Democratic Press, Volume 1, Number 43, Decatur, Adams County, 8 August 1895 — Page 8

IF WE ONLY COULD. If a man could be born when he's old. And gradually grow young. The wisdom he d gam and the lore be d abtain Are not easily said or sung. If I knew as much as my boy. Who is six times younger than I, I’d have a sufficience of general omniscience— Be finished and ready to die. So a man might drink deeper, I hold. Yes. force out truth s obstinate bung, If he could be born when he’s old And gradually grow young. For the groping and ignorant man In his darkness would count it a joy If he had the light co enlighten his night Os the wise, luminiferous boy. If he could grow younger and wise. And develop from age into youth. We’d be able to hold when we re thirteen years old. The substance and sum of all truth. And toe oceans of wisdom we’d hold Cannot be Imagined or sung. If a man could be born when he's old And gradually gru* young. But a man is now born very young. And he gradually grows very old. And as his youth finishes, his wisdom diminishes. And his ignorance grows manifold. And so eve ry year doth his wisdom decrease And his tight knowledge web is unstrung. And no man can be sure that he is not immature Unless he’s exceedingly young— What sages the world might behold. What giants of brain and of tongue. If a man could be born when he’s old And gradually grow young. —St. Louis Post-Dis patchBETTY’S VERSE. BV SARAH B. KENYON. Mr. Rogers was thinking. His thoughts went back twenty years. and he saw himself a juiung man doing a prosperous business, and. although not in partnership, still intimately associated with one who had been his playmate, neighbor and close friend for thirty years. And then Mr. Rogers saw the financial trouble that had come upon him, and he thought bitterly that, if the friend had played the part of a friend, it might have been averted. He saw the twenty years of estrangement; he felt again the bitterness of that hour of failure. Mr. Rogers rose from his chair, and. going to his safe, drew from it three notes for five thousand dollars each, due ou the following Monday. “Twenty j-enrs is a long time to wait for justice." said he to himself; “but new, and without my lifting a finger, these notes have come into my possession, and I know. Robert French, that it will be hard for you to pay them. I knew justice would be done at last.’’ And Mr. Rogers replaced the notes in his safe and closing his office went home to eat. Many n man will cry out for justice when it is revenge he desires. On Monday morning Mr. Rogers went to the station to take the eight o'clock train for Boston. He had just taken his seat in the car when he heard his name spoken, and saw Mr. Palmer, his neighbor, standing by his seat. “Are you going to town?' asked Mr. Palmer.' "Yes,'' was the reply. ‘ Anything I can do for you?” “I wish yon would take charge of my little girl as far as M . Her grandmother will meet her there. I have promised her this visit for a week, and intended to take her down myself, but just at the last minute I have re- i ceived a dispatch that 1 must be here to meet some men who are coming out on the next train." “Why, of course I will,'’ said Mr. Rogers, heartily. “Where is she?” At these words a tiny figure clambered on the seat, and a cheerful voice ; announced: ‘ Here I is!" “Thank you,” said Mr. Palmer. “Good-by, Betty; be a good girl and I papa will come for you to-morrow.” “Good-by, papa; give my love to the baa-lammie, and all the west of the fam'ly,” replied Betty. People looked around and laughed at Betty's putting the lamb at the head of the family. They saw a very little girl under an immerse hat, and with a pair of big blue eyes and rosy cheeks. Mr. Rogers put her next to the window, and began to talk with her. “How old are you, Betty?” he asked. “I'm half-past, four; how old are you?" promptly returned Betty “Not quite a hundred,” laughed Mr. Rogers, “but pretty old. for all that.” “Is that what made the fur all eome off the top of your head?” she asked, looking thoughtfully at his bald head, for the heat had caused him to take off his hat. Mr. Rogers said he guessed so. Betty pointed out various objects of interest and made original comments upon them, not at all abashed by her companion's age and gravity. Suddenly she looked up and said; “I go to Sunday school!” “Do you? and what do you do there?” “Well. I slag ami I learn a verse. My teacher gived me a new one 'bout 'bears, but I don't know it yet; but I know the first one I had; ws>- ; t me to tell it to you?” and the big blue eyes looked confidingly up at Mr. Bogers “Why, of course I do, Betty,” he replied. Betty folded her hands, and. with her eyes fixed on her listener's face, said: “ ‘Love your innymunts.' ” Mr. Rogers flushed, and involuntarily put his hand to his pocketbook; but Betty, all unconscious of his thought, said: “Do you want me to 'splain it?” The listener nodded and the child went on: “Do you know what an ‘innymunf is?” but receiving no answer, she said: “When anybody does naughty things and bweaks your playthings, he’s a ‘innymunt.’ Wobbie Fwench was my ‘innymunt;' he bweaked my dolly's nose, and he sticked burrs in my baalammie's fur. and he said it wasn’t a baa-lammie. noflin' but just a lammie;” and the big eyes grew bigger as they recalled this last indignity. Mr. Rogers looked deeply interested, and, in fact, who could have helped it, looking at the earnest little face? Betty continued to “’splain:” “It doesn’t mean,” she said, “that you must lei him bweak all your dolW I

