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16
Do not suppose that because we are
Inmates of the Old Tombs Prison that
we have ceased to be human. Not in
the slightest degree. Since to err is
human, here are collected the most
human of human beings. Amongst us
you will find the same old sins of omis
sion and commission—mostly the lat
ter—in all their perfection. True, there
is something lshmaelitish about it all,
but we are compensated somewhat for
our banishment from your -world by
having one entirely our own, full of
hopes and fears, sorrows—and I had
almost said delights.
To be denied this fPSrful and won
derful existence is to miss something.
It is an experience in which one stud
ies character at first hand and gains
the faculty of taking interest in tri
fles: for things of importance to you
outside, such as presidential elections,
are no longer of consequence; we have
no share in such frivolities. Instead,
we sit like gods absorbed in watching
destiny weave her web among our fel
lows.
Like gods—gallery gods, perhaps—for
the old Tombs is very much like a
theater, with its endless repertory of
tragedies and comedies, in which each
of us in turn must take a part. Ah,
that long performance, to witness
which you must be one of us! This is
the story of a little comedy I attended
there.
It was at the time of the Dewey pa
rade. During these naval days "we
were crowded in our cabins," since
every crook already in New York and
those arriving by every boat and train
were gathered up by the inspector and
shanghaied to the Tombs. We were
two in a cell, three in a cell, and even
four in our "five by eights.” It was
then that William came to live with
jne—l called him William because that
was not his name.
Not onlv was William at war with
society; society was arrayed against
William, and for the moment society
had the best of it. There was also the
‘‘needle man,” another guest, who came
from Switzerland, tarried with us a
while, and shortly went to a place
whose name resembles a request for
vocal music twice repeated. Accord
ing to the traditional usage of the
place, I fed them, especially Bill; for,
as the "needle man" remarked, “Bill
can terrible eat; over and over, so it
is!”
There was that about them which
I have learned recognize as the one
universal and never failing test for the
professional offender. It differs from
the novelist's idea; I shall be disputed
by students of physiognomy. It is not
the little head with the receding fore
head and weak chin; not the furtive
eyes; you will not find it in the skulk
ing gait. The nervous hands have
nothing to do with the matter. More
over, a cruel mouth is not an indica
tion of crime- Still it is something
about the mouth—the mouth that won't
stay closed. There, you have it.
It is the old demon pride, differing
only from other varieties in that it
cometh after the fall. In a word,
boastfulness is the criminal's darling
sin. He centers everything in and about
himself. The crook has an ingrow
ing conscience.
They slept by day, and during the
long nightg, over my cigars, which
served us qg torches, they cheered and
instructed me. I learned that “time is
money,” and that to get the one with
out dong the other is the noblest un
dertaking of life. They told of all the
"tricks” they had “turned off,” of
riches "copped out,” of desperate
places, of financial problems which
they had solved, to the undoing of oth
ers. Oh, the iniquitous things they
recounted!—lies, for the greater part,
and all for the sake of vanity. And the
way they told their romances each
striving to outdo the other! If only
the great American author who is to
come has heard them, then the great
American novel which is to be would
have been written then and there.
Bill told of his own cleverness till I
hated him. A man may be a villain,
but why not be decent about it? Why
bore others with the details and enor-
mitles of his deflections? All of which
Bill did with a vengeance. Then he
would discuss the crimes and point out
each and every mistake made in their
trade by our feilows which had “land
ed’’ them. He never would have been
caught, and once, when a confession
was abstracted from someone, Wil
liam lashed himself into a fury of
scorn. He would never "take water”
like that! Oh, no; not he! “Take
water” was his favorite expression. I
heard it morning, noon and night. He
had made the police take water, he
could make the warden do so, and
every one else, for that matter—but
he, Wlliiam. never!
The “needle man” went to his "coun
try home," which is now also his town
house (the musical place) and later on
William was taken to another domi
cile—a nice dark cell across the tier
from me—and I was at peace again.
1 did not lose sight of him, however,
since I had to walk with him at exer
cise time, and listen to him try to per
suade Apple Mary to try to bestow
upon him out of the contents of her
fruit basket. Every day he would ask
her to marry him, assuring her of his
respectability. How she would Jeer
back at him, sometimes ottering him
appropriate advice as to where to
spend the future.
