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The state journal. [volume] (Harrisburg, Pa.) 1883-1885, September 27, 1884, Image 3

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Persistent link: https://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov/lccn/sn83027086/1884-09-27/ed-1/seq-3/

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Love cam@ nonlnfo‘or the waters of life's
calm untroubled sea,
Fiashing in the morning sunlight; “Rise,”
He said ‘z?nd jollow me.”
“ford,” 1 erie , “the flowers ttou gavest,
they are claiming all my care.
Love, 1 cannot rise and leave them, never
flowers were half so fair.”
Then the decoy frshness vanished, and the
fierce unpitying heat
sSmote upon my tender blossoms; laid them
dying at my feet.
Love came mear me, in the shadows of the
evcnlnfi,cold and gray
“Let the dead their own dead bury. “Rise,”
He said, “and cowme away,
«pord,” I cried, “yet smll there lingers the
rich perfume of their breath,
Though my-flowers were fair in living, they
are sweeter still in death.”
And the evening shadows deepened to the
blackness of the anht..
And, the darkness gentiy plercing, came a
ray ot Love's own light.
«Lord,” 1 cried, “oh, take my blossoms, take
my weariness and pain;
Take my loneliness and longing, only give
me peaceagain.”
Then he drew me—oh, how gently—to the
ghelter of His breast,
“Child” He said, “I take thy Sorrow; thou
shalt have thy pertect rest.”
still, I have it, passing onward through a
scene, each step more fair;
All my joy in Him is springing, all my glad
ness He doth share.
And though {zentlv, days unfolding some
times pain and sorrow bring,
Yet the haud, that gives them to me, first
doth rob them of theirsting.
— (Good Words.
“Ah, mais le pauvre petit | He wants
sunshine, air, flowers, Estelle. Nothing
of which he may have up here but the
sun, indeed. And that without the coun
try air is enough to suffocate him.”
It was, indeed. Away in the broad
streets of fashionable Paris, in its great
squares, cven in its jealously-closed
houses, with their lofty rooms and wide
windows, the heat was almost unbear
able. Here, in the close, dirty streets,
where the poor herded in crowds in the
miserable rooms or close workshops, fe
vered and wearied with toil that must
never cease ihrough the long scorching
hours, existence became more like death
than life. So a woman, inanupper room
of one of the tallest and most dilapidated
houses of the poor quarter, found it. A
heap of work, by which she and her
child lived, lay on a table.
This table, two chairs, a bed anda
painted chest of drawers, with little paint
left on to tell what kind of wood it was
supposed to represent, were the only fur
niture of the room with its faded walls
and broken woodwork. Dut the tenant
could not afford to be particular. She
found it hard enough to pay for the
shelter as it was, toiling from daylight to
sunset. She had scarcely even time to
notice anything but that great pile of
work, which meant aching fingers and
eyes, cramped limbs, dizzy, stupefied
brain. But for a marvel the busy needle
had ceased for a few minutes this morn
ing. The reason for this momentary idle
ness was the only one that could ever
make her hands let h:r work cease—her
child. ! I
The wife of the landlord had come up
stairs, as she often did, to pay a visit to
the pale faced, sad eyed Englishwoman,
with the beautiful child, who had taken
her fancy the first moment tkey had set
foot in hez house, six months ago.
For a sccond or two after her entry
into the room, “Madame,’’ as she was al
ways called, could do wothing but sit
on the chair and pant for breath, for she
was stout, and the heat appalling,and the
stairs precipitous as they neared the top
landini. Then a sudden remark from
her when she had at last succeeded in
regaining her breath sent the work and
needle flying rom the worker's hands,
which had not ceased even when her
visitor entered the room, and the woman
rose to her feet and went quickly over to
the side of her child, who, seated on the
floor, was languidly playing with one or
two broken tovs. i i
Madame, as she sat gisping and chok
ing, had been looking at the child, and
something in that white face, with its
great dark eyes, in the listless languor of
the tiny hands as they toyed with their
poor little playthings, had scat a sudden
chill of fear to her beart.
“Ciel ! But how ill the child looks!”
The exclamation broke from her involun
tarily. Then the sudden, swift movement
of the mother, the terror in her eyes as
she sank down by the child and caught
him in her arms, made her wish she had
bitten out her tongue before she had ut
tered such a specch.
“It is air he wants,”’ she went on, try
ing to undo the effect of hep words, 3s
the young mother still did not s({)eak, but
Lent over the child, who dropped his toys,
and flung his arms round her ueck with
alittle sob of delight and weariness, that
showed how he liad been yearning for
Lis mother’s arms. Buat she had told him
to play with his toys, and by and by,
when she had finished that piece of work,
she would take him and pet him; and,
with a patience pitiful in such a baby, he
had tried to obey.
“C‘annot you spare a few hours totake
him into the country¥ Sec, a ljttle hour
in the night will make up again your
work, and as for the money, it costs very
little. It is not good; you have not
taken one holiday since you came. The
little one ought to go out from the walls
and streets, Has not he a fete like other
children ?"’
“A fete?”’ The other turned upon her
with sudden passion. ““Did not I tell
you that he has no birthday ?”’
She spoke French with a faint English
sccent, and ag, after the passionate out
hurst, she bent qver her child again, she
murpured in her own tqngue:
“My darling ! my darling !”
