The Union times. [volume] (Union, S.C.) 1894-1918, February 27, 1903, Page 3, Image 3
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iSOUTHI
Cyrxxs To\
{fcySl'.i!1lo.> Author of "Woven Wfth t
t^V'W.V'V^V.?,.'..v'.v "Tho Quiberoi
Copyrioht, !*> , bU CI
I
She put up her hand, but he would
not be stayed. Sho im<i * ??- ? '
..MX* JVfc \.\J it'Uill I
that there is no i>ower on earth that 1
can keep n man who loves a woman
from telling that woman he loves her
when he feels thut the woman wants
to hear him. anil almost every woman
wants to hear. v
As Peyton leaned against the tree '
upon which she sat, as close to licr as
he could possibly get without actually
touching her, and as he looked adoringly
up Into her soft browu eyes she 1
found it rather pleasant after all. Her
eyes were not always soft either.
Symetlmes they spqrkled with lightens
the brcuklng wave does upon the storm i
tossed sea, and sometimes they swam
steadily with the depth of a still pool
that compasses upon Its surface a picture
of the deepest heaven?as they
did at that moment. As the young
lover marked the slow rise and full of
the dninty. undeveloped bosom, as his !
eyes fell upon the scarlet ribbon of her |
mocking lips, as he watched the slow
flush of warm color in her dark check 1
?rich hue that the rose might have envied?he
longed to throw the restraints
of custom to the four winds of heaven i
and clasp the girl in his arms. It was
not the tlrst nor would it be the Inst
time a lover's heart rebelled against
such restraints.
"It's out now," he murmured. "What's
the use of trying to conceal it or evade
It? Every look, every word, every
movement of mine, must have betrayed
me. I didn't say anything to you in j
Boston?not In wortls, that Is. You see, I
I was afraid, for one thing, and for |
another I did not want to take advnn- ;
tage of you. I was the only friend j
you had?the only man?and I had
known you from a child. I was a ,
southerner, and I?and we," he went
on softly, "we love the south. Had I |
been born In New England I should .
have loved the south, since it Is your
land. And you were so young. You
might have said 'yes' then."
In spite of herself the girl, listening
In dreamy abandon to his passionate
pleading, nodded her head softly.
"Oh!" cried Peyton, conscious of her
slightest motion. "Would you have
said'yes?'"
"I might," she whispered, "the
"And now?" he questioned e?L '7.
"Oh, now?It Is different now. Don't
ask me, Boyd."
"** "I must! Is it because there Is some"
one else?"
"No. there is no one. You see, the
llttlo southern bird that was so lonesome
up north is out of the cage now
and she loves?everybody." She spread
her hands abroad with a delicious gesture.
"There isn't any one in particular.
but all?you. as well as the rest.
I like you. oh. very much, and if you
are awfully In love with me. as you
say you arc. I am very sorry for you
I am sorry 1 or them all."
"All?" he queried Jealously "What
do you mean by that?"
"Why, I mean all the r.*on who rre in
love with me and that 1 am r.ot in
lore with. They all talk just as you
do. Boyd."
"Don't!" be protested vehemently. "1
cannot Relieve that the ephemeral affection
of the men you meet can be
likened to my feeling. I tell you." he
continued, almost fiercely, "you do not
dream how 1 love you. We sailors are
lonely folk. Do you know, do you
realize, that winter in Boston was the
only one I ever spent in the-soeiety of
a girl, a woman? Are you a woman,
1 wouder?"
"Am I a woman, Indeed!" indignantly
nnd with surprise.
"Yes, I know; in years, perhaps, but
at heart only a child."
"A child, sir! Well, perhaps! And
If you knew other women maybe you
wouldn't care so much for me."
"It would not make any difference;
I'd care for no one else. You are all.
Ah, when I sailed away last spring
nnd left vou I took with me sueli a
mouiorj' of you as completely possessed
lue. I did my duties, of course; 1 bad
been so trained. That's n part of life,to
do one's duty. I lived on the ship.
I mingled .with tbe others. My body
was on the African const, but my soul
was where yoo? were. I was absentminded,
dlstrnlK My shipmates rallied
me upon It. It was your fault I was
thinking of you, drenming of you.