William had no friends; he had to
eat the prison food, a sure proof. He
became thin and thoughtful. At night
he would yell to me across the tier to
send him over my newspaper, and con
tinued to yell until I did so. Then
I would be informed that hlB cell was
dark an inkpot, as he expressed it—
an Inkpot, with adjectives. I lent him
candles. I have my regrets. Every
night he received my paper and a can
dle. Every night he read every word
of the paper before he slumbered.
A great change came over William— I
a change which brought Joy unspeak
able to the amateur missionaries, made I
and female. He worked them all; ev- I
ery denomination. Not even the rabbi I
escaped, who comes every Saturday |
and says, "Veil, veil! What ee n?’l
Just Ilka those great and good men i
Weber and Fields. They all went I
around quarreling with aarh other as !
to which had sown the fructifying seed 1
In Bill's liosom. "Much a nice young
man. and so truly penitent.” it amused
us all to watch him "laying pipr*s” for
a suspended sentence. To work the
missionaries Is half (he Joy of r<ldlng
In (he Tomb* Besides, Christmas was
at hand, and you never can ted whs’
S female missionary will do.
Just shout this time ha consulted m
toieen.li.g • legal adviser. I ask*d
him If his trial was near. If he was
gelling 'lAry," when Is the only wont
fir out feeble English language wh|, li
properly r apt ease* th defendant's fe. b
trigs whan hfrproar Mng fhs hat of jus
li> M again referred to his aver
glSS Ist wslg. Mill could out Ira vs
h as a Masala* la Ada earned Award* *
As I said. William consulted me
about an advocate. He informed me
that the ones he had tried to interest
had given him the ''dead ear” because
he had no money', but he was going
to have it. Thinking that some lumi
nary of the law might get him out of
the Tombs and away from me, I con
sented to discuss this matter with him.
There are a hundred types of lawyers
all around the Tombs, and some of
them just inside. All classes, all types;
portly ones from Broadway and fish
faced ones from there and elsewhere.
You may make your choice of any of
them if you have the price—their price.
To begin with, there is,’or was, the
warden's legal friend. You get his
professional card, and no other, the
moment you arrive. Or you may se
lect a student just out of law school,
especially if his father, in the district
attorney's office, is to prosecute you.
As the son almost invariably wins
these cases he does an immense and
successful practice. He has the con
fidence of his clients, and apparently
of someone in the district attorney’s
office. There are former “able as
sistants,” as honest as the night, who
will take your watch as a guarantee
of a retainer—and retain it. Grandiose
ft**
mMa |y
Jg'.&*sr £ jHpjfgjMi;i'<fa ( '7srt23v• ~v *7s>4 V£’;'**• ' ? &V/jfiP Eg Ey*y Jm|^raTTC.yjOTWMc l j,,| i~iw.i1i>,..^,.....
>*, vJJM ' +y^
: H- '*' : >-\z'V. 'SAx'#\s&£ir dp^- r §5 <L
fejjows they were when In office, harp
ing about their exalted duty to so
ciety, and who now are hungry enough
to share the lllgotten gains of some
wench blackmailer. There is still an
other class, of which the former Judge,
the former district attorney, the tall
man with glasses is a type. He takes
your retainer and devotes himself ex
clusively to—your wife. To none of
these did I advise William to appeal,
but to a philanthropist of whom I had
heard; a good fellow’, a young man
of great social and political conse
quence. whose sympathies are with
those suffering from injustice in any
form, especially when such affliction is
accompanied by poverty, in which case
hie professional services are donated
to his clients, and so honest that he
takes no case unless convinced of Inno
cence.
I explained this to William and ad
vised him also. “Don’t you try to
fool him; he has shot lions in Africa.”
"I’m next,” was Bill's reply; "he’s a
boy with high motives.” And to this
millionaire society chap Bill appealed.
• *••••
It was the day before Christmas.
Time slipped away even In the Tombs,
and time brings chances. Another
change had come over William—a
change which comes to all humanity
under like circumstances, and Bill war,
very human. He had begun to enjoy
prosperity; he had received money.
Bill was opulent; hence he became fat
and more unbearable than ever. He
put on airs; he began to herd by him
self. But this day he made an ex
ception of me; he let me into the se
cret.
I didn't ask William what it was
about; he was dying to tell me. But
first he took me Into his cell and ex
horted me to keep the matter "under
m*: shirt.”
"What?” I asked.
"CTose to your cheat,” he urged. And
dually I gathered that he Instated on
reorecy, and, further, at his sugges
tion, I promised In case of being ques
tioned to "chew my tongue,” for while
doing so one would be unlikely to com
promise himself or others In the course
of conversation; because remarked
Rill sagely, “you ain’t got nothing till
you gits It and gets away.”
