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OLUME LXIX.
Fr.i>sRAi, Union Established in 1323.
Southern Rzc )rof.f; " •' isi.t.
Consolidated 1572.
Milledgetille, (ja., September 6, 1898.
Keep
Your
Youin
If you are young you nat
urally appear so.
If you are old, why ap
pear so?
Keep young inwardly; we
will look after the out
wardly.
You need not worrv longer
about those little streaks of
gray; advance agents of age.
Hair I
will surely restore color to
gray hair; and it will also
give your hair all the wealth
and gloss of early life.
Do not allow the falling of
your hair to threaten you
longerwith baldness. Do not
be annoyed with dandruff.
We Will send you our book
on the Hair and Scalp, free
upon request.
Wrtto to tko Doctor.
If you do not obtain all the bene
fits you expected from the use of
the Vijfor, write the doctor about It.
Probably there is some difficulty
with vour general system which
may be eagily removed. •
Address, Dll. J. C. AYER,
m 4 Lowell, Man.
FROM SCOTLAND.
Miss .1 li.ia Fmsch Leaves for
Home.
Steamer Russia. Aug. 18. 1808.
The Trossacba is usually scheduled
(or one day of the ordinary tourist’s
time. This is a mistake. He should
give it at least four days and more if
possible. We, being wiser than many
and yet neither so wise nor so well en
dowed with this world’s goods as some,
gave two days.
The first stage of our journey was
to Stirling, a town too often neglected,
yet well worth seeing for its quaintness
and beauty, and for its interest as the
battle ground of the English and
Scotch in the days of Wallace and the
Bruce.
The situation of Stirling Castle very
much resembles that of Edinburg Cas
tie, crowning, as it does, a lofty rock
and approached by a steep ascent called
the Esplanade, but it is less impressive
than Edinburg Castle because the build
ings within the Castle walls are less
lofty and massive in construction and
because also of the altitude of the moun
tains which tower on every hand,
though none are sufficiently near to
dominate the Castle rock. Hie best
view of the Castle, as well as the most
beautiful view of the surrounding coun
try is to be obtained from the foot of the
Wallace Monument which rises to an
imposing altitude from the summit of
the Abbey Craig.
Climbing the Craig by a woodland
oath that winds round and round,afford
ing glimpses here and there through
the thick foliage, of the valley and the
river, we emerged at length on a little
level pleatau where the whole surround
ing country lay , open before us with
the magnificent peaks of Ben Lomond,
Ben Ledi, lien Venue and Ben Voir-
lich outlined in purple masses against
tlic sky.
Grey Friars Church and Church
yard are also interesting as relics of
ancient times and in the churchyard,
which is kept as trim as a modern park,
there is the severely simple monument
>f the Covenan ters, and a memorial to
die Maiden martyrs of Scotland, the
two Margarets, who for conscience s
sake and the Gospel’s, met death in the
Solway sands, the one entering into
rest through the gateway ot mart yrdom
at the end of a toilworn life, the other
in the early flush of maidenhood.
From Stirling it is a short trip by
train to the Bridge-of-Allam in one di
rection and to the field ot Bannockburn
in the other. At Bannockburn you
can lay your hand on the Bore stone
which held in place the standard of the
victorious Bruce, otherwise there is
nothing to see but the whitewashed
cottages of the village of St. Niniatv
green and well cultivated fields, and a
range of purple hills, a country well
worth living, defending and dying for.
Another pleasant walk is that through
the tields to Cambuskennetli Abbey. It
is one of the oldest religious houses in
in Scotland, of which there are still
remains, and was one of the richest.
There is nothing left standing now ex
cept the tower which is in good preser
vation and contains the tombs of James
III and bis Queen, Margaret of Den
mark.
A short ride by railroad brought us
to the pretty little village of Callander,
our stopping place for the night. Cal
lender is really the gateway of the
Highlands from the east, and when we
entered its quaint, severely simple lit
tle main street, we found ourselves set
down in the very heart of the moun
tains, whicli rose up about us on every
side even “as the mountains are round
about Jerusalem.” It had been raining
off and on during the day, but later as
we walked down the village street with
our faces toward the west, we came
into the midst of a glory of light and
color too beautiful to describe, as the
sun sank behind the mountain peaks
in robes oi majesty and state.
From Callander we went by coach
through the Tussachs, a richly wooded
glen or valley, to Tussach. This pass
together with Loch Katrine, is the
scene of Scott’s Lady of the Lake, and
quotations from that famous author
were'of course the order of the day.
