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SLKGS AND ARROWS
By HUGH C02TWAY.
Avtiisir of "Called Back," -'Dark Days,'
"A Fam?y Affair," Etc.
8 the. tale which I
am about to tell Js
my own; as I my
self am the. hero?
a pitiful enough
hero ?of tho so
pages, I shall, by
and bye, be forced
to say ?o much
about my own af
fairs that I may
well begin by spar
ing a lew lines to those of another man, a
man on whose grave the grara has been
growing for many a long year.
His nam - wa* Julian Loraine. His home
from the day when first I knew him to the
day of hi* death, was Herstal Albey, a fino
old house iu that par* of wooded Somerset
shire wb-raraUways havo not yet come.
Although Mr. Loraine was a man of
wealth, and moreover, by education and, I
believe. Janiily fully entitled to take a hish
social position, Herstal Abbay was not his
ancestral home. He had acquired it by
fdmpl- light of purchase, having bousht out
on ?i! l. improvident, but popular county
familv? I outfit it cot 60 completely
that, If he did not literally stop into its
shoe-, hi su; in its very chairs and used its
Such a ? hole;ale buying up of one of their
own class by an unknown man always
^annoys,- perhaps frightens, county 'people,
Ban! Julian Lorafne's neighbors for some
^^me looke I at him askance. He took none
of those steps by which1, a new comer may
occasionally gain access to the magic county
?. circle. He brought no introductions. He
gave no largo subscription to the hunt?in
deed, there v. as not much hunting in that
part. He did not, in a covert way, let his
willi jjrii'j.s? to givo t'rand entertainment bo
known. He . simply completed the pur
chase of Herjtol Abbey and its conteuts;
took up bis aboJo in the old house, aud
troubled nothing abont his noigbbors, which
no doubt aunoyei them all the more.
Little Julian Loraine eared for this. The
truth is he was one of the most unsociable
men al.vo, and his cynicism, if distributed
through the county." would have "made
Somersitshire a region in which life would
have been unbearable. He was?1 pea the
words lel?ctandy?an utter disbeliever in
humanity. Perhaps the lifo which he had
hitherto led brought him to this state of
For in a very short tune his neighbors
found out tkit be was by no means the un
?tBKrjtffnmjtl they?1*hogc;hfrintm.^: "People who
knew London lifo had much to say about
this Julian Loraiue. It was toon made
clear to the countryside that the new man's
social claims to the right hanl of fellow
skip were indisputable; but other things
were also made clear.
Loraine bad led a terrible life?the very
fastest of the fast. The wonder was that
he had survived'?even greater wonder that
bo was still wealthy. At one time it was
thought he had run through everything, for
he bad disappeared, and no onosaw anything
cf him for years. But it turned out he had
crdy been loading a roving life in far coun
trie& Repenting, let us hope. No; Julian
Loraine was hot a nice man.
But, nice or not, no one had any longer
the wish to keep Mr. Loraius at arm's
length. Had he cared for it, ho might havo
tujoy'.-d mixing with the pick of county
society. But he treated civility almost as
he treated coldness, with complete indiffer
ence; an 1 it soon b'came understood that
the owner cf Her :itnl At bey was a man who
no longer cuol to mix w.ta hi* kind.
It was, of course, incomprobomibb that
any on- s::ould buy a flue property aud
settle dow s to the life of a recluse; the
mcr? so a< the mau w?s still "in the prime
of lite, hauUKoiue und wca.thy. But Julian
Londuo va an ineoinprcLcuxible mna I,
for on -, haw never U-?:: ;.ble to determine
Lis Iriiia character, lui'i.ap. 1 Lave shunned
luv svra1inx it- ParLapi, lad 1 tried, I
siiuul.' pvc ioo:i Uaiuble to outlier trust
worthy iri!?ir:aa'jio i a to h.'s true nature,
fr. m t:.e i ct that tales afloat concerning
his earty life would reach me-last of alL
Wuci La uou-^ht Herstal Abbey ho was a
widower with one sou, a boy bf 7. This
boy te petted find neglected alternately.
