Daily Wabash Express, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 14 July 1889 — Page 3

A WEE WORLD OF MY OWN. There on*e used to be At the foot of a tree,

Where mow grewacrau and the violet* were blue, A wee world of mjr own. Where I played all alone. My small, oaked finger* all dabbled with dew—

A green ltttle world, Wberetl

the tansy uncurled.

Small weeds dropped their seeds In tbe palm of my hand. And the snail In bis castle "Was my humble vassel. And crickets in caves—I was heir to the land!

I would creep Soft asleep To that wee world of mine.

Subduing myself to the stillness of flowers, Breathing low, Honing so,

I might grow falry-flne.

And steal my long days out of other folks' hours. I hoped to grow smaller, As others grow taller, To brew draughts of dew In a brown acorn cup,

And sit in tbe shade That the white pebble made,

But I never grew down, and 1 always grew op.

ii Tbe weeds have outgrown me, The crickets disown me. The snail moved away. I never knew where to—

And It falls out to-day, In my big stupid way.

I'm -so blind I can't lind that wee world I a heir to. —f Helen Thayer Hutcheaon In St Nicholas,

A QUEER PATRON.

From Belgravla.]

In the quiet seclusion of his cell in one of the London short-sentence pris one, prisoner No. 119 was wondering what the world outside was saying about him- Ilia fingers were busy with tbe piece of old rope he was making into oauum- but his mind was full of an lm aginary report of his own case at the po lice court. He even hoped some of the papers might have devoted a short leader to him. for his offense was strange one.,

Arrayed in a tattered gown of the cut peculiar to Camford bachelors of arts, with a battered cap upon his head, he had in broad daylight walked down Regent street breaking the lamps with a long stick. Proceeding calmly and with out hurry, and followed by a rapidly in creasing crowd, he had smashed some half-dozen before a policeman appeared and took him into custody. At the police court he told the magistrate that he had once been an assistant master in a school, but had lately got his living on the turf, on tramp, and in other more or less disreputable wayB. He was willing enough to work but could not get employ' ment. so had broken the lamps by way of advertisement. He had one little complaint to make against the police. He gave his name. Charles Mickelreed to the inspector, and that officer refused to further embellish the charge sheet with his proper description—bachelor of arts, St. Boniface college, Camford. Sentence, twenty-one days lmprisonmenn with hard labor.

No-119 was quite right in his surmises, His case was making a good deal of sensation outside the prison walls. It was a slack time, and editors were rather slack of subjects. They deemed Charles Micklereed's exploit a good source of cheap copy, and they were not wrong, for letters about it poured in freely. Some of his old college friends even proposed to do something for him when he came out. and, as three weeks IB not long, there was just a chance they might not have forgotten him by the time he was released.

As the prisoner was musing, his cell door was thrown open and Warder Smith in official tones announced: "No. 119. the chaplain to see you.'-

The warder was not. however, quite accurate in his assertion, for the clergyman who entered the cell was not the regular chaplain of the gaol, but the curate of a neighboring church, who was visiting the prisoners while their usual pastor recruited himself at the sea-side.

The prisoner stood up and faced his visitor- who shut the cell door behind him. As soon as the sheep got a fair look at the shepherd, he exclaimed. "Why. Josh, old fellow, how are you?" at the same time holding out his hand in evident expectation of a friendly grasp. The llsv. Joshua Bamlett recoiled a little. "I don't know, prisoner," began he.' "whether you mean this as a joke. Let me tell you it is hardly the way to "OIL! stow it. Joah. interrupted the unabashed reprobate. ''Do you mean to say you don't know me? Its my beard. I suppose. Pity I didn't get a spell long enough to have it shaved off. I'm Charley Micklereed.' "What! Micklereed. my old Camford friendi Yes. now I see it is. But oh! Charley. Charley, what has brought you to this?' "Proximately, the government omnibus known as 'Black Maria ultimately, that common complaint—want of employment. Don't you know why I was sent up? lou don't mean to say it isn't in the papers?" said Mr. Micklereed,seriously alarmed for the success of his scheme. "1 have been too busy to look at a paper these three days," replied the clergyman. "They ought to tell me what each prisoner has done and the length of his sentence, but my visits are so hurried they forget sometimes."