The young gentleman on my right
quoted frequently, but as be 1 n* v • ily
two single lines, I grew some what
weary of a repetition of “It was
Clan Alpine’s outmost guard,” and
thought a little variety would have
added to the spice. The High
land names arc by no means easy to
pronounce even when you see them
written, hut when you get a Highland
er’s gutterals thrown in for good
measure,they are utterly hopeless. Now
and then as we rode along some one
would whisper timidly: “What did
the coachman say?” “What did he
say was the name of that place?” The
latter question was usually followed
by a sorrowful shake of the head and
profound silence on the part of the
person addressed. Indeed, whether it
was owing to the coachman’s pronunci
ation, or our mispronunciation, we had
some trouble to make bis knowledge
and ours gee and haw. But we finally
got all our places amicably adjusted.
There was one place whose name fieired
the whole company—it was the Ford
where the famous duel between Fitz
James and his generous foe was fought.
It was written Coilantogle.’but it was
not the writing of it that bothered us,
but it was the speaking of it. When
we had to refer to it in speaking, we
either hunted it up on the map or left
it respectful blank for somebody else to
fill in—for example:
Young man, loquitur: “Coachman,
where’s that place—that ford you know
where the duel was fought?”
“Sur—r—r?” No American can
possibly manage the Scotchman’s R.
“Why that lord—coil—something or
other, oh you know?”
“Coilantoglo, Sur—r—r?”
“Coil what, coachman?”
“Antogle, sur—r—r.”-
“Ah, yes, thank you.”
Chorus from back seat; “Whal’d he
say?”
Young man,loq: “Well he says that
ford, you know, 1 can’t pronounce it
exactly, is just over yonder.”
Where Roderick Dhu or anybody
else got his soldiers passes my compre
hension. For miles and miles there is
nothing but the great solemn peaks of
the mountains, heath-covered moors,
and dense, almost impenetrable foreNt*
—scarcely a shepherd’s cabin even in
all these solitary wastes. It is this I
think that gives the Tussachs half its
charm—there is no impertinent intru
sion of the ephemeral, the trivial, the
common place—all is deep silence,
brooding calm, infinitude of space.
At Tussach we left the coacli ior the
little steamer, Rob Roy, and took our
way across Loch Katrine, leaving El
len’s Isl0 on our left, and a very re
spectable oarswoman must Ellen have
been in very truth, to land her shallop
without upsetting her passenger on the
rugged edge of this verdant little spot.
The view from the Lake is a trifle
magnificent, hut not less beautiful,
Number 10.
I am now receiv
ing; Fresh Supplies
to my stock of
JEWEERY,
WATCHES,
i SOLID SILVER,
and
I PLATED WARE,
j Theyjare interesting
to look at, and yon
will not regret a trip
to see them.
HAVILAND
CHINAj_
MEDALLION
PICTURES,
BANQUET
LAMPS
Are among the
Latest Additions
to my business.
In each of these
Lines I have an
Elegant Assort
ment to which I
invite the spe
cial attention of
iny customers.
DIXON WILLIAMS.
since to the strength of the mountains
and the rich verdure of the forests is
added the sparkling blue of the lake.
At Strandclachar another coach took
us to Inversnaid on the shore of Loch
Lomond, where we once more embark
ed on a steamer on the silver bosom of
this beautilul Scottish lake. It was a
golden afternoon, but the wind blew
keen and cold from the mountains and
the waters frothed up in a white spray
around our bow. Before us the hills
grew smaller and smaller as we neared
the Lowlands ; behind us the passes of
the mountains seemed to open to show
us the grand old Titans in their majes-
ty, then to close again and shut them
from our sight, each famous peak stay-
in" tor a moment as though to bid us
farewell, then turning away and rece
ding until at last the clouds hid them
from sight.
At Ballocli our trip ended and taking
the train again we landed in Glasgow.
Glasgow is itself well worth a visit,
but to the tourist its chief attraction is
its convenience as a starting point to
other places of interest. One of the
most charming excursions in the vicin
ity of Glasgow, is that to the little
town ot Ayr and the land of Burns.
After a stroll through the town and a
visit to the auld and new brig, and the
monument of Burns, we started off to
walk to the poet’s birthplace, distance,
about two miles. We passed numbers
ot white-washed, thatched roof cottages
and at last we came to one but little
different, where we were admitted on
payment of a small lee to the room
where Burns was born,and were shown
the shut-in bed, and the old dresser,
and all the other articles ot interest.