"The breeze of summer wove songs
about your name through the rigging,"
he continued, in that low voice with its
passionate cadence. "When the moonlight
beat upon tlic low lylug sutids of
the tropic shore tbe mist wreathed itself
Into figures whose airy grace suggested
you to me. Not a wave that
caressed the keel of the ship that did
not ripple with the music of your
laughter. I could shut my ey^ and
hear it even now."
He suited the action to the word And
loaned his head against the tree trunk
v and was silent for n little space.
"I welcoao*-the night watches," he
said at last. "They wore never lonely
to me. I could pace the deck and think
of you, you. only you. with nothing to
disturb or district me. Yes, yes, I am
a dreamer, as you have said, but I did
not create an Ideal?I found it In you.
w Beloved, you kiunv not what this has
^ meant to mc. You do not know wlmt
It means now. I said you were a child,
and you are. But some day you will
be a woman, and then you wlU under
**94* Pechagg U 1% jut ftltpssUux
Era ' ' ' ' ' *
l**V; ! . . ;
h e
ERNERSl
'junsend 'Brady
Ihe Ship," "IIohei\ioU?m,"
? Touch," Etc. n -. A >/ . ? !<X'-vV.s." *V
rru? Toxcrucnd Eradu :&:? *{ %
you now tnat I love, that I worship,
but what I see In you, what you shall
be."
She listened, drlnkinc In every word.
"I have made you the object of my
ambition, the end and alui of uiy life.
Every hope that 1 cherish centers in
you. Every desire that I entertain lias
you for Its realization. I lo^g to do
something for you, to have some task
set inc some great achievement placed
before me, that 1 may show you what
love means. I ask nothing now. 1 am
content to stand hero below you and
look up at you, to kiss the hem of your
garment."
Again lie sr.ited the action to the
word, with a reverence which touched
her soul.
"To bo near you is enough now, but
some day I must have more. I must
have all. Until that time comes and
you come to me with it I shall waitno.
not patiently, not willingly, but because
I must Do you understandV"
"1 understand," she murmured in answer.
"Speak on. There is music to
my heart In what you say. 1 am a
child. I do not know yet what love
means as you know it. as you have told
It. But perhaps I shall learn. You
may tench me, and with such a master
may I be an apt pupil. Here is my
hand on It."
He seized the slender, graceful brown
hand she extended, arid with old* fashioned
grace?alas, that the custom has
gone! ? pressed a long kiss upon it
while she continued:
"There is no one else yet. and 11
hope"?her voice sank to a whisper;
she turned her head away; a rift of
sunlight drifted through the trembling
folinge and fell upon her lialr and bur
nlshcd It with color?"I hope," she murmured,
withdrawing her hand and laying
It upon his head, "that some day It
may be as you wJsli."
"Thank God! Thank God," he exclaimed,
"for that blessed assurance,
and may he bring all '.ny dreams to
pass!"
And above them a mocking bird burst
Into song.
CHAPTER V.
WHAT HAPPENED ON TIIE SHELL, ROAD.
f"wjr>IGn noon and high tide on the
HI| Shell road. The gray road
IttHTJPPjd following the curves of the
IttUuV shore *fcas uatenaiitfcJ tit the
moment save by three persons on horseback.
Although he was a sailor, Boyd Peyton
rode with the ease of a southern
cavalier long accustomed to the saddle.
His companion was a good match for
him. She wore a close flttlng riding
habit of navy blue, a little, stiff hat to
match it, with n gray veil drooping behind
it, and gray gauntlets. She had
exchanged her ankle ties for dainty
little boots, and as he bad mounted
her upon her horse Jie had not failed
to notice her small high arched Instep,
the hall mark of the high bred southern
woman, which she had to perfection.
The force of the breeze, accentuated
by their quick motion, had added n
deeper color to the richness of her
brown cheeks. The wind blew her hair
hither and thither as they galloped
along. She laughed aloud sometimes in
very heedless Joy In life. She was so
young and happy. .Terry, the negro
groom In the Annan livery, who rode
some distance behind them, if he
thought of them at all. would have
called tlieni n handsome pair.
Peyton had spent the entire morning
nt the Annans', renewing his acquaintance
with the Judge. After luncheon
he had begged Mary to ride with him
on the Shell road, then, as now, the
driving and riding resort of fashionable
Mobile. It was yet so early in the afternoon,
however, that they had the
road to themselves.
Peyton was ns full of satisfaction
as anything short of her complete acceptance
of him could have made hiiu.
