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THE FELI CIANA SENTiM:
OFFICIAL ORGAN OF WEST FELICIAJA PARISH, TIl oII A4P OF EDUCATION AND TIE CITY OF ATOU SARA.
VOL, XVI. ST. FRANCISVILLE, LA.,--P, O. BAYOU SARA--SATURDAY, APRIL 16, 1892.. NO.-:
THINK of Easter is
The fluahing skies,
the passlag cloud, -
The feeling of alsorrow gone,
A presence pure and gentle-brewed.
bete Ies the bloom of morning rays,
'eare passPanl of gloom and ai.
Adoe.wn the dew-befeweled ways
heo god of summer enters in.
'i past is buta shriveled lent,
A written scroll to fade away,
'Wth all It t ld of joy or grief
.Merged in the glory of to-day.
ul.Et hope goes down into the tomb
a.d takes from death a grander life.
Jy=r'imgt acroas the voice of doom,
nd peace is gained by every strife.
1t/et expyt its pulsing wings,
l lg Pawre.n10 Into flowers,
A.sd from the soul of man there springs
The perfect age of fullest powers.
Over adoveg all Is told,
Tbhe"tars helr orbhlt4 still repeat,
• ..son to semlon buds untold,
And world and atoms meet and meet
There is no Ia, there Is no gain:
There is ndi*ste of time or force:
And every as altd thought anl paln
Are meetilr points in nature's course.
, - a ,
Any&lgthjs hot: tih very rock..
tws th rraurrectgon morn:
Ad flare or itorm or change unlocks
'q6'holu, and thus the new Is bora.
%a May we live in perfect trust.
hlhth- ti tempest stand serene,
Por (lod will recreate the dtst
Though cout)^ss ages intervene.
The wrong shall vanish in the right,
The evil melt into the good:
For as the da4includes the night.
'l'he false ls trie when understood.
Thus all is rtnded in a song-
The song i'tfhlc , the tong of youth.
The muLsie of. mighty throng
On the etenral hlln of Truth.
O Spirit )of the Flaster time,
To all the .wePt assurance give,
And swell tho sound in voice ano chime:
"Though ye be Dead, yet shall ye Jive."
-Richard Lr'w DI.,.on, in Chicago Tribmne.
AT EASTER TIME.
Fresh airs througth the htaven are hlowing,
Sont lapors melt in the, luet:
In muste thme stream's are flowing,
Aant the weorldl is clothel anew.
Lifo everywhere is waking,
A And winter's woe is done:
Out of their prison breakting.
· The flowers laugh in the .:a
O look abroad: o llstsn:
Sweet songs are in tile kies:
God mikt earth slow and gliRtea
I.ic the fields of Paradise.
O the delight before iu c
As the fair days onward g:idel
'ho birds' delicious chores,
The splendor far and wide.
Froti the gras that is stealing slowly
To mantle the meooadows In green,
'Proar the crocus springing lowly
( Where the golden daffodils lean,
To the raltnhbow' delicate glory
Spagnin f the vast of the skyr
~i. the' same old heavenly story
Of beauty-that gannot die. C
,Give thanks for the E:aster gladness
VWith humble an:l grateful hearts;
Torgotte'n are doulbt and sadnes. C
And the shidow of death departs. It
'Celia 'slxter, in 1t. Y. Independent.
the princi- t
pal avenue of t
one of the
suburbs o lioston stood, many years A
ago, a lrge, attractive residence, st
whisdh to rery Masser-by formed the ct
subject oA.a careful observation. Its am
queer aarcitecture and the large and
mnagnificent estate which surrounded c
it, served ie draw one's notice to this
sutately oa mansion. Another object
in front "if6 the house attracted even
greater attention. This object was
nothing more than a plot of ground,
right in the middle of the snacious
lawn, iwhile in the center of the plot
were two trees surronnded by a low
iron fence. The first of these trees was
a tall, stitely nmiaple. The other was
also a masle, but it lay fiat upon the M
grotnd, unrooted, as if by some strongT
wind, and as it began to show signs of
decay, ore was forced to the eonol- ch
sion that· had been lying there for i1
many years. But why was it left qr
there? And why was it so carefully hi
guarded? These were questions which he
occurred to every one who beheld this ps
prostrate tree, and to which few were ye
forttmate enough to find the answer. se
The house and the lands which sur- "
rounded it were the home and property on
of John HallowelL The land was left ia
to him by his father, but the house he hi
built himself after he had made a for- sh
tune by risky bhut lucky speculation- th
risky, becasuse hie staked every cent of ca
tihe little capital which he inherited
fronm his father. Hlad he lost he would sh
have been little Letter than a pauper.
