Decatur Democrat, Volume 35, Number 35, Decatur, Adams County, 20 November 1891 — Page 7

CRUEL THEJRAVE; The Secret of Dunraven Castle. BY ANNIE ASHMORE, Author of “Faithful Margaret,” Etc., Etc CHAfTER Vll.—Continued. She rose, deeply agitated, quite unconscious'of the beseeching expression of her proud eyes, and only feeling that she might betray her thrilling hope and fear unless she changed her position. Still holding her hand, he rose with her, and spoke on with imperious urgency. “Speak; do you grant my request, or must I take my own?’ A stifled sob came from her very heart; she could not comprehend him. •The—the name?" she stammered. •What is it?” •What! you do not guess?” cried he, with fierce incredulity—then a glance of satanic mirth crossed bis pale, anxious face. She tore her hand from him In a wild revulsion of shame and wrath •How should I guess the new object of your vagrant fancy?” demanded she, disdainfully. •No, no; this is no fancy," exclaimed Accrington, forgetting every lesser emotion in hfs fervor, “this is the best love of my life; I grew nobler merely by mttejng on her; she is my peace, my happiness; without her I can never be complete—my golden-tressed Aurora!” “Her name?” breated Mrs. Dellamere with bloodless lips and dilated eyes, like one fascinated by terror. “Oh, true, you claim a formal announcement,” said Accrington, recovering himself “I love your daughter Loveday, dear madam, and crave her for my wife. ” » The tide of Mrs Deliamere’s feeftngs reached its highest point of horror. “My daughter your wife!” she exclaimed bitten y. with a recoiling gesture. “I -hall never consent! Such a union woul j be abhorrent to every natural instinct!” “You refuse!” said Accrington with flashing eyes, “is the past, which I have outlived, so sweet to you that it renders such a union unnatural?” But he could not goad her into consent thus; it was her child’s happiness she was defending- she could suffer humiliating taunts for her sake. “It is impossible or that and every ground,” said she, her voice shaken with passionate repugnance. “You are a treacherous man; there have been falsenesses in your life that even I have seen. You cannot have my daughter. Also, her heart is engaged. ” She shook off his grasping hand from her cashmeres, and hastened away. But not far; before she had taken a half dozen steps he was by her, looking into her face with a laughing devil in each of his eyes. "There can be but one explanation of this resistance,” said he. “You love me yet!” She stood looking up at him. her eyes flashing with fierce scorn; her hands locked together to crush down the wild forces within her which threatened to leap <>ut in some vengeful act “You are a craven!” she said, with somethihg grating in her sweet tones. “If my heart. > ould still cling to a man like you I should tear it from my breast. You are false. I shrink from you, I despise yon; Is that love? She waited a moment, with glowing eyes fastened upon him, for any reply t. he might venture to make, but as he made none, only gnawed his lip in speechless humiliation, she turned quickly, and passed from his view with her own silent, sweeping grace. He returned to the fountain and threw himself once mt re upon the stone seat with a muttered malediction. He had not believed she conld defy him; had not prepared hlm.-elf for the open exhibition of her scorn. Conscious, of his powers of management. he had thought to manipulate Mrs. Dellamere through her wounded pride until she would give him her consent towin Loveday to save herself from the suspicion of loving him yet. She had laughed him to scorn, and he was vulnerable to the shame of being scorned. He began to fear and hate her. Many thoughts passed through his busy brain. He recalled his various loves, and how sincere each had been in its time. How much this proud, imperial beauty, Laura, had been to him in her day! how sweet and warm had been that early love! and how he had suffered when she cast him aside for a richer mate! Ah! she deserved to suffer in her turn; he should not spare her. Then a wild memory of Engelonde Inchcape flew like a red-hot bo t through his soul, her majestic purity, her unsullied fidelity, and her bitter fate. He clenched his band and drove the blighting thought away with a heart-felt imprecation. Then -tole the Image of Loveday Dellamere upon him, tender, softly; no shadow of mortification or remorse