Greencastle Star Press, Greencastle, Putnam County, 16 September 1893 — Page 2
The
• ■■ “’•s-nzsa&Ksrz??!
county Fair
a't' r Js an excellent opportunity for the l k-pocket to pet your watch. It you v .Id he proof apainst his skill, be .are
fkat the bow (or ring) is a
MONA'S CHOICE.
BY MRS. ALEXANDER.
D i you often
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comthat very
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lie?
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“It Is a wonderful place.
;■) to the theatre?”
“Scarce ever. I am tired nft^r the day’s work; and in summer I would rather take a row ou the river.” "Tiie young are aye carried awa wi' an Inordinate lov ■ of rtmmein 'lit. an—an’ excitement, in t i 'se latter days.” “Man cannot live by bread alone,” said Macalisteri gravely. “Man wants food for imagination and wonder, and—and self-
improvement.”
“It ill becomes the son of a G nl fearin’ minister to be quoting Scripture forliisain weak purposes,” observed ITicle Sandy, reprovingly. “I will tin hear it, and it m tkes me in dread for your immortal soul
when I do.”
“Well. Uncle Sandy,” cried Mona, ing to tie' rescue, “you m ist admit all work and no play makes Jack a
dull b >y.”
“i am no so sure o' that: / worked enough and I never was dull.”
“And pray, Mr Macalister, how is trade at present:-” asked Mine. D.-brisay, compr''le.isively, with a view to changing the
sni'j 'ct.
T.iis produced a lengthy and rambling reply, after which Uncle Sandy avowed his Intention of closing his eves for a quarter of an hour. He therefore re-ascended, with his “nayfew’s” help, to his room. Mine. Dehrisay excused herself, because she had promised to visit some professional friends, so Mona was left alone with her newly discovered cousin. When lie returned, after conveying Mr. Craig up-stairs, he sat down by the tatde, resting his elbow on it, an ! shading his eves with his hand, he look 1 curiously at Mona, who was reading a F ench book of travels, which she laid du .vu politely on his re appearing. “When my uncle wrote to me that he had found his brother’s daughter, I did not think I should find you such' a grand young lady. You don’t seem to belong to ns. though the MacniUters are uu old
stock.”
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"You see I was always brought up in Lon,’.on anti on the Continent; that makes me seem different. I 1 not grand.” “It is more than that,” he said, reflectively, “more than that. Yet you are like n young lady I used logo t • ehool with when I was a wee lad. I saw her again this autumn when I was back in Glenboulaghan: an I she is ii e you—Jerry like —only you are taller and statelier.” “Ami has she a ‘bonnie reed held,’ as my uncle says I have.” “Your locks are more golden than red," said the young Highlander, with an admiring smile; “but Mary’s are browner, and she seems younger.” “And I suppose you enjoy getting away to the mountains and lochs of your native place?” “Eh! it’s another life. I had not been back for two •years, and I had no mother to welcome me this time.” “That made a sad difference,” said Mona, softly. He did not speak itnm diately. and when he did, it was to ask in an altered tone— “Were you ever in the Highlands?” "Never.” “There is nothing like them anywhere! To be sure I haven't seen much else, but there can b • nothing liner. Whether it’s the gray dawn flushing redder and redder over the mountain tops, or the soft evening failing from crimson and purple, gold and lilac, to the pale blue mist and silvery moonlight; and the air so fresh mid free; tiie springy heather, that makes your step light; the grand exulting sense of climbing higher. I wish I could take you right away and show you all over the big mountains, and glens, and the straths: and row you out on the quiet loch in the hush of the evening.” "I wish you could! I should enjoy such a ramble immensely.” “Weel,” in a lowered and mysterious tone, “my uncle may be will ask you to .-t ij- at Craigdurroch. He has a lovely place there.” Here a violent peal of Mr. Craig’s bell summoned them both to their attendance on that honored relative.