"It’s like this.” he began. “I’m a
deep thinker, and I fastens to tt when
1 eats up your papers."
"Whutr’
"The arrivals." quoth he: and this Is
ivhst follow* 1, but 1 didn’t believe him.
I thought he was boasting, as usual.
It was the truth, however, as I was
soon to learn.
’The arrivals at the Waldorf-Astoria,
you know.”
"What of them?"
"Those young fellows come there
from all ovar to give themselves a good
Htne."
“I admitted that his deduetton was
Hu. at Inal the flrat part of tt.
| h#td my peace; J "chawed my
tongue ”
liessM.” he went on. "the wander
ing hoys would tab graph home for the
com and get M They've got to have
mcumw m sums from out to the wood*
t
SAVANNAH MORNING NEWS: SUNDAY. DECEMBER 25. 1901.
By Roland B. Molineux.
and put up there. They'd git it, sure."
"They would,” I admitted.
"In jig time,” he added, "from the
discard at home.”
"Discard?”
“Yes; their wives, what they didn't
bring with them when they want a
good time in New York.”
I was compelled to respect Bill’s
knowledge of human nature.
"But suppose they have brought
their wives with them?” I suggested.
Bill looked wise. "Some do and some
don’t; it's all on the record in the
newspaper, so I knows which is which,
and I sent the telegram for them.
Ain’t that a joke on them?”
“Think a minute, Bill; the man may
have no wife.”
“Then his mother opens that tele
gram, sure.”
I began to understand. "I see that
you want to play a joke on someone,
but what good does it do you?”
A look of unutterable weariness
spread o\er the face of the philoso
pher. ‘‘What good does it do me? I
get it! They sends it to me!”
"You get it?”
"Sure; they sends it to my mouth
piece.”
■ '--•—lii- . .aw^Ljj.£•> ■ ■•1. ; /■•> ■r v •• ; _ L _.; ';
“ Your what?”
"That’s what I said, my lawyer; the
young feller what shoots lions; the
one yer sent me to. It’s his address I
gives them.”
"Do you mean to tell mo ”
"lie s on my staff, but he's not next.
I tells him I expect# money from my
friends: I don't want them to know
I'm in can they send It to him?
and he says, 'Kurd* "
"But you hud to convince him of
your innocent <.”
"I do that, too.”
"How r
"By my friends who com# to the
front. Yes. that's It. sent me money
boat people 111 the country. Besides. I
| springs the (list hundred on him for
| himself. A retulncr tlint's vvh.i hr
By. Ist ha jg g Agt of g lighter sus
self; possibly he liked the expression
about not taking water as much as I
had learned to loath it. At any rate
he had brought his client the money
which arrived now almost every day.
Was it not his duty to do so? Had lie
not accepted a retainer?
When I recovered my breath I said,
‘‘Bill, let me ask you one question.”
Bill affably invited me to “draw one
card.”
"How did you get those swindling
telegrams sent out of here?”
How happy he looked. At last 1
seemed to appreciate his genius. He
smiled benignly.
"The missionaries sent them for me.
I tells them that I realize that I’m a
poor, weak, miserable sinner; that I
want to get out and lead a better life.
Will they hasten and send this telegram
to my mother? They say, 'God be
praised!’ and they hastens.”
Bill laughed. “You asked me a min
ute ago how I got strong with my
‘mouthpiece.’ Well, I refers him to the
missionaries for my good character.
“But they can see your nhme plainly
on the slate over your door, and your
telegrams were signed with the names
you got from the published hotel regis
ter?"
Bill laughed again. "They did get
wise to that,” he admitted, "but, oh,
say! I tells them that I don’t give my
real name when I come here, because
of me prominent family. They sees
the name signed on the telegrams and
believes me.”
Bill had enlightened me on all points.
Of course, I knew he had been working
the missionaries to some extent, but
the full enormity of Bill's depravity I
hud not guessed.
Then BUI told It all over again; how
he had sent the telegrams to the homes,
and in the names, of guest* whose ar
rivals were chronicled In my newspa
per, Imploring them to telegraph money
to his lawyer for their relative’s sup-,
posed necessities; had persuaded dif
ferent missionaries to despatch them,
snd arranged with his luwyer to re
ceive the money and turn It over to
himself -snd this had been been going
on for the last few days, so he said
“If you are caught. Bill, they will
give you s thousand years In the pen
itentiary.”