We then strolled on a little farther till
we came to the ruins of old Alio way
Kirk where the poet’s father is buried,
and then to the “auld Brig O’Doon”
over which Tam O’Shanter’s nag can
tered on that memorable night when
she saved her master’s life at the ex
pense of her tail. The country around
is beautiful, in a quiet, peaceful way,
so beautiful that it does not seem
strange it should have produced a poet
keenly alive to its charms, but rather
that every mother’s son should not be a
poet in a country so worthy a poet’s
strain.
At Dumfries, again, we saw the
house where the poet died,his statue in
Church street, modelled by a woman,
and his mausoleum in St. Michael’s
churchyard. The country roundabout
is redolent of Burns, yet somehow a
feeling of sadness oppressed me. There
was something pathetic in the face of
Mrs. Hill’s statue ot him, beautiful and
impressive as it was—the face of one
who, conscious of high gifts and strug
gling to live up to them, yet realizes in
himself tiie weaknesses and limitations
•f his passionate, sensuous nature.
Fame lie has, and love and devotion lie
had in no small measure, yet the fates
were not kind to Robert Burns. The
elements were too much mixed in him
to give success in its highest form, and
lie will ever remain at once one of the
brightest and saddest pictures in the
gallery of gifted minds.
But there was one visit we made
that was full of unalloyed pleasure.
Quite early on a bright, warm, breezy,
August morning, we stepped out at the
station of the pretty little Scotch vil-
lege of Ecclefeclian. We had become
famous pedestrians by this time and the
walk of a mile from the station to the
village itself was but a pleasant appe
tizer. There was a road, beautiful as
are nearly all the'public roads of this
wight little, tight little island, then
there was a village street, clean and
bright, with a lofty hill enshrouded in
purple shadows at the end of it, and
another street straggling off' on the
We Beg No Favors,
WE DESERVE THEM.
We are asking for business that will save buyers money;, and
ARGUMENTS ARE USELESS—LET THE
GOODS TALK.
Will make friends, outshine
Rivals, win victories, and sell
itself on its merits every
time.
First-class Throughout and Combined Style, Quality and Elegance
With Prices Strictly Fair.
No Sale is Expected Unless we
Prove This.
Wo are Anxious to Show you our Goods, but we ask for Your Pat
ronage Only When They Give Complete Satisfaction.
A. & J. OHLMAN.
right hand. The main street was bor
dered by neat white-washed cottages,
chiefly one-story, some, of them
thatched with straw, all of them with
the quaintest and tiniest windows
gleaming in the beams of the rising
sun, and many of them with window-
boxes gay with mignonette, scarlet ge
raniums, bluetts, and a brilliant y-!-
low flower, name to me unknown. Fi
nally we came to a house two-stories
high, and white washed, with an arch
way leading into a courtyard witiiin
and a little garden, green and flourish-
ing. An old man stood at the door
smoking a leisurely pipe, and when we
asked if we might enter, he himself
ushered us in and up the narrow stair
case into a little low room, and then,
surrounded by the memorials of a long
and busy lile we stood in silence in
the room where the greatest philoio-
pher of modern times—Thomas Car
lyle—was born.
“Great men are made in solitude,”
says Emerson. Carlyle’s birth-place
is just the place for a great man to be
born. Life is bard in these little
country villages, hard enough to de
velop masculine fibre of body and
brain; life is slow, slow enough for
great thoughts to germinate; and na
ture is kind unveiling her face to show
both her strength and her grace to such
as have eyes to see.
We read Carlyle’s letters to his
mother and brother, epistles full of
homely domestic matters, and gazed
upon his pictures and books, the black
felt hat he used to wear, the china
which Jane Welch Carlyle handled
with housewifely care, and all the lit
tle odds and ends of objects connected
with their lives, then we went oat
through a little lane to the churchyard
and stood by the plat of ground that
contains his grave with those of his pa
rents and his brother. His grave is
worthy ol a philosopher. A plain up
right stone with a simple inscription
upon it, and the green turf above him,
spangled by fragile white English dai
sies. that is all. Is it not enough?
While wa waited at the little station
for the train going South, other pas
sengers began to assemble. Among
them was a hale, hearty old man with
a genial countenance and merry eyes,
accompanied by liis sweet faced wife.
1 ventured a few inqueries about the
country around, and lie was exceeding
ly kind, poiniing out to me the distin
guishing features of the landscape and
g-tve me much laluuble information.
We became good friends before the
term of waiting was over and when we
parted at Annan I felt that I was part
ing from an old acquaintances not from
strangers, and that life was richer for
this experience of the large-hearted
liberality and cordiality of Scotish
hearts.
