Greencastle Star Press, Greencastle, Putnam County, 11 February 1893 — Page 7
I 26 c.
sa
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York Depot, Canal St.
VENDETTA, Or, Tlic Story of Ons Forsaken!
[CONTINUED.]
are managed by the divorce court. T,aw- | yers arc paid exorbitant fees, and the names of the guilty and innocent are dragged through the revolting slums of the low London press. It may be an excellent method—but it does not tend to elevate a man in his own eyes, and it certainly does not do much to restore Ills lost dignity. It lias one advantage—it
home to me. though of course, for decency's sake, in con.- ,in, nee of the Child's death, she denied In r elf to everybody else. Si,,* looked lovelier than e\<r; the air 01 delieaio laii<;uiir slio assumed suited her as perfectly as Its fragile whiteness suits a hot-house lily. She knew the power of her own beauty most
heed to her, and never went to see Iter unless she asked me very presslnaly to
do so.
! and the rapid whisking about of female
! “nvsteries. lace liamlKer k,. is. e‘u d-' l, ‘"V" 1 . a5 ,l> ; l U,,,v ” 1,0
j Cologne, and attempts at feiutieg. M»! oS” wo*!w "t^ ! do ^ 1 i^m-nt- and attStfons
theL W fi nn fei 1 li: ' v " 'lie hf'y j chaitutt^ion giutl 1.u'in
loeii i- no f< at of cotit.'.gum, as iindor | tM . ) f .. . me, nuifTaercpu.ii hoi courtship in unI 'iVTt 0 ::l yl,li ;i? W ; 11 H ,lisil:fe, ' t, ; J - i kmd whetlier divorced personsare really I r “ sponsivu 1 l ,la > -|, d the part of 1 snail ..o now. Oh, by the way. the | s ,. lisflf ,,i u . |l( , n tlll , v | 11V „ iri „ .,r. a taciturn and reserved nn*n, who
Lountiss requests that you will waft
■ hon* a fVw niinn t*s slu- had a mossa^e i i i . ..
for you she will not detain you long l\*' should rocommend you to cret back to'
pre-
m* \
r
_ CURE 6lck Hoadacho and relieve all tbo tronbl^g inefdont to a bilious state of the system, suoh afl Dizziness, Nausea, Prowsiuess, Distress after ©ating, 1’ttin iu the Side, etc. While their most l*ouaarkublo success has been showu in curing SICK Headache, yet CnHrr’a Little Liver PIlhi are equally valuable in Constipation, curing and preventing this annoying complaint,■whilo they also Correct all disorders of thostomaoh,stimulate the liver and regulate the bowelj. Even it they unly "* HEAD ! Ache they would be almost priceless to those who Buffer from this distressing complaint; but fortunately their goodness does notend hero,and those whooncotry them will find theso little pillsvalueble in so many ways that they will not bo willifig to do without them. But after oil sick head ACHE (lathebane of eomany lives that here Is whet* we make our groat boaat. Our pilLacur.lt whila Otherp do not. Carter’s Little Liver Pills are very small and Very eaay to take. One or two pills make a doao. They are strictly vegetable ami do not gripe or purge, but by their geutleaation please all whd naethem. Xu vialaat liScentu: five for $1. (Sold by druggists every where, or sent by mail. CARTER MEDICINE CO., New York. SMALL PILL SMALL DOSE. SMALL PRICE
Advice to the Aged. Ar. bring,. Inrirmlti.a.aacb a. alng(lin bond., ncuk kidney* and bladder and torpid liver,
Tutfs Pills have a .per I fir of feet on ttie.e organ*, ktimnlalIng the Lmiuelv, gf'» Ing natural di.rliargva wltliout atruining or griping, and IMPARTING VIGOS to the kidneyn, bladder und liver. They are adapted to old or y oung. j SOLJL> nViUKYWHKKK.
your hotel as soon as you can, and take some good wini'. A roverderci! Anytliing I eau do for you, pray command
in*!!!’
And with a cordial shake of the hand lie left me, and 1 heard the street door close behind him. Again i paced wearily up and down, wrapped up in sorrowful musings. I did not hear a stealthy tread on the carpet behind me, so that when l turned around abruptly, I was started to lind
tfflr
I
vmM' ~" ■ :: ‘
-
s»c.
