Newspaper Page Text
I SIW L\ SCARLCT.
By A. CONAN DOYLE.
PART ONE.
[Being a reprint from the reminiscences
of John 11. Watson, M. D., late of the
army medical department]
PART TWO.
[The Country of the Saints.]
CHAPTER I.
In tho central portion cf the great i
North American continent there lies an i
arid and repulsive desert, which fcr '
many a long year served as a barrier '
against the advance of civilization ,
From tho Sirra Nevada to Ni hr.-.: l.a
and from the Yellowstone river in the :
north to the Colorado upon the south
is a region cf desolation and silence.
Nor is nature always in one mood
throughout this grim district. It com
prises snow capped and lofty mountains
and dark and gloomy valleys. There are
swift flowing rivers which dash through
jagged canyons, and there arsen rmous
plains which in winter are white with
enow and in summer are gray with the
saline alkali dust. They all preserve,
however, the common characteristics of
barrenness, inhospitality and misery.
There are no inhabitants of this land
of despair. A band cf Pawnees or of
Blackfect may occasionally traverse it in
order to reach other hunting grounds,
but tho hardiest of the braves are glad
to lose sight of those awesome plains
and to find themselves once more upon
their prairies. The coyote skulks among
the scrub, the buzzard flaps heavily
through the air, and tho clumsy grizzly
bear lumbers through the dark ravines
and picks up such sustenance as it can
among the rocks. These are the sole
dwellers in the wilderness.
In the whole world there can be no
more dreary view than that from the
northern slope of the Sierra Blanco. As
far as tho eye can reach stretches the
great flat plain land, all dusted over
with patches of alkali and intersected by
clumps of the dwarfish chaparral bushes.
On the extreme verge of the horizon lie
a long chain of mountain peaks, with
their rugged summits flecked with snow.
In this great stretch of country there is
no sign of life nor of anything apper
taining to life. There is no bird in the
steel blue heaven, no movement upon
the dull, gray earth. Above all, there is
absolute silence. Listen as one may,
there is no shadow of a sound in all that
mighty wilderness. Nothing but silence
—complete and heart subduing silence.
It has been said there is nothing ap
pertaining to life upon the broad plain.
That is hardly true. Looking down from
the Sierra Blanco one sees a pathway
traced ont across the desert, which
winds away and is lost in the extreme
distance. It is rutted with wheels and
trodden down by the feet cf many adven
turers. Her® and there are scattered
white objects which glisten in tho sun
and stand out against tho dull deposit of
alkali. Approach and examine them!
They are bones. Some large and coarse,
others smaller and mere delicate. The
former have belonged to oxen and the
latter to men. For 1,500 miles one may
trace this ghastly caravan route by the
scattered remains of those who had fallen
by the wayside.
Looking down on this very scene,
there stood upon the 4th cf May, 1847,
a solitary traveler. His appearance was
such that he might have been the very
genius or demon of the region. An ob
server would have found it difficult to
say whether he was nearer to 40 or 60.
His face was lean and haggard, and the
brown, parchmentlike skm was drawn
tightly over the projecting bones; his
long, brown hair and beard were all
flecked and dashed with white; his eyes
were sunken in his bead and burned
with an unnatural luster, while the
hand which grasped his rifle was hardly
more fleshy than that of a skeleton.! As
he stood, he leaned upon bis weapon'for
support, and yet his tall figure and the
massive framework of his bones suggest
ed a wiry and vigorous constitution. His
gaunt face, however, and his clothes,
which hung so baggily over his shriv
eled limbs, proclaimed what it was ’hat
gave him that senile and decrepit ap
pearance. The man was dying—dying
from hunger and from thirst.
He had toiled painfully down the
ravine and on to this little elevation
in the vain hope of seeing some signs of
water. Now the great salt plain stretch
ed before his eyes, and the distant belt
of savage mountains, without a sign
anywhere of plant or tree, which might
indicate the presence of moisture. In all
that broad landscape there was no gleam
of hope. North and east and west he
looked with wild, questioning eyes, and
then he realized that his wanderings
had come to an end, and that there, on
that barren crag, he was about to die.
“Why not here as well as in a feather
bed 20 years hence?” he muttered as
he seated himself in the shelter of a
bowlder.
