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DARK DAYS BY HUGH CONWAY. r Author of “Called Back." CHAPTER L A PRATER AND A VOW. When this story of rny life, or of such por tions of my life as present any out-of-the- Common features, is read, it will be found that I have committed errors of judgment— that I have sinned not only socially, but also against the law of the land. In excuse I can plead but two things—the strength of love, the weakness of human nature. If these carry no weight with you, throw the book aside. You are too good for me; I am too human for you. We cannot be friends. Read no further. I need say nothing about my childhood; noth'ng about my boyhood. Let me hurry on to early manhood—-to that time when the wonderful dreams of youth begin to leave one; when tho impulse which can drive so ber reason aside must be, indeed, a strong one; when one has learned to count the cost of every rash step; when the transient and fitful flames of the boy have settled down to a steady, glowing fire which will burn until only ashes are left; when the strength, the nerve, the intellect, is or should be nt its height; when, in short, one’s years number thirty. Yet. what was I then! A soured, morose, disappointed mgn; without ambition, with out care for the morrow; without a goal or object in life. Breathing, eating, drinking, as by instinct. Rising in the morning, and wishing the day was over; lying down at night, and caring little whether the listless eyes I closed might open again or not. And why? Ah! to know why you must si,t with me as I sit lonely over my glowing fire onb winter night You must read my thoughts; the pictures of my past must rise before you as they rise before me. My sor row, my hate, my love must be yours. You must, indeed, be my very self. You m;y begin this retrospect with tri umph. You may go back to the day when, after having passed my examination with high honors, I, Basil North, was duly en titled to write M. D. after my name, and set to work to win fame and fortune by doing my best toward relieving the suffer ings of my fellow creatures. You may say, as 1 said then, as I say now, “A noble career; a life full of interest and useful ness. ” You may see me full of hope and courage, and ready for any amount of hard work; settling down in a large provincial town, resolved to beat out a practice for myself. You may see how, after the usual initiatory struggles, my footing gradually grew firmer; how my name became familiar; how at last I seemed to be in a fairway of win ning success. You may see how for a while a dream brightene I my life; how that dream faded and left gloom in its place. You may see the woman I loved. No, I am wrong. Her you cannot see. Only I myself can see Philippa as I saw her then—as I see her now. Philippa as I saw her then—as I see her now. Heavens! how fair she was! How glorious her rich, dark beauty! How different from the pink-white and yellow dolls whom I have seen exalted as the types of perfection! Warm Southern blood ran through her veins and tinged her clear brown cheek with color. Her mother was an English woman; but it was Spain that gave her daughter that exquisite grace, those won drous dark eyes and long, curled lashes, that mass of soft black hair, that passionate, impulsive nature, and perhaps that queen like carriage and dignity. The English mother may have given the girl many good gifts, but her beauty camo from the father,' whom she never known; the Andalusian, who died while she was but a child in arms. Yet, in spite of her foreign grace, Philippa was English. Her Spanish origin was to her but a tradition. Her foot had never touched her father’s native land. Its lan guage was strange to her. She was born in England, and her father, the nature of whose occupation I have not been able to ascertain, seems to have spent most of his time in this country. When did I learn to love her? Ask me, rather, when did we first meet? Even then, as my eyes fell upon the girl, I knew, as by revelation, that foratne life and her love meant one and the same thing. Till that moment there was no woman in the world the sight of whom would have quickened my pulse by a beat. I had read and heard of such love as this. I had laughed at it. There seemed no room for such an engross