me here, He had grown weary
Of tea I » aaabout to have a child. I was
fe his way—a tronbto to htni”
Her scomfel accent as she spoke was in.
fiesenbnhlot
"Philippa* PhlUopar Ifirroanej, “had you
sunk sq low-us to do kis biddin
fib© laid l»#r band on my arm. “More ’
•be said, “Listen! B»fore we -parted he
struck ma. Struck—m?! He cursed me
and struck met Basil, did you ever hate a
maul” ‘
I threw out my arm* My he^rt was full
ot rage and Mttsnfem*.! “And vou became
this man’s mistress rather than'my wife!” I
gasped. Neither my lore nor her sorrow
could stop this one repro*voh from posing
She sprang fcq bpc feet “Youl” ah# cried.
For the last day or two I hove b©.
thinking of sending for the medical mi 1
‘ * -
who attended her during h©r tfortuna
confinement. Ho has not seen har for qui
a week. I mentioned it to her this afternoo* \
but she appears to have taken an unacoouni
able dislike to him, and utterly refused 1 - ,
see him. Ido not wish to alarm you— \
merely mention this; nq donbt you# hi j
brother, will see to it*”
The peculiar stress sh© laid npon the wot I
“brother” told me that I was right in thiol
ing the woman was acting, and that not fc
one moment did my assumed fraternity dc .
ceive her. This was of no consequence.
“I am myself a doctor. Her health wt I
be my core,” I said. Then I arose. I
mlgh i
hi
“You are related to Sir Mervyn Ferrand j
I believe, Mrs. Wilson!” I asked.
She gave mo a quick look which
mean anything.
“We ore connections,” she said,
lessly.
“You must have been surprised at
sending his wife away at such a time?”
"I am not in tho habit of feeling surprised
at Sir Mervyn’s actions. He wrote to m* l
and told me that, knowing my circling 1
stances were straitened, he had recom* I
mended a lady to come and live with me tor 1
a few months. When I found this lady wai j
his wifo, I own I was, for once, surprised.”.
From the emphasis which she laid on cer
tain words I knew it was but the fact of*
Philippa’s being married to the scoundrel*
that surprised her, nothing else. I could' >
see that Mrs. Wilson knew Sir Mervyn For- I
rand thoroughly, and something told mo
that her relations with him were of a nature
which might not bear investigation.
1 bade her good-night, and walked back to «
my cottage with a heart in which sorrow,
pity, love, hatred, exultation, and, it may ‘ |
be, hope, were strangely and Inextricably
mingled.
To be continued next week
“SNAKEY JAKE.’
“IwrlD ese him no more. It is to save my-
•elf from seeing him that I come to you.
Little right have I to ask aid from yon; but
yonr words came back to me in my need,
rhere was one friend to turn to. Help me,
Basil 1 X come to you as a sister may come
to a brother.”
As a sister to a brother,” I echoed. “1
accept the trust," I added, laying my lips
reverentially on her white forehead, and
vowing mentally to devote my life to her.
“You will stay here, nowf’ I asked.
“No. I must go back. To-morrow I will
come—to-morrow, Basil, my brother, you
will take me far away—far away?”
“Where you wish. Every land is aa one
to me now.”
She had given me the right, a brother’s
right, to stand between her and the villain
who had wronged her. To-morrow that man
would be here! How I long for the moment
which would bring us face to face!
Philippa arose. “I must go,” she said.
I pressed food and wine upon her; she
would take nothing. She made, however,
no objection to my accompanying her to
her home. We left the house by the case
ment by which she entered. Together we
stepped out on the snow-whitened road.
She took my arm and wo walked toward
her homo.
I asked her with whom she was staying.
She told me with a widow lady and two
children, named Wilson. Sbo went to them
at Sir Mervyn Ferrand’* command. Mrs.
Wilson, he told her, was a distant connec
tion of his own, and he had made arrange
ments tor her to look after Philippa during
her illness.
It was but another proof of the man’s re-
volting cynicism. To send the woman who
falsely believed herself to be his wife to cne
of his own relatiove! Oh, I would have a
full reckoning with him!
‘What name do they know yon byr I
asked.