Before sitting down he had deposited
upon the ground his useless rifle, and
also a large bundle tied up in a gray
shawl, which be had carried slung over
his right shoulder. It appeared to be
somewhat too heavy for his strength,
for. in lowering it, it came down on the
ground with some little violence. In
stantly there broke from the gray parcel
a little moaning cry, and from it there
protruded a small, seared face, with
very bright brown eyes,and twospeckled
dimpled fists,
“You’ve hurt me!’’ said a childish
voice reproachfully.
“Have I, though?” the man answer
ed penitently. “I didn't gc for to do
it ” As he spoke he unwrappe l the gray
shawl and extricated a pretty little girl
of about 5 years of age, whese dainty
shoes and smart pink frock, with its lit
tle linen apron, all bespoke a mother’s
care. The child was pale and wan, but
her healthy arms and legs showed that
she had suffered Ices than her compan
ion.
“How is it now?” ho answered anx
iously, for she was still rubbing the
towty golden curls which covered the
back of her head.
“Kiss it and make it well,” she said,
with perfect gravity, shoving the in
jured part up to him. “That’s what
mother used to do. Where’s mother?”
“Mother’s gone. I guess you’ll see
her before long. ”
“Gone, eh?” said the little girl.
“Funny she didn’t say goodby. She
’most always did if she was just goin
over to auntie’s fcr tea, and now she’s
been away for three days. Say, it’s aw
ful dry, ain’t it? Ain’t there no water j
nor nothin to eat?”
“No, there ain’t nothing, dearie.
You'll just need to be patient awhile, •
and then you’ll be all right. Put your
hand up agin me like that, and then
you’ll feel better. It ain’t easy to talk
win n your lips is like leather, but 1
gui : s I'd best let you know how the
cards lie. What’s that you’ve got?”
“Pretty things! Fine things!” cried
ti e little girl enthusiastically, holding |
up two glittering fragments cf mica. \
“When we goes back to home, I’ll give ;
them to Brother Bob. ”
“You’ll see prettier things than them
soon,” said the man confidently. “You
just wait a bit 1 was goin to ti ll you,
thftugh—you remember when wa left
the river?”
“Oh, yes.”
“We!!, wo reckoned we’d strike an- i
other river scon, d’ye see? But there |
was somethin wrong, compasses or i
manor somethin, and it didn't turnup. I
Water ran out, just era pt a little drop
for the likes of you, and—and”—
“And yon couldn’t wash yourself, ” ,
interrupted his comprmion gravely, star- i
ing up at his grimy visage.
“No, nor drink. And Mr. Bender, he '
was the first to go, ar.fi then Indian ;
Pete, and then Mrs. McGregor, an.l then i
Johnny Hones, and then, dearie, your |
mother. ”
“Then mother’s a deader, too,” cried !
the little girl, dropping her face in her I
pinafore and sobbing bitterly.
“Yes, they all went except you and ,
mo. Then I thought there was some |
chance of water in this direction, so I
heaved you over my shoulder, and we '
tramped it together. It don’t seem as
thou . h we’ve improved matters. There’s
an almighty small chance for us now!”
“Do you mean that we are goin to
die, too?” asked tho child, checking her
sobs and raising her tear stained face.
“I guess that’s about tho size of it. ”
“Why didn’t you say so before?” she
said, laughing gleefully. “You gave me
such a fright. Why, cf course, now c.s I
long as we die wo’ll be with mother !
again.”
“Yes, you will, dearie.”
“And you to. I'll tell her how awful
good you’ve been. I’ll bet she meets us
at the doer cf heaven with a big pitcher I
of water and a lot cf buckwheat cakes, I
hot and toasted on both sides, like Bob !
and me was fond of. How long will it I
be first?”
“I don’t know—not very long. ” The i
man’s eyes were fixed upon the northern
horizon. In the bluo vault of the heaven
there appeared three little specks, which
increr . d in size every moment, so rap- .
idly did they approach. They speedily
resolved themselves into three large i
brown birds, which circled over tho
heads of the two wanderers and then
settled upon some rocks which over
looked them. They were buzzards, the
vultures cf tho west, whoso coming is
the f< rerunner of death.