There were days when the child was with
bim from uorntoeve; there were weeks in
which#h; .never saw him irom Sunday
morning to Saturday night; there were
mouths during which Mr. Loraina went
wonlerin- off, heaven knows whore, leav
ing the'child to the care of servants.
"Whether ut home or abroad, he kept up
his establishment iu a lavish, wasteful
manner. He threw his money about in a
cynical way, as one w?o cared not how it
weut. Ho expocted bis servants would rob
him?no doubt they did. This he considered
but human nature, and troubled nothing
about it; but woo to the man or woman who
in the slishtest degree neglected anything
which his comfort or whim demanded] His
depenJcuts soon understood their master's
peculiarities, and by the exercise of due
care managed to keep their place? tor years
and years, and no doubt grew rich upon the
money he waste 1.
As wdl hoou be seen, I have related all,
or the greater part of the above, from hear
say. The following incident in Mr. Lor
aine's bfe I tun vouch for, f.s I heard it
from his own Hps.
In i be year 1653 he was%eturuiug from
Austral a. He did not tell me ?hat Lud
tuktn him ttiere, but I ruspoct he went in
so .ft h of health. He wa< in a- sailing ve>
tel?the 1 lack Swan was her uame. There
were other passengers?men, women aud
cii Idren. Oue night there wes a crash, a
horrible grinding sound, a recoil, an! the
Hack Swan quietly setiled down to the
Ik lu.:;i o." th' OCiau. Whether the disaster
wu> dee to a collision cr to a sunken rock
was never known. All w.'.s over in live
minutes, and Julian Lorcme found himself
swimming tor life, yet without a hope of
In swimming, as indeed in every manly
exeicis?. Lorair.c was all but unrivaleJ;
bat even his great strength was gone when
he felt a Iiun.l u:i his collar and was pulled
all bat iusensibl i into a small boat, which,
it appeared, was the only one that bad bem
lowered, or, at any rate, had succeeJed in
getting away from the wreck.
Tho tea, fortunately, was comparatively
smooth or tho tiny beat could not have
cetlmd the night. When the morning
broke, Julian Loraiao saw all that survived
of the ship and her freight.
Himself, four sailors, thro: wimon and a
baby in arms!
Tho sailors were pulling, not from the
hope of reaching land, but to keep tho boat's
bond to the waves. The mother, with hor
child clasped to her Drees-', and the two
other vorneu, were crouching in the stern
In the boat were a dozen biscuits and a
f mall keg of water.
With the light, all turned to Loraino for
advice and nid. He was a man of coc-i
manding pros-?ncer. to whom people of a
lower organization would naturally turn sin
difficulties. Ho assumed the responsibility.
He told the men* to step the mast and
hoist what sail they thought safe, and then
to steer as close to the wind as possible
He assured them that land was not far off.
His only reason, he informed me, for taking
this course was that he hated the labor of
rowing. Any hope of their lives being
saved he tcouted.
However, before nightfall they did reach
land?a bare rock, I ut land.
By this time one of the women was lying
in the bottom of the boat, moaning, like
one in agony. Her companions of the same
tex were exchanging frightened glances.
The poor thing was carried ashore, and the
true state of affairs communicated to tho
men. A tent or tcreen was, by the aid of
the sail and the oars, hastily rigged up, and
in an hoar's time there were ten human
beings, instead cf niao, on that barren rock.
But not tor long. Before the morning
the number was the same ae when they
landed, only that the place of one of tho
women was taken by a crying, prematnrely
The rough men and women did what they
could for the poor little wretch. The
woman with the nursing baby gave It a
portion of what was rightfully bar owo
This, in Julian Loraine1 s opinion, was the
most rash and misplaced expression of false
sentiment ho had ever met with.
Toward the evening of that day they
scraped a gravo for the mother. They did
not fill it np at once, thinking that by and
bye the child must be laid in her arms.
Atone ti;:.e it seamed that it mutt bo so.