“Du you know, Deb, I am quite interested in that young Highlander; there is something uncommon about him—he is an orig Inal.” ^ “I don’t know, and I don’t much care, about his originality, but I do care that he shouldn’t come between you and your uncle's natural affection. My impression is that he is a selfish legacy hunter.” "In short, he is what you wish me to be. Oh, Deb, Deb!”
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CHAPTKK XL—GLIM PS K8 OF THE PAST. After this first visit Kenneth Macalister came frequently on Sundays, and sometimes of a week-day evening. He would appear between eight and nine o’clock, having walked straight from the city after business—just to stretch his limbs, he said, after sitting cramped at a desk all day long. Mr. Craig, though by no means cordial in his welcome, on the whole encouraged him to come, and seemed pleased that Mona lent him books from her scanty store, or played to him. which gave him great delight. Indeed she grew quite fond of the queer, half-developed, Irritable, impressionable young man, who found such evident pleasure in her society. The winter wore on. It was severe; but Mona going constantly out kept free from cold. Kenneth had been gradually adopted by her, and was her companion on many a Sunday. Indeed) Mrs. Puddiford and her servant consi lered him to he Miss Craig’s "young man.” From this companionship Kenneth learned much of manners and even modes of thought—learned, too, with the rapidity of an imaginative, Impressionable nature. He admired ami looked up to his cousin with profound conviction. His society amused Mona, and helped to make her feel younger and more cheerful. Her own spirits were exceedingly variable. Sometimes Uncle Sandy’s cutting remarks and utter want of tact would raise his nephew’s wrath, and he would pour out his wounded feelings with much volubility to his cousin, who generally reasoned with, and calmed him. "He thinks because lie has a lot of money, and I have a right to expect he will remember his sister’s son, that he can trample me under his feet; hut I will have him to know that the Maealisters were gentlemen when the Craigs were lowland peasants.”
"Come, Kenneth, don’t insult the Craigs; they are my people, and you must not he rude.” “You are quite different; you are a queen —so you seem to me. hut you don’t insult a fellow! I’ll not come near Uncle Sandy till-”
Macalister, I will leave you together! 1 ” “Not the day, not the day,” said Uncle Sandy. "I have no the strength to insist
on anything."
And, Kenneth, I always want you to come
with me.”
“Oh, I'll come, cousin Mona! No fear; you sha’n’t want your walk for me; but
Sandy Craig la no gentleman, though he _ " ", is my mother’s brother-half-brother, I 0:1 h « r return fro, , n les T so " 3 tlle nie , in .» | same iiiiernoon on which Mine. I) brisay Kenneth continued to speak, but his hn I hifc.rmed Lucie S.iudj o. the liu t .at
words conveyed no sense to Mona, for her,
eyes had Ik . ;i attracted by a well fcnown ] < .‘ " ■ J 11 ' K'cl\:i. 0:1. 1 11,• up
figure.
Tills conversation had taken place
Ohesbrough, Agent, St. Louis, Mo.
assenger, tf
“Till next Sunday!” interrupted Mona. ‘What should 1 do without mv walk!
the cousins were walking. They had come through K ‘nsington Gardens, past the Albert Memorial, and, reaching the road, turned \\e-1, intending to return by Palace G irdt-ns. Just in the narrowest part of the IIigh Street, at the opposite side, two men stood talking—one short, stout, bowedlegged, and bull-necked, with amazingly tight tmu-ers, a gaudy neck-tie, and a most horsey and re U nit aspect. He had his hack toward Mona ns she came up. The gentleman with whom lie was in deep conversation, and who faced her, was Waring. Waring was looking dull and sullen; his clothes carelessly put on, and an indescribable air of self-neglect pervading his appearance. Mona was so star; led that she alnu 1st unconsciously put her hand through Macalister's arm, drawiag near to him; and he, soi.i what surprised, lient his eyes upon her with n smile. Waring, who was talking eagerly, angrily glanced toward them at that moment. Their glances met, Mona blushed vividly. Waring grew white, hesitate 1, raised his hand to his hat: but Mona had passed before lie could
lift it.