The good Frenchwoman looked on
pityingly, not understanding fhe words,
but knowing thatthey were terms of en
Estelle looked up suddenly again. The
listless languor of the child as he lay in
her arms, perfectly contented now that
his little aching head rested on herbreast,
sent a chill through her own limbs.
“Would it do him good-—a day in the
couuntry @’
“Good ! Tt would give him fresh life.”
answered madame. Then she dived into
a capacious pocket and brought out a few
coins. *See, I 'will lend them: another
day ycu will return them. Decidedly the
child must go !"
A scarlet flush dyed the younger wom
an’s face—a face whose firm lines of
mouth and chin Dbetrayed a pride that
made it bitterly hard to accepta charity.
But the child! The mouth guivered
tremulously, and a sudden mist dimmed
the beautiful eyes.
‘“Madame, you haye been very good ta
us, :’md yet yqu know we canunot repay
8! -
¥ "Bah ! give me back the money when
ou can. See, I will help you dress the
fittle one; he is a beautiful boy, but it is
a great pity that you will always speak to
him in English; he would make a brave
Frenchman—lle petit Basil.”” -
A sudden shudder ran through the
girl’s frame from head to foot, whilea
look of almost loathing came into her
eyes, But madame dis not see it. She
had lifted the child in her arms, and was
telling him in her own tongue of all the
Leautiful things he was going to see.
“Look, then !”’ she exclaimed ‘in tri
umph. *““He smiles aiready at the
thought of the sunshineand the flowers.’
'fil; two women dressed him {agether
—thore was little change to be made in
his clethes, for he had -but the dress he
was wearing--laughing over him with that
woman’s laughter wiich is 80 near to
tears where a child is concerned, caress
gng and talking to him jnthe baby ian
guage he used himself, Then the work
was folded, the cbairs put back into their
place, the few little toys gathered up
from the floor, the tiny slippers, that had
just been taken off the baby feet, placed
beside the white pinafore ready for him
next morning, and then, W}th many in
junctions from madame as to how they
were to go, and admonitions against keep
ing the boy out toy late, they started.
%lad?.me. who had accompanied them
down stairs, stood at the door and
watched tbem down the street.
‘When she reached the end of it, the
youm;’ mother turned, and made the
child look, too. They both nodded and
laughed back to the dgood landlady, the
child kissing his hand, the thought of the
country seeming to bring back some light
into the mother’s face as well. Madame
nodded and smiled in return. Then
something shut them out from her view
—either the houses at the turn of the
street or a curious mist that had come
into her own cyes.
Out in the country, far away from the
great cit{, with its sun-scorched pave
mentsand glaring bouses, from its noise
and dust, and the wearying, ceaseless
toil of its workers, new life and strength
came back to the child. A faint color
tinged his cheeks, his eyes danced and
sparkled as they looked on the wonderful
new world he had entered, and the soft
west wind, as it played round him and
tossed his brown carls, made him laugh
aloud with delight. They had descended
at a little station some distance from
Paris, and then wilked on as far as they
could go, Estelle sometimes carrying the
c_hdild, sometimes letting him run by her
They came at last to the green fields, with
shady groups of trees, where not a soul
save they two was to be seen. Then be
gan the real delight of the day. She gave
the boy the milk and food she had brought
for him, and ate a piece of dry bread her.
soif, too glad to see the new looks of the
child to care what she had. | o
Then they began to play together. e
ran about among the tall grasses, laugh
ing with delight at the great ox-eyed
daisies, as they seemed to nod their heads
at him, chasing a yellow butterfly only to
leave it to scamper after a red one, filling
his baby hands with the field flowers, to
bring them all back to his mother. Then,
when he was tired, she took him in her
arms,and there, as she softly sang to him,
he fell asleep.
She sat perfeetly still on the grassy
mound beneath the shade of the trees,
which tenderly sheltered her and her
sleeping child with their branches. The
golden sunshine lay upon everying be
yond, and the soft west win(i7 stirred
grasses and flowers, gathering up their
scents, to bring them to the two weary
denizens of the great town, who had come
out to them to be healed, while the birds
overhead gave every now and then alazy,
contented twitter, as if satisfied that it
should be so.
The child slept long, but still she never
stirred, so perfect was the spell cast over
her by the beauty of sight, and scent, and
sound., After the life she had been lead
ing lately, with its almost intolerable
burden of paio,and bitterness,and shame,
of broken faiths and dead hopes, of toil,
and want, and fear. it scemed asifto day
sheand herchild had wandered, for aspace,
into Paradise.
Afterwards she wondered how she
could have given hersclf up to rest and
peace. Knowing what had come upon
her in her past life, she wondered, on
Jooking back to this day, why she had not
distrusted the sunshine, and the sweet
scents, and pleasant sounds.
Once before, her life had been as fair,
and into it had come the blackness ofdes
pair that shadowed it now. But to day
she forgot. She was so tired and wearied
that she could do nothing else this after
noon bu’ rest. i
By-and-by, when the child awoke, they
played and laughed again; then, as it was
growing late, she took him back toward
thestation. On their way from it they
had passed a small inn, standing a little
back from the road. Asthey arrived at
it again now, Estelle was suddenly con
scious that she felt faint and hungry. She
had eaten nothing but that piece of bread
since early that morning. She opened
her purse and looked at its contents. She
did not wantto spend more than she could
help, for she knew how hard it would
be to repay the good Frenchwoman’s
The child decided for her. He had
caught sight of the great clustersof white
lilies that filled the little garden b&f the
side of the inn,and wanted to go and look
at them. As they stood in the paved
courtyard, looking over the low wall into
the garden,the landlady of the inn came to
the door.
