Democratic Press, Volume 1, Number 23, Decatur, Adams County, 21 March 1895 — Page 8

THE SONG OF HURRY. Oh’ it's hurry hurry, burry and it s Lurry all you can You’ve got to keep a burrytng. and hustle like a man The easy way of going la a relic of the past. And now it s hurry’ hurry upi—Now hurryi hurry fast' It’s very sure if you don’t run the other fellow will. And so you want to hurry, and then hurry harder still If some one’s bound to beat you, you can pass him in a wink If you but keep a hurry on. and never stop to think. There may be time to catch your breath when you have caught your car; But sixty seconds to the minute’s all of them t there are; There are but sixty minutes out of every hour i> t«h*jse. And when you figure very fast, it's awful how it goes' And don’t forget you’ve got to get there, mighty quick, because You've got to get away again; and snatch It from the jaws. Whose jaws they are don't cut the ice, nor what you're going to snatch; You can't be too particular in such a shooting match. You needn’t fetop to fix your feet and try to walk a crack. For though it’s tough a-getting there, it’s tougher getting back. There's little time to linger on the greeny, grassy lawn. When long before you’ve gotten there you ought to then be gone. So keep a-hum pi ng, humping, now. and jolly right along. With here a hurry! there a hurry! then a hurry strong. If you but keep your hurry on. and hurry, hurry fast. It’s ten to one you’re on tho run and may get back at last. —W. D. Ellwanger. in N. Y. Sun. A HEROINE UNAWARES. The Story of a Western Emigrant's Plucky Daughter. The red sun hung above the dim. hazy earth like a glowing ball of fire one smoky morning. Not a breath of air stirred the rustling prairie grass, not a breeze stirred the wilting leaves ; upon the solitary tree by the spring. ■ The soldiers guarding stage station C 1 were chattering together seated upon the shady sides of their tents. 1 “There's three emigrant wagons—blamed if there ain't"’ exclaimed I’rl- , rate Knowles, incredulously. “That's a fact,” declared Lieut. Sommers. lowering his field glass. “There . they are, three wagons loaded with , men. women and children and the whole country alive with Indians! ( Crazy people are not all in insane asy- , luma” The men wondered and commented , as the three wagons slowly drew near J und halted near the spring. Perched upon the back of the huge gray leader, j in the foremost team, was a girl with a thin, white face, careworn and emotionless. The figure was that of a child of perhaps fourteen years: the face was : that of a woman who had met with more disappointment than pleasure in this world. A man sat just within the

white canvas coverof C e wagon, while ( four or five children peered from the depths behind him. “How'd ye do?” was the man’s cordial greeting, as they all descended. “Seems good ter stretch yer legs when you've been drivin’ 'most the night.” "How are you. stranger?” returned 1 Private Knowles. "Where do you think you're traveling to, anyway?” “Wai, we heard as how there wus good settlin’ laud ’bout fitty miles furder on, an’ I ’low there’s where we’re aimin' fur,” answered the man confidently. “Are you idiots?’’ shouted Lieut. Sommers. “This country is full of redskins. They’ve wiped out nearly every stage station for seventy miles or more. They gave us a call yesterday, as four poor fellows in the tent yonder testify. They're on the warpath on account of ; the little unpleasantness at Deer Lick, last week. Better stay here until they , get quieted down.” “No-up! Some one'll take the land afore us if we don't push on,” was the sullen, determined answer. “That’s so. Smutty Joe writ a letter ter Inderanny fer money ter scoot, an’ he won't stop fer no Injuns,” said ' another of the men. “We've got seven good sixteen-shooters, besides revolvers I plenty, an’ I reckin’ we kin use 'em. Our wimmen folks ain't slow when it rums ter shootin’ irons, 1 tell ye, an’ Jake's Nance is a whole team with a rifle, you bet! We’ll go ahead.” "That's the talk.” asserted the third fuaß, while the women nodded approvingly, and the elf upon the gray leader's back lawighed shrilly. “If you 1, ..-111 I . < * 1. , ♦ vv ir* 1-x f-L f ♦!.'*