"Ah!

that accounts for it." said the

priBener.

apparently i»nensely relieved.

"Well. I took a lei ^j^rthe Irishman's book and committed" an outrage to call attention to my distress. Smashed some lamps in Regent street. Shouldn't wonder if they make a music hall song out of it. 'Charley Micklereed smashed the lamps to hnd himself provender,' with an accent on tbe -en,' has as good a lilt about it as that thing on the other Charley and the milk at Chelsea, anyhow. Just look in the papers when you go home and tell me what they say when you call again. "My dear Micklereed, its against all rules to tell a prisoner what is in the papers. But don t, pray don't look at this serious thing in that light way. You shook me terribly. You seem as hard as

"An old horse-shoe nail," interrupted the prisoner -and let me tell you, -it's a good nail that gets harder by much hammering. Only the bad ones break." "I can stay no longer now." said the clergyman, as the warder was heard coming along the corridor ''I will come again to-morrow. But do try, my old friend, to look at this matter in its true light." ''Well, don't you forget about the papers then," was the prisoners parting shot.

The Rev. Joshua Bamlett went straight to h» lodgings and tried to compose nis mind. He sat down in his easy chair, lit a pipe, and fell into a reverie. How well he remembered the old Camford days when he and Charlie Micklereed had lodged in the same houee and belonged to the same set. It was not in anyway a distinguished set, and Micklereed had been a kind of honorary member of it That ecoentric young man always seemed to regard the university as agmonk did the world—he was in it, but

not of it. He was an orphan and had gone to Camford against his own will, bat in accordance with that of his father. His tether had had a belief— founded, it is needless to say, on ignorance—in the value of a Camford degree, which had induced him to make his son a inheritance of his little

property

depend

upon the attainment of that academical distinction. Charley fulfilled this condition aa easily as he could, and jpent the money as quickly as possible. Then be took a situation, but, as he conld not bring himself to look upon the unwill ingness of John Bull, jr., to aoquiie use less knowledge as a serious crime, he soon lost it. From that time Mr. Bamlett had lost sight of his friend, theugh he had often wondered what had become of him.

It happened that the wife and family of Warder Smith were members of Mr. Bamlett's congregation. The warder himself was, by the nature of his official duties, compelled to attend the ministra tions of the prison chaplain, but as a private citizen in the bosom of his fam lly he was well known to the curate. Mr- Bamlett thought it could do no harm to Micklereed to recommend him to the favorable notice of his guardian, so he sent a message to the warder Baking him to step round and see him as soon as he was off duty. "Good evening, Smith," said he, when that worthy put in an appearance want to speak to you about No. 119."

The set visage of the warder relaxed into a kindly grin. "Rum customer, sir, ain't he?-' said he. "When I took his work to his cell this morning, saya he, as cool as you please, •Ah! my warder, I suppose. Well, you look like a decent sort of fellow and daresay we ahall get along well enough.' •No. 119,' says I, "don't you know it's against the rules to talk unnecessarily? 'Oh, blow the rules,' says he 'I'm only here for three weeks and I mean to enjoy myself.' 'I'll report you,' says I. 'No you won't,' says he, -you're not that sort.' Bless'd if I did report him either. Couldn't do it some how."

I am afraid, Smith," said the clergyman. "he does not realize his position I will try and awake him to it. Meanwhile, be as lenient to him as you can without neglecting your duty. I knew him, that is, I met him yean ago, and I feel an unusual interest in him.'-

Just what he told n\e this afternoon after you'd gone, sir only he put it in rather a queer way," replied the warder. 'Warder,' says he, *you know that good gentleman?' -Yes,' says I. 'Well, he's an old college friend of mine, and would be much distressed if he heard I was under punishment. I know you wouldn't like to trouble him, so pray let us hear no more about reporting.' Talk about cheek: a prize pig ain't in it with him. I ^suppose he was only a kidding of me •"about the college, Bir?-' "Alas! no," replied the clergyman, "bis story is true we were at college together. What has brought him to this I cannot imagine. Does he seem to you at all mad?"

