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3?* M J / Tracing a Dark Crime. BY ALEXANDER ROBINSON, M. D. CHAPTER Till. Ijeonore was in the library. She stood before the window looking ont upon the dreary day. ft had commenced to rain, and the drip of the water from the trees in the garden made a dismal picture, in keep ing with the affliction that had visited this house. As I entered she turned quickly, and seemed somewhat relieved when s-he found it was myself. “Doctor, are those people gone?” she asked. “Yes, Miss Leonoro. That was the Coroner and his jury—a very necessary infliction in cases of this kind. “Yes, I know. What was the verdi.it. Doctor?” She was wonderfully calm and self- possessed. I could not but notice this fact. “They decided that Dr. Seabury came to his death by poison, administered with his own hand.” JKatching her face closely I could wot that she experienced any emotion. Her features were calm as the summer sky. “When can I look upon my poor old friend?” Her words relieved me from a duty I did not like. “Now if you desire. Are you capable of standing the shock?” “Do not fear for mev I am stronger than you imagine. Will you go up with me, Doctor?” “I have a little writing to do connected with the case. So with your permission [ will remain here until you comedown.” So saying, I seated myself at a desk and began to examine the phial I had taken from the dead man’s hand, at the »ame time drawing writing paper to me. This phial was an odd little thing, made af crystal, to all appearances. It had been buried in the tombs of the pyramids for thousands of years, and no -doubt might have aroused a fever of In terest in the breast of a man like Doctor Schliomann. Deonoro had left the room. I realized what a shrewd trick this was on the part^>f the old detective, and dis- _gleasinefts>tttoido2^as-4o mo, I could To^ct thathT^nms were justice it self. The innocent would never suffer at tho hands of Abner Ketcham, and if guilty it was only the right thing that they should be brought to the bar. I commenced my writing. Some time passed by. So nervous had t become that it was with difficulty that I kept at my work. At last I heard the rustle of skirts on the stairs. When Loonore entered tint library I was folding up what I had written, around the ancient phial. I looked up into her face. Unless my a^es deceived me there were traces of tears there. There rushed upon me a mad desire to console her—to pour out burning words of regret at her lonely situation, and to offer my services in any manner accept able; but wisely I restrained myself. * She was yet under the ban of sus picion. Much as I believed firmly in her inno cence, it had not yet been clearly proven, and there were some things that needed the closest investigation. I now desired to see Mr. Kctcham. To do so, I must go up-stairs again. In looking around for my hat, I found that I had left it in the chamber above, and leaving Leonoje, I ascended. I found Mr. Ketcham standimg thoughtfully by the window. Ho turned as I entered the room, and although I looked eagerly in his face, I was baffled. “Close the door and sit down, Doctor. ” His words, innocent in themselves, lent a chill through my heart. They meant that he had discovered something worth while repeating to me. Being deeply interested in the case, I could not do otherwise than listen, eagerly. “When Leonore entered the room, she stood right there for a minute with her hands clasped, her eyes glued upon the bed and that motionless figure. “Then she seemed to break the spell lhat bound her, and gliding forward fell in her knees beside the dead. “Doctor, I have in my time looked i>p- •n some strange sights, but never one tuito equal to that, where a girl we be lieve guilty of murder bends over the form of her aged victim, and fondles his hand. ” I could not restrain a cry. “She is innocent, sir. A guilty soul would turn from such a sight in terror. Why the dead must even arise to eon- lemn her did she dare do that.” “Listen!” X calmed myself under his magnetm •ye; and waited to hear more. The quiet assurance of his manner -^-v~g|iye mo warning that in some way LedaorcLad not improved her case by the visit she had made to the death bed. “She remained there, apparently con vulsed with grief, and yet uttering no sound. “Then I saw her raise her head and clasp her hands convulsively, while she gazed down upon the body. “Words fell from her lips. They reached my ears, and were treasured every one as having a decided bearing on the case. “This was exactly what she said, ~- breathing the words in apparent deep emotion : “ ‘My poor, murdered guardy, to think that it has come at last, that which you have feared so long. Heaven forgive me for being the cause of it all.’ “Then she gave way to a fit of sob bing. This lasted but a short time, however, and Leonoro became herself again. “She bent over and kissed the cold lips of the dead, then left the room. 1 could sit still no longer. “Do you mean to say, sir, the girl who could be guilty of such a base crime 'yould act in that manner?” “Wait! 1 neither condemn nor acquit until the returns are all in. I simply aay that, according to the evidence, it V>oks black for Leonore. “Remember, Doctor, the peculiar cir cumstances under which the girl com mitted the crime, if she did do it. “Thev would rvcount for the words Bite spoke, and allow of her actions. Bbe •eemed to know that in a time of mental irresponsibility she had committed this awful deed, and bewailed the fact. Al least, that was the construction I put Vpon the words she utteted.” i was silent. Although he had not broken down the barriers of my conviction, still his argu ment was unanswerable. Before my mind was arrayed the evi dence against the girl. In one way it was overwhelming. I put ft down under different heads, so that it could be regulated. First The photograph on the bark of ^hich the old doctor had written “Leonore—the cause of my sTeeplesi nights and watchful days.” It would indicate, as Mr. Kctcham said, that there was something wrong with the girl’s mind, and that her loving guardian was constantly expecting a periodical outbreak, during which she seemed to seek his-life. His assertion to the detective relative to an enemy who had followed him from India might be only a blind to hide the truth, as he was apt to be sensitive upon this point. I dismissed this from my mind, and proceeded to the next point: Second. The discovery of the lock of black hair in the hand of the dead, un doubtedly torn from the head of the as sassin, and that, a woman. It matched Leonore’s hair exactly, and although in itself this fact was a simple thing, taken in the light of corroborative evidence it would amount co a good deal, since she had been in his room that night. Third. The footprints in the dust of the old store-room. We had fitted Leo nore’s small slipper to some of them, and found that they tallied exactly. Fourth. The discovery of the Malay creese in her room. It was ostensibly a paper cutter, but was just the weapon to be caught up and be put to deadly use by a person whose mind was unbalanced, and who <n the delirium of sudden in sanity was bent upon taking human life. Fifth. Leonore’s own words and ac tions, as witnessed and heard by the old detective, were strongly savored with the view of the case as ho put it. She seemed to avow that she was the cause of the Doctor’s death, and bewail the cruel fate that ,made it so. Of course a different construction might be put upon her words under new light, but just then they seemed to imply the worst. When all these facts were arranged in a lino before me, they presented a terri ble indictment against Leonore. No wonder I was silent. There were a few things on the other side, but as yet they were overshadowed by the colossal proportions of the oppo site evidence. I was ready to work hard in order to prove her innocence, but for the life of me just then I did not know how to begin. While my mind had been dwelling upon these tilings, Mr. Ketcham was regarding me with interest. I could detect a faint smile lurking in the corners of his mouth, as though ho could guess what was passing in my mind. . Then for the first time I noticed he hold a paper in his hand. The thought flashed upon my mind that he had found something in the ebony desk bearing upon the case. Perhaps it was more evidence tending to fasten the coils around Leonore. As ho held the paper out I mechanically took it from his hand. It seemed to bo a letter. There was no date on it, and yet something about the paper told that it was several years old. I saw it was addressed to the old Doc tor, and seemed to be from some friend out in Singapore. Most of it was mere gossip about the old friends of Dr. Seabury in India. Then came a paragraph that riveted my attentio i. “And