1e was also fortunate because he vwas an
soon to be married, and he could give
bi wife an eleasnt homo. d.
Well, he did marry, and he took his
beautiful young bride to the home that
he had prepared for her at Glenmere.
There they lived happy in their love,
and when, a few years later, their
child was born they called her Dorothy.
Mrs. Hallowell's maiden name wal
Margaret Lyford. She had an adopted
brother, Richar3, the orphaned son of
a very distant relative of Margaret's
father. As Richard-he was more com
monly called "Diuk"--eame into the
family when but a mere child, the two
children had become as much endeared
to each other as if they were actually
brother and sister. They. grew up to
gether, and three years before Marga
ret married John Hallowell, Dick wed
ded Mary Thornton. This young wife
was not destined to long enjoy her hap
piness, for when her son came into the
world, she passed ett of it, leaving a
husband stricken down by a grief from
which he never recovered His child
he cared for, but could not love so
dearly because he always felt that lit
tle Willie's life was poor compensation
for,his wife's death.
It was not long after the birth of lit
tle Dorothy Hallowell that Dick Ly
ford, broken-spirited and broken-heart
ed, ended his young life. The little one
was left without a home, and it was
then that he was brought into the fam
ily of John Hlallowell. Thus, like her
mother, Dorothy had a companion in
That was a happy home for six
years. Not a shadow crossed the light
of happiness of its occupants. When,
however, a certain important case
compelled John to stay at his law office
two or three nights a week for several
weeks, the first light white cloud of
____ p iýý. 'rI1f
I//ý I I//I/ / i
DOOH P D "1 AEO
DOROTIY X'ICKED UP THI'E PALLEN BOOS.
unhappiness appeared on the horizon
of Margaret's life, for never until then
had he left her for a single night.
When she asked him why he stayed so
long. and he said that he could not tell
her then, the little white cioud became
a large, dark cloud of suspicion. And
when she heard at last, by an anony
mous letter, that the case was in some
way connected with a woman to whom
formerly he had been engaged, the
cloud of suspicion took the black and
hideous form of jealousy.
It was a hard blow which some
cowardly hand had dealt that happy
home, but it did its work well. Poor
Margaret was overcome by grief and
anger, and in her hour of despair she
took the step that brought dreariness
into two lives for many years after.
Where could she go? To whom could
she turn? There was only one-her
father. lie would share her grief.
The wind was howling dismally
without, an appropriate accompani
ment to the storm that was raging
within Margaret's heart. She went to
the window and drew up the curtain.
The pitchy darkness awed her. The
first great drops of a shower were
splashed against the windowpane and
they startled her. With no light in the
room, she stood gazing out into the
ominous darkness of the night. A ter
rible sense of her loneliness was steal
ing over her, for she knew that her
husband would not return for nearly
three hours She was startled from her
dream by a flash of lightning, and then
the harsh clap of thunder which fol
lowed made her recoil and draw the
draperies of the window about her.
Another flash soon followed, and by its
sudden light she saw their carriage
coming up the driveway. She started
and muttered: "Yes, just the thing."
So, turning quickly, she rang the bell
for her maid.
"Tell Michael not to unharness yet,"
"Yes, madam, " replied the maid,
with an incredulous stare.
"No. You may rather tell him to be
at the porch door in ten minutes."
"Shall I return to you then?'"
"No. I do not need your help."
With that the maid withdrew, and
Margaret hastened to her room.
Throwing on her cloak, she started
lown the stairs, but, remembering the
;hildren, she hastened back. The
little Dorothy was sleeping in her crib,
luietly, peacefully. Stepping up to
ier, the mother kissed her softly on
ier cheek and bade her "Good-by, my
pet, until to-morrow." Willie had not
ret retired, and Margaret said to her
lelf: "Shall I take him with me?"
