Saturday Evening Mail, Volume 8, Number 29, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 12 January 1878 — Page 2

Elaced

THE MAIL

A PAPER FOR THE PEOPLE.

XERRE HAUTE, JAN. 12,1878.

IF.

If. sitting with this little worn-on- shoe And scarlet stocking tying on mv knee, 1 knew the little feet nod pattered

there, showing that there were uman hands to seize them on the other side. Within, another girl, as young as the first—not twenty, certainly—-grovel ing on the floor like a wild beast, with dark, disheveled hair almost biding the spatk of insanity that desecrated her glorioB8 eyes, and devoured the preuious morsels that her visitant placed within her reach, with the avidity of a hungry ohild. The room in which she crouched

was

not comfortless, but had evidently been prepared for tbe reception of such inmates, and the carefully guarded window and cushioned walls showed that the mansion in which It was situated was occupied by one who made it the business of his life to receive such unfortunates into his professional care—in plain words, a private lunatic asylum. •Aly poor Leah!' whispered the lair haired girl outside, 'do you know that I am here, and that I love you?'

The soft clear voice was not unheard, for Leah raised her head for a moment, and sat listening, with the dark cloud of tangled hair thrown back from the low forehead and deeply shaded eyebrows. But the look of attention passed away almost as rapidly as it had come, and in another moment her head was down again on the floor, and the softly set lips, that seemed made only to shape love's whispers,murmured stupidly and hungrily, 'More, more!' 'I am going now,' said the soft voice again, 'but I will come and see you this evening, with the nurse. Do you hear? Do you understand?'

There was nothing but ati inarticulate murmur in reply, though she listened in vain and the fair haired girl rose with a sigh from her knees and passed from the desolate corridor Into the more babitablo and cheerful part of the house in which the physician and his family lived, having learned from habit to look lightly on the empty human shrines of reason that wore sheltered beneath the same roof. 'She is so beautiful*' said the girl to herself as she went down the staircase. •I hope.CJod does not let her know what she is now, or she would die, as I should do.' 'My dear Margaret,' said her mother, looking up a9 her eldest oLild entered the room, 'I do hope you have not been among the patients again?' 'I have only been to see poor Leah,' said Margaret Fen wick in the same soft voice, which was oce of her greatest charms. 'I must do that, you know, il it makes her less unhappy.' 'Let the child alone,' said Dr. Fenwick. 'She will do herself no harm if she does nobody elsa any good. But you did not work npon Brooker's feelings to give you the key, I hope, Madge? The door was locked, of course?' 'I talked to her through the door, that was all.' answered Margaret, simply, •l'apa, uo you think she will ever be like other people again? It was only last week she was sitting here with us all, and I was teaching her to play the accompaniment to my songs!' 'I know all that,' said the physician, 'but she is suffering from an acute attack of dementia now. She is very young and may be got completely over it, but then she will be always liable to a relapse. A sudden trouble would do tt at any time.'

Aud she has money, too!' sighed Mrs. Fenwick half enviously, as If it was a sin that so much good material for happiness should be wasted. 'Didn't you say she had money?' •Thirty thousand pounds. I believe.' said her husband, drily, 'but I think there are thirty thousand good reasons why nobody should envy her.'

It Is five years since Margaret Fenwick knelt it the corridor door whispering soft word* of love and sympathy to the unbsppv girl Inside. She is living in London with her mother, now, for Dr. Fenwick has been dead sometime, and the establishment at Horewood is broken up. Tbe gentle cbarui of her loveliness is still in its first flower, and as she lingers over the letter that is in her band, th* clear light of happiness is irradiating her brow, and laughing back from tbe noft, sweet eyen. The words that a man writes to his promised wife could be answered in no more fitting way. •MY DKARK CHILD:—I have got all the way to Wales safely, and the whole family is collected here under the paternal roof. I needn't say that one thing is wanting to me. and that I hope will noon be supplied, for of course you will come down and spend Christmas with us Mv father and mother both want words to express their anxiety to see von and r*-*lvfl yo» a daughter. Write and *«y how xmn v»«i nan fame. •We are very qatet «*»tther% are one or two ue*c people iu tue village. A

mmmsm

through

The pearl-set gates tbat 06 'twLxt Heaven and me, 1 could be reconciled, and hapi y, too.