The sailors and the womea, no doubt, think
ing that a gentleman is nearer heaven than
themselves, brought tho poor little wailing
atom to Loraino, and asked him to christen
With death so closa at hand to all it was
not worth whilo making any demur; but I
can fancy the man's cynical smilo oh ho
sprinkled water from a large shell on the
child's hen L He,. Julian Loraine, doing a
pries.'s duty, anl doing it for the pleasure
of other people!
However, so far a?s he knew how he bap
tised the child, and thinking that a name
was ^dispensable with a.kind of grim
butnor chrlstono 1 him, for it was a boy,
?Atter all no one elsj dioJ, not oven the
str?ng ;ly-bom baby. Tho next day a sail
hove in Hi;-ht. Such signa s as the .ship
wrecked party could make were seen, and
men, women and babies were sooa, ia safety
on board a hom::ward-bou:i I ship.
Not one, not even her feDow-passengOK,
knew'tho name or anything about the wo
man who had died. Her clothe.--, such as
she wore, bore no mark. Her husband, if
on board, had gone down in the Black Swan.'
What was to become of the child?
Loraino settled this. Perhaps hi thought
the child had a certain ridiculous claim
upon him. He was no niggard with his
money. Ho told tome one?he would not
have taken the trouble to see about it "him
mIX?to find a csiafortafclo liccao lor the
child, and to apply to him when money was
wanted. Then he went his way, and lived
for years as he cho.se.
Every now and tUen, when har paymas
ter was in town, the woman who had charge
of the child ventured to bring him to see
his benefactor. Sometimes the benefactor
scowled, sometimes smiled bis cynical
smile and took notice of the little boy, who
was called by his baptismal . name, Master
Julian. TVlicu tho l>oy was 7 years of a^e,
Julian Loraino sent instructions that he was
to be forwarded to Herstal Abbey, Somer
setshire. Ilaving been told by tha gool
people about him that the grand geutlomau
ho now and again saw was his fither, he
addressed him by that endearing term.
Julian Lorain), no doubt, stare J end
laughed, but ho said nothing forbidlin;- the
appellation being used. So to himself and
the world tho boy was Master Julian, only
son of Julian Loraiuo, of Herstal Abbey.
What strange freak induc?d the man to
present a namehss child, of humble and un
known paronts, to the world as his son I
sball never know. I have tried to think it
was from t Section toward the child?from
tho need even his own nature felt of (some
thing he could love and call his own; but I
caunot think so. It may have beou pure
cynicism. Ho may some dav have wanted
to turn round uul say: "What is lirihl
See, I lake this low-born brat, bring him
up as a gentleman, aud every one thinks
hifn born to tho station I" It may have Leeti
a base? motive, that of revenge. I shall
Tho boy grew up. Ho passe j from the
stage of Master Juliau to that of Mr.
Julian, or younp: Mr. Loraine; yet his re
puted father kept the secret?kept it until
the boy was 19, and, like many other boys
of that age who ore only sou; of rich
fathers, bejran to give himself airs. Then
.one summer's evening, when the man and
the boy were sitting over their claret,
Juliau Lsra'no thought fit to relate, even
more fully than I have given it ubove, the
story ol the wreck nad the history of the
child born on that rock.
And I?for I was the boy to whom he told
it?turned d -adly pale and gasped for breath.
1 believe 1 had never really lov<vl the man
whom I supposed to be my father; his was
not a lovable nature. Of t?n un I i faVu 1
had reproached myself for my lack of filial
affection. But now, as I turtle 1 my (laud
eyes to his face, and saw the satirical smile
with which ho re:;nrdcl me, I all but hated
him. I rose unsteadily.
"I must go and think all this over," ]
"Certainly, go and think it over."
He spoke carele>?lv and return? 1 to his
claret, while I rushed wildly from tho
"DE MOItTClS ML NISI BON UM."