'Yes" He would be company for her
m the ride; and, besides, his grand
Lather would be glad to see him. So,
tastily pulling on his coat and hat,
he hustled the astonished boy down to
he porch door, where she found the
a!rriage in waiting.
"lHow far is it to papa's, ?Michael?"
"Near siven miles, mum." was the
"Can yoa drive there and back in two
"It's a hard night, mum, but I gute
I can make it."
"You must get back before Mr. lat
"'Sure and I will, mutm."
The wind was now blowing such a
gale that it was with difficulty that the
footman held the carriage door open
for Margaret and Willie to enter. Oh!
It was a terrible night! The weird
shrieking of the wind and the beating
of the rain against the roof of the
carriage filled Margaret with a sort of
vague fear and trembling.
Michael cracked his whip and they
were offt. Down the driveway that
led under the two maples they went.
A terrible blast of wind made the
trees groan. Another more terrific
and-my God, man, hasten for your
lives! That's right! Cut your horses
with the whip! for see! the tree is tot
tering! Ah, thank Heaven! You are
safe now-with a crash the tree falls
headlong to the ground.
It seemed hours to Margaret before
they reached her father's dwelling, but
the ride finally ended, and Michael,
leaving his precious load, hastened
home again. Poor Margaret, overcome
by fear and excitement, fell fainting
into her father's arms as he met her on
the stairs. Then-the fever, the days of
delirium, the slow recovery.
It was eleven o'clock before John
Hallowell returned to Glenmere. Hl
went directly to his wife's room, but
she was not there. Upstairs and down
he went, but no one could be found.
WVhat did it all mean? lie rang for
the servant, and when she appeared
be asked her, excitedly: "Where is my
"I don't know, sir, Michael drove out
s with her near three hours ago," she re
"Send Michael to me."
SW\Vhen the old coachman came, the
1 distracted husband repeated his ques
o tion: "Where is my wife?"
1 "At Air. Lyford's, sir."
Ilallowell was losing his self-control.
"Why did you take her out on a night
i like this, you idiot?"
a "She told me to, sir."
' "What of it? llaven't you got any
sense? What else did she tell you?"
S"That I must get back tefore you,
John started as if struck. "She told
I you that? Well, you may go n6w."
A note was lying on the table. Was
it from her? He took it up and read:
"MY DEAR MIRS. liAiL.towrI.L.: F'orlive me.
but I must warn you. Ask your husband why
he stays at his ofleirpver- night. He will not
tell you. So you muA. watch and find out for
yourself. 4 A FPillry,."
With a groan he sank Into his chair.
It was all clear now. His wife thought
him faithless and had left him. Well,
let it be so. He would not follow her.
All night he sat there in this stupor,
and when morning came he looked as
if twenty years had been added to his
life. Ills former jollity had gone, and
in its place had come a wretched mor
bidness. Looking out on the lawn, he
saw the tree which had been blown
over by the wind. A bitter laugh es
caped his lips. "Strange!" he said,
"but it will make me remember." So
he caused a fence to be built around I
the two trees, one standing, the other
fallen. "And thus they are to remain,"
he said, "as long as-but perhaps she
will always stay away."
A month passed, and still his wife I
did not return. The suspense was he
coming utnbearable, and Jorhn could not
give attention to his husiness. What
could he do? lie might travel. Yes,
that was just the thing! lie would go
abroad and take Dorothy with him;
and in a week all save the gardener
and the housekeeper had left Glen
The feverthat had prostrated Mtarga
ret raged for many long, long weeks.
Many times was she near to death's
door, but the end was not to be yet,
and she recovered, only to find that her
husband and child had left her. Oh,
how she regretted the outcome of that
fatal night! But it was too late now
to retrace her steps. No. She would
not humiliate herself: and the next
year, even after the travelers had re
turned, still found her and her ward
occupants of her father's house.
Fifteen years passed away, and still
there was no change in the relations
to each other of John and Margaret
HIollowell. In fact, they never had
seen each other since that last parting:
but the old love. though dormant, was
It was Palm Sunday of the year
18--.when John Hlallowell and Dorothy,
the latter now a beautiful miss of
eighteen years, were siting together
in the parlor of the old mansion of
(;lenmere. Ilallowell himself was en
gaged with a volume of Edgar P'oe's
works. while Dorothy was looking
through a pile of photographs. ud-'
w denly she stoapd, took out one, and
quietly, tenderly pressed it to her lips.
i. An obstinate tear would persist in
trickling down her cheek. h8b
raised her hand, and dashed it away,
a but moist eyelids betrayed her, and her
to father asked: "Why, little one, what
can be the matter?"
"Oh, nothing much, papa," she re
"But I must know," he persisted. "I
do not like to see my little girl with
teot's in her eyes."
"I was looking at mamma's picture
7 "Wishing what?" he interrupted, his
t lip quivering.
"That the good Lord would send her
e back to as." And Dorothy burst Into
Ica ood of tears.
it "Don't cry, Dot. Don't cry like that.
's We must be brave, dear, and perhaps
t* It will come out all right. Come. put
e on your hat and we willgo-for a
"No, papa, let us go-to vespers at St
'a James' instead."
it "All right," he said, "if you prefer
d Arriving at the church they were
15 ushered to a pew, the sole occupant of
9 which was a lady, closely veiled and
n dressed in black. Dorothy imagined
tf that she saw her start when they en
tered, but John did not notice it.
n though his seat was beside that of the
a strange woman. They arose to read
it the psalm and she passed her book to
n John. The last verse particularly mn.
L. pressed him: "I have gone astray like
r a lost sheep: seek Thy bervant; for I d.
d not forget Thy commandments."
y Then they resumed their seats and
John ran nis fingers carelessly throtigh
t the leaves of the book. Suddenly he
started and grew pale. The book fell
froml his tremiblitig hand; He glanced
quickly at the womant Who had passed
it to him, but her hand was raised in
the peaceful attitude of prayer. Doro
thy picked up the fallen book, ard she,
too, started ts she saw on the title page
the namet "Margaret Lyford Hallow
well, from her husband. Easter, 18---."
John was agitated with the desire to
know whether or not this wotman 1,.
his side knew anything about his .rife.
lie went throitgh the service in a me
chanical sort of a way. The woman iu
black had not thus far allowed her
voice to be heard, Finally they all
knelt for confession, and with a wildly
beating heart, IHallowell recognize'.
the trembling voice as it said: "'.'
have left undone those things which
we ought to have done: and we have
done those things which we ought not to
have done; and there is no health in us."
Oh! the anguish, the longing of his
heart. lIe could not control hi.self;
and, still kneeling, he l aned toward
her, and, with a stifled sob, whispered:
She could not speak: but taking hier
hand from the top of the railing in
front of her, she laid it in that of her
husband. This was her only answer;
but John knew its meaning and he
pressed it passionately, tenderly.
The service being finished, they left
the church together. At the door Mar
garet was met by a tall, fine-looking
young man,. "What! No. Why, yes it
:s!" he exclaimed to himself, as he saw
them coming. "If it isn't Dot Hallow
well and her father-and with mamma.
too! What can it all mean?" Jo'-u
_ shook his hand silently, heartily, :
they met. This w;as no place for e.
planations, so they hastened to leave
t There was room for but two in Mar
guaret's carriage, so Will Lyford (for
the young man was none other than
hlie), gracefully resigned in Hlallovell's
favor. As for Dorothy and himself,
they much preferred to walk; and sr,.
Swhen the carriage had passed out ,;
I sight, they turned their steps toward
Mutual explanations and mutual for
giveness were the happy results of the
homeward ride of Margaret and her
husband. It was all arranged before
t they parted that she should assume her
former position as mistress at Glen
mere. But she had so many business
affairs to arrange. and somiuch todo hbe
fore closing up the house, that Saturday
night arrives before Margaret, with
her father and Will Lyford, camne to
live again at her former home: though
it may be said, by the way, that since
the previous Sunday Will had spent
the most of his time there. Ilds many
years of separation from Dorothy had
made him realize that he was far, very
far from being her brother, and now
that they were brought together again.
he found that his affection for her had
taken a new and deeper turn.