“Yus they’d tear my neck off, Bui
me cstigfcl? Ml* No i-hsust’”
"No chance? Suppose they bripg the
"Not on your life! Ain’t got Unto to
I hr! way, AAy Aba I nag they And ink—
I'm gone. I’m only waiting to get a
few more answers, then I'll let my
lawyer give bail for me, and 'beat j
time!’ ”
"Beat time?”
"Yes, hurry.”
"But your lawyer?”
"Oh, let him explain when they call
on him: he's a good talker, he Is.”
It was the day before Christmas. Bill
invited me to dinner on the morrow.
I declined. By way of revenge he told
me of what I was going to miss. The
prison dinner was not good enough for
Bill. He was going to have celery,
oysters, green corn and a big, brown
turkey all to himself; and he even
thought of spending five dollars for a
pint of whisky, which was to be smug
gled in—l won’t say how.
It was to be his farewell dinner in
the Tombs, for on the next day—
But Bill had done It once too often
—they all do. Kool 'William, to se
lect a home so near New York as
Washington. When Bill's telegram
reached that venerable and energetic
mother, who came from a long line of
military heroes, she arose and came
quickly, like the woman of action she
was, straight to the lawyer's office. She
did not send the money. She brought
it; she brought more—a fixed and fe
verish determination to make, and that
speedily, suffering for the brutes that
had caused, suffering to her lamb, her
first-born, her Henry.
The lawyer read the distinguished
name upon her card. He was duly im
pressed. She followed, bristling with
indignation. The lawyer didn't have to
say much—she did the talking. That
her son should be put in such a place!
Oh. that his poor father were alive!
A hundred dollars? A thousand! and
ten thousand more, if necessary, but
justice for her boy and vengeance,
swift and awful, on those careless of
ficials who had cast his sweet, young
life into prison.
It relieved her mind and cheered her
greatly to hear the legal gentleman’s
enthusiasm for her offspring, his ex
patiations on his good qualities and
plans for a complete vindication. He
had looked tip the indictment; her son
had been accused of swindling, but a
man who had received prompt finan
cial assistance from the mother of the
Governor of Montana, to whom flew
loving words and messages more sub
stantial from the wife of the honor
able senator from Nevada, and others
—many others —had he not received the
money and given it to his client? Could
such a man, with such connections, be
anything but honest?
Henry's mother was Immediately
flattered, Yes, every one loved her
Henry; and he knew so many peo
ple
"Did you say ’Henry?’" asked the
solicitor. "I thought It was 'William,’"
and then he remembered Bill's expla
nation concerning Ills change of the
honored name that he wlahed to keep
unrontamlnuied froi% sensational Jout
nuiistri. He explaliu-d that la Hen ry’s
mother. Hhe wept at this further proof
of her lad's sffev tkm.
"Yes," she sobbed, "Henry la so
tboughtful of his mother’ Jsi you
know. I wanted so touch to > omr with
him to New York, hut lie feared that
the journey Would be pay ftailg’uahg
for me and persuaded Itte lo stay mi
tergal. I wonder, oh, J wonder slut
Henry's motives really were you sill
do everything you ran for tHiu 1 '
Madam. I shall insist or. hi* pm,
curing hail this aftsinoon I will fur
oisn i* myself aitg 1 will hr net rw i
with Awtr iJk fquants and bar grata
umbrella, she started toward the door,
which was gallantly held open for her.
"There! I have forgotten to give you
Henry’s extra glasses. I brought them
in case his should have been broken
during this horrid experience. You
know, of course, that my Henry can
not see at all without his glasses.”
The practitioner thought a moment.
"Let us go to —Henry at once.”
She assented joyfully. "He'll be so
glad to see me.”
The keeper opened Bill's door and
said: "Your mother is downstairs with
your counsel.”
"What?” Bill stepped back into his
cell.
"Oh, you’ll be all right now, young
fellow. The old woman will get you
out.”
Just then, above all things, Bill want
ed to get out, but he had no desire to
meet "his” mother.
“Oh, no,” wailed Bill, “I can't bear
that she should see me under such cir
cumstances! Here in prison? Spare
me. I cannot bear it.”
“You must come."
"But think of her feelings. She is
so sensitive. It would break her
heart,” sobbed the unhappy Bill.
Bill was unhappy.
"Hurry up,” said the keeper, used
as he was to witnessing grief.
“I won’t,” said Bill.