fellers will jest let us bile the teakittle au‘ water the bosses arter fodderin’ ’em, we’ll push right on.” "It’s no use to say any more to them. They're bound for the kingdom come,” said Lieut. Sommers, walking away in disgust. "The commander better give orders to make ’em stay here, anyway.” But before the order was given the wagons were on their way across the prairie. The men watched the cloud of alkali dust which overhung the white-topped wagons until it disappeared from sight. “See to your arms and have your cartridge belts full. They are sure to call upon us before long, If they can reach us,” was the order. The sun rose higher In the murky sky, hung like*a«ball of fire overhead, and slowly sank toward the dim western horizon. Still no news from the emigrants. “They're dead — sure's thunder!” ejaculated Ben Long. “They never'd gone this time. A-h-h!” Each man followed Ben's eager gaze. Through the gathering twilight they saw the outline of a horse and rider dash over a ridge a mile away. An instant and it was gone, but the sound of horse's hoofs came nearer and nearer until out of the gloom dashed the great gray leader. His rider was elfin Nance. Her face was a trifle pale perhaps, but as emotionless as when she left the camp In the morning. The call to boots and saddles sounded before the panting horse stopped, and the troopers ran hither and thither in confusion and haste.

"Well, sis, where are they?” asked the commander “Less n ten mile Broke a wagon wheel an’ went inter camp middlin’ airly,” was the brief reply. “Have the Indians made an attack?” “Ye-up, or I wouldn't be here, would I, mister?" “Many redskins?” “More'n a hundred." “How did you get here?" ‘Jumped onto ole Gray’s back an cum —rode through 'em.” “There s blood on your sleeve—you are wounded?” “Scratched a leetle with one of them arrers —nary a bullet hit me. I reckin. But you'll hev to I urry, mister. There's heaps of 'em agin’ six, an' pop was hit afore I left.” The girl slipped from old Gray's back and ran to the commander's side. “What now?” he questioned. “P’raps you’ll let me take a fresh boss, mister, an’ a shooter, I had ter leave mine,” she said earnestly. “You mustn’t go with us.” "You bet yer boots I do." “Give her a horse; she won’t be in more danger than to stay here alone.” When the* troopers were mounted Nance spurred her new steed alongside of the colonel's horse, riding there in silence for some time. Then she spoke abruptly: “ Taint very bad fer six of ’em ter hold back more'n a hundred,” she said, as they heard the sound of distant tiring. “X hope we're not too late!" muttered the colonel, anxiously. “Oh, no, yer ain’t,” she answered, cheerfully, with the same shrill laugh, "Ye hear them guns—an' as long as pop’s alive them Injuns’ll stay out er that camp. Hear ’em now! I kin tell pop's gun ’mongst a million; it sounds like a cannon 'most, don't it? Goin’ ter charge, mister?” “Yes, and you must fall back to the rear.” “No-up. Not much, I don't, mister. I'll keep right side of you.” “No, fall back!” “You bet I’ll be right alongside of you, mister, when ye git there. Jest look! Kunnin’ a'ready, ain’t they, mister?" It was true; the Indians suddenly remembered that “ He who lights and runs away Will live to tight another day," but seven of them were captured, with but two soldiers wounded. Two men, two women and three children among the emigrants were wounded and every horse lay dead. “Fifteen minutes more would have wiped them out,” said Private Knowles, grimly, as they encircled the wagons under which the defenders lay. Nance slid from her horse and crawled under the nearest one. “Are ye hurt, pop?" she asked, anxiously. "Nothin' more'n a scratch, I reckin. Be ye hurt, sis?" "Jest a musket ter bite. Did ye see me go, pop?" “Ye-up. I reckin I did.” “Wai. I fetched 'em.” “I knowed ye would.” Just then the

