Saturday Evening Mail, Volume 5, Number 29, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 16 January 1875 — Page 6

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THE MAIL

"A PAPER FOR THE* PEOPLEP*1

TWO VISIONS.

I saw her in the stately dance Move proudly, like a HOT perfect head was raised, her glance

Wa« steadv, calm, Herene. I said, "Would that the world of such were t'ull, For she la very beautiful!"

I saw her by the low bedside Of sickness gently move Upon her face no look of prido

But sympathy aud love. I said," Would that the world ofsuen were f*»u. Kor she Is more than beautiful.

One Too Many.'

BY CHRISTIAN ItEID.

Author of Valerie Aylmer" "Morton Home,' Ross Beverley's Pledge," etc.]

CHAPTER V.—Continued. The young man did not apologizo for his strange and abrupt ap oarance. llo ilid not even uttor any ordinary salutation, but camo forward with a paleness on iiis tace and a look in his eyos which node both Hortenso and Mr. Deverell start, each thrilled by the fenr that he was the bearer of some terrible tidings.

Where is Esther he asked, with a rini! of quick excitement in his voice, addressing Miss Kalaton without any )refaco whatever. "Whore has alio gouo? What does she mean by such folly? 1'ray excuse rue," as ho caught tho astonishment in her glance I should not have so startled you. Dut I am responsible for Esther, and how shall I ever forgive myself if any hnrm befalls her?" ''Harm?" repeated Mr. Deverell, beforo Hortenso could speak. What do y«u mean? Have yon heard anything from Mi Kien -h? Do you know anything about her?"

I have received this letter," the young man answered, taking from his pocket Esther's missive written the uight befoie. "I should have had it some time ago, but I left tnr hotel very early this morning, and did not return till within the last hour. Then I found .this awaiting me and as soon I read it, I came off here, eagor to tell Esther what absurd folly she lias written, but the servant below met me with the information tiiat she went out at daybreak and has not returned since. Is it possible,'' turning again to Hortense, "that it is true?"

Yes, it is true," Miss Ralston answered, more gently than she had sjokon yot. "It is very strange, Mr. Byrne. I do not understand it at all. Miss Froneh left the house this morning— very early this morning, as William told vou and although it is now three o'clock, she has not returned orsent any message to explain her absence."

Uut where has she gone?" demanded tho young man, impatiently. "She has not'told me, but surely she has told you. My poor little Esther!" he cried, With a sudden thrill of tenderness breaking through the impatience of his voice. "She must be mad to think of going away from me—me, to whom she belongs."

She had an intention of going away, then?' sa Mr. Devcrell, a little sharply. "Is that what vou mean to imply?" "I know very little," the other answered "but I feared something of this kind from her letter, though tho actual news came to me with a great shock, lint, of course, it is tho foolish act of a sick child—of course it is easy to discover Where she has gono."

Hortense. at whom ho looked appealing!}*, shook her head. "If she has not told you whore she has gone, I fear there is littlo hope of finding it out immediately," she said, exchanging a glance with Mr. Deverell. "At least, she certainly has not told us." "Not told you?" repeated Eric, as if he could not credit tho evidence of his ears. "She must have told somebody. She oonld not have gone away like this. Good Heavens, Miss Ralston!" as Ilortonse made a gesture of dissent "you cannot mean that Esther has disappeared

As matters stand, sho means just that," said Mr. Deverell, shortly and decisively. "We are perfectly in the dark with regard to the matter, Mr. Byrne. You, who have tho only light on it"—he pointed to Esther's letter, which Eric still hold—"should be abje at loast to conjecture where Miss French has probably gone."

Hut I am uttorly unable to conjecture," said tho young man. "So far as my knowledge oxtends, she has not a friend in tho city besidos those who stand bere.' "And is there no clue there?" asked Mr. Doverell, pointing again to the letter.

Read it." said Eric, extending it. You will see that it deals almost wholly with a subject of which yon are entirely ignorant. I should like," turning ouoo more to Hortense, "for you to read it also. Tho poor foolish child really thinks that I—I, who havo known her from her babyhood—could for one moment harbor an unworthy thought of her. How little she knew me, after all those years!"

And did you not doubt her oven last night asked Hortenso, coldly. "Doubt her—doubt Esther?" ho repeated, as if ho had scarcely heard arliht. Then ho laughod. "The stars would fall indeed when Esther was guilty of a meanness, far lessof a treachery," he said.