blurred that memory; he mused upon her dawn-like youth and innocence, her sunny beauty, which radiated pure joy, and he craved tor her with passionate intensity as the wretched crave for happiness. Then he reviewed the resistance just offered to his desire, and laughed sardonically. He would brush a-ide this opposing will as if it were a cobweb across his path, let who might suffer. CHAPTER VIII. “AI.AS! I HAVE A RIVAI,!” Was it true that the dashing Scotch belle, Merrion Rae, had fallen in love with young Anberon Crecy? The ancient sibyl Carisbrpoke said so, but then she said many foolish things, and saw twice as far througn a millstone as other people. When Accrington returns to the more immediate scene of gayety, he finds a dance on the grass in progression, the music hidden behind a tall leafy screen, and flowery banks bounding the ballroom There was Merrion Rae tripping through an intricate figure with Anberon Crecy, her passionate, darkling glance and heightened beauty betraying the triumph of the moment to her! and here was Loveday, glancing in and out among the dancers unattended, her wild and brilliant graces fresh as ever, as if to prove her care free independence of Auberon’s smiles. Toward her Accrington wends his way with melancholy sweetness, and, catching her eye, without a word wooes her to him by the sheer force of his dominant gaze. To see her struggle against him, whirl past with defiant glance, circle round the grassy mead, aad flit back, a little nearer each revolution, lured by his •yea—those deep, dark, mournful eyes

that seem to brood over grief and wrong, and to plead for sympathy—till at last she is dose to him, laughing out a silvery echo of the waltz! She swoops him the •presentation courtesy,” and comes up to recover with fairy feet pointed, and a look of petulant waywardness, crying: •Here I am. Colonel; now speak quick-' ly, for my turn comes next to dance.* / •I did not summon you, Sprite.” said Accrington, very softly, and looking deep into her upraised eyes, without a smite. “But—yes, you did! You ” “latoked at you, that was all!* murmured the gentle tones in her ear; •'but perhaps I mesmerized you a little ” Perhaps be did! She tried to look at him independently, but conld not endure, without emotion, the earnest beseeching of his gaze. “1 thought mamma had sent for me— I mw you talking with her,” said Lovoday, turning away, but slowly. • “You will give me one waltz?” asked he, staying her in spite of herself She hesitated, giancinz involuntarily at Auberon with a trace of anxiety, which Accrington Instantly divined as the wish to avoid doing anything which might not be to Auberon’s taste! “It is but a little thing for a careworn man like me to ask from yonr buoyant youtli, that you should give me back five minutes of my by-gone days of happiness!” said he wistfully. “Shall you dislike it so much?” “No, ho, no, no,” faltered she, abashed; “I shall waltz with you for my next partner. ” And with that he let her go. In a few minutes Merrion Bae was disengaged, and Accrington seized the opportunity. “Her grace sent me to amuse you. Queen of Scots,” he said, airily, leading her for a promenade; “lam quiescent, ” returned the lady, absently; “do your best. ” “Fair queen, I beseech your aid!” •Tis yours. Sir Colonel. Speak!” “I love a lady. ’ “£7» bleu! So do most men. • “Alas, I have a rival.” “Impossible. Who could rival Colonel Accrington?” “Sweet demoiselle, you are pleased to laugh at me; yet I am In trouble." “Did you not offer to amuse me?* “True. Well, you may laugh, yet help me, ap'l I will be ontent" “I help yon! Is it possible?" “Are you not as wi-e a* you are witty —as good as you are pretty? Y’ou certainly can. if you will, do much to extricate me from a dilemma." “Ah, now I am dying to aid you, your flattery is so sweet. Only show me how I can be of use to you." “Suppose a cavalier, much like that dark-browed fellow Accrington, loved a sunny-tressed Aurora like ” “Miss Dellamere, for Instance," inter* posed Merrion, laughing mischievously, as hr stopped and looked at her. “Oh, I have not been blind, dear Colonel, and I wish you every success. ” “Thank you. Lady Merrion; now I shall tell you the obstacle. Suppose this lady was half promised, by the parents, to a young man who loves her”— (Merrion started and changed color) — “but only with a fraternal love,” proceeded Accrington, who had not lost this