noses nor call your baa-lammie names, ’cause that's wicked; but last week Wobbie bweaked his ’locipede. and the , next day all the boys were going to have a wace, and when 1 said my pwayers I told the Lord I was glad Wobbie had bweaked his 'locipede. I , was. but when I wanted to go to sleep I feeled bad here." and Betty placed a tiny hand on her chest, and drew a long breath. “But by and by, after tnueh as a hour. I guess, I thinked how paughiy that was, and then 1 telled the Lord I was sorwy Wobbie had bweaked his 'locipede and I would lend him mine part of the time; and then I feeled good, and I was asleep in a minute.” “And what about Robbie?" asked Mr. Rogers. •‘Well." replied the child, “1 guess if I keep on loving him, he won't be a ‘innymunt’ much longer.” "I guess not, either,” said Mr. Rogers, giving his hand to help her down from the seat as the cars slackened speed at M , and stopped at the station. Be led the child fronj the car, and gave her to her grandmother’s care. "I hope she has not troubled you.” said the lady, looking fondly at the child. “On the contrary, madam, she has done me a world of good,” said he, sincerely, as he raised his hat and, bidding Betty good-by, stepped back into the car. Mr. Rogers resumed his seat, and looked ont of the window, but he did not see the tre es. nor the green fields, nor the peaceful river, with its thou- ' sands of white water lilies like stars ; in the midnight sky. Bad he told the Lord that he was glad his “innymunt” had broken hi* velocipede, and could not join in the race for wealth and position? When he came to put the question straight to his soul, it certainly did look like it. It was of no use for him to say that , the notes were honestly due. Be knew that he eould afford to wait for the money, and that if Robert French was forced to pay them at once, he would probably be ruined: and he heard the sweet voice of the child saying: “Love your ‘innymunts.’ " and he said in his heart, using the old familiar name of his boyhood days: “Lord, I'm sorry 1 Rob has broken his velocipede; 1 11 lend him mine until he gets his mended.” Had the sun suddenly come out from ' behind a dark eloud? Mr. Rogers ' thought so; but it had really lieen shining its brightest all the morning. A boy came through the train with a great bunch of water lilies, calling: “Liliescentapieceaixfor ti. ” , “Here, boy!” called Mr. Rogers. 1 “Where did those eome from?” “White Pond Lily cove,” said the boy. eying Mr. Rogers with some perplexity. Be had been train boy for live years and never had known him to buy anything but the Journal. “What'll you take for that bunch?” ‘ “Fifty cents,” replied the boy, promptly. Mr. Rogers handed him the half-dol-lar. and took the fragrant lilies. “How I do you get into the cove now?” he asked, as the boy pocketed the money and was moving on. “Git out’n’ shove her over the bar,” replied the boy as he went on. Mr. Rogers looked down at the flowers with streaks of pink on the outer petals, at the smooth, pinkish-brown stems, and thought of the time, forty years before, when he and Rob, two barefooted urchins, had rowed across W kite pond in a leaky boat, and by great exertion dragged and pushed ft over the bar, and been back home at seven o'clock in the morning with such a load of lilies as had never been seen : in the village before. Yes, he rememi bered it; and Rob's mother was frying doughnuts when they got back, and she had given them six apiece. Oh, she 1 knew what boys' appetites were! She had been dead for thirty years, he ' thought. Just then the cars glided into the i station. Everybody rushed out of the train, Mr. Rogers fol lowing in a kind ■of dream. He walked along until he came to Sudbury street, and stopped at a place where he read; "Robert French, Manufacturer of Steam and I Gas Fittings.” He entered 'the building and, going ■ up one flight of stairs, opened a door and entered a room fitted up as an office. A man sat at a desk, anxiously examining a pile of papers. He looked up as Mr. Rogers entered, stared at him as if he could not believe his eves, and. without speaking, rose from his chair and offered a seat to his visitor. Mr. Rogers broke the silence. “Rob.” he said, holding out his hand, "these came trom the cove where we used to go, and—and—l’ve come around to say that if you want to renew those notes that are due to-day, I am ready to do so. and—and—” But Mr. French had sunk into his chair, and, with his head buried in his hands, was sobbing as if his heart would break. Mr. Rogers