No, sir. not a bit." said the warder promptly, "as eggsentric as you like, but not mad. I was attendant in an asylum before I came here, and know a lunatic when I see him. Bless, you, sir, he feels it more than he pretends.-' "I'm glad to hear it, Smith very glad. But be as easy with him as yon can."

All right, sir trust me for that. He's not one of the sort to give real trouble. I've read his case aad fancy he really was precious hungry when he broke them lamps. Starving men have done worse things to get a meal before now. Good night, sir.*'

Charles Micklereed had always had a peculiar knack of enlisting the affections of those about him. Aa a sort of human cork floating on the sea of chance he never seemed to have any aims, and consequently he had no interests to clash with those of others. Therefore his acquaintances had always looked kindly upon him and been ready to do him small favors.

Mr. Bamlett had several other interviews with his friend, and strove, to all appearance in vain, to exorcise the spirit of indifference from his breast. ''Its no use, my dear fellow," said* Charley to him one day, "I don't believe your theories about responsibility and all that. Wish I did, but don t. The serious troubles of life to me are hunger, cold, and illness. Should soon have been in for all three if I hadn't smashed those lamps. As it IB, with my moderate apetite, I fairly warm and comfortable or a fortnight yet. and 1 11 bet you what you like there's a philanthropist waiting 'or me. when I get outside, with the offer of a situation.-'

But will you stick to work if you get it?" asked the clergyman. Of course I will, if the work will atick to me.-' replied Mr. Micklereed. *'I don pretend to be in love with work, like BO many humbugs nowadays, but I bow to the necessity of it. Honestly, I tried all I could to get a job before 1 came here."

But then what character had you—" begfib his friend. Character! what has character to do with it?-' interrupted the prisoner. ''Isn't the right to labor the pet theory of the present day? Besides, there was nothng against my character. I didn't dnnk. I didn't steal. I didn't even lie. The last head master I saw, after seeming satisfied with my answers to all his questions about my competence, had the impudence to ask what were my religious opinions, and he showed me the door when I said I hadn't any."

Do you really mean to say, Micklereed," remonstrated the clergyman, 'that you can't see that your boast of indifference in religious matters was rightly fBtal to your chanoe?'! "Of course I can't see it," replied that perverse individual, "unless you maintain that he who fattens oxen must himself be fat. I gave up the schools though, after that, and tried the docks, but they wouldn't have me there. Then it waa trisonor work house to get a meal, and chose prison aa being easier to get into than the other place."

Mr. Bamlett sighed and gave it up for the present. "Have you any complaint to make?" he asked mechanically as he prepared to leave the cell. '•Yes, by Jove, I'd almost forgotten," exclaimed the prisoner. "Smuggle me in a bit of tobacco the aize of a small pea next timeyou come, I can't sleep without it. Wish I could, for it must be uncommonly nasty to swallow."

The coolness of the request took away Mr. Bamlett's breath. He told his friend he would not on any aooount commit suoh a breach of the trust reposed in him. For five minutes they argued the point. The clergyman pleaded conscience the prisoner pleaded the duties of friendship. The question was left unsettled, but next night the prisoner, with a morsel of tobacco in his month, Blept better than the man who had supplied him with it. The Rsv. Mr. Bamett's conscience was tender, and though he gave way to the importunities of his fnend on two or three subsequent occaaions, he was very glad when the day came for 119 to leave the priaoo.