The keeper took the news, of Bill’s
distress to those awaiting him, and
that was why the man of law mount
ed the stairs three at a time till he
stood before his enclosed client. He
looked at Bill. He recalled the min
ute description of her Henry, which
he had drawn from the good lady on
their way hither. He compared the
two—that is, as well as he possibly
could under the circumstances, for Bill
had "hunted his hole”—that is to say,
Bill was in bed afflicted with
cramps of a most intense and agoniz
ing nature. Bill was sure that he was
unable to move, but he promised—
promised—promised; only let her go
away; let bail be procured and he
would go to her at once —when he got
out. But he could not go now.
Then said the slayer of lions, “I will
have the warden bring your mother
here.”
“What for?” inquired the sufferer,
innocently.
"To identify you,” was the answer.
And then Bill had an inspiration.
For once in his life he told the truth
—all of it. “To hell with her!” he
said In conclusion. "Work her for all
you can, and we’ll split even—you and
me.”
The warden was summoned and held
an indignation meeting with the coun
sel for the defense, who demanded
swift restitution and speedy punish
ment. "You have obtained this money
under false pretentions. You have
stolen it!” he shouted, far from calm,
as he thought of his own proud line
of ancestors and the part he had
played In Bill's financial arrange
ments.
Bill looked grieved. “What are you
casting up about? Is this the way you
desert a pal? Didn't you declare your
self in? Didn't you sting me for a
hundred? Didn’t you stall for me?
Didn't you get your rake-off of the
junk?” he Inquired. Then he pleaded:
"Come on! ' Come on, fight it out. Be
like me; don't take no water!”
Then the warden spoke like the regu
lation Boniface. There was much grief
in his voice. “He regretted that such
a thing should have happened in his
house.”
They “frisked Bill;” they “shook him
down;” they "went through” him; they
sank right “down into his jeans” and
made him "cough up,’ and they "fan
ned” him likewise, which means that
they separated Bill from his roll. They
got it all, too. Bill had been frugal
in the Tombs, had eaten the prison
food and borrowed his tobacco from
newcomers and procured his newspa
pers as you h'ave heard. Every penny
they recovered of that small fortune
which Bill had dedioated to a good
time when the prison gates should close
behind him. Moreover, Bill was de
posited in the cooler, which Is a place
of darkness and abomination. Thither
went Bill on Christmas Eve, uttering
unutterable things.
The “underground” telegraph was In
full working order. In an instant we
all knew what had happened, what Bill
had done and how he had been caught
at it. We expressed our sympathy for
Bill. We yelled at him: ‘‘Are you
sorry you done it? Will you take a
plea? Do you want to go home?” We
expressed our esteem for him, and we
wished him a Merry Christmas and a
Happy New Year—lots of them!
Over the huge wall, Into the prison
yard, and from stone to stone on its
granite pavement, the Christmas morn
ing sunlight felt its way; then it
climbed and climbed all over the gray
wall of its prison itself and beamed
In upon us through the little silts high
up near the ceiling, .but 1t couldn’t look
in where Bill was. Could It have done
so it would surely have laughed at
him sitting there on the unsympathetic
board, which is the couch provided for
the inhabitants of that domicile—sit
ting there, cold and hungry and thirsty
and reflecting, for the cooler is a place
rather for reflection than for repose.
Breakfast was served. Even the
prison brew of coffee was odorous and
Inviting. But Bill was not Invited to
partake: worse, they laughed at him
when he held out his tin cud for some
of it. All the rest of us breakfasted
but sparingly. We knew what was
coming later. The chicken dinner'
That annual feast In the old Tombs
Yesterday morning they had arrived—
a truck load of them—yesterday after
noon they had been plucked out In the
yard. In Imagination we had counted
each feather, and this blessed morning
were they not stewing in the groat
kitchen pot hack of the Warden’s of
fice? Hundreds of noses sniffed their
fragrance; as many mouths watered
In anticipation. Bill in his silent cham
ber continued to wait and to meditate
He thought how very thirsty It makes
one to swear so fervently all night.
The M arden made his rounds Bill
did not wish him the compliments of
the season. He was Impudent. He
would not take water. Then came the
religious services, which William
loathed In his soul. Only rerenlly his
had been the loudest voice when hymns
were being sung that Is. when th
missionaries were looking. And Hill
sang loudly through his nose so that
they would look at him, snd then t
'•**' n other approvingly. n,it to-day
Hill wss peevish; he rallied his tin
cup against the wash basin of like
rrt* win it (h# vniifdljin rfa
PMfig, ai4 how I*4 *'Afit*ri* M r*
!b# •iiU'ifiuri with ellvrr U>k <<,.
