Decatur Democrat, Volume 27, Number 4, Decatur, Adams County, 27 April 1883 — Page 4

BEFORE AND AFTER IXARRLAG. BEFORE. Mv Maggie ! my beautiful darling! Creep into my arms, my sweet! Let me fold you again to my bosom Ho close I can hear your heart beat. What! these little fingers been sewing? One’s niicked by the needle, I see! Tho>« hands shall be kept from such labor When once they are given to me! All mine, Itttie pet, I will shield you From trouble and labor and care; I will robe vou like some fairy princess. And jewels snail gleam in your hair. Those slippers you gave me are perfect. That dressing-gown fits to a I! J'y larllnif. I wonder that Heaven Haould give such a treasure to me! Eight, nine, ten, eleven! my precious. Time riles when 1 am with you! It ee ms but a moment I’ve been hers. And now, must I say it? Adieu! AFTER. Oh. Maa. vnn're heavy! I'm tired! Go sit in the rocker, I pray; Your weight seems a hundred and ninety When yon plump down tn that sort ot way. Yon had better l>e mendin, my coat sleeve, I’ve spoken abont it before. And I want to tinlsh this novel. And look over those bills from the store. This dressing-gown sits like the d—l, These slippers run down at the heel. Strange nothing can ever look decent; I »ish vou could know how they feel. What ’s this bill from Green’s? Why surely. It’s not an ther new dress! Look here: I’ll be bankrupt ere New Years, Or your store bills will have to grow less! Eight o’clock! Mag, sew on this button As soon as von finish that sleeve; Heigh-ho' I’m so deucedly sleepy, I’ll pile off to bed, I believe! —Hartford Times.

A Strange Murder. BY ELLA WHEELEB. A •ghastly sight met the affrighted dawn as it rose over the village of Somervale. Not many rods from his stately home, where a loving wife awaited his coming, lay Max Arnold stark and dead, with a bullet in his brain. There he was found by a workingman going early to his labor, and soon the sleeping village was astir, roused into unusual wakefulness by the dreadful tragedy which had been enacted while it slept. Max Arnold was a lawyer and a man of wealth and position. He was young, handsome, popular. Great consternation and deep and genuine sorrow pervaded every home in Somervale that morning. A respected citizen, an excellent man, a loved husband, shot dead in the night in their midst! And by whom ? That was the question. Not a man in the village was known to have a word of misunderstanding with Max Arnold. It was not done for plunder, since his well-filled purse had not been touched. He was a general favorite with old and young—a man whose genial nature and strong magnetism won friends wherever he went. When they bore him, cold and white and handsome as a statue of a Greek god. into his darkened home, the scene was heartrending. The servants cried aloud in boisterous grief, for he was a kind master! The beautiful widow knelt in white and tearless agony, for he was a worshiped husband! And the young lady-boarder, Carrie Roland, fell in a dead swoon, for he was her loved friend, and this was her first acquaintance with death. The Coroner’s inquest brought nothing to light upon the subject, so shrouded iu mystery. He had met his death by a ball shot from a 36-caliber revolver, held in the hand of some person unknown. The ball had entered just back of the left ear, and it was evident that the murderer had crept upon him in the darkness and from the rear. There was no evidence of any struggle—it was probable that he fell dead, with no knowledge of who his midnight assassin was. Kind neighbors flocked to the afflicted family. The widow’s tearless grief was pitiful to behold, and Carrie Roland was in a raging fever liefore nightfall. “She must have care at once,” said a physician, “or I will not be answerable for the consequences. This tragedy has upset the whole nervous system, and she is not over strong.” “I will install myself as nurse,” said Ruth Atkins, who, among other villagers, had come to render whatever service was needed to the stricken household. Ruth Atkins alone, of all who made the attempt, had succeeded in separating the widow from the body of her husband, to which she clung in tearless agony. Speaking no word, shedding no tear, she clung to him through the long hours, till at last Ruth had, almost by force, taken her to her room and disrobed her. Then, leaving her in charge of careful hands, she responded to the doctor’s call for a nurse. “Are you sure you can go through the ordeal?” he said. “You do' not know, perhaps, how trying it will be. She needs constant care until the crisis is over." “I shall not be apt to neglect her or to falter,” answered Ruth, calmly, “for, if Carrie Roland were to die, life would be a blank to me!” It was strong language, and yet no exaggeration of the feeling that prompted it. These two girls had been heart friends for long years. Utterly nnalike, each supplied the want felt by the other. Carrie was gentle. Yielding, delicate, easily influenced. Ruth was strong, full of vitality, of determined character and marked individuality. The two mode a complete unity, and no petty misunderstanding or striving had ever marred the beauty of their enduring friendship. Both were orphans. Ruth made her home with an uncle, whose large family precluded Carrie from sharing her home with her, as Ruth would have desired Carrie, who supported herself by music teaching, had for the last year been an inmate of Max Arnold's household. Both husband and wife had been much interested in the frail girl who was homeless, and their kindness to her hail !>een but one of many good deeds that the people of Somervale could recount. After the heart-rending funeral and burial —which our fashions, le ceremonies render unnecessarily horrible and torturing—were over, it became necessary for the detectives to have an interview with the widow. What little there was known of Max Arnold’s last hours must be imparted to them. She told the story as best she could, through the blessed tea’ll that at last had come to her re.ief. “My husband left home about 8 o’clock,” she said. “I noticed nothing unusual in his manner—nothing save a preoccupied and grave demeanor which lias been characteristic of him for a month or two. This I accounted ’or by his pressure of business. He has been driven and hurried for several weeks, and I have seen very little of him, save .at meal time. He has rarely come in earlier than 12 o’clock at night, and several times remained even later. “I spent the evening until 10 with Miss Roland, and then we retired to <jur rooms. I soon fell asleep and did not awaken nntil the clock struck 2. I noticed my husband’s absence, bnt was not at all alarmed, and soon fell asleep again. Waking at 4 and finding him still absent, I came to the conclusion that his work had kept him so late that he had deckled to spend the few remaining hours upon the office lonnge, rather than disturb the household. and I again slept, to awaken two hours later to a knowledge of the horrible truth.” “Jk’re you aware that your husband