One thing alone aomewhat lessened the bitterneis of his self reproach. Micklereed during the last week of hia time showed some faint signs of repentance, or rather of oonamouancas that he might, after all, have made a fool of

himsslf. /The Ret. Joshua was neither proud nor envious, and did not scruple to acknowledge to himsslf that nicotine had perhaps suoossded when he had failed. As a smoker he knew its effect upon a troubled mind. The rules of the prison wets meant for the prisoners' good, and if by breaking them he hsd done a prisoner good—bu he dare not follow this Jesuitical line of rMBonimp BUT furthtr*

Micklereed had promised that when released he would come to his friend's lodgings, but greatly to that good man's disappointment he aid not put in an appearance. Warder Smith, who saw him leave the prison, said that "a lawyerlooking gentleman" had met him and taken tiim off in a hansom. Also that No. 119, noticing him outside the gate, had borrowed a sovereign from the ^law-yer-looking gentleman" and given it to him,

Baying:

"Tell Mr. Bamlett he ahall

hear (from me.

and

thank you, warder,

foryourkindness." Three months pssBsd away, but Mr. Bamlett heard no more of his unfortu •ate fnend. He hoped his relations might have come to hia help. The read ineaa of the "lawyer-like gentlemen" to lend the sovereign looked aa if he had friends, but the curate waa rather vexed at his ailence, and muttered to himself hard sayings about the gratitude of man.

One Friday night, however, Mr. Bamlett was reading the Guardian, and he came to a paragraph which considerably astonished him. It ran as follows: "We understand that the valuable living of Plattoh Magna, Southahire, vacant by the death of the Rev. Samuel Sloman, has been offered by the patron C. M. Masterton, Esq., to the Rev. Joshua Bamlett, curate of St. Swithin'sj W. C. This living enjoys an enviable distinction at tbe present time. Most of itsinoome is derived from property in the City of London, ss that its nominal value of £900 a year ib some indication of its actual one. The population of the parish is 260 and there ids good vicarage. We congratulate Mr. Bai fortune." ''Nonsense," was the curate's mental comment "the Guardian must have made a mistake. There muat be an other man of the same name. Thoee papers are always wrong in details."

lamlett on his good

He took down the "alergy list" and ran through the Bamletts, but there were not many of them, and not one, save himself, rejoiced in the name of Joshua. "Surely,'' said he to himself, '-it can't be true. I know no one called Masterton. Besides, I should have heard of it direct."

Just then hiB landlady entered the room with a letter. This came for you, sir, this morning," said she, ''and I'm sorry it has been mislaid."

The letter proved to be from Twibell and TWIBB, the solicitors of C. M. Mas terton. It contained a formal offer of the living of Platton, and mentioned the solicitors' regret that their client waa at present abroad. They requested Mr. Bamlett to call upon them as soon ae possible.

He called, accepted the living, and had read himself and taken possession before Mr. Masterton returned.

One morning he waa walking in the garden of his vicarage, wishing hia pat ron would come back that he might make his acquaintance and discover what manner of man it was who, having a good thing to give away, sought out an obscure curate as the recipient of it, when he saw Charley Micklereed open the gate.

Ceuld it be, thought he, that Charley had not deemed him worth visiting before his promotion? Did he mean to levy blackmail upon him? It would not be nice to have the story of the tobacco spread abroad. No he would not believe his friend could be so baae espe cially as his friend, to judge by his clothes and the aroma of his cigar, had also prospered in worldly affairs since he left the prison.

Well, Josh, my boy," began Mr. Micklereed, "how do you like it? House all right, isn't it? I told them to put everything square for you before I went away.-' "You told them.-' said Mr. Bamlett but what on earth had you to do with it?-'

Everything," replied his friend: "I'm not Charlie Micklereed now, but Charles Micklereed Masterton. lord of this manor and patron of this living. Possibly J. P. Borne aay. Wouldn't that be a joke, eh! Josh?"

I don understand," said the vicar, feebly. "Ah! I suppose you never heard of my great-uncle. Masterton. Well, I hardly ever did before I came out of you know what. It seems he quarreled with my mothers mother for marrying my grandfather. She waa his only near reation. and until the newspapers brought me to his notice he was actually without any one to leave his money to. He was pleased to say I waa a man of spirit, and made me de facto what I alreadywas de jure—his heir. Poor old chap! We were only together a month before he died. The only thing he asked me to do was to take his name." "Then you were the patron of this living when Mr. Sloman died," said Mr. Bamlett in a disappointed tone. It is not pleasant to find that favor and not merit, after all, haa led to our advancement. 'Certainly I was, old fellow, and I knew no one who deserved it better than you. Shouldn't have cared if I had, either. I owe you more than this for that tobacco," replied his friend. "Don't, pray don't, put it on that ground Charley," remonstrated the other ''you cannot imagine the trouble my conscience has given me over that matter. If I had known the offer came from you I should not have accepted the living." "J ust what I waa afraid of," retorted his fnend "that's why I sent it through my sohcitora."

Then Mr. Bamlett talked of resigning, but his fnends, though with Bome difficulty, persuaded- him to abandon the idea. "Well, you know the way up to the hall, aaid Charles at parting. "By-the-by, you'll find some more old fnenda of youra at the lodge. I've made that warder chap gate-keeper. He and hia family came down yesterday. Wonder if he ever smelt that tobacco. Sometimes fancied that he did."

The clergyman ainoerely hoped Mr. Smith's olfactory nerves were not keen. Whether they were or were not that judicious individual never breathed a word on the subject. No one the pariah ever knew that the man who, with a military salute, threw open the park gate as the vicar went up to sse his fnend, the squire, had done the same sort of thing before when the clergyman visited the layman under try different circumstances.

The squire wss popular and made a good landlord, but the vicar never oould terssade him to take life as senously ss is would have liked. Occasionally the pair talked over the lamp-breaking exploit. The vicar proved ooncluaively that it waa wrong and foolish and his fnend admitted it, maintaining nevertheless that it was no use showing a man that a winning outaider really had no chance, and that tbe result of the

waa a fluke afcsr he's baotacd the animal and got his

BCWITCH1NG DANCEBS.

BeautlfM Warns sf Stnwge NsUoas Win ABIH Vlslten stttM FarisKspaslttoa In this part o( the esplanade of the expoaition, ssys a Paria letter, there is an mimeing population of Arabs, Jews, col ored people, Moors, some loafing, others making jewuiy or pottery or baskets, others sslling baboucnesyssnsnos of mass and all the trumpery of the oriental bazars. The air is perfumed with incense and tobacco and thavage odors of the East. Here is a Tunisian concert, where a company of very ugly Jewesses sing through their nosss miserable place, not worth viaiting. Here is an Algerian oonosrt, which is one of the meet fascinating oorners of this world's fair. Imagine a bnght patio deoorated with arcades and panels of tiles and arabesques of pale green and blue tones, forming a oozy cafe, with stools and tables with gay polychrome ceramic tope to the left a little ktchen. where a colored man makes Turkish ooffee over burning oharooal in the approved faahion along one side of the room a low stage, ooTered with cushions, on which are ssated Jewish and Arab dancing women, colored men and women and Arab musicians, all clad in the most brilliant oostumes after their own hearts. Ths orchestra consists of taraboukehs, or drums made of earthen pots with a akin stretched over the orifice, a lute or eoud, a tambourine, and a shrill hautbois, which an Arab plays with cheeks oroducuig noteaof rythm whose morbidness hypnotizes.