It was not un il late in I he aftoruooii of
the next day that I could bring myself to
meet again the man whom I hal always be
lieve I to be my father. Daring the time
while I held myself aloof from him I passed I
j through many stages of sorrow, but I l>e- j
j lievo my anger was even greater than my
I grief. I was but 19 years of age, but I j
j fancy that my thoughts and ideas were in [
j advance of ray years, The curious, tdmi-stl
[ solitary life which I had led for many
I years nt Herstal Ab!)?y no doubt conduced
to making me older than I really was. Till
tie time came for me to go to Oxford I saw I
little of any one save my supposed tuti.-er, '
my tutor and the servants of the kous ?.
But latterly all had changed for the bet- ?
tor. I hud been two terms at the uuivor-j
6ity. I had made many frletuL?. Life was i
just opening to ma?a new, fresh lifo, full j
of pleasure and exritemaut. I found myself j
fairly j opular with my fellow*. 1 was wolJ
supplied with money. I was looked upon j
?& an only son, and heir to a fins property. I
Iii short, my lot seemed to he cue in ten
And that moment Mr. Loraiuo had chosen
to reveal to mo the secret of my lowly birth.
To dash me from the pedestal upon which
he had placed me. To show me that I bad
no claim upon him?that, instead of boing
young Mr. Loraine, of Herstal Abbey, I
was no one!
I remember how, ?hortly before he told
mo the tale cf the shipwreck, I had been
discoursing iu a somewhat arrogant, colf
satisfied and glib manner as to the duties
incumbent cn eld families and landed gen
try; asserting' that the existence cf the
aristocracy was an unmitigated blessing to
the laud. In fact, I was giving my sup
posed father a bash-up of a speech which I
bad hoard at the Union. I thought my
sentiments gave him satisfaction. He
smiled and looked amused. No doubt he
was amused, bo amused that the demon of
sarcasm rose within him, and hurried on
the revelation wldch be may or may not
have intended should be made. The
temptation to prick the bladder inflated by
my youthful arrogance must have been ir
resistible to Mr. Loraine. From a child
I had noted this cruel trait in bis character.
I had noticed it tritb servant*, tucb ac"
quaiutanc-n; as he bad, and with myself;
The way of listening, of even leading one
on to talk, and then suddenly, by a biting
piece of sarcasm, crushing the unlucky
speaker. It was from this and kindred
actions that, even while I thought him nsy
father, I did not love the man.
Nor did he love m?. Hal he loved me
ever so little ho would have kept the secret,
and spared me my present humiliation. So,
In spite of all he had done for me, my auger.
rose and bunted against Julias Loraine. . j
Imnyhave been wrons; but, as will be
soon discovered, I wai full of faults. Per
haps the very association, more or less,
during twelve years with a man of Mr.
Loraino's stamp must develop faults?
There! Let ms write no more to hi*
detriment. He worked mo ev?, and he
work*! me good. He is doad. As I raise
my eyes from my pap*r and glance through
my window I can almost sae hin grave.
In th.i nftcruooa I went in search of feim.
I found him rending in the library. He
ncd.led as I ontcre.L then returned to his
book aud finished the paragraph.
"Well. Julian!" he said, as a signal that
he was at my service.
"I have been thiukiug over what you told
me lost uight, Mr. Lorain-\"
He raiso-1 ids dark eyebrows as he heard
mo address him in this wise. Till now I bad
generally ubod the old-fashioned "sir";
sometimes, not ofte:i, "father."
"I bale changes, Julian," Le said. "As
you know, the old landed gentry nro rooted
to old mstonn."
Even at that moment he could not forego
his sarcasm. My chsek flushed.
"Sec how you hava changed life for me!"
I said, hotly.
''See how you have clumged life for meP
"Ah! yes; greatly, no doubt I wonder
what you woull have been nowf1
'Tell me what I am now."
"So far as I know, a young man of 19,
thoroughly well elucated, gool-lookintr,
full of church aud state principles. Why,
tho rector stopp* I mo yesterday and assured
me you were ouo of the finest young fellows
he ever know; quite a credit to th<3 county."
This banter seemed to stab me.