awkwardly laid the lilies on the desk and sat down. “Don’t, Rob," he said, at length. “You wouldn’t wonder at it, Tom,” was the reply, “if you kuew what I had endured for the past forty-eight I hours. I can pay every penny, if I have time, but to pay them to-day meant absolute ruin.” “Well, I guess we can fix all that," said Mr. Rogers, looking intently into the crown of his hat. “Have you any more papers out?” “Less than two hundred dollars,” was the reply. The twenty years of estrangement were forgotten, like a troubled dream, as the two men we nt over business papers together; and when they finally separated, with a clasp of the hand, each felt a dozen years younger. “Ah!” said Mr. Rogers, as he walked away with a light step, “Betty was right. If you love your innymunt, he won't be an innymunt any longer.”— Christian Union — —Walter Scott’s eyes were a grayish blue and very quick and keen. Ills hair was rather light than dark,- and he always walked with a decided limp, i from an injury received early in Ufa ; 3■Ji [ th J-:-!* "

WERE I THE SUN, Td always shine on holidays. Were I the sun: On sieepy heads I d never craze. But focus all my morning rays On busy folks of bustling ways. Were I the sun. I would not melt a sledding snow.' Were I the sun; Nor spoil the ice where skaters go. Nor help those use.ess weeds to grow, But hurry melons on. you know. Were I the sun. Td warm the swimming pool just right, Were I the sun; On school days I would hide my light The Fourth I'd always give you bright. Nor set so soon on Christmas night. Were J the sun. I would not heed such paltry toys. Were 1 the sun— Such work as grown- up men employs; But I would favor solid joys— In short. I'd run the world for-boys, Were 1 the sun. —Amos R. Weils, hi St. Nicholas. MY COUSIN MARY. It was my sad fortune, from earliest i boyhood up, to be a failure in all ways. I was not so handsome as could have been expected in the son of ray beautiful mother and the young father who died before I was born, and who was also beautiful, I was told. 1 was not brilliant, though both sides of the house showed men and women cf excellent ability, and. worst of all, I was not good, though this puzzled me not a little as a child, for my intentions were of a magnificent order, and the resultant behavior not nearly so reprehensible as that of many boys I knew, less punished. But. in some way, the things 1 meant to do failed of accomplishment, or were found, when accomplished, to have most unhappy consequences; and the things I did under pressure of discipline were seldom satisfactory. Years of reproof and often overheard complaint as to my trying disposition finally convinced me of my unworthiness, and in time I grew to look at my life as a failure, merely an opportunity for as much self-indulgence as could be procured without too great expense. Being of a lazy and luxurious disposition. I early fell into the habit of deriving an inexhaustible fund of pleasure from mere imagination of what things might be: to console myself for ineffectual struggle to make them such, j As a little boy 1 was sent to bed with military precision by my inflexible mother, usually with a sense of failure and ill-doing in the day behind me, . and I used to lie mute and still in my , little chamber and make up to myself in royal bursts of imagination for the disappointments of the real life. Bow | often, so lain, and thought to be sound I asleep. I have, in spirit, not only established my preeminent virtues by a scries of noble acts —so easy to imagine, , so difficult to perform in the gray irksomeness of everyday life—but besides ■ this have I glutted my infant soul with j the sweet vengeance of magnanimity; arranging unparalleled donations and ( privileges to be conferred by me, me . the lamentable and unworthy son, upon , ' my grateful family and friends. One ■ ' sweetest joy of these fair dreams was that, when I should be a man. my Cousin Mary, who disliked me for the disagreeable boy I was, should love and marry j me. It was a sore pioblem with me in 1 those days to decide whether 1 should indeed receive the open gratitude of 1 my beneficiaries, revelling gloriously ' therein; or w hether, proudest height of power concealed. I should bestow all benefits in secret, and yet remain con- j demned and criticised by the unwitting recipients of my bounty. But m>’ Cousin Mary in these dreams always loved me for myself alone, and then — afterward—ah! the jewels I showered upon her. This habit of internally satisfying myself, of paying back in triumphant magnanimity for all "the stings and arrows of outrageous fortune” continued with me as I grew, and remained tny best consolation after I had become an unaspiring reporter on a great newspajier. And still in my solitary chamber downtown, when I was not so tired as to sleep perforce in what hours remained to me, I would console myself for all the mortification of the day and of all the other days in my unhappy memory, by proud, unhampered visions of what 1 would do under given