furiously puffed out, pi 'hidn grave gem stained with kohl or henna, accompany the ehnll air of the hautbou with nervous beating of their taraboukehs, and from time to time, as if to break the hpynotic spell, a negro will shriek for a few seconds like a steam whistle, cauBing bis voioe to undulate between two notes. Meanwhile one of the women dances, not as people danoe in society or even at the theater, but the dance that represents the eternal amorous theme on which each nation, except oura, haa made its national dance. She IB a girl of 12 or Is, with dark, melancholy eyes, regular features, blue-black hair looped in braids over her cheeks on her head she wears a a sort of jeweled miter, from which hang chains of silver meeting beneath her ohin and joining massive silver arabesques studded with rough atones and serving as buckles for the green silver-spangled drapery over her shoulders her skirts of pale red and brown hang loosely down to the ground, showing only her bare brown feet. Her dancing is mere cadenced movement, with long undulations of the body or little convulsive stampings of the feet, accompanied by a writhing and waving of the arms continued to the finger tips, by a throwing back of the head or by an expreeaion of the hands forward in tbe geeture of entreaty, the whole Expressing with much modesty and quite literal mimicry a tender drama of passion, of defense against the invisi ble lover who speaka to her by the voice of the hautboiB, or refusal that means consent, of consent that still resists, a long pantomime, dunng which the sup pie and caressing body of ths girl moves incessantly and expresses extreme emotions, which end in a terrible chenvari of hautboie and drums only when both dancer and musicians are exhausted by fatigue,

The women, grave as idols, their fin

At the other end of the Esplanade dee Invalides, the Javanese kampong, may be seen a dance of similarly exotic character. This village la inhabited by some three score Javanese workmen and their wives, who make hate and other small artioles of commerce. In one corner of the village IB a concert room of bamboo and thatch, and a Javanese orchestra of drums, lutes and timpanums, formed, some of ban of metal and others of brazen pots with lids composed of two superposed hemispheres. The orchestra occupies the whole of the back of the stage, the men squatting cross legged and discoursing Btrange. bell-like muBic, while a man and a woman perform a mimic dance, with wntbings and contortions of the body and limbs, less graceful than thoee of the Arab dance, but still curiously fascinating in their Bloat hieratic gravity.

There are also four young dancing girls belonging to the king who are types of Javanese beauty and the greatest coquettes in the exhibition. Their skins are brown, ths feet and logs up to the knees are dyed saffron yellow, their bodies are clad with richly embroidered stuffs, their coiffure is a wonderful gold helmet wrought into arabesques of flowem and animals, and surmounted by a crescent of black feathers their armB are loaded with bracelets, their eyes lengthened with an upturned tail of blue paint, and in the center of their brows area blue circumflex accent and a gold Bpangle. These girls are beautiful with the regular beauty of Indian idols, but they chatter like magpies, make faces at the public and sooff at the dowdmess and puritanism of the Pansiennes. One of theee little ladies, interviewed yesterdny through the intermediary of an amiable Dutchman, who has lived for years in the Indies, declared that she 'ound Paris rather alow and the Parisians austere and averse to luxury, and the general aspect of things in Pans wanting in gilding and umbrellas.

As to Breathing.

A boy, 14 yearn old, handed in the following as a composition on "Breathing." The tnatruction waa, "Tell all you can about breathing." He said:

Breath is made of air. We breathe with our lungs, our lights, our liver and kidneys. If it wssn't for our breath we would die when we slept. Our breath keeps the life agoing through the noae when we are asleep. Boys that atay in a room all day ahould not not breathe. They ahould wait till they get out doom. Boys in a room make bad, unwholesome air. They make carbonicide. Carbonicide IB poiBoner than mad dogs. A hesp of soldiers waa in a black hole in India, and a carbonicide got in that there hole, and nearly killed every one afore morning. Girls kill the breath with oorosita that squeeze the diagram. Girla can't holler or run like boys, becauae their diagram IB squeezed too much. If I was a girl, I had rather be a boy, ao I can run and holler, and run and have a great big diagram."—| Exchange

A Pennsylvania Outrage.

Some unscrupulous villain, with conscience as dark and gloomy as an African forest, atole nearly all of Mm. McHsnry's tomato and cabbage plants one night last week. It waa a dastardly trick, as Mm. McHenry had promiaed to divide with us.—[Punautany (Pa.) Spirit. latlnly To* Old. "I ahould think the Due d'Aumale was entirely too old to go to school," rearked Mrs. Snsggs. "Of course he is," replied her husband. "But the papers aay he has become a member of the French academy.—[ PitUburg Chronicle.

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'Also sesnt for ths Bsd atar.and Hnss of

$500 Reward!