-S35J
‘AND SO TIIK I.ITTt.E ANisr.t. Is DEAD I” HE MUI!Ml-l:!:i>.
—
MQflON ROUTE
^C)rU)»i8Vim.lltw<i»t»V»CHic*toliTpo-
ALWAYS GIVES ] ITS PATRONS the Fa’J Worth of
T ^. e i r ,. M .°sr y . l,y
Taking: Thom
f ^Aafely and Quickly
betwesn
myself face to face with old Giacomo, who hold out a note to me on a silver salver, and who meanwhile peered at me through his eager eyes in so inquisitive a manner that I felt altiio-'i uneasy. “And so the little ang ! is dead!” ho murmured iu a thin quivering voice. “Dead! Ay, that is a piiy, a pity! Hut my master is not dead no! I am not such an old fool as i > lu licvc that.” I paid no heed to his ; ebllng talk, but read the mi i had sent to
me through him.
“I am broken-heavi' delicately pencillc I lc
kindly telegraph iny
nor Ferrari? I shall i to you.” I looked up IV, missive, and down butler’s wrinkled visa. man and much bunt, . , the downward glauce I dently caught and riv for lio clasped his ha> muttered soinuthing I ■
“Toll your mlsirc. -.
slowly nuil harshly, “i !i she wishes. That I a i • service. Do you undo:“Yes, yes! I unih v , Giacomo nervoiis'y. •• .1. thought me foolish—! co;..
demand him. . .
“Do you know, my f uu in a purposely col.) a il “that I have heard son about your nntstor? Thu
d'
- > ran tlio •Will you ! hiss lo Sig-
h ohiiged perfumed the old
• is a short , a'tiling in ■ him evis . Mention, • ether and
eit hear. sneaking III do as ,y at her faltered •r never
always un-
some to me! Were
1 observed : i iug tone, too much ejerl is tiro-
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your i.:.i i. alive, lie
j would say you were iu ym.. iloi.vge! Take my message to tho Connies it once.” The old man’s face pnl.'it and his lips quivered,—he mad(! an ati iipttodraw til) ills shrunken ligurc wiiii a sort of
dignity as lie answered—
“Eccollenza, my master would never speak to mo so—never, never!" Then his countenance fell and ho multi’red softly—“Though it is just—I am a fool —I am mistaken—quite mistaken—there is no resemblance!” After a little pause he added humbly, “I will take your message, Eccellen/.a." And stooping more than over he shambled out of the room. My heart smote me as ho disappeared. I had spoken very harshly to the poor old fellow, but I instinctively felt that it was necessary to do so. His close and ceaseless examination of me—his timidity when he approached me—the strange tremors lie experienced when I addressed him—were so many warnings to me to be on mv guard with this devoted domestic. Were ho, by some utiforseeti chance, to recognize me, my plans would all bo spoilt I took my hat and left the house. As I crossed tho upper terrace 1 saw a small round object lying in tho grass, —it was Stella's ball that site used to throw for Wyvis to catch and bring to her. I picked up the poor play tiling tenderly and put it In my pocket—and gluncliunp once more at the darkened uiuscr. ui. lows. I waved a kiss of fare-
fcvery > ye?r; 'Dr. Sanford’s
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l-\ cf r J V, 'r s | threatened to overwhelm me, I hurried Dr. Sanford s Liver Invigorator? away on my road to the hotel i stop-
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Ik t'« ■• ••!> j... . t ’i111<! i-i • ii <A <i<. 1»-
4 l)i:i rrlicn* of i ’hlldren «»r Adults 7 -C’ougha. Colds, Hroncliltis
Nvueulgin., ’Toothache, Faceache Headache*. ' Lk HeadocLe, Vertigo..
BlliousneRR, Constipation in in All / . intttA' .* loo Profuse Periods.