He loved her, he had told her so iu
spite of Ills promise, and she had listened
at last In spite of her refusal,
and had half responded. He was determined
to win her, and she had
given him hope. It was enough to
make any man happy. The added exhilaration
of the gallop completed his
Joy. All too soon they drew rein nt
Frederic's house, nt the end of the
made road.
Far to the front of them the unpaved
road, abruptly degenerating into
a mere bridle path, wound through the
11-.M it? -ii-?
iruwn IIIIU iwi IIBCI1 JII I 111! UlNlllllCU
among the trees.
"Let us alight from the horses and
go out on the wharf yonder." said Peyton,
pointing off to the left, where n
long wharf on plies extended far ouf
over the water.
"I think I should like it," replied tho
girl; "I am a little tired ufter our rapid
gallop."
Leaving the horses to the care of the
negro, he helped her down the steps,
and they walked slowly out to the end
of the wharf.
"I know not which Is the more beautiful,"
said the girl, as they paused
at the boat landing. "Look nt the road.
Is there another such on the continent?
I love those great live oaks, green still
although It is winter, and all the vivid '
rich color of those huge broad leaved
magnolia trees." "*> < I
She stretched out her arms to the
Dlcturcoaue share, as if she would cImd .
it in loving embrace. |
"Yes." answered Peyton, smiling approvingly
at her enthusiasm, "and what
makes the ouks more beautiful are the
long festoons of that Spanish moss
hanging from every limb and the mistletoe
clustered around the tops. Even
the white China berries and the red
yupous and those little bayonet palms
add to the charm. But beauty Is upon
this Bide, too," he added, sweeping his
arm seaward, Jealous for his chosen el- i
euient. "I never expected to be a sailor."
|
"No." said the girl, "you should have
been a poet."
"Yes, perhaps; but since I am a soil- i
or 1 am glad. There Is 110 touch of
verdant nature on the sea, but It has a
freshness and a life of Its own, and the
waves?see how they splash! In their
light and airy play they remind me of
you."
"Does evervthliif* romimi
? (, JWU VI UIC,
I wonder?" turning to look at lilni.
"Everything that is beautiful," he
I answered promptly. For the life of
her she eoulil not but be pleased with
such exquisite loveinnklng, and, smiling.
she showed her pleasure. "To
me," he continued, "you stand for everything
that Is lovely, not only beauty,
grace, charm, but the crown of womanhood
besides. You are so pure
and sweet?In your soul, I mean. In
Ills horse toas quivering rdth excitement.
my sight you nre purity itself, purer
than the snow upon the mountain upon
which not even the wing of the eagle
has ever cast a shadow, ojid you are
is far above me as that same crest."
lie was dreaming of her agalu and
rending his dreams aloud, and, As before,
she listened eagerly.
"Speak to me, dearest," he said nt
last, as if Just awakened. "I love to
hear you speak.
"Ah. with laughing water mingle
The love song of your choice;
'Twill be but Bhadowcd echo
To the music of your voice.
It enchants me. I'd rather hear It
than"?
"That's a perfectly lovely verse.
Boyd," she Interrupted. "Who wrote
it?"
"I did. 'A poor thing, but my own,' "
he quoted softly. "You said I was a
poet. I've written reams of verses
about you, but they do not satisfy me.
Nothing I could say would measure up
to my standard of devotion to you. I
feel humble before you. unworthy of
you. yet I aspire beyond merit or dpBert
because I love you."?"No.
110; you exalt me too much!"
cried the girl. "I am nothing that
you say. I am not nt all what you
think me. I am nothing but an ordlpnry
southern girl who"?
"Who. Is the qucdn of my heart forever,"
ho interrupted, taking "hef""h'anJ."
"No; don't draw It away," he'continued.
"Lot ino have this hour for my
own. Something tolls me that I shall
not have many."
It was useless, wrong, foolish, yet
she lot him retain it for a little space,
soon to be broken.
"What's that?" she said slowly at
last, drawing away her hand as her
eyes turned from him and for a brief
Space searched the shore,
"Where?" disappointment speaking
In his voice.
"There! Coming along the road toward
Frederic's! A horseman! See!
lie is waving to us! Now I recognize
him. I'd know that gray horse among
a thousand. It's Mr. Rob Harrow.
He's shouting something. He has a
piessage for us evidently. What can It
be? Some word from father, perhaps.