“What was the matter''” asked Kenneth. “I thought I saw a ge itleman I used to know, and I—1 was afraid he might come and speak to me.” “You should not he afraid of anyone when I am with you. Cousin Mona! I would not let anyone trouble you.” "But there are some things you might not be able to help. However, it is no matte a. No, Kuineth—do not look back.” They talked in a frli ndly fashion till they reached the house, when the servant informed them that Mr. Craig had been asking for them, and the rest of the Sabbath was devoted to him. Mona's sudden start and slight confusion soon passed from young Macalister's mind. But the encounter with Waring dwelt long in Mona’s. She was greatly affected by seeing him look so changed for the worse. Ought she to bear the blame of this In any way? No! However grieved she might he, she could not suppose that the loss of herself had wrought such mischief. It was only his natural downward tendencies that were swaying him. * And there was so much of good in his nature, It was an infinite pity that he was thus dragged down. What a horror the man was to whom he had been speaking! Poor Waring! She would have liked to have remonstrated with and saved him; but even had she the chance of doing so, she would have put herself In a false position by showing the kindly Interest she felt.
Mona had giv, u up three pupils, she sud-
liad oune up to
I town for a few days, sbie Insisted that | Mona must take luncheon with heiq and
have a long talk.
Tiie next afternoon Mona •' t out to keep h r appointment with Lady Kinistoun, and was received with open arms. “So glad to s'e you, dear! Finistonn'Is out, nud we shall nave such a nice long
chat."
Evelyn made Mona feel quite at home, and insisted on a full history of all taut lia t happens sine ■ she had 11st seen her. When Mona spoke of iier uncle, she said— “Do tell me what the uncle Is like.” Mona gave the history of their first meet-
ing.
“D pend on 11, he will prove a ‘treasure tr.,ve.’ Where does he come from?” "Somewhere n ar Glasgow. My father’s people were—I scarcely know w. at—v ry humble in origin.” “And wher ■ does he live when he is ct home?” “1 am not very sure. He has a cottage In the Western li glilands called Craigdarroeh.” "Cniigdarmcli!” repeated Lady Finistom, in great surprise. “Wny, that is close to S ralliairifo. I rcmemb T hearing that a rich ju..■ m mufacturur bought it. Yes. I know allubour it now. dearest Mona; it must he tiie sninc Mi. Craig -a dreadful rich, radical old miser! You don't min i my saying so, do you?” “On, no! by no me ins," she returned, laughing. “It is very curious that you should know anything about him. Still. I cannot believe in his wealth; and lie is certainly not a miser.” “This is a delightful discovery. F..:istoun will b • quite pleased; and then we shall see you in the autumn. We always go, or will go. to S: rathairlle.” "Bid'perhaps my uncle will not return there.” “Oh, yes, he will. D 1 not be so contradictory. My dear l ive, you will be a wealthy heiress yet! Craigdarroch is quite a lovely place. And there is a farm—a good large farm, and fishing rights attached to it. etc., etc.” Talk flowed freely, till Mona, observing the hour, Insisted on taking leave. “It is pouring with rain. Do let mesend you home in a cab!” “No, dear Evelyn. You shall not send me in a cab. I will take one myself, for I do not wish to spoil my best gown.” “What a rebellious subject you are! I protest 1 feel a load taken off my mind when I think you have a rich uncle In the toils. K ep fast hoi ! of him.”