The next day was Easter Sunday.
)inner having been finished, Hallowell
and his wife strolled out together, and
their steps led toward the front of the
house. Margaret stopped abruptly as
her eyes fell upon the fallen trees. At
first it puzzled he -, hut suddenly she
renembecred and a pained expression
crossed her face. 'lHave it taken away,
John," was all she said.
lie caught her to his arms. "Yes.
ulear.'" he said. "we wi:l bury tile past.
To-dlay shall be my Easter. We will
look to the future and both rejoice in
our resurrection of love."
If just at this moment we could have
looked insideu the h~ouse, we might have
seen Dorothy and W'ill in a similar at
titude. Theirs wss a new-horn, not a
j resurrected love; but their happiness
was none the greater.
As the years roll on ani the holty day
Sreturns, it brings jy and priaise into
many hearts Buit to none is it a da5
,f greater gladulness and thanksgivink
than to the four who always bless the
anniversary of John Hlallovell's Easter.
-Charles Emerson Cook, in Bloston
Through the lenrthof the -year the grave must
Tis the Easter earth that can only give;
Then bury the meaner self. and wake
To the life that the notler self may live.
tefore the dawn of the Easter stun
lidte dep in the mold tht d-nroot din,
The unnotle lIh our the wrong bheun:
Let the shadel.ess right ocice more begltl.
Iury the pride that h-e -pruoe fronm naught,
The euvy anul hate of ra tlackenelt hour.
Arise to the Chrint-life purely fraught
W!th love as while as the Eastsr flower.
- Ms.. A De Wolfe Howe. Jr.. Ia Yuths' Corn
d COMPARATIVE VITALITY.
t' S1 Mysterties s rea Why Ssae ive
lt Mser T Oliers.
r There are families beyond doubt as
well as individuals over whom disease
r seems to have no power, who are
t eitheir eempt from illness or survive it
as It it were but an emotion, who,
apart from aecident, always fulfill the
yde of the psalmist, and usually die
I only because the still unbroken ma
h chine has exhausted its stock of motive
power. D.etors, when ailed is to
e such persons, are always bsaerful, as
sure the friends that there will be a
s rally soon, and would lils, if. they
dared for the credit of their efaft, to
r administer as little medicine as posesi
o ble. They had not an idea as to the
reason, unless it be "hereditary pre
disposition," or, in a few cases, a cheer
s ful temperaiSenti;bet they kaow quite
wellihatbs't esuch pattents there is "re
a cuperasive power," and ss they like
cures, partly out'e klntldnessrad paetly
from self-interest, they are well con
tent, And there are also families as
r well so IJdividuals, in whom the life
lies low, about whose "attacks," how
ever slight they may sappesr, the
doctoM always shake their head', and
of whom, when among themselves.
they will remark: "The Blanks have
a constitutional habit of dying"
Such people rarely live to be more
than middle-aged; they never attain
old age, and when they die they die
unexpectedly, most frequently in the
fiBest stage of convalescence, from what
is called a "relapse." Something is
wanting in them which furnishes their
rivals with staying power, but then,
what is the something? It certainly is
not size, for giants die rather rapidly,
and the ment who are dear toinsurance
I societies are usually of the medium
build or even a little nder it, their
feight in particular being for the most
part slightly below average. Fatness
is weakness more or less And it is
certainly also not identietl with physi
cal strength, for athletes are scarcely
ever long lived; women have, on the
whole, If we deduct their mortality
from child-bearing, more vitality than
men, and very feeble men, in the ath
letic sense, constantly attend the
funerals of far stronger juniors. Nor
does the quality of vitality arise from
any superior strength of brain.