sign of emotion, “for his whole heart is evidently given to another, and that other ” “Ha! ha! hal quite a tomedy of Errors,’ ” laughed Merrion, defiantly meeting his significant glance, though her brilliant face glowed with rich blushes, “And now, what part can I play In all this? Or have you yet to come to that point?” “And that other.” resumed Accrington, boldly, “has only to accept Lis attentions for a few days, during which she may be endeavoring to teach her own heart to respond to his. Thus the firstnamed lady will feel herself free to love me, and all will end well." “But by what caprice do you confide all this to me?” demanded the highspirited girl, who would rather have perished than permit any one to guess the state of her heart toward Anberon. “Ah, well—perhaps only to amuse you! Let us talk of something else,” said the Colonel, carelessly. And quite convinced that she understood all that was necessary, he soon led her back to her friends. They danced together, Richard Accrington and Loveday Dellamere. He slid his nervous arm ab< ut her waist, his left hand clasped her finger tips delicately, firmly. They floated round among the others, tight as shadows flickering, and npbornc by the wild measure of a waltz-whirlwind. His warm breath on her brow, his dark eyes softly shining down upon her, his gentle strength supporting hers as if one will governed their motions A singular sensation gradually took possession of Loveday, as if she was being borne out of herself, a feeling as dreamy and delicious as inexplicable. Perceiving by the relaxing of her self-poise his growing power over her, Accrington softly tightened his clasp of her waist, stole a firmer hold of her hand, and, timing his movement to the long-drawn, longing notes of the next musical bars, he bent lower over her, and allowed his dark eyes, charged with unutterably beseeching tenderness, to feed upon hers. All his soul streamed forth in that enraptured gaze. It could not startle or repel her, it was so very humble and imploring, and there was the music, passionately wooing her for him, telling of his sorrowful past, of hfs solitary straugerhood in his own native land —wooing, wooing her to believe in him and forget her first repulsion. And Auberon had only loved .her as a sister, while she—oh, shame! to yield one thought to him who had no love for her! Loveday’s maiden pride was waking with her knowledge that Accrington sought her out from among all these I other fascinating ladies; she had looked forward with blind trust to Auberon’s return, when he would tell her that he loved her, and claim her heart tubeward. G He had not spoken of love; her had been just as tenderly fraternal as of old, and no more; and she had borne the sharp surprise proudly, hid her smart and waited the future patiently; but lately she had become aware of ’Merrion Rae's strange heightened beauty and fascination when in Auberon’s presence, and With love’s jealous quickness, had guessed her secret. And to-day, closely watching, she had seen Auberon’s interest seemingly quite absorbed in her; he and she had been together so much and had been so brilliantly responsive to each other’s sallies —ah, foolish little Loveday, why should she hope any longer? It was a relief to turn to Coi Accrington, and hide her heavy heart by seeming engrossed with him. •’*- And if Anberon did not like it—well, it was far better to vex him a little than to show such slavish obedience to his slightest wish that he .must perforce discover her miserable and hopeless love for him. On then in the whirling waltz, to the thrilling music, which spoke to each bounding heart in its own language; and now Accrington begins a soft murmuring in her ear, delicately impersonal yet perilously Interesting, to which she listens with innocent admiration. Well he knows how to please; the gu Mess young creature knows so little of evil that she is easily pleased; she has no bias to suspicion In her tunny nature, and she is grateful to Colonel Acerington for exerting himself to enterta n her. That ho loves her does not dawn on Loveday yet; this ignorance leaves her i