"Tell me, sir," I sai l, "oaght I to thank
you for what you have done for mef
"Personally, I huto expressions of grati
tude; but if it gives you any satisfaction,
thunk mo by all means."
"No; I do not thank you. Had you
placed me in som3 humble position, suited
to my birth, and let mo make my way in
the world, I could havo thanked you. But
for years to lot me bs called your son; why
did you do it, sir?"
"I had some reason at the time. I almost
"Mr. Loraine, I have thought it all
"So you told me, Julian Gjoii."
"You may lnu^h at nie, but I consider
that I havo a great claim upon you."
He simply ruisjtr -bis eyebrows, but did
not deny my assertion.
"You bavj kept me in iguoranco for
years," I continu-d, k|k;aking quickly.
"You fcave brought in: up, and let me go
out iu the world under false odors, Now
just a- I enter upon manhood you tell m?
who I am, or rather ?ho I am not Why
ycu did this you uloue know. V'ou had
some reason for it. in return, I have a
right to demand something
"Demand] A right! Never mind. Gc
I ha 1 expected au outburst of-.rage. His
calm euc juraged me.
"Yes, sir; 1 ask that I may be allowed tc
finish my course at Oxford. Thon, when 1
have takeu my degtx", I will go and earn
my own living as best 1 can, J shall, of
course, pow call myself by some other name.
Can you suggest one?"
Mr. Loraine laughed a curious laugh. "I
like fellows who demand bettor thai, those
who beg," he said. "Ou lack to college by
all means. As to a name, is not Julian
Loraine good enough for you? Yoa are per
fectly welcome lo use it"
'?But it is no- mine."
"Never mind; uvs it I choose that you
shall use it so long as you arc dependent on
me. I also choose you to be thought my
son. No"?ho saw mo about to speak?"I
wiU give no reasons; perhaps I have none.
You may be sure that it will be no hin
drance to your future, being thought n rich
man's son. Besides, I bate change*. Now,
don't talk uny more. You have demanded;
I have acceded. Go away."
Puzzled und dis>atisfi.-d, I left him. I
had fully persuaded myself that I bad a
right to claim what I had claimed from
him. It was also not hard for me to learn
to think that if it was Mr. Loraino's wish
that I should still pass as his sou and licar
bis name, it was my duty to do so. Be
sides?remember, I was but a boy, and &o
need not be ashamed of tho truth?with all
my assume I independence, the thought of
proclaiming my humble and unknown par*
entagc to my friends was gull and worm
wood to ni?. To sink from the position
which I held as Mr. Loraino's son to that of
no ouo at all was a change greater than I
could picture to myself with equuuiiuity.
Sol objected no more; and a* Mr. Loraine
sternly forbade the subject being reopen
ed, my life, hi spite of its clou led future,
went on in its accustomed groove.
He:e, to avoid any mislealing, I may say
that all I over learned about my true parent
age was what Mr. L.iraine told ma. Who
and what was my ill-fated mother I know
no more than 1 know for what reason my
reputed father allowed me to bo brought up
as bis sou. _
Tho terms and tho vacations went by. 1
did not, during tho latter, sea a gre:it deal I
of Mr. Loraine, nor did he press mu to spend
tho time at Herstal Abbey. But n certain
feeling, if not of-gratitude, of what seemed
right'and proper, induced mo to stay tlicro
on several occasions. Tlicro was really little j
apparent change in tho relations between j
Mr. Loraino aud myself. What chnngo j
there might be was perhap; for tho better.
I was cecepting his benefits, but accepting i
them because I considered I had a right to j
them. Moreover, I was determined that,
when the time camo, I would be quite inde
pendent of bis favor. I endeavored now
and again to show him my feelings on this
point; and, in spite of the mocking smile
with which hs rtcoivei my hints, I do not
'.think he liked me the less. lam not sure
but in time a sincere friendship'migbt have
sprang up between us; for, whatever may
have been Julian Loraine"s inner nature,
when ho chose to meet any ono on terms of
equality and companionship ho could make
himself ono of th* most charming men in
the world. His talk, although dangerous
and hitter, was witty and brilliant
Bat time would not allow this incipient
feeling to grow up. Just after my t wenty
' first birthday I was summoned in hot haste
from Oxford. Mr. Loraine was dying.