“Cocks and hens,’’cried the little |
girl gleefully, pointing at their ill !
omened forms and clapping her hands
i to make them rise. “Say, did God make
I this country?”
“In course he did,” said the compan
ion, rather startled by this unexpected :
■ question.
“Ho made the country down in Illi-
I nois, an ho made the Missouri,” the lit
tle girl continued. “I guess somebody
: else macle tho country in these parts. It’s I
not nearly so well done. They forgot :
the water and the trees. ”
“What would yo think of offering up
prayer?” the man asked diffidently.
“It ain’t night yet,” she answered.
“It don’t matter. It ain’t quite reg
ular, but he won’t mind that, you bet. :
( You say over them ones that you used to
say every night in the wagon when we
was on the plains.”
“Why don’t you say some yourself?” I
the child asked, with wondering eye.
“I disremember them, ” he answered.
“I hain’t said none since I was half the
height o’ that gun. I guess it’s never
too late. You say them out. and I’ll
stand by and come in on the choruses.”
“Then you'll need to kneel down, and
me, too, ” she said, laying the shawl out
for that purpose. “You’ve got to put
your hands up like this. It makes you
feel kind cf good. ”
It was a strange sight, bad there been
anything but the buzzards to see it. Side
by side on the narrow shawl knelt the
two wanderers, the little prattling child
and the reckless, hardened adventurer.
, Her chubby face and his haggard, an-
I gular visage were both turned up to the
I cloudless heaven in heartfelt entreaty to
I that dread being with whom they were
face to face, while the two voices—the
one thin and clear, the other deep and
harsh—united in the entreaty for mercy
and forgiveness. The prayer finished,
they resumed their scat in the shadow
cf the bowlder, until the child fell
asleep, nestling upon the broad breast cf
her protector. He watched over her
slumber for some time, but nature provexl
to be too strong for him. For three days
and three nights he had allowed him
self neither rest nor repose. Slowly the
eyelids drooped over the tired eyes, and
the head sunk lower and lower upon the
breast until the man's grizzled beard
was mixed with the golden tresses of his
couipauion. and both slept the same deep
and dreamless slumber.
Had the wanderer remained awake
fcr another half hour a strange sight
world have met his eyes. Far away on
the extreme verge of the alkali plain
tnero ruse up a htti-a spray <r uwst, my
slight at first and hardly to be distin
guished from the mists of tho distance, ,
but gradually growing higher and
broader until it formed a solid, veil de
fined cloud. This cloud continued to in
crease in size until it became evident
that it could only be raised by a great
multitr de of moving creatures. In more
fertile spots the observer would have
come to the conclusion that oneef those
great herds of bisor.s wlm h graze upon
the prairie land was appr< .-ehing him.
This was obviously impossible intth e e
arid wilds. As the whirl of dust drew
nearer to the solitary bluff upon which
the two castaways were reposing the
canvas covered tilts cf wagons and the
figures of armed horsemen began to show
up through the haze, and the apparition
revealed itself as bciug a great caravan
upon its journey for the west. But what
■ a caravan! When the head of it had
reached the base of the mountains, the
rear was not yet visible on the horizon.
Right aero.-:.-; the enormous plain stretch
ed the straggling array, wagons and
carts, men on horseback and men on
foot, innumerable women who stag
gered along under burdens and children
who toddled beside the wagons ar peep
’ cd out from under the white coverings.
; This was evidently no ordinary party of
! immigrants, but rather some nomad peo
i pie who had been compelled from stress
of circumstances to seek themselves a
| new country- There rose through the
clear air a confused clattering and rum
bling from this great mass of humanity
with the creaking of wheels the
neighing horses. Loud as it wo it was
n t sufficient to rouse the tv, tired
wayfmers above them.
A.t the head of the column there rode
a score or mere of grave, iron faced
j men, clad in somber, homespun gar
ments and armed with rifles On reach
| ing tho base of the bluff they halted and
! held a short council among themselves.
| “The-wells are to the right, mybroth
ers, ” said one, a hard lipped, clean
i shaven man with grizzly hair.
“To the right of the Sierra Blanco, so
we shall reach the Rio Grande, ” said
another.
“Fear not for water!” cried a third.