The child’s rare bheauty, so pathetic
in its delicacy, attracted her as it did all
women. - 0 :
She made them enter, promising the
boy as many lilies as he could carry. She
herself brought some coflee and rolls, with
a larFe cuptul of milk, for which she
would charge nothing for the child. Then
she took them out into the garden.
“‘(Oh, mother!” eried the child,ashe stood
gazing in delighted wonder at the tall, fra
grant flowers, ‘‘what are they ?”’
She laughed and kisse! him, and
showed how all the gold came off their
“They are Mary lilies,”” ehe said.
“Mary lilies !"” he repeated in puzzled
“They are the angel flowers,all in their
white robes and golden crowns."’
“Angel fowers !"” he repeated again to
himself. “My Angel-fowers, I like you
Somethin% in the awe and wonder of
the beautiful eyes as they gazed solemnly
at the white flowers brought back someof
the strange chill that had seized his mother
that morning.
She caught him passionately into her
arms, pressing him close to her heart.
“Angel-flowers!”” Something seemed
to close up in her throat and prevent
her breath coming. Why should he like
them best ¢
“*‘Armand !”” a clear, high-bred voice
fell upon the sudden silence, as Estelle,
unable to laugh and talk any more, still
held the child in her arms, %ath to part
with him again, while the landlady, in
her quest for flowers, had moved further
off down the path; ‘“‘Armand, come here
and see. Did you ever sge such a beauti
ful child? And the mother—her face
would do for that ot the Holy Mother
herseli. 1t is so terribly sad, and yet so
full of love.”’ :
A low balcony ran along this side of the
house. A lady had stepped out upon it
from one of the windows, and, partly
screened by the creepers, had been siiently
watching the child and its mather, ‘who
had been too occupied ta natice her.
A young man in the room, who had
been listlessly gazing at & paper, trying
to while away the time whifl: they waited
for the carrlage~—one of their horses hav
ing cast a shoe just in front of the little
inn—rose from his seat and came with =
slow, languid grace over t 3 the window
where his mother stood.
There was a curious likeness between
this mother and son, in spite of the dif
ference in their haughty, almost disdain
ful lines, the same high-bred repose and
quite grace of movement. The greatest
difference lay in the expression of tue
faces. While sho loaked oWt wW.ith keen
bright eyes upontie world, he, so much
younger, seeméd to have already lost
most of his interest in-its wants. He
came over now, more to please her than
nn{thing clse. ' ;
Ie stepped ont on to the balcony by her
side, résting his arm on the iron railing
as he carelessly bent over to look, At
the samc moment the child’s eyes caught
sxfln of him, and a little halfshy
“Mother” from his lips, in her ear, made
the girl turn and look up, too.
The veranda was raised about four feet
from the ground, and the young mother,
holding her boy in her arms, stood in the
middle of the trimly-kept garden, about
eight or nine yards from it.
As she raised her eyes, they met those
of the young man gazing full at her.
There was one moment of intense still
ness,when the ver{ breath refused to come
from their parted lips, as the two looked
straight into each other’s horror-stricken
eyes, when their white faces looked as if
their every curve and line had been frozen
into marble. ’
Then a low cry broke from the lips of
the girl more like the moan ofsomedumb,
death-stricken animal, and she drew back
to hurry toward the little gate.
“Oh, my angel flowers?’’ cried the
child in a passion of delight, as the good
woman of the inn came running Gown the
path, her arms full of the stately, fragrant
flowers. i
““Ah, there then, madame. Heis wel
come to them all. He is a little angel.
Mais ciel! how ill you look ! Youare tired
out. Stayandrestalittlelonger. I must
go in now and attend on Mme. de Vismes,
who is waiting here with monsieur for her
carriage. But in the little arbor—no,you
cannot ? Well,au revotr; you must come
again with the little one.”
The girl mechanically took the flowers
that the voman heaped into her arms.
She stood still while the child was being
kissed, but heard nothing of the parting
words of admiration and endearment,saw
nothing of the pitying, half-doubtful looks
cast at herself by the mistress of the inn,
who did not at all like her starting out
with such white face and lips. She was
dizzy and faint, and her brain seemed to
have lost its power of understanding.
As the gate of the inn-garden fell to
with a sharp click behind her, the lady
on the balcony, with something of the
same shadow of fear upon her face, turned
to her son. IHe had raised himself from
his leaning position, and was standiug
rigid and upright, gazing after the retreat
ing figure. His mother laid her hand
upon his arm.
“Armand, who is that woman ?”’
“That woman!”’ He looked down into
her face with the very spirit of bitter
mockery in his eyes: “That woman is my
wife, and that child—"" i
His strained voice stopped with a sud
den dry sob in his throat, and he broke
into a short laugh, the desolate pain of
which went like the stab of a dagger to
to the hearer’s heart. He turned ab
ruptly and went back into the room.
Madame de Vismes stood where he left
her, her hand resting on the iron rail
ing, on which she had laid 1t as if for
“And that child my grandson.’” ““Apres
tout, it was a terrible risk."
Then the color returned faintly to her
cheeks, and some of the old brightness,
born of her indomitable will and dpride,
to her eyes, clearing the mist of doubt
ing fear that had dimmed their keen
“It was a terrible risk, a bitter neces
sity, but, after all, we could not have had
a daughter-in-law without name and for
tune, and he would not have given her
up. He has the De Vismes will—thank
heaven! their pride, too, otherwise we
should not have succeeded. But that
pride—it is their weakness as well as
their strength—it blinds even love’s eyes.
It might not have been necessary if J}l'l]es
had lived, but Armand, as heir to the
land, needed a different wife. But the
child, he was beautiful; and the mother
—he was right, sheisa lady; but then
something else was needed. But how
pale she was, and dressed so poorly; it
would be terrible if they were in want.
Yes, it was a fearful necessity!”’ and the
proud face &)aled a%(ain, andy something
like a shudder shook the stately figure
from head to foot. ‘‘But it was a neces
sity; and why should she come here, of
all places, with her child, to reproach us?
Good heaven! No, no; it had to be.,’
It was long past the cnnd’s wsual ped
time when the train reached Paris. His
sleepy, happy chatter, which had broken
in upon the stupor of his mother like
some far-off echo, had ceased for some
time, and his flushed cheeks rested
heavily on her shoulder. Her arms were
strained and tired, and as she stepped on
to the platform she staggered a little.
She would have dropped the flowers,
which wefe troublesome "to carry,
cramped as her arms and hands were
with the weight of the child, but an occa
sional sleepy murmur, ‘‘My angel
flowers,”” prevented her.
“oOh, how sweet the lilies arc!” said a
woman passing her. *“You bring back
the country with you; but they are too
strong—a little, for the child.”
But in the momentarly faintness that
had come over her, Estelle did not hear
the warning.
After a second or two of rest, she made
her way to one of the doors of the station.
Some omnibuses stood outside, one of
which went close to her home. The
moment’s pause had given the other
people ®n advantage. It was a
full, but the people seeing her
pale face offered to make room.
She could only %et a seat
far away from the door. The vehicle was
crowded, and the heat suffocating. But
she could wait no longer. She sank down
in the narrow place made for her, faint
and dizzy, only conscious of one thing—
the fear that sge'might let the child slip
from her arms. In this fear she held him
tighter, so tightly that the flowers in her
hand were pressed close against his
cheek; so close that his head partly rested
on them, as upon some fragrant cushion,
bruising their petals and making their
perfume still stronger. And the child
slumbered on with flushed face and parted
lips, excited still, apparently, by the
beautiful things he had seen, for he
murmured every now and then a broken
word as if dreaming of them.
‘“Mother!’’ he criedonce. @~
“Tam here, darling,’’ she said, and she
bent down and kissed him. He opened
his eyes once, and gazed at her for a
second, then the heavy, thick-fringed
lids f2ll agaiu, snd with 8 contented mur
mur he went off into a deeper sleep,
for after that he did not speak nor moye
agin}n. : ;
is mother leaned back in her place,
her face white and still, her eyes gazing
straight before her. And as the close air
of the crowded omnibus, heavy with the
fragrance of the flowers, seemed to lull
her head and limbs into heavy, unwhole
some rest, she did not see that one af the
fragrant white blogsoms lay aon the very
lips of her child, as if with a Kiss claim
ing him in his purity and beauty as one
of their own. e G
The omnibus came to b standstill, and
the passengers descended. Estelle rose
to her feet. How heavily the child slept!
He did not even stir. She carried him
to the door, where the lig}xt of the lamp
fell full upon them. hen suddenly
something in the strange stillness made
her look down into his face.
There was a slight pause, then the con
ductor, with good-natured impatience
reminded her that he con'd woi wait'stl
nig}fl v 1"‘.1'1 TR *
¥Basil!"’ she said, touching the child's
cheek, ‘“Basil, we are just home. Don’t
you want to see the lights of the streets?”
She spoke in English, but the pause in
the doorwzy, the strauge still tone of her
voice, the unearthly pallor of her face,
arrested the atiention of one or two who
were ‘still’ ohlg‘ a few steps from the
omnibus, and they stopped.
“Depechez-vos, madame!” gaid the
conductor again, holding out his hand to
help her. He bent alittle forward, and
as he did so, caught a glimpse of the
child’s face. *‘Juste ciel!”’ He fell back
in horror.”” The child is dead!”’
‘“Dead!” There rang out upon the
heavy air a cry of such unutterabie fear,
agony, despair, that the men and women
who heard it shrank backin terror, wkile
the memory of it rang in their ears for
many days after.
Estelle stood down in theé road now,
the child in her arms, the white lillies
scattered at her feet. A little crowd
gathered round. One woman in it drew
close to her in her horrified pity anl
Estelle almest struck her away.
“Give us air! Do you wish to kill him?
He is fainting—thatis all. Stand back,
and let us pass!”” Then a sudden change
fell upon her fierce passion. ““I will take
him to a doctor,”’ she said quite calmly.
The crowd, thrilling with awe and pity,
fell back. A man who had been passing,
and who had stopged to see what was
going on, went to Estelle’s side.
~ “T am a doctor,”’ he said gently, ‘“Let
me see.”’ gl
She allowed him to look. His silence
confirmed their verdict, and with a mur
mur of pity, the men and women looked
at Estelle. S
There was not the faintest tinge of
color left in her face, her lips were ter
rible in their hard strained lines. Her
eyes, wide open and brilliant, gazed
steadily at the doctor.
“We are going home,’’ she said,and all
the human music had died out of ler
voice. “If he should open his eyes with
all chese people looking at him, he would
be frightened.”’ i : e
. “Yes,” the doctor said gently. “You
must take him home. I will come, too.