■■■JU 1 11 , gas freeflow to observe aad enjoy Ms auntfold grace* He has quite overcome her instinct’ve aristruster him before that wonderful wa’tz is finished; while bo—sb! what would he not give to fold her to bis adoring heart and call her hfs own! As be leads her from the lawn, a couple » are slowly pacing before them, apparently .too engrossed with each other to observe their approach. Loveday s pensive bnmor flies as she recognl es Anberon and Merrion Rae, and she utters some sparkling nonsense, and laughs aloud with frolic archness; and as Auberon looks back she flings him a merry glance which tells him nothing but that she is well pleased. His face changes, he seems to turn cold from head to foot; all the dreamy pleasure with which be has been listening to the clever witcheries of his companion, fades away. He look haughty and severe as on.y a clear-cut beautiful young face can look. But Merrion Rae glows and blushes under Accrington’s meaning glances with a helpless seif-conscionsness which convinces Loveday tljat there has been some very sweet love-making going on before she and Accrington came in sight. A wild desire possessed her to prove to all concerned how little this affects her, and she run# np to Merrion, draws down her head to her own level, and whispers archly, •There's nothing half so sweet in life As Love's Young Dream!” “What uoes she say?” asks Auberon, attempting to catch her hand, while Merrion shakes her finger threateningly at her, crying, *Hu-b!* and blushed furiously; and Loveday dances off, bumming the music of the words she had just quoted. Anberon makes no further effort to detain her; and Accrington carries her off in triumph. •These two understand each Other,’ says he gravely, when they are out of earshot; “we shall have the Scotch beauty for a resident in Salford ere long, 1 can see that." •Ob, yes, it is very evident!’ says Loveday, airily. Accrington conveys Miss Dellamere to her mother, stays long enough beside her to impress her with the conviction that he despairs of winning Loveday and is much depressed in consequence, and then discreetly takes his leave. That night Mrs Deliamerq linger# over her lovely child after she has kissed her and bade her go to sleep She wants to warn her against Colonel Accrington; and she cannot get the words out That cowardly taunt of his rankles in her mind like a poison—what if Loveday should also suspect that her mother’s opposition meant that she oved him herself? What if he had prepared the child's mind for thi+ doubt by confiding to her that her mother and himself were old-time lovers? She could not be in much danger, surely; does she not love Auberon? Mrs. Dellamere cannot get one word out; the memory of her interview with Aim rington Is like a blister; to recall It, stinging pain And Love lay lies all night in the dark with sweet eyes wide and burning, enduring the first sorrow of her life as she may. MY UDT’I STOBY I have borne my sorrow patiently these many years, but time has not brought deliverance Still we are sundered, my lord and I. He lives a brooding hermit in bis English castle; I pine here in this Northern islet, hidden from the world—and he has not looked upon my face since that bitter day when he drove me out of his life, because two villains lied away my honor. The wild winds moan around my lonely tower —the breakers roar at its feet. I mourn and pray throughout the long, resounding nights, a fever burning forever in my veins Oh, tor deliverance! Oh, for deliverance! But not till these two confess that they have lied will my iord take me back to his heart; and who will wring confession from them? Who will be my champion, to set me free from the shame that is killing me? Shall I cheat the maddening hours by setting down my miserable story, to be read when I am gone by my love, who may Judge me less harshly then? Surely the truth will prevail, if he hears it, as It were, from dead Engelonde'* grave. At least let me wander a while among the remembrances of that gracious time when we were together, loving and trusting each other, before the fatal shadow of doubt fell between us. Engelonde Chailoner, the daughter of an American Senator, married at eighteen Lord Inchcape, who was forty. He was my first and is my only love; no other passion has ever touched me. I went to him with all the treasures of freshest girlhood untasted but by himself. It was himself I losed—his noble heart, his proud integrity; I gloried in his rank and power because they were part of himself. Even the disparity in our ages seemed tq. me fascinating, because it set him on a throne at the foot of which I could worship him. He transplanted me into a brilliant circle, he called