And catching the accent mf proud confidence in his voice, Hortense's angry heart leaped hotly up. At that moment nhe almost hated Esther—Esther, whom ltoth these men seemed bent upon oxaltingsohigh.

But it is because they are men," she thought, in bitter scorn. "Asweet voice, a prettv face, a gentle manner,—these th-ngs blind them all alike. A woman, now. has clearer sight."

Meanwhile, Mr. Deverell walked to the window, and standing there with his back to the others, read in oold blood and broad daylight the letter which poor Esther had written at midnij^ht with excitement and fever running riot in her veins. It was a very simple composition, yet something in its simplicity touched this man of the world more than any finely-rounded phrases or studied pathos could have done. The tender. passionate heart seemed heating in every line. The gentle charm of the writer was bn-atheo over the pages like an aroma. Whether we will or not, all of as put much of ourselves into the letters we write, especially those that are written in times of supreme emergency. When the heart rises up and speaks, it of its own has a power and eloquence of its own deeper And, better, more powerful for good or llU than all the polished efforts of the btMnJ*-

Much Esther's letter—the major part of iC indeed—was taken up with the story which has already been told in -fall detail, and which was, moreover, fhmiliar to Mr. Beverell. Yet the otter unselfishness, the kindly tenderness, with which she wrote, especially of Hor-

smms

tense, touched him afresh as ho read. Only toward the close did sho say anything I which could be interpreted iSJL" A to indicate an Intention of leaving as sho had done, This was how the paragraph ran:

And now, dear Eric, you irmst nqt think that it is because I am hurt, or angry, or proud, nor even because I am not willing to take a second place in your heart, that I say earnestly aud finally that you must give up all thougnt of our ever being more to each other than we are now. I know how ready and willing you are to take me and care for me faithfully and tenderly, because you think I am poor and weak, and because you loved my doar fiither, and also because you love mo too (is it not so?). But my doarest boy, it must not be. I cannot tell you all tho reasons why not, for my head is whirling and my eyes are dim. Only you must beliovo that what I sav I mean. And, above ali, oh, Eric, never doubt tnis, you must beliove that it 110 angry pride which makes mo say it, which makes 1110 determined to tako myself out of tho path of your life. I nevor loved you better, not even in the old happy time, than I lovo you now, and ft is becauso I am so sure this love will not change, either with you or with me, that it is not very hard to say «ood-bye. I am sure you will try to pardon ine it 1 did wrong to-night and oh, pray forgive 1110 if I havo harmed your cause with Hortense!' Dear, I would do anything in the world to servo you, and I do all I can when I take my foolish, useless self out of your life. Don't let mo feel that I have' pained you. Don't ever forget that no one in* tho world loves you bettor than "ESTHER."

So it ended, the simple, foolish little letter. Most young ladies of fourteen know better liow to discard a lover with propor nonchalant coolness in these days of progress, but poor Esther's education had been very defective on this point, aud liko most*first efforts, her rejection of Eric, regarded as a work of art, was rather a failure. Such as it was, howevor, tho letter touched Mr. Deverell straugely. Ho read it over twice, his glanoe lingering almost wistfully on the last sentence and the faint, trembling signature. Then he turned, and coming back to Eric, spoke gravely:

It strikes mo that the last paragraph in this letter is rather equivocal. I should not absolutely decide from it that Miss French intended to go away. In fact, I think sho would have spoken more plainly if she had meant anything of tho kind! My impression is that she went out this morning intending to return, and that something has detained her." "That is my impression also," said Hortense. "There is nothing in Miss French's room to indicate that she nit ant to remain away. Even her father's likeness—certainly the thing she would least have left—is hanging in its usual place. Nothing is gone •cloak and hat." "Then where is she?" demanded

And Hortense, standing by and hearing him speak in such a tone of intense interest and anxiety, hearing him so coolly ignore all her indignant sense of injury, felt her heart leap hotly up once more. "Miss French would be gratified,I am sure, if she knew what a sensation her absenco of a few hours has made," sho said, bitterlv. "Perhaps your anxiety is, after all, a little misplaced, however. Porhaps sho has only remained to excite this sensation." m'ou must know very little of Esther if you can do her so much injustice as to suspect such a thing, Miss Ralston," Eric said, quickly. "Forgive me if I say I did not think you would be so ungenerous."

way "Yc

You forgot yourself." said Hortense, all the more angrily because sho felt thero was justico in the rebuke.