Leonore—I hesitate to approach that subject, knowing how it concerns your days and nights—how is she? Has anything occurred yet? I hope uot, in Heaven’s name, and that that terrible scourge may never visit again my old friend Seabury.” That was all on that subject. Sick at heart, I handed the paper back to the detective. “Well, Doctor?” “I am afraid all roads lead to Romo, sir. ” “Then you admit that at least I have good reasons for my suspicions?” “Alas! it is too true.” “Doctor, you take it too much to heart. Remember that, even if guilty, the girl cannot be punished. She -was insane at the tiimr. ” “What you say does not take away the sting, sir?” “See here, Doctor, am I to depend upon you any further in this case?” I turned upon him indignantly. “No, sir; not so long as it comes to hunting down a poor girl. That Is busi ness with you, but none of mine.” “Then you wash your hands of it?” “Not at all. While you are seeking to tighten the coils around Leonore, Mr. Ketcham, I shall be using my utmost en deavors to prove her innocence. We shall see who will win the game.” His face brightened. “Give mo your hand, Doctor! I honor you for the stand you have taken. II ever that poor girl needed a friend it is now. Strange though it may seem, I sincerely hope you will succeed, but at the same time I say frankly I fear the worst. ” Those words drew me toward that man as I had never been drawn before. I left Mr Ketcham seated in a rock-sr, his eyes glued upon the hieroglyphics on the ceiling, while I went out to start upon my hopeless task. JHAPTER IX. LTHOUGH considera bly cast down by the condition of affairs, 1 was not yet ready tc throw up the case. Mr. Ketcham had not proved his theory. One false move would .knock the bottom out of it, and this was whal I intended to find il such a thing were pos sible. I was arrayed againsl the keenest man in the detective line in New York. My only hope lay in the fact that hi! heart was not in his work, while I could go at mine with the greatest of zeal, having before my eyes the vision of a woman’s appealing face, as Leonore': appeared to me when she declared that if ever she. had need of friends it was now. Yes; I would be her friend, pcor girl What was the danger she seemed tc dread? Was it discovery? I shut my eyes to the terrible array ol evidence against her. as set forth in the arraignment of Abner Ketcham, and turned mv attention toward the other side. Certain things naunted me. If the party who had climbed that trellis of vines on the night of the mur der could be found I believed I could learn something that would be of value. I purposed devoting my first energies toward finding that person. Of whom could I get particul con cerning the dead man? A name I had seen upon card, coupled with the words “your old friend,” decided me to visit the Sturte- vant House with the intention of visiting him. There was a strong possibility that he might no longer be there. I consulted the register. “Major Beebe, late of her Majesty’s Royal Highlanders, Bombay.” That was the important entry I found in the register, written in a great sprawling hand. “Is Major Beebe still here?” I asked the gqntleman at the desk. The clerk smiled, and replied to my question with a nod toward a rather pompous, red-faced gentleman, who was twirling his blonde side-whiskers near by. This gentleman having surveyed me as i approached, assumed a Mcical. freezing air that told me, without further inves tigation, that he had had some bitter experiences with New York confidence men. “Major Beebe, I believe.” “The same, sir. What can I do for you?” “I wish to talk a little with you, Ma jor, on a subject of interest. Will you be so kind as to sit with mo over yon der?” He kept up his freezing manner, but accompanied mo to the chairs. “Now, sir, state your business,” and he glanced at me through his spy glass, as though ho would annihilate me. Not ono whit troubled by his fierce aspect, I proceeded in my own way. “I understand. Major, that you were a friend of the late Dr. Seabury. ” He almost jumped from his chair. “What the deuce do you mean, sir, giving me such a shock? I am a friend of Dr. Seabury, if that is w r hat you mean,” he replied, with some asperity. “When did you see him last?” “Twenty-four hours ago.” “He was well then?” “Unusually so. We took dinner in company in this house. By jove, young sir, am I to understand anything has happened to