“Ho who could draw it from the rocks
will not now abandon his own chosen
I people. ”
“Amen, amen!” responded the whole
party. They were about to resume their
journey when one of the youngest and
keenc st eyed uttered an exclamation and
pointed up at the rugged crag above
them. From its summit there fluttered
a little wisp of pink, showing up hard
and bright against the gray rocks be
hind. At the sight there was a general
reining up of horses and unslinging of
: guns, while fresh horsemen came gal-
I loping up to re-enforce the vanguard.
The word “redskins” was cn every lip.
“There can’t be any number of lujuns
here,” said the elderly man, who ap
peared to be in command. “We have
passed the Pawnees, and there are no
j other tribes until we cross the great
mountains. ”
“Shall I go forward and see, Brother
I Stangerson?” asked one of the band.
“And I?” “And I?” cried a dozen
voices.
“Leave your horses below, and we
will wait you here,” the elder answer
ed. In a moment the young fellowshad
dismounted, fastened their horses and
were ascending tho precipitous slope
which led up to the object which had
t excited their curiosity. They advanced
rapidly and noiselessly, with the confi
dence and dexterity of practiced scouts.
The watchers from the plain below could
see them flit from rock to rock until
their figures stood out against the sky
j line. The young man who had first
I given the alarm was leading them. Sud
denly his followers saw him throw up
his hands, as though overcome with as
tonishment, and on joining him they
were affected in the same way by the
sight which met their eyes.
On the little plateau which crowned
the barren hill there stood a single giant
bowlder, and against this bowlder there
lay a tall man, long bearded and hard
featured, but of an excessive thinness.
His placid face and regular breathing
showed that ho was fast asleep. Beside
him lay a little child, with her round
; white arms encircling his brown, sinewy
neck and her golden haired head resting
upon the breast of his velveteen tunio.
Her rosy lips were parted, showing the
regular line of snow white teeth within,
and a playful smile played over her in
fantile features. Her plump little white
j legs, terminating in white socks and neat
shoes, with shining buckles, offered a
strange contrast to the long, shriveled
members of her companion. On the
ledge of rock above this strange couple
there stood three solemn buzzards, who
at tho sight of the newcomers uttered
raucous screams of disappointment and
flapped sullenly away.
The cries of the foul birds awoke the
two sleepers, who stared about them in
bewilderment. The man staggered to his
feet and looked down upon the plain
which had been so desolate when sleep
had overtaken him and which was now
traversed by this enormous body of men
and of beasts. His face assumed an ex
pression of incredulity as he gazed, and
he passed his bony hand over his eyes.
“This is what they call delirium, 1
guess,” he muttered. The child stood
beside him, holding on to the skirt of
his coat, and said nothing, but looked
all around her with the wondering,
questioning gaze cf childhood.
The rescuing party were speedily able
to convince the two castaways that their
appearance was no delusion. One of
j them seized the little girl and hoisted
her upon his shoulder, while two others
supported her gaunt companion and as
' sisted him toward the wagons.
“My name is John Ferrier,” the
wanderer explained. “Me and that lit
tle un are all that’s left o’ 21 people.
The rest is all dead o’ thirst and hunger
away down in the south. ”
“Is she your child?” asked some one.
“I guess she is now!” the other cried
defiantly; “she’s mine ’cause I saved
her. No man will take her away from
me. She’S Lucy Ferrier from this day
on. Who are you, though?” he con-
; tinned, glancing with curiosity at his
! stalwart, sunburned rescuers. “There ■
| seems to baa powerful lot o' ye. ”
“Nigh upon 10,0u0, ” said one of the j
young men. “We are the persecuted !
children of God, tho chosen cf the angel
Meron a. ”
“1 never heard tell cn him,” said
the wanderer. “Ho appears to have
chosen a fair crowd o’ ye.”
“Do not jest nt that which is sacred,”
said tho other sternly. “We are of those ;
who believe in th.os-3 sacred writings
drawn in Egyptian letters on plates of
beaten gold, which were handed unto
the holy Joseph Smith at Palmyra. We
have come from Nauvoo, in tho state of
Illinois, where we had founded our tem- ;
pie. We have come to seek a refuge
from the violent man and from the god
less, even though it be the heart of the
desert. ’ ’
Tho name cf Nauvoo evidently re
called recollections to John Ferrier. “I
seo, ” ho said. “Ye are the Mormons.”