Do I ?'r he said. "Forgive mo for that also, then, and let me say here, in thepresenco of your guardian, that I regrot, jis much as you can do, 'the presumptuous follv' which has worked all this mischief. "I did not need the scorn with which you turned from mo at the door last night, Miss Ralston, to tell me that I was nothing to you in Munich but a convenient source of amusement— that I am nothing to you but Esther French's lover. If I had not been blind,

I had not, like many another man, ightly valued that whicn I possessed, tnd n:

if arid VJxed my eyes and wishes* on something above me, simply because it was

above mo, I might fore. But you will bo

for idle' this. of had

TTTT

gone but her

Eric, growing, if possible^ paler still. "If Esther went out iutending to return why has she not returned?"

I think it most likely that soma sudden illness has detained her," said Mr. Deverell. "At all events, we will make inquiries at once. Hortenso, can you suggest any place where she would be likely to go?"

I can think of no place but Hensel's, and mamma has promised to call there," Hortenso answered. "I doubt extremely, however, if sho will hear of her."

There is nothing for it, then, but to enlistthe police in the search at once," said Mr. Deverell, looking at Eric. "That is usually a last resort in such cases, but we are so entirely without a clue that wo shall have to make it a first resort."

lave seen this berlad to hear that

bo g.

have learned It at last—you will be

lad to know that you are safe from any rther importunity, and that my love you—an exotic, bom only of an fancy—died utterly when I read ho laid his hand on the open page

Esther's letter "when I saw how I heedlessly wounded one whose lightest pang is more to me than the united sufferings of eveiy Other woman on the earth, and when I felt that I had carelosRlv prized the most tender and most faithful heart that Ood ever 01

Was this explanation necessary, Mr. Byrne?" asked Hortense, haughtily, throwing back her h£Rdt though the proud lips quivered and paled despite her efforts. "Do yon think it likely all that told agine Miss

effect

be that qnently

I have regretted anything which I vou last night, that you should immo interested in hearing how

French's letter has had the hajapy IVV„ of recalling your heart to her y0u might spare me your sarcasm.' said, quietly, "for you know well

I am not a madman, and consethat I did not think anything of tho kind. But I owed an explanatioi to Mr. Deverell as well ss

to yourself,

and I have given it in honest sincerity. For the rest, if I might venture to ask a favor of you, it would bo that you read this letter of Esther's. I think it might enable you to comprehend her better than you do now." "Of course Esther is the only person

TERRE HAUTE SATURDAY EVENING MAIL.

WHERE IS ESTHER

to be comprehended. Of course I can only be in tho wrong!" cried Hortense, passionately. Then she suddenly dropped her head on tho table before which she sat, and burst into a great tempest of sobs, "Go—go! leave me alone," she said, when Mr. Doverell camo toward her. "I want nothing. I want nobody. Leave me alone!"

If I leave you, Hortense, it will bo in the hope that you may bo yourself when I see you again," he said, gravely, but not unkindly.

Then he beckoned to Eric, and they wont out together, leaving tho passionately weeping woman alone with Esther's letter.

CHAPTER VI.

When a week had gono by without any farther news of Esther, lier disappearance began to seem, even to those most nearly concerned, like something to which they had in a measure grown accustomed. It was not that they reconciled themselves to it, or that they relaxed in any degree the means of search which they had first employed, but it was the simple working of that simple yet awful law of life which makes anything, no matter how terrible, seem a part of the natural order of things when we have once fairly realized it. With a facility which appals us—a facility against which we vainly struggle—we begin to feel the sense of custom dulling even our sharpest and deepest pangs. We cry out that it is horrible, but still time moves on, and we, its helpless toys and victims, grow used to the direst destruction it can work and tho saddest change it can make. It was this stern sense of the inevitable which wrung from Wallenstein's princely lips that most sharp and bitter cry which lingers on our hearts as the voice of their *wn agony: "This anguish will be weaned down, I know: What pang is permanent with man From the highest, As from the vilest thing of every day, He learns to wean himself: from the strong hours Conquer him."

It was these strong hours which had begun to make poor Esther's absenco seem like tho dull burden of long-borne pain to those she had left behind—left without a word of definite farewell or explanation. Tho police had been on tho track for days Mr. Deverell had made every possible inquiry through every possible channel which he conceived at all likely to afford information, and Eric Byrno liad hanntod every spot which was in any way connected with the past life of the missing girl. All had been in vain. Though sho had gone, as examination proved, without a shilling in her personal possession, and though Eric persisted in declaring that she had not a friend to whom she could apply for shelter or assistance, neither money nor professional skill, nor that better skill vet which is borne of passionate affection, bad been able to find any trace of her. 1 ho earth might have swallowed or tho sea taken ner into its liquid depths, so completely had she vanished, leaving no clue behind.