conditions of wealth and power. Splendid conditions these, so 'easily imagined, fitting so smoothly to my shoulders as I planned and adapted them, but ah! so laughably impossible ■ of attainment. And then, all at once, by a chance no J stranger, to be sure, than many a one I was in the daily habit of recording, there fell into my hands, not talent and beauty and power, indeed, as I had demanded in my boyish dreams, but wealth practically unbounded, such wealth as I could never of myself have earned, or won, or found, or in any least or faintest way deserved. To be sure. 1 had been laying myself ■ out on the old fellow, as I should never have dared to do had I known him for a millionaire, but that was not for benevolence, but a purely selfish appre- , ciation of his boundless fund of travel and experience. His society was worth money to me besides the pleasure of it, and therefore did I court him assid u- | ously, with many an entertainment and excursion, which again were no credit to mj T generosity, for had I not the interminable tickets and passes and I the duty of going to all these weary things?—a duty much lightened by the society of the lounging, invalid old gentleman, whom 1 supposed no richer than myself. I told him my story, such as it was; and 1 am fain to think that some sub- ; tie sympathy, some consciousness of a similar experience in his own boyhood, made him take more of an interest than I then suspected in this poor series of failures I called my life. Then he died very suddenly and serenely, leaving me some unbelievable i millions, and as no one but bis solicitor knew that he had any money, so no one knew that I had any; and behold me forthwith in exactly the position of my childish heart s desire! >I. I ■- - - h—' '* E '

What Joy! What wild, free rapture of plans, with occasional bursts of fancy which even I dismissed as quite untenable. For instance, I had no longer any faintest hope of marrying my Cousin Mary. She was quite taken up with another cousin. Fred by name, and would have married him long since, no doubt, had he been able to support a family. But he was proud, and would not marry until he could offer something to his wife. I knew that, for he had told me •o. However, it was now my delicious fate to be able to arrange matters for these two so that they should be able to marry; neither knowing how it had come about, nor in the least corner of their hearts suspecting me. Then with what swelling pride should 1 look upon their happiness and know that I ! had given it—l. who so far had given only trouble and mortification to my family! It was an easy matter to make my mother’s last years comfortable; and ah! the pleasure, the selfish pride I took in remembering small personal wishes and gratifying them bit by bit, while never suspected! It was an easy matter, too, through my agent, to buy the very paper on which I wrote; to slowly dismiss the men who were a disgrace to it, to promote and engage men whose work made it a great voice soon, and through it, slowly to win the public confidence and work my will, little by little, among the affairs of the city. Such a splendid game it was to arouse public enthusiasm over some free baths, or children’s play-ground scheme or i other, to start subscription lists, and j covertly head them myself; to machinate safely and quietly through my l great pages, and all the while having my copy refused half the time, and the ■ other fellows wondering how I kept my place. All this, and much more, was easy and exciting; more of a triumph and a joy even than I had ever imagined it would be: but my pet scheme of schemes hung fire a little. Fred got his new position. In a perfectly natural manner; he was a good fellow and deserved it. Still there was no sign of an engagement between him and my Cousin Mary. Then I thought, being an independent girl, she might be waiting to have something of her own; and after as pretty a bit of finesse as 1 ever saw in my life, if it was my own ' invention—and small wonder, for had I not schemed at such pleasant miracles since I was eight years old? —I managed to provide her with a neat little fortune of her own. Still no result. So one day when I was at home —I did not go often, for mother would always lecture me on my habits, and ' somehow I never could entirely get over the hurt of it, big as I was—l chanced to be alone with my Cousin Mary for as much of an evening as she would be willing to bear my company. I felt very happy to see how beautifully she was dressed in these days, how her hands were white already, and grown smooth again where the | delicate fingers used to be rough with countless needle pricks. The house was a comfortable one now. my mother was far easier in her mind and therefore companion. Everything looked pleasant aronnd | Mary, and I told her how glad I was to see it. I did not tell her how glad 1 was to ! see her, how in all the rich and varied joy of ray present position, as in all the unutterable weariness and dullness of my former state, to see her was the I keenest delight 1 ever felt, or ever hoped to feel. Calm, strong, beautiful woman that she was; perfect in loveliness of face and form and charactermine would be a poor triumph, after all. if I could not contri-e to make her happy. 