I'he able often live long and often
die young. The great lawyers and
theologians, men of abnormal acute
ness, often reach a vast age, as do
gamekeepers and country clergymen,
with neither of whom is the brain very
active or often fatig.ted. The greatest
living poet is as old and as healthy as
Mr. Gl sdstone. and the last centenarian
recorded, or last but one, was a sort of
I respectable female tramp. Sir Moses
Montefiore, who died at 101, was a
most anute-minded man, and so was
r enry Marty-., the senior wrangler
whoturned missionary, and after a li'e
r of travel not unlikei that of Sir Moses.
died of exhausti>n just seventy years
There is a fancy abroad among the
cultivated that very stupid mel do not
reach great age, but if they ask a few
masters of work houses and the man
agers of the great charities they would
find that is an error. Nor can the
quality be accurately traced to any
conditions or method of life. The
very old are often intensely vivaci ,us,
but they are often also very dull, oc
casionally almost imbecile. The rich,
according to modern theories, ought
to possess the highest vitality, but as a
matter of fact, it belongs, taking all
the world, to negroes who were slaves
in the WVest India islands, and in En
gland to gamekeepers and excessively
The only facts we certainly know
about habits as conducive to vitality
are that freedom from anxiety is favor
able to it, probably by conserving the
pumping power of the heart, and that
is in a rather singular degree heredit
ary, the capacity of living surviving in
many families the most violentchanges
in residential climates. Those who
cling to life intensely often die early;
while the indifferent live on tilt death
seerms to have finished that furrow and
yet pas-ed them by.
No; vitality is not synonymous with
strength of will, though it must be. on
the evidence, a non-material quality.
It is more like a "gift" than anything
else, like that strangest of all capaci
ties, the feeling for music, which must
be in a measure spiritual, yet has ab
solutely no relation to mental force,
being as often wanting in the ablest as
in the stupidest of mankind. What is
the source of the gift we none of us
know, and probably never shall, for
we cannot hope to accumulate more
experience than the great physicians
have done, and they frankly confess.
that in every patient there is some'
quality making for death or survival
that they can only recognize, without
pretending to understand it. -London
New Styles In Jackets.
Many of the newly made zouave,
Russian. Bolero and Eton jackets open
over loose blouse vests of point de gene
lace, or those of silk delicately em
broidered in a tiny vine pattern. The
backs of all these jackets fit the form
very snug:y. and in most cases the col
lar is a high MIedici in velvet, but in
exceptional cases there is made a very
deep turnover, a la Byron, and in this
instance a wide net and lace tie is laid
beneath the collar and tied in large
loops in front, the tie matching the
blouse in textare.--N. Y. Post.
S-True iHospitality.-(Sir Ilonamy
Crosus gives seren dinner parties a
week, and expects his friends to come
and choose their own day, and inscribe
their names and the date on the dinner
book in the hall. Fair visitor-"Look,
t;eorgel Wednesday, the 17th, the
Fetterbys are coming. That'll do cap
itally!" (Writes down "Mr. and Mrs
Topham Sawyer, February 17.") "And
there's room for one more. Let's drive
round to Emily's, and get her to come
and put her name down for the same
-Thle Far-sighted Junior Member.
Senior--"' Don't start in too extrava
ganntly. Pick out a cheaper necklace,
my boy." Junior--"Notlhing too good
for her, father. After the honeymoon
I can put them beck in the s~ccl."
AMPS L. COL*AU,
Attorney at Law.
as. sr1apuznZU LA. .
fs theCoomb.agew.o Werr
R. O. WICKIUFWE,
Attorney at Law.
ar. IratXWrVrIa I.
a_ O. Srme.:neu d
Attorney and Counselor atLaw
BAYOU SARA. LA.
wlt piesl. la the Parnldes of WemaiD
tr.elt. no Pointe Coupee and SIjotlnla
FAKRAR & MONTGOMERY,
Attorn eys amt Law,
Notary :-: Public,
PolomUe. BAYOU BARA. LA.
A. F. BMRROW, M.D.,
Physician and Surgeon
P. 0., Bayou Sara, La.
Resldence: Highland Plantation.
J. W. LEA, M.D.,
Physician and Surgeon,
Residence at Mrs. West's, Ninth Ward,
W. H. TAYLOR,
Phýiyci, Str ewn ,nl Coroner,
ST. FRANCISVILLE. LA.
Otfce: At resldenc.
DR. JAS. KILBOURNE,
Physician and Surgeon,
Opee: At residence.
E. O. McKOWEN,
Physician and Surgeon,
Offiee t residence of Joe JoneS.