Next to tho vehement self-upbraiding of Eric, Ilortense's anxiety during this time was most eagerly outspoken, most feverishly beyond control. "It is my fault," she said again and again, for the

eniched

asslonate, generous heart had been with keen regret and keener self-reproach by Esther's written words of simple justification. Yet to anyone who looked beyond the surface, there were lines on Mr. Deverell's face that told of vigils even sadder and more infill than those wh ch had made Erie's handsome face seem strangely haggard, or marked dark circles of watching and grief under Hortense's eyes. Mrs. Ralston complained that her household was entirely unstrung during this period of anxiety. "It is really intolerable," she said, plaintively, mbre than once. "Mr. Doverell has been the kindest and most generous of friends to me since my husband's death, but really I think it is too much that he should expect to upset one's whole life in this way about the mysterious disappearance of that peculiar protege of his. Hortense is not like herself at all and if this injudicious excitement is kept up I have no doubt but that she will be iu before a week is over."

It is difficult, however, to keep up an excitement without any fuel, for its flame, and in this case, as we have already said, there was absolutely none. Each succeeding day that rose and set only left the mystery as complete as It had been found. "Could she have made way with herself in any way?" Eric had otoce cried out, horror-stricken. But Hortense stopped the words on his lips. "It is you who doubt her now," nhe said. "Even I know Esther better h^n that—even I know that she could never be so wicked if she were so foolish." Yet as a matter of course the doubt and dread of many terrible things seemed to come closer and nearer with every hour that threw no light on the mystery. In the present day of horror who can tell how soon the next sensation for the itching ears ot the public may find its subject next his own heart or beside his own hearth? "Although I seem to have grown horri

JDALZIEL S• PHIL*

bly used to it, I seem also to live in constant expectation of hearing something fearful," Eric said to Mr. Deverell and if he had chosen, the elder man might havo confessed that he, too, shared the same feeling and nursed the same terrible, shadowy apprehension.

It was this which was with him, standing like a dark spectre at his side, as he sat in his office on the eighth day after Esther's disappearance. He was closely encaged with an arrear of important business, for men must work, and women too, let their hearts ache as they will but all tho same his thoughts were running on the subject which of late had so exclusively absorbed them. "One week!" he was thinking—"one whole week, and no news of her yet. It is incredible. It seems impossible that a sick child, without money and without friends, could conceal herself so effectually as to baffle every effort made for her discovery. And yet it has been done. Whether she is among the living or the dead, whether she conceals herself or is concealed by others, the fact remains the same—we are exactly where we were this day a week ago."

And yet not exactly where they were, either. He thought that the moment after. The week which had passed with out giving them any certainty had robbed them of much hope. "I hope I shall find her if she is on tlio earth!" Eric still vehemently said but no one knew better than the astute lawyer— the man whose profession had brought him into contact with many mysteries of many kinds—of how little real value such passionate asseverations were. His trust was in different means, and these means so far had failed utterly. On the table before him lay the morning papers containing the advertisements which, as a last resort, had been inserted to meet Esther's eye. Only an hour before, the best detective in the poliee .force had made a discouraging report of complete failure. "Gcd knows I nave not an idea tf what next to do," he said, half aloud.

And it was as he uttered these words that the door of the inner office where he sat opened, and his clerk entered, bringing a card.

The gentleman would liko to see important business, told him you were

you at once on very important business, sir," he said. "I told him you were busy, but he insisted on my letting you know."

Who is he asked tho lawyer, impatiently. "Dr. Wilmot," glancing carelessly at the card. "I know nothing of Dr. Wilmot. Tell him I am engaged, and can see no one."

The clerk retired with this consoling answer, and there was a pause of several minutes. A voice was heard speaking anxiously in the outer apartment, but it did not disturb Mr. Deverell, who went on quietly with his writing. The quill pen made an audible sound as it traveled across the pages a fly was buzzing on the window-pane carriages, carts and drays were rattling noisily over tho Stony street outside. After a while the clerk came back. "I am very sorry to disturb you apain, sir," he said, as the lawyer looked up with a frown, "but the gentleman insists on seeing you. He has a message from Miss French, he says."

From whom cried Mr. Deverell, starting back in his chair, incredulous tor a moment of the evidence of his own ears, fancying for a moment that his thoughts 'had merely found a spoken echo.

From Miss French," repeated another voice before the clerk could answer and from the door, which the latter had left partly open, a slender, middle-aged man, keen of face and quick of movement, advanced into th» room. "Excuse my persistence, Mr. Deverell," he said, snortly and a little coldly. "I should not have troubled you on my oVn account, but I promised my patient to see you and deliver my message in person."

Your patient I" repeated Mr. Deverell, rising hastily to his feet. He gave one glance which seemed to take in every physical, mental and moral point of the man before him, then extended his hand with a cordial grace peculiarly bis o-wn. "Excuse me that you have had so much trouble in gaining admittance," he said. "I bad Tittle idea that I was closing my door in the face of the tidings whicn of all others I most earnestly desired to hear. I hope I do not misunderstand," he went on, a little nervously, "that you bring me news of a young lady for whom her friends have been searching anxiously during ths past week

I bring you a message from Mus French," the physician answered. "She has been under my care for a week past, but it did not come to my knowledge that any search was being made for her, or I might have relieved the anxiety which her friends must have felt respecting her or at least," he added, gravel v, "have changed it in kind.

Has she not known herself that she was sought?" demanded Mr. Deverell, quickly.

She bas not been in a condition to know anything until to-day," the other answered. "Then the first request which she made was the one I am here to ftilfll."

She has been ill, then?'!.. "Very ill indeed."

And now, to-day Is she better?" Hie doctor hesitated a moment, looking doubtfully into the eager face before him. What lie saw there made him evidently uncertain how to answer, if Mr. Deverell had not cut his hesitation short. "Tell the truth," he said, a little sharply. "I am not a woman, and I am not related to her. There is no need, therefore, to hesitate in uttering'the worst to me."

I regret, nevertheless, that it should be the very worst," the other answered, in a voice which trembled a little, despite his professional phlegm. Then he added, almost solemnly, "It can be very shortly told, too, for she is dying

Dying?" [TO BE CONTINUED.]

CHILD-LIFE IN SHAKERDOM. The Pittsfield, Mass., Eagle says that children placed with the Shakers at Lebanon are indentured to Banjamin Gates, or some other authority, until they "become of age," he agreeing in the papers to provide them food, clothing, &e. They are then placed in tho "children's order," under the charge of a sister designated to care for theni, and she commences at once to instill into their minds the glories of the creed. In their management never a blow is struck. Refractory ones are punished by being laid on the floor face down. Whon they have been kept thus prostrate a certain length of time, they are taken up and "talked to," the enormity of their offenses pointed out and are exhorted to behave bettor in the future. Those from eight to a dozen years of ago "go to confession" every Saturday, and "own up" (or aro supposed to) tho little sins of the week that have escaped the notice of their guardians. And, as they receive special approval after an apparently very full confession, they early learn to conjure up quite enormous stories, knowing that they "gull" their confessors into a deeper Delief in their penitence. "Now, don't you feel better after' confessing all that?" asks the ancient virgin who has heard the story. "Yes, yes," says the little miss, and, tipping a wink to her companions, she walks out as sedately as a spinster of seventy. Another method of punishment is to put the youngster into a large sack, tying it tightly round the neck. Should the child refuse to get into the bag, it is drawn over the refractory one, and then, head, feet, and all enveloped, he or she is left to repent of the offensive disobedience. The children are sent to school four months each year— the boys in the winter and the girls in the summer. Co-education hasn't the slightest support there. The girls and boys must not converse together. If they happen to meet, and if a roguish youngster is bold enough to break the silence with some pretty maiden, the maiden must -e deaf and dumb to him. "Isn't there some boy here that you are just a little fonder of than the others?" is a standing question in the confessional. The reply always is, "nay" and the blind old goodies believe it!

One way not to keep warm is to drink freely of hot drinks to keep the pores of tho skin closed to oat more than can be digested to sit over a hot air furnace to lace tightly wear tight garters, tight shoes, tight gloves, and bundle np with heaps" of wartn clothing wear mufflers around the neck, and avoid a breath of cool, fresh air take wine or bitters before meals, and pills to aid digestion after eating. Do this daily a month or more, ana you will be as tender as a tropical house plant, and will take "dreadful colds" on the slightest exposure. Hot drinks just before going out are especially favorable to induce chills and this is the way many are trying to cheat nature and prolong a miserable existence —[Science of Health.