1 sat watching her. and she watched the leaping flames of the fire; and I wondered clumsily i i what possible way I could force her into the happi- ’ ness which should be hers, when all at once she rose and come to my side. “Cousin Tom,” she said, in that de- ' licious voice ,of hers, “why don't you amount to more—why don't you do ' yourself justice in some way? Is it"— I and here she blushed beautifully—but the cousinship gave her courage, and she went on. “Is it for lack of money to make a start with? Because, you know, I am quite rich now—because I want you to let me—you'll forgive my ; awkwardness, won't you?—to let me give you some of it, Tom, a whole pile of it." That blessed, generous, self-forget-ting creature! She looked so lovely as she said it that my poor brain swam I dizzily. “No," said I. at length, “it is not lack of money, my dear Cousin Mary, but sheer personal incapacity that prevents my amounting to anything. I am au ordinary, stupid feHow at best, and my family are too clear-headed to give me that blind, loving faith which makes even stupid fellows de very well sometimes.” “Yon are not stupid ” she cried, “nor ordinary. I know you better than you think. Yon could be something splendid If you chose. Why don’t yon choose?” And then she looked at me with sueh an earnest, tender, believing glance as fairly drove me to her feet. “Oh. Mary, you blessed angel!” I cried to her; “could you—would you—is it possible that you, after all. can find it in your sweet heart to make a place for such a useless good-for-noth-ing as I?” ' And then my Cousin Mary just came into my arms and comforted my sore heart with a thousand tender words of hope and faith. And she said the sweetest joy of joys to her was that now she was really able to help me with her precious little fortune. And since she values it so much I have let her help me with it always. As if any fortune, great or small, were to be mentioned in the same breath with her love! —The Impress. —Music is the harmonious voice of creation; an echo of the invisible world: one note of the divine concord which the entire universe is destined ' one day to sound. —Mazzini.

Over Thirty Years Without Sickness. Mr. 11. Wettstein, a well-known, enterprising citizen of Byron, 111., writes; “Before 1 paid much attention to regulating the bowels, I hardly knew a well day; but since I

learned the evil results of constipation, and the efficacy of AYERS Pills, 1 have not had one day's sickness for over thirty years — not one attack

that (iitl not readily yield to this remedy. My wife had been, previous to our marriage, an invalid for years. She had a prejudice against cathartics, but as soon as she began to use Ayer's Pills her health was restored." AYER’S Cathartic Pills Medal and Diploma at World's Fair. To Restore Strength, take Ayer's Sarsaparilla, Ladies! Do not forget the great dress goods sale Aug. 8. 9, 10, & 12. Jesse Niblick & Son. NOT AN INFERNAL MACHINE. Only a llarmleaa Little Ring < licking: on Satchel fxvck. A dynamo which furnishes the electric light foroneof the passenger trains between Chicago and Omaha on the Milwaukee road was the cause of an interesting episode in the sleepei the other night, says the Chicago TimesHerald. A stranger of rather mysterious aspect got on at Elgin on a west-bound ■ train. He had a queer looking satchel with him, which he pushed under the I seat. When the porter came to make up the berths he put the satchel on an adjoining seat Presently he paused in the midst of his bed-making, and, fixing both eyes on the satchel, stared at it. His orbs seemed to grow as he did so. Finally he cautiously approached the owner and said: “Excuse me, sah, but has you got any kind ob clockwork in dat grip, sah?” The stranger looked at him for a moment with evident surprise and replied that he had not. “Well, excuse me. sah, but dey's clockwork 'round dis vicinity somewhere. sah, and seems to me it bettah be looked up. Fve hearn of dem t ings goin’ off.” By this time two or three other passengers and the conductor had come up, and became interested in the situation. The ticking was distinctly audible and seemed to come from the "inwards” of the grip. The stranger seemed to be as much interested as anybody, and remarked that his wife might have put in the bedroom clock instead of his collar box. He opened the satchel, but investigation into all its recesses failed to solve the mystery. As he closed it up the ticking began again, and everybody was more puzzled than ever until the conductor noticed that the little ring which is attached to all satchel locks to assist in opening was swinging to and fro with the vibrations caused by the dynamo and so produced the regular “tick-tick” which had alarmed the porter. Then everybody laughed, and the porter went on with his work.