(Come; let us go and meet him."
(lathering her skirts in her hand, she
fan along tlie wharf, tripped up the
stairs and reached her own horse Just
as Dnrrow reined in his gray.
lie had ridden as if pursued. Tils
horse was quivering with excitement
and flecked with foam. As ho was
jerked back on his haunches by his
rider's powerful hand Harrow sprang
to tho ground, tore his l)nt from bis
head with his gauntleted hand and
cried out his message. Ills eyes were
shining; his fair face was crimson
with color; his voice trembled with the
heavy purport of his tidings.
"I went to your house, Miss Mary!"
he cried. "They told mc that you hnd
come riding here. How nre you, Peyton?
CSlad to see you back. You came
in the nick of time, old fellow," he continued,
clasping the other's outstretched
hand. It was the first time the
friends had met for years, but Harrow
had tlmo for no other greeting, "f
knew you would ho crazy to hear the
j news. Miss Mnry," ho added, turning
, once more to the girl, "so 1 Vddled the
gray hero and rode like one possessed
to find you and tell you."
| "What is the news, Mr. Darrow?"
j asked the girl eagerly.
' "South Carolina has gone out of the
Union! The ordinance of secession was
passed nt Charleston today! This is
the beginning of the southern republic!"
he cried exultingly.
lie waved his'hat in the air and
1 made the live oaks ring with a mighty
j cheer, in which the shriller voice of the
girl triumphantly joined.
CHAPTER VI.
I T,IE WOMAN BETWEEN. j j
'" EYTON stood looking at tlio | ,
pair in dazed surprise. The \
Muews, so startling, which his ,
companions received with
j such demonstrations of joy, was ap- j
1 palling to him. He did not know what j
, to make of it. Mary Annan had noticed }
his silence, hut she made no comment t
on it, and, indeed, Harrow gave them j
no time for rellectlon, for as he recover- j
cd himself a little lie continued his ,
story excitedly. j ,
j "The whole town is iu a ferment." !
"Arc they going to do anything?" ! |
; asked the gill. | (
; "1 think so. Telegrams were coming j
i from Montgomery in a perfect stream |
i when I left. I suppose there will be a ,
' parade or salute or something of that 1 j
| sort." | j
"Well, let us ride back at once," said \ ,
j the girl. "I nut so excited I can hardly | j
, breathe. I would not miss It for any- | ,
j thing. Isn't it splendid? Jerry," she I j
continued, turning to the groom, "my ,
horse." ,
As the negro, who had watched the 1
scene with unmoved gravity, little comprehending
Its ultimate meaning to (
him and his race, led forward the ,
horse, both young men sprang to as- ]
sist her to mount. She looked from
one outstretched hand to the other and,
turning to I'eyton, put her little foot In
his palm, lie Hashed a look of gratitude
toward her as lie lifted her into
the saddle,' but his joy was not allowed
free course, for, with an Instinct of
kindness which is sometimes mistaken
for coquetry, she turned to Harrow,
wiiorc lace was Hushed with disappointment.
and said, "I came with Mr.
Peyton, you know," which simple remark
did a great deal to dim the
brightness of Peyton's satisfaction and
diminish the poignancy of Darrow's regret.
Both men sprang to their saddles
then and both instinctively made for
the right side of the girl, and for a moment
it looked as if there might be a
collision; but Harrow recovered himself
quickly and reined-in bis horse.
"The place of honor is yours, Boyd.
You are Miss Mary's escort this morning.
so go ahead. Besides, you are a
stranger too. I surrender the privilege."
"That's handsome of you, old fellow,"
returned his friend, smiling, as
' Darrow wheeled to the left side of
Aonaa. ?- ? *
"If you have finished your discussion,
gentlemen," she said, smiling in
spite of herself with pleasure at the
Jealous little rivalry, "let us ride on. I
cannot wait to be there."
She shook the reins over the horse's
neck, touched him lightly with the
whip she carried, and lie broke into u
long, swinging gallop, an example, of
course, followed by the other two.
They fairly raced along the road at a
pace which made connected conversation
impossible. They covered t lie distance
very rapidly without break or
stop until they renclied the outskirts of
the town. As they turned into Emmanuel
street Mary Annan reined in
her panting horse and cantered slowly
down the street.