him?” “Dr. Seabury is dead!” He seemed stunned for a minute. “This is terrible. When did he die?” “About two o’clock this morning.” “It must have been very sudden.” “Terribly so.” “Of what did he die?” “The coroner’s jury has agreed that ho came to his death by his own hand. ” “Suicide?” “Yes.” “The poor fellow must have lost his mind. Ho was the last one in the world to do such a thing.” “That may be so, Major. I am a doc tor who was called to his bedside in the hope of doing something, but the poison was deadly and there was no hope. I wish to ask you what you know of the Doctor. ” “We have been friends for, let me see, possibly a dozen years.” “Was there any mystery connected with his past life?” “I have heard such hinted, but could not say positively.” “Do you know his ward?” “Leonore? Yes, I have met her. She is a charming girl.” I thanked him mentally for tha “What is her last name, Major! “Seabury, of course.” “Then she was an adopted child?” “I always understood she was tho child of his cousin, by tho same name. ” “Did you know her mother or father?” “I did not. ” “Do you know anything about her?” “Nothing, except that, while Seabury loved her fondly, I have seen him look over his shoulder at mention of the name Leonore, as though some sudden fear had come upon him.” My heart went down to zero. 1.'. Ono more question. “Major, if I affirmed it as a fact would you believe it, that Leonoro has been subject to occasional spells of insanity, during which, like most mad persons, she sought to injure tho one she loved the best, and that it was this which haunted Dr. Seabury day and night.” “I would believe it possible," ho re plied, in the calmest of tones. I had no more to say in this regard. “Major, if you go to the house to see the body of your old friend, please do not say a word of having met me, or what I have talked about.” “I promise you, Doctor.” Shaking hands with the soldier, I loft the hotel. My first attempt, Instead of bringing a gleam of light, had added to the dark ness. If this kept on, I would soon be com pelled to grope my way. All my energies were now to be devot ed to finding tho party who had climbed the vines on that night. 1 had but one clow to his identity. A portion of his forefinger was miss- ing. Where should I look for him? Tho tool he had dropped seemed to in dicate that he was a burglar, and could be found in dens frequented by such. Being ^possessed of an adventurous turn, I had seen much of tho great city. Still, I would have hesitated about en gaging in any such undertaking, had the cause been an ordinary one. All that influenced me was my deter mination to leave no stone unturned in the endeavor to save Leonoro from the storm clouds gathering around her. A feverish desire to do something was upon me. Obeying my first impulse, I sought again the strange house of Dr. Seabury. Standing beside the wall at the point where the party had climbed the wall in leaving the grounds, I looked about me. Possibly there was some clew here which had escaped my first hasty search. I examined the ground. People had passed to and fro, and all traces of tho footprints left by the man tracked had long since disappeared. Here and there a little knot of women were to be seen talking together in low tones, and casting mysterious glances at the old house seen over the wall and among the trees. Already news of the suicide had gone abroad. A policeman stood at the gate. Another walked the grounds, already nearly dry from the warm sun. As I clambered over the wall he came toward me, motioning angrily with his club, but I paid no attention to him. When he came up I had merely to mention that 1 was working witn mr. Ketcham on this case, and he instantly collapsed. He had great respect for that name. I found that the rain of the early morning had almost washed out the foot prints left by the man. It was not to examine thesj I had come back. Was there nothing else? Again I climbed up as the man had done, through the brambles that had grown in the breach of the half fallen wall. One of the obtrusive twigs caught in tny pocket, and actually dislodged my handkerchief. I bent down to pick it up. Ah! there was one of my letters also that had been deftly snatched out of a pocket by this '-same inquisitive bramble bush. The deuce! I started as if shot, for, as I picked the envelope up, it felt cold and damp. It had come from my pocket, but had lain there through