CAT STOPS A MONKEY FIGHT. Simian, Hear the Feline Spit »nd Lose All t oml>ativ,ne«H. A battle royal between monkeys took place one afternoon recently, says the ; New York Journal, in the window of a downtown animal importer, to the great delight of all who could crowd near enough to the scene to see the conflict. Six y< zing monkeys were playing in a cage behind a big plate-glass window. Suddenly the monkeys took it into their heads to scrap. They sprang at each other in the wildest way and hair flew at a lively rate. There was no apparent reason why the creatures should have gone at each other, but go at each other they did. A Donnybrook fair was not in it compared ’ with the way these monkeys plugged ' and chewed each other. tach one seemed to be for himself and against all the others. The qrowd of men and boys on the sidewalk yelled with excitement for several minutes. Finally a bay who ig employed at a neighboring restaurant appeared with a big gray and black eat in his arina ‘‘Let me get near the window,” he cried, “and I'll l>et my cat will scare the life qut of the whole lot of them monkeys.” The crowd let the boy through. The lad held his Thomas cat up to the glass, and instantly Mr. Cat straightened out ’ nis whiskers and commenced spitting. That was enough. The gang ,f monkey fighters heard the spitting and quit. Their fury was quieted in a jiffy, and they jumped to the farthest corner of the cage with a unanimity that was as pronounced as their mutual aggressiveness had been. Saved Ills Conscience. Tae comptroller of the treasury is an autocrat whose decision overrides even that of the chief magistrate of the nation. Some years ago, the then incumbent of the office refused to sign a j warrant for money which Gen. Grant | thought it proper to expend. “That Is right.” the president said, “I admire i your firmness. Where your conscience is concerned never permit yourself to be coerced. You may consider yourself clear in this affair, for I shall appoint a new comptroller to-morrow ”

The Clover beat. T.. St. L. AK.C.R. R- In effect May 1-w, EAST. Passenger tn. Express 5:11.1 a. m. Local WEST. Passenger »• m. Fxoress S:»p. m. IXF S:<oa.m. E A Whiskey, Agent. Erie bines. m 2 | - ’hvtiule tn effect No \ 11 I*7 / vember2s, Trains leave Dera tar ag follows; WEST. No. 5. vestibule limit vd. daily for I Chira-’» I 2:13 p.m. No. 3, P Hr express. daily for » Chicago. ■ ••• f 1:27 a.m. No. L expre".. <i t’ly except Min- { day for Chicago f 10:45 a. m. No. 31, hk.-al, daily except Sun-» day f 10:45 a.m. EAST No. 8. vestibule limited, daily for I New York and Boston.. .... i p. ni. No. 2, expn»., daily < xcept Sun- » day for New York 1:55 p. m. No. 12. expr« ss. daily for New York 1:34 a.m. No. 30, local, daily except Sunday 10:45 a. m. Through ' :o hes and sleeping cars to New York and B n. Trains 1 and 2 stop al all stations on the 0. A E. Division. Train No. 12 carries through sleeping cars to Columbus. Circleville. < hillicothe, Waverly, Portsmouth. Ironton, and Kenova, via Columbus. Hocking Valley & Toledo, and Norfolk A Western lines J. V.’ DeLong. Agent. W.G Mac Edwards. T P. A.. Huntington. The G. R. & I. (Effect June 23.1895.) TR INS NORTH. •No. 3. + Nu. 5. *No. 1. Richmond 11:00 a m 11.25 p m 3:3b p n;. Parry 11:10 '■ 3:40 “ Votaw 3;4m “ Harley 3:51 “ Fountain City. 11:25 " 3:57 “ ohnson 11:35 “ -4:10 “ Lynn 11:40 ” 12:02 am 4:15 *• Snow Hill 11:44 ” 4:21 “ Woods 11:49 “ 4:24 " V hicheater.... 