Ligonier Banner., Volume 23, Number 50, Ligonier, Noble County, 28 March 1889 — Page 7

. . N 9 . The Zigonier Banmer, . . . LIGONIER, 1 INDIANA. R RAt oT A 1T SO RSO OST R, Y T OP R Til B T THE QUILTING BEE.! ‘One winter by the Merrimae, some two-score years ago, 7 You could not see the fence-rails for the drifted heaps of snow; "“The flocks of chickadees would come and in the ' . the door-yard stand, e ‘Too hunger-tamed to fear the touch of e’en a boyish hand. 1 sat beside the kitchen fire; the chores at last were done; i The farmer’'s wife, unwilling, owned my tasks a rest had won. : ‘When down the road, all silver-sweet, the sleigh bells jingle came, : Pt .And through the frosty air I heard, thrice called

in ha'ste. my nazﬁe; ; Jlmperious a girlish voice: “Oh! John, be.quick,

for see, b ¥ou're wanted over at the Spragues! They've got a quiltin’ bee.” ¢ A quilting bee? I held my breath. ‘And pray, what good are you?"’ ) T heeded not the dame’s sharp tongue, she al--3 ways was ashrew; ' But coat and muffier hurried on, I sprang into the sleigh, And like the wind we flew along behind the

squire’s old bay. i R n A little hand stole into mine, alow laugh rippled

.. fleet, And mixed its music with the chimes so rollicking and sweet; ‘ Perhaps —perhaps—l kissed her cheek, the

merry blue-eyed maid, i : Perhaps we whispered loving words, but pace

we never staid 4 ; “Till at the Spragues’ our rein we drew, and . saucy Kate to me ; . ‘Said airily, “I've brought you, John, to Sally’s quiltin’-bee.” : “The house ¥#s gay with candlelight, the lamps

were all aglow, : £ ‘The ruddy flame came streaming forth across the shining snow. ‘The girls were sitting by the frame, their

- needles out and in o ‘Went flashing, flashing to and fro, through such - amerry din, You could scarcely hear yourself for fun, and

when the work was o'er, + - - ‘Then swift we piled away the chairs, and cleared

the kitchen floor, C And Unele Archie drew his bow across the

~ fiddle strings, : Amnd men and maids, we danced that night as if

our feet were wings. f My word! the very thought of that sets this old heartathrill, I'd dancy again as then I danced, and with a right good will, : 1t Kate could call me once again, as sweet as

sweet could be, G ne “‘Come, John, make haste, you're wanted Johfr, at Sally’s quiltin’-bee.”

But Kate, my Kate, for many a year, no mortal ears have heard " ‘The tones, which rang with melody, surpassing t any bird; ] The angels wanted hertoo soon: they always ! want the best; ; They take the one whose absence leaves an ] ache in every breast, L Her grave. is in the open gx):und, beneath the ‘ open sky, - / Right in the fair home meadow, where her father's people lie: ! And I have been a lonely man, and cumbered oft with care, = -And bowed beneath the burden that my darling used to share. : T little thought lrow soon the goldto ashen gray ; would be i “ Wurned darkly, when I went with Kate to Sally's 4 quilting-bee. } !

What's that, young man? You’ve come to say- ' that you and daughter Sue Sl Weuld like to join your hands for life—that she has promised you, In case her father will consent. ‘He will, the dear old dad,” i Bhe eries, and 'tis the same sweet way her darling mother had. : JAnd she, though not a touch to Kate, has dancing eyes of blue, ; -And cheeks that hide the dimples, where the , . blush comes peeping through. . : ‘Take her, young man, be good to her; if I have . had my day, i 4’ll not begrudge the happiness that seems to i point that way. But mueh I doubt if you will know the bliss that : fell to me, - WWhen Kate said ‘‘yes” that night we went to ; Sally’s quilting-bee. / 1 Y —Margaret E. Sangster, in Once Week. -

« A LOVE TALE.

«7The Sad, Touching Story of Mi-

riam Douglas.

Many years ago—so many that I do not icare to particularize—l was engaged in preparing for college, under the tuition of a * iclergyman in a small village in Eastern New * York. In the same place was a young ladies’ seminary at which, during several ‘months of the year, there were gathered " from seventy-five to one hundred young women.

| The son of a farmer in the vicinity, igjnorant of the world and unused to society other than such as was afforded by the +muscular girls of the sparse farming cem- . munity, it may easily be fancied that the seminary students seemed to me, with their fine dresses, their sprightly faces and en-

‘gaging manners, to be beings of a superior worder. They were, in my esteem, veritable ‘houris, unequaled in their charms and surpassing in their attractions. For months I was content with a distant “worship, To stand on the piazza of the “tavern” on Sunday mornings, and watch the long, double lines of youth, as they moved on their way to the church, was a felicity that for the time gratified mny most ardent expectations. At the outset my vision was so dazzled that I saw only a winding, sinuous line of exquisite color and beauty. Intime the glowing whole began to be resolved into details; black eyes and blue; golden avd raven locks; blondes and ‘brunettes; laughing mouths and sfender forms manifested themselves as single stars in a nebule under the inspection of a tele:scope. :

