The National Banner, Volume 9, Number 46, Ligonier, Noble County, 11 March 1875 — Page 6

ROSALIE RATHBORNE; ot e h e y . s EEOR e e . SIN AND SORROW. . BY WATTS PHILLIPPS, AUTHOR OF ‘‘FOR A WOMANS SAKE,” “DRIVEN -~ FROM HOME,” “JENNY GRAY; OT, A WOMAN’S } " VENGEANCE," ETIC., ETC, ; b ' % s PR Xt | 5 LB CHAPTER VI. = - | MISTRESS AUGUSTA CAMELFORD IS VERY - - BUSY. boe o . There.need 'be no attempt at mystery concerning Arthur Gresham’s escape from that breakfast-room, for it had been effected very simply, although, certainly, not - very -easily; for the-artist’s wounded shoulder " had rendered difficult and painful that. which otherwise had been. accomplished * without the' slighest hurt, and with very: little labor. - ey Tl . Locked within that room, Arthur at once . ‘hurried and threw up the window which: looked upon the court-yard of the Tnsion. From this window to the ground beneath was a distance of about thrice the height of the man who had now looked to it for es.cape—a distance which had been as nothing if Arthur had possessed the free use of both - his arms; for then he could have clung to. the window-sill; would. have let himself down to his full length and lightly and easily would ‘have dropped to. the ground; but to do all that was now next to impossi- ' bleyjin the first place, he might not have been able, with one!arm, to. sustain the. weight of his'whole body, and, in the next, -and more important, the jar, which so deep - a fall would convey to his wound, even if it should not cause him to sink béneath” the ; ﬁa.in it would inflict, would certainly cause is hurt shoulder to bleed afresh, and entirely incapacitate him for furthur.flight. «Recognising, in.a moment, these formidable obstacles, Gresham cast his eyes around the apartment in search of means which might aid him in his ‘escape, and they fell upon the cloth with which the huge, oldfashioned' ‘breakfast table was covered. Without the least hesitation—he' had not. time for any then—he dragged that cloth from the table, scattering about the room, and, as wé have -seen, making sad. hayoc and confusion with. the breakfast apparatus, and with cold fowls, ham, sirloin of beef, with all-the appliances indeed which were “required for the substantial breakfast, which was the especial custim of every country mansion in the days o} which we -are now. writing, and was certainly pursued by Sir ~ Jonas Rathborne: SRR Having easily reached the ground without, by means of the table-cover, of which, with so little eeremony, Arthur had possessed himself, he- made his way towards " the large, open gates of the court-yard, intencling to trust to his'swiftness of foot to carry him to, at least, a place of temporary safeﬁy and concealment;: but fortune favor- . ed him, for as he was flying towards the gates, he saw near to them a stout and *swift nag, which one of -the haronet’s grooms had just brought from the ‘stables and was about to mount. s , ET . Arthur hwried. to the groom; and requested to be allowed to ride that horse.

. The man had, of course, heard of the . dnuel, ahd of the danger which now“threat‘ened Gresham, and readily consenggd to his request, eagerly agsisting Arthur to the saddle, which he’ had scarcely reached when “ loud calls and shouts-to secure the fugitive " were heard. ' s e B ¢ . Instead of a,ttemp&ng to obey thoése commands, the groom. assured Gresham'thathe was mounted then, on ‘as fast and as endur-: . ing a steed as could be found in-all England, .~ and advised the artist t 6 lose no timein try- © -ing theanimal’s mettle. P But Arthur Gresham: had turned towards _ the way whence the calls to arrest him had - proceeded, and had seen crowding. the win- . dow from which hé had descended, the offi- - . ‘cers who had been sent in his pursuit, and . Sir Jonas Rathborne, and his niece, stand-ing-in their midst. ~ /. .~ ' . _~Arthur rode back near to the window, and - Mistress Camelford then called to the groom, in her loudest and shrillest tones, and.-bade him-close the gatesof the court: yard. i 20 The ‘groom must certainly-have been a little deaf, though no one had ever suspect- , ed him to be troubled with “that infirmity, for clearly he had not heard the comniand which * Augusta screamed. forth since no sooner was it uttered than he turned away, and walked rather hurriedly without the gates. : B o e _ “Trifle not thus with. your safety! away !’ _ Sir Jonas-called to his son-in-law.. . . . ..“Say that I may leave with confidence in your fatherly protection for my Rosalie!”” " Gresham entreated. : : o “Fear not for her;” was the baronet’s re1¢ ply. - “Quit the kingdom, and when you are ~ securely beyond reach of the laws_you have’ offended, I may be able to obtain your pardon for last night’s unhappy affair.” " . . “Generous, noble-hearted man I Arthur’ . gratefully exclaimed, “I will write soon to Rosalie—tell her so,’and bid her have. no fears for me, and that you will labor, that I may soon réturn to her, and to behold, and '.to embrace, the little baby-boy that has heen born to us—Oh! comfort her, sir!” the young husband continued, speaking as from the first, very rapidly and with powerful emotion. “Assure her that soon we shall " be reunited, to be sundered not again while - life shall last to us!” . . “Trust Rosalie to her father’s care, and have no fear; again I say,” the baronet “loudly, and earnestly said; then he added, _hurriedly, and as if s@ddenly struck with ‘some-mew alarm: “If. you wonld not, render your escape hopeless and impossible, linger +" not here a moment longer ! v © “Farewell! I hope, a brief farewell, and, - Heaven bless you sir!” ‘Arthur cried, as he turned his horse, and was about to quit the - _court-yard. - S B - At that moment, two'of the men who had been charged to arrest him, and whom -Sir 5 Jo;%s had, but the moment before, missed - from the breakfast-room, from which they - hdd stolen wunperceived by the baronet—- - dashed in through the gates, and ‘one on _each side of Artﬁur', ‘grasped, and “held the < bridle rein of his horse. ~ .. .