WK will pay the above reward for any ease of Liver Complaint, Dyspepsia, sick Headache, Indigestion. Constipation or CosUveness we cannot cure with Wesfs Vegetable Liver Pills, when the directions are strictly compiled with. They are purely vegetable and never tall to give ssllsfaetlon. *ugar Coated. Large boxes, containing SO FUIs, cents. For sale by all Druggists. Beware of counterfeits and imitations. The gennlne manufactured onto by JOHN & VUT CO., "The PU1 Makers.' mi W. Madison street, CtUcsgo. Free trial package ant by mall, prepsld. on re oeipt of a 3-cent stamp. Sold by J. ft C. Baur. Druggists, southeast comer Seventh street and Wabash avenve, Terre Haute, Ind.

C^A^COF-J,

iZsMtiimuisr-

MOfANAPOLIS-INP'

5W-

Weight 25 Pounds.

Handsome Metal Base.

Can be Used in Any Kind of Stove.

Dimensions: Base, 22 16 In. Height, 26 inches.

E a an wire cloth trays, containing 12 square feet of tray surface.

Be,

groceries, and in fact household expanses.

ADDRESS:

leei. IMS, 1«M aad 1MT Wh. M, IS, 1«, II, IS,

Old Woman, Old Woman ae

high

TO sweep the cobwebe from the sky. .On rochmission of cleanliness

Tbe

MOB and stars need tbe Clans.

x.

is the best on TARTU for nVE^ENTS a cake. ^(IIgoodhou8el(u\itrsust\\. /[iljooigrocers stll it,and.

M. K.FCIRBANK%CO..

ii

JL.

CHICAGO, make it

SPECIAL TO FARMERS AND FRUIT RAISEItS

EVAPORATE YOUR OWN FRUIT.

THE "TJ. S."

Stove Frail Drier or Evaporator!

THOROUGHLY TESTED AND APPROVED.

LITTLE! CHEAPEST BEST!

US.COOKSTOVE DRIER I PttAPftifofiw RSS\TSS1S

FACSIMILE OF MACHINE COMPLETE- PRICE $7.00.

IT IS THE GREATEST ,LITTLE BREAD-WINNER ON THE MARKET.,

With it you can at odd times, summer or winter, evaporate enough wasting fruit etc., for family a

No Extra Fires.

Always Ready for Use and Will Laat a. Lifetime.

Easily and quickly set off and on the to a empty or filled with fruit.

py Order in clubs of four and save freight.

and enough to sell or exchange for all or the greater part of you

As a Great Economizer and Money-Maker for Rural People it is without a rival.

Haa it ever occurred to you that, withalittle labor, wasting apples, berries and veg etables can be quickly evaporated, and are then worth pound for pound for flour sugar, coffee, butter, rice£oatmeal, etc?

TO TEE LiDHS.O! TBI HOUSEHOLD Df TOWI Oil COOITRT.

IT IS A LITTLE GOLD MINE.

No labor you can perform for cash returns [pays aa well as that of converting

ing Fruits into evaporated stock. These products are among the highest priced luxuries in food products. Evaporated peaches, cherries and raspberries, 20 to 26 oents per pound apples, pears, blackberries, etc., 10 to 15 cents all salable to or may be exchanged with your grocer for anything he sells.

We will send this complete Fruit Drier (freight paid to any part of the United States) and the

WEEKLY EXPRESS,

One Year, for 95.

GEO. M. ALLEN,

Publisher The Express,

wast­

Terre Haute, Ind.

OVER A HOT FIRE

GET THE POPULAR

BEST IN THE MARKET

Convenient. AU the Latest Improvements. Easiest Operated.' ,,

26,765 SOLD IN 1888!

Also a Full Line of Hardwood

Ice Boxes I^efrigereitors

C. C. SMITH,

Cor. Third and Main Streets.

JEFFERS & HERMAN,

aasnnnas a

A I A E S

etc.,

Amu, tsstkHmt,!

um. »D.