See, where is your address?”’
He stopped a cab and put her in it, fol
lowing himself. i
“It was the flowers,”” said a woman as
the cab drove off, leaving the pitying
crowd, and the fragrant flowers, all
crushed and soiled now, as they
lay scattered in the dust. ‘Yes,
they suffocated the child; as he slept they
were killing him.”’
It was true. The doctor said that the
powerful scent in the close air had pois
oned the sleeping child, wearied out by
his day’s pleasure, and already weakened
as he was by the confined life and want
of fresh air in his town home. If he had
been a stronger child, such a thing might
not have happened. For the next two
days, Estelle did not leave the side of the
bed upon which they had placed the boy.
She neither ate nor slept—scarcely even
spoke. Madame would come in, her face
swollen and flushed with crying, half-a
dozen times in the day, to see her and
take another look at the child who had
grown as dear to her as one of her own
might have been. She tried to induce
the girl to break the terrible watch which
she kept over the dead child. But it was
“There is a tragedy there, voyez-vous,”’
she said to the kind-hearted docter, who
came again to see the Englishwoman.
“That child was more to her than were
most people’s. She has a story to her
life, but I would not ask. She came just
six months ago—one bitter day. She was
shivering, but only thought of protecting
the boy. She has lived here ever since,
working as only the poorest work. She
said her name was Estelle—she called it
Esther—or somecthing, ¥nglish, voyez.
vous, but I could not remember, so I
called her Estelle. She gave no other
name, and she flushed scarlet as a poppy
when she said it. It wag droll having no
surname, but I would not ask. She has
never had a letter nor a friend to see her,
She knows no one in Paris but the little
one;” and madame melted into teas
Up stairs, the woman, whose last
earthiy tie seemed to have sanapped with
the child’s life, sat white and tearless by
the bed. g o
They took him away from her after
those two days. She came back quite
late in the evening of the day of the
funeral. Madame left her by the tiny
grave in the morning, and she supposed
she had been there ever since. But she
asked no questions and let her go up to
her room, on her return undisturbed.
For g second ar two Estelle stood in
doorway, as if trying to remember some
thing she wishedv to do. Then she went
over to the old chest of drawers,
“T had better let him know that he can
do nothing now,’”’ she said to herself.
She opened one of the drawers. In it
lay a few garmentsbelongingto the child.
On the top of them lay the pinafore and
the tiny slippers they had taken off him
that morning. She took them out and
turned them over slowly in her hand.
But her eyes were perfectly dry. She had
never once cried since the child died. She
put them back. It was not that I
wanted,’’ she said.
Then she opened another and found a
writing desk. She took out from it a
letter. It was in English, written ina
bold, man’s hand, dated a year back.
“My DEar EsTHER.—Do not let this
letter distress you. I know that what
you told me the day I left youin Paris
was perfectly true—that I could never
win your love. I would not have spoken
that “day, only you seemed to be quite
alone, and I wished you to know that I
was always your friend. Butl will not
trouble you again. Tam going abroad,
and shall be out of England some years,
and as I shall be always traveling about
I am going to give you the address gf my
lawyers in London. Do not be angry.
You refused my help, dear, for yourself—
but the boy. One day you might, for
some reason,be glad of whatl have done.
I have left a certain sum in their hands.
You know that I am rich. It is no longer
mine and you must not be angry for my
giving it over for the use of yaur boy.
Write to me then and the lawyers will
forward the letters. Now, dear, good
by for a long time. God bless you and
your boy. Yours,
DoxarLp HuNTLY.”’
She read it through once or twice before
quite understanding that it was the letter
for which she had been searching. Then
she sat down and wrote iwo orthree
lines to Mr. Donald Huntley. She said
nothing of herself, only that the child
was dead. She sealed it and addressed
it to his lawyers in London. Then she
sat still, and went oversome of the events
that had happened to her since that letter
had reachetf her. This friend had brought
her to Paris a year ago, &t her request.
(To be continued.)
select assortment of Canned Goods, Fruits,
Nuts, &c., 807 North Third Street.
Sell all fresh and ealted meats at
prices below any in the city, and at
the same time the best in the market
will be kept in stock. Our Chicago
Dressed Beef we know to be “Sweet
as a ‘Possum.’
8 Couyt avenue,
Drunkeness, or th Liguor Habit, can be
cured by administering Dr. Haies’
Golden Specitic.
1t can be given in a cu{) of coffee or tea with
out the knowledge of the person taking it,
effecting a speedy and permanent cure,whether
the patient is a moderate drinker oran aleohoiic
wreck. Thousands of drunkards have been
made temperate men who have taken the
Golden Specific in their coffee without their
knowledge,andto-day believe they quit drinking
of theirown free wiil. No harmful effects result
from its administration. Cures gunaranteed.
Circulars and testimonials sent free.
Address, GoLpEN SpeorFic Co.,
185 Race St., Cineinnati, O,
Eppley’s old Stand
Guarant:ed SILKS
4 Specialty.
bio Steok CASHMERES,
LOL:Z CIO;:(::: WZ:;- !
Robert Smith’s India Pale Als,
Yuengling & Sons Potts
ville Porter.
Telephone cot:l;_e::—tions. Orders
promptly filled.
26 Grace avenue, Harrisburg, Pa.
State Capital Light House.
Cor.Third & Cumberland Sts
I have removed my store to the
above location, where I have one of
the finest rooms in the city, and
filled with a large and selected stock
of goods in my line, such as
It will pay you to call and see our
new store and new goods. Oar
prices are low and within the reach
of all. Come and see.
0. P. GROVE.
We offer our Summer Silks,
We offer our Elack Silks,
We offer our Colored Silks,
We offer our Spring Dress Goods,
We offer our Remnant Dress Goods,
We offer our Remnant Embroideries,
We offer our Fine Lis!e Hose,
We offer our Fine Misses Hose,
We offer our Parasols,
We offer our Seersucker Ginghams,
We offer our Dress Trimings,
We offer oar White Quilts,
' AT A
Sweeping Reduction!
0. P. GROVE,
Harrisburg Colored Church
and Society Directory.
Wesley Union Church, corner South street and
Tanners avenue—Pastor, Rev. Z. T. Pearsall.
Services at 10:30 and 7:30 every Sunday. Sun
day school at 1:30. Jos. B. Popel, Superintend
Bethel M. E. Chureh, Short street—Pastor, Rev.
Amos Wilson. Services at 10:30 and 7:30 every
Sunday. Sagbathschool 1:30. Richard Snaively,
Elder Street Presbyterian Chuareli—Services at
10:30 and 7:30. Sabbath school at 1:3). Thomas
Miljer, Superintendent.
Second baptist Chureh, Eleventh street near!
Market—Pastor, Rev. licverly Jomes, Ser
vices every Sunday at 10:30 and 7:30. Sabbath
sohool 1:30. Robert Carrington, Superintend
Free Will Baptist Church, corner William and
Colderstreets—Pastor, Rev. Frazer. Services
every Sunday at 10:30 and 7:30. Sabbath
school 1:30. Willlam Burrows, Superintcnd
Union A. M. E. Church, Tanners avenue—Faz
tor, Rev. Z. Johnson. Services every Sunday
at 10:30 and 7:30. Sunday school 2P M.
Wesley Mission, Marion street near Colder—
Pastor, Rev. Phoenix. Services every Sab
bath at 10:30 and 7:30. Sabbath school 1:3)
Mr. Solbert, Superintendent.
Brotherly Love Lodge 896, G. U. 0., of O. F.;
nall in South streel; regular meating every
Monday night.
Chosen Friends Lodge, Masonic hall, Odd Fel
lows building, South street regular mgeting
_every alterpate Tnum fight.
Golden Chaw O all, South Street,
Franklin Hall; regular meéting every Tuesday
' night. . y :
; c&d Samaritan Couneil, hall East State street;
| ular meeting every Tunesday night.
refiomeh’old of Ruth Hall, Odd Fellows Hall
S?n’:.th street; regular meeting every Tuesday
n .
Pé&on Lodge, No. 16, A. Y. M., meets every
ondx evening, at Frankiin Hall, Soyth st.,
Special notice, at this season of the
year, is called to Lincoln Cemetexy.
As a resting place for the dead is s
necessity, the sooner one is procured
the better, and now is the best time
to procure your lots, at reasonable
prices. The ground is being well
improved, consequently raising the
value of the lots. Moreover the lots
can be improved at this season at but
small cost.
All persons, irrespective of de
nomination. can purchase lots in the
Cemetery. Lots can be purchased
for $B, $lO, $l5 and $2O.
B e s R es 2 00
(,hfldren‘ 150
Adultl $3 50
Rs v Gt st vsl T
Any information can be had of the
secretary, J. P. SCOTT, 605 South
No 440 State street,
Where may be found a full line of %ure Drugs,
Medioines, . Perfumery, Family yes, Fine
Toilet SOa;i-‘s, Face Powder, Patent Medicines,
Hair and Tooth Brushes, Trusses and many
other useful articles. L
Prescriptions carefully compounded at all
hours and at reasonable prices. Have always
on hand a fine line of Alfred Wights and Solon
Palmer’'s Perfumes that will be sold in any
quantity desired.
A full line of Barbers Sugplies at low Brlces,
Colored Fires for Political Parades and Public
Entertainments. Ice Cold Soda Water and fine
Cigars always on hand. Try our Colic Cure for
Cramps, Colic and Diarrheea, Never fails
to cure.
Parties desiring the Journar, can
obtain it from any of our agents, as
G. L. Fryk.
(State Journal For Sale.)
Roserr Wirrians.
(State Journal Kor Saile.)
W. R. Hvangs,
(State Journal For Sale)
R. D. P'oxpExTEß.
(State Journal For Sale.)
419 South Tth Street,
Puitaperrsia, Pa.
(State Journal for Sale.)
J. 11. MORRIS,
Cigars For Sale.,
126 Wylie Avenue,
Prrrseurag, Pa.
(State Journal For Sale.)
South Street, Hairisburg, Pa.
(State Journal For Sale.)
Main Street,
Yorg, Pa.
(State Journal For Sale.)
Ow. Ciry, Pa.
(State Journal For Sale.)
(State Journal For Sale.)
(State Journal For Sale )
(State Journal for Sale.)
WiLLiamsrort, Pa.
(State Journal for Sale.)
Re-ading, Pa.
(State Jourpal for Sale.)
Carusre, Pa.
(State Journal For Sale.)
111 East Harrison street,
J. 11. REED,
41 Shuter street,
10 Wiight street,
Cigar Store,
At'antic avenue,
Arrantic Crvy, N. J.