~, Gresham had neither whip nor spur with i which to urge his steed forward, and to ' shake off the hands which now withheld him; and with his own wound réndering him so helpless to struggle with the men, by whom he now seemed captured, what could he do? . Ly Despair was commencing to - invade his heart, which only an instant before, had been full of bright and joyous anticipations, . . when the groom hurried in back . through the gates of the court-yard, and calling out, . “I forgot, Mr. Gresham, that a little touching up,is sometimes necessary !”’—of course .. he was alluding to the horse—he handed up - a good stout hunting-whip to Arthur, who Jost no time in laying it very free};!a.bout the shoulders of the two men at his Horse’s head, who with ldud outcries, quickly quitted their hold of the rein, and Arthur, again waving his-hand to the baronet, dashed from the.court-yard, and sent his steed forward at a rattling gallop. : - Arthur gone, the baronet turned, intend- - ing to reprove his niece, for the eagerness which she had shown for the young man’s . capture, but Mistress Augusta Camelford "had quitted the breakfast-room, and had: ~ goné to her own apartments, which she . - quitted net again, until the following. day, . when she emerged from them, outwardly, a different being to the fury we have lately: seen her. Her#ace was placid and serene - in its expression, her manner tranquil, and her speech as calm and gentle as -before it had been wild and boisterous. S _She expressed her sorrbw and regret to Sir Jonas, for her unseemly conduct of the day before, and endeavored to excuse her- - sgeolf by saying she had certainly beer shocked by her cousin Rogalie’s misalliance with * the artist, but far more on the baroret’s account, than on her own, as her uncle would ‘easily compreheénd, she did not doubt; but1+ new, that %r;. Jonuh%rthaﬁne had reso]zlol‘d | to pardon hi T, to accept the - ‘son-in-law lhfeﬁthdnght proper to thrust . upon him — however surprised Augusta ~ might be—she had no right, of course not, ! to remonstrate, since he whom the matter most concerned, had determined on forgivem._ e ,;‘; - 3 . : = .a.v_‘ :f:lou for the outrageous way in which we mw%mm AR ee o R s S

proved a great affliction.™at all events to the baronet. bk e

= Mistress Augusta Camelford janxiously enquired as to how Rosalie was progressing, a.nﬁas answered by the baronet that his daughter was doing very svell (iindeggéd aﬁg o b 3 2 . ru il A SRARS BT 25 e declared that his. newly-arrived grandson was a reﬁluktahbly ﬁne}'llittle fellomd that he re. ought he could distinguigh in ';iésaltilg’s boy a likeness to hzfm's,elf,. . And Sir Jonas thought to himself that he was well rewarded for having ‘restored his daughter to that place in his heart from which she had been so long banished ; for, not for many a year, had he felt so perfectly happy as now he was. - .. - That event which Rosalie .had believed would ‘crush her father with the earth, had raised him almost to the lofttest pinnacle of 057 . ~ s J"AySir Jonas had comforted his daughter, he told Augusta; had, indeed, made her su-premely:-happy, by assuring her of his forgiveness; and -that her hushand’s wound ‘could not :by any possibility prove mortal, as she had been so cruelly informed. He had promised her, too, that Arthur Gresham should not be long kept, from her, and, with that assurance, and with the ‘conviction that her father’s love, deeper and stronger than e’er before, had again returned to her, it was no wonder that Rosalie was indeed happy;. nor that her tears of joy should trickle down upen the little face that nestled at her bosom. 7 ;

. Mistress = Camelford solicited, and, of course, obtained from Sir Jonas, permission to visit Rosalie in her chamber.

As the young wife and mother, arousing from a slight doze, into which she had fallen, opened her eyes, and saw Augusta seated by the bed-side, she ‘shuddered; and clasped her infant more ‘firmly to her breagt, - .o . }

Certainly there was nothing, at that moment; in the expression of her cousin’s features which could be terrifying .to Rosalie; for Mistress Camelford’s face was now lighted up with a benignant smile, which Rosalie’s nurse afterwards pronounced to have been perfectly angelic. R . Mistress Camelford commmenced, and pour-. ed forth a stream of words which flowed so smoothly on that, at length. they imposed on even Rosalie, who -longer, and better than any one beside, had -understood her cousin. - . ! By

- Yeg, Rosalie came at last to believe that her cousin was sincere in her sorrow for the malice she had shown-—those mysterious letters were not.at all alluded to—-and would be tg her in the future a true and sincere friend. -~ nlag

, AJI! that in the past had been unpleasant between the cousins,was, from that moment, to be forgotten by them both; and theyft were now to commence a future of perfect love and concord. . = - : i

Itiwas that which Mistress Camelford had proposed to her cousin, and Rosalie, all her mistrust of Augusta for the present swept away, had very- gladly assented.. , =~ . - Rosilie, with all a happy mother’s pride, displayed her infant to Augusta’s gaze, and that lady fixed on the little innocent child the look of a basilisk, as she bent over Rosalie’s shoulder toward the boy, and declared, with most sweet accents, that this litth Gresham was the most charming baby her eyes had ever looked upon. - - Rosalie . spoke of her husband, that, of course, and how it had been almost the salvation of “her life to learn from her dear father that Arthur’s wound, far from being, probably mortal, as had been said, was in reality but slight, and would soon be perfectly healed. ~ /. " To Rosalie’s exultation, then, Mistress Augusta Camelford replied only, at first, with an omnious shake of theé head, which caused the ‘young ‘wife’s heart to throb quickly and painfully. :

. Her father, in'his consideration for her, had not, perhaps, told her the perfect truth concerning Arthur’s’ wound ; and so, startled' by Augusta’s manner, she cautiously .questioned ‘her as to her hushand’s real condition ; and the widow then said, with seeming sorrow and reluctance, that, although Arthur Gigsham’s great courage, and the powerful ex&mngnt he had known, had sofar, sustained him,as to enable him to escape from his pursuers; yet, had she been assured, on the most reliable . authority, that his wound - was, in"reality, of the utmost -gravity, and very; very dangerous. - - Having said this, she took her leave of Rosalie for that day, having made utterly wretched her whom -she had fourd so perfectly happy. =~ - & -

:To Sir Jonas Rathborne the widow next spoke of Arthur Gresham, and with the same lugubrious forebodings which she had uttered to Rosalie, so that when next the Baronet visited his daughter, it-was with a clouded ‘brow; which, though he still strove to convince jboth his daughter and himself that ‘Arthur’s wound was but trifling, ‘confirmed the young wife in all those fears which her cousin had so artfully engendéred. - foe s Cdat

“Hour after hour Rosalie lay weeping, her thild held firmly to her; she the wife, who soon, was . her agonizing thought, might become a widow ; the «child, her first-born dailing, who might soon, alas! be fatherless. . ; :

ijithm' Gresham was mounted on a swift and willing steed, and travelled, on the day he fled from the mansion and his pursuers, a very considerable distance. =~