Telelphone calls promptly responded ti
DR. JAS. LEAKE,
Physician and Surgeon,
Tr. FRANCISVILLE, LA.
Office i Leake Btulnlg.
DR. CHAS. F. HOWELL,
Physician and Surgeon,
LAUREL HILL. LA.
Oxer his professional ervlres to e Ued
lea medial aid wlthlin the parish.
i m r i ,i•s . ii m m -
T'EJSPAJ5 N0It ELtao.
FIROM AND AFTER THIS DATE ALL
abootingon the Angola, .llevlew Loan a
aad Lake he;lame piantr.tilon tllh lal Pyrish
wll be considered traanaselng. and iau ol.
lenders prosecuted theruftur. b. L. JAMES.
SIt(1[,I AND AFI'rIt THItS IAT'E ALL
1 hunting of any kind. either with rod, dog
or gun, on either the Ilou Ion or brown ('o I
nar lantationsl. In this periah. wi.l bIe con
s~dered tre-pattingt. and via.latorr w'ill te
proses1tltla tothe fIllti extent of the :law.
CIIE.''(tN FOLEi-', Agent.
1 tlN"I'lNG OFANY KIND ONTHE GREEN
l woodl plantatloll. in thli parih, with dog I
or guni is ilerehy prohtb.ted. and offenders
law. CHAS. II. ItEED, Aigent.
F ItI ANDt AFTER THIS HATE. ALT.
htluntlng with gun or othert-ise, on high-o
land ilantltiota. will be Cttnaidt/red tresiltnsa
InSr. and offetader will be prosecut-d to the
fullest extent of the law.
HMtS. Ef.KANOI i. RAIIROW.
TOtTTE RIS IIElfEBY GIVEN THAT FROM
Ii and after this date, all tresprlasint upon
any at mY sereral plantations itn Wett Ftl:
riena. will be prosecuted to thn fulle-t extent
or the law MtRS. I. I.. tATIIIEW1as
I)ARt'I.ES t1aINCERINEID ARE IEIItEflr
notified that the gathering of Iowers and
shrllhry from the gardenr on Troy piLntsa
lion. In this p'trish. without tlhr t-ermitt.n ofr
the nrldo; signed. will be ra'gnrded at trespass
Ing and prosectel accoreelrlagvn.
FRANK F. PEO.WOELL. Agent.
J UNTING O1N THE ROSEDIOWN AND
Sta.zlew plarra. wall after this date be ron
;siderel at tretptasing. 3A-4. ;'. 1105I MIAN.
NOT1C8 18 HEREBY iIVENTRATrISYII
liar on the Ambrosla and Independence
places 18 prohhblted. Violatort wilt be paoa
lsated to te full extent of the lawr.
.. W. DDI)URICK.
(L., N. O. TL. I )
p. tti t t CoAmia&1Ml
-AILE SUPPLIED WITH THE BEST THE
Mrs. J. OSCAR HOWELL
ndLies' U- D 0 1e - o 1,
Dr. .oi, t..
NOCK BOTTOM PRIG . ;
Mrt, BAY a. L
AND WESTERN PRODUCE.
Saddlery Department Ilhlrtl O
All Work Execeted D lheet g ..s .
Barber : Shop
In old SF\Trsar, office, near Kl
bourne & Co.'s Drug Store.
ST. FRANCISVILLE, LOUISIANA.
SIhave........ ..-..:..... 15e
Hair Cat ..............250
I respectlully solicit a abre eof the
BAYOU SARA AND BATON ROglF,
U. S. Mail Steamer
J. II. MOSSOI, Master.
Passenger, from Bayou Sara bound
for points below Baton Rouge, will have
three hours in the Capital City before
taklng tho train for New Orleans. Meals
served on board. For particulars apply
A ,T PARTIES HAVING WORK IN
my shop for a period exoeeding
NINEI'Y DAYS, are hereby informed
tbhat the same will be sold to pay oost
repair, CHAS. WEYDERT,
Bayou Sara, La.
Livery, Feed and Sale Stable,
Firet ol the IlL s t Fahre He
Barber and Hair hrsser,
J aIOrotr uso, MA.r
n aNEW YORK
S.p ecall Nlti e.
A lL PRTIS HVIN WOK