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©iSfe?"
k-- :
OUIDA
Kgy !*g£<csasai 'j&^zs-jssr
v^mti: i am no Paris demoiselle,”
said Cigarette, with a dash of her old
acrimony. “Ceremony in a camp
R'
tev
m
lie stooped and kissed her, a kiss
that the lips of a man will always give
to the bright, youthful lips of a wom
an. hut a kiss, as she knew well, with
out passion, even without tenderness.
With a sudden, impetuous movement,
with a shyness and a refusal that had
never been in her before, she wrested
herself from him. her face burning, her
heart panting, and plunged away from
him into the depth of the shadow. And
he never sought to follow her, hut
threw himself into saddle as his gray
was brought up. Another instant, and,
armed to the teeth, he rode out of the
camp into the darkness of the silent,
melancholy, lonely Arab night.
gray in the east when Cecil felt his
charger stagger and sway beneath him
and halt, worn out and quivering in ev
ery sinew will! fatigue. He threw
himself off the animal in time to save
himself from falling with it as it reel
ed and sank to the ground.
“Massena cannot stir another yard,”
he said. “Do you think they follow us
still?” There was no reply. He strain
ed his sight to oierce the darkness,
but he could distinguish nothing. The
gloom was still too deep. He spoke
more loudly. Still there was no reply.
Then he raised his voice in a shout.
It rang through the silence, and when-
it ceased the silence reigned again.
A deadly chill came on him.
had he missed his comrade?
You will go back to your own some
day, and men shall learn the truth.
Thank Gcd! Thank God!”
Then, with that light still on his face,
his head fell backward, and with one
quick, brief sigh his iife Ced out for
ever.
Cecil raised the body reverently in
his nr rs and with long, laborious ef
fort drew its weight up across the sad
dle of the charger, which stood patient
ly waiting by. turning its docile eyes
with a plaintive, wondering sadness on
the form of the rider it had loved.
Then he mounted himself, and with
the head of his lost comrade borne
How : upon his arm and rested gently on his
They ■ breast be rode westward over the great
must be far apart, be knew, since no i plain to where bis mission lay.
response was given to his summons. ! CHAPTER XVII
Without a moment’s pause he plunged ! ~ * ' * ,
back in the direction he had come, ! pTpl HL& burdeEe<J T made hiS
way for over two leagues. The
CHATTED XVI.
tsog^ss.
J
He stooped and kissed her.
Pouf! You must have been a court
chamberlain once, weren’t you? A
great thing I have done certainly! Got
you permission to go and throw a car
tel at old King Death; that is all!
There! Loup-a-griffes-de-fer is coniine
to you. That is your summons.”
The orderly so nicknamed approach
ed and brought the bidding of the gen
eral in command of the cavalry for
Cecil to render himself at once to his
presence. These things brook no sec
ond’s delay in obedience. He went,
with a quick adieu to Cigarette, and
the little Friend of the Flag was left
in his vacant place beside the fire.
And there was a pang at her heart.
“Ten to one he goes to his death,”
she thought. But Cigarette, little mis
chief though she was, could reach very
high in one thing; she could reach
love that was unselfish and one that
was heroic.
A few moments, and Cecil returned.
“Rake,” he said rapidly in the French
he habitually used, “saddle my horse
and your own. I am allowed to choose
one of you to accompany me.”
Rake, in paradise and the envied of
every man in the squadrons, turned to
his work—with him a task of scarce
more than a second — and Cecil ap
proached his little Friend of the Flag.
“My child, I cannot attempt to thank
you. But for you I should have been
tempted to send my lanee through my
own heart.”
“Keep its lunge for the Arbieos. my
friend,” said Cigarette brusquely—the
more brusquely because that new and
bitter pang was on her. “As for me,
I want no thanks.”
“No; you are too generous. But none
the less do I wish I could render them
more worthily than by words. If I
live, I will try; if not, keep this in my
memory. It is the only thing I have.”
He put into her hand the ring she had
seen in the little boubonniere—a ring
of his mother’s that he had saved
when he had parted with all else and
that he had put off his hand and into
the box of Petit Reine’s gift the day
he had entered the Algerian army.
Cigarette flushed scarlet with pas-
sious he could not understand and she
could not have disentangled.
“The ring of your mistress! Not for
me, if I know it! Do you think I want
to he paid?”
“The ring was my mother’s,” he an
swered her simply. “And I offer it
only as a souvenir.”
She lost all her hot color and all her
fiery wrath. Ilis grave and gentle
courtesy always strangely stilled and
rebuked her. But she raised the ring
off the ground where she had flung it
and placed it back in bis hand.
“If so, still less should you part with
it. Keep It. It will bring you happi
ness one day. As for me, I have done
nothing.”
“You have done what I value the
more for that noble disclaimer. May 1
thank you thus, little one?”
is very much like the blossom
ing of a flower. Its beauty and
perfection depends entirely
upon the care bestowed upon
its parent. Expectant mothers
should have the tenderest care.
They should be spared all worry
and anxiety. They should eat
plenty of good nourishing food
and take gentle exercises. This
will go a long way toward preserv
ing their health and their beauty
as well as that of the little one to
come. But to be absolutely sure
of a short aud painless labor they
should use
Fs*m$tiS
egularly during the months of gesta
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is to be applied externally. It gives
strength and vigor to the muscles and
prevents all of the discomforts of preg
nancy, which women used to think
were absolutely necessary. When
Mother’s friend is used there is no
danger whatever.
Get Mother’s Friend at the drug
store, #1 per bottle.
THE BRADFIELD REGULATOR CO.
ATLANTA, GA.
Write for onr free book, “ Before Baby la Born.”
Advertising rates liberal.
m HE errand on which he went
was one. as lie was well aware,
from which it were a thousand
chances to one that he ever
issued alive. It was to reaeli a distant
branch of the army of occupation with
dispatches for the chief in command
there, and to do this he had to pass
through a fiercely hostile region, occu
pied by Arabs with whom no sort of
peace had ever been made, the most
savage as well as the most predatory
of the wandering tribes.
“We must ride as hard and as fast as
we can and as silently,” were the only
words lie exchanged with Rake as he
loosened his gray to a hand gallop.
The first five and twenty miles pass
ed without interruption, and the horses
laid well and warmly to their work.
They halted to rest and bait the beasts
in a rocky hollow.
“Do you ever think of him, sir?” said
Rake softly, with a lingering love in
his voice as he stroked' the grays and
tethered them.
“Of whom?”
“Of the King, sir. If he’s alive, he’s
getting a rare old horse now.”
“Think of him! I wish I did not,
Rake.”
“Wouldn’t you like to see him again,
sir?”
“What folly to ask! You know”—
“Yes, sir; 1 know,” said Rake slowly.
“And I know—leastways I picked t
out of an old paper—that your elder
brother died, sir, like the old lord, and
Mr. Berk’s got the title.”
To his bitter disappointment, Cecil’s
face showed no change, no wonder.
“I have heard that,” he said calmly—
as calmly as though the news had no
bearing on his fortunes, but was some
stranger’s history.
“Well, sir, but he ain’t the lord,”
pleaded Rake passionately. “He won’t
never be while you’re living, sir!”
“Oh, yes, he is. I am dead, you
know.”
“But he won’t, sir!” reiterated Rake.
“You’re Lord Royallieu, if ever there
was a Lord Royallieu and if ever there
will be one.”
“You mistake. An outlaw has no civ
il rights and can claim none.”
The man looked very wistfully at
him; all these years through ho had
never learned why his master was
thus “dead” in Africa, and he had too
loyal a love and faitli ever to ask, or
ever to doubt but that Cecil was the
wronged and not the wrongdoer.
“You ain’t a outlaw, sir,” he mut
tered. “You could take the title if you
would.”
“Oh, no! I left England under a
criminal charge. I should have to dis
prove that before I could inherit.”
Rake crushed bitter oaths into mut
tered words as he heard. “You could
disprove it, sir, of course, right and
away, if you chose.”