‘When he halted for afew hours’ rest, for so long: he reflected, certainly "beyond danger, he sat himself to consider whither he should proceed, as his ultimate restingplace, until Sir Jonas should have been able to procure his son-in-law’s absolution from'the banishment, or, at.least, long captivity by which he was threatened, - * Months might: be -required before the Baronet would be able to accomplish his geherous purpose ; and for'so-long Arthur must remain sévered from his Rosalie, 'and from the infant his eyes were longing so eagerly to behold, his heart craving so earnestly to embrace. . ; ‘Surely the law need not further prose‘cute him » was henot already made to suffer terribly for having defended himself where it weuld have been infamy longer to forbear and endure. Sk .- Whither should he journey and remain—

where await permission to. return to those 80 dear to him ? - Arthur asked himself,

He would not "go to Scotland,” and to Clarence Hartley—mno ! “Clarence had already done so very much for him, that the young artist was reluctant further to trouble ' such - generous friendship, especially as now Arthur possessed all the influence which Sir Jonas Rathborne . could command, and which there could be no doubt would prove most fully sufficient for all that was required of it. 5 ; i : ‘

Having determined that he would not go to Scotland, and to Clarence Hartley, whither and to whom could he go? Why, to Italy !To Italy, the home of Art! = .

‘He had another friend there, an artist like himself, who had often counselled Arthur that Italy should be visited by :every artist ; and so now to Italy would Arthur go. 0 ; ; : ‘About an hour before Arthur placed his. foot on the’ deck of the vessei which was to bear’ him towards the land he had chosen for, as he hoped and believed, his bsief 80~ igourn. he despatched = letter to his darling "Rosalie—under the same cover with one which he had written to her father—and ‘well calculated to carry peace and cootent - ment to his young wife’s heart; bus for all that, neither Sir Jonas Rathborne nor his daughter were to be relievaed of their anxiee ty, for the packet which contained the letters which Arthur had written to them, was watched and waited for, and intercepted by Mistress Augusta Camelford, and withheld from the Baronet and from Rosalie tidings which would have gladdened the heart of both, would have relieved them from a terrible suspénse, and /would have brought to qne of them, at least, an almost ‘overpowering joy. . : Having reached Italy, Gresham wrote ‘again, and this time his letters might be answered: But he waited—waited, wondered, and hoped, till hope itself became almost extinct within his breast, and then, unable longer to endure the- torture that was rending his heart, he had resolved, at every hazard, to return to England, when, ‘at last, a letter éame to him—a fearful letter—a latter which crushed, almost annihilated his whole being. The purport of that letter, and- by whom 'written, will ‘presently be explained. . " Mistress Aggwm Camelford — for long houts every day she was alone within ‘her. own’ :gattments, the doots secure‘ly fastened, writing earnestly and la‘boriously; over p.ndépvergl)gdn, ‘a few uni o:&mt words which Sir Jonas Rathborne m at some time oy other, scribbled on a ‘sheet, of paper, then lying before her. . Bhe copied and recopied those words, ‘day after day, week sfter. week ; and many

THE NATIONAL BANNER: LIGONIER, IND., MARCH 11, 1875.—SUPPLEMENT.

fimes on &évery Uay of each OY Those several weeks, until her imitation lof Sir Jonas ‘Rathborne’s writing was absulutely perfect; and then, some time after she had intercepted the second packet of letters which had arrived at the mansion—letters which Arthur Gresham had written, “full of hope and joyful anticipations which were never tobe realized; then; Mistress Augusta Camelford deemed it her turn to, write, and so she penned an epistle to Rosalie’s husband, which but too soon reached that unhappy man. _ : This epistle, which Arthur, with such fatal confidence believed had been written by Sir Jonas Rathborne; and which, but for the nature of its contents might have deceived—and easily—even the Baronet himself, announced to the wretched husband that his wife and child—both-of them —had ceased,to live. ,

Rosalie, the Baronet was credited to say, weakened by the many and | powerful emotions she had of late experienced, had lacked strength for her time of sharpest trial, and had died on the very day on which her child was born—although her danger had not been foreseen by her.physicians, and but a few hours after Arthur himself had madehis escape from themansion. Bub till the following morning—so continued this dreadful letter—had the infant survived its mother, and it was now;several weeks since the bereaved, heart-broken father had seen ‘his daughter, and his daughter’s little son, laid together within the same tomb. The Baronet had been too. greatly - overpowered by this terrible calamity before to write to Arthur; had been without the strength-and courage which would enable him to convey to‘his daughter’s husband the overwhelming tidings that the poor young wife he idolized was lost ;to him for ever. 2 5

This horrible epistle concluded by entreating that Arthur. Gresham would not yet return’ to England ; for at present it would too dreadfully afflict the Baronet again to look upon the'man who had been his daughter’s husband; and stated begides, that if Arthur should return, his immediate arrest would then be certain;. for Albert Marsden’s relatives were eager for the punishment of his adversary, and had upbraided the authorities that he had been suffered to escape; and Arthur wou,ld perfectly comprehend that Sir Jonas, Rathborne had been entirely without the energy necessary for the efforts which he now soon would make to obtain. the pardon of his poér daughter’s husband. ~ For this latter part of the letter, Mistress ‘Camelford might have spared herself the arduous care and toil which had been occasioned her to write it, since many more weeks were to elapse before Arthur was to pursue to the end an epistle in the perusal -of which he had now proceeded not a word beyond those fearful ones which . had conveyed to him the seemring truth, the horrible tidings, that, suddenly and for ever, he ‘had been bereft of his darling Rosalie, and that, beside her, in the tomb, was -now the child- he had not looked upon,and was never, in this world, to behold. Wife and child both dead! That terrible knowledge attained, Mistress Camelford’s lying letter dropped from Arthur’s hand, and he himself, struck to the heart as jwith a mortal blow, uttered one loud, despairing cry, and then fell, prone and senseless, to the floor,

" His half-healed wound was, at that moment, rent again asunder, and to the flow of blood which then anew ensued, was due that Arthur died not there and then.

At'the end of many weeks his physicians pronounced that he was convalescent. - He sighed heavily as they told him that. : ‘Now, forj the first time, he read through all that fatal letter, and with his own sufferings there mingled pity for the unhappy father by whom that letter had been written, as Arthur so unsuspectingly, believed.