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.‘23 .■2.3 .‘2.3
- — .’2.3
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p e c i f i c s
I J. R LEATHERMAN, PHVSICIAX and N( It:.. ./V ©flh'O over Uleu’a Drug Store, IVashiogton
■P*et.
pod at the telegraph office and dispatched the news of Stella’s death tit Guido Ferrari in Koine. He would bo surprised I thought but certainly not grieved—the poor child had always been in ids way. Would ho come back to Naples to console tho now childless widow? Not he!—he would know well that she stood in very small need of sonsolat ion—and that she took Stella’s death as she had taken mine —as a blessing and not a bereavement. On reaching my own rooms, I gave orders to Vincenzo that 1 was not at home to any one who might call—and 1 passed tlic rest of the day in absolute solitude. I liad much to tlilnk of. Tho lust frail tie between my wife and myself hud beau ritt—'*P!*kLsuiuJXftag-mttairiijH 'll’i' I1 In* nocent link in tho long chain of falsehood and deception, no longer existed. Was I glad or sorry for this? 1 asked myself the question a hundred times— and 1 admitted the truth, though I trembled to realize it I was glad—yes —glad! Glad that my own child was dead! You call this inhuman perhaps? Why? She was bound to have been
miserable; she was now happy.
The tragedy of her parents’ lives could be enacted without embittering and darkening iter young days, she was out ot it all, and 1 rejoiced to know it For I was absolutely relentless, had my little Stella lived, not even for her sake would I have relaxed in one detail of my vengenee—nothing seemed to me so paramount as the necessity for restoring my own self-respect and damaged hon|our. In England I know these things
vorco whether the amount of red tape
in their in-
terest lias done them good and really relieved their feelings. Whether, for Instance, the betrayed husband is glad to have got rid of his unfaithful wife by throwing her (with tho full authority und permission of the law) into his rival’s arms? 1 almost doubt it! I hoard of a strange case In England once. A man, moving in good society, having more than suspicions of hia wife’s fidelity, divorced her—the law pronounced her guilty. Some years afterwards in', being free, met her again, fell in love with her for the second time and remarried her. She was (naturally!) delighted at his making such a fool of himself—for henceforth, whatever she chose to do, he could not reasonably complain without running tho risk of being laughed at. So now tho number and variety of her lovers is notorious in the particular social circle where she moves—while he, poor wretch, is perforce tongue tied, and dare not consider himself wronged. There is no more pitiable object in the world than such a man,—secretly derided and jeered at by his fellows, he occupies an almost worse position than that of a galley-slave, while In his own esteem he has sunk so low that lie dare not, even in secret, try to fathom the depth to which ho lias fallen. Some may assert that to be divorced is a social stigma. It used to be so perhaps, but society lias grown verp lenient nowadays. Divorced women hold their own in the best and most brilliant circles, and what is strange is that they are very generally petted and
pitied.
“Poor tiling!" says Society, putting up its eyeglass to scan admirably the beautiful heroine of the latest aristocratic scandal—"she had such a brute of a husband! No wonder she liked that dear Lord So-and-So! Very wrong of her of course, but she is so young! She was married at sixteen—quite a child!—could not have known her own mind!” Tlnj husband alluded to might have been tho best and most chivalrous of men.—anything but a "brute,”—yet he always figures as such somehow, and gets no sympathy. And, by the wav, it Is rather a notable fact that all the beautiful, famous, or notorious women were “married at sixteen.” How is this managed? I can account for it in Southern climates, where girls are full-grown at sixteen and old at thirty,—but I cannot understand its being the case in England, whore a “miss” of sixteen is a most objectionable and awkward ingenue, without any of tho “charms wherewith to charm,” and whose conversation is always vapid and silly to the point of absolute exhaustion on the part of those who are forced to listen to it. Theso six-teen-year-old marriages are,however,the only explanation frisky English matrons can give for having such alarmingly prolific families of tall sons and daughters, and it is a happy nud convenient excuse—one that provides a sat isfactory reason for the excessive painting of their faces and dyeing of their hair. Being young (as they sa nobly assert), they wish to look even younger. A la bonne heure! If men cannot see through the delicate fiction, they have only themselves to blame. As for me. I believe in the old, old, apparently foolish legend of Adam and Evc.s sin and the curse which followed it—the curse on man which is inevitably carried out to this day. God
said;
"Hoeause” (murk that because!) “thou hast hearkened unto the voice of thy wife” (or ttiv woman, whoever she be,) “and hast eaten of the true of which I commanded thee, saying, Thou shall not (‘at of it” (tho tree or fruit being tho evil suggested first to man by woman), “cursed is too ground for thy sake; in sorrow shall thou cat of it all tho days of thy life!” True enough! The curse Is upon all who trust woman too far—tho sorrow upon ail who are beguiled by her witching flatteries. Of what avail her poor excuse in tho ancient story—“The serpent beguiled me, and I did oat!” kind she never listened she could not have been beguiled. The weakness, the treachery, was in herself, and is there stiil. Through everything tho bitterness of it runs. Tho woman tempts,— tlic man yields,—and the gate of Edc n— the Eden of'a clear conscience and an untrammelled soul, is shut upon them. For ever and ever the Divine denunciation re-echoes like muttering thunder through the clouds of passing generations; for ever and over we unconsciously carry it out in ourown lives to its full extent till the heart grows sick and the brain weary, ami we long for tho end of it all, which is death—Death, that mysterious silence and darkness at which wo sometimes shudder, wondering vaguely —Can it bo worse than life.