“He said I was to call myself by the false
name, which, for purposes of bis own, he
chose to pass under. But I felt myself ab
solved from my promise of secrecy. Why
should I stay in a strange house, with
with strange people, by Sir Mervyn Fer-
rand’s request, unless I could show good
cause for doing cot So I told Mrs. Wilson
everything.
‘She believed your
‘She was bound to believe me. I would
have no doubt cast npon my word. I showed
her tho certificate of my marriage. What
ever she may have thought at first, she saw
then that I was his wife. No one else knows
it except her. To her I am Lady Ferrand.
Like me, she never dreamed of what man’s
villainy can reach. Oh, Basil! Basil! why
are such men allowed to livef *.
For the first time Philippa seemed to break
down. Till now the chief characteristics of
her mood had been scorn and anger. Now r
sheer grief for the time appeared to sweep
away every other emotion. Sob after sob
broke from her. I endeavored to calm her
—to comfort her. Alas! how little I could
say or do to these endsl She leaued heavily
and despcndingly on my arm, and for along
while wo walked in silenca At last she told
me her home was close at hand.
“Listen, Philippa,” I said; “I shall come
in with you and see this lady wtyh whom
you am staying. I shall tell her I am your
brother; that for some time I have known
bow shamefully your husband has neglected
you; and that now, with your full consent,
I moan to take yon away. Whether this
woman believes in onr relationship or not
matters nothing. I suppose she knows that
man is coming to-nfbrrow. After his heart
less desertion, she cannot be surprised at
your wish to avoid meeting him.”
I paused. Philippa bent her head as ft as
senting to my plan.
“To-morrow,” I continued, “long biforo
that wretch comes here to poison the very
air we breathe, I shall come and fetch you.
Early in the morning I will send my servant
for your luggage. Mrs. Wilson may know
me and my man by sight. That makes no
difference. There need be no concealment
You are free to come and go. You have no
one to fear. On Thursday morning we will
leave this place.”
“Yes,” said Philippa, dreamily, “to-mor
row I will leave—rl will come to you. But
I will come alone. In the evening, most
Interview With The Renowned African Conjur
Doctor—His Outfit.
There lives near Athens an old
negro man, now vergiug on three-
score-and-ten, known as “Snakey
Jake,” and who has long been re
cognized as authority on the dark
art by his race. Jake is a full-.
Wooded African—in fact, he claims t
that his ancestors were great “med-1
icine men” in the black kingdom, :
who handed down to him the se-
cret knowledge that he now enjoys. ■
This old negro, with his snow white
wool and ebony skin, has the eye
of a hawk, and in speaking of . his
work, his tone and hearing almost
convinces one that he is honest jn
his convictions.
“Yes, boss, I’se a conjur doctor,”
remarked Snakey Jake to a Ban
ner-Watchman reporter, who
sought him out for an interview,,
“an’ am now iu town to ’tend on a
cullud'lady who has been bewitch
ed by a young gal who lubs her
husband. It’s a bad case of conjur.
too, for she biled de heart ob a rat
tlesnake in her coffee an’ from de
way she’s tacked, I think dar am
some corpse work, too, about it. If"
dat am true, dar am nuthin’ kin
sabe her.”
“What do you call corpse work?” .
“Well, you know, dat de little
finger ob a boy child, de eye-toof
ob a gal or eben a lock ob hair from
de head ob a grown pusson dat km
dead, if put where a libbin’ pusson
kin step ober it tree times one day, }
twice going and once coming, dat
pusson am doomed* to death. Ob, S
course, you’ve got to do certain
works ober de pieces, but dar am
plenty ob niggers who has larned
enough to conjur a pusson, but dey
don’t know how to remove spells.
I kin cure any kind ob conjuring
unless its corpse work, an’ dat am
always fatal, when the right spells
are used.”
“Do you make' much money,
Jake?” the reporter asked.
“Not much now, boss, but t’se '
seed de time when I made $5 out
ob one case. De ole man gits in ~
enuflf to lib on. Some gimme a
chicken, some a bushel of corn and
some a half dollar. I’se kept right
busy hunting up my truck and
’tending folks. White people
sometimes send for me, too, but I
can’t do much wid dem. It takes
a ’culiar kind ob medicine for a
white skin. I sells a great many ob 1
dese little conjure bags at fifteen
cents apiece, but dey am wuff a
half dollar;” and Jake produced a '
handfull of dirty little sacks from ‘
his pocket, each suspended by a
string to tie around the neck.