“No, or I should not have come here.
Let us leave the subject. It was set
tled long ago. My brother is Lord
Royallieu. I would not disturb him if
I had the power, and I have not it.”
They were before long in saddle
again and off, the country growing
wilder at each stride the horses took.
“It is all alive with Arabs for the
next ten leagues,” said Cecil, as he
settled himself in his saddle. “They
have come northward and been sweep
ing the country like a locust swarm,
and we shall blunder on some of them
sooner or later. If they cut me down,
don’t wait, but slash my saber tasche
loose and ride off witli it.”
“All right, sir.” said Rake obedi
ently; but be thought to himself,
“Leave you alone with them demons?
Hang me if I will!”
And away they went once more in
speed and in silence, the darkness of
full night closing in on them, the skies
being black with the heavy drift of ris
ing stormelouds. They had reached
the center of the plain when the sound
tliey had long looked for rang on their
ears, piercing the heavy, breathless
stillness of the night. It was the Al-
lah-il-Allali of their foes, the warery
of the Moslem. Out of the gloom—
whether from long pursuit or some
near hiding place they could not tell—
there broke suddenly upon them the
fury of an Arab onslaught. How they
were attacked, how they resisted, how
they struck, how they were encompass
ed, how they thrust back those who
wore hurled on them in the black night,
with the north sea wind like ice upon
their faces aud the loose African soil
drifting up in clouds of sand around
them, they could never have told, nor
how they cut their way through the
foe whose very face they scarce could
see and plunged away into the shad
ows across the desolation of the plain,
pursued whether by cue cr by a thou
sand they could not guess, for the gal
lop was noiseless oa the powdered soil,
and the Arab yell of baffled passion
and slaughterous lust was half drown
ed in the rising of the windstorm.
The first faint streak of dawn crew
P. T Thomas, Sumterville, Ala,“I
was suffering from dy-pppsia when
I commenced taking Kodol Dyspep
sia Cure. I took several bottles and
can digest anything ” Kodoi Dys
pepsia Cure ia the only preparation
containing all the naturardigestive
fluids. It gives weak stomachs en
tire rest, restoring their natural
condition, h. b MoMaster.
leaving the charger on the ground to
pant its life out as it must, and sought
to feel his way along, so as to seek as
best he could the companion he had
deserted. lie still could not see a rood
before him, but he went on slowly, with
some vague hope that he should ere
long reach the man whom he knew
deatli or the fatality of accident alone
would keep from his side. He had re
passed the ground already traversed
by some hundred yards or more, which
seemed the length of many miles in the
hurricane that was driving over the
earth and sky, when some outline still
duskier than the dusky shadow caught
his sight. It was the body of a horse
standing on guard over the fallen body
of a man.
Another moment and he was beside
them.
“My God! Are you hurt?”
lie could see nothing but an indis
tinct and shapeless mass, without
form or color to mark it out from the
brooding gloom and from the leaden
earth. But the voice he knew so well
answered him with the old love and
fealty in it. eager with fear for him.
“When did you miss me, sir? I didn’t
mean you to know. I held on as long
as I could, and when I couldn't no
longer I thought you was safe not to
see I’d knocked over, so dark as it
was.”
“Great heavens! You are hurt, then?”
“Just finished, sir. Lord, it don’t
matter! Only you ride on. Mr. Cecil.
Ride on, I say. Don’t mind me. I
never meant you should know, sir. I
meant just to drop behind and die on
the quiet. You see, sir, it was just
this way: They hit me as we forced
through them. I hoped you wouldn’t
miss me in the darkness and the noise
the wind was making, and you didn’t
hear me then, sir, I was glad.”
A great sob shook Cecil as he heard.
No false hope came to him; he felt that
this nian was lost to him forever, that
this was the sole recompense which
the cruelty of Africa would give to a
fidelity passing the fidelity cf woman.
“Don’t take on about it, sir,” whis- i
pered Rake, striving to raise his head
that he might strain his eyes better j
through the gloom to see his master's j
face. “It was sure to come some time,
and I ain’t in no pain—to speak of. j
Do leave me, Mr. Cecil—leave me, for !