"My," she said, with cheerful gladness,
"that was a snlendid dash! l no
not believe we were more tlian linlf an
hour doing the distance. Your gray
looks tired, Mr. Darrow."
"Yes," said Darrow, patting his
horse. "You see, lie has had a double
run."
"Shall we be In time?"
"Oil, I think so," answered Darrow.
"LLirk! What's that? It's the band."
"Come," said the girl impatiently,
urging her horse into n gallop again. (
"Let's hurry on." i
"I think we can intercept tliem on |
Government street if we keep straight j
on," said Dnrrow as he and Peyton fol- ]
lowed her example. i
"What will it be, do you think?" she (
cried. (
"Oh, a parade or a salute; perhaps
|?otli." 1
In a short time they reached the ,
Junction of Emmanuel and Govern- |
ment streets. The broad, splendid road,
lined with magnificent old houses embowered
in trees, was filled with neo
pie. Some squares away to tlie left
came the band of music, followed l>y
marching bodies of gayly uniformed
men. The sunlight sparkling 011 steel
bayonets told the trio that they were
soldiers. They were accompanied, as
usual, by thrones of people, the street
was rapidly lilling up, and boys and
girls, black and white, capered along
In time to the music.
"What's that they are playing?" asked
Peyton curiously.
"It's a new song," answered Mary.
" 'Piston to the Mocking Ttlrd' It's called.
I will sing it for you the next time
you are at the house."
"Yes, we have all enjoyed hearing
you sing It, Miss Mary," put In Parrow
deftly, quite nullify lug the pleasure
Peyton had taken in the promise.
Harrow was a magniflcent horseman.
He seemed a part of his steed. No
centaur could have ridden more superbly.
8ix feet high, splendidly proportioned,
he uinde a grand picture
sitting ills great gray horse. No one
could l>e In greater contrast to Peyton
than he. Ills eyes were blue, his hah:
sunny, his complexion florid, an unusual
hut not' impossible type for n
j southerner. Physically he was the Incarnation
of force aud strength, both ^
V -w .
tempered ny southern courtesy and rellnomort.
He was the personification
jf headlong recklessness and valor. I
Kear was absolutely left out of bis
[>orsonality. No one bad ever seen blm
leneli or iiuail or tremble. tJuy. joyjus.
debonair, he was a man to win .
the heart of almost any woman and
to awaken the admlratiou of men as |
well.
Yet there was something lacking
tbout liim. In the hidden depths of
lis nature, in which a man shows what
tc Is fundamentally, ho was not quite
so admirable. A touch of soul was
wauting In blm. The spiritual side of
tiis nature bad suffered at the expense
jf the material. Ill that nartlrnlnr lu?
kvas also of a type antipodal to I*eyon.
for Peyton's physical nature had
mffcrcd at the expense of the spiritual,
rhe one needed sorrow and trouble and
love?are they synonyms??to rct'nie
Dim; the other required work and.dan
;er and disappointment and love?are
hey synonyms, too??to blunt him. as
t were, and make him practical and
wactieable in this workaday world. A I
risis would make or unmake each j
man.
Singularly enough, the girl who sat i
between the two men. glancing from
duc to the o her. as she marked them
both during the dash on the Shell road,
was to furnish the element wliieh
should perfect and supply the lack in ]
the character of the two who loved
tier so. It must not be concluded that
?lther man entirely lacked the quail- ,
ties with which the other was so
ibundnntly dowered; not at all, and
[tcrhaps the difference between them
iecmed greater when attention was
ealled to it than it really was. but the
two tendencies existed.
There is something of the poet In
every lover. In Mary's presence the
spiritual was bourgeoning in Darrmv's
heart. And there is something else,
which, for lack of a better term, may
bo described as the material, in every
' I
1
With hi* ri<jht arm across his breast, he
laid Ills hat vpon his Ujt shoulder.
lover's purpose. Tliere Is something
virile nnd active in every great passion?else
it is not great?uiul this was
moving in Peyton's inind.
The girl comprehended the case of
her two lovers hut dimly. As she sat
between them she inclined now to the
right, now to the left, and knew not
whither she would tiunlly tend.
The two men had been friends from
boyhood. The frank, impulsive nature
of the larger man, who was also the
older, had fitted In witli the quieter,
more restrained habit of the younger.