A few days after this little adventure, and much about the tim ■ Mrs V wburgh had di ' ’. the previous year, Uncle Sandy was seiz -d by a very sharp attack of bronchitis. For a few days he was even in danger. On this occasion Mine. Dehrisay distinguished herself. She was a capital nurse, and had had large experience. Both were unceasing in their care; but Mine. I) hrisay was obliged to absent herself nearly all day. whereas Mona gave up her pupils that she might watch over the sufferer. Mr. Craig seemed deeply touched by the thoughtful care of his nurses—especially by Mine. Debrisay’s; and the sort of mistrust with which he regarded her melted away. Tiie short Christmas holidays, therefore, were anything but a cheerful period to the partners; and though Uncle Sandy was as fractious as an Invalid well could he, his occasional bursts of grateful recognition obliterated the irritation of his testiness. To Mona, the knowledge that he was going to make Kenneth his heir brought a certain liberty of action, which set her free from any fear of being indirectly hampered by fear of her own motives. When Mr. Craig was able to get up. and stagger with Kenneth’s help Into hie sitin • ro un. he was loss disposed than usual to growl and find fault. “Well, mndanie," he said, “ye may he wrung in the matter of doctrine, hut you "
Rome does.” “Ay; when will a note reach him?" n “1 dare say at ten to-morrow morning.” I, “That will do fine. Give me my b >nk and the Ink. I cauna afford to lose time.” With many n muttered. Inarticulate, self-addressed comment, and a more dis t.lnct comnlaint of his dim eyes, his unsteady hand, his general debility ami rapid I declin?, lie managed to fill two si Ls of note-paper, which he pet in an envelope an 1 carefully fastened it up, req ;e. t;.ig : Mona to address it to her cousin. Tlr. A in sat silently watching her. “Ye’U send It safe and sure to the post?” | “Certainly; I will go myself. The s r vant Is out, and so is Madame D brisay- ; Tiie post-pillar is within a hundred yards.” j “Ay, do—that’s a kind lassie; and you’ll j come back to me? I am varra weary the night! Eh, but I am worn wi’poor health | mair than wi’ years.” Mona returned immediately, but was re- | ceiveil with silence. The old man seemed wrapped in thought, from which he only roused himself to go to bed. Tiie next evening, and the next, Kenneth was closeted with Ids uncle. After these interviews, he stayed but a very short time with Mmc. Dehrisay and Mona—nor did they seem to exercise an enlivening effect on the young Scot; indeed. Mine. 1) ■!>- risay remarked upon his depression, and surmised that lie was in debt, and afraid to ask his uncle for help. “An 1 no wonder,” added the kindly Irish woman. “I’m sure I’d rather gointo a den of raging lions, than face your uncle if I wanted money from him. I am sorry to say it, but it’s wicked to g-ab money as tight as he does: and 1 like the young ninn, though I don’t like to see him come between bis uncle and yourself.” “I do not fiiucj Kenneth has a debt or a m nicy dlfli ulty in the world; but he does seem to have something on his mind.”
mmm
?■ ■ ct'
IfFS Si v V • -
IKi y
1 LSv-
“T'dhm'c hern n dchl mini. If yc hadn’t known what to do.” are a’right in the treatment of the sick. I’d have been a deid mon. if ye hadn’t known what to do while they were seeking
the doctor.”
“1 am very glad to he of any use to you; hut I think, as far as constant attention went, Mona was the best of all! S ie left nearly all her lessons, to stay with you. However, I am glad to say she has only lost two or three.” “I/OStt Did you say IokI?” “Yes, my dear sir. You see, Tuesdays and Fridays are always very busy, and she gave up three pupils for those days, not to forego her attendance on you.” “That was varra kind—varra. I’ll not
forget It.”
He se 111 'd lost in reflection, while Mme. Dehrisay murmured to herself— 1 “I wish he woul 1 remember it soon, or his memory won’t keep it.” “I was just thinking that Mona has been like a daughter to me,” resumed Mr. Craig. “I begin to think I’d he lonesome without
CHAPTER XII.—A DILEMMA. Mine. Dt hrisay’s words respecting Mona’s sacrifices for her uncle had sunk hit 1 hL
soul.