Many of the girls were commonplace in -appearance, and others became so only after long observation. Many of them were possessed of average charms, while there were -a half-dozen or so of superlative attractions. ‘One of this class attracted my especial notice, not merely on account of her beautiful face, graceful motions, and tall, slender figure, but mainly on account of a sadness that almost perpetually pervaded her countenance. Her hair was black as ink, her «complexion that of an octoroon, her eyes of a species of purple black, all of which was a sort of setting of mourning for the melan«holy face. Certain evenings at the seminary were given to social diversions, at one of which I made the acquaintance of the possessor of ‘the triste countenance. Her name was

Miriam Douglas. She was about seventeen years of age; and, as I later discovered, an accomplished singer, linguist and conversationalist. ! 5 She was soo unlike others in her appear--ance, 80 marked in her melancholy, so gen‘tle in her converse, and so brilliant at the plano, that I became powerfully attracted ‘to her, and when circumstances permitted we were together. Ido not now think that our acquaintance matured to the ripeness of twe,'on my part at least, and yet the liking I conceived for her was not remote from a profound affection. I think that my sympathy with her sadness, the mystery of her life, my respect for whatl saw to be a pure life and beautiful nature, may have approached in warmth and tenderness very near in appearance and the manner of exhi. bition to ardent love. ; No actnal declarations of passion were ever made. Bhe seemed to need me, to lean agninst me, and to prefer me to all others of my sex. If there was no actual announcement of love in words, it was suggested in lwkﬁu""&““‘v tones and 'thinly-vailed deSR B L o b ~ Wuen ‘Be time came that her school term of the seminary, All the other pupils had “*ﬁf%n’%wﬁ

gone and we were alone. 1 tried a score of times to say good-bye, but each time failed. “You will write me as soon as you get home?’ I asked. : “Yes; and you will answer, won’t you?”’ “Well, I must go. God bless you.” Her head dropped a little forward, her lips came close to mine; Ikissed them and went away. et TRy We exchanged letters with regularity and at short intervals. Her letters were restrained in tone, and often strangely at variance with the situation. She wrote of books, her occupation, the gossip of her friends. She seemed to be nervously apprehensive that she might touch the theme of the passions; she carefully avoided any allusions to our parting. It was in the spring when she went home, and in September following I received a letter from the school trustees of the town in which Miriam lived asking me to teach their winter school. They gave the number of pupils, the amount of the compensation, and closed with the hope that I would be able to accept the proposition. As I had been school teaching for several winters, in order to secure funds for a collegiate education, and the offer of the trustees wasan exceptionally good one, I at once wrote my ac--ceptance. ! v

The last day of November saw me in the town where the school was located. The region was in the high uplands that border the Mohawk valley. I had reached it by a long and tiresome stage road which passed from a little railway station down by the river, up through narrow rifts in the hills, and across rocky and - rugged heights. It was a poor region, in which limestone rocks often appeared at the surface. The fields were small, and almost covered with bowlders: the infrequent houses were tumbling, unpainted; the fences were of rotting wooden rails, or of piled-up stones.

It was a wretched, sterile, forbidding scene. Some dwarfed sumachs, with their scant verdure yellowed by frosts, rattled their thin branches in the autumn wind. Stunted hemlocks, with dead tops, stood likke half-clad skeletons among the crevices of dark, bald rocks. Nowhere was there any thing cheerful, inspiriting or suggestive of promise. Had it not been for the thought that this inhospital place was the hpme of Miriam I should have turned about and returned to civilization.

I found the residence of one of the trustees, and was informed that I was to “board around,” that is, bo remain a week at each of the homes of the patrons of the school. The prospects of this method of living, in view of the nature of the country, as I had seen it, were not in the least promising. ‘The trustee whom I met informed me that I might commence my term by spending the first week with him. ‘“How are the Douglases?’ I asked.

. “They are all well, I believe. We do not see much of them. You know, I suppose, that it was through Mr. Douglas that we heard of you?” ! “Isuspected as much. Ihad a slight acquaintance with his daughter when she was away to the seminary. How far does he live from here?” : “It’s about six miles. It’s about the last house you will visit in your boarding round.”’ b

The school was opened the next day. It forms no part of the purpose of this narration to relate any details of my school experience. I sent a note to Miriam announcing my arrival in the neighborhood, and my intention to call on her the next Saturday. The note was carried by a boy who I found lived in the neighborhood of the Douglas farm. A couple of days later I received an answer from Miriam in which she expressed pleasure at my arrival and the hope that I would ‘visit them on the day named, ; n

The following Saturday was the odd one on which there was no session of the school, and on the morning of that day I -secured information as to the loéation ©f the Douglas farm, and started for it on foot. It was a wretched country over which I passed. The roads were buried in snow, the fences were effaced, great drifts barred my way, and a savage north wind steadily beat against me. The sky was leaden and sullen, the roar of the gale through the leafless branches was filled with suggestions ominous of evil. ;

Struggling through some woods, I reached the further side, and saw before me a vast stretch of rolling land, near the center of which was a farm house with its barns and outbuildings. It was a wooden house painted white, of two stories, and was by far the most pretentious residence of the hill region. In the white level of the snowy: plain, with nothing to interrupt the monotony, it was cold and ghostlike. i In response to my knock the door opened, and Miriam herself appeared. Her dark face flushed and then paled as she saw me. She extended both her haonds, seized mine and shook them with heartiness.