the rain. Quick as thought, I turned it over tc look upon the address. This was what what greeted my eyes: “Theodore Parker, “New York City. ” That was all. Stay, there was the postmark up in the right-hand corner. That might be a very important clew to me. I could make it out distinctly. “New York, June ft, 3 p. m.” When I had read this, I could not help Hiniling. , This very day was June 7th, and the letter I held had been mailed in the city during the preceding afternoon. What could be plainer? The man who carried it must have passed over this wall since that time. There could not be the faintest shadow of a doubt but that Theodore Parker, whoever he might prove to be, had been in these grounds during the night that witnessed the murder. Undoubtedly he was the burglar who had climbed the vines, bent upon plun der, and who had been concerned in some way with the crime. Whether Theodore Parker would lirove a woman in disguise I could not tell yet, but I felt sure that when I found him the identity of the man with the marked hand would be fully established. I put tho letter in my pocket, for I had already seen there was an inclosure of some sort In the envelope. Then I sought the officer, from whom Flearned the address of the policeman whose beat took in Dr. Seabury’s place. In twenty minutes I was rapping on the door of a neat little nouse. A tidy wife opened the door and ush ered me into the parlor, while she went to call her husband, who was asleep. Presently he put in an appearance. I saw ho was a good-natured fellow, and at once apologized for disturbing him. Without much waste of time, I told him about the suicide of Dr. Seabury, and the fact that a burglary had been attempted the same night. “What I want to know, Deasley, is whether you saw any suspicious charac ters in the vicinity that night.” He shook his head. “We see lots of ’em at all hours, so I can’t exactly say as how there was more on last night than any other time.” “Think; was there any who seemed to hover about the Seabury place?” “Now that you mention it, my pard and me did see a fellow near tho wall, a-dodging along, but wo didn’t pay any attention to him.” “Why?” “Well, we'd seen him more than once in that place, and understood that ho was in love with old Seabury’s gal, and that the Doctor was down on him.” “Where did you get that impression?” “Can’t say, exactly. Might have come from my pard, who’s a great hand at reading stories. Anyhow, ho kinder sympathized with tho feller, who was a good-looking young chap. We never bothered him.” “Then you have seen hr! face?” “Often, sir.” “What kind of a looking man was ho?” He assumed a reflective air. “I reckon ho had bi ght eyes, blue, I think they wore, and vroro a full yellow beard. When his cap na? off I saw that his hair in front stood straight up, and that his forehead was more square an* white than any I ever set eye on. ” Tho words of the policeman gave me a severe start. I thought of a picture I had seen in Dr. Seabury’s chamber, turned face to tho wall in a dark corner. True, that had been the head of a young boy, bright and keen, but it had possessed tho same peculiarity of yellow hair spoken of by tho night patrol. Instantly there flashed across my mind the conviction that I might dis cover some connection between tho would-be burglar and possible murderer and the original of the picture that was turned to the wall. More plainly, then, anew vista seemed opening before me. I was delighted with my success thuj far, and would not feel ashamed to meet Mr. Ketcham when I went to report my progress in the game. Perhaps the man could establish one more link in the chain for mo. “Tell me, my friend, have you ever been close enough to see this man’s hands?” “Oh, yes, sir.” “Was there anything peculiar about them?” *. “Well, no, sir, except I noticed ono of his fingers was gone..? - “Indeed! From which hand?” He reflected a moment. “T he left, air. 1 ’- “You are sure of that?” “I can swear to it. I remember ht> was leaning against the wall one night when we passed him, and his loft hand was up against tho stones. Tho light from a street lamp showed us his hand plain as day, and Bill, he’s my pard, you know, he spoke of it afterward.” I had no more to say. The ease was assuming such propor tions that I really wished for tho assist ance of Mr. Ketcham, but tho time had not yet arrived for me to seek him. I would try and find a clew to the whereabouts of Theodore Parker. Perhaps the letter I had found would aid me. [TO BE CONTINUED.] “What’s the matter?” called a mother, turning to her little boy who “set up” a howl. “What are you cry ing about?” “I want something?” “What do you want?” “I have forgot what it is an’ that’s what makes me cry.”