“We are the Mormons,” answered
his companions with one voice.
; “And where are ye going?”
“We do not know. The hand of God
is leading us under the person cf our
prophet. You must come before him.
He shall say what is to be done with
! sou. ”
They had reached tho base cf the hill
oy this time and were surrounded by
crowds of the pilgrims, pale faced, meek
looking women, strong, laughing chil
dren and anxious, earnest eyed men.
Many were the cries of astonishfnent
snd of commiseration which arose from
them when they perceived the youth of
: me of the strangers and the destitution
j if the other. Their escort did not halt,
rowever, but pushed on, followed by a
great crowd of Mormons, until they
i reached a wagon, which was conspicu
ras for its groat size and for the gaudi
i uess and smartness of its appearance.
Six horses were yoked to it, whereas the
others were furnished with two or at
most four apiece.
Beside the driver there sat a man who
' jould not have been more than 30 years
of age, but whose massive head and res
! olute expression marked him as a lead
: sr. He was reading a brown backed
rolume, but as the crowd approached
ha laid it aside and listened attentively
to an account of the episode. Then he
turned to the two castaways.
( “If we take you with us, ”he said in
solemn wor Is, “it can only bo as believ
’ ers in our own creed. We shall have
no wolves in our fold. Better far that
your bones should bleach in this wilder
ness than that you should prove to be
I that little speck of decay which in time
i corrupts the whole fruit. Will you come
! with us on these terms?”
“Guess I’ll come with ye on any
| terms,” said Ferrier, with such em
phasis that the grave elders could not
■ restrain a smile. The leader alone re
-1 tained his stern, impressive expression.
“Take him, Brother Stangerson,” ho
said. “Give him food and drink, and
: the child likewise. Let it be your task
’ also to teach him our holy creed. We
have delayed long enough. Forward!
On, on to Zion!”
“On, on to Zion!” cried the crowd of
Mormons, and tho words rippled down
the long caravan, passing from mouth
to mouth until they died away in a dull
murmur in the far distance. With a
cracking of whips and a creaking of
wheels the great wagon got into mo
tion, and soon the whole caravan was
winding along once more. The elder to
whose care the two waifs had been com
mitted led them to his wagon, where a
meal was already awaiting them.
“You shall remain here,” he said.
“In a few days you shall have recovered
from your fatigues. In the meantime
remember that now and forever you are
of our religion. Brigham Young has
said it, and he has spoken with the
voice of Joseph Smith, which is the
voice of God. ’’
CHAPTER 11.
This is not tho place to commemorate
the trials and privations endured by the
immigrant Mormons before they came
to their final haven. From the shores of
the Mississippi to the western slopes of
the Rocky mountains they had strug
gled on with a constancy almost unpar
alleled in history. The savage man and
the savage beast, hunger, thirst, fatigue
and disease, every impediment which
nature could place in the way, had all
been overcome with Anglo-Saxon tenaci
ty. Yet the long journey and the accu
mulated terrors had shaken the hearts
of the stoutest among them. There was
not one who did not sink upon his knees
in heartfelt prayer when they saw the
broad valley of Utah bathed in the sun
light beneath them and learned from
the lips of their leader that thia was the
promised land, and that these virgin
acres were to be theirs forevermore.
Young speedily proved himself to be
a skillful administrator as well as a res
olute chief. Maps were drawn and
charts prepared in which the future city
was sketched out. All around farms
were apportioned and allotted in pro
portion to the standing of each individ
ual. The tradesman was put to his trade ■
and the artisan to his calling. In the
town streets and squares sprang up as if :
by magic. In the country there were !
draining and hedging, planting and i
clearing, until the next summer saw I
the whole country golden with the
wheat crop. Everything prospered in
the strange settlement. Above all, the
great temple which they had erected in
i the center of the city grew ever taller
and larger. From the first blush of
dawn until the closing of the twilight
the clatter of the hammer and the rasp
, of the saw were never absent from the
monument which the immigrants erect
ed to Him who had led them safe through
i many dangers.