No doubt of that had come to Arthur’s mind—it was almost impossible that it should, =. & : : sy “Gresham wondered not that he was requested by the Baronet, pardoned, or otherwise, for his share in that duel which had been the firgt catise of all the woe, and misery; and death that had succeeded it,— Gresham wondered not that he was entreated by Sir Jonas Rathborne to remain for some time longer away from England. The wish was natural; and Arthur would not return thither—at least, not yet. What in his native land was there now precious to him, save the sepulchre which ' enclosed his wife and child. il

* Oh, that some angel had but whispered to him of thé atrocity of which he was the victim ; and that his adored Rosalie, living still, and pressing to her heart the child that he believed entombed with her, was weeping day and night for lack of those sweet words which, in reality, he had sent to comfort her, but which had been, by Mistress Augusta Camelford, so cruelly withheld from the poor, suffering and sorrowing wife and mother. *, ; Mistress Camelford was not yet to pause; the letter which she had written to Arthur was but the initiation, the commencement of that most terrible scheme of vengeance for her supposed wrongs, which, with long -and laborious thought, she had comstructed. Augusta waited and waited, with what feelings may be immagined, for the result of that forgery which, ﬁou]d it be detected, could not, she was convinced, be traced to her; and when, ab last, another letter came from Arthur, and, like those he before had written, addréssed to Sir Jonas Rathborne, it was, of course, as had been those which had preceeded it, intercepted by Mistress Camelford ; and having®read it, ‘the worthy widow was in an €cstacy of delight. Arthur Gresham would not return to England yet awhile, perhaps not for yearsto come; and Mistress Camelford’s first step towards the perfect vengeance ~which she contemplated had most thoroughly succeeded. - - She was now most firmly resolvéd to continue to the end she aimed at; but in her further proceedings she would need “assistance—an unscrupulous agent—in her wick-. edness; a man who, likea%erself, had neither heart nor conscience, and who could act and be silent, if ]ibera.]l{rpa,idi; and such a man even without the trouble of seeking, ,Bhe presently was to encounter ; he came to her—sent, surely, by the -devil, whom she herself wasserving, and was the ruffian, who, in the darkness of that night on which our story commenced, had ‘fixed his grasp on Arthur Gresham’s throat, as the artist; scared thénce by Mistress Camelford’s approach, had descended from his young wife’s apartment, ; S

Arthur’s then assailant*is now about to become a very important personage with us, and we must therefore commence a new:chapter, that he may be introduced to the reader with becoming dignity. . .

oo s o CHAPTER: VAT, ik MISTRESS CAMELFORD’S AGENT. j “Whom are you seeking ?”’ This was addressed by Mistress Camelford $o a servant who had looked into the room in which she was, at the time, seated. - . . “I beg pardon, madam,” responded the ‘man, “but I thought Sir Jonas was in this apartment.” ! - “What is it, Simpson?” asked Augusta, “There is a man who insists on seeing the baronet—as he says, on a very important matter,” the servant replied. ; . Mistress Camelford mused—had this man anything to say concerning matters in which she was so deeply interested. : “T have told him,” the servant continued, “that I could not at'present trouble Sir Jonas ; but the fellow will not budge.” “What manner of man is he?”, Augusta began, then, “nev ind,” she said hastily, as the servant waout -to reply to her question, “never mind, I will hear what this troublesome fellow would have.” T The servant retired, and presently returned, followed by a very tall, queerly shaped individual, who wore his peasant-like garments as if it was a great trouble to him to carry them, and looked as if he were dressed in clothes which some far stouter .man had discarded.’ o When the servant had gone, Mistress Camelford said blandly to this visitor—- “ Well my good man, what is it-?” - “Umph !’ the fellow answered; “I don’t know that I'm such a particularly good man,” and Augusta observed the leer with which this was said, and was convinced that he was not by any means a good man. “But good or ngt good, I' don’t see that tlll:; is any reason why I should be ecrippled.” e 30 ' He did not see it, but it might be. a reason, for all that. i o - “What is it you mean ?”’ inquired Augusta; then immediately added, “But, first of all, tell me your name.” = ~ “My name ?” said the visitor ; and looked suspiciously and half fearfully at Mistress ‘Camelford, as # he had an idea that she ‘were the counsel for the prosecution, and about to subfnit him toa severe cross-ex-

' “Ygs, your name;”’ repedted Augusta, smilingly and encouragingly. 5 «“Well—l’m not ashamed of my nagme—" and then he hesitated again, as if in reality he was ashamed of it, which he ought to have been, and more particularly of the man who bore it. : i i

Mistress Augusta smiled oven 'more encouragingly on him than before. : “Well, my name is Adam Burford!” and the fellow at last shot it forth, and as if he had resolved desperately to dare the worst that could come of the avowal. -

- “Adam Burford ?” repeated Augusta. ~ “Yes—you know nothing of me, I don’t suppose,” and he leered with suspicious ins quni'.ry on his questioner, “but you know my wife.” . ! o] ‘“T'rue, certainly ; I remember,” Augusta said, reflectively. o e - «She has often been employed about the mansion here. Miss Rosalie was always very partial to her,” said Burford. “Yes,. she was, very partial to her, and has often given her little odd bits of money;”’—which he had taken from his wife and wasted in debauchery, while she was almost starving at home—Adam Burford might-have added, but, however, did not. | e

“Oh, certainly ; I remember her perfectly. As you say, Rosalie was very fond of her, and was the cause that she was here sb very gfutﬁn,” Mistress Camelford said, thoughtLy, : 4 5 3 ~ “But Miss Rosalie hasn’t sent for her here for a very long time, I am sure T don’t. know why,?’ grumbled Burford. . «Margaret Burford was a remarkably plt_eg,sa_nt woman;”’ Mistress Camelford next said.. :

“And with a very comely face, and still a young woman, is she not?”” Augusta added, in a tone of indifferent inquiry. e “Well, not very young,nor yetvery old,’’ Adam Burford replied. “She is three years younger than I am, and I am forty-five.” - “Really, muttered’ Augusta, quite mechanically; for she was again in deep thought, and had not heard the last angwer. Margaret had been a poor peasant girl, and Adam Burford the son of a well-to-do farmer—never handsome, as. may be imagined, yet had Burford been a smart young fellow, with very pleasant 'manners, which had soon caused Margaret to forget that the} man who was so assidiously paying court to her was anything but an Adonis. Besides, would not his father set him up in a farm as soon as ever he took a wife, und would it not be a capital match for poor Margaret ? But, alas! soon after his marriage with Margaret, Adam Burford fell into bad company; gambled himself and his wife into poverty ; was disowned by his father, and sank lower and lower in a world in which he might have risen to an ample compe--tence. : ) ; : ‘

It had struck Mistress Camelford that such a woman as Margaret Burford could not be made entirely the slave of the wretched object Phen” before her; so she said, after a while, with seeming carelessness :

“T have often fancied, when looking on your wife, that she was not a woman to be easily subdued !” . : ““She’s tame enough with me,” growled Margaret’s hushand. <“She has long given up trying either to lead or drive me, and now she knows that what I say must be—must be—and there’s an end of that.”’