I reached Herstal Abbey just in time.
My benefactor?yes, I most call him so
was just sensible, but speechless. I bent
over him and took his hand. His fingers
gave mine a faint pressure. Even at that
solemn moment I wondered at this show of
feeding. And ? wondered at the strange
look in l? dark oyes. They met mine
yearningly, and I knew that the dying man
had much he wished to say to me; yet
i somehow I knew it was not about myself he
wished to speak. I stooped down dose to
hiui.. His dry lips moved, t ut cculd not
I articulate. He gave a faint sigh; bis eye*
lids flickered, and all was over. Whatever
I were those last word a he wished to speak
> th?y remained unspoken.
I ros-) and left him. I walked to the
I room which was known as Mr. Julian's
room, and, I am thankful to say, wept
After all, this man had given me much.
But for him I might hare been consigned
to 'the workhouse; might now bo nothing
more than a mason's apprentice. Julian
Lcraine had at least given me the means to
start fairly in life. Yes, he had teen my
My grief, if not as deep as it shou'd have
been, was roally sincere. It was some time
before I began to reflect as to the imme
diate consequences his death would bring
to myself. I had money in hand, for the
allowance made me by Mr. Loraine had al
ways been an ample one?so largo, indeed,
that when the truth of my birth was
known to me, I had asked him to reduce
it The right I presumed to claim fell fur
. short of this. Mr. Loraine told mo scorn
fully not to bother him about money, mat
ters; so I had been unable to follow out the
plan which I had laid down?of taking from
him only sufficient for my needs. Never
theless, I had not Rpent the surplus, and it
would now serve mo in completing my edu
cation. From him I expected nothing. I
had shown him. both by act and word, that
I expected 'nothing. Who were bis heirs,
or to whom his wealth would be left, were
matters about which I troubled little. Now
that Julian Loraine was dead, I could with
a full heart thank him for all he had done
for me. Then I cculd resign his name
and force my own way in tho world.
His BoKcitor came down and gave instruc
tions concerning the funeral He diJ this
at my. request Knowing that shortly I
should be an alien in the house, I would
ntmnrrt" no responsibility. The only order I
'jf?&Fvji* thxit>-greTy>thing,sboqia -~be ttoho
tfufe?y and simply. I know tho dead man's
ideas about conventional obsequies.
The funeral over, we looked for the will
I.would not have a papor moved until then. ?
We soon found it i
"Not that it makes much difference, I
suspect," 6aid the solicitor, l,you being his
He was opening tho envelops as ho spoke.
'?Shortest will I ever read," said tho
solicitor; "made by himself, too, but all
quite right and legal."
He handed tho papsr to me. I read:
"I bequeath nil my real and personal
estate to my adopted son Jul an, commonly
known as Julian Lunine."
This, duly signed and witnessed, was Mr.
Loroiae's will I sank on a chair, feeling
dizzy and confused. Mr. Loraino dead was
a greater puzzle to me than Mr. Loraine
living. By a few words?dashed off, it
mi.lit be, 0:1 the spur of the moment?ho
had left me all his wealth. Was it from
affection, sense of justice, cynicism, or
"J did not know you were an tidoptjd son,
Mr. .T"l:in," sad tho lawyer, In tono; of
'?Yes," id, cjllectiig myself. "Do
you think . Ji be ri.giic in accepting this
' Why not;*
'.'Are there uo close relatives; Although
1 posse I as his son, 1 know so little about
"I suspect I know less. But I never heard
Mr. Loraine speak of any relatives. His
adoption of you proves you entitled to the
I sat in deep thought It was oll sc
strange, so sulden.