<#*f<ury <*4 plant, m\ *-I*ll*4 him) #*-
pay 4 a frny*f for t#i.
41 l##t tfc* ua*tty wit* , T .
mrmi, Uiribrin* ***4 ih<m* Ihf,
loMnr*4 IMh nii4 ih* i,,. ,1
|v* hoi4t* 4 y 1
tUM*, *4*4 (Am** a I**l 1
IDLE MONEY
deposited in the
Savings Department
—OF THE—
Chatham Bank
Is free from speculative dangers
yields an income as large as Is con!
slstent with conservative methods of
banking, and Is at all times subject to
(ho control of the depositor.
LKOPOI.D ADLER, President
T. M. CUNNINGHAM, JR.. Vice Pres.
FRED. W. CIARKF., Cashier.
COURTNEY THORPE. Asst. Cashier
%
PAID ON DEPOSITS
—lo the—
Savings
Department
COMMERCIAL BANK
of Savannah.
State Depository.
DEPARTMENT OF
SAVINGS
Southern Bank
of the State of Georgia.
ATTENTION IS REQUESTED TO
ADVANTAGES OFFERED TO DE
POSITORS IN THE DEPARTMENT
OF SAVINGS OF THIS BANK.
INTEREST PAID OR COMPOUND
ED QUARTERLY AT THE OPTION
OF DEPOSITOR.
IOHN FLANNERY, President.
HORACE A CRANE. Vice President
JAMES SULLIVAN. Caiihler.
- - .IS.". 889
MILLS B. LANE, President.
GEO. C. FREEMAN, Cashier.
GORDON L, GROOVER, Asst. Cashier.
iWilizenißolSdiii
Capital and Surplus SBOO,OOO
We Solicit the Accounts of
Banks, Firms, Corporations
and Individuals.
Our patrons will receive cour
teous treatment at all times, and
every accommodation within the
range of prudent banking.
No. 1640. Chartered 1866.
The MERCHANTS NATIONAL BANK
OF SAVANNAH, GA.
UNITED STATES DEPOSITORY.
Capital 8500,000
Surplus and undivided profits. 127.000
Total 1627.000
Accounts of Banks, Bankers, Cor
porations, Firms and Individuals re
ceived upon favorable terms.
Issues Time Certificates of Deposit
bearing Interest
Correspondence solicited.
J. A. G. CARSON. President
BEIRNE GORDON, Vice President,
W. M. DAVANT. Cashier.
The Germania Bank,
SAVANNAH, GA.
CAPITAL. SURPLUS AND UN
DIVIDED PROFITS. $500,J00
Transacts a General Banking
Business.
Deposits of one dollar and up
wards received In Savings De
partment. Interest payable or
compounded quarterly.
HENRY F.LUN. President.
GEO. W. TIEDEMAN, Vice Prea.
JOHN M. HOGAN. Cashier.
WAITER F. HOGAN. Assistant
Cashier.
DR. PERKINS’
-American Herbs-
Guaranteed to Cure
Asthma, Lungs, P.heumattsm.
Kidney Disorders, Liver Complaint,
Constipation, Sick and Nervous
Headache. Neuralgia, Dyspepsia,
Fever and Ague, Scrofula, Female
Complaints. Nervous Affsotlons,
Erysipelas, Catarrh, and all dis
eases arising from Impure blood.
Mall ordera *l.lO. Office, No. 1*
Congress street, west
PROF. R. L. (IBNTRT,
Savannah. da.
Those great canlatera of chicken, car
rota and potatoes, all atlrrod together
in one delectable mesa! Those si earn
ing inns of coffee pass every door; so
do the boxes of mini • pies and ths
huriels of uppies. They all passed Wil
liam's door- -and did not atop.
Thnt Christmas dinner will Itevef
<%use Hill the slightest Indigestion.
Itow William swore’ How h* attempt •
ed to mar the IcailvMPs and cast *
gloom over the oceaalott! And how no
ona paid any attention to hltn hy ***
of preoccupation? ifscept a griin ,lu *
keeja-r, who came with a pb< of S*•**
bread tn on* land and a lull* cup 1,1
the Other. Ip heatowed the ijysad '*
hie left haud upon (till with a lUwe> 4
toft handed oga Me held Up
lIMU 4Up mm
yNtod, tito ha spas.