hail incurred the displeasure or enmity of any one recently ?” queried the detectives. “No, I did not think he had an enemy in the world. Still Ido not know much of his legal life. He never talked of ’ his business affairs with me. It may be that some difficulty had arisen m his outside life which he never told me, and that it was this which caused his evident depression or preoccupied manner of which I speak.” But further investigations, careful and secret as they were, failed to bring 1 anything to light on the subject. No I one was known to have any enmity toward Max Arnold, and no elew was obtained of the murderer. Carrie Boland passed the crisis of her fever safely, and slowly began to recover. During her delirium she had cried piteously for her friend “Max,” as he was familiarly called in the household. “O Max, why do you look so cold—so white —O come back to me—O who has done this?”— were frequent cries repeated over and over, and then she would start up i with a glad laugh and fever-brilliant eyes and hold out her hands saying, “Ah, you did come back —I knew you would, . for Carrie missed you so! you were her beet friend—yes, yes, you always said you were.” These and other similar utterances proved to al) who heard them the true • depth of the poor girl’s regard for the murdered man and brought tears to .many eyes. “It is like losing a father or a brother,” they said. “No wonder the 1 shock was almost fatal.” During the days when the fever was at its height and her condition the most critical, Ruth Atkins was like one demented. During the intervals when i she was relieved in her care, she did not I sleep, but lay with wide-open eyes un- | til the time came for her to resume her | charge. And often she would walk to and fro and cry; “If she dies, God help me! O God. help me if she dies!” What she suffered during these days I of suspense the awful pallor on her face and her dark-rimmed eyes faintly told. “Never,” said the physician in attend- ■ ance—“never did I see such an example of woman’s love for woman. I ' believe if the patient dies, the nurse ! will soon follow. I believe they are one soul —in two bodies.” When Carrie passed the crisis and was pronounced out of danger. Ruth’s joy was deep but silent—speaking only I in the smiling mouth and joyous eyes I and the caressing hands that fell in ■ such tender touches on the patient’s poor wasted face. “She is saved,” said the physician, “and it is owing to your untiring care.” And then Ruth wept so passionately it seemed as if all the suspense and agony and fears of the terrible days were given vent in tears. And still no clew of Max Arnold's murderer. As soon as Carrie was able ; to be removed to other rooms the lone .y I widow closed her house and left it with executors for sale and took up her abode with relatives in a distant State. Soon afterward she seemed so ill and sad her friends induced her to go upon an European tour, where her mind I would be distracted from the harrowing mystery of her husband’s death. Kind' people furnished pleasant rooms for the pale young music teacher, who was once more able to resume her duties, and the weeks rolled on, and the ' subject of the murder and its mysterious circumstances grew to be an old story in Somervale. But the consequences remained. The desolate widow demonstrated them by her sorrow and her weeds to half Europe. Carrie Roland manifested them by her strangelyaltered demeanor to all Somervale, and Ruth Atkins, since the severe tax upon her nervous system, had lost her old vitality and bounding life, and seemed to be in declining health. “You have never looked well since you took care of mo,” cried Carrie, one day, as she noted her friend's wasted cheek and dull eye. “O, why did I not die. instead of killing you?” “If you had died I should have followed,” answered Ruth, with a poor att mpt at a smile. “I am not killed yet, as you term it, either. I am not as I strong as I used to be, but, no doubt, uv strength will come back slowly. If [ were as sure of seeing your old lightheartedness back again I should be happy. ” “I feel so old,” said Carrie, “since that dreadful occurrence—” and she shivered, and looked away out toward the cemetery where Max Arnold lay. “I don’t see why you should brood over it all the time,” Ruth answered, vith a little frown. “It is your man- j • r—your dreadful gravity and gloomj ’ md the loss of all your old, bright, girlish wavs, that is troubling me. I worry about you all the time, and until see yon make an effort to cast off this gloom I cannot be well or happy. Try, dear, for my sake!” “Then I must go away from this place,” answered Carrie. “I cannot stay here and forget.” “Go, then,” said Ruth, quickly. “Go, even if the parting should be forever, if you can gain your old manner.” So Carrie went from Somervale; went o cousins in a distant city, and her letters soon told the benefit she had derived from a change. “I am growing so strong,” she wrote, “and you would be surprised to see the way I dissipate. I felt as if I could not mix with the gay society here, when I first came; I. who was a part of such gloom, and horror, and sorrow in the life I left behind me. But my cousins dragged me into it. and now I am growing to enjoy it with zest.” A few months later she wrote: “I was almost shocked this morning on ■ reading in the London Times the mar- | ri: g • of Max Arnold’s widow; and he dead only twelve months. But then I suppose it is wise in her to make some other man happy, and be herself ■oniforted. instead of grieving her life iway for what cannot be helped by tears or sorrow. And now that she is married, I may say to you, confiden i tially, that she did not make Max Arnold the happiest man in the world. She loved him in her way, but her nature wai incapable of strong affecon. and she did not understand him. She was alwavs repulsing his proffered caresses, and hurting his sensibilities in a thousand ways—it was an illassorted marriage, and yet no one not under the same roof ever would have suspected it. O, Ruth, true soul marriages are few in this world, and when we get to thinking of the dreadful binding nature of laws, made by men—and how much happier the world would lie if hearts could make their own laws-why. it confuses me terriblv in estimating right and urong—butthen, no more of this. I must dress for a ball.” When she had been absent from Somervale six months she wrote: “Dear Ruth, I am coming home to you soon for the last time. Yes, dear, for lam to be married in a few months—to one whom I think I can make happy, and be happy with. It is, too, a brilliant marriage in the worldly way of looking at it. and I hope to have my dear Ruth as a frequent guest in mv fine home.” But when Carrie Roland returned to Somervale she saw with sudden alarm that Ruth Atkins would never live to be a guest in her home. She was in the sure grasp of consumption. “My darling," she cried, as she i clasped her in her arms. “O Ruth, why j i did you not tell rwyjou were ill —why j

did you keep me in ignorance of your condition ?” “Because you could not help me,” answered Ruth, as she wiped a few drops of blood from her lips. “I knew I must die after a few months, and I wanted you to stay where you were well and happy until it was necessary to recall you. I should have sent for you ere long, if you had not eorne, for I know I can not live many weeks longer. I am growing weak so rapidly.” It was evident to all that she was right, for before Carrie had been in Somervale a week Ruth took to her bed. “I think I should have died weeks ago, dear, if you had been here," she said. “I have been keeping up till you came.” “And I have caused this," Carrie cried, in passionate sorrow. “I am alone to blame for your death. Your care of me broke your constitution down, and gave consumption an easy hold upon your depleted system' O, Ruth, it is terrible to think I am your murderer!” • “Hush," said Ruth, gently. “The author of it all is farther back- let us say that the murderer of Max Arnold is also mine—since his death caused your sickness, and so let it rest. It is all for the best, dear. I am so glad to see you well and happy again, before I die; and I am so glad you have found your soul-mate. ” A shadow fell across Carrie's face. “I am very sure.” she said, “that I shall lie happy with and make happy the man lam to marry. But I do not know —can a soul have more than one mate, Ruth? I never told you-but once—long ago. no matter when or where, I think I found my soulmate, and—God took him away. It was not right, I know now, that he should be mine here on earth —then I could not see or understand. I was so blinded by my love. But he is mine somewhere in space, still; yet I can be a good wife to another man on earth, I think.” A severe coughing spell seized Ruth, and when it had passed she drew Carrie near her. “I think I shall die to-night.” she said, and I, too, have a secret I h ive kept from you—the only thing I ever concealed from you. I want to tell you about it—you alone. Be strong, dear, and be merciful in your judgment.” “I am listening.” said Carrie, “and I could not be unmerciful to you, no matter what you had done; no, not even murder, would turn you from me, my darling.” “Then listen.” answered Bnth, as she drew her friend nearer. "I killed Mas Arnold!" A cry of horror burst from Carrie’s lips, for she thought her friend had suddenly grown insane. One look into the calm face, however, convinced her of the speaker’s sanity. Ruth continued. "You thought I did not know —did not see the state of mat’ers between you and that man. You imagined you were so prudent, so careful, that no eyes detected your all-absorbing passion. Well. I think no one beside myself did see, or snspevt the truth, not even the wife. But for months, before I killed him, I saw with terror and alarm that you were wholly in his power—and that he was madly in love >ith you, that he worshiped you with an all-absorbing passion. My eyes are puck to note all things concerning you —and I watched the growth of this infatuation with an agony that is indodescribable. Day by day, week by week, month by month, I saw you more and more absorbed, and kziew that you were in awful peril. Yet I was powerless to help or save. I could only pray, and trust to God to save you. “One night I went to see you. As was frequent with me, I entered the side gate, and passed up the lawn path that led by the summer house. As I drew near I heard your voice: “ ‘Love yon—l would die for you,’ it said. ‘Death would be sweet if I could know it was for you.’ “ ‘But you love the approbation of the world better,’ Max Arnold’s voice answered, ‘or else you would cast the fear of public scorn to the winds as I would have you do, and fly with me. Life here is unendurable to me—my domestic ties bitterer and more distasteful than any disgrace could be—existence a lie. Such a life is a crime before heaven. Until you came I endured in silence the thralldom that was the result of my own folly. Every day of your dwelling under my roof has been a revelation of heaven to me, and God meant you for me, or He would never have sent you to me. Why do yon care for the speech of people, Carrie—the I world is nothing to us.’ “ ‘No,’ you answered, ‘the worldsociety—friends are nothing to me, compared with your love. That makes all of existence for me; but I fear the loss of my own soul, Max—l am not quite sure yet that it is right. Let me have time’ to think. New I must go, or I shall be missed.’ “I fled back by the path I came, and I was awake all that night. Heaven alone knew my suffering. I formed my plan then and there. I knew you were past all reasoning. I knew you were beyond the reach of human counsel or advice. I stole out after the household was hushed in sleep. I took an old revolver that had been in the house for years, and, when Max Arnold passed the empty lot between !ns office and his home. I crept behind him and I shot him. Then I sped homeward through the darkness. I threw the revolver in the vault and went to my room to await the morning sensation. I felt no remorse of conscience. I had killed * man. but J had saved a sou) from perdition, and I had saved his wife from an agony far worse than that of widowhood. I felt no sorrow, no remorse. when I looked on his dead sac on her deep misery. I only felt a sense of freedom from the awful fear fl it had hung over me for months. But whet you hovered between life and death, then I suffered all the agony of the damned, for I knew if yon died I was a double murderer. Yet I had saved your name from eternal ignominy and disgrace!” “Yes,” said the shaken voice of her listener, “yon saved me, for I should have gone with him another night. I loved him better than my own soul!” “Bnt I saved you,” cried the dying girl. “I thank God, no breath of slander has ever touched yonr name, my darling. I saved yon, and now you are once more well and happy, and sheltered in a good man’s love, and the widow of the man I killed has forgotten her grief in another marriage, and I alone, as is just, am the sufferer. And God alone knows how I have suffered. Sleeping or waking I see that dread face. Oh, it is a terrible thing to take human life; even to save an immortal soul. And now I am going to meet the men I—ah. was it murder, Carrie? am I a murderer? How tho thought has haunted me! in the dark, terrible night, in the glare of the noontide. in the awful hush of the twilight. Will God look upon me as a murderer—when Igo before Him ? Oh, Carrie. I am afraid, afraid to die ” The eyes glazed, the voice died in a gurgle the head fell back, and Carrie was alone with the dead. When they found her, the light of reason had left her eyes, and the mind, partially dethroneu by the violene o f the lawless passion which had taken such a strange hold upon her heart, ’.nd still further sho ’ked bv the m'-’j-e---rious and sudden death of Max Arno.d. | was now totally wrecked by this terri-

ble knowledge which was revealed to her by her dying friend. What awful distress had followed upon her steps since the hour she first listened to Max Arnold’s words of love! Tho peace of her own soul was destroyed. a household broken up. and her lover and her friend had lost their lives—one with the stain of murder on her soul. No wonder the realization of all these horrors unseated her reason. When the man who was to have made her his wife came, he found her a raving maniac, in whose wild ravings the whole mystery of Max Arnold's death was revealed. She was conveyed to a private mailhouse. where she died a few years later, a pitiful example of one wlio had suffered the fullest penalty of being untrue to her own soul. Sanitary Value of Trees. The most obvious, though possibly not the most important, climatic modification produced by trees is their influence upon the winds, and the importance of this action, from a sanitary standpoint. is, we think, generally unaer-esti-mated. We hear much of the beneficial effect of breezes in removing the germs of malaria and “freshening” the air, but, as a rule, a windy climate is a bad climate —a climate of catarrhs, consumption and other diseases of the throat and lungs. Where heavy winds are frequent comfort is next to an impossibility, successful ventilation is unattainable and houses cannot be kept at a proper, uniform warmth. Now, a single tree will break the force of the wind for a considerable distance bevond it, while a forest of deciduous irees absolutely arrests the wind near the earth. The tornadoes which occasionallv devastate portions of our Western States never arise in the forest-clad regions, but gain their force by the unbroken sweep over hundreds of miles of level prairie. The hot “northers” of California, so injurious to the cereals, cannot exist on the slopes of the coast range, which are covered by forests. They have their origin in the treeless plains of the interior, and are destroyed by the humidity of the forests. It is by no means uncommon to hear persons supposed to be well-informed say: “Smith has a beautiful place, but there are too many trees about it to be healthy—malaria, yotl know.” Nothing can be farther from the truth than this. So long as the trees are not so numerous as to prevent the admission of sunlight and the free circulation of the air, they are preventers rather than promoters of malaria. True, under some conditions, trees may lie so massed as to keep the soil too damp, but this rarely happens. Ozone, which conduces to health in a high degree, is produced abundantly by trees, and it is no sufpri e, then, to learn that the atmosphere of forests is highly charged with ozone, while in the air of cities there is none. Ozone destroys nuisance and disease germs and disinfects decomposing matter. The popular opinion regards the woods as a breeder of malaria—a vulgar error. The malarial poison is engendered only where there is air, moisture and sunlight. Abundant sunlight is one of the essentials. In the primeval woods of all countries malarial fevers are unknown. The pioneers suffered from malarial fevers, not because they lived in the woods, but because they were compelled to clear away the forest and admit the sunlight and turn the virgin soil.— New York Economist. An Age of Monologue. “There is no comfort in talking nowadays,” sighed a nice old ladv. recently; “even the best-bred people interrupt so that one can never finish anything. Everybody wants to talk, but nobody is willing to listen.” Perhaps the inattention of her htarers to some pet story had ruffled the speaker’s usually placid humor, and undoubtedly she stated the case somewhat strongly, but there is unfortunately far toe much truth in her remark that in these days everybody wants to talk and nobody to listen. It is partly because it is an age of prolific, if not always profound thought, and the simplest of our acquaintances are seething with ideas that jostle each other in their eagerness to come to utterance. For the most part these ideas, like Dr. Holmes’ moral, run at large, and are caught from the air, but none the less do they compel speech, and the result that conversation has well nigh become a lost art. and we live in an age of monologue. Two or more people sit down together, and each utters his monologue, more or less brilliant, as the case may be, paying no especial heed to the w ords of his companion, and only in the faintest degree modified by them. Epigram, anecdote, simile and wise observations are poured out to unheeding ears, not for the sake of being heard, but for the sake of utterance. We have become like so many Cassandras, and bear abont the burden of prophecy with an inward necessity of declaring it which is mightier than we. We read, we talk, bnt how -■ '■! >:n do «elisten.— Boston Courier

Savage and Civilized Shaving. School-boys of an earlier generation often recited (and laughed over) Dr. Wolcott’s description of poor Hodge shaving himself; how “In vain to chase his beard and bring the graces. He cut and dug and whined and stamped and swore. Brought blood, and danced—and made wry faces.” The interval between the barbarous (without any pun) and civilized shaving is a long one, but the history of beardcutting as an art shows some sore examples of bungling, a good deal later then the old Scythians: The idea that shaving is a duty is older than the invention of steel or even of bronze razors. Nothing is more remarkable in savage life than the resoluof the braves, who shave with a shell or with a broken piece of glass left by mariners. A warrior will throw himself npon the ground, and while one friend holds his arms and prevents him from struggling, another will scrape his chin with the shell or broken bottle, till he rises bleeding but beardless. Macaulay must have shaved almost as badly with the razor of modern life, and when he went to a barber, and after an easy shave, asked what he owed, the fellow, afraid of charging too little, replied, — “Just what you generally give the man that shaves you, sir.” “I generally give him two cuts on each cheek.” said the historian. A French Sample. An eminent lawyer undertake the defense of a miserable and dejectedlooking man accused of stealing a coat. He cross-examines the prosecuting witness and involves him in numerous contradictions, tears in pieces the flimsy sophistries of the prosecuting counsel, and winds up with such an eloquent peroration that the jury brings in a verdict of “ Not guilty." without Icavii g the box, amid a perfect tornado of applause. The rehabilitated prisoner casts himself into the aims of his defender, bursts into tears and sobs: “My preserver'. My preserver ’’ “That’s all right, m y good Irilow,’ says the advocate, patting him on the shoulder; “your innocence has been attested by a jury of your peel's, and henceforth you can walk abroad holding yen:- L--1-1 high in the cotacionsness of your integrity.” ’ And can j. wear the coat i” 1

HOUSE PLANTS. The aphis, or green fly, is one of the most troublesome enemies of pot-grown plants. It is most easily destroyed by svringing the planta twice a week with a’tea made from tobacco stems, moving them up and down until the insects are thoroughly washed off. this will also destroy other insects. The two most important things to be observed in taking care of plants in tiie house, are to secure a proper degree of heat and to furnish a sufficient amount of water and no more. Some plants require more heat when growing vigorously, or flowering, than they do when in a state of rest. To induce a vigorous growth ail plants should be grown in good rich soil, composed of decayed sods ami well rotted manure, mixed with suflieent sandv road-drift to make it porous, and nearly all should be re potted as soon as the pot they are growing in is thoroughly filled with roots. In repotting use pots only one sirfe larger —or about one inch or more in.diameter—than the plants hare been growing in. Vick savs that gladiolus bulbs may be kept over winter in sand in the cellal-. or wherever they will not freeze. Tuberose bulbs, in order to preserve their germs, which wid perish in a lowtemperature, especially if accompanied w ith moisture, need to. be kept dry and warm. If possible the temperature should not fall much below 05 deg., and 70 is better. Kept in a warm place, a drawer, for inst See, in a room that is always heated, they winter in good condition. Pansies are quite hardy, and will stand any amount of cold, if protected from the bleak w inds. A cold frame is the most suitable place to winter them. If sash is used for covering,w hich should only be done in cold w eather, they must be aired freely whenever the weather permits. As soon as the frost is out of the ground, they can be planted out doors, where they will soon commence to unfold their beautiful flowers. Pansies thrive best while the weather is not too warm; dry, excessive heat is their greatest enemy. Adulterated Wines. Those who imagine that to get im ported wine in the original package means to be sure of getting the genuine article should take note of the measures that are being adopted by the GfT l man Government to prevent wine adulteration, a practice which appears to have been carried on to such an extent as to necessitate the making of a black list of ingredients whose > mployment in tile future is to be prohibited under severe penalties. Among these art! sugar of lead, glucose, alum, salicylic acid and sulphuric acid. The complacent connoisseur who indulges in warm praises of his Liebfraumileh is probably often swallowing d mOfO dangerous decoction than any of the cheap and despised native wines. Books with punctuation have just been introduced in the Punjaub for the first time. TOLEDO, CINCINNATI t ST. LOUIS R. R. Time Table—ln Effect Dec. 11, 1885. Going West, i Western » Going EMst. | 7 | 5 j Division. I 6 ■ 8 ■ ... M. a. m.Lv. At. p. m. p. m .... | 8 30 4 55| Toledo *lO tK>| 5 35 ... .... 12 35 I 30'....Delphos . 9 10i 1 3’l ... .... 1 Ofi 457 ....Venedocia. . 847 i' *5 .... .... 115 508 ...Joneawwn... 8 37,12 52 .... .... 126 fi 21- Shasta I 8 27-12 .... .... 132 32- ...Enterprise... 82112 M .... .... 14* 538 Duii 81313 *1 .... .... 147 5 4’>i... .Abanaka.... 80712 18 .... .... 153 5 50'... Schumin.... 80212 13 .... .... 205 6 05'....Wi115hire.... 75012 00 .... .... 215 617 .Pleasant Mills. 74011 49 .... .... 235 6 38!.... Decatur.... 722 11 30, .... .... 249 8 551....Peter50n.... 70711 13 .... .... 301 708 .. Curryrille ... 65711 ”0 .... .... 305 713 . ...Craigville.... 633 10?* .... .... 321 73. .... Bluffton.... 63710 39 .... .... 339 752 .Liberty Centre. 62010 20 .... .... 349 8 04|....80ehmer.... 60810 08 .... .... 353 8■ * ....Bin k“ye.... 6 06110 05 .... .... 407 8 23' Warren 5 52i 951 .... .... 432 853 . ..Van Buren... 527 924 .... ... ; 440 900 ...Landessville.. 521 915 .... .... 445 9 V'*.. Hanfield.... 517 910 .... ....15 04 9 30 ... .Marion 4 56.850 .... .... ■ 5 22 9 431...Roseburgh... 4 4“ 8 38 .... .... 532 9 51j Herbst..... 429! 829 .... ....•■ 5 40 9 58 ... Swazey’s... 4 23 8 23 .... .... 55710 14 ..Sycamore,.... 407 808 .... .... | 8 071 22 Greentown...! IW 1- .... i 6 35 10 50' Kokomo ! 3 30! 7 35 .... .... I .... PM. Ar. Lv.- .... A. M. l .... Going West, i t Going East, 11 | 7 | 5 I ! 6 I ~8 I 12 .... P. M. A.M. Lv. Ar.-P.M. A.M .... 63510 So .... Kokomo .... I 3 20i 735 ... .... 645 11 00 .. .Tarkinzton .J 308 725 .... .... 85211 06 ...Middletons...; 302 720 .... .... 65911 13 ...Russiaville.. 2 52:7 13 .... ' 7 11 11 25 Forest 2 40; 7 031 .... A-M. 72511 39 .MichigantownJ 224 652 p. M. 6 15 7 45 12 00'....Frankfort.. , 2 00 6 30 8 00 ■ 6 58l .... M. ...Clark's Hi11..1 .... 722 ; 8 211 .... ...... Veedersburg.. | 5 55 9 45 ....I ....(..Ridge Farm..! [ 4 30 10 15 ....! Metcalf. 4 00 11 00 ; ...J ..Oakland ' 3 15 1130 Maples ’2 45 11 45 .... i Charleston i 2 30 .... ... J .... Lv. Ar t ~.. 4 T. A. PHILLIPS. T. H. B. BEALE, Gen. Manager. Gen. Pass. Agent. W. S. MATTHIAS, Ass’t Gen. Pass. Agent.

Sallffiet the frwvst fx-tWimn aj a perfect Bair Rest” DreMiug. Alm red f*v iueieanhomand eir-snt t>e' r e. Never Fails to Restore Grey or Faded Hair to the yvotiuul color, idcu. ana «! sixes at all drugguU. Cet A, Mil a ** tlie Me '■ csp? i viM^vr. !»«•• hu, "audikke, and many of the best medicines known are here combined into a medicineof such varied and effective powers. as to make the Greatest Blood Purifier & the Best Health an 4 Strength Restorer Ever Used. It cures Dvspepsia, Rheumatism, Sleeplessness, diseases of the Stomach, Bowels, Lungs, Liver, Kidneys, and all Female Complaints. Ify i are wasting away with Consumption or 3 >nv disease, use the Toxic to-day. It witl surely ■ h ip you. Remember! it is far superior to Bitten, fl Essences of Gmgcr and other Tonics, as it builds ■up the system without intoxicating. 50c. andst at-.-es. a tall dealers i:i drugs. Nene genuine without g • 'nature of I: t .ex & Co., N Y. Send for circular ■J I '.ROE SAVING IN BUYING THE I'-jLLAR SIZE. * '~'Tt* , IA / I F“P- plearealwnvw on the 1k m f., r 1 fl f I X? I U V I ■ A I V V I I) I great chance to make m >ney. We want many men, w -men, bovu and girh to wurk f>r us right in their own localities. An* one can do the work from the first start. The bmineeti will pay more than ten times the ordinary wages. Expensive outfit fur united tree. Noone who engages &>!*? ■ make nionev rapidly. l< u can devote your whole lime to the work, cr only your spare moments. Full information and •H th it is needed sent free. Address Stinson A CoPortland, Maine. .6 42 lyr. .fl.try Stewart Fact Powder ccntaius no mineral poison, tint or white 2" cts a lox at Dorwin an I Holt house.— No. 2tn3

I Parker’s I> iGingerTonlc dr-st UUgjLr 1 Invigorating Medicine that Kever : j. elcgiu 'iy ' perfumed and ’ This debaom combination of Ginger. Burhu, e- :;re.Tharm- Manaraxe. Stuiingia a-d many other of the best -s I ernoves vegetable memcires krwr.. cures Female ComGan6df. r 2. plaint?. Rheumatism, Nervousness. Wakefufoess, • *> >. i:.-g».:-. uver. Kidcoe'r -nd pro- By X . neys, and urinary organs. vents taiGiirss Sf li you have .■ ' r rente and are low spoiled. i’ r ’ s ”' 1 *' B .<ar~ or suffering from age, or any infirmity, take Parker s .. . u Q. ng . r -] ...,-, J. u Strengthen cram and body Floreston WJ?’ ““ ■ c ‘ new afcan ° v ’ :or ' 100 dollars m UL‘LUJ fl U Xtfofe-gfr ’■ ' anything • found in -ifiger Tonic. I A • a;- 4«x ; X'‘ k or-far a ure to l.t ? orr.t T-y it or ask your |. - ■’. uegfrienata try r. To-Day. B c-t scc. and Sr size* at druggists uvirg buy7* r ’• fortßlW'- debar sire Send for circular to Hiscos « Co., S 5 ; t.. 163 Wi.uam St., N Y.

PRINCIPAL* LINE Ine SHORTEST, WfItKEM »nd Hne to R. pln XebnntauMl'W'rl. DAIIM. «•*- 6; . \ W Mexico, Arizona, tan a and Texas. o T-Z I c A ca- o - rj..r f.»r Albert a, Mir neap -!• Faul. i'nlv Nations y frptrt«4 " ]. • i m be;ng me utsat best eq u. 7' * Car a , ■* ■ f travel. KANSAS CITY -. van e, l«urr.lnM«d -h- v s. <XXXh/X ° { * . F.- - I - xfw Xv f - X I j POTTER. PERCEVAL LOWELL, “ Ge HL GRANO- RAPIDS & INDIANA RAILWAY. In EMC* October 15, ISB2. COH Win s TIME. —————ooix.t y, iflTiT, -StrnAiT-- Nn. i;~ X- >«■ >■ H.'. 7. JSFT7H. *D< M I s is»m : cpm Richmond k 3 OTpm 11 1J IS » W.r,-he«ter <>» pupmllSS Ria.'-.flie < «"f Us? fvcatar 613 2 W 13> T.niwfv; r »» JS Lv?” '2 v-<k>- ' 713 18 41 I2i*pm .«» » ■’ ' 6 .. iS ’S Grand «r 1010 «W «» D. &M. Crossing .... | 7 3fi 10 3? J® Howard City 917 ........ 12 05pm « BiuKarids 10 14 •« < adiilac .ar 12itepm 315 ‘lO 10 Cadillac . lv 339 11 r~n«TM C.tv .. ar 555 .... ... K k ,4s 527 1 Ham m.. ; «« j* KXw* 11 ' ?• l«S Harb r Springs 8 25 ! x a.; -- Matkinaw. I i ‘JX x-. xd lH? ~StM?J’iis— S”. 2. Xo. 4. No. C i Xo. 8. Uu 5 1 aw iy ~ | — ? »P“ K:uk»k»... “fl 350 cSm? ltT «r A::::':::./'u® lv I «k>nj 12uH>m 8 W Reeti Citv 513 |1 W 745 F’-IUIX 550 150 819 HowarSinr.:. I Jg J* I> A M Crowing... <s Co ;4 14 10 H Grand it.il hi-...?, ar 820 4 » 10 M Grand li..i -is .... lv 7 mi .. . s«> l<»pin YlWan ..I d 5 00 110 i Katamaz ;o Tv V J ‘ ® i 1 J;:Mr-- 43 K u.i:!ivilte UM | “* ;«« Frt ar U«pm i’. 20 IT 15 F rtWajne .'v • 6 15am r.’ x»am D catnr I 2 to 704 125 i P rtland . 3 io s«h 2 :U ijii-eviffej;:.'.: 357 834 3 m Winchester ,3 56 h 54 320 ili< 1 -mottil i 5 00 !® 55 I 4 35 t mnaf .17 40 1 iQpm « .<> No. 5 leaves Cincinnati and No. 8 leaves Mackinaw Citv daily, except Saturday. All other trains d i’v except Sunday. Woodruff Sleeping cars on Nos. 5 and 6 between Cincinnati and Grand Rapids, and sleeping and chair cars on same trains between Grand Rapids and Petoskey: also AVoodruff sleeping cart on Nos. 7 and 8 lie:ween Grand Rapids and Mackinaw City. A. B. LEET* Genl. Pass L Agent. /fBASKETI ■ I felw * - Q .erv. B Sg ' — - ; j X—4

A“ J . ; ; ‘ j A* SICANffiEW I E> . I - £\ iv N XT’jl' ■ • - r - - f;,-, r.rli. ’ I r, E.j iac--- (ICING TCSA< HOW WATCHES ARE MADE. In a Solid Gold Watch, aside from the necessary thickness for engraving and polishing, a large proportion of metal is neeued only lo stiiieu and hold the enwaved portions in place, and supply strength. The surplus gold is actually needless. In James Boss Patent JIuZcA Cases this waste is saved, and silwity and strength increased by a simple process, at one-half the cost. A plate of solid GOLD is soldered on each side of a plate ; of hard nickel composition metal, and the three are then passed between polished steel rollers. From this the cases, backs, canters, bezels, etc., are cut and shaped by dies and formers. The gold is thick enough to admit of all kinds of chasing, entrraving and engine turning. These cases have been worn perfectly smooth by use without removing the gold. This is the only ease made under this process. Each ease is accompanied with a caiid guarantee signed by the manufacturers warranting it to wear 20 tjeare. lao,ooo of these Cases now carried in the United State- and . Canada. Largest and Oldest Factory. Established 1854. Ask your Jeweler.

NIBLICK, CRAWFORD & SONS, Have again made a change of base by adopting the CASH SYSTEM. From and after this date Will sell for Cash Only. We have the BIGGEST stock and FINEST selectisn in the city. We have a fine Line of all kinds of lace collars, fichues and ties. SILK HANDKERCHIFS from $t to $2.50 a piece LADIES’ FVRS, In Setts and also Muffs and capes that we can sell sepiratr-. J FINEUNEOFSHAW LS | In all grades from a cheap Cotton to a Broche. GENTS’ NECK WEAK We have something new in that line called a Lawn Tennis or Bicycle Tie. Gents’ Suspenders in Silk, something beautiful for a Christmas Gift. Is complete, we are offering a fine line of Table Cloth s and Y .pkins to match, put up nicely in a box of one sett each. Towels in great variety, from 5c to $1 each. We have a elegant line of glass-w :vTrr~~ In plain and engraved. Majolica-ware in Plates. Tea setts, Froit Baskets, Pitchers, Tea and Coffee Cups and Saucers, Bread Plates, Pickles. ENGLISH AND FRENCH CHINA We have mustache Cups and Saucers from 40 cents MI each Full line of Dinner and Tea setts, in plain and decorated. Wash-stand setts from 2to 12 pieces each. In our CARPET DEPARTMENT, You can find something nice in the way of Buggs. Matts and Crum Cloths, in prices to suit all. WOOL BLANKETS we defy competition, rangingn I price from $1.50 to sl4 per pair. We are offering great bargains in LADIES COA IS. 11IST ERS and DOLMANS to close for the seas n—now is your chance to make a bargain. Please call and see before you make your purchases as we , know that we can do you some good. Niblick, Crawford & Sons. Look Out and Don’t Forget THAT fl JOHN WELFLEY. 1 is selling Groceries at less money than any other house and is bound not to be UNDERSOLD SI GAR and COFFEE Lower than for twenty years. I COFFEES, SUGARS, TEAS. SPICES, CANDIES. SALT MEATS, FISH, SARDINES. TOBBACCOES, QUEENSWARE, CIGAR*. Sagars all grades. Green and Roasted Coffees of the best quality. Teaas —Good—Cheap—Black and Green—are one of our specialties. Sugar Cured Hams, Shoulders, Bacon and Dried Beef. Tobaccoes and Cigars in choice brands and great vaneq New Assortment of Lamps. Bronze, Gold and Ebony- I Tubs, Buckets, Brooms and wooden ware Generally. Cut Glassware, China dinner and tea sets, a full assortment of Queensware, White Fish. Cat Fish, Mackerel, Cod Fish, Holland Herring, and Sardines. I Qouisttry Produce I TAKEN IN EXCHANGE FOR GOODS. Come Everybody. You will find first class groceries frKb I and cheap. JOHN WELFLEY. 1 Opposite Court House. R.‘.<Vg August 10, 'B2. No. 19 if

C. E. ALBERS & SON has open out in JOHN KING’S CARRIAGE SHO| A full and complete line of Family Groceries, Big" j o Fresh Goods, at j 33HWI MUCH and everything in the grocery line to select iron All Goods to any part of t;l | City I slivered Frei

PA F" *»w sweeping bv. gn a»4 »arw I J y.* I b*fov* VOA e :n ! k v PS f" -X I a® 1 roblime Imve 1111 J I Q'J*r t.me • a week i; >ur ■ ■ own town 15 cut fir fr* S uk E»*n thing new. (apital not We will furnish yen everything. Mam- are n»ag.irg tr-rtun**. Ladiee make ae much m nun. and boy* and girls make zre»t pay Reeder, if you want hneineea at which you caa make great par a’l ti e Mme. write for perticuiun to H. Hailbtt A PurUaua. M*um.

/*\ ’’T z-x ' week made at b°®* (P / (Jous. Best b»me • no* /. / 1 /Capital not need-< A w hole time to the busin »• pav you nearly « ’«’• enmm us pay. Uai.d » < * '» . n A-a J»«* * abb. AddNM Tata A vo.« &