Mistress Camelford was pleased to hear Burford talk thus ; but she did not tell him 80, but what she did say was: “You said something. just now, about having been crippled for lifte—what did you mean ?*> -

“What did I mean ?’” said Burford, savagely. ““Look here!” and he limped backwards and forwards before Mistress Camelford, who said: L : ~ “Yes, I see you are lame, but——"". © “P’ll tell you,” interrtipted Adam, and proggeded. = “One might, last January, when it was so dark you couldn’t see-your hand before you, I happened to be groping my way round the mansion' to get to the road—it’s a near cut from my cottage, you know ?” i . Yes; Mistress Camelford did happen to know the situation of Burford’s cottage., “Well I’ Adam #umed ; “just as I was passing by the wing of this house which, as the story runs, is haunted by somebody’s understanding that it was Arthur Gresham who bhad made of the ruffian before her, ‘a cripple for life.” i “Strive to moderate this excessive rage, and listen to me,” the widow said, very quietly; and then waited, without spea&pg, till Adam Burford had grown calm again, which was not without an effort, and uot till several minutes had elapsed. o And then Mistress Camelford spoke again. “You promise that you will isten to me ‘coolly and reasonably ?” \ Burford nodded. . - “You are very poor and would have anoney ?”’ Augusta paused for a reply, and Adam Burford again nodded approvingly. Then the widow added, with strong emphasis—“ And revenge on the man from whom you have received your hurts ?”’ . Burford shook in every limb, and limped one step towards Augusta, again, no doubt, about to break out with loud ravings; but the lady held up her finger warningly, and he limped back again;.and once more nodded, without saying a word. e = “You have not, I imagine, & very scrupu- | lous conscience ?P”’ o e A derisive grin was Augusta’s answer to that question. It satisfied her, and she resumed— - : ; Lo “Money you shall have!” o One of Burford’s eyes fixed itself inquiringly’ on Mistress Camelford’s unruffled face, and the other seemed locking intently into a distant corner of the room. - s

“And you: shall have, too, your revenge on the man who——"" and Mistress Camelford paused in her speeeh, and pointed to Burford’s crippled leg. ] B Burford was now again about to break forthj but Augusta again raised her finger warningly, and the ruffian was, as' before, for the moment tamed. e : “But your revenge must take thé shape into which I shall please to form:it,” pursued Augusta: : “Will you promise me it shall be a revenge with which I may be well contented P’ Adam eagerly inquired. : And Mistress Camélford promised that her new and highly creditable acquaintance should have no reason to complain concerning that; and her new acquaintance expressed himself as highly satisfied with the assurance he had received.. ~ “I may have much for you to do,” the widow next said; “and shall deal liberally with you in the matter of payment for your services; so long a 8 I may depend on your fidelity?? -~ ; ol ' #Give me my revenge on that man, and well supply me with money, and I will be true to you, and do your bidding, whatever you shall command. Yes,” he repeated, with a diabolic and most expressive leer, “whatever you may comvmand, !’ Ry ,“Good "’ exclaimed: Augusta, evidently well pleased ; then, for the first time during her long conversation with this man, she rose fromn her chair, and, as’ she walked towards the door, said, “Follow me to my rooms, for here we_should presently be interrupted by Sir Jonas; and now that we have ¢ome to an understanding with each other, I shall have much to say to you.” _Very long was the conference between these two beings, so dissimilar in every other respect, but z 6 alike in the deformity of their hearts; and the first results of their long and secret conversation together .were, that Adam Burford left the mansion jingling money in his pockets, of which he did not’ give his wife a shilling, nor did he tell her, as may be supposed, whence nor from whom his newly arrived wealth had come to him; and so Margaret Burford was led to believe that her husband had been concern~ ed in some ‘robbery, of which, indéed, she knew him to be perfectly capable, - He had soon a new suif of clothes, of better fit and material than the scarecrow attire in which he was first introduced to us; lived well, and .having, in about three weeks, added very considerably to his weight and strength, he one morning %metly disappeared, from the neighborhood, leaving no word, not even with his wife, whither he had gone. . ; : But the reader must be told that Adam Burford was on his way to Italy, and thithor it is necessary we should accompany him. It wag to Florence Adam Burford was. bound ; and, having arrived there, he at once set himself to work to obtain information concerning Arthur Gresham, which information he did soon obtain, and with which he was well pleased, . = . . He &iscovered that Gresham had not yeb (e e 06 B contriv : acqu 0 one of the artist’s WM&? and soon had 45 ope sty himself unseen, of looking upon tho artist himeelf. Axthur Gresham was now but a_ghost of T %u’ Lo T R e e e

beifore €ntirely Tiealed, Hie hiad TOWn 10 DB easel, laboring almost unceasingly, day and ‘night, with the hope somewhat to lessen the pain of that other and far more terrible wound which had been struck at his heart, and which no physician—not even Time itself that greatest of all physicians for those stricken as had been: Arthur, could ever have the power to solace. . o He had been made to helieve that his darling Rosalie, and the little child whose coming had been so anxiously awaited, were Ilost to-him for ever. = ° ! .

From the servant whose acquaintance he had so cunnipgly made, Mistress Camelford’s agent learned that'Gresham had mno intention, even if the way were free to him, hha.;ldindeed no wish now, to return to Eng-

How delighted was Adam Burford to hear

- Painting rapidly, rashly, desperately, hoping by the constant practice of an art, which now, like all else in the world, had lost for him its.every charm, Arthur Gresham suddenly found himself a celebrated man ; his pictures were greatly in' demand, and brought immense sums, and the artist had it in his' power rapidly to become a wealthy man, : In that dreamy state to which his grief hadjbrought him, he was painting marvellously. | _ ‘What now were wea.ltfl and fame to Arthur Gresham ? His Rosalie could not share with him the one, nor rejoice with him for the other. = - :

Arthur Gresham was in exactly those conditions of mind and body which Mistress Camelford had hoped her agent would find him—worn and wasted in frame, wretched and despdiring in thought, with a loathing for the land of his supposed losses, and with, at present, aninsurmountable horroragainst returning to it. : : . Adam Burford lost no time in forwarding to Augusta intelligence which she would so gladly welcome. _ ; ' Mistress Camelford’s agent had next to hunt for a physician—that is to say, a physician who would answerthe particular purpose Burford had now in view. He procured a list of all the medical men then practising in Florence, and next proceeded to ascertain in what repute each and gll of them were held. .