around us a troop of friends, and Inchcape Fosse became the scene of continuous festivity, over which he loved to see me reign. I had two friends, who soon won my tenderest love; my favorite was gentle Alice, the wife of honest Squire Crecy; the other was the beautiful Laura Dellamere, a young widow. They both lived in the neighborhood, and came almost every day to me to assist me in entertaining the crowd of guests that tilled the castle. At last one came, a tatal guest. His acc rsed name is Richard Accrington, i He came to us preceded by a brilliant -reputa ion. In the Indian mutiny he had distinguished himself gallantly; there were many records of his heroism and ability; we welcomed the young soldier among us with enthusiasm. There were other whispers, too. It was said that Colonel Accrington had been Laura’s first lover —that she had sacrificed herself and him, at her needy father’s command, to marry the wealthy commoner, Mlles Dellamere, and that he was suing her azain in her widowhood to lay his laurels at her feet and win her band at last. It was my dear lord’s evil fate to bring him to our home —to present the brilliant stranger to me. Let me overpass the loathed recollection. Enough to say that he was base enough to make a blind of Mrs. Dellamere behind which to indulge a guilty passion for one who dreamed not of the truth—for hapless me. One day accident disclosed what he fain would have hidden. The illness of his father recalled him home; he sought me in my prlva y in haste to say adieu, and my unsuspicious coldness wrung sudden burning words from him. Mistaking his agitation for grief on Deliamere’s account, unwittingly I goaded him Into a full declaration of hie detected passion. I was stupefied, excess of emotion he'd me dumb. •Your amazement is well acted, if it is acted,” mocked he. "If it is sincere, then I am as lost and disgra ed a man as lives to curse himself this day. * I faltered Laura’s name; his attention to her had been open and unqualified, to retract from them would moot cruelly injure her. He retorted with the ntmoetderision—quoted the o!d wrong she had done him —vaunted the completeness of his revenga,

Tn suflflewfy Mowed wrath snfl scorn 1 flswvq him from mo; m bo hurried num my pretence In writhing humfltamy ford mot him—marked hie agitation ae be pessed with a hurried bow, and entering, saw his guest’s agitation reflected on the face of his wife. Should I have confided all to him? Alas! I was but a girl—l was ashamed of the base love I bad excited—l trembled for the consequences to my beloved busband should he bear how he had been insulted; I dared not confide the matter to Lord Inchcape, I gave a baiting explanation of my emotion. Colonel Accrington was leaving us, and by a careless word which be had dropped it was evident that he had been but amusing himself at the exKnse of my friend, Mr* Dellamere. I d hot concealed from him my anger, and be was leaving us forever. My lord accepted the explanation at once; bis honorable mind harbored no suspicion at the time; but he remembered the episode afterward, I did not see Laura tor many days after that; but my sweet Alice told me that Colonel Accrington had paid Laura a flying visit on his way to the railroad station. As •be, Mrs. Crecy, drove up to the Pavilion to call for Laura, as she usually did on her way to the Fosse, she met Accrington on bls bone. He passed her with a sardonic smile and bow—bls face looked like a demon's. Laura denied herself to her, sending word that she was ill that morning and would not leave her room. •Their friendship has ruptured—l wonder why?" said my innocent Alice. When Lanra once more joined us she was strangely changed toward me. While jealously concealing her own pain she made me comprehend In a thousand subtle ways that 1 had fallen in her estimation—that she could no longer admit me to the inner sanctuary of her affection. What my enemy bad said of me I know not. She taunted me once thus; “I had an adieu from Col. Accrington; it was of a high tragedy sort; he raved of a mad love—of the fatal beauty of an insatiate coquette—l laughed; be was amusing.