And look with glad toward the jasper sea. If, in the morning when the song of birds

Reminds as of a music tar more sweet, I listen for his pretty broken words And for the masks of his dlmplec feeto I could be almost happy though 1 heard

No answer, but saw his vacant seat I could be glad, if, when the day Is done, a away,

And all

Iai

cares and heart aches laid

I could look westward to the hidden sun, And with a heart fu'l of sweet yearnings say: "To-night I'm nearer to my little one

By Just the travel of a single day*"'If I could know those little feet were shod In sandals wrought «f light la better lands. And that the foot-prints of a tender Ood

Ban side by side with his In golden sands, I could bow cheerfully and kiss the rod, Since Bennle was In wiser, safer hands* If he were de«d, I would not sit to-day

And stain with tears the wte sock on my knee, I wonld not kiss the tiny shoe, and say, 'Bring back a?ain my little ooy tome!" I would be patient, knowing'twas Gods way,

And that he'd lead me to him o'er deaths silent sea. But oh, to know the feet once pure and white.

The haunts of vice have boldly ventured in The hands that should have battled for the right

Have been wru.ig crimson In the clasp of sin! And should he knock at Heaven's gate tonight,

I fear my boy could hardly enter In*

MARGARET.

A corridor at the end of one wing of a large, rambling bouBe in the north of England, a barred window and a closed door. In the passage a fair haired girl, with the light of Indescribable pity in her dove-like eyes, kneeling upon the boards and pushing biscuits ana sweetmeats underneath the ill-fitting door, which disappeared as fast as they were

ith

-vg§j

has taken jttte Whi ghteria a fpgutar ild lady i« not. *ni

Mrs. Fourier 1 and her dam lion. Tbeol Leah Fonrier plays aiMj sings and is unusually good lookt®g bargftii^, The^girla

'You can see how hflra Up I am for anything to tell you whenf am forced to write about strangers. I suppose you would get tired of it if I were to keep on telling you that 1 love you, but I have very few other Ideas in pjy bead just now at any time.'' Besides, Isn't? it much pleasanter to tell it with your dear band in mine? Your own

Ten minutes—a quarter of an hour goes slowly by, ana Leah saunters back into tbe drawing room, with a spray of maidenhair in her hands,and the passion of her song still half slumbering in those deep mysterious eyes. 'Mr. Ashton is going to be kind enough to see me home,' she remarks generally,for everybody's information, and Margaret feels the same sudden chill that had come to her the night before for the first time, when her lover had undertaken tbe same, surely unnecessaay duty. It is almost a relief to her to remember that this is her last evening with the Ashtons and that the next day Arthur is to take her back to London. Leah Fourier may take all tbe footmen in Wales into the oonservatory with her then if she chooses.

Nevertheless the chill comes back to her more unmistakably than ever tbe next night, for Leah Fourier, and the conservatory, and Arthur Ashton are all left behind. He found that he could take another week's holiday, he told her, and she could not be selfish enough to propose that he should spend two days in traveling merely for tbe sake of taking her home. 8o the good-bye was said at tbe little Welsh railway station,but something fell out of his pocket as be was taking Tier ticket, and she oould not help seeing that it was a bit of maidenhair fern. It was a pity that it should be crushed under a stranger's foot before he could recover it—but then there was more in the conservatory.

Four, five days without a letter,during which time the ohill never leaves her heart, and then there comes what she has been looking for. He asks her if she is good enough, unselfish enough to forgive him. and adds, of course, that he can never forgive himself. Margaret knows new what answer he made to Leah's song, and wonders if there is anything left for her in the world, or if it is all made up of such questions and such replies. Then she remembers that her father bad said that there were 80,000 reasons why no one should envy Leah Fourier.