The two castaways, John Ferrier and I
the little girl who had shared his for-
■ tunes and had been adopted as his daugh-'
ter, accompanied the Mormons to the
end of their great pilgrimage. Little
Lucy Ferrier was borne along pleasantly
enough in Elder Stangerson’s wagon, a
retreat which she shared with the Mor
mon’s three wives and with his son, a
headstrong, forward boy of 12. Having
i
CHAPTER 11.
rallied, with the elasticity of childhood,
from tho shock caused by her mother’s
death, she scon became a pot with the
women and reconciled herself to this |
new life in her moving canvas covered
home. In the meantime, Ferrier, having
recovered fifom his privations, distin
guished himlself as a useful guide and
an indefatigable hunter. So rapidly did
he gain the esteem es his new compan- ■
ions that when they reached tho end of ;
their wanderings it was unanimously
agreed that he should be provided with !
as large and as fertile a tract of land as
any of the settlers, with the exception ;
of Young himself and of Stangerson,
Kimball, Johnston and Diebber, who
were the four principal elders.
On the farm thus acquired John Fer
rier built himself a substantial loghouse,
which received so many additions in
succeeding years that it grew into a
roomy villa. Ho was a man of a prac
tical turn of mind, keen in his dealings,
skillful with his hands. His iron con
stitution enabled him to work morning
and evening at improving and tilling
his lands. Hence it came about that his
farm and all that belonged to him pros
pered exceedingly. In three years he
was better oil than his neighbors, in six
he was well to do, in nine he was rich,
and in twelve there were not half a dozen
men in the whole of Salt Lake City i
who could compare with him. From the
groat inland sea to the distant Wahsatch ■
mountains there was no name better
known than that of tohn Ferrier.
There was one way, and only one, in
which ho offended the susceptibilities of
his co-religionists. No argument or per
suasion could ever induce him to set up a
female establishment, after tho manner of
his companions. He never gave reasons
for this persistent refusal, but contented i
himself by resolutely and inflexibly ad
hering to his determination. There were j
some who accused him of lukewarmness
in his adopted religion and others who
put it down to greed cf wealth and re
luctance to incur expense. Others, again,
spoke of some early love affair and of
a fair haired girl who had pined away
on the shores of the Atlantic. Whatever
the reason, Ferrier remained strictly cel
ibate. In every other respect ho con
formed to tho religion of the young set
tlement and gained the name of being
an orthodox and straight walking man.
Lucy Ferrier grew up ' ’ithin the log
house and assisted her adopted father in
all his undertakings. The keen air of
the mountains and the balsamic odor of
the pine trees took the place of nurse and
mother to the young girl. As year suc
ceeded to year she grew taller and
stronger, her cheek more ruddy and her
step more elastic. Many a wayfarer upon
the highroad which ran by Ferrier’s
farm felt long forgotten thoughts revive
in his mind as he watched her lithe,
girlish figure tripping through the
wheatfields or met her mounted upon
her father’s mustang and managing it
with all the ease and grace of a true
child of the west. So the bud blossom
ed into a flower, and the year which saw
her father the richest of tho farmers
left her as fair a specimen of American
girlhood as could be iound in the whole
Pacific slope.
It was not tho father, however, who
first discovered that the child had de
veloped into the woman. It seldom is
in such cases. That mysterious change
is too subtle and too gradual to be meas
ured by dates. Least of all does the
maiden herself know it until the tone
of a' voice or the touch of a hand sets
her heart thrilling within her, and she
learns, with u mixture of pride and of
fear, that a new and larger nature has
awakened within her. There are few
who can not recall that day and remem
ber the one little incident which herald
ed the dawn of a new life. In the case
of Lucy Ferrier the occasion was serious
enough in itself, apart from its future
influence on her destiny and that of
many besides.
It was a warm June morning, and the
Latter Day Saints were as busy as the
bees whose hive they had chosen for their
emblem. In the fields and in the streets
rose the same hum of human industry.
Down the dusty highroads defiled long
streams of heavily laden mules, all head
ing to the west, for the gold fever had
broken out in California, and the over
land route lay through the city of the
elect. There, too, were droves of sheep
and bullocks coining in from the outly
ing pasture lauds and trains of tired im
migrants, men and horses equally
weary of their interminable journey.