As we crossed the border into Cum
berland there rose upon our view the
the soft and rounded peaks that guard
the inner sanctuary of the English
Lakes. The scenery of the English Lake
District is h trifle less magnificent than
that of Scotland, but certainly not less
beautiful. The ruggedness that dis-
tinguishes the mountainous region of
Scotland gives place to softened curves
and rounded declivities where glimpses
ot scarred cliffs but partly veiled by
mosses and vines, prevents the monot
ony of a too perfect beauty.
Our first stopping place was Keswick
where from the summit of Castle Head
we obtained a magnificent view of Der
went Water with its wooded islets and
its rampart of p'ike and fell,
while a short walk in an opposite
direction took us over the Greta,
past Greta Hall, Southey’s old
home, to the little church of Crostli-
waite where the poet lies buried, and
where there is a very a beautiful memo
rial, a recumbent figare in the repose
of slumber with a half open volume
dropping from his relaxing hands.
But to me the most enjoyable expe
dition was that whicli we made next
morning to the falls of Lodore, made
famous by Southey’s well known jingle.
The path to Lodore is easy enough and
charming enough for tiie transcient vis
itor, but a greater pleasure at the ex
pense of more time and labor was ours,
a visit to high Lodore. The way was
pointed out to us, a scarcely discerni
ble footpath that led up a steep and
rugged hillside, lost now and then in a
tangle of fern and bracken, renppearirig
as a hoof-track, then lost again in tlia
bare rocks. It was a long and bard
climb and when we stood at length on
the crest, tired and breathless, there
was neither sight nor sound ot High
Lodore. We thought we had missed
the way and were debating the feasi
bility of retracing our footsteps, when
as a final experiment we crossed a lit
tle grass-grown hollow between the hills
to tv wooded psak beyond an 1 caught
Royal makes the food pure,
wholesome and dellcleat.
POWDER
Absolutely Pur*
rovsl baking rowpca co., mw you*.'
amid the sough of the wind the
murmur of falling water. Plunging
through the heather and bracken we
entered the wood and there before us
was High Lodore, leaping and slipping
with many a silver ripple,and foam-
crested wave down the wooded gorge
till it was lost to sight in the shadowy
depths below.
Saturday we arrived at Winder-
mere. Shull I ever forget the two
days we spent there? I think not.
We saw the country as every one
should see it, not from the top of a
coach but afoot. Through the woods
of Elleray we climbed to Orrest Head,
and there the glorious panorama em
bracing the southern Imlf of the Lake
•onntry spread itself before us in *
vivid succession of green valleys, shin
ing lakes, picturesque villages and
mountain peaks. Next we walked to
Bowness and, sitting on the pier watch--
ed the pleasure boats rocking idly on
the mirror-like lake, and the throng of
pleasure-seekers wandering to and fro.
Then there was that walk to Amble-
side and to Rydal Mount, Wordworth’s
Home, to Rydal Water, and Rydal
Hull, where Coleridge lived for awhile
and last but not least to Grasmere.
There is u modest cottage on the side
of a steep by-street where the poet
spent much of his lifetime and not far
away is the old grey church where lie
is buried.
It was a Sabbath afternoon when we
stepped within the walls of Grasmere
church. The door .stood ajar and the
•'unlight streamed over the door-stone,
hut the services were over and the
worshippers had dispersed. We sat
down oil one of the benches and a deep
and holy silence fell upon us. There
is a tablet on the wall to the poet’s
memory, but lie does*not sleep within
its walls, a yet holier resting place is
his. In the churchyard near the boun
dary wall is a plain stone that records
his life and death, the grass is green
above him, the dew and the sunshiM
fall. Upon him and the wild flowers
spring up to beautify his lowly grave.
It is better so, it is fitting that nature’s
poet should pillow his head on nature’s
bosom and that nature herself should
utter both his requiem and his eulogy.
In closing this series of letters I am
conscious of a feeling of sketchiness and
incompleteness, hut I hope I have giv
en a lew moments of entertainment to
some of my Milledgeville friends. In
writing to a Milledgeville paper I have
not felt that I was writing for a circle
ot critics, keen to note defects, rath-
er I have felt that I was #address
ing a circle ot friends ready to par
don all short comings, and with a
personal interest in the writer sufficient
to excuse all deficiencies. Overflow
ing as my own cup ot happiness has
been this golden summer, I have hoped
that I might share with my friends at
home, and it I have added in the small
est degree to the entertainment or
pleasure of a single individual, I shall
teel amply repaid for the effort
I shall soon see my friends again,
and until thut time I will close with
®ie old atlbctinato German greeting
—“Atif wiedersehn.”
Julia A. Fmsch.
® e * t , s tfc® Klondike.
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