They had been to eaeli other as body
and soul. They made an ideal combination
therefore. One planned, the
other executed. Not altogether is the
statement true again; but. broadly
speaking, it was Peyton's subtle mind '
and Harrow's powerful personality
that worked together. Oftentimes Pejtoil's
Ideas were utterly unpractical,
equally often Harrow's insight was enlirely
lacking, yet together they supplemented
each other. In a great emergency.
if any had ever arisen, the combination
would have been ideal and
success certain. There neve r had been
a elond upon their friendship. Tho
only thing that breaks fi hardships like
that between man and man is woman.
They line] been too young and too much
separated in their later life for that
factor to have thrust itself unmi their
CONTINUKI) ON GTH PAOF.
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fMMKg?r Traffic General P???eng
WASHINGTON. D. C. WASMINGTOf
?? ?j i' * ^
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HEAT IN THE OVEN. '***
llnw tlic linkers Determine It l?y tt>?
.Mere Toneli of tlie llnixl.
"Tinkers have n curious way of tolling
just wliat the temperature of the
oven is," said a linker who has been In
llie business for more than a quarter
of a century, "and they can tell, too,
with almost marvelous accuracy. You
take a man who is an expert In the
business, and he can tell what the temperature
of the oven Is by simply
touching the handle of the oven door. 9
In nine eases out of ten he will not
miss it to the fraction of a degree,
linkers hive other ways, of course, of
testing the heat of the oven. For instniice.
when baking bread they sometimes
throw a piece of white paper into
the oven, and if it turns brown tbo
oven is at the proper temperature, or,
when baking oilier things, they will
throw a little eorntiieal tlour into the
oven i:i order to test the bent. Hut
tlie baker's lingers are the best gauge,
ami when you eoine to think of tlie different
tempera lures required in baking
different tilings it is no small
aehievement to even approximate the
heat of tlie oven by touching the bandit;
of the oven doer.
"linkers ligure that during tlie rising
time of a loaf of bread, after It has
been placed in the oven, it ought to be
in a temperature of ?."> degrees 1'. During
the baking process, in order to cook
the starch, expand tlie carbonic acid
gas, air ami steam and drive off tlie alcohol.
the Inside of the loaf must register
at least 220 degrees, in linking
rolls, buns, scones, tea biscuits, drop
cakes, fancy cakes. New York cakes,
in nib us, puff cakes and tilings of tliat
sort the oven must show a heat of 4r?0
degrees or higher. When tlie oven Is
at -100 degrees, it is fit for cream puffs,
sugar cakes, queen cakes, roek cakes,
jumbles, lady fingers, rough and ready
and jelly rolls. At 3">0 degrees wine
cakes, cup cakes, ginger nuts and
snaps, pies, gingerbread, spice cakes,
such as raisin, currant, citron, pound,
bride and so on, may be baked. It
requires a still lower temperature to
bake wedding cakes, kisses, anise drops
and tilings in this class. Hut. whatever
temperature tlie old baker wants,
he can tell when lie lias it by simply
touching the handle of tlie oven door."
?New Orleans Times-Democrat. t
Not a pound of all the coal burned In
Switzerland is dug witbiu the borders
?f that couutry.
_ nwr -1
MINUTE
One Minute Cough Cure gives relief tfl
One minute, because it kills the microbe
which tickles the mucous membrane, causing
the cough, and at the same time clears
the phlegm, draws out the inflammation
and heals and soothes the affected parts.
One Minute Cough Cure strengthens the
lungs, wards off pneumonia and is a harn?less
and never failing cure in all curablp
cases of Coughs, Colds and Croup.
Our little girl was unconscious from strangulation
during a sudden and terrible attack of croup. 1 quickly
secured a bottle of One Minute Cough Cure and gave
her three doses hill an hour apart. The croup was
mastered and our little darling speedily recovered. I
cannot praise One Minute Cough Cure too much fog
what it has done in our family.?A. L. Spafford. Postr
master, Chester, Mich,
Prepared by E. O. DeWITT & CO., CHICAQQ
CROUP
\N RAILWAY
TRADE and TRAVEL
ITHERN STATES.
me Convenient Schedules
? Trip to those who
HERN RAILWAY.
Service in the World.
Is. Rates and Sleeping-Car reserof
THE SOUTHERN RAILWAY. .
1V1CK. W. H. TAYLOE.
r Agent. Atililtnl G?n. fMiangar Aganl.
?. D C. ATLANTA, OA.
| J
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