‘ ........ v--. j — — ~ curtains of the wagon parted. "Nance!” called the woman. “I'm here, marm.” “Whare ye bin?” “I took ole Gray an" fetched the soljers.” “Oh. ye did. That's lucky ye thought ter do it. I guess. Come in here now. Jim an’ Fanny are both bin bulleted.” j “Bad. marm?” “Oh, I reckin they'll pull tl rough, but they're fussin’." The soldiers hitched horses to the wagons and slowly the cavalcade moved baek to the stage station. Not a word of praise was given to brave Nance, who had saved them all from a terrible death. “They all take it as a matter of fact," muttered Lieut. Sommers, when the station was reached at last. “And she dou't seem to understand that she is as brave as any soldier that wears the blue. God bless her homely face!” “Give her three cheers!” shouted Private Knowles. “Now, boys—three : cheers for Nance!” The cheers were given with a wilL The echo had hardly died away when a voice came from the pile of blankets where the father lay. "What you fellers makin' sich a fuss over Nance fer?” he growled. “Why. she is a heroine; didn't you know it? She saved you all,” was the astonished reply. “S'posin’ she did! You'd tfetter quit that noise. Nance is hushin' them young uns as was bulleted, an' she won’t thank ye ter skeer ’em an' make 'em nervouser n they air by howlin’ so.” The wagon curtain parted again, and

; Nance's white face peered out. “That’s so. I ain’t done nothin’ but what I’d oughter do for pop an' marm an’ the younguns, anyhow. But the younguns is asleep now, an’ I guess I'll git my arm seen to if the doctor is handy. Is he?” The station agent stepped forward and cut the sleeve from the. trembling arm. The barbed head of an arrow had passed entirely through the arm. The broken shaft told of Nance's efforts to pull it out.—Ella H. Stratton, in Farm and Home. Site dt Belshazzar's Palace. On the site of the great palace of the kings of Babylon, where Belshazzar held his feasts, a black basalt statue, covered with fine inscriptions, has been found by Arab diggers and sent to Constantinople. The finds of the French and American explorers, in southern ' Babylonia, says the Collector, all belong to the Turkish government, and are taken to the Imperial Ottoman museum at Constantinople, where there i are now no less than fifty thousand ■ newly discovered inscribed objects from I Sippara, where the Turks themselves > are excavating from Tel-loh, where the I French ere, and from Nifflr, the American field. At Tel-loh, lately, after M. Sarzac, the French agent, left, the ■ Arabs employed by him came upon a • large chamber filled with Inscribed clay tablets, most of which they sold to Armenian, Syrian and Jewish brokers, who succeeded in getting a part of the collection to London and Paris. The remainder was seized by the authorities at Bagdad.

A MOSLEM MISSIONARY. What He Did for an American Boy in Egypt. The old Egyptian cemetery at Assiout is a desolate, sandy tract of land, with a desert stretching away on either hand. Each grave is furnished with double gravestones, placed as seats for the two recording angels, Munkar and Nekir. After death, say the Mohammedans, the soul stays with the body for four-and-twenty hours. During this time it is questioned by the spirits who descend, one bearing the book for the good, the other that for the evil deeds of the departed. When the answers are noted they rise, with the volumes, to the throne of Allah and, according to their contents, the soul is rewarded or punished. The tombstones at first stand side by side, but in the loose sandy soil they soon sink and lean apart at various angles. No flowers grow there; no woman would even dream of coming to plant any there. Such as it was, however, it had a visitor in the person of an old, blind beggar. Ibrahim had not always been poor and forlorn. He had once been a prosperous dragoman wearing gorgeous apparel and earning much backsheesh by guiding English and American tourists through his native land. Now he was dependent upon the charity of those pious believers who daily distributed bread to the needy from the doors of the mosque. Ibrahim loved the graveyard. He felt more at home there than in the town of the living outside its walls. So many of his old friends were here. They were all gone into the other world, some in battle with the Berbers or the Sudanee, some from old age, some by pestilence, some by famine, which ever waits tt> devour the fellah when, by chance, the Nile fails to give sustenance to his poor little strip of arable land. Only he was left of all his generation. He loved to wander from one stone to another. Occasionally he stopped to recall the past, to hold an Imaginary conversation with some shade, to give some piece of news and fancy its effect upon the visionary audience. He would