He addressed many persons on the subject — he had been sent in advance by the parents of a young lady for whom there was ro hope, it had been. said, except in a ckange of clime—the English climate was dgstroying her, so the poor, young lady was coming to Italy, and it was Burford’s busingass to provide for her a skillful physician ghost, a window wass thrown open, and. a man tumbled down close against me. I was pretty strong then, and I laid’ hands on him; for, I says to myself, ‘a fellow can’t have been doing any good that comes bundling out of a window in thisstyle.” Iknow all about that.”? = :'(i. . Lo Augusta smiled; she had no doubt that he did know all about it. - Lo

«“But if I was strong,” her present agreeable companion went on; “that fellow, whoever he was, was & precious deal stronger. I clung fast to him, but he whirled me round and round, amd, at last, shook me off, and I fell headlong down into the hollow hard by, and was stumned and lost my senses for I don’t know how long.”’

- “Poor fellow ! sighed Augusta, with pretended compassion.' ) : “When my senses was restored to me,” Burford resumed; ¢TI tried to get up and walk away, but I couldn’t do nothing of the sort, for, as 1 very soon found out, my leg wag broke; and so, there I lay through the long - night, in awful pain, and perished with=cold. I was too weak and faint to shout, and if I .could hgve done it, nobody would have heard me. ' I knew that, so I didn’t: try; for I should only have made myself worse. : G

“How very dreadful I’ murmured Augusta, and she applied her handkerchief to her face, as if to wipe awaytears which /she had not the slightest intention to shed. And then he went on to tell her, that a peasant passing along in the early morning of thé following day, had heard his groans; help was got, and he was carried home, and had narrowly escaped with his life; had been months in recovering, and -had only now, at last, been able to drag himself so far from his -own cottage as to reach the baronet’s mansion. e -

“And look at me again,” he corcluded ; “an emaciated cripple. The doctor saws, I shall limp all my life.” ? : "“And you were, I presume, very poor in pocket when this accident occurred to you??” Augusta inquired. s i “Hadn’t a shilling,” was the reply. “Oh! if I had but known!” sighed the widow, looking more pityingly than ever on the man; and nextrasked him—“ Whatever could you do in so dreadful an emergency ?” “I did nothing,” was the answer, “but lie week after week on my bed and groan. How could I? But I says to Margaret, says L I don’t mean to die this turn; andif I don’t have everything as I ought to -have, S 0 lon6i as I am bad, it will be the worse for. you when I get well again, that’s all.>”

Then, as if fetling that he had spoken to his poor wife in the most proper manner, and had ‘desired nothing unreasonable, he said, addressing Mrs. Camelford : “If a man can’t support himself, well or |111,? it’s his wife’s place to support him, ain’t it 5 : o

“Certainly !” was the reply to his question. =

. “I should think so!? growled Burford. “Else what does a man marry for?” . “Precisely !’ said Augusta. And then—- “ And did your wife—"" . S

i “She asked me how it was to be done 2” answered Adam, understanding what Augusta had been about to say. “Yes, she asked me how it was to ‘be dene? and I said, that was her business, ‘only it must be done ; and it was done.” Lo :

And so this' good husband was, as he now expressed himself, perfectly satisfied. The truth was, that Margaret Burford, whose acquaintance we shall very shortly make, had gone from house to house, and, for her own ‘sake, had’ obtained that aid which was necessary to her husband, who was too well kngwn to be an object of sympathy to any.e . £ i And Rosalie’s purse-strings had been drawn for Margaret Burford, although Mistress Camelford knew it not.. To the latter lady; Majgaret had no thought of applying for asdistance; because she felt convinced it would have been refused. There was aishort silence between these two ; Mistress Camelford reflected for a few moments, and then” said abruptly—<“Why were you from your home on that cold and and dark January night ?” - The man hesitated, and leered with his odd eyes curiously at his interrogator. “Well, I—l don’t exactly rememher ; IButeaee?? 5 A - A

Mistréss Camelford lookéd, him.through and through with her .cold and piercing gaze as next she said—*“lt was only because you saw the man of whom you have spoken quitting our house so strangely and suspicmly, that you laid violent Hands upon im B : . ev%;im'n Burford leered more horribly than “What else should he want with the man P> He asked his questioner in a very bullying tone with which the young widow did not seem at all offended. ' Only she looked harder than ever at the man before her, and her thin lips parted with a meaning smile, and Burford’s odd eyes fell beneath her glance; and he was growing nervous and restless in his present company.. : Mistress Camelford was not mistaken in her thoughts .of this man, who had, in reality, left his home on thatvery dark January night, resolved to waylay any traveler whom it might be his luck to encounter. * ' The man whom Burford had caught de« scending from & window of Sir Jonas Rathborne’s xixa’.z_;sion, would prove an easy victim, he thought, since tll)mt man, whoever he might be, could have no lawful business there, and so would reéadily yield his money, if only to purchase silence from his assailant. s 3 oy

But we have seen how greatly, to his’own cost, Adam Burford had been mistaken, and I that Gresham, whén grappled with, had al- | lowed no opportunity for ga.rley. 2 “And fow. let me ask why you have come hither?” said Augusta, 1 ; “To see Sir Jonsis Rathborne; to tell him: |that some young gentleman is in the habit {of dropping from, the windows of his man|sion on to the shoulders of passers by; to ask for some compensation for having been {erippled for life in t‘ryin‘g to se&ulx;‘e 4 fellow ho certainly could be after nothing honest; and lastly, and above all,”—cried Burford, mow raising his voice and leering and scowling so ferociously, that even Mistress Camelford almost trembled, a 8 then she looked “Yes, lastly, and above all,”’ he repeated, “to discover whom it is I have to thank for

a broken leg, and for being Gompelled To hie in my bed and waste away till the clothes that uged to fit flicely are now like sacks upon me, and as I walk, I am compelled to hold them fast to keep them on my shrunkon limbs atall” = >