-rr—
CI1A1 TEH XI X.
^ DUE than
- - ^ ll
v \ • I ‘ 711
* .
ten days
had passed since Stella's death. II. r mother hud asked mo to see to tho arrangements for the child's funeral, declaring herself too ill to attend to any-
thing. I was glad enough to accede to her request, for I was lims able to avoid the Komani vault as a place of Interment. I could not bear to think of the
To .'iTTruVr. v- . - - . ■ *
iu that terrific place where 1 had endured such franctic horrors. Therefore, informing all whom it concerned that I acted under tho Countess's orders, I chose a pretty spot in the open ground of tho cemetery, close to the tree where I hud heard tho 1 ightingalo singing in my hour of supreme misery and sutfering. Here my little one was laid tenderly to rest in warm motherearth, and I had sweet violets and primroses planted thickly all about tlic place, while on tiie simple white marble cross that marked tho spot I hud tho word**
engraved—
“Una Stella svanita,"* adding the names of her parents and tho date of her birth and death. Since all tills lunl been done I had visited my —'to several times. She was always at
■
5* * ^
a
UM A STS1L A SY.'-.KiSfft
Ik • J. I / v> ’
•^4.* *. •
- : : ’'"Vt
IXKRR MY I.ITTI.K ONE WAS I.AIK.
forred reading some ancient and alist ruse treatise on metaphysics to even the charms of her society,—and often, when she urgently desired my company, I would sit in her drawing room, turning over the leaves of a book and feigning to be absorbed iu it, while she, from her velvet fauteuil, would Iqok at me with a pn-ttv pensiveness made up half of respect, half of gentle admiration—a capitally acted facial expression, bv the bye, and one that would do credit to either Miss Eastlako or Sarah Itcrnhardt. Wo had both heard from Guido Ferrari;—ids letter to my wife 1 of course did not see;—she had, however, told mo he was “much shocked and distressed to hear of Stella’s death." The epistle he adiiressed to mo had a diliorent tale to tell. In it lie wrote: “You can understand, my dear Conte, that I am not much grieved to hear of the death of Fabio's child. Had she lived, I cotifess hoc presence would have been a perpetual reminder to me of tilings I prefer to forget. She never liked me—she might have been a great source of trouble and inconvenience; so, on tho whole, I am glad she is out of tbo way.” Further on in the letter lie informed me: “My uncle is at death's door, but though that door stands wide open for him, he cannot make up his mind to go in. His hesitation will not he allowed to last, so the doctors tell mo—at any rate I fervently hope I shall not bo kept waiting too long, otherwise I shall return to Naples and sacrifice my heritage, for I am restloss and unhappy away from Nina, though l know she is safely guarded by your protecting care.” I read this particular paragraph to my wife, watching her closely as I slowly enunciated the words contained in it. Mho listened and a vivid blush crimsoned her cheeks—a blush of Indignation—and her brows contracted in the vexed frown I know so well. Her lips parted in a half sweet, half chilly smile as she said quletiy: “I owe you my thanks, Conte, for showing mo to what extent Signor Ferrari's impertinence may reach. I am surprised at his writing to you in such a manner! Tho fact is, mv late husband’s attachment for him was so extreme, that ho now presumes upon a supposed rigid that lie has over me,—ho fancies I am reallv his sister and that ho can tyrannize, as brothers sometimes do! 1 really regret 1 have been so patient with him, —I have allowed him too much liberty.” True enough! 1 thought, and smiled bitterly. I was now in the heat of the gaum,—tho moves must be played quickly,—there was no more time for hesitation or reflection. “I think, Madame,” I said deliberately, as I folded Guido’s letter and replaced it in my pocket-book, “Signor Ferrari ardently aspires to do something morn than a brother to you at no very distant date.” Oh, the splendid hypocrisy of women! No wonder they make such excellent puppets on tho theatrical stage,—acting is their natural existence, sham their breath of life! This ct oat lire showed no sign of embarrassment—she raised her eyes frankly to mine in apparent surprise—then she gave a little low laugh of disdain. “Indeed!" she said. “Then I feat Signor Ferrari is doomed to have his as pirations disappointed. My dear < oniu," and hero she rose and swept softly across tho room towards me with that graceful gliding step that somehow alwa.s reminded mo of the approach of a panther, "do you really mean to jell mo that his audacity lias reached such a height that —really It is too absurd!—that lie hopes to marry me? And sinking Into 11 chait near mine she looked ut mo in calm inquiry. Lost in amazement at tho duplicity of tlic woman, 1 answered brief-
ly—
“I believe so. lio intimated as much
to mo.”