often go home quite cheered and refreshed by the companionship and feel- ( ing less lonely. One only, and he the dearest, was absent. Whether he lay ' beneath ocean waves, or under drifting Libyan sands, or in a far-off country, Ibrahim never knew; but it was his only son, his firstborn child, he whose • birth had been hailed with much rejoicing. The ceremonies had been ob- ' served in due form—the household fee- , tival on the seventh day, when the , sweetened water was dropped in the j baby’s mouth to give it a pleasant foretaste of life's gifts; the forty bowls of water poured upon its head upon the fortieth day. The lad had been put under the care of a wise fakir and carefully instructed in the faith of ElIslam; but, in spite of everything, he had proved a renegade, idle and worthless; even, it was whispered so vile as to learn from Christians to drink the forbidden fiery waters which destroy j not only the body but the soul as well. | Yes, there was no doubt that he was a bad son. and, when he finally ran away with a caravan of wandering Bedawin, the bazar felt that fate had dealt kindly with Ibrahim. But he himself thought otherwise, for his soul yearned after his troublesome child; and even now, after so many long years, his works of supererogation, his observance of extra hours of prayer besides the ordained five, his visit to the Well, or tombs of saints, his offerings of ostrich eggs in the mausoleums and scraps of cloth fastened to the surrounding trees, were always performed with the

hope that they might somehow benefit that son, for whose sake, when the trump of Israfil should sound, he himself would be content to fall from the razor bridge of El-Sirat into the abyss below, provided only the soul of his boy might be borne across to rest beneath the shade of trees with the houris of Paradise. To his deceased wives, nine in all. he seldom gave a thought, but, for Ali’s sake, scourged his poor worn back and stood for hours in the broiling sun; for Ali he roused himself to pray at midnight. He always made one of the blind men who walked behind a bier to chant the creed while the boys followed to sing the “Ilashriyeh," the poem of last judgment, and the mourning women , wailed behind. And he loved to listen ; to the burial prayer: "O. Allah! forgive our living and forgive our dead. ■ Pardon those who are present and those who are absent.” On the afternoon in question the old man felt more weary than usual. In his wanderings through the bazar he had, by chance, heard of a certain stranger who lay ill at a miserable hostlery on the outskirts of the town. He had staggered in, no one knew from what place, late one night in a dazed and sunstruek condition and had speedily grown too ill to make himself intelligible. lie was young, and evi I dently a Frank of some sort; but there were none but natives in Assiout during the hot season of September, and no one to look after a sick stranger, especially as there seemed a probability that he might be suffering from cholera. So old Ibrahim felt his way into i the mud hut one baking afternoon to sit by the sufferer, to give him water and keep away the torturing flies. From that hour he tended him continu- ! ally. In his long intercourse with Anglo-Saxons he had grown wise in their speech, and he knew that the wandering accents were American. He sat patiently, through long, broiling days, not so much from compassion as from the hope that always shone before him that his good deeds might be set down to the account of his lost son But no Christian mother could have been more faithful and tender than the ignorant, superstitious, fanatical old follower of the prophet Love works to the same end through devious channels. Whether from the care of Ibrahim or from his own strong constitution, the young American struggled back to life and to a long, fretful, restless con vales-

eence. He brought forth a &mall stock of money, enough to pay the tavernkeepers; but Ibrahim went unpaid, bei cause, though he did not know it, the stranger was waiting until he could communicate with his consul. It was beginning to grow cooler. I After a long rest in his favorite resort Ibrahim felt refreshed, and strolled L cheerfully back, receiving greetings from the neighbors as he went. “To [ tend the sick and stranger is to do the will of Allah,” said they, approvingly; and their praises were grateful to his ■ ears. • There was little else to reward him. • His patient was not one who had learned I much from life in the lessons of unselfishness and self-control. But even on him it began gradually to dawn that this oriental patience and courtesy was k something surprising and beyond anything that he had a right to expect. “Ibrahim,” he asked a few days later, “when you pray, what do you say?” The old man flushed. “I speak with ( Allah, howadji,” he answered with simple dignity. “Oh. see here! I know you don't like to talk about your faith to unbelievers; but I’m not meaning to be impertinent. I really would like to know very much.” The old man bowed his head. “I say many things, howadji, and different things at different hours. I recite the names of Allah, and I always repeat El Fatiha.* And in a low voice he recited: •• Tn the name of Allah, the Merciful and Gracious. Praise to Allah, the Lord of all creatures, the Merciful and Gracious, the Prince of the Day of Judgment! We serve thee and we pray to thee for help. Lead us in the right way of those to whom thou hast shown mercy, upon whom no wrath resteth, and who go not astray Amen.* “H m? said his hearer, as the sonor= ous Arabic fell upon his ears. “Now if it was in New England, we would call that a pretty good sort of prayer.*’ And he became thoughtful. December came in. cool and refresh- « ing. The sick man began to get about again. He was much gentler in manner,and showed symptoms of gratitude. He had not been able to convince himself of the soundness of his own views . < of Ibrahim’s mercenary motives. They talked much together.