He was generally a taciturn individual; but at tlmescommunicatlve fits would se!/. him, of which, when they were past, he seemed half ashamed. Mona’s absence on the Sunday afternoon when she had lunched with Lady Fin’s tonn, was a stumbling-block and rock of offense. “Leddy Finistoun, indeed,” he muttered, not addressing anyone in particular. “She and her people would have left the girlie to starve, and she must run hack to eat of her bread. That’s not the right spiri:.” “But, uncle,” sal 1 Mona, who was i > !:- ing for the city article in the Thins, “Evelyn was always fond of me. She is not responsible for what her people did..” “Eli! They are nil birds of tiie same feather. I’d have nowt to do wT them.” “Lady Finistoun sought me, uncle. It would have been ungracious to reject her advances.” “Oh! gang yer ain gate. The young always know better than the old and experienced.” Mona did not reply, and there was a pause. She found the article she had been looking for. and had just begun to read when Uncle Sandy stopped her, exclaim-
ing—
“Bide a bit. I want to speak to you.’’ She laid down the newspaper, a little alarmed at the ominous beginning. “Tell me truth,” he resumed. “How are you paid for your singing lessons?” “Oli, mine are merely preparatory lessons. se I do not get much.” “Ay, but how much?” “Three shillings a lesson, or thirty for
twelve.”
“Hum! ha! well!”—pulling out his purse —“there are three sovereigns for you. Madame told me you put off some pnpiis that ye might give your time to me, and 1 can nne forget it. I doubt if anyone ever did so much for me before. Now I don’t want you to suffer loss through me. There, take the gowd; ye’re welcome. Before that is gone, ye’ll may he find other
pupils.”
“But, Uncle Sandy, I would rnttyer not! Indeed. 1 would rather not! I am sure I shall soon fin 1 other pupils, and—and I have a little money of my own—more than a hundred and twenty pounds. 1 was quite ready to give up the lessons that I might tie with you. You were not fit to be left alone. 1 will not take the money.” “Nor will 1 take It hack.” “You must, Indeed,” she persisted. “Hoot, toot! A young creature like you needn’t hesitate to take it from her nearest of kin. Here, pit it in yer pocket.” “lA'tus make a bargain, uncle!” she cried, gayly. “I do not want the money now, but when I do, I’ll ask for it.” “Ay. but I misdoubt me if you will; you have too much pride. Not but that I like your independent spirit—that comes from the Craigs. I’ll just pit up the money in n bit paper, and it will be ready whenever
you want it.”
“Thank you, uncle. I will ask for it if I want it; but I hope I shall not. “Shall I
read now?”
“Ay. and dinna go too fast.” But the lecture did not seem to give satisfaction till she came to the “Price Current,” when snmeof the quotations seemed to arouse a keen and pleasurable interest
In her hearer.
“Ay.” lie muttered. “Spanish four cents, fort} ight and a quarter, ex-divi-dend. That’s good; time to sell. Hum! Union Pacific, three fourths down; that will do. Where is Kenneth? He hasn’t
come nigh us this S iwbatta.”
“He said he was going to church with his friend, voung Mucleod, and was to imp
her. E’i. Kenneth, my mon, what do you
say?”
“You would feel very desolate without 1 him after,
her, now you have been accustomed to her, He’s always awa when lie is wanted, and so might anyone. My cousin Mona is Write him a note; nay, a half penny card an uncommon clever, bright young leddy.” "-ill do as well. Tell him—stay. I’ll write “Eh! ye think so, do you? Aweel.aweel! myself, though it is the Sawhath. There I’d like to have a talk with ye the next “re some things will na’ keep, and l-ie time you come up here; there are one or Lord s Day is not the same this side of the
two matters I should wish you to consider.” , border.
“My dear sir, if you wish to speak to Mr. 1 “ Just 80 > uncle When in Rome, do as
The following Sunday was line and crisp, though still, and Kenneth came immediately after the early dinner, and asked Mona to take a walk with him, She readily complied, and they were soon on their way to their favorite recreation ground, Kensington G 'r’.ens. Kenneth was unusually silent. He answer,.',! Mona's remarks ns briefly as possible. sr miiig t :;)harras-e.l and preoccupied. At len .t’. having skirted tiie round pond, the}' . tied their pace as they got under the s. ll >r of the trees, and walked down thi' u i !e g toward the Serpentine. “What is the matter, K mneth?” she asked. “1 fancy you h ive something on your mind. I F i..;c yo:: m'/ht tell me. You know I take m Interest in you, nn ! sytupat:,.:: • 11 it , y , ‘'Alii that's ju-t ivi.at my uncle says
“Ye'llsend It safe and sure to the post?”