She smiled scornfully. “I am too much honored! And did you, Coiito, think for a moment that such an arrangement would meet with
niy approval?”
I was silent. My brain was confused —I found it difliult to meet with and cunfront such treachery us this. What!
'•.u'?t| l,IU - i lb' 1 * ‘ fl1, 110 '' on “ ! 'i e| :ee? Were all the
kisses, tho vows of fidelity, and words of caressing endearment as nought? Were they all blotted from her memory as the writing on a slato is wiped out by a sponge? Almost I pitied Guido. His fate, in her hands, was evidently to be tho same as mine had been; yetafterali, why should 1 bo surprised? Why should I pity? Hud I not calculated it all? Ami was it not part of my vengeance? Toll me! pursued my wife's dulcet voice, breaking in upon my reflections, “did you really imagine Signor Fcrruri’s suit might nfeet with favor at my
hands?”
I must speak—tho comedy had to be played out. So I answered bluntly— "Madame, I certainly did think so. It seemed a natural conclusion to draw from the course of events. Ho is young.
uudouiably handsome, and on ids uneios deafh will bo fairly wealthy,—what more could you desire? besides, ho was your husband's friend—” “And for that reason I would never marry him!” she interrupted me with a decided gesture, “Even if I liked him sufficiently, which I do not foil, miserable traitress], I would not run the risk of what the world would say of such a marriage.” “How, Madame? Harden mo if 1 fail to comprehend you." '“'I-'* :• ' -en, Conte?" she went on in a eo.ixiiig ,orv, us of nun that lic.'g l to be blellevec., '■V. A 1. -e to u...(v> on. ” tiiat was known to have been my Imsband’s must intimate friend, society is so wicked,—people would he sure to say that there had Imon something between us before inv husband's death—I know they would, and 1 could not endure such slander!” “Murder will out,” they say! Hero was guilt partially declaring itself. A perfectly Iniiocoiit woman could not foresee so readily the condemnation of society. Not having the knowledge of evil she would be unable to calculate consequences. Tho over-prudish woman betrays herself; the tine lady who virtu ously shudders at tho sight of a nude statue or picture, announces at once to all whom it may concern, that there Is something far coarser in the suggestions of her own mind that) the work of art she condemns. Absolute purity lias no fear of social slander; It knows its own value, and that it must conquer in the end. My wife—alas! that I should call her so—was innately vicious and false; yet how particular she was in her efforts to secure the blind world’s good opinion! 1’oor old «*ild ! how exquisitely it is fooled, and how good naturediy it accents its fooling. Hut I had to answer the fair liar, whose net of graceful deceptions was now spread In entrap me; therefore I said with an effort at courtesy— “No one would dare to slander you, Coutcssa. in my presence.” She bowed and smiled preliily. “Hut,” 1 went on; “if it is true that you have no liking for Signor Ferrari—” “It Is true!” she exclaimed with sudden emphasis. “He is rough and ill mannered; I have seen him the worse for wine; sometimes he is insufferable. 1 am afraid of him!" I glanced at her quietly. Her f- -o had paled, and her hands, wl>. !i w to busied with some silken emU.oldc’')’, trembled a little. “in that case,” I continued slowly, “though I am sorry for Ferrari, poor fellow! he will be immensely disappointed. I confess l am glad in other respects, because—” ‘'Because what?” she demanded eagerly. “Why,” I answered, feigning a little embarrassment, “because there will be more chance for other mini who may seek to possess the hand of the accomplished and beautiful Coutcssa Komani.” She shook her fair head slightly. A transient expression of disappointment passed over her features. “The ‘other men'you speak of, Conte, arc not likely to indulge in such an ambition,” she said, witli a faint sigh; "more especially,” and her eyes Hashed indignantly, “since Signor Ferrari thinks it his duty to mount guard over me. I suppose ho