"By the by, Mr. Julian," said the solici
tor, "without wishing to intru le my a 1 vice,
I.should, if I were in your place, say nothing
to let peoplo kno w I was not Mr. Loraine's
sou. Ho evidently wished it to be thought
you were. I fancy that by saying nothing
you will be<r. carry out. his wishes. I my
self shall keep silence On the matter."
I weighed his couusel, cud at last, rightly
or wrongly, decided to .follow it. No one
cculd bo harmed by my continuing to pass
as tho dead man's son. The fact of his hav
ing left mo all his wealth showed, or I fan
cied it showed, that he looked upon mo as a
son; so I buried the story of the shipwreck
in my own breast, and was still Mr. Loraine,
of Herstal Abbey.
16taid my time at Oxford; I took my de
gree. After this I went abroad for many
months. I let Herstal Abbey; as I had no.
need of such a large place. When I returned
to England I led tho usual life, no better nor
no worse, of a young man of fortune.
Three years after tho d#ath of Julian
Lorain? I fell in love.
TO BE CONTINUED.
nplIHEK THUItOUHBHED JER
1 sey Bull Calves.
One Thoroughbred Jersey Heifer Call.
One Grade Jersey Cow, two weeks in
ii ilk, with or without Calf.
One Thoroughbred Registered Jersey
Hull 22 mouths old.
Two Registered Avreshire Heifers.
All of the almve Cattle an- of excellent
strain and will he cheap
E. X. CHIMM.M,
March is Itowesvillc, S. <'.
*Voti<*4a of BM*?llliss.ll.
/ TIIK I3TII DAY OF APRIL
V " next I will file my final account with the
Judge of Probate as Executor of the Will
of .Martha Huffman, deceased, and ttsk to
be discharged. T. E. HUFFMAN,
March 18-41* Executor.
Fon Brooms, Baskets, Brushes,
Bowls, Bath Bricks, Raisins, &c, go to
AS THE SEASON IS NEAR AT
HAND FOR PUTTING IN
And wishing to make room, we will make
it to the interests of all to eall and get
As we are determined not to carry over
any Fall Stock. We still lead in low
_~.".. prices and are Headquarters for
GENT'S, YOUTH'S AND BOY'S
_? ?'. j_- .
Our trade in
Zeigler's Fine Shoes
For Ladies was never better. Every pair
We ?.*arry the largest and best Stock of
In the market. All warranted.
COME AND SEt:FOR.YOURSELF.
GEO. E. CORNELSON.
a HEODORE XVOHN'S
FASHIONABLE DRY GOODS
We are now closing out the balance of our
Winter Stock of
at lesslhan cost of raw material.
Now is the time to procure Great Bargains.
Everything selling, off at unheard
of low prices. This is; a
for all to
C. & E. L. Kerrison,
83 EIASEE STREET,
CHARLESTON, S. C.
Black :?mi Colored Wroxs Good?,
LINENS. HOSIERY. &c, &c,
IN LARGE VARIETY.
S?~A11 Orders will receive prompt and
JSTCnsh orders amounting to #10 or
over will be delivered in any county free of
charge. C. ?V H:. IL. e?<'?*i*i*?ou,
augJulv Charleston. S. C.
mm light .
I will now devote my entire at
o: u?iui i
With an experience of ten
years 1 am in a positiou to
know what variety of Lamps
to keep on hand thai will suit
any purpose and give entire
satisfaction. When in need
of a Burner that will give
vutt a large brilliant light
eall for '?.SORKNTitUE'a
GUARANTEE". I give full
directions how to use it and a
guarantee for a year with
Ivcnieinber that "FAIR
DEALINGS LOW PRICES
and BEST QUALITY is my
Motto, and don't forget that
whateveryou may need in the
way of or for a Lamp you
will he .-nie to get ii. at
ec ite?Aa> stoke,
Headquarters im Lamps.
n. H. MOSS. C, ('.. DA.VTZI.EH
yjoss a: ]>ANTZi.Ki:.
A'l TORN Ei S AT LAW,
OnASGEISUKC, S. V.
J W. BOWMAN".
ATTORNEY AT LAW
OKA>'GEBUltO, S. C.