—Arkansaw Traveler. Gibraltar, in South Spain, was t’aken by the Saracens, under Tarik, wheuce its name, in 711- Elactricity for Dentists. A new machine has been intro duced for the purpose of safely and conveniently adapting the power of electricity to the uses and require ments of dentistry. The operation of a small electric motor enables the dentist to dispense with the foot lever commonly used, and to concen trate all his attention to the work in hand. In the filling and stopping of teeth the electric dental engine is specially serviceable, as the various mailets used can be run from a slow to the very highest speed. It was noted as curious that a large number of the early orders for this device came from seaside places. Upon inquiry it was found that many city people realize their need of a dentist only after they have left their homes. As soon as they reach the seaside their teeth begin to throb with pain . The reason given by the den tist is that the change of air and ihe invigorating outdoor life which the summer idlers lead strengthen and stimulate them. Their hearts have a stronger beat, and if there is a weak spot anywhere about them the pres sure of the quickened circulation finds it out. Thus it happens that teeth which gave no' trouble in the city bring grist to the mill of the seaside dentist. The Prize Pig Freak. D. K. Persons, a farmer of Red Mills, Ark., is the owner of a pig that completely lays all other freak porkers in the shade. It is perfectly devoid of hair, and has a double set of eyes, feet like human hands ("even to the nails), one very large ear and a face which looks more like that of a young baby than it does like that of a regulation pig. From be tween the upper set of eyes projects a proboscis like that of a young elephant. This proboscis has two liof^s through its entire length, and it is t\^pugh them th r t piggy gets his supply of air. Mr. Persons values tlie^Treak at #1,000 and his neighbor^ say that lie takes greater care of It than all of the rest of the stock o«u the place. SERMONS ON STONE. POKTIC EPITAPHS IN A QUEER OLD NEW YORK CEMETERY. They Date Back Several Centuries— A Friend of a Dead Man Writes a Humorous Inscription. Y 1 THIS is a story of a queer old I / cemetery in the country, on | the west bank of the Hudson, ~q a little to the north of Mil- ton, and almost ont of hearing of the engines that go whirling over the West Shore Road, says the New York Mer cury. You must not think of any thing grewsome, or morbidly sad, for a more serene, rest inspiring place never was seen. It was simply a field of a few acres set apart for the home of those who died in that vicinity generations ago. The marking stones were all quaintly simple, and in most cases partially covered wita moss and lichens. For all of fifty years have gone since the last sod was broken there to make room for another ten ant. In almost every instance the virtues of the dead were extolled, or solemu warning uttered by the engraving of a poetic effusion upon the stone. A number of curious and sinking epi taphs are decipherable with consider able difficulty, for you must remember that the dates on some go back to the earliest settlers of our country. One gives the information : Born in 1595, Far beyond the sea, Laid here by loving hands In 1613. Further on came this, a tiny bit of a spot overgrown with tho vines of wild blackberry: Ours the loss, hers the gain— Cold wet briars and cruel raiu Never more can give her pain. Aged 2 yrs. 3 mos. This, tco, preached its own sermon, and we thought of one who had never grown old, although generations had come and gone. Here is another; Proud world go on, Here let us be, Father, mother, children three. All we ask is here to lie And wait God’s summons to the sky’. It would appear that this was a little unbroken home circle, “pleasant in life, and in death not divided.” Next comes a wail telling that the mother heart could ache in those days as now— Of so tiny, my little Miny— Only six months old— But God’s eye her did spy, And took her to his fold. Then we find this rugged order—• Sinner pause as you go