God’s sake, and save yourself!”
“Did you leave me?”
The answer was very low, and his j
voice shook as he uttered it, but !
through the roar of the hurricane
Rake heard it.
“That was different, sir,” he said
simply. “Let me lie here, and go you
on. It’ll soon be over, and there’s
naught to he done.”
The morning had broken now, but
the storm had not lulled. By the fit
ful gleams of day lie eouhl see the
blood slowly ebbing out from the great
gap where the lance head was still
“I knew, I knew! I never doubted, j concealment was no longer possible.
Cecil was the first to break the si
lence. He moved nearer with a rapid
movement, and liis hand fell heavily
on the other’s shoulder.
“Have you lived stainlessly since?”
“Gcd is my witness—yes! But you—
you—tliey said that you were dead!”
Cecil’s hand fell from his shoulder.
There was that in the words which
smote him more cruelly than any Arab
steel could have done. There was the
accent of regret.
“I am dead,” he said simply—“dead
to the world and you.”
Ee who bore the title of Royallieu
covered his face.
“How have yofi lived?” he whispered
hoarsely.
“Honorably. Let that suffice. Aud
you ?”
“In honor, too, I swear! That was
my first disgrace and my last. You
bore the weight of my shame! Good
Gcd, what can I say? Such nobility,
such sacrifice! We believed you were
dead. They said so; there seemed ev
ery proof, but when I saw you yester
day I knew you—I knew you, though
you passed me as a stranger. I staid
on here. They told me you would re
turn. God, what agony this day and
night have been!”
Cecil was silent still. He knew that
this agony had been the dread lest he
should be living.
There were many emotions at war
in him—scorn, pity and wounded love
and pride too proud to sue for a grati
tude denied. Loug ago he had accept
ed the weight of an alien crime and
borne it as his own. To undo now ail
that he had done in the past, to fling out
to ruin now the one whom he had saved
at such a cost, to turn, after 12 years,
and forsake the man, all coward
though he was, whom he had shielded
for so long—this was not possible to
him. Though it would he but his owu
birthright that he would demand, his
hurricane never abated, and
the blinding dust rose around
him iii great waves. The horse fell
lame. lie had to dismount and move
slowly and painfully over the loose,
heavy soil on foot, raising the drooping
head of the lifeless rider. It was bitter,
weary, cruel travail, of an Intolerable
labor, of an intolerable pain. At last
he drew near the caravansary where
he had been directed to obtain a chan
of horses. It stood midway in the dis
tance that he had to traverse. The
groups in the court paused in their
converse and in their occupations and
looked in awe at the gray charger with
its strange burden and the French
chasseur who came so blindly^invard
KILLED HIS BROTHER.
Fatal Mimlay Afternoon Encounter
Near Macon.
Macon, July 23.—Yesterday after
noon in Bibb county, 7 miles from Ma
con, on the Columbus road, Tony Cum
mings shot aud kilied with a pistol his
brother. Tig Cnuimings, in a quarrel
about 75 cents. Recently Tony got
married anti Tig loaned him 75 cents to
help him buy the marriage license aud
had never paid the money back. Yes
terday the brothers commenced fussing
a'oour the debt, with the result as above
stated.
Alter the killing Tony did not try to
escape, bur, surrendered himself to the
coroner wnen that official came to hold
the inqust. The verdict of the coroner’s
■jury was murder. Cummings was
brought to the city aud placed in jail.
Cummings claims that his brother was
advancing upon him with a razor and he
had to shoot aim in self defense.
SHOT BY H'S TEACHER.