He wants me to marry you, and I cannot, Mona. I cannot, indeed! 1 have pledged my troth to another young lady, and could Hot break my word.” Mona stopped short in utter amazement, and looked straight at her companion. “How very unkind of you!” she exclaimed. “1 did not think you would reject me.” “Eh? That’s what my uncle says. He believes you are very fond of me, but I cannot see it; and, oh! Mona, he swears he 11 ill leave all his money away from both of us if we don’t marry; and I will never call any woman wife but my sweet Mary— little Mary Black—the school-master’s daughter.” A kindly, amused smile slowly dimpled round Mona’s mouth. “Did you tell him so?” “Well, I daren’t, you see. I have had hopes that he (Uncle Sandy) would help me—I mean us—for I think he meant me to be his luir before he met you.” “Believe me, Kenneth, I will not interfere with you. Now, I’ll help you to the best of my ability; but first—please to propose to me in due form.” “You understand I am pledged to Mary.” “Do not mention her at present.” “Well, then; will you marry me Mona?” “No, Kenneth. I feel honored by your off r, but I decidedly decline. There, now, the blame of disobedience rests with me. You can tell Uncle Sandy that I refused you.” “You are a clever dell. Mona, and kind; but this is not varra honest.” “No, it is not; but my uncle ought not to be so foolish as to turn match-maker. Now he will attack me. and I can take care of myself. You can keep quiet, and by and by—when I have utterly refused you—then propose to marry ‘your ain true love,’ and my uncle will yield. I teel with and for you, and 1 will do my best to help you. We will manage Uncle Sandy. Now, for tiie re<! of our walk, you shall tell me all about Mary from the very first.” “ Then I must begin at the beginning of my life, for Mary is just bound up with it.” “Go on,” said Mona, looking u,*< in his face, with a sunny smile, and Kenneth “went on” considerably. He felt a new creature when he was thus enabled to unbosom himself. Thoughts uttered seemed so much stronger than they do while lurking in the shadowy recesses of ihe heart. By the time tin * reached Westhourne Villas, he had talked himself Into a conviction that his wedding was not so far off after all. But at the garden gate, terrible reality grasped him and looked him in the face. Within those walls Uncle Sandy awaited him. “He will he awful angry, Mona,” whispered Kenneth, pausing before he rang the hell. “I dare say he will”—(it was not necessary to name the object of their dread)— hut you must throw all the blame on me— remember, K uineth, it is quite true. If there was no Mary in the case, I could not marry you.” “There will he somebody else then,” he said, with Innocent conceit. “Never mind about that, Kenneth. Think so if you like; but do not be too pos[CONTINUED NEXT WEEK.]
A Popular Chinese Game. Wejehi is the greatest game of the Chinese, especially with the literary ( class, ami is ranked by them superior I to chess. L&e chess, this game is of a$ general military and mathematical character, but is on a much more extended scale, the boarxl containing two hundred and sixty-< pluses nod employing nearly two bunuied men on h side. All of the u. however, har,. the same value aim powers. The object is to command as many places on the board as possible. This may be done by inclosing empty «paces, or surrounding the enemy's men. Very close calculation is always essential in order that a loss in one region may be met by gains in another, thus employing skillful strategy when the contestants are evenly matched. The game has come down from great antiquity, being first mentioned in Chinese writing about 025 It. C. It was in all probability introduced by the Babylonian astronomers, who were at that time instructors of all the east.
Iiitinuiiltlea.