* And so I saw she judged me guilty of playing with her lover's heart, and scorned me. Time passed; we heard that Colohel Accrington had gone abroad; we left Salford for our house in London; we should have been happy as the angels but for the memory of that hateful episode. It haunted me —a secret must invariably corrode in the heart of the guiltless. I began to question the past with distrust— to doubt the tendencies of my own nature—almost to believe myself In a measure guilty of levity, ts of nothing worse, etse how could that cold-hearted man of the world have ventured to depict my image to himself in warmer colors than those of formal acquaintanceships Laura's disdain oppressed me, too, and the consciousness of a secret withheld from my lord humiliated me. These disquietudes injured my health; my lord, with love's divining eye, observed Mg. change; he wooed my confidence, Rfi anxiously strove to discover crumpled rose leaf In his darling's life—but I dared not confess ft—l did not—l did not I put him off with shallow pretens •»; he understood that I did not care to share my every thought with him; he did not insist But from that hour my husband changed toward me, bls air of tranquil felicity fled, he became thoughtful, moody; he hogan to call me “child* oftener than “wife,” as if ho remembered regretfully his forty years beside my eighteen. Tenderly kind to me as ever, he was teaching himself the heart freezing lesson that youth and middle age are not fitly yoked together. Sweet love, they were—they were—no happier wife ever thanked God than yours before the serpent entered our Eden! pro be co.vTisrrn, | Franri* Marton, Os all the picturesque characters of our revolutionary period there is perhaps no one who, in the memory of the people, Is so closely associated with romantic adventure as Francis Marion. He belonged to that gallant race of men of whose services France had been forever deprived when Louis XIV. revoked the edict of Nantes. His father bad been a planter near Georgetown, on the coast, and the son, while following the same occupation, had been called off to the western frontier by the Cherokee war of 1759, in the course of which he had made himself an adept in woodland strategy. He was now fortyseven years old, a man of few words and modest demeanor, small in stature and slight in frame, delicately organized, but endowed with wonderful nervous energy and sleepless intelligence. Like a woman In quickness of sympathy he was a knight in courtesy, truthfulness, and courage. The brightness of his fcnme was never sullied by an act of cruelty. “Never shall a house be trained by one of my people,” said he; “to distress poor women and children is what I detest.’ To distress the enemy In legitimate warfare was, on the other hand, a business in which few partisan commanders have excelled him. For swiftness and .secrecy he was unequaled, and the boldness of his exploits seemed almost Incredible, when compared with the meagerness of his resources. His force sometimes consisted of less than twenty men, and seldom exceeded seventy. To arm them he was obliged to take the saws from saw mills and have them wrought into rude swords at the country forge, while pewter mugs and spoons were cast into bultets. With such equipment he would attack and overwhelm parties of more than two hundred Tories; or he would swoop upon a column of British regulars on their march, throw them into disorder, set free their prisoners, slay and disarm a score or two, and plunge out of sight in the darkling forest as swiftly and mysteriously as he had come.—Hearth and Hall, f A Great Prison at Night. As one rushes by Sing Sing in a Central-Hudson train a glance can be had of the main prison building. At night rows of lights can be seen—lights that illumine the long galleries upon which are the cells in which the convicts sleep, and the thought at once arises that the big building is alive with moving figures, keepers with loaded rifles guarding each gallery, on the alert for any outbreak. After nine o'clock not a sound is beard. The "all right” bell is sounded at twenty minutes past five every evening, the day keepers are replaced by a few night men, the convicts are locked in their cells, iron entrance doors take the place of the wooden ones used during the day, and the prison is closed for the night. Even to the Warden’s residence, where dinner is served at six, the influence of the quiet extends, and about nine o’clock every one is asleep or apparently so. With 1,i53b people in that vast incloeure not a sound is heard except the tread of the night guards er the dreary splasbing of the river ugwinet thy tralkh*adg of the great prison.—-Hearth and Hall.

CURE SICK WSW assess , ssjs l sis& ACHE Ltttte t*v»r TSlßsrevwy rawnreJ vCTy#*<y to Ute. Ono or tvo yfite awtos dore, - tggPtCWE COwWow Yorit-_ ' '’'.miMBE.MMI.nKI ■I Prof. I. HUBKRTS Malvina cream ■ w ■ rt>#» Mnhw, muGreor juaioSreinn *jriaMreiMreiißerenwrereqr WRjwre srtre _ Pre* L Huekwt, tolkdo, onto. FULDIEFFENBACH’S 4JT3K PROTA6ON CAPSULES, SreoOßreSpr Wo* M*w,bb provadßyrrporuot iAn4tn«phy* /IS A U MrlotNro unnatural Pncf-eu. ftREEKSPICIFICiJM IPiwwiaaiß ShMwi.Siuf mow tow reMsvMMWo Atoture vita •wtnwMiwy. Prtre,*e. Onto from Xpamph lntof fnformutfon Ws- strmtoftho lAwc,«b<>win« IJow to/jre *>’'tain Fniwatu, Carwrt#, Tn»<ta>aana AOtor MUNN A 33 i FOTTTZ’S HORSE ANO OATTLE POWDERS Bran Bte — Mu. Bm. w m* r» mtf Fomav Pomp* are uret touww. _ rreum Powtoawfliareaare prr»«w*Bo»Clw»ire*. Faairi Fovtoa wM nr Fowx* Foaov Fowdara wfuMrearetka auaattry of rem are araam nraau rar aasa, are mate Me tawr Sm Umaare Freyra Fowwre rtu orra Sawreacwre. MSVZM «. POUTS, Propvfotov. SA&onsoißa, wm SoM by Mtteusß A Btaofclmn, Pauuire Tto Chicago & Erie Railway, With its PunaMHkbum Bqulpßeut, aubataU' tfsliy oonatructod raMhrey, snd low nitre of fare inaure • ante, rpredy sad oooooutaul josp reytosßpotats XlAfirt oxr Write to yonr nonraet reflwwy Meat for the sttmetlve low rstae vta thia Hue. TiJtJB CjUid-jw >oe. ze, i see. eotwesrer. Stationa— No. S No. S. No. IS. Chicago tv 7 SO an 180 pm 7 ts pa Arehernve. Englewood. Hammonds 8 80 817 Otf Crown P0int...... 006 IB Otf Route.. Otf 8M 0« North Judson...? 1010 8» 1018 Nocheeter. U SO 4 ts UM Akron. Utf »M 1134 Newton..B 13 itl JIM BoUvar.B 17 6 M £U 84 Hnntington.lSSOpm 6 00 18 80a a Kingaiand 1« 088 108 Deestur;. SOO 8 80 180 OMoCfty. 8 33 7 18 IM ISKT?!!:::::: Stt’ IS 1 li Alger. 4 OS 8 86 8 14 Kenton. 4 ts 0 48 Bte Marion,...ar 5 40 0 80 4 80 New York. Boaton ooinewsn. Stationa— Nb.l No.B. NoA Boaton fiK:-:: ::::: IS 78 Spuaeeirtße OSt 2 38 IM OMoCHy. 0M 8 « 188 Deeatur..... MBB SM 8 80 Kiapriaad UOB S4S SM Bnattegtoa.D 40 4 M 8 88 Bottvnr.. 1J? Newton.....lSM 4 68 4 14 Akron. MW 614 4M Noebewer. 1» 6 80 4M 19 IS IS !- IS IS Arebmrave’ll”" ’.’Z’"'CMeaso ar 640 0 80 8M TnUaa 6, S, 8 aad M dnfly. Tniirelaudßdaily except Snaday. For rates, time taniee aad other faftmation « , Gea.PMa.Agt- Aart, Gea. Pare A*tChicago, ni. Brand Rapids & Indiana Railroad. Time end for Deeatur statioo. Xa etfaO Thursday' September, M, MOL •ana wean gov* Wsyn*sad >Spa VortWayneaadGraadßands ...... 30Dp a eOOMSOUWE. ??? • ,r< r * •* wje IIMUMNMIwMI tMMMMHivreewveepev W MSP BBVMOt ASMS

Business Directory. TIE DEUTUR HTIOHM MH, Wssre presysO temehe Lpqrejn guudsretq tfj£»jre*Abo ftoa S- 3K. ZotaSHETTHrZ Veterinary Surgeon. XtaSMTOa* ZMktfU IsMisßfiiny troste aD dlosasMof Noawaad teStreJESabS" * steer Jamee B. Hehe. ▲ttOmsr Sbt JEeeper. VBANCN » MNKNXMAN. Z.». PIMMfo ■w wv, aawnuv es* Zaevwv'* Mcavvii, nmavA ■2S* AdeaetauMv |[UMai MoveK, L 9. inxsuE, PMpMax Desotur, lad, Eeostfsa foatal Ospstas Osret Moure Ito Madisu hotel to the Hr. kßXxy' wioiMxob flßvßw*aoMb AR reus