KoyatBcs.emr Hurt by Accident ,i
Discharge of Pistol. 1
Bessemer, Ala., July 20.-AW
Brown, the 17 year old brother of
W. It Bush of Bessemer, was shot ami
seriously wounded yesterday by p ro „.
sor Isidore Bachman, a music teacher'
The shooting was accidental Pro - -
Bachman had gone ro the hom« 0 f* \j>' r
Busk for the purpose of giving
yourn a lesson on the violin. 9
While young Brown went intoanor-h
■ room ro get some resin the teachp
pictteq up ?, revolver lying on the
tel auo was examining it when rh
young man entered the room t;! 9
weapon was accidentally dischareYa
the builet striking young Brown
side. It is possible for the youuY
to recover, though he is badly h n 7-
man
Jane os Whitt*. * ntsvilh, lad.
Wirt’s Witch Haze! Saivt
healed running e.o Loth leg*
He h i i surf re ’ 0 years. Doctor
!■' hd;) lurn G*i DcWitl’.
Accept no irritations h b. MCMsster
rSST:
two.
head, and Rake’s eyes, smiling so
brightly and so bravely still, looked up
from under their weary lids to his.
“I’d never let you take my hand be
fore, sir. Just take it uow, wiil you,
while I can see you still?”
Their hands met as he asked it and
held each other close and long. All
the loyal service of the one life and ail
the speechless gratitude of the other
told better than by all words in that
one . farewell. A light that was not
from the stormy, dusky morning shone
over the soldier's face.
“Don’t grieve that way. Mr. Cecil. If
I could just have seen you home again
in your place, I should have been glad,
that’s all. You’ll go back one day, sir.
When you do. tell the King I ain’t
never forgot him.”
There was a long silence, a pause in
which the windstorm ceased and the
clouds of the loosed sands sank. In
that momentary hush as the winds
sank low the heavy eyes, half sight
less now, sought with tlieir old wist
ful, dogiike loyalty the face to which
so scon they would l>e blind forever.
“Would you tell me once, sir—now?
I never asked—I never would have
done—but may be I might know in this
Inst minute you never sinned that sin
you bear the charge on?”
“God is my witness, no.”
The light, that was like sunlight,
shone once more in the aching, wan
dering eves.
“I knew, I knew! It was”—
Cecil bowed his head over him, lower
and lower.
“Hush! He was but. a child, and I”—
With a sudden and swift motion,
as though new life were thrilling in
like a man feeling his passage through
the dark. Cecil moved slowly on into
their midst, his hand on the horse’s
rein. Then a great darkness covered
his sight. lie swayed to and fro and
fell senseless on the gray stone of the
paved court. When consciousness re
turned to him, he was lying on a stone
bench in the shadow of the wall, with
the coolness of the fountain water bub
bling near and a throng of lean, bronzed,
eager faces about him.
Instantly he remembered all.
“Where is he?” he asked.
They knew that lie meant the dead
man and answered him in a hushed
murmur of many voices. They had
placed the body gently down within in
a darkened chamber.
A shiver passed over him. He
stretched his hand out for water that
they held to him.
“Saddle me a fresh horse. I have my
work to do.”
He knew that for no friendship or
grief or suffering or self pity might a
soldier pause by the wayside while iiis
] errand was still undone, his duty unful-
! filled.
Ho drank the water thirstily; then,
j reeling slightly from the weakness
| that was still upon him, he rose, reject-
! ing their offers of aid. “Take me to
j him,” he said simply. They under
stood him.
i He motioned them all back with his
hand and went into the gloom of the
chamber alone. Not one among them
i followed.
j When he came fortli again, tlie reck
less and riotous soldiers cf France turn-
| ed silently and reverentially away, so
: that they should not look upon his
j face, for it was well known througb-
| out the army that no common tie had
j bound together the exiles of England,
i and the fealty of comrade to comrade
I was sacred in their sight,
j The fresh animal, saddled, was held
■ ready outside the gates. He crossed
! the court, moving still like a nm:i with-
I out sense of what he did. The name
| that some of the hurrying grooms
I shouted loudly in their impatience
jbroke through his stupor and reached
i him. It was that of the woman whom.
the
utter
! hopelessness. He turned to the out-
j rider nearest him.
! “You are of the Princess Corona’s
| suit? What does site do here?”
“Madame travels to see the country
j and the war.”
1 “The war? This is no place for her.