wishes to keep me for himself—a most impertinent and foolish notion! Them is only one thing to do— I shall leave Naples before he returns.” "Why?” I asked. She flushed deeply. “I wisli to avoid him,” she said after a little pause; “1 tell you frankly, lie has lately given 1110 much cause for annoyance. I will not he persecuted by Ids attentions; and as I before said to you, I am often afraid of him. Under your protection I know I am quite safe, but I cannot always enjoy that. . . .” The inomont had come. I advanced a step or two. "Why not?" I said. “It rests ontiridy with yourself.” Sim started and half rose from her chair,—her work dropped from her hands. “What do you mean, Conte?” she faltered half timidly, yet anxiously; “I do not understand!” , 'i mean what I say,” I continued In cool hard tones, and stooping, I picked up her work and restored it to her; “but pray do not excite yourself. You say you cannot always enjoy my protection; it seems to me that you can—by becoming my wife ” “Conte!" she stammered. 1 held un my liand as a sign to her to be silent. "I am perfectly aware,” 1 went on iu busiiioss-lfko accents, “of the disparity iu years that exists between us. I have neither youth, health nor good looks to recommend me to you. Trouble and bitter disappointment have made 1110 what I am. But I have werlth which is almost inexhaustible—I have position ami influence—and besides those things,” and here I looked at her steadily, "I have an ardent desire to do justice to your admirable qualities, and to give you all you deserve. If you think you could bo happy with me, speak frankly, —I cannot offer you the passionate adoration of a young man—my blood is cold and my pulses slow—but what I can do I will." Having spoken thus, I was silent,— gazing at her intently. She paled and flushed alternately, and seemed for a moment lost in thought—then a sudden smile of triumph curved her mouth,— she raised her largo lovely eyes to mine with a look of melting and wistful tenderness. She laid her needlework gently down, and caino elose up to mo—hor fragrant breath fell warm on mv cheek, —her strange gaze fascinated me and a sort of troinor shook my nerves. “You mean," she said, with a tender pathos in her voice—“that vou are will[CONTINUED NEXT 3VEBK.]
“The Pace That Kills” ts overwork-^ makes no difference what kind. Using greasy and inferior soaps is one roaa to premature decay—sore hands— sore hearts—clothes never dean. Not so when
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U I
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i wi
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(
-f t‘ « . I oboti.y, XV, I answer nil inqur:* FATI';j; T 3 TO SATED VI I -• ■ a ■ F-.' prru. . • . vldr. «v 1 . e;
l"ttrr thnt I would not take I a n b'lt'n •urprited and proud • Witmrnt t nil tutfereru from fMi.p is |m 1 >»ed for reply.” Wl. CONFIDENTIAL.
n.-e, or l a i effects.
hi. emMMLRb
Most creatures are entirely harmless when they are asleep. But the moth does the most mischief when it is taking a nap. Weak stomach strengthened tiy Beecham’s Pills.
Over 600 omnibuses in London are fitted with electric lights.
Deserving Praise. We desire to say to our citizens, that for years we have been selling Dr. King’s New Discovery for Consumption, Dr. King’s New Life Pills, Bueklen's Arnica Halve and Electric Bitters, and have never handled rem^ dies that sell as well or that havo given such universal satisfaction. We do not hesitate to guarantee them every time, and we stand ready to refund the purchase price, if satisfactory results do not follow their use. Thesa remedies have won their great popularlt purely on their merits. Albert Allen, W-P. Tompkins of Batnbrige, Druggists. One man can not make a heaven that wit 1 fit auy other man. Morris’ English Stable Powders.
Fed to your horses two or three time, a 1 put them in good condition for
week will put
spring work, will make them slick, fat and high spirited; change- the eat i re system. No
Black Antimony or Oil Cake mixture. 25 cents. Sold by Albert Allen.
Price
feb.