€O, it is you! Comein! I’m very glad to see you!”

As I entered Iplaced my arm about her shoulder and drew her near me. She resisted a little, and then swayed toward me with a sweet, yielding grace. I touched her forehead with a listless kiss, and then we went in. )

The interior of the house afforded evidences of prosperity. There were a piano, some pictures of the better class and various other evidences of cultivation and wealth, Aslhad learned Farmer Douglas ‘was the possessor of great wealth, much of which had come to him by inheritance. He was a man of about half a century, slender, slightly stooping, thin locks, with a careworn face.

At the table there appeared Mr. Douglag, Miriam and a younger brother. ; “Is Mrs. Douglas ill%’ I ssked.

“My mother is,” responded Miriam, with hesitation and marked confusion. “My mother is—"?

“Pardon me; I did not know. I am very awkward. Don’t say any more.” A dead silence followed, and a perceptible feeling of restraint and embarrassment fell on the family. After the supper we all went into the parlor, where, after awhile, Miriam and myself were left alone. I recall that evening with profound regret. 'We were both hesitating, reticent and timid atthe outset. Miriam had changed but little. She was charming as when I had known her at the seminary; if there were any difference it was that the habitual sadness of her face and the somber melancholy of her splendid eyes had grown more intense. It could not be a lack of health, for she was the incarnation of viger and perféction of form. However, I soon ceased to notice this quality, being absorbed by her conversation, her changeful, winning face, and the tenderness which permeated her tones. She was exquisite that evening as we chatted in low voices and looked unutterable things into each other’s eyes. A half dozen times was I on the point of asking her to marry me, for I felt she was willing to throw herself into my arms. Why I did not speak I can not tell; it must have been theresult of a decree of fate, VI It was late when I retired. The wind was tearing by, straining the timbers and joints of the house and twisting the tree tops outside the windows of my room. There were acreaking of doors, a groanlng of window frames, all of which, combined with the intermitting swishing of the winds and the dash of snow against the house—like the thud of waves against a ship in a storm—made the night suggestive of the orgies of devils and witches. : . Disturbed by the clamor of the storm, and recalling the deliciouseess of the hours spent with Miriam, I was long in falling asleep. It seemed as if had been slumber-mg-?mi;mre than & moment when Iwas suddenly roused to consciousness by what seemed the hoarse shriek of a woman's voice somewhero out in the storm. Ilistvitht stralned ear and Heart beating

the darkness, and with. diabolical’ effect mingled in the discord of the gale. Again and again the voice came shrieking through the tumult of the storm—now a simple scream, and then awful oaths and blasphemies as if the utterances of some damned soul. ’

I rose, went to the window, and looked out. The air was filled with swift-flying clouds of snow. A faint light in the east indicated that the day was dawning. Directly in front of my window could be dimly seen a small building of a single story which had the appearance of an outhouse such as is seen about farm' houses, and which might have been a wood-shed, a summer-kitchen or some other structure. :

As Ilistened to the incessant shrieks, it seemed that they came from this outbuilding. It was awful beyond conception. The voice, although hoarse, was unmistakably that of a woman. e :

Inside the house in which I stood it was quiet as the grave. They evidently heard nothing of the calling through the storm. Were they prostrated by some spell?- -

‘“Some woman is being murdered.” I thought. ‘‘Perhaps it is robbers, who have killed the father and son and are now trying to finish the daughter.”” With feverish haste I put on my clothing, raised the window, and sprang out, calling: ‘I am coming.”” Irushed toward the little build ing, hearing still the screams, to which was added the rattle of a chain. ‘ There was a small window in the outhouse on the side nearest me, which I broke in with a blow from a stick of stovewood that lay inthe vicinity. Ipushed my face close up to the window and was almost struck by another face that at the same instant was thrust into the opening. Idrew back with an exclamdtion of horror; it was the head of a woman with long locks of gray that writhed about her head and face like the twisting snakes on the head of Medusa, and which, like that fabled fury, turned me into stone.

The complexion was as black as that of a negress, the face long and emaciated, the cheeks ‘sunken, while the eyes from the depths of their deep sockets shone with an infernal glare. Her neck was naked, revealing the sheaths ot protuberant cords and veins, while her shoulders were the bones of a skeleton. She clutched at me through the little window, with arms that were covered only with skin, and fingers like claws. As she moved frantically forward and back 1 could hear the rattle of a chain. - :

All this time she chattered incessantly, sometimes in inarticulate screams and then in well-shaped curses and blasphemies that rolled out with the speed of light. There were foam and blood on her lips, and her opened mouth revealed a cavity in which could be seen rows of fiery-red gums without any teeth. I was gazing with inexpressible horrotr on this naked, bony, infuriated wretch, when suddenly, something in her expression at a moment when her contortions subsided an instant, gave the outlines of—Miriam! AIl flashed over me in a second; it was her mother.