The land is alive with danger, rife with
death.”
“Miladi travels with the duke, her
brother. Miladi does not know what
fear is.”
“But”—
The remonstrance died on his lips.
He stood gazing out from the gloom of
'.the arch at a face close to him, on
| which the sun shone full, a face unseen
j for 12 long years and which a moment
; before laughing and careless in the
j light changed and grew set and rigid
| and pale with the pallor of an unntter-
i able horror. Cecil brought his band to
his brow in military salute, passed
with the impassiveness of a soldier
who passed a gentleman, reached his
chargor and rode away upon his errand
over the brown and level ground.
He had known his brother in that
fleeting glance, but lie hoped that his
brother would see no more in him than
a French trooper who bore resemblance
by a strange hazard to one long be
lieved to be dead and gone. The in
stinct of generosity, the instinct of self
sacrifice, moved him now as long ago
one fatal night they had moved him
to bear the sin of his mother’s darling
as his own.
Electric Bolt Strikes Church.
Jacksonville, Fix. July 24.—A ter
rific electric storm visitid i'au Antonio,
Fix The Catholic church on Magnolia
Street was struck by lightning and par-
tially wrecked. Father Benedict was
serving in tee confessional as the time
and fell over unconscious from the
shock. It was at first believed lie was
dead ana a great rauic was precipitated.
Miss Gcrnir, who wa? kneeling near
the entrance, was severely shocked, as
were several others of the worshippers.
Tbe interior of rhe church was greatly
damaged b - flames.
mi man cured in 00 minutes by
i'-aniiKiy l otion. Tills never fails
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m
,V?
ig
it
, i , ... , ■ however madly, he loved with ail th
bedded, with its wooden shaft snapped i „ * . ,
. . „ ,, * , strength of a passion born out of utte
m twn rra could see the drooped 1
"If I could have seen ycWhome again.”
him. Rake raised himself erect, his
arms stretched outward to the east,
where tbe young da.v was breakim*
Within six and thirty hours the in
structions he bore wore in the tent of
the major whom they were to direct,
and he himself returned to the cara
vansary to fulfill with his own baud to
the dead those last offices which he
would delegate to none.
It was in the coolness and the hush
of the night, with the great stars shin
ing clearly over the darkness cf the
plains, that they made the single grave
under a leaning shelf of rock, with the
somber fans of a pine spread above it
and nothing near but the sleeping
herds of goats. The sullen echo of the
soldiers’ muskets gave its only funeral
requiem.
When all wa3 over, Cecil still re
mained there aloue. Thrown down up
on the grave, he never moved as hour
after hour went by. To others that
lonely and unnoticed tomb would be as
nothing—only one among the thousand
marks left on the bosom of the violat
ed earth by the ravenous and savage
lusts of war—but to him it held all that
had bound him to his lost youth, his
lost country, his lost peace. Suddenly
he started with a thrill of almost su
perstitious fear as through the silence
he heard a name whispered—the name
of his childhood, of his past. He sprang
to his feet, and as he turned In the
moonlight he saw once more his broth
er’s face, pale as the face of the dead
and strained with an asmntetno' a..™a
"Have you lived stainlessly since?
own justification that he would estab
lish, it would seem to him like a
treacherous and craven thing.
All seemed uttered, without words,
by their gaze at each other. He could
not speak with tenderness to this cra
ven who had been false to the fair re
pute of tlieir name, and he would not
speak with harshness. The younger
man stood half stupefied, half mad
dened.
“Bertie, Bertie!” he stammered. “On
my soul I never doubted that the story
of your death was true. No one did.
If I had known you lived, I would
have said that you were innocent. I
would. I would have told them how
I forged your friend’s name and your
own when 1 was so desperate that I
hardly knew what I did. But they
said that you were killed, and 1
thought then—then—it was not worth
while. It would have broken my fa
ther’s heart. God help me! I was a
coward! I am in your power—utterly
In your power,” he moaned in his fear.
“I stand in your place. I bear your
title. You know that our father and
our brother are dead? All that I have
inherited is yours. Do you know that,
since you have never claimed it?”