10-morrow is a great least in my country,” he remarked, as they sat and sunned themselves in front of the dom palms. Ibrahim nodded. “Yes, I remember. It is the birth of Issa. We also honor him as a prophet, but not as you do. ; But often I have heard of him, and sometimes the traveling people have told me stories from your book. There was one tale,” he added, wistfully, “that I would like to hear again. We j have none like it. It was of a son who went away from his father, far off into a strange country, but he came baek.” , The other did not speak for a moment. “The prodigal son,” he said, at last. "Yes, I know it. I have a Bible in my bag: I'll read it to you, if you like.” “Thanks, howadji,” answered Ibrahim. gratefully. "Yes, gladly would I hear the tale again.” The young man fetched a volume out of the hut, and sat down under the shade of the palm tree. “A certain man had two sons,” he began, and he read it through to the end. He looked rather strange when he finished. “What on earth made you ask for that just now?” he said. “Howadji,” answered the old man, simply, “I had a son. It was long ago. He left me one day. and I heard of him no more. The will of Allah be done.” “And you mean to say that you remember him still—that you miss him after all these years'?" “Yes. truly, howadji,” said the other, !

in surprise. "A father does not forget his son.” "But suppose he was ne credit to his father; suppose he had been wild and troublesome. Wouldn't he have worn out your patience after awhile? You might have been glad to lose track of him, and it would have been an unpleasant surprise to get him back.’’ “No," answered the other, patiently; “he would still be my son. Always my heart would roam the earth seeking ! him; but the dead come not back.” “They do sometimes,” muttered the young man. He rose and walked up and down. “See here, Ibrahim. I've been pretty near death lately. I could easily pretend that I’d passed over the line. I ! ; feel rather like a ghost as it is. Now what's the use of a ghost coming back to vex the people who thought him safely dead? He’d much better go < back and keep himself out of sight somewhere in the African forest. There's plenty of room for ghosts in there; and it isn’t such a bad place.” “My son, my son," and Ibrahim rose and leaned upon his staff. His long, white beard swept Lis brown breast, his white hair waved beneath his green I turban Up was a venerable and imposing figure. “My son, life lies be- i fore you. You have gone but a little : way, and, if it was not well, yet : there is time to make it right. Hear the words of an old man. Go baek to your home, and to those who wait and I look for you. Do good, not evil. And may Allah grant you find the way of peace.” The boy was silent, a minute, and the sightless eyes could not see a certain mistiness in the other pair. “I’ll do | it, old man,” he said, rather chokily. “I'll go back and have another try at it.” Ibrahim was an old man then, he is a very old one now. He is regarded with a certain reverence by the native population. He still wanders to the old graveyard, with feeble steps, and holds converse with the quiet inmates. The houris have rather faded from his i mind, and he takes but little interest , in the gardens and musk-scented soil of paradise. Only he hopes that some- , how, somewhere, some day, he will find his son again, and then all will be well.—Margaret S. Hall, in N.Y. Independent. —The word Papua is Portuguese for : “frizzled,” and the district inabited by the Papuans was named in honor of their much decorated head dresses.

| After THREE MONTHS: of baity Wear ii ;I I; ;■ ;l V y ;! This Collar j jils Still in Good Condition- 1 i[ That’s because it 'sthe"CEiXfLoro” 5 I 'Collar. Its original cost was 2; els. J [' and it cost the we arer nothing after- > ;I wards to keep it clean. When soiled, i ;[simply wipe oil with sponge or wet i I [cloth. | I [ These collars and caffs are water- 5 [l proof, and are the onb. weterproof? [I goods made with an interlining of;’ ; [ linen ; therefore the only ones that ■[ I'can last and give absolute satisfac-o I I tion. Every piece ot the genuine is > [I stamped as follows; \ I XY TRADf _ I#E4s<>lo ;I Refuse anything that is not so! [I marked, and if your dealer has not;I 1 [got the right kind send direct to us, [ I [ enclosing amount, and we will mail > I 1 you a sample postpaid. Collars 25 \ > [lets. each. Cutis 50 cts. pair. Give! [ [size, and state whether stand-up or; | i [ turned-down collar is wanted. ■ [ ‘[THE CELLULOID COMPANY,; [ ! 427--4 S Hroadwar. NRW YORK. J. I. riIASCE. J. T. MERKYMAS. N. P. FRANCE & MERRYMAN. ATTORNEYS AT LAW, DECATUR, IND. < Iffice—Nos. 1. 2 and 3. over Adams Co. Rank. We refer, by permission, to Adams Co. Bank. A. P. BEATTY J. T. MASS MANN A BEATTY. ATTORNEYS AT LAW And Notaries Public Pension claims prosecuted Odd Fellows building. I GEORGE R DICKERSON. ATTORNEY AT LAW. AND NOTARY PUBLIC. Pensionsand Collections a specialty. Office in the John C. Hale Building GENEVA. - - - - INDIANA. 8080 & CO EFEE. ATTORNEYS AT LAW, Rooms over P. O. Decatur. Ind H. F. COSTELLO. PHYSICIAN and SUROEON : Office on west side of Second Street, over ; Teveres Hani wart* Store. Residence on west Third Street. !>etween Monroe and Jackson. Calls promptly attended to day and night. Money to Loan. I have money to loan onthe Loan Association plan. No fees to be paid by borrowers Cun furnish money on a few days notice. Buy a home and stop paying rent. Low rate of interest. Office over Donovan & Bremer camp. Central Grocery, Decatur. Ind. PAUL HOOPER

J. ID. DEALER IN Grain, Seed, Wool, Salt, Oil, Coal, Lime, Fertilizers. Elevators on the Chicago & Erie and Clover Leaf railroads. Gftice and retail store southeast corner of Second and Jefferson Streets. patronage solicited. 1 P. W. Smith. Pres J. B. Holthouse. V-Pres C. A. Pagan. Cash. E.X. Ehinger, Asst Cash Decatur National Bank Decatur. Ind. CAPITAL STOCK Jlte.OOO Directors— P. W. Smith, William A. Kuebler. J. D. Hale. I). G. M. Trout. J. H. Hobroch. C. A. Dugan and John B. Holthouse. This bank does a general banking business, loans money upon approved security, discounts paper, makes collections, sends money to any point, buys county and city Otdeis. Interest given on money deposited on time certificates. I Capital $120,000. Established 1871 THE OLD ADAMS COUNTY BANK Decatur, Indiana. i Does a general banking business, makes col- | lections in all parts of the country. Buys ' town, township and county orders. Foreign ■ and domestic exchange bought and sold. In- . terest paid on time deposits. Officers—W. H. Niblick, President; D. Studei baker. Vice President: R. K. Allison, Cashier, and C. S. Niblick. Assistant Cashier

Dr. C. V. CONNELL, Veteriiiary ::: Italisl.l IT> Office I. 0.0. F. Block. Honorary graduate of the Ontario Veterinary College and Toronto Veterinary Dental School. Treats all diseases of domesticated animals. Calls attended to day or night. 18 Abstract and legal cap paper for sale at this office.