12:00 ’’ 12:20am 4::14 “ Stone 12:10pm 4:44 *' Ridgeville 12:19 " 12:34 am 4:53 “ Collet 12:32 " 505 *• Portland 12:42 ’* 12:51am 5:17 “ ay 12:52 " 5:20 “ Briant 12:5» “ 5:32 '' Geneva 1:07 ’’ 1:10am 5:41 “ Ceylon 5:43 ** Berne Monro*'. 1:32 “ fl:01 “ I»E<’AICR 1:45 " 1;37 a m 0:12 Monmonth ti:ik “ Williams 2:61 ’’ 6:20 “ Hoagland 2:06 ” 6:31 “ dams 0:43 “ » ort Wayne.... 2:35 “ 2:10 am 6:55 •• •Daily, except Sunday. ♦Daily to Grand Rapids. TR INS SOUTH. •No. 2. tNo. 6. SNo. 4. j. ort Wayne.... I:lspm 11:45 p m 5:1 5 atn dams s’ss •• Hoagland 1:40 “ 12:14 am 6:13 ' Williams 1:45 “ 12:20 “ 6:is “ Monmouth 6:24 “ DECATUR... 1:50 12,36 “ 6:30 " Monroe 2:13 ” 12:40 “ 6:44 " Berne 2:25 “ 12:59 “ 6;56 “ Ceylon 7:04 " Geneva 2:85 '• 1:10 “ 7:06 •• Briant 2:44 “ 1:20 “ 7:15 “ ay M 7:21 ” Portland 3:00 “ 1:40 “ 7:3u " Collett “ 7:41 “ Ridgeville... . 3:24 ” 2:03 ” 7;50 " Stone “ •• Winchester.... 3:44 “ 2:25 “ 8:09 “ Woods “ 8:22 “ Snow Hili 3:36 “ 8:25 “ Lynn 4:05 ” 2:42 “ B:X‘ ” ohnson •• •• Fountain City. 4:21 " 2:57 " 6.49 Haley 8:55 " Votaw 8:50 “ Parry “ Richmond 4:45 *' 3:30 “ 9:15 “ ♦Daily Grund Rapids. «Daiiy ex. Sunday. Err Bryson. Agent C. L. Lockwood. Gen. Pas. Agent. WHEN OTHERS FAIL, Consult With Doctor H. E. Keller. Phyao-Medical Physician and Surgeon, formerly of Chicago, now known as Decatur’s leading and most successful Specicialist. He makes a specialty of nil forms of Chronic Diseases, such as Blood and Skin Diseases, Sores. Spots Pimples, Scrofula, Private Diseases. Tumors. Tetter. Eczema, sthm a. Indolent Ulcers, cute and Chronic Bronchitis. < atarrh. Heart Trouble, Diseases of the Eye, Neuralgia. Rheumatism. Piles. Fistula. Fissures, Rectal Ulcers, Nervous Debility of the young, middle aged and old people. Diseases of Women and Children, and in fact all diseases that the hnman body is heir to. My past and uniform success encourages me in promising full satisfaction to ail my patients. Consultations at my office, free; German and English spoken. I will also attend to all calls day or night, city or country, doing a general practice conforming strictly to the principles of the Pbyso-Medical School of Medicine. There are ho poisons used in my method of treatment. I keep a full line of drugs on hand and furnish all medicines from my office. I hope by strict adherence to the principles of truth and honest dealing to merit you patronage. lam yours truly. H. E. KELLER, M. D. Office over Holthouse’fe *hoe Store, on west I side of Second street. Residence near corner of Fourth and Madison streets, opposite the 1 Catholic church. Office hours from Ba. m. . La 11 a. in., ami i-om i p. m. to <5:30 p. m. and ■ from 6p.m. to 8 p. m. Lock box 144. Telei phone m. Decatur. Indiana. NOTICE TO FARMERS. Being compelled to give up possession of my blacksmith shop on North Second Street I have now located on First Street, called the John King shop. Everybody will find me at the shop to do you good honest work. I have had over twenty years experience in blacksmithing and therefore you can trust all work to my care. Give me a call and get prices on work. All those who speak German will find this shop their home. There will be a free feed yard in connection. C. W. SCHIEFER. Ladies! Attend the great bargain dress goods sales Aug. 8,9, 10 & 12. We will save your dollars. Jesse Niblick & Son.