“What are they filled with?” we
asked.
“Va
J
with a gesture ot loathing, at one throws •
raueeoaerepti)*from one’* hand. Xopened
it meohauicallj.
“Yee," too said, “you are right In think
ing I bad fallen low. So low that I went
where ho chon to send me. So low that I
would Dave forgiven too fll-treatment of
monthe—tho blow, even. Whyt Because
until this morning he was my he
Read the letter. Bull, did you even
man?”
Before I read I glanced at her in alarm.
;e with almost feverish exoltement.
words followed one anott ar with head,
saejdjt^^ta^w^
“ But how much better that X should take
you away openly and in broad daylight, as
a brother would take away a sister!”
“No; I will come to you.. You will not
mind waiting, BasU. There is something I
must do first. Something to bo dona to
morrow. Something to be said; someone
to be seen. What is Ut who to it! I cannot
recollect”
She placed ber disengaged hand on her
brow. She pushed back her head a little,
and gave a sigh of reliet as she felt the keen
air on her temples. Foot girl! after what
she had that day gone through, no wonder
ber mind refuted to recall trivial details
and petty arrangements to be made before
toe jpfeed me. Sleep and the certainty of
my sympathy and protection would no
doubt restore her wanJerinsz memory.
wandering memory.
However, although I again and again
tsged her to change ber mind, toe was firm
In ber resolve to corns to me alooe. At last,
very reluctantly, X wot obliged to give way
On thb point; bat I was determined to see
this Mrs. Wilson to-night; .Twhen wo
readied the house I entered with FhlUppa.
I told her -there was no occasion for herto
ha present at my interview with ths hostess.
She looked frightfully weary, ah my
suggestion went Straight to her room to re-
tire for tho night*. I sat down and awaited
the advent of Mrs. Wilson. She soon ap
peared.
A woman. of about five and thirty; well
but plainly dressed. As I glanced at her
with some curiosity I decided that when
young site must, niter a certain type oi
beauty, been exceedingly good looking. Un
fortunately hers was one u those I-wes cast
man.
rous tings, boss. Dar am de
toof ob de moccasin snake, de finger,
nail ob a gal child dot was born
dead, all kinds ot conjur roots beat
up, some blood from a chicken a
heap ob udder tricks dat yqp'don’t. ’
understand. I’ve got a spell on ’em,
too, for widout dat dey would be no
good. A man wid one ob dem
bags around his neck kin nebber
come to harm, unless de dog star
be rising. I could nebber lain to
git around dat dog star,”
Snaky Jake then began to show .
us his stock in trade. From vari
ous of the old rags that covered his
body he.broilght forth the most hid
eous objects—snake heads, wool,
dirty bags filled with a foul-smelling -
powder, pieces of withered flesh,
ground glass, and manjj other ,nu;i-
seating objects, explaining, witj
, . -q.— great pride, the peculiar use -■( ’
blrety. when no one will know where J have fach . Ma „ y ne g r0 es believe fi, mly '
in this Votidoo doctor, and, otte:. >
while under the treatment of white
physicians, Wfll stop the use 01 hi-.' j
drugs to send for “Snaky J'eki-Y f.i ;
experiment on them.
»k* MiaMte tayt
They,known what the pw.pl, call h r.
and they hear what their patrons say at ■
to whether the medicines they buy.w ,.fk
well or not. Martell & Johnson, Bush
City. Minn., say, “Brown's Iron Bitters 11
Rive? entire satisfaction to our customers.
Klmkliammer <fc Co,, Jordan', Mlnn.^
say, “Wesell more Brown'elrop Bitters
than all other hitters combined.” H. J5.-' '
Hackloy <fc Son, Wlnonr, Minn., sayy
“All our ’Customer speak- highly oi
Brown’s Iron Bitters.” A. C. Whitman,
Jackson, Minn., says, “Brown’s Iron ,
Bitters is,giving good satisfaction: to
purchasers.’’These'are only a few. We
avo hundreds more just as good.
j Adastardly attempt was made to
poison a Milford grocer while sick
in bed by mixing slrychnmfe in his-
medicine.
TA young man living near Klin*
gerton, Pa., being reproved by his-
father for loose conduct, shot and
killed the’old gentleman.
* An industrious hen of San Jose,-
Cab