- “You have not then discovered the name of the man from whom you received your hurts ?” Mistress Camelford inquired. | ~ “No—no; I wishl had—l wish I had ! Burford growled and limped about the | room. Then, suddenly, as ke stopped near to Augusta, he shouted, entirely forgetting where and with whom he was, a._nd%.sh’ingﬁ his fist on one of the tables—“ But I will find out, I will, somehow, before long, learn who’Y the fellow was—l will !”? : “You shall,” Augusta said, quietly. ' - “Can you tell me ?*? e 5 “I can !” e e _ “Then do tell me, and make of me your slave, your abject slave, now and for ever *’ *Of courseé Augusta had not been long in who would fly to the poor young lady immediately she arrived in Flerence. One after another, all pronounced to be | most skilful physicin.s, were named -to “Very good, but he would try further,’’ Burford said ; and proceeded to read aloud. other names from the list of which he had possessed himself. - He thought that such s one might do—then that he would try another, whose skill had heen extolled to him by the person from whom he was seeking information—but he continued to read aloud name after name, till he had reached, and pronounced .aat of a Dottore Panizzi. : 35 i

“Have no thought of him,” eried the man whose opinion concerning ' the numerous physicians of Florence, Burford was then soliciting. ! . e “Dismiss him from your mind,” pursued this' man; “for Panizziis no doctor now, and I am surprised that his name has not been, before this, erased from the medical list.”? : i

“Indeed !—how is that!” Burford:asked., “He is a lESt man !’ was the reply; “and ’tis a pity, for he was considered to be very skillful in his prefession; but now, an out~ cast from all decent scciety; ‘and such a wretch has he become, thatif he could get more by killing a patient than by curing him, I can pre%ty well guess what would be the sick man’s! fate.” =

« *“Dear me! that is very shocking !” Burford exclaimed.- e : <

_ Then, havingZsaid that he mustisoon fix his choice upon some one amongst the physicians who had been recommended to him, ‘Adam Burford took his leave of the.man with whom he had ‘been conversing, and limped away and forward till he fmiﬁd himself before the miserable dwelling;place of the now fallen Dottore Panizzi. e

The -squalid woman who answered Burford’s inquiry, perfectly laughed at the'idea of his expecting to find the doctor at home, and referred him to a low drinking den in the neighborhood, as the place where Panizzi might always be found.

Burford soon arrived at this wine-shop, entered, and saw that it was crowded with low-looking men, for the most part sordidly attired, and with drink-soddened, and not over clean countensaiices. =

Thé man whom Buxford was seeking was there, and was pointed out to” him by the proprietor of this very far from select hotel, 50 Mistress Camelford’s agent walked forward till he had reached a table, which stood in a remote angle of the large, queer-ly-shaped roomi, at which four men, who might have been pronounced to have seen better days, werqscated, and playing with cards which, though very considerably soiled, were not a whit more foul than were the hands into which théy now had fallen. «

At one corner of this table was seated/a short, round, podgy man, who was wrangling with the three others to whom we have alluded, concerning some point-in the game which he and they were playihg}lz‘nen. ' - The podgy person was the fallen and de-. based Dottore Panizzi, once a smart, dapper; well-formed little man, but now with figure such as we have described it, and with a purple colored face, with, small, inflamed eyes, and with thick sensual lips, which debauchery had swollen even beyond their natural heaviness. .

This ' medicgl gentleman was shouting loudly and angrily, and with the very husky voice, which was one of the many heavy: penalties he was made to pay for an inordinate love of st ng drinks, when Burford, touching him « he shoulder, said:—“You are Doctor Pa. i}’ fo St

“You are a fooi!” was that gentleman’s husky answer. The other three men at the table laughed coarsely, and Panizzi told Burford to go elsewhere, that he had something to do'just then which he liked much better than attending patients.: ' | “You must, however, attend to me I? Burford said quietly. g ~ “Nonsense !’ cried Panizzi. “Cure yourself—or ' die, if you prefer it—only don’t bother me.” Sotte S

“You will do yoursélf a great wrong if yéu refuse yourself a few words with me in private.”” . ~ This was almost whispered to Panizzi, and Burford, as he spoke;:leered in his peculiar manner, and pointedly jingled the coins with which his pockets were well

Panizzi was on his feet in an instant, and Burford beckoned to him, and led' the way to a small, shabby room, which the ‘owner of this hotel had been ordered to prepare. . Wine was now placed upon the table; the door was next securely locked by Burford, and then these two men seated themselves, face to face, at the little round table, and lookeg hard, each at the other, for. several seconds, before another word was spoken by either of them. * ‘

At length, “Now, then, to business!”’ said Burford; who was the first. to break a silence. . ¢ : : And Burford proved? ‘hat he understood business, in the presen: -ase, at all events; and that he had ascertained the best way to deal with his present.customer; for this reliable agent proceeded to draw a bulky pocket-book from the inmner lining of -his vest, and to take from. it, and slowly and deliberately place, one by one, upon the ‘table, fifty golden gunineas—and then reclosed, and quietly returned the pocket-book to his vest. Sl ol Burford glanced first towards the money on the table, next at Panizzi, amdithgy again at the money—and Panizzi proved that he was not slow of comprehension, for the little doctor thrust his hands inte his pockets,.and said, very quietly and deliber~ ately— i “Yes; I should like that money ver} Well '.” Bl g Lo

“No doubt of it; therefore, listen !” said Burford. : ; R The physician placed his elbows on the table, and fixed his eyes on those fifty guineas. : = i “You have, perhaps, héard that there was lately in Florence an Englishman,an artist, named Arthur Gresham ?” o ~ “He is here. still 1! cried Panizzi, “and a great genius, it seems.”’ . - ‘ - “You are mistaken, he s no longer .in TFlorence !’ said Burford.. . . - . ' «But I tell you:he is!” exclaimed the other, “he bad been wounded when ' he arrived, and had soon after, it would gseem, bad news from England, was dangerously ill for a long time. but is now. recovered.” } “Indeed, you ake mistaken,” my good friend,’” was very quietly, yet: very signifi)ca.n_tly spoken by Augusta’s agent; “Arthur Gresham is dead.” L

Again a fixed look from the one,cand a restless leer from the other. = ° ' «Dead ? Oh! Arthur Gresham is dead? very good ;' but at present, I do not pre. cisely understand ?*’ Panizzi said very huskily. ik ; , T «Who should know better than you that Arthur Gresham, the artist; is dead—since you were his physician,” Burford boldly uttered. : i “You would have some trouble to conwvince me of that.”? : : ~ Burford pointed to the guineas on the table. . - : ‘ : - “Yeg," pursued, the doctor, “certainly. their evidence is n uximportant; but, at present, quite insufiicient to prove to me that I was the ?hynicjnnvef_‘ a man whom I ‘Have never yot beheld.” = ? “I assure you, my .t%o'od' friend, you, and only you, attended Arthur Grasham thicugh his illness, and that the 'young gentleman is now dead.” : Vel e - “I must have stronger evidence before I can belic e that!” exclaimed Panizgzi, swallowing a gl ss of wine almost every instant, and his voi:fégrowing‘ more and more lusky ‘ﬂtzmg rd he uttered. m m Burford again produced his pocketbock, el Me DV s towﬁﬁm already upon the table; and theri, as before, fho pockol-baok want back to its hidinglace, . i “Very well, I will beligye for the pregent,

&t any rate, vhat T wasTiis *Afthar “Gresh‘am’s physician, and that he is: dead,” Panigzi said; then, with a laugh, as ‘husky as 'hiaﬁech,_ he'added— - b ~ “The supposition is not very flatteriug to my =kill ; but he would not be, perhaps, the. first patient T had killed.” .-+ . “And ‘now,”' Adam Burford resumeds “now that you have at last rem 3 mbered that Arfrtimr Gresham- is dead, I reuire from you who were his' physician, 8 &rﬁﬁcﬁtew}{ich shallleave no doubt on the minds of certain pérsons w%c; are very anxious roncerning him; of hishaving positiveIv ceaged toexastys: = ol L

| Panizzi shook his head. .-~ . - “Tt is o dangerous piece of work you would have medo!” - - ¢ . o 0 ‘Burford again pointed towards the gold upen thetable, .= - & oeup 0 ko - “'Tis no use,” said Panizzi, in answer to that movement, “I can’t do it, nay, more, I won’t da it,”’ here he ‘spoke more loudly and more huskily; “for the money at present offaredyy HiE 0 S o e

“Ah ! you are very exorbitant,’”” growled Burford, and added thirty guineas more t 0 those -on the table; and those hundred guineas, after much haggling, Dottore Pan'i:i agreed to accept, and to write all that required of hiva.: .0 e s . “In the first place, Adam ‘Burford got from Panizzi a written acknowledgement of the money, which the doctor lost no time in gatheéring up from the table. - . That receipt was for the satisfaction of Burford’s employer, whohad said she would réquire it from bim, 5 o L The certificate which Panizzi wrote and - signed, set " forth that Arthur. Gresham’s wound, after having at one time seemed as’ if about to heal, had suddenly and fatally cha.niczi‘in its appearanée, and after deep. and lingering suffering, Arthur Gresham had died.. ‘He had not written to his wife, because he would not afflict: her with ‘the knowledge of his dangerous condition; and wag besides always hoping that it would sg§x_be a.nnouncegtorhim that he was i a, fair way of recovery. ' Arthur had grieved more for Rosalie than that he himself was about to die—knew she would never cease to think of him—had spoken tenderly of his little child—and of other mattors which could but give an air of truth to this atrocious lying certificate. : S S . Bu:&]x.gig, as soon as he had done with hini, left Panizzi to the enjoyment of the! hundred guineas; thelatter, however, soon lost the whole at the gaming table, and, in less than ‘three months, Dottore Panizzi had gone to his long account—his body was found floating in the river; -whether a suicide, or whether, in a fit of drunkenness, he: had stumbled into his watery grave, none could say. = c-oon e The packet which contained that certificate, and which Burford, imitating Panizzi’s serawl, had directed’ to Sir Jonas Rath‘borne, had ‘all the effect which Mistress Camelford and her agent were well assured it would'produee. & aol e na el ‘Rosalie wag struck to the heart; it seemed impossible she could survive this last, most terrible calamity. . 00l ok T -The fondest mother, the most devoted sister could not have lavished more care on those they loved, than Mistress Camelford bestowed on the heart-broken, and séemingly dying Rosalie; night and day was Augusta beside her cousin’s touch, watching and tending her. -~ =~ L 0 : “Will she live—oh!-will she live?” Sir Jonas would distractedly ask his niece, and praying Heaven to reward Augusta for her | ‘most loving care of his sweet darling Rosa~ lie; and Sir Jonas Rathborne’s niece wéuld reply to him: i Shyele sel “As earnestly as can you, dear uncle, de I hope that Rosalie may survive to us!”’ And that. hope was. sincere; for ‘should Rosalie now die, Mistress ‘Camelford would ‘ have labored ini vain for the:accomplishment of that perfect vengeance which ‘she meditated, and towards which but two steps had yet been taken on_ the- difficult road which must conduct her to its realization. = | .~ [rOBE gONTINUED'] - ” |

Profanity.

- We are emphatically in the age of profanity; and it seems’ to 1.8 that' we are on the topmost current. . One. cannot go on the" streets anywhere without ‘having his ears offended. with the vilest of words, and his reverénce shocked by.the most profane use of sacred nanies. ; Nor does it come from the. old or middle-aged-alone, for it is.a fact, as alarming as true, that the younger portion of the community are most proficientin the degrading language. Boys have an idea it is smart to swear; that it makes them: manly ; but there ne__vef'_’ was a greater mistake in the’ world, ' Men, even, those who f‘i swear|themselves, aré.disgusted with profunity in a youhg man, because they knowhow, | of all bad habits, this clings the most closely,. and increases with years. It is the most insidious of habits, growing on so invisibly that almost hefore one is aware he: becomes an accomplished curser. "0 - -

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ADDRESS:

Witson Sewing: Machnie Company, . CLEVELAND, OHIO.

| FOR SALEB BY - | D. NICODEMUS, e M,}RIAM, NOBLE COUNTY,IND. ' : - December 3, 1875-n 32-w 20 "/ : o!o o : No Blowing, But Actual Business! - AMMON ENYDER, .© ' Manufacturerof and Dealerin - . Harness, Bridles, . Whips, Brushes, | -Y. And everything pertaining toa ; ' First-Class Harness Shop, | * .Directly éast of theG. R. & N.I.R. R. g S ! : Sty £ i % : i + . AVILLA, : : INDIANA. it S s LREReIE 4 SR e iy gt - Trunks, Matts, UNCLE SAMCK HARNESS OIL, | “The proptietor challenges campetition, and wil. | ,hem,ﬂumtimam w tdn any who mAy; : FAVOR HIM WITH A OALL. e ’A g ﬁj,) 2 ix’ e”(jw S RSN i N «j“, X ‘ :wp_.;_: ._.,{;' F \); ’”“ »’ ‘.r ,= \ et iBT e ' WORK WARRANTED, = Lo e e A fended to. . Remember the Place: 0 eR e sR e rie i e Avila, ~ Dogombers, e