by— As you are now,so once was I; As I am now, so you must be, Prepare for death and f allow me Further on another stone proclaimed the supposition that a “sinner” would pass that way: Sinner slop, for here I lay, I for one have had my day, ’ Underneath the cruel clay— You some time will surely lay’. One fancies him a wild, wayward youth, who rebelled against the strict code of “industry, sobriety and mo rality” of our forefathers, and took this means to “point a moral,” if not “adorn a tale.” Under an old willow, whose long, graceful foliage touched the ground, and through whose branches the winds ever chanted a soothing requiem, is a stone roughly-made in form of a cross, with Kalinka, aged 23, Beloved wife of Olaf. Her baby sleeps upon her breast, It only lived one hour. “Blessed are the pure in heart.” This is in a little inclosure, with just room for two: Under an old oak, and near the brook that has been the birthplace of many’ a trout, lies a Partridge, Died May’ 9, aged 38 years, 5 days. With this impromptu by some friend, evidently a sportsman: “What! kill a partridge in the month of May, Was that done like a sportsman? bay! death, say! Then in another inclosure, just a plain stone beneath a great hawthorn: Richard, Aged 19 years. In memory’ this of one dear boy, His father’s pride, his mother’s joy, He went a sailor lad to be. And waits for God beneath*the sea. 1723. A Solitary Honeymoon. A story is going the rounds about the unique honeymoon of a Baltimore & Ohio officer, whose office is in the Central Building. He recently mar ried a Baltimore street typewriter. She took a half hour “off” to get married. Then she went back to her machine and is still faithfully pound ing away while the bridegroom is off on a trip alone. There is some dis pute among those who tell the story as to what the officer went away for. Some claim he has taken this solitary way of enjoying his new-found bliss. Others say he is simply away on a busi ness trip for the road. As for the bride working at her typewriter, it is explained that her employer could get no other help and would not release her. It is a romance of six months’ standing. The officer went to an office to pay his assessment in a bene ficiary organization and the bride re ceived it. Both were impressed, and he began giving her boxes of candy. Then he took her out to a Baltimore street lunch-room. There over the the “beef-and” and “ ’alf on the ’alt” the courtship progressed rapidly, with the result as stated. He is twice her age and seven years more.—Baltimore News. Heat-Proof Glass. It is said that a new glass has been manufactured, that, while it allows the free passage of light, is a decided check to heat. In an experiment it was proven that a glass plate four- tenths of an inch thick allowed but four and six-tenths per cent, of radi ant heat to pass through it. Ordinary window glass lets eighty-six per cent, of heat through. A very thin slab of this glass allowed less than one per cent, of heat from gas to passthrough it, although it permitted the trans mission of twelve per cent, of heat from sunlight. If this glass is an equal bar to cold, it is a discovery that will revolutionize building and many other of the arts. The glass con tains iron in the form of ferrous A chloride.—New Yfrk Ledger. M iss Ella Hughes, Invites the ladies of Aiken and vicinity to an inspection of her large and well selected stock of Hats, Bonnets and General Millinery at 728 Broad Street, - - - AUGUSTA, GA. Mrs B. N. BUCKLEY « Bookseller, Stationer ami 0 625 BROAD STREET. 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STRAIGHT GOODS s ° ld STRAIGHT PRICES. ROGERS’ FURNITURE STORE Only a&ks you to examine the stock, get prices and then compare. I want your trade and propose to get it by showing superior goods, giving lowest prices and giving you just what you buy in good order. CSrX'V© HA/Eo SL E. G. ROGERS, - 83S Broad St . A. F. TISCHER, 940 Broad Street, Augusta, Ga. KEEPS constantly on hand: Perfumery, Patent Medicines, Fancy Goods, Window Glass, Drugs, Paints, Oils, Varnishes, Etc. An of tiro IBost EVERY MAN HIS OWN DOCTOR. By J. HAMILTON AYERS, M. D. A Valuable Beok of 600 pages,illua- trated, containing knowledge of how to treat and cure all manner of disease, prolong lif« and promote happiness. SENT 8V Mill. P0ST-P6I0. UN RECEIPT OF PRICE. 60 CEITL iH tidere to ATLANTA PUBLISHING HOUSK, U« Laid St.. tXUAti, /J