A woman must be at home to bores, says a writer in the Washington Post, while her brother has the absolute right to avoid dull women. She must wait for a partner in the dance, while her brother may seek one. She must smile on old Stumbleover and accept his moist hand for the dance, although she knows that bruised ankles will be tiie swift penalty. A woman equally clumsy, old and Unattractive, has the “right” to put herself in bold relief against the wall, as a part of its human dado. Why should not Stumbleover take his place beside her? Also, as if life were a mere cotillion—must our daughter watch and wait the coming of her lord and master?
Queen Victoria'! Will. Queen Victoria made her will in I8b0. It is engrossed on vellum, quarto size, and is bound as a volume, secured | with a private lock. Several blank pages have been left at the end of the book for codicils, some of which have already been added. Thus, when Princess Alice died, in 1878. modifications of the bequests were rendered necessary; and in the summer of 1884, after the duke of Albany’s death, further revisions were imperative. One entry relates entirely to the disposal of the queen's jubilee gifts, which are not the property of the nation
V
TIIE WEAKEST SI’OT in your whole " system, perhaps, is the liver. If that doesn’t do
fying tho blood, more troubles come trom it than you i>an remember.
t I 1
Pr. Piero,' Golden Medical Discovery afts 1 upon this weak spit as nothing else cun. ' .It | ■ es it up to healthy, natural action. By* thor hi] , irifying the blood, it rmohnsJ builds up, a iniIgorates every part of tin''
system.
For nil diseases that depend on the liver or the blood -Dyqiepsin. Indigestion, Bill,Risness ; every form of Scrofula, even Consumption (or Bung-scrofula) in its earlier stages; and the most stubborn Skin and So-alp Disco s, the “Discovery” is the only remedy so unfailing and effective that it can
be guaranteed.
If it doesn’t benefit or cure, you have your
money back.
On these terms, it’s nn insult to your intelligence to have something else offered as
“just as good.”
fWYA" v.-vvse
Waiter iat Saratoga 1: Chips, sir? Straightflush (bis mind still on last night's little game): Yes; two stacks; both blues.
Among the incidents of childhood that stand out in hold relief, as our memory reverts to the days when we were young, none are more prominent than severe sickness. The voung mother vividly remembers that it was Chamberlain’s Cough Remedy cured her of croup, and in turn administers it to her
own offspring and always with the best re-
sults. For sale by Albert Allen.
sept
The secret of success is constancy to purpose.
DeWitt’s Witch Hazel Salve cures piles. } V ? tch Salve cures burns. s Hazel Salve cures sores. DeW itt’s W itch Hazel Salve cures ulcers. Albert Allen, agt. iy
The emerald is now one of the rarest of recious stones.
That Loathsome Disease Distemper mm,hr horses can positively t cured and prevented by the use of Craft Distemper Cure. One dose will keep th horses from takinv the disease und three t four will cure. Will nlso cure Coughs, Cold Epizootic mid other Catarrhal ailments of tli horse. Price SO cents. Sold hi Albei Allcn ' sept
Over 1,000 Steamships are traversing the four great ocean routes.
is the best Salve that experience can produc or that money can buy. Albert Allen, agt.
The earth receives only one two-billion
of the heat of the sun.
A Good Thing to Keep at Hapj From the Troy (Kansas) Chief. V Some years ago we wefe very much subk to severe spells of cholera morbus; and nc when w. feel any of the symptoms that usui |y proceed that ailment, such as sickness the stomach, dlarrhiea, etc , we become sear We have found Chamberlain's Colic, Chole and Disrrhiea Remedy the very thing 0 ! ,e 'ii! 1 in such alwa keep it about. We are not writing this for pay testimonial, but to let our readers knr what is a good thing to keep handy in tl house. For sale by Albert Allen. * Bc pj Cass (anno; ed): Don't you know that a fo can ask questions? Bass; I hadhea-d so: no I know.
When Baby was rick, we gave her Costoria. When she was a Child, ahe cried for Castorla. | When She became Mias, she clung to Castorla. V W’ S the had Children, she gave them Costoria.
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Children Cry for Pitcher’s Castorla, Children Cry (or Pitcher’s Castorla. Children Cry for Pitcher’s Castorla.