“I know it.”
“And you have never come forward
to take your rights?”
“What I did uot do to clear my own
honor I was not likely to do merely to
hold a title.”
“But, great heaven, this life of yours?
It must be wretchedness.”
“Perhaps. It has at least no disgrace
in it.”
The reply had the only sternness of
contempt that he had suffered himself
to show. It stung down to his listen
er’s soul.
“No, no!” he murmured. “You are
happier than I. You have no remorse
to bear. And yet—to tell tbe world
that I am guilty!”
“You need never tell it. I shall not.”
lie spoke quite quietly, quite patient
ly. Yc-t he well knew and had well
weighed all he surrendered in that
promise—the promise to condemn him
self to a barren and hopeless fate for
ever.
“Let us part now and forever. Leave
Algeria at once. That is all I ask.”
Then, without * another word that
could add reproach or seek for grati
tude, he turned and went away over
the great, dim level of the African
waste, while the man whom he had
saved sat as in stupor, gazing at the
brown shadows, and the sleeping herds,
and the falling stars that ran across
the sky, and doubting whether the
voice ho had heard and the face upon
which he had looked were not the vi
sions cf a waking dream.
[TC BK CONTINUED.]
A CUSTA
Dental Parlors,
L r we-
Cr,; .v
niM.Kis ranu
Pi ice*; \!l Work
i a:,U Bridge Work ■<
!«Y
unran' e;
POORS & WOODBURY’"" "
821 Broad St.. Augusta, Georgia.
Bel Plioue, 52J.
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On improved Farms
in Burke aud Jefferson Counties.
No Commissions. Lowest Rates.
Loner time or installments.
ALEXANDER &
705 Broad, Street,
AUGUSTA,
Xx
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FURNITURE!!
We have the largest and best stock o
Furniture ever brought to Augusta, and oar
prices are as low as the lowest. Elegant
7 WAUjy ;
PAELOE CHAMBER SETS,
SECRETARIES, BOOKCASES,
8H Couches, Sideboards, Bedsteads
ht ' I BUREAUS, WASH STAN PS,
Rocking Chairs. Straight Chairs,
IRON BEDS $3.75 UP. Mattings. Rugs, Etc.
Eaeli department in our business is full and complete, and every article is the very tee
that can be had ior the money. Wo do not hesitate to assert that no other Furniture houss
is quite so lull of beauty, elegance and st :3 as ours. When in Augusta be sure to call and
SGG US. 0
FLEMING &c BOWLED,
904 Broad Street,. AUGUSTA. GA
Suit Against Brunswick.
Brunswick, Ga., July 29.—Deputy
United States Marshal Cason has served
papers in a suit brought against the ettv
by Attorneys Crovatt and Whitfield for
the Brunswick Light and Water compa
ny, in which the company seeks to re
cover $7,267.40 for water furnished in
flushing sewers from Jan. 1, 1896, to
date at the rate of 28,800 gallons daily.
Negro Murderer Arrested.
Brunswick, Ga , July 27.—William
Jenkins, a negro, wanted for murder at
Jacksonvilie, nas been arrested here.
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This Ts An Advertisement.
If you are looking for a laxative.
Dr. Caldwell’s Syrup Pepsin is IF
The convenience and merit of this
valuable remedy will be explained
to your satisfaction by h b McAlis
ter, Waynesboro; H Q. Bell, Miller,
Call on in when In the city.
(«60»f0»m°fflMRD»PMBiMST [»]
For your Car
den Seed, On
ion Sets, Early
Rose and Bliss
frish Potatoes.
We have just
received a
|§U fresh supply of
D. M. Ferry &
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They are noted for putting up the most reli
able Seed sold. Their seed are always fresh
and gives the best results. Orr prices are
as low as the lowest. jj
olso remember we carry a complete j
.lice f DRUGS and everything generally |
kept in a first-class Drug Store.
We have a competent Druggist who has j
had 15 years experience. }
BUXTON & HAESELER
GIRARD. GEORGIA.
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