The vacant seat at the table, the brooding sadness of Miriam, her resemblance to the maniac, explained the entire situation; and with it came the overwhelming conviction that Miriam must follow in the footsteps of the unfortunate mother. For a few moments my soul was rent by conflicting emotions—to remain and as best I could lighten her journey to the madhouse, or fly. That the inmates of the house were so accustomed to the situation that they were not even disturbed in their slumbers by her shrieks and execrations proved that the case was one of long standing, : With remorse tugging at my heart I turned into the wood, and as I went her curses rung in my ears;jand even to this day they often intrude uppn my dreams and frighten sleep away as they did that night at the farm home of Farmer Douglas. I gave up the school immediately and returned to my native town. .

Once, some twenty years ago, I made inquiries of the whereabouts of Miriam Douglas. They told me that she was long since dead. S

NoTE—Lest some people may doubt the fidelity of the picture of the insane wife, it may be said that a generation ago this manner of treating the insane was not uncommon in the remoter farming communities. The description is founded on personal observafion.—Poliuto, in Chicago Herald.

NEW YORK FASHIONS. { Demi-Season Costu_m—e; and Millinery for House and General Use. Many women threatened to vanish wholly under the gigantic La Tosca and Directoire round hats at the be-: ginning of the seasom, and now a pretty face looks all the prettier and a plain face much more attractive when framed in one of the elegant close princess bonnets or toques that are at present the rage. S Velvet continues to be the most fashionable material for full dress, and the varieties of trimming for welvet gowns are exceedingly rich, including pearl passementeries, sable and other expensive fur bands, jet arabesques en applique, ostrich-feather borders, and rare laces. :

A toilet to be wornin Washington is in raspberry velvet, the train lined with tea-rose satin. The petticoat is of the satin ' embroidered with opal, pink, pearl, and emerald beads. The gown is in Directoire style, and a second toilet in the same fashion, is made of moss-green velvet, the front of white satin brocade figured with scattered daisies with gold-yellow ceuters and pale green foliage. Some of the lovely pale-tinted satin brocades for evehing wear have very novel and artistic designs. A pale blue satin gown is figured over with a representation of silver snowflakes, another simulates white ribbon stripes, and still another pattern shows nasturtiums in subdued old tapestry tints and in their natural size, on a ground o} pale silver-gray. A handsome pattern has bouquets of mignonette in its nat. ural tints, tied with narrow very pale pink ribbons, on a cream-satin ground, Most of these new fabrics are as exquisite in design and shading as i executed in water colors.

Handsome tea gowns are made of Roman-red satin, figured with black flowers, enriched by wide stripes of black velvet. These Pompadour-striped fabrics are very elegant in effect, and extremely becoming. A gown made of this particular stripe opens down thg front over a blouse and petticoat ot black chantilly lace, through which gleams an underskirt of plain vivid red satin.

Stripes and plaids are still a mark ed ‘ feature of soft woolen goods. They are seen among many of the spring *‘suit- { ‘ings” ‘imported for entire costumes, 'and, next to the bordered goods, are the favorite designs for fabrics to be combined with’' plain woolens. The Hungarian stripes introduced late in ‘the autumn are repeated in lighter and more varied colorings, though the siripes are wider. These goods are in _heavy cloths for present use, and also ‘appearin light weights of camel’s hair ‘and English serge fov uses later on. They are made up in elegant tailor style, with a coat en suite of plain ~cloth, made of one shade of ths stripe or plaid, and braided in the shade of its alternating or contrasting color,. ‘This will form a popular demi-season L‘ﬁéﬁmé"ﬁr.;tr&veiin‘*fa«;..qhoppine; and SR Bl P s e D e

I ['OR OUR YOUNG READERS. ; : 3 - OUR “QUEEN OF HEARTS.” * IXknowa little fairy, s ‘ I have named her ‘“Queen of Hearts;” She's sweet and bright and winsome, And — do fairies trundle carts? Do they talk like grown-up folks? : Do they tell of their affairs? : How with measles, oroup and maids, . They are guite worn put with cares: Do they pet and squeeze the kitten Till it squeals outright for air? : Do they wear a silken ribbon In their soft and sillken hair? ‘When they talk of Christmas gifts — The jollylittle elves} — Do they wish a echambegr-set And a big room to themselves? When tired out with make-believe Their brain begins to whirl, Do they climb your lap and say= *T’ll be your little girl?”’ : —Helen Bird,n} Our Little Men and Women. : BENNY’S FAITHFULNESS. How He Bravely Cared for His Little Sister: “Tt don't seem as though I ought to leave you, Benny.” |- “Ho, mother! such a big boy as me!” “‘But little Kitty—' “Ho! I could take eare of her if there was half a dozen of her.” Still mother felt uneasy. She went and took another look into the little cupboard to see if she could wait a little longer. But the small bit of bacon and the meal in the| bag did not look any larger than they had looked before. And she knew that there were very few potatoes left. - Father was away at workin the lumber camps, and might be home almost any time, for the winter was drawing to a close. But if| a sudden storm should arise, they %vould be without any-thing to eat. | I don’t dare to risk it,” she said. ‘lt is such a mild day—thawing, don’t you see, Benny?—that I can easily walk around the lake. And Uncle Robert will bring me and the things back in his sleigh. You canjtake Kitty out on your sled to-day. And don’t you let her out of your sight.” “I won’t, I won't,” called Benny after her, as they stood in the doorway waving their hands. | ‘““Now I'll give you some good coasting, Kitty,” said nny. ‘“We'll go down the hill just kitin’.” He brought his sled and they had a merry time. The little frame house was built on a high bank close by the lake. At the top of this Benny started his sled and it went ‘kitin’,” sure enough, down, down, down, and far out on the deep snow which lay over the ice. But at length the snow, under the beams of the afternoon sun, became too soft, and Benny took Kitty into the house. | ‘‘Now, we'll watch for mother, Kitty. She can’t be he%e yet, though. It must a’ been hard walking as the snow got soft, and four miles is a walk and no mistake. But you’re never lonely with me, Kitty. Nog indeed. T'll tell you some stories.” Ido believe it's getting cold again,” said Benny, stepping out to take a look for mother. ‘“Whew—l guess ’{is! Takes hold and bites.”

Benny gladly got put of the way of the wind. Old Boreas and Jack Frost had taken alittle vacaticn lately, but had surely begun to|attend to business again. They were [flying over wood, hill and prairie gathering a cold breath from every snowy bank and icy lake. g

“I hope mother won’t try to get back to-night,” said Benny to himself. “It's 'most as bad as last winter’s blizzard, only not snowing.” S “We don’t mind a bit if mother doesn’t come, do we, Kitty?” he said, “I’ll go and feed old Brickdust, and then we'll have supper.” » *See what I've got, Kitty!” he cried in great glee ashe camein. ‘I thought every ear of corn was gone, but I found this 'way down in a corner. I'll pop some for you, Kitty, Won’t that be a regular {rolic?” : Kitty fretted a little as she grew sleepy, but Benny| coaxed and petted her until the pretty, curly head sank on his shoulder. He carried her to the bed and kissed her very tenderly as he covered her. How lonely the little fellow felt as the wind roared about the house.

As the fierce wild gusts beat more and more heavily upon it, he wondered if his mother|was safe, and what he should do if the house should blow away. :

“I'd just hold on|to little Kitty,” he whispered, as he crept closely to her side.

“I'm so cold, so'cold!” cried Kitty, when she awoke in the morning. *Never mind, Kitty! I'll make a good fire.” . . .

Benny’s fingers rew stiff as he built it. but he did not mind that when the Tire blazed and crackled. - : ““Hear it roar, Kitty! Won't we be warm now?” He brought her near it, and dressed her |while they talked about mother’s coming back. “But—how it does roar! What's the matter?” Benny ran out o} doors. With his first glance at the low roof his heart stood still.: No wonder it roared! Half the roof was in a blaze, fanned by the cruel wind.| “Fire! Fire!” But no help was near. He seized Kitty and ran with her to old Brickdust’s stable. One or two other runs he made into the burning house, bringing out all the clothing and bedding he could find. Then the roof fell in, and nothing more could be saved. - He put Kitty’s cloak and hood upon her, wrapped the bedclothes about her, and geated her on & bunch of hay. He looked wistfully across the lake at the little villaga. ‘ : e ~ “If we were only over there! When ~will mother come®” : ~ The surface of the lake sparkled in the sunlight. The snow was frozen ‘into & crust as solid asice. G e “If I could only draw Kitty out there!” he said; but he knew that in such a wind both might be lost. ~ Heftried to fasten the sheet over the ‘window to keep the wind from Kitty; but_it blew about so_ that he_could T Rl e wﬁﬁw*am@‘%@%

With fingers aching and smarting with the cold, he nailed to his hand-cled a mast which he had made for his rowboat, and soon had his ice-boat ready. “Now, Kitty, I'm going to give you the finest ride you ever had in your life.”

Very carefully he wrapped the little one and seated her on the sled. He gave old Brickdust plenty of hay, seat~ ed himself behind Kitty, and seized his sail-ropes. : . - “Now, Kitty, hurrah!™

The sail flapped wildly, and Benny could scarcely keep his breath. Down the hill they went like a flash of lightning, and shot out upon the glistening lake. :

A man 1= the village, who had seen what might have been taken for a white-winged bird, came toward them. *lt's father!” screamed Benny. ‘

He took the little travelers to Uncle Robert’s, where mother was getting ready to go home. , Poor Benny’s hands were frozen, but his darling little sister was as safe as when his mother had left her in his faithful care. — Sydney Dayre, in Youth’s Companion. , '

FORCE OF HABIT.

How We Unconsciously Perform Acts . Which Have Become, to Us, by Frequent Repetition, a **Second Nature.”

Not habits exactly, but habit. You are accustomed to hear mueh.of the former word. Every body says ‘‘Such a man has bad habits,” meaning that he drinks, or swears, or profanes the Lord’s Day. ‘Such a man has good habits,” meaning the reverse of thae other.

Habit is something persisted in. It is the tendency we have to do a thing the second time because we have done it the first; the third time because of the second, until—as says the proverb: ‘“‘Habit becomes a second nature,” the silken thread becomes a’cable which we can not break. : .

If you come to think of it, this applies to things important and. unimportant, if any thing in life may be called that. I know a man whom on Sundays and week night prayer-meet ings, walks up the zisle in a little, old. fashioned country church. The seats are arranged so that he faces theaudience in coming in. When about half way up the aisle he always begins to finger a ring which he wears on the left hand. 1] have watched him many times, and never knew him to fail. Now I think that began in a feeling of shyness, but he is no longer shy; the action is entirely unconscious, it has become habitual. ' . One summer, I used to notice a minister who often passed my window. A tall, dignified-looking man without his hat, but he invariably set that hat on his head tilted just a little, in a somewhat rakish manner, Perhaps it was foolish, but I sometimes thought 1 might like to hear him preach, if he would only wear his hat upright.

I know another minister who has hard work to preach without putting his hands in his pockets. kvery now and then a hand slips in without his thinking, and he snatches it out hurriedly; I suppose as a boy he must have carried his hands in his pockets a great deal. You have seen people who sit on the edge of chairs, who twirl their fingers, who never keep still all over; ways continued long after the shyness and. nervousness which caused them have passed away. This shows that habit can touch very small things, and those avhich have no moral quality. There can be a habit in the way each one walks the streets, or wears his clothes, and let me say here that you can be nice and particular about such things without the slightest danger of growing up a ‘‘dude.” .

The great things of life result from little things more often than we think. “From little, oft repeated, much will rise.” What you do to-day is the added-up account of the little words and ways of all the yesterdays. That is an old story of the merchant who dismissed a boy who applied for work. As the lad went out he stooped and picked up a pin. The shrewd merchant called him back and :employed him. <¢‘He will be careful and economifcal,” he said. ‘‘Phew!” you say, ‘‘any body can pick up a pin.” Surely, but not. every body does. You may be -fairly certain he had done it before, if- he did it when under the stress of disappointment. I know educated men who always say ‘‘year” instead of ‘‘years.” ‘I was fifty year old on such a day.” If you were to ask them, they would admit the mistake; they know better, but you see they have made that mis. take all the way up from boyhood, and do not think of it now unless reminded. ; : -

You will catch my thought. I did not wish to talk this time about great habits, but rather of the tendency to repetition in what may seem of little moment. It will please me if you make an application of my words. You can think of illustration after illustration; but pray do not look for them entirely among your neighbors. Watch yourselves awhile. Ask yourselves, each, ‘““What have I done to-day, which, if done to-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow, will make me grow up to be disagreeable, untidy, discourteous, unreliable, tardy,” not to mention the names of all ‘‘the little foxes tinat spoil the vines.” Ask also what little ways you have, which, repeated and repeated, will become a second nature ol truth and courtesy and nestness, and all desirable traits. Look asfairly and squarely at yourselves as if you were ‘‘that other boy.” : If I mistake not, you will find muck to correct, but I think, too, you wil find some things to encourage. Remember that high motive dignifies small endeavor; you must climb the i little hills to reach the mountain’s top. “‘Sow an act, and you reap a habit; son ‘a habit, and you reap a character; sow a character, and you reap a destiny.”— N, Y. Observer. = ' o ~—A letter was regelved at the execu tive office in Atlants which ought t« B eok e among the 06 3?13“ W‘ f%l Griswe z%;‘ﬁ

wiLOIMacLS LlVer LUTe The Most Astonishm%Medma.l Discovery of the Last One Hundred Years. : It is Pleasant to the Taste as the Sweetest Nectar. It is Safo and Harmless as the Purest Milk. This wonderful Nervine Tonic has only recently been introduced into this country by the Great South American” Medicine Com&any, and ﬁt its Freat value as a curative agent has long been known by the native inhabtants of South America, who rely almost wholly upon its great medicinal powers to cure every form of disease by which they are overtaken. , This new and valuable South American mediaine possesses powers and qualities hitherto unknown to the medical é)rofession., Thigmedicine has completely solved the problem of the cure o Indigestion, Dyspepsia, Liver Complaint and diseases of the general Nervous System, Tt also cures all forms of failing health from whatever cause. It performs this by the Great Nervine Tonic qualities which it possesses and by its great curative powers upon the (?gestwe organs, the stomach, the liver and the bowels. No remedg compares with this wonderfully valuable Nervine Tonic as a builder an strengthener of the life forces of the human body and as a great renewer of & broken down constitution. It isalso of more real permanent value in the treatment and cure of diseases of the Lungs than any ten consumption remedies ever used on this continent. It is a marvelous cure for nervousness of females of all ages. Ladies who are approaching the critical period known as cha.n%e in life should not fail to use this great Nervine Tonic almost constantly for the §lPace of two or three years. It will ca,rr¥sthem safely over the danger. his great strengthener and curative 1s of inestimable value to the aged and infirm, because its great energizing properties will give them a new hold on life. It will add ten or fifteen years to the lives of many of those whowill use a half dozen bottles of the remedy each year. 5

=IO T R B S —t—. | Nervousness and Broken Constitution, : Nervous Prostration, _ -Debility of Old Age, i Nervous Headache and ’ - Indigestion and Dyspepsia, Sick Headache, Heartburn and Sour Stomach, Female Weakness, . Weight and Tenderness in Stomach, All Diseases of Women, - Loss of Appetite, - Nervous Chills, Frightful Dreams, Paralysis, - Dizziness and Ringing in the Ears, Nervous Paroxysms and Weakness cf Extremities and Nervous Choking, .. Fainting : ) ; Hot Flashes, ' ' Impure and Impoverished Blood, Palpitation of the Heart, Boils and Carbuncles, Mental Despondency, Scrofula, ' Sleeplessness, - Scrofulous Swelling and Ulcers, St. Vitus’s Dance, - Consumption of the Lungs, Nervousness of Females, %L Catarrh of the Lungs, : ; Nervousness of Old Age, Bronchitis and Chronic Cough, Neuralgia, L Liver Complaint, - Pains in the Heart, - Chronic Diarrheea, i Pains in the Back, . = Delicate and Scrofulous Children, Failinig Health, : Summer Complaint of Infants. . é‘ll these and many other complaints cured by this Wonderful Nervine Tonis

NERVOUS DISEASES. - __ Asa cure for evell\']y class of Nervous Diseases, no remedy has been able to compare with the Nervine Toniec, which is very pleasant and harmless in all its effects upon the youngest child or the oldest and most delicate individual, Nine-tenths of all the ailments to which the human family is heir, are dependent on nervous exhaustion and impaired digestion. When there is an insufficient supply of nerve food in the blood, a general state of debility of. the brain, spinal marrow and nerves is the result. Starved nerves, like starved muscles, become strong when the right kind of food is supplied, and & thousand weaknesses and ailments disappear as the nerves recover. As the ¢ nervous system must supply all the power by which the vital forces of the body are carried on, it is the first to suffer for want of ﬁerfect nutrition, Ordinary food does not contain a sufficient quantity of the kind of nutriment necessary to repair the wear our %resent modse of living and labor imposes upon the nerves. For this reason it becomes necessary that a nerve food be supplied. ' This recent production of the South American Continent has been - found, by analysis, to contain the essential elements out of which nerve tissue is formed. This accounts for its magic power to cure all forms of nervous derangements. : \ : :

‘#4#. CRAWIORDSVILLE, IND., Aug. 20, 868, > o the Great South American Medicine Co.: * DEAR GENTS:—I desire to say to you that I have suffered for many years with a very serfous disease of the stomach and nerves, I tried every medicine I could bear of buf nothing done me any appreciable good until I was advised to try xour Great South American Nervine Tonic and Stomach and Liver Cure, and ginca using several bottles of it I must say that I am surprised at its wonderful powers to cure the stomach and general nervous system. If everyone knew the value of this remedy as I do, you would not be able fo supply the demand. ; J. A. HABDE%O' ‘ Ex-Treas. Montgomery 3

A Sworn Cure for St. Vitus’s Dance or Chorea.

CRAWFORDSVILLE, IND., May 19, 1836, My daughter, twelve years old, had been affilcted for several months with Chorea or St. Vitus’s Dance. Shewasreduced to a skeleton, could not walk, could not talk, could not swall})kw anything but milk; I had to handle her ean infant. Doctor and neighbors gave her up. I commenced giving herthe South American Nervine Tonic, the effects were very surprising. In three daysshe was rid of the nervousness, and rapiily improved. Four bottles cured her completely. I think the South American Nervine the grandest remedy ever discovered, and would recommend it to everygget. Tkl Mzs. W. 8. ENSMINGER. vale o Inaia J{ontgoma'?vd' G’ountyi e ' Subscribed ard sworn to before me this May 19, 1837. CHas, M. TrAVIS, Notary Public.

INDIGESTION AND DYSPEPSIA.

The Great South American Nerwine Tonic Which we now offer Em is the only absolutely unfailing remedy ever discow ered for the cure of Indigestion, nyspepsia, and the vast train of symptoms and horrors which are the result of disease and debility of the human stomach. No perscn can afford to pass by this jewel of incalculable value who is affected by disease of the Stomach, because the experience and testimofy of thousands g 0 to prove that this is the oNE and ONLY ONE great cure in the world for this universal destroyer. There isno case of unmalignant disease of the stomach which can resist the wonderful curative powers of the South Anmerican Nervine Toniec. { s

Harriet E. Ball, of Waynetown, Ind., says: “T owe my litentg"rhe Great South _Amßrlcan Nervine. Ihad beenin bed for five months from the effects of an exhausted Stomach, Indigestion, Nervous Prostration and a general shattered condition of m¥ whole ?fstem. Had Even up all hopes of ge til}g well. Had tried doctors with no relief., The first bottle of the Nervine Tonio imgzoved me so m‘t)lgt that I was able to walk about and a few bo tles cured me enﬁroﬁ: I believe if the best medicine in the world. I cannot recommend t too highly. -

* Mrs, M. Russell, Sugar Creek Valley, Ind., writes: ¢TI have used several bottles of The ‘SBouth American Nervine Tonic and will say I consider it the best medicine in the world. I believe it saved the lives of two of my children. They were down and nothirxéﬁ ap) ed to de them any good until I procu t_hg remsody. It was very surprising how rapidly they both improved on its use. I recommend the medicine to all my neighbors

'EVERY BOTTLE WARRANTED. §&7-Sold by ELDRED & CO., sud all druggigts at Ligo nier, Ind. Price of large, 18-ounce bottle, $1.5. Trial size, 15 Cents. . o : L \

nas revolutionized the world [NVENTIUNdunng the last half ceatury, . Not least among the wonders of inventive progress is a method and system of work that can be gerformed all over the country without separating the workers from their homes, Pay liberal; ang' one can do the work; either sex, young or old; no special abilIty required. Capital not needed; you are started free. Out this out and return to us and we will send you free, somethinﬁ of great value and importance to m)u. that will start you in business. which will bring you in more n;_mn? right away, than anything else in the world, Grand outfit free. Address TRUE & Co,, Aue gusta Maine. L ; 3:411-5"‘ 2 , DLV Learn here and eßrngoot. TEESRAPHL s - @ Write VALENTINE BEOS., Janesvillo, Wis.

Mr. Solomon Bond, & member of the Societ} of Friends, of Darlington, Ind., sasys: “] haw used twelve bottles of The Great South Amey ican Nervine Tonic and Stomach and Livg Cure and I consider that every bottle did f me one hundred dollars worth of good, be cause I have not had a good night’s sleep foi twenty years on account of irritation, pain horrible dreams and general nervous prostra tion, which has been caused by chronic indi gest.ion and dyspe&sgia of the stomach and by ¢ roken down condition of my nervous system But now I can lie down and sleep all night & sweetly as a baby, and I feel like asound m: I do not; think there has ever been a medica introduced into this mun%which will at compare with this Nervine Tonic as a cure fd the stomach,” ‘

. * CrAWFORDSVILLE, IND., June 22, 188%. My daughter, eleven years old, was severe}} afflicted with St. Vitus’s Dance or Chorea. Wi gave her three and one-half botiles of Soutd American Nervine and she is completaly rex stored. I believe it will cure every case of S Vitus’s Dance. I have kept it in my family fof two years, and am sure it is the greatest renx edy in the world for Indi%estion and Dys sia, all forms of Nervous Disorders and Fam Health from whatever cause, - - S JouN T. MisH. Btate of Indiana, : Montgomery C'ountyf 8 : : : Subscrfbed and sworn to before me this Junt 22, 1887, CHAS, W. WRIGHT, e Notary Publio.

Mrs, Ella A, Bratton, of New Ross, Indy says: *“I cannof express how much lowe fo the Nervine Tonic, My system was completely shatte appetite. gone, was coughing an¢ sgttinx;%p bqood, an%guer'e I was in the fi stage o consnmptic;gt an inheritance hand down througlh several generations, I begag faking the Nervine Tonic and continued ia use for aboub six months, and am entire cured. Tt is the grandest rémedy for nerves, stomach and lungs I have ever seen.” - Ed J. Brown, druggist, of Edina, M writes: #My health hatf]s been v poorfa years, wascoug'h,lnf severely. - I only weigh 110 pounds when I commenced g Sous American Nervine, I have used two bottl and now weigh 130 pounds, and am muchk stronger and better than have been for b years, Am sure would not have lived through the Winter had I not secured this remedy. M3y customers see what it has done for me and buag it eagerly. ' It gives great satisfaction”

. Wheee Are You Golng? Whan @9 you sdart? Whiee trem? How mam . n youw ’wn What amount of freight of hagsage Ravh yout Whaet route do you prefes! Fron veosips of mtothoabon-gn m,uwmnffmma.nnoxn;:n-.» o the lowent e toB, ale uar. time el tables,pam paioss, or S 8 AN TOB LR otber vain . ablo nform- § ¥ -lmrs.‘,- = & gation whial wili save trouble, tine and money. Agents wik . zall fn psrson where heosssary. Parties mel ~”‘,M” tuLs A o W , B% : e