1 Chronic Nervousness Could Not Sleep, Nervous Headaches. Gentlemen:—l have been taking your Restorative Nervine for the past three months and I cannot say enough in its praise. It has Saved My Life, for I had almost given up hope of ever being well again. I was a chronic sufferer from nervousness and could not sleep. I was also troubled with nervous headache, and had tried doctors in vain, until I used your Nervine. MRS. M. WOOD, Ringwood, HL Dr. Miles’ Nervine Cures. Dr. Miles’ Nervine is sold on a positive guarantee that the first bottle will benefit. All druggists sell it at SI, 6 bottles for $5. or Uwillb< sent, prepaid, on receipt of price by the Dr. Miles* Medical Co.. Elkhart. Ind. The Clover Leaf. (Toledo. St. Louis & Kansas City Ry.) EAST. Express 12:15 p. m. Mail 5:28 a. rn. Local 2:35 p. m WEST. Express 8:23 p. m Mall 12:15 p. m. Local 10:35 a. m E. A. Whinhey. Agent. Erie Lines. J if j ■■ \Schedule in effect No- \ jr weuibef 25, Trains leave Decatur as follows: WEST. No. 5. vestibule limited, daily for » Chicago f 2:13 p. m. No. 3, Pacific express, dally for i Chicago f 1:27a. in. No. 1. express. daily except Sun- • day for Chicago f 10:45 a. m. No. 31. local, daily except Sun- » day f 10:45 a. m. EAST No. 8, vestibule limited, daily for • New York and Boston. »’ 8:08 p. rn. No. 2. express, daily except Sun- ' day for New York f 1:55 p.m. No. 12. express, daily for New » York f 1:34 a.m. No. 30. local, daily except Sun- • day f 10:45 a. m. Through coaches and sleeping cars to New York and Boston. Trains 1 and 2stop al all stations on the C. & E. Division. Train No. 12 carries through sleeping cars to Columbus, Circleville, Chillicothe, Waverly, Portsmouth. Ironton, and Kenova, via ( olumbus. Hocking Valley & Toledo, and Norfolk & Western lines J. W. DeLong. Agent. W. G MacEdwakds. T. P. A.. Huntington.

The G. R. <Se I. (Effect Jan. 30. 1805.) TRAINS NORTH. •No. 3. +No. 5. *No. 1. Richmond 11:00 am 11.25 pm 3:30 p m Parry 11:10 " , 3:4*1 Votaw 3.48 “ Harley 3:51 “ Fountain City. 11-35 " 3:57 " Johnson 11:35 ** 4TO “ Lynn 11:40 •• 12:02am 415 ” Snow Hill 11:46 “ 421 “ Woods 11:49 " 4:24 “ Winchester.... 12:00 “ 12:20am 4:34 " Stone 12:10 pm 4:44 “ Ridgeville 12:19 - 12:36 am 4:53 “ Collet 12:32 “ 5:05 “ Portland 12:42 “ 12:54 am 5:17 " Jay 12:52 “ 5:26 “ Briant 12:59 “ 5:32 ** Geneva 1:07 “ 1:14 am 5:41 " Ceylon 5:43 “ Berne 1:18 “ 5:51 - Monroe. 1:36 “ 6:01 " DECATUR 1:47 “ 1:44 am 6:12 “ Monmouth 6:18 “ Williams 2:01 “ 6:26 ‘ Hoagland 2:06 “ 6:81 “ Adams 6.-43 - bort Wayne.... 2:35 41 2:2oam 6:55 - •Daily, except Sunday. +Daily to Grand Rapids. TRAINS SOUTH. •No. 2. *No. 6. tNo. 4. Fort Wayne . . 1:15 pm 11:45 pm 5:45 am Adams 5:58 •• Hoagland 1:39 “ 12:15am 6:13 “ Williams 1:45 “ 12:21 “ 6:18 " Monmontb «-24 •• DECATUR... 1:59 “ 12;37 “ 6:30 “ Monroe 2:13 “ 12:50 “ 6:44 “ Berne 2:25 “ 1:(J2 “ 6:56 ” Ceylon 7:m “ Geneva 2:35 *• 1:14 “ 7.06 Briant . .... 2:44 “ 1:24 “ 7:15 “ Portland 3:00 " 1:41 “ 7:30 “ Collett i;si <• 7 ; 4i Kidievili.-... . 3:24 3:03 “ 7:50 “ Winchester.... 3:44 “ 2:25 “ " Woods 2:34 “ 822 “ Snow Hill 2:36 • 8:25 *’ Lynn 4:05 “ 2:42 - 8:32 “ Johnson 2:47 “ 8:38 “ Fountain City. 4:21 “ 2:57 “ 8:49 “ Haley 8:55 “ \ otaw g-50 “ Parry . ■ 9:0t) “ Richmond 4:45 “ 3:20 “ 9:15 “ ♦Daily Grand Rapids. tDally ex. Sunday. Jeff Bryson, Agent C. L. Lockwood, Gen. Pas. Agent. Settle Tip. Having retired from the Boot and Shoe business, I take this method of notifying those indebted to call and settle. The accounts must be closed up at once, so call at the old stand where I may be found at any time. Yours, etc., A. HOLTHOUSE. Baled straw 25c. J. W: Place.