promptly sttsadsd today ovafoM, Jflteoat rosMenoo. Adams County Bank Capital, (MBssh—D.Studabehor PrssMsats BobtrM AUiooo,Vl«sPn»Msnt; W. H. NibUeh, Coo Mer. Do a general banking bustness, CoUreftono made in aurerts of tbs oonntry. County, City and Township Order* bought. Foreign and Dumeette Exchange bought aad sold. Interest paid on time deposits. ar. Attornej-at-iawaid Pension Agent Cdleettonof CtahnsaspeoiaMF* , ■Dret’pr, Jwdfewo, Kent K. JFAecfoe*. M, !>•, EYE AND EAR SPECIALIST M Calhoun-st, Fort Wayne, Ind, JJEV- D. NEUENSCHWANDER, M. D, HOMEOPATHIST.' JBsrwe, - - - Jadfewa, Children and Chronic Dtseasa a fipectalty. Twenty yean experience, A. ts. HOLLOWAY, Pixy tofiofitan. efo Offlce over Borns' barnere shop, residence one door north of M, E. church. AU oaiie promptly attended to in city or country night or day. ... - T M. L. HOLLOWAY, H. 9. Office and residence one door north of M. H, church. Diseases of women and children spm (rfiliffUrf. MONEYTOLOAN On Farm Property ou Long Mans# HTo Oosaobnblapffinloaße Lew Rato of Interest. In say em reels esa be made M are Oae aad step iatcrose. CaU oa, or address, A. JE. CBUBB, 9T Otfso: Odd FsUowF Bufldtag, Desatur.

COMPLEXION POWDER: SiFE;CDMTWE;BE«mniK. 1,2,3, Fall ad Winter Clothing! Do you want to save the middleman’s profit on your Fan Clothing purchases. If so, boar in mind that * FDCLEY&CO. Arc tbo only Mannfaetnnng Dealers in Fort Wayne, and the only parties who can sell you Clothing at Manufacturers .'. Prices. Oar Fall and Winter Stock io now ready and on inspection wiU show it to bo tbo greatest assortment ever shown in the city. Every Department is loaded with new choice Clothing for Msn, Boys and Children. When ready Tor your Fall Clothing boar in mind the ad. vantages pffercd by the Manufacturers and look over our stock. gj|| ■ JbKUKX*lil'hr <ft» CO., Ifi and IS loot Borer Strcot, Fort Wayne, ■’ M 4 ,K ♦ W|

=SSSSSSESBB9? -I I ■■■ ■—w <r* SENDEE, B. K4WW,L* BBWnr * MAJTJT, momn -at - law; Aad Notaries ORto la Odd Notice to Teacherel WWfte> W hereby gtre* ttosu.wfit.to < EubMe examfaatfoa of toseben attbe «dtohtf wlaiSWi cerrtfllote oPaES the day of examinstlon, a review or esaroere the folldwfng Miusdw&toS Tale David booker's NowYdrli, TheHagpy Boyity aid seatprefooe shsHeontMs arefiS iof mere thee Mto words, oMhuefi ■afeowp baadwyfitag, aaditoßto M•« Am. Nofieemewfll HtaMto <gder eevreteyi foot of ye,, afw TIME TABUL TbeSbortwt, Quickestaad BsstNouto lotto Vert, Ifftivst, Sutt al tatt—l REE HIKE IECUNH OUS UK on aft night trains. Solid Vestibuled Trail Serviet Daily, without cztraoiMcro, PalaceßosMtar ver, Cheyenne and Ogdon, Bound Trip Tichets to principal pbwto la CMifornhi, Oregon, Cum, Artacmaaad Old SbSXtfISEtaW XtoNEIOO tiefcew Yfa Bay sctlMXfiisea tivc printed matter, write to or euU on at Bfr PEv MnWy B, G. Tna>wnotf, Pass, aad Mstol AgaaL Fort Wayne, lad. I CURE FITS! dWHMBHB» iTOLßPnamnrw WAY.T.TWdX ETffgEME, ABM leag study. I wagUNV ■yjimily to fryqtlicrecreeases. .Bustoiptesroireu M.aROOT v NLOw IfififMBMJMR