ing passion in my busy life. Yet all at once I loved as man has never loved before; and ' as I sit to-night and gaze into the fire I tell myself that the objectless life I am leading is the only one possible for the man who loved but failed to win Philippa. Our first meeting was brought about in the most prosaic way. Her mother, who suf fered from a chronic disease, consulted me professionally. My visits, first those of a doctor, soon became those of a friend, and I was free to woo the girl to the best of my ability, Philippa and her mother lived in a small house on the outskirts of tho town. They . wjp ere not rich people, but bad enough to keep i fthe pinch of poverty from their lives. The I mother was a sweet, quiet, ladylike , f woman, who bore her sufferings - with resignation. Her health was, indeed, wretched. The only thing Which seemed likely to benefit her was a continual change of air and scene. After attending her for about six months, I was in conscience bound to indorse the opinion of her former medical advisers, and tell her ( it would be well for her to try arioth ar - change. fl My heart was heavy as I gave this al f vice. If adopted, it meant that Philippa [ and I must part. THE SAVANNAH DAILY TIMES, WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 24, 1884. DU" way, during those six months, had I not, passionately in love as I was, won the young girl’s heart? Why did she not leave ms as my alllanced bride! Why did 1 let her leave me at all? The answer is short She loved me not Not that she had ever told me so in word* had never asked bar in words for her love. But she must have known—she must have known! When I was with her, every look, every action of mine must have told her the truth. Women are not fools or blind. A man, loving as I did,{who can conceal the true state of his feelings must be more than mortal. I had not spoken; I dared not speak. Bet ter uncertainty with hope than certainty with despair. The day on which Philippa refused my love would be as the day of death to me. Besides, what had Ito offer her! Although succeeding fairly well for a beginner, at present I could only ask the woman I made my wife to share comparative poverty. And Philippa! Ah! 1 would have wrapped Phil ippa in luxury! All that wealth could buy ought to be hers. Had you seen her in the glory of her fresh young beauty, you would have smiled at the presumption of the man who could expect such a being to become the wife of a hard working and as yet ill paid doctor. You would have felt that she should have had the world at her feet. Had I thought that she loved me I might perhaps have dared to hope she would even then have been happy as my wife. But she did not love me. Moreover, she was ambi tious. She knew—small blame to her—how beau tiful she was. Do I wrong her when I say that in those days she looked for the gift of rank and riches from the man who loved her? She knew that she was a queen among women, and expected a queen’s dues. (Sweetest, are my words cruel? They are the cruelest I have spoken, or shall speak, against you. Forgive them!) We were friends—great frie ids. Such friendship is love’s bane. It buoys false hopes; it lulls to security; it leads astray; it is a staff which breaks suddenly, and wounds the hand which leans upon it. So little it seems to need to make friendship grow into love; and yet how seldom that little is added! The love which begins with hate or dislike is often luckier than that which begins with friendship. Lovers cannot be friends. Philippa and her mother left my neigh borhood. They went to London for awhile. I heard from them occasionally, and once or twice, when in town, called upon them. Time went by. I worked hard at my pro fession the While, striving, by sheer toil, to drive away the dream from my life. Alas! I strove in vain. To love Philippa was to love her forever! One morning a letter came from her. I tore it open. The news it contained was grievous. Her mother had died suddenly. Philippa was alone in the world. So far as I knew, she had not a relative left; and I be lieved, perhaps hoped, that, save myself, she had no friend. 1 needed no time for consideration. That afternoon I was in London. If I could not comfort her in her great sorrow I could at least sympathize with her; could undertake the management of the many business de tails which are attendant upon a death. Poor Philippa! She was glad to see me. Through her tears she flashed me a look of gratitude. I did all I could for her, and stayed in town urtil the funeral was over. Then I was obliged: to think of going home. What was to become of the girl? Kith or kin she had none, nor did she mention the name of any friend who would be willing to receive her. As I suspected, she was absolutely alone in the world. As soon as my back was turned she would have no one on whom she could count for sym pathy or help. It must have been her utter loneliness which urged me, in spite of my better judg ment, in spite of the grief which still oppress ed her, to throw myself at her feet and de clare the desire of my heart. My words I cannot recall, but I think—l know I pleaded eloquently. Such passion as mine gives power and intensity to the most unpracticed speaker. Yet long before my appeal was ended I knew that I pleaded in vain. Her eyes, her manner, told me she loved me not. Then, remembering her present helpless condition, I checked myself. I begged her to forget the words I had spoken; not to answer them now; to let me say them again in some months’ time. Let me stilitbe her friend, and render her such service as I could. She shook her head; she held out her hand. The first action meant the refusal of my love; the second, the acceptance of my friendship. I schooled myself to calmness, and we discussed her plans for the future. She was lodging in a house in a quiet, re spectable street near Regent’s Park. She expressed her intention of staying on here for awhile. “But alone!” I exclaimed. “Why not? What have Ito fear? Still, I am open to reason if you can suggest another plan." I could suggest no other. Philippa was past twenty-one and would at once succeed to whatever money had been her- mother’s. This was enough to live upon. She had no friends, and must live somewhere. Why should she not stay on at her present lodg ings? Nevertheless, I trembled as I thought of this beautiful girl all alone in London. Why could she not love me? Why could she not be my wife? It needed all my self restraint to keep me from breaking afresh into passionate ap;>eals. As she would not give me the right to dis pose of her future I could do nothing more. I bade her a sad farewell, then went back to my home to conquer my unhappy love, or to suffer from its tresh inroads. Conquer it! Such love as mine is never conquered. It is a man’s life. Philippa was never absent from my thoughts. Let my frame of mind be gay or grave, Philip pa was always present. Now and then she wrote to me, but her letters told me little as to her mode of life; they were short friendly epistles, and gave mo little hope. Yet I was not quite hopeless. I felt that I had been too hasty in asking her for her love so soon after her mother’s death. Let her recover from the shock; then I will try again. Three months was the time which in my own mind I resolved should elapse before I again approached her with words of love. Three months I How wearily they dragged themselves awayl Toward the end of my self-imposed term of probation I fancied that a brighter, gayer tone manifested itself in Philippa’s letters. Fool that I was, I augured well from this. Telling myself that such love as mine must win in the end, I went to London, and once more saw Philippa. She received me kindly. Although her garb was still that of deep mourning, never, I thought, had she looked more beautiful. Not long after our first greeting did 1 wait before I began to I plead again. She stopped me at the outset. I “Hush,” she said; “I have forgotten your j former words: let us still -■never r i cried passionately. “Philippa, i answer me once for all, tell me you can love i me!” ' She looked at me compassionately. “How can I best answer you?” she said musingly. “The sharpest remedy is perhaps the kind est. Basil, will you understand me when I say it is too late?" “Too late! What can you mean! Has another—” The words died on my lips as Philippa, drawing a ring Irian the fourth fingerof her loft hand, showed me that it concealed a plain gold <(> Ast Her eya-1 met mine im ploringly. “I should have told you before,” she said softly, and