* Logan Ilouse,
ArtooNa, PExy'a.
Mebonell Hotel
é!or. State and Spruce Sts.,
Boarding by the Day Week or Month.
S. L. McDONELL. Propr.
Fancy and Plain Sewing
Mrs. Ella Howard,
159 Fourth Strest.
_On and after November isth, 1883
senger Trains of the Pennsylvania tlg:ilf::«'f
Eive it Enlldalphia, Now Yorm purSpand
( a, New York, P
Erie as follows: . W Terk, Pittsburg and
Philadeiphia Express dnlly"éexcep Mondays)
at 1:20 a. m.. arrives at Phil elphia at 4:25 a,
m., and New York at 7:00 a, m,
Fast Line daily at 4:30 2. m., arrives at Phila
delphia at 7:50 a. m., and New York 11:20 a. m.
Harrisburg Express daily except (Sunday) at
7:00 a. m., arrives at Philadelphia at 10:20 a, m,
and New York at 1:20 p. m.
Columbia Accommodation daily (except Sun
day) at 7:15 a. m., arrives at Philadelphia at
11:45a. m. and New York at 2:40 ‘) m-
Lancaster Accommodation daf v (exoezt Sun
day) at 7:40 a. m., arrives at Lancaster 8:55 a. m.
fiew York Limited Express of Pullman Palace
Cars dally at 2:‘2sl\}). m., arrives at Philadelphia
at 5:15 p. m. and New York at 7:30 p.m,
Lock Haven Express dai] Y (except Sunday) at
11:50 a. m., arrives at Philadelphia at 3:15 p.m,,
and New York 6:20 p.m,
Johnstown Express daily (except Sunday) at
12:5ol$. m., arrives at Philadelphia at 5:05 p. m.,
and New York at §:5O p. m,
Day Express daily at 420 P. m., arrives at
Philadelphia at 7:25 P. m.,, and New York at
10:20 p. m,
Harrisburg Aocommodation, via Colnmbia,
dafl‘y (excePt Sunday) at 4:50 P- m., aud arrives
at Philadelphia at 9:45 p. m.
Mail Train on Sunday only, 1:00 P. m., arrives
at Philadelphia 5:45 P. m., New York 9:30 p. m.
Middletown Accommodation on Saturday only
5:10 pam. Daily (except Saturday and Sunday)
6:00 p. m.; every week day at 1:00 p. m.
Mail Express daily at 11:40 pP. I, arrives at
Philadelphia 3:05 a. m., and New York at 6:10
a. m.
All Through Trains conneot at Jersey City
with boats of “Brooklyn Annex’’ for Brooklyn,
N. Y., avolding doubfe ferriage and Jjourney
htrough New York Clty.
Western Express dail Y at 12:30 a. m., arrives at
Altoona at 4:2) a. m., and Pittsburg at 8:05a. m.
Pacific Express daily at 3:10 a. m., arrives at
Altoona at 7:50 a. m., and Pittsburg at 1:00 p. m.
Chicago Limited Express of Pullman Palace
Cars daily at 2:10 g m, arrives at Altoona at
5:35 p m., and Pitts urg 9:00 p. m,
Mail Train daily at 11:10 a, m., arrives at Al
toona at 3:50 p. m., and Pittsburg 8:45 p. m.
Fast Line daily at 3:15 l[’) m,, arrives at Al
toona at 7:20 p- m.| ane Pitts urg at 11:30 p. m.
Miflin Accommodation daily (except Sunday )
‘1“ 1{)0:10 8. m., 5:00 and 10.05 p. m., on Sunday at
0:10 a. m.
STEELTON TRAINS leave Harrisburg daily
(except Sunday) at 6:45, 7:00, 7:15, 7:40 a. m.,
12:50, 4:50, 11:00 p. m. Daily (exeept Saturday
and Sunday) 5:45 and 6:00 P. m. On Saturdays
only, 5:00 and 5:10 p. m. On h.‘unds:{y only, 1:00 p.
m. Returning, leave Steelion aily (except
Sunday) 6:32, 6:57, 8:51, 10:42, 10:39 &, m.; 8:52,
7:12 and 9:41 p. m. Daily (except Saturday and
Sunday) 6:10p, m. On Saturday only, 5:15 p.m.
On Sunday only, 8:51 a. m. and 10:59 a, m.
MAIL TRAIN daily (except Sunday) at 4:20
8. m., arrives at Williamsport at 8:10 a. m., and
Erie at 7:&")1%). m,
NIAGARA EXPRESS duil&, (except Sun
day) at 11:15 a. m., arrives at Hu;nnslpurt at
2:35 p. m., Lock Haven at 3:55 p. m., and Renovo
5:10 p. m.
(except Sunday) at 3:25 P. m., arrives at Wil
liamsport at 7:00 p, m., and Lock Haven at 8:05
p. m. i
Time eards and full information can be ob
tained at the Ticket office at the Station.
J. R. WOOD, General Passenger Agent.
CHAS. E. PUGH. General Manager.
'IN EFFEOT MAY 26, 1884
New York
_Express .
Da -
Express |
Fast Mail.
| | !
Leave— AM AMA.M. AM. P.ulp. M.'P.I
Martinsburg...\....|....|B 38 . 8 29. ... feens
Hagerstown ... ....\....| 9 15111 454 15( 9 05/....
Greencastle ........|....| 9 37122 1014 43 9 25!....