Well, Leah is his, body anu soul, reasons and all, if he chooses to take her, And Margaret wonders whether tbe first will make up to bioi for all the others. Would he choose If he knew of the corridor at Horewood. and had seen the lips he loved cloying themselves with sweetmeats that soft, compassionate hands thrust by stealth within her reach? She puts away the thought from her with a shudder, calling upon God not to tempt her to come between him and his happiness. If it could all be bidden from bim it would be a sin in her, of all women in the world, to say a word which might dash the cup from his lips. She would drink her own oup instead and try to sweeten it by the thought that the man she loved was happy with the girl for whom she had once felt so diviue a pity.

The months go quickly enough by now that Margaret no longer counts how inanv there are between tbe seed and the blossom of her happiness, and she knows tlmt Arthur Ashton must have brought his bride back with him by this time to his London home. Does she sing 'SI tu Savais' to him now, Margaret wonders, or does each know tbe depth or intensity oft be other's love by heart, and find it sufficient? Margaret shudders as she remembers that there is still a secret hidden from Arthur Ash ton in LwbHi mysterious eyes—a secret which she alone can read, and would give half her life to be able to forget* Would it ever happen that be should come to her and corse her for having hidden it from bim, to revenge heraell?

That she is revenged, Ood alone knows bow unwillingly, Margaret sees the first time she holds Arthur Ashton's hand in hers again. He has written to ask tor if be may come to her and satisfy himself of her forgiveness, and her love is dead enough In ber he*rt for her to be able to tell him "yes." She has oven ceased to wonder at tbe dreariness of her own life, and is vaguely conscious, ss be takes ber hand, of the same great pity for him and the woman who baa supplanted her, that filled tier heart as she went down the staircase at Horewood, leaving the cold ccrridor and tbe locked door behind ber. •You have found out bow little I was worth your regard." he says, forcing sn uneasy laugh, as he sees that the old

quiver no Ion •No,

kno

ARTHUR ASHTON.'

'Leah Fourier!' repeated Margaret to herself dreamily, 'I nope she wont remember me. I wonder whether mad people recollect anything that baa passed, when they are well? That would be tbe most wretehed part of it all.'

Leah Fourier is singing 'Si tu Savais,' and Arthur Ashton is leaning over the piano looking into her magleal eyes with an expression—well, which wonld mean a good deal with some men, but which Is merely a graceful courtesy, Margaret tries to believe, with Arthur Ashton. She has been at Llywn-v-mawr a fortnight now, and baa fourd Leah Fourier almost as constant an inmate of tbe house as herself. But then, as Arthur said, the cirls are mad about her and there certainly is an enobant ment somewhere in her glowing face, before which few are able to stand. •Bien sur, tu m'aimerats!' she sings, and Margaret knows that the words would sound cold and passionless from her lips in comparison. Is it wonderful that there should be a response in Arthur Ashton's eyes?

Tbe song is ended, and Margaret Fen wick's fiancee strolls after the singer into tbe conservatory. •If I were ynu, Margaret, I should go after them, really,' said Arthur's eldest sister, half laughing. 'Leah would flirt with the footman, I believe, if there was nobody else in the way. It was just the same when poor Charley was at home.'

Margaret tries to smile and to keep her wistful eyes turned away from the conservatory door, but she cannot help speculating a little as to the difference beteen 'poor Charley' and his brother. As to Leah herself, she can hardly form a calm rational opinion, so different is this Leah from the girl with the wild eyes, whose poor uncertain fingers she bad helped to find their old familiar places on the piano 8t Horewood five years ago. She feels rather than knows that the past is not all a blank in Miss Fourier's brain,, but no word of recognition has passed between the girls, and it is plain at any rate that nothing of that dreadful episode in Leah's life is suspected by the Ashtons. To Margaret herself as she looks on the other's proud, imperious beauty, it seems as if her remembrance could be nothing but a dream and yet it is almost a pain to her to think that so much of her pity in those byuone days was wasted.