————m—mmmm

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rp HE

GOOD -4.D VICE*

We area young married couple with two children. Belore marriage wo were both fond of society. Now, our means being reduced, I am not able to dress, so that I have slipped out of society. I am very happy at homo, but I want, too. He is away all day at the citv except ot evenings, and occasionally all night, so that I see very little of him, and it grows worse and worse. During my last confinement he was away very often at young people's parties, though I begged him not to go. He says he gets very little recreation, but I get none. We never have a disagreement he is certainly the best

and

kindest of men, and

wo love each other dearly. Am I unreasonable?" You do right not to quarrel. This will not make home attractive. We wish that it had been your husband who asked us about the propriety of his conduct. We should have said: Young man, you are making one of the greatest errors of life. You are doing what must in time wean from vou one of the most faithful of wives. "Your admiring friends do not love you but she would die for you. When at last she has grown weary of caring for your children alono, and has grown peevish and discontented, nervous, and dejected and discouraged, you will see that no faol ever made so poo*r a bargain since the world was made. You do not mean to be heartless, but you are cruel, and If you go on in this selfish and cruel social desertion of your wife, you—pleasant and witty young fellow that you are—will commit scarcely less than a crime. We beg pardon for harsh words—but this answer is not meant for one husband, but hundreds. We say to every one of such men—you are in a fair way to be a wifemurderer. You are killing a loving heart by inches. You have selfishly and thoughtlessly betrayed the confidence of a woman who did not marry you expectiqg to be left in solitude. We aro aware that there is another side to the picture. That wo shall treat some other time.—Christian Union. ======a ,11 ,1 HOW TO KEEP WARM.

Saturday Evening

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1875.

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Chromo 3 50 JV. Y. Sim, The Mall and Chromo 3 00 Prairie Farmer, price $2.00, The Mall and Chromo 8 65 Waticrn Rural, price $2.50, The Mall and

Chromo 8 50 Chicago Advance, price $3.00, The Mail and Chromo 4 G# Chicago Interim•, price VLBO, The Mall and Chromo 4 00 Chicago Inter-Ocean, price $1.50, The

Mail and Chromo 8 26 Appleton's Journal, price $4.00, The Mall and Chromo 5 25 Rurml New Yorker, price $8.00, The Mail and Chromo 4 25 Hearth and Home, price $3.00, The Mail and Chromo 4 50 Mtthodist, price $2.50, The Mail and

C'bromo «... 3 50 Harper*t Weekly, price $4.00, The JMall and Chromo 5 50 Harper's Baxar, price $4.00, The Mall and Chromo 5 50 Frank Leslies Illustrated Newspaper, price $4.00, Tbo Mail and Chronao 5 00 Leslies Chimney Corner, price $4.09* The

Mall and Chromo 5 00 Boys' and Girls' Weekly, price $2J5ft, the Mall and Chromo 8 75

MONTHLIES.

Arthur's Home Magazine, price $2.50, The Mall and Chromo $4 00 Peterson's Magazine, price $2,90, The

Mail and Chromo 8 50 American Agrieulturist, price $L50, The Mall and Chromo 3 00 Demorest's Monthly, price $3,00, 1 year,

The Mall and Chromo- 4 35 (Jodey's IAUIU'S Book, price $8.00, The Mail and Chromo 4 50 Little Corporal, price $1.60,TheMalland

Chromo

3 60

Scriimer's Monthly, price $4J0, The Mall and Chromo

Atlantic Mmnthty, price H-W), The Mail and Chromo

z®

Old and New, price $4.00, The MaU and Chromo Overland Monthly, price $4.00, The Mail and Chromo Harper's Magazine, price $4.00, The Mall and Chromo flu Hardener's Monthly, priee$2.00,

The Mail

and Chromo —3 50 Young Folks Rural, The Mall and Chromo.- 2 75 The Nursery, price $1.50, The Mail and

Chromo 3 10 St. Nicholas, price $3.00, The Mall and Chromo....- 4 40

All the premiums offered by the above pub llcatlons are Included in this clubbing arrangement.

CLUBBING WITH COUNTY PAPERS. We have made arrangements to furnish THE MAIL, with Chromo, and any one of the Newspapers in the neighborhood of Terrc Haute all for $3.00.

JUST LOOK AT IT!

The Mail, price..— 5? Your County paper, price JK The Chromo, worth.

Total *8

All these—($8.00)—for $3.00.,

Address P. WE8TFAI*i», ls.,1 .Publisher Saturday Evening Mail, TERREHAUTE.INB

.«

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