Chambersburg. 4 307 0010 00,12 37 5 16! 9 60/, ...
Shippensburg.. ¢ 537 2510 20 1 0354310 10, ...
Newyvi11e.,...... 5 15,7 5010 46, 1 276 0610 :m,,...
Car1i51e........ 5 428 1511 On, 1 538 30 10 5(!4... .
Mechanicsburg ¢ 108 4511 211 2 207 0011 10/4 30
Ar. Harrisburg. 6 359 20 11 40' 2 557 30'11 30,4 40
[AMAM A M. P, M. poatle, o p.a
f Harrisb'g
_ Express .
Express .
Accom’n ‘
X. Orleans
__Express .
Leave— iA.nIA.n.’A.M. P.M P, M.lr-.u.!r.u
Harrisburg ...4 30| 7 3511 404 05 625 8 651 45
Mechanlcs'f)'g.fi 55( 8 0212 004 30 6 50 9 222 10
Car1i51e'......./5 20[ 8 3012 224 55{ 7 20, 9 451 Ar.
Newville .....'5 45! 9 0012 425 20! 7 50110 101....
Shippensburg 10 925 1 005 41 8 1510 35.....
Chambersb'g.. 6 40| 9 5711246 10 8 4011 00 . ...
Greencastle .. 7 0510 22 1 446 33 Arr. [Ar. ‘
l{nfirstown... T 30,10 65| 2 30iT 05{.....].....]....
Ar.Martinsb'g Ar. 11 401 4 OBIT B, v ..I.ccoiken e
lamia.w e swlp.omp. e w. b
New Orleans Exvress and Southern Majt
west, and Fast Mail and New Yoek Express
east, run daily. All other trains daily except
For Williams’ Grove and Dillsburg at 7.35 a.
m., 1.45 p. m.. 405 p. m. and 6.25 p. m. Return
ing arrive at 6.35 a. m., 11.40 a, m., 440 p. m. and
7.30 p. m,
For Mercersburg, Loudon, Richmond and
points on Southern Pennalylvanlu railroad at
7.35 a. m. and 11.40 a. m. Returning arrive at
11.40 a. m. and 7.30 p. m.
For Mt. Holly, Pinegrove Furnaceand Gettys
bnrf. and points on Gettyshurg and Harrisburg
Railroad and South Mountain Railroad at 7.35
a.1m.,11-40 a. m. and 4.05 p. m. Returning ar
rive at 11.40 a. m., 2.55 p. m. and 7.3) j) m.
For Mount Alto, “&ynusboro and points on
Mount Alto Railroad at 7.35 a. m. and 4.05 p.m.
Returning arrive at 11.40 a. m. and 7.30 P.m.
Traing on Shenandoah Valley ratiroad con
nect with trains leaving at 11.40 a. m. and 4.30 a.
nit Returning, with traing arriving at 11.40 »,
m. and 11.2) p. m.
General Ticket Agent, Superintendent.
JAMES CLARK, General Agent,
Takes effect Monday, Ocsber Ist, 1883,
& TRI T e oL i
s 2, l Mail Ac.
20/ 2 i A M. P.M
83y 35il‘v' hhlpf;ensburg, Ar. 112 00 540
8 3«’:2 ? Lv. Leesburg, ¥., Lv. 11 505 30
g4o 9Ly, Jacksonville, F., Lv. ,ll 455 28
g ¥Tg #5Lv. HMays Grove, F., Lv. |11405 21
% 992 0 Lv. Doners, F., Lv. jll 355 18
¢ 993 3 Lv. Longsdorf, F., Lv. 11 325 13
9 01’z 57 Lv. Huntsdale, Lv.; 11 285 09
p 123 (2 Lv. Moore's Mill, F., Lv. 11235 04
173 13 Lv. Barnitz, F., Ly. (11 124 43
9193 18 Lv. Bt ilolly Springs, Lv. |ll 094 48
¢ 4ag 2Ly, S. Mnt'n Cross'g, F., Lv.j)l 044 45
9 435 42 Ly, itofling Springs, Lv. 110602 80
9 503 47|Lv. Leidighs, F., Ly, 10 :fl‘ 15
9 35)3 52!Lyv. trandtville, ~ Lv. 10 39'4 10
10 0o 55 Ar. ML &D. Junetion, Lv. {lO 354 05
10 15/7-M Lv. ¥. & D. Junction, Ar. |.....'pae
A.ar. ----|Ar. Dowmansdale, Ly, ‘w M. 4
Swiul e N %
Mail Tr;*in leaving Shippensburg 8:2) a. m.
copnects with C. V. train arriving atfihrrubnrg
at 11:00 a. m. Aceommodation Train leaving
Shippensburg at 2:25 p. m. connects with C. V.
train arriving at Harrisburg 5:50 p- m.
Train 10.-avlnfi Harrisburg at 7:35 a. m. will
copneet with H., &P, train leaving M. &D.
Janetion at 10:00 a. m. Train leaying Harris
burg at 3:10 B. m. connects with H. & P. train
leaving M. & . Junetion at 4:05 p. m.
Train leaving Shl?wnMrg at 8:20 3. . wH?
onneet with train leaving S. M.Oroulnilw
Carlizle at 9:35 a. m. Train leaving M. & D
Junetion at 10:35 a. m. will sonnect with train
leaving S. M, Crossing for {nrlisle 11:21a, m,
F Flag stations. g
Possrxe Serines, Pa., Sept, 36,1883, i

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