Through all this motley assemblage,
threading her way with the skill of an
accomplished rider, there galloped Lucy
Ferrier, her fair face flushed with the
exercise and her long chestnut hair float
ing out behind her. She had a commis
sion from her father in the city and was
dashing in as she had done many a time
before with all the fearlessness of youth,
thinking only of her task and how it
was to be performed. The travel stained
adventurers gazed after her in astonish
ment, and even the unemotional Indians,
journeying in with their peltry, relaxed
their accustomed stoicism as they mar
veled at the beauty of the pale faced
maiden
[continued ]
isxcnetnent.
“Terrible excitement in the curio
hall!”
“Yes?”
“Yes, somebody yelled fire, and
the two headed girl lost both of
them.”
The laughing hyena, having an
acute sense of the absurd, thought
be wouldn’t do a thing but die.—De
troit Tribune.
Chess and Latin.
Rousseau, the famous author of
“Emile, ” was exceedingly fond of
ahess, and in one cf his books inti
mates that be considered it of more
educational value than Latin, but as
be knew little Latin and much chess
be wotejd naturally be disposed to
exaggerate the value of the amuse
ment. —London Queen.
PROFESSIONAL.
DR. J. T. KOAN.
Office in Hollis & Hinton Block.
SUMMERVILLE GA.
lam prepared to treat Rupture,
Hemorrhoids, Fistula in Auo, without
ligai ure or knife or drawing blood.
My operations are quite painless.
Consultation free.
a7l murphy,”
Jeweler.
MENLO, GEORGIA
Repairing a specialty. All work
neatly and cheaply executed and satis
faction guaranteed. Give me a call.
, 11. J. -AIINOL D
Dentist,
LaFayettc, - - Ga
Does first class Dental work of all
kinds. Will visit Trion once a month
WESLEY SHROPSHIRE,
Attorney-at-L aw
Summerville, - - Ga
W. It. ENNIS. J. W
ENNIS & STARLING
Atto r ney s-at-L aw.
MASONIC TEMPLE.
ROME, - - - GA.
Will practice in all the courts of
north Georgia.
T. J. llairiis,
LAWYER,
Summerville, Ga.
T. S. Brown,
Dentist.
1 iffice over Hollis & Hinton’s store
Sui-imerville, Ga. All Dental opera
tions neatly performed aud work guar
anteed. Prices reasonable.
C. L. ODELL
Attorney at
SUMMERY!
Strict to all business
ntrusted to my carer
a
f i I fib,
Western & Atlantic R e R.
(BATTLEFIELDS LINE)
AND- r
Nashville, Chattanooga & St.
Louis Railway
CHATTANOOGA,
NASHVILLE,
CINCINNATI,
CHICAGO,
MEMPHIS ano
LOUIS.
PIJLLMaN PALACE BLTriT SLEEPING cars
JACKSONVILLE and ATLANTA
.. TO ..
NASHVILLE and ST. LOUIS,
THROUGH WITHOUT CHANGE.
Local Sleepers between Atlanta and Chat-
tanooga.
Cheap Emigrant Rates to Arkansas and
Texas.
Excursion Tickets to California and Col
orado Resorts.
For Maps, Folders, Sleeping Car Reser ret ion and
any in forma lion about Rates, Scheduler, eto,
write or apply to
C. B. .WALKER, J. A.TKCMAS,
Ticket Ageiit, i j, t.et Agent.
L.-uca No. 3 Kiinr-ai! Hoi se
AILViTA, GA.
C. K. AYER, J. L. EIiMe.'OSOW, I.P.A.
Trcket AgenL Guttaeiooga.
Rome, Git. lenn.
JOS. M. BROWN, Cfl'-x. E. H 4 &MAN.
Trerftc
- —-■■ ■
iiu kie.n’s Arnica Salve.
lhe Best Salve in the world for
Cuts, Bruises, Sores, Ulcers, Salt
libeuni, hover Sores, Tetter
Chapped Hands, Chilians. Corns
and all Skin Eruptions, and posi
tively cures Piles or no pay re
quired It is guaranteed to give
perfect satisfaction, or money re
funded. Price 25cents per box.
for sale by H. H. Arrington.
Ripans Tabulee: gentle cathartic, 'v.