The prettier a woman is the more she need, something else. A hale old man, Mr. Jas. Wilson, of Allen. Springs, Ills., who is over 60 years of ago say.: “1 have in my time tried a great many medicines, some of excellent qualsty; but never before did 1 tind any that would so comsleteljr do all that is claimed for it as Chamberlain’. Colic, Cholera and Clarrhma Remedy. It U truly a wonderful medicine." For sale by Albert Allen. feb. The horses oan’t |be successfully hitched tandem to the matrimonial cart.
Dr. Well's New Cough Cure. Why suffer with that dangerous cough when a few doses of Dr. Well’s New Cough Cure will relieve you. It is the most pleasant prompt and positive cure made, am! if you
will only give it a trial we will prove it. Sam-
ple bottles fri ~
bert Allen's.
Kegulur size 25 cents at At-
feb.
Truth should be tempered by expediency. Headache is the direct result of indigestion and stomach disorders. Remedy these by using De Witt’s Little Early Risers, and your headache disappears. The favorite little pills everywhere. Albert Allen, agt. ly Teacher: What is a hero? Tommy: The mail who married a heroine. Success in everything depends largely upon good health. De Witt's Little Early Kisers are little health producing pills. See the point? Then take an "Early Kiser.” Albert Allen, agt. ly "Do you think this tooth will stand filling?' ’ Patient: Well, I’m sure it has plenty of nerve. For instance, Mrs. Chas. Rogers, of Bay City, Mich., accidentally spilled scaalding water over her little boy. 8he promptly applied De Witt's Witch Hazel Halve, giving instant relief. It’s a wonderfully good salve fbt burns, bruises, sores, and a sure cure for pile.. Albert Allen, agt. ]y Manager: What’s the row? Assistant: The two-headed boy is quarreling over a piece of
mince pie.
Mr, 0, f Davis, adltor of the Bloomfield, Iowa, Farmer, says: “I can reemmend Chamberlain s Cough Remedy to all sufferers with colds and croup. I have used it for my family for the past two years and have found it the best I ever used for the purposes
for which it is intended, sale at Albert Allen’s.
.50 cent bottles for
feb.
The notation system of writing music was
nvented in 1070.
Files of people have piles, but De Witt’s Witch Hazel salve will cure them.
Alien, agt.
Albert
ly
- .PITT TO FLIGHT — nn tho peculiar troubles that u noman. The only minranfred remedy for them is Dr. Pierce’s Favorite Prescription. For women suffering front any chronic “ female complaint” or weakness; for women who afo run-down and overworked; for women expecting to become mothers, and for mothers who aro nursing and exhausted; at the change from girlhood to womanhood; and later, at tho critical “change of life’'- — it is a medicine that safely and certainly builds up, strengthens, regulates, and cures. If it doesn’t, if it even fails to benefit or cure, you have your money back.
What yr .'lire's Cat
■on are sure of, if you use Dr.
Sage's Catarrh Remedy, is either a perfect and permanent cure for your Catarrh, no matter how bad your case may be, or $500 iu cash. The proprietors of the medicine promise to pay you tho
money, if they can’t cure you.
Bottled beer is much stronger in alcohol than beer on draught. Bueklen’s Arnica Salve. TTie best Halve in tho world for Cut., Bruises, Hores, Ulcers, Halt Rheum, Fever Hores, Tcter, Chapped Hands, Chilblains | Corns and all Skin Eruptions and positively I euros Piles, or no pay required. It is guuza 11 teed to give perfect satisfaction, or money refunded. Price 25 cents per box. For sale by Albert Allen. 40-ly Highest price paid for liides, pelts find tallow by Vaueleave & Son. lltt Food Mill Grinding. At Asbury Bowman’s mill, on the iCloverdale pike, 3 miles south of j Greencastle, Corn on the cob and all 1 other kinds of grain ground for feed. | (Custom grinding on Friday of each week. ~ 12t39 TCOit*') ,* 2 oiiii. Private limd* i > . on on long time in sums to suit l,i \\, ft rate of interest. Tenii.-rntPoDi'hlH. No delay W. S, Cu.x, Sou' hiu’d s block, 50tf Gieenrastle.
When Baby was sick, we gavo her Castorla. When she was a Chit I, she cried for Castorla. When aiae became Miss, she clung to Castori*. WtCT Ac had Children, she gave them Castorla,