bending her proud head; “but there were reasons—even now I am pledged to tell no one. Basil, 1 only show you thii because I know you will take no other an swer." /Mwf® 1 \ Wk /lolrrii-Ai? / / *T n i 1! i I H L •' <Z^ 7 y r ' r ’ Too late! What can you mean? Hasan other ■” ■ I rose without a word. The rooni seemed > whirling around me. The only thing which . was clear to my sight was that cursed gold . band on the fair white hand—that symbol of t possession by another! In that moment hope ( and all the sweetness of life seemed swept away from me. Something in my face must have told her how her news affected me. She camo tc . me and laid her hand upon my arm. I trembled like a leaf beneath her touch. ’ She looked beseechingly into my lace. j “Oh, not like tha <!” she cried. “Basil, I I am not worth it. I should not have made j you happy. You will forget—you will find another. If I have wronged or misled you, [ say you forgive me. Lot me hoar you, my , true friend, wish me happiness.” I strove to force my dry lips to frame ( some conventional phrase. In vain! words would not come. I sank into a chair and covered my face with my hands. The door opened suddenly and a man en tered. He may have been about forty years of age. He was tall and remarkably hand some. He was dressed with scrupulous ’ care; but there was something written on ' his face which told me it was not the face of a good man. As I rose from my chair he glanced from me to Philippa with an air of suspicious inquiry. “Dr. North, an old friend of my piother’s and mine,” she said, with composure. “Mr. Farmer,” she added; and a rosy blush crept round her neck a« she indicated the new comer by the name which I felt sure was now also her own. I bowed mechanically. I made a few dis jointed remarks about the weather and kin dred topics; then I shook hands with Philippa and left the house, the most miser able man in England. Philippa married, and married secretly! How could her pride have stooped to a clan destine union? What manner of man was he who had won her? Heavens! he must be hard to please if he cared not to show his conquest to the light of day. Cur! sneak! coward! villain! Stay; he may have his own reasons for concealment—reasons known to Philippa and approved of by her. Not a word against her. She is still my queen; the one woman in the world to me. What she has done is right! I passed a sleepless night. In the morning 1 wrote to Philippa. I wished her all happi ness—l could command my pen, if not my tongue. I said no word about the secrecy of the wedding, or the evils so often conse quent to such concealment. But, with a fore boding of evil to come, I begged her to remem ber that we were friends; that, although I could see her no more, whenever she wanted a friend’s aid, a word would bring me to her side. I used no word of blame. I risked no expression of love or regret. No thought of my grief should jar upon the happiness which she doubtless expected to find. Farewell to the one dream of my life! Farewell, Philippa! Such a passion as mine may, in these matter-of-fact, un roman tic days, seem an anachronism. No matter whether to sym pathy or ridicule, I am but laying bare my true thoughts and feelings. I would not return to my home at once. I shrank from going back to my lonely hearth and beginning to eat my heart out. I had made arrangements to stay in town for some days, so I stayed, trying by a course of what is termed gayety to drive remembrance away. Futile effort! How many have tried the same reputed remedy without success! ! 1 I -v ■ J thrill ■ And this u her husband—Philippa's hus- : band? • Four days after my interview with Phil- ' ippa I was walking with a friend who knew ■ every ono in town. As wo passed the door of one of the most exclusive of the clubs 1 ! saw, standing on the steps talking to other , i men, the man whom I knew was Philippa’s husband. His taco was turned from me, so ‘ 1 I was able to direct my friend’s attention to him. “Who is that man?” I asked. “That man with the gardenia in his coat is Sir Mervyn Ferrand.” “Who is he! What is he? What kind of a man is lie?” “A baronet. Not very rich. Just about the usual kind of man you see on those steps. Very popular with the ladies, they tell me.” “Is he married!” “Heaven knows! I don’t I never heard of a Lady Ferrand, although there must be several who are morally entitled to use the designation. ” And this was her husband—Philippa’s husband! I clinched my teeth. Why had he mar ried under a false name? Or if she knew that name by which she introduced him to me was false, why was it assumed? Why bad the marriage been clandestine! Not only Sir Mervyn Ferrand, bat the noblest in the land should be proud of winning Philip pa! The more I thought of the matter the more wretched I grew. The drea 1 that she had been in some way deceived almost drove me mad. The thought of my proud, beauti ful queen some day finding herself humbled to the dust by a scoundrel’s deceit was an guish. What could I do? My first impulse was to demand an expla nation, then and there, from Sir Mervyn Ferrand. Yet I had no right or authority so to do. What wasl to Philippa save an unsuccessful suitor? Moreover, I felt that she had revealed her secret to me in confi dence. If there were good reasons for the concealment, I might do her irretrievable harm by letting this man know that I was aware of his true position in society. No, I could not call him to account. But I must do something, or in time to come my grief may be rendered doubly deep by self-re proach. The next day I called upon Philippa. She would at least tell me if the name under which the man married her was the true or the false one. Alas! I found that she had lett her home the day before—left it to re turn no more! The landlady had no idea whither she had gone, but believed it was her intention to leave England After this I threw prudence to the winds. With some trouble I found Sir Mervyn Fer rand’s town address. The next day I called on him. He also, I was informed, had just left England. His destination was also un known. I turned away moodily. All chance of doing good was at an end. Letth- marriage bo true or false, Philippa had departed, ac companied by the man who, for purposes of his own, passed under the name of Farmer, but who was really Sir Mervyn Ferrand. I went back to my homo, and amid the wreck of my life’s happiness murmured a prayer and registered an oath. I prayed that honor and happiness might be the lot of her 1 loved; 1 swore that were she wronged I would with my own hand take vengeance on the man who wronged her. For myself I prayed nothing—not even forgetfulness. I loved Philippa; I had lost her forever! The past, the present, the fu ture were all summoned up in these words! [TO BE CONTINUED IN OUR NEXT.] “My wife has been a severe sufferer with In digestion, and kidney and liver troubles. I feared It would terminate in Bright's Disease, as these were the symptoms. She commenc ed using Hunt's [Kidney and Liver] Reme dy, and found by the use of only one bottle she had been relieved.”—B. 8. Armstrong, Auburn, N. Y. Mrs. L. Salter, 213 Charlton street, Sa vannah, says: “My sister in law and I used Brown’s Iron Bitters for dyspepsia and general debility caused by malaria, and it afforded great relief.” Solomons' Cough and Cold Remedy' has a more immediate and decided 'beneficial effect uponthe Throat, Bronchial Tubes and Lungs than any other known remedy. It perma nently cures Coughs, Colds, Dryness, Tick ling of the Throat and Breathing Tubes, and prevents their development Into that dread ful disease Consumption. Mr. Charles H. Blun, Mr. Andrew H. Charl ton and Major L. M. Mclntosh and other well known citizens of Savannah and elsewhere, have given highly favored testimonials, and we are permitted to refer to them. SOLOMONS & CO., Proprietors, Savannah, Ga. Mr. L. B. Smith (Sheriff of Effingham county). Springfield, Ga., says: “While suf fering from dyspepsia, indigestion, etc, I lost thereby five pounds; Brown’s Iron Bit ters cured me, and I increased in weight. A gentleman of Goodwater, Ala., writes: “My wife was down so long, I do not know what all she has taken. I had doctors attend ing her and they failed to relieve her; so I got a bottle of your Female Regulator, and she used it, and has been mending ever since. She can now go about the house and do her work, and we know it to be a very valuable medicine.” Treatise on the Health and Happiness of Woman mailed free. Bradfield Regulator Co., Box 28. Atlanta, Ga. Mr. A. C. Wright, St. Mary’s, Ga., says : “My daughter suffered with indigestion to such an extent that it caused severe spasms, Brown’s Iron Bitters cured her; nothing e'se did any good.” Linen collars, latest styles, standing and urn-down, reduced from 15 to 10 ce at L. Fried’s. The prettiest goods for men, youths and b ys In the city can be found at B. H Levy <S Bro.’s. Mr. S. H. Bunker, Newnansville, Fla., says: “1 with chronic diarrhoea— tried various remedies with only temporary relief. Brown’s«-Iron Bitters permanently removed my troubles and increased my weight.” For the accommodation of our patrons we have established a Tailoring Department, where any garment bought of us can be al tered to suit the taste of the most fastidious: tree of charge. We invite the public to call a id look through our establishment, which is by far the largest in the city. B. H. Levy & Bbo.’s Dr. Bosanko. This name has become so Mini liar with the most of people throughout the United States that It is hardly necessary to state that he is the originator of the great Dr, Bosanko Cough and Lung Syrup, the people's favorite remedy, wherever known, for Coughs, Colds, Consumption and all affections of the Throat and Lungs. Price 50 cents aud 81.00. Sold by Osceola Butler and K. J. Kieffer.—Adv. Skin Diseass—Swa, le’s Ointment. “Swayne's Ointment” cures Tetter, Sal; Rlteum, Ringworms, Sores, Pimples, Eczem no matter how obstinate or ioug standing. ♦ Mis. D. J. Johnson, Augusta, Ga., says : “I had no appetite and was feeling very weak and bad generally, I took Brown’s Iron Bitters, and must say it helped me wonderfully.” If you want a good fitting shirt, either j white or fancy, try L. Fried. » >T _ ♦ . • I (Favorite Cigarettes are mild, sweet and ver fire. NO POISON. IN THE PASTRY IF s|Sl|«L Vanilla,Lemon,Orange, etc., flavor Oakes Cream*, Puddings, *fcc.,a» delicately and nat j orally us the fruit from which they ure made ' FOB STRENGTH AM) TRUE FRUIT FLAVOR THEY STAND ALONE. PREPARED BY THE Price Baking Powder Co., Chicago, 111. St. Louis, Mo- MAKERS OF Dr. Price’s Cream Baking Powder -AND— Dr. Price’s Lupulin Yeast Gems, Ite*t Dry Hop Yeast. WK MAkk BUT OWE QUAUTK Tell the children to cut out and save the comic silhouette pictures as they appear from issue to issue. They will be pleased with the collection. xJb Thia space is owned by BLACKWELL’S BULL. Os course we mean the famous anima! appearing on the label of every” genuine package of Black well’s Bull Durham Smoking Tobacco. Every » dealer keeps this, the best Smoking Tobacco made. None genuine without trade-mark of the Bulk Almost a Miracle! A REMARKABLE STORY. A few days ago a gentleman of high standing in Atlanta met Dr. J. Bradfield on the street, and related the following, in which all ladies are deeply in terested : “For the past eighteen months my wife has been an inval'd. caused from womb trouble, cessation of mense , etc , and I have tried everything 1 could hear of in the way of medicine, and have bad several of ou best physicians attending her, to one of whom (ca ling him by ame) I paid one hundred and sixty-three dol lars. Instead of improving or getting any relief, she gradually grew worse, and I had almost given up hope, and really did not believe she would ever get up from an invalid’s bed; but a friend of mine who knew of the case suggested the use of Bradfield’s Female Regulator, and although he stated that he knew of a similar case being cured by it, and endorsed it highly himself, I was so discouraged I did not believe it would do her any good; but as a last resort 1 bought a large bottle of it and she began taking it, and from tne very first a marked change took place. She begun to improve rapidly, her appetite returned, her whole system was built up, and to-day she is as well and sound as ever in her life, and I am under lifelong obligations to you and your remedy, for it undouutedly saved her life;” and he added, “I wish every lady in the world so af flicted would try it, as 1 know it cure them.” We Claim and can Prove Beyond a Doubt, by the highest and most undoubted testimony, That this Remedy will cure all womb troubles. That this Remedy will cure luchorrhoea or whites. That this Remedy will restore the menstrual functions I'ljat this Remedy will stop excessive monthly flow. That this Remedy will relieve painful menstruation. That this Remedy will build up the system as a tontc. That this Remedy will cure all famale disorders. “CHANGE OF LIFE.” If taken during this period, so critical, it stands without a rival. Send for our Treatise on Woman. Mailed free to any address. The Bradfield Regulator Co., Atlanta, Ga* “WfISS EMMA E.ISON, 12% Marga ret street, Savannah, says: I took Brown’s Iron Bitters as a tonic with great benefit. My system was greatly impaired from chills aud fever. COAL ! Fi’esli from the Mines, PROMPTLY DELIVERED. ! Full and liberal weight guaranteed. Orders by mail, telephone or given to our drivers promptly attended to. Knickerbocker Ice Co., 144 BAY STREET. NEW COTTOITsEED MEAL Best quality for all purposes. Just received aud for sale by WELD & HARTSHORNE, ; For latest style fancy percale and Feecauf ! I Mita L. Fried’s is the place. DRUGS AND MEDICINES. WE HAVE Our usual HANDSOME ASSORTMENT OF NOVELTIES Suitable for GIFTS, WEDDING. CHRIST MAS and NEW YEAR PRESENTS. , -k-.. . ’■i7. . I ■ ■ Odor Caskets, Cases, Sets and Stands, FANCY BOTTLES, Toilet Sets, Vases, FINE SOAPS AND PERFUMERY, Ivory and Celluloid Hair Brushes, FRENCH AND AMERICAN PLATE HAND MIRROBS and other Toilet Requisites. G. M. HEIDT & CO., druggists, Corner Congress and Whitaker streets. Shuptrine’s IXeNv Pharmacy, Bolton and Montgomery streets. PURE DRIGS Dispensed by Careful and Expe rienced Druggists, j. iJjpjljjjj Cm CLEANS CLOTHES, Removes all Grease, Paints, Oils, Varnish, Tar, Dirt or Soils from any fabric without injury. FOR SALE BY J. 11. Haltiwang-er, Cor Broughton and Drayton streets. Also sold by L. C. Strong aud E. A. Knapp To Clean Your Last Winter’s Suit or Anything Else Use “Household Cleaning Fluid.” It removes grease spots, stains, dirt, etc., from woolen, cotton, silk and laces, without injuring the most delicate fabric. Prepared only by DAVID PORTER, Druggist, Corner Broughton and Habersham streets. Peas. Peas. Just Received, Fresh and Reliable. NEW CROP BLACK EYED MARROWFAT, PHILADELPHIA EXTRA EARLY. Also a full line of FRESH GARDEN SEEDS, FOB SALE BY 31. V. BARIE, Druggist and Seedsman, Southeast cor. West Broad aud Bryan streets. 13 /Vlll< Xll O Y!~ Not that barque which spreads Its sails to the favoring gale and with every canvas drawing taut, sails the sea, a thing of life and beauty, but that bark which comes from a cold and hastens the traveler to that port from whence there Is uo return. For this bark use “COUGH AND LUNG BALSAM.” It is the best medicine ever presented for coughs, colds and hoarseness, and for four seasons has given entire satisfaction. Price 25 cents. Prepared only by DAVID PORTER, Druggist, Corner Broughton and Habersham streets. Al. Wholesale and Retail Dealer IN ALL KINDS OF Oak, Pine & Lightwood SAWED AND IN STICK. Yard, Canal and W. Boundary Sts., Foo of William Street, AV ANNAS, GEORGIA. «j-PROMPT attention paid to orders aud measurements guaranteed.*®* Telephone Call 279. HO 1 2 ! Swift’s Specific has cured my cancer, which was very bad. lam now In fine health; nev er better. Have gained 25 pounds since I be gan taking Swift’s Specific It. S. Bradford, Tiptonville, Tenn. CANCER FOR MANY YEARS.—A servant has been afflicted for many years with a can cer on her nose, which resisted all sorts of treatment. She was cured entirely with Swift’s Specific. John Hill, Druggist, Thomson, Ga. NOSE EATEN OFF.-A young man near this town had an eatlngcancerounis face which had destroyed his nose and was eating to ward his eyes. As a last resort I put him on Swift’s Specific, and It has cured him sound aud well M. F. Crumley, M. D., Oglethorpe, Ga. I have seen remarkable results from the use of Swift’s Specific In cancer. It has cured several cases under my own eyes. Rev. J. H. Campbell, Columbus, Ga. Swift's Specific is entirely vegetable, aud seems to cure cancers by forcing out the Im purities from the blood. Treatise on Blood and Skin Diseaes mailed free. The Swift Specific Co., Drawer 3, Atlanta', Ga., or 159 W. 23rd street, New York. TV! R - ISA.AC MCINTOSH, Savannffl >. s', ys: For years I have suffered from dy— pepsla, trying everything with the of obtaining relief. Brown’s Iron Bitters cured me aud I heartily recommend it. Favorite Cigarettes will sooth your treub e< here below. 7