TERRE HAUTE SATURDAY EVENING MAIL

remembers is ber llp* is there

joot'sthat,' jBnawci rbuflt is qmie (rue nothing ft least it is too 10B noif

SSS!

Margaret

lat I regret iat~' She teH*Mm

what she does regret, and what she tries to persuade herself she is mistaken in regretting. 'You must be very happy— you are happy, are you not she asks snxlously. 'Bow long do you expect a brldegroom's babp|ness to laft?' be *fksin reply*'With an affectation of levity that tells Margaret she has been sacrificed in vain. 'Leah has been talking of oornlcg to see you for tbe last month, do you know?' 'She is very beautiful,' said Margaret irrelevantly. 'Is she quite well 'Well? of course she is,' be anwers in not quite so even a voice. 'Why should she not be well

Margaret's heart turns sick with the horrible apprehension that he has already learnt to suspect a reason why. •I only meant that* I should be very glad to see ber,' she answers in what she strives to make her natural voice. 'Will you tell her so from me?' 'You knew her before that time you eame to stay with ue, did you not bn asks, looking at ber with a keen in quiring glance, 'Why did you never toll me of that?, 'Yes that is, I met her years ago,' answered Margaret, hesitating, 'I aid not think she remembered me, bnt I knew her again as soon as I saw her.' •Did you ever quarrel?' the bridegroom asks, a little puzzled by hei manner. 'On, uo,' replies Margaret with a shudder, thinking of the crouching figure and the greedy, clutching bands that she had stolen up the long corridor to soothe into content. 'But she was always a strange girl, and I never understood her quite,' she adds rather lamely. •Yes—strange—that is the word, is it not he says eagerly. 'She is nervous and depressed sometimes, you know, but that is nothing. She used to be that—that is what you mean, is it not?'

It goes to Margaret's heart to see tbe wistful look with which he waits for her answer, striving to put away from his thoughts, the awtul fear which she knows has already overshadowed his life. 'I think she was always nervous.' she answers, wishing that she dared say something to comfort him, if she could do so without a lie. 'But of course, now that she. is happy, there is nothing to be anxious about in that.'

She does not offer to visit the bride herself, knowing what the sight of her must recall to Leah's mind, and not in truth believing tbat her presence would be welcome, whatever Mrs. Ashton might say to ber husband of her wish to see Margaret Fenwick again. 'Tell her how glad I shall be if she likes to come,' she says earnestly, when Arthur Ashton takes her hand in his again to sav good bye. •Yes, I will tell her,' he answers, but all the unreal cheerfulness has gone out of bis voice. 'It will do her good to have a friend like you—some woman to whom she can talk.'

Margaret does hot answer, for tbo tears are filling her eyes but it needs no words to tell Arthur Ashton that tbe heart be has thrown away is large enough for what he asks of it.

The months go by, but Leah Ashton still only talks of coming to see the girl whose place in life she has taken from her so that Christmas comes round again without Margaret having seen her rival since the evening on which Leah came out of the conservatory with tbe spray of maidenhair in her hand. There is a reason why Mrs. Asbton should stay in her own house now, and Margaret, is not surprised to see in tbe paper one' day that Arthur Ashton has another cause for being'very happy.' She has almost persuaded herself that he may be so by this time, and writes to tell bim of her hope, with her dear love to his wife. She did not think that such a letter required immediate acknowledgment, and opens his reply a little anxiously, hearing that it has beeu brought by a special messenger. 'Come, if you can, at once—she is asking for you. God have mercy upon me! A. A.'

He is waiting for her at the door as she drives up, and even in the gaslight she can see upon his brow an awful dread that his prayer will not be beard. 'You are not afraid to see ber

Margaret puts her hand in his by way of reply, and her very touch seems to give him courage. 'She is not quite herself, you knownot sensible, I mean—bat the doctors say that is common. And your name has been on her lips all day.. She will be calmer when she sees you, will she not •Yes, yes,' says Margaret, choking back her tears. 'Only take me to her at once.'

She kneels by the bedside, disregarding the presence of the doctor and Burse, and her soft arm steals lovingly round Leah's neck, as in the old days. 'Dear Leah, I am here,' she whispers.

The heavy lids open, and the dark mystery of the wonderful eyes, blurred and scorched with tbe lurid ffire that Margaret remembers well is turned lull upon her. 'Don't go away,' Leah whispers, in a hoarse, exhausted voice. 'They are abutting me up alone again.'

Her husband is standing at the foot of the bed with horror stricken, wondering face, but she has no eyes for him. 'it is so dark and miserable, Margaret, but I will be quiet if you stay, do you hear?'

Tbe weak voice rises almost to a scream, and Margaret tries in vain to soothe it. 'Yes, dear Leah, I am Margaret. Dear Leah, you know that I love you. Oh, my poor darling, jou know that I love you!'

Tbe surgeon, who is standing opposite Margaret, shakes his head solemnly as she raises her eyes to meet his, and the shadow of death begins already to steal over the room. Even the lips are chill and pallid as Margaret touches them with her own, and the feverish grasp of tbe poor weak band dies into impotence in her warm fingers. The dark tangled hair falls over the shapely brow and thick enrred eyebrows just as it used to do, and Margaret does aot know, until she is told, that it is veiling the free of the dead, and there is no need for ber to pity Leah Asbton any more.—J. F., in New York Herald.

WHAT THE MlCLOSCOPE REVEALS. Mould is forest of beautiful trees, with tbe brandies, leaves and fruit.

Butterfles are fully feathered. Hairs are hollow tubes. The surface of our bodies is covered with scales like a fish: a single grain of sand would cover 150 of these scales, and yet a single scale covers 500 of these pores. Through these narrow openings perspiration forces Itself like water through a sieve.

Each drop of stagnant water contains a world of living creatures, swimming ss much at liberty as whales in tbe sea.

Each leaf has a colony of insect* grazing on it, like a cow in a meadow. —Exchange.

THE JAWrS DISJIADILUEJ^

'All

Rlisbments,

I Squired ndaneven-

JET

On my arrlv«fr st what was the bew pk ing, and was told that cratlo place of resort Mabille. I took «alb

th? most aristo was tbe Jardin

4snd

proceeded

tbitber. I found Wyself in a beautiful garden, brilliantly lighted, There was a crowa of ladies and gentlemen, fine hand Wfs playing, ani a qyffirtfle forcing. 'While WHS gfzing abAirt, gentleman asked me it I wished t-» dance. 1 said would like to, bnt that I wss a stranger, and not acquainted with any of the nobility present. He smiled and said the French nobility were exceedingly afftble and obliging, and that he would be pleased to introduce me to a lady of high rank and varied accom-

who would dance with me

I wished. Then he presented me to the young Duchess d'Asafoatida (that's as n*ar as I could catch the name). I had never stood face to face with a Duchess before, and therefore felt diffident and ill at ease. This graceful creature understood my case ft once, and within two or three minutes made me perfectly at home—more than nt liouie I may say. I never mets lady so easy to get acquainted with as sbe was. It must qui re high cultivation, only to be attained in the npper ranks of society, to give one such self-possession as hers. This duchess smiled upon me in the most enoouracing way, aud tapped, me on the shoulder with ber fan then she looked up into my face and charmed away all my em harassment with a burst of cheery laughter that was full of happiness and garlic. Next she took my arm, beating time to the music with her fan, and still uttering that fragiant laughter. And next she put her arm around my neck. This was somewhat unexpected. I must say. It made me feel blissfully uncomfortable. I enjoyed it, but at the same time, I was atraid it might attract attention. I intimated as gently as I could that tbe duke, her father, might be in tbe crowd some where but she only laughed more odor ously than ever, feared the paternal duke might invite me to breakfast on piatols and coflee. I like coffee, but do not consider that it improves it to mix it with hardware. This I hintfd to tbe duchess, and she received it with that peculiar laugh of hers that was perfeelly smothering. Just then the musicetruck up furiously, the duchess exclaimed 'Come!' and dashed away with me. The crowd closed up to our set, and walled it on every side. I had never before seen so much curiosity displayed in a mere quadrille by disinterested parties. Dukes and duchesses began to prance to and fro in the dance with wild energy of purpose and extravagance of gesture. I began to get interested. I glanced across, ray partner was just turning she miscalculated the length of ber limbs, and lifted her dress accordingly sbe came prancirig over I sallied forth to meet her, and when we were within a yard of each other, I wish I may never be believed again if she did not kick the hat off mv head! I stooped to pick it up and a noble aristocrat fell over me others followed bim—both ladies and gentlemen—and I never saw such a chaos of struggling limbs and frantic drapery since the benches broke down at the circus when I was a boy. It was pure good fortune that nobody got hurt. When I got out I went to my place at the head of tbe quadrille, and staid there'. I had lost confidence this dance was too hightoned for me. It had pecuiiaritiesabout it tbat were new and unexpected. I had seen plenty of quadrilles, but I had never seen one with the variations before. The dudees resumed her road feareer, and the rest of the nobility danced just as she did. Each sex seemed to have but one object in view—to outdo its opposite in violence of action and eccentricity of conduct. These French eople are very Frenchy. If I bad not _nown that tbese people were the flower of the French nobility, I should have thought that they began tbeir education in a gymnasium and graduated in a circus. The first time the duchess halted by my s!de for a moment, I whispered to her to calm her gushing spirits, not to meddle with ber dress, and for public opinion's sake, not to frtep so high. I said she could get over just as much ground at a moderate gait and besides, the noble grand duke, ber father, might happen along at any moment. I might

well have talked to the wind. She only laughed that characteristic langh of hers, that silvery laugh of hers, that silvery laugh that I could recognijseanywhi re, if I were to leeward and then, bending a little,she grabbed up the bides of her apparel with both hands, began to jerk it to and fro in a violent manner, threw her magnificent head back, and skipped furiously away on an Irish ji? step, all excitement, wild hilarity, distracted costume, frenzied motion! A spectacle to sear the eyeballs, and to astonish t!. soul of a hermit! And when Bhe reach d.the center, she snatched her c-imberirig dresses free, and launched a kick at the hat of a tal 1 nobleman tbat fairly loosened the scalp on the top of his bead. I fled the scene, exclaiming, 'What can she mean by such conduct as those?'

I admire Paris but, in my opinion, tbe Ways of tbe nobility weitino]t what they ought to be.

SANK OF NEVADA.

Flood and O'Brien's Great Bank in San Francisco—tkctch of the Otoncrs.

[San Franoleco Letter to Boston Journal.] Gold is tossed about and trucked about as lead and copper aie in New York. Mere boys with canvas bags in their hands go around carrying aLd collecting tbo precious metal. Kegs of gold and bags of gold are thrown on a cart as if they were kegs of nails. In the priuciparjewelry stores necklaces, diamond studded belts and sets valued at alt tbe way rroni $40 to {100.000 are exposed to view aud are laid within grabbing distance. The Baok of Nevada is the great gold bank of the city. Its vaults are said to contain over f10,000,000. Trays of gold stand on the counter, not caged in and wired in as with us, but with as little guard around tbe money as is thrown around silks in a dry goods store. Ytt nothing is stolen and nobody attempts it. The bank is owned by Flood & O'Brien, the great Bonanza men. Tbeir income is fabulous—from tbe mine alone said to be three millions a month. Ttey began life bumble enough. They were traders in a small way, and tbe store is still pointed out where they served tbeir customers for years. They made friends with the miners, trusted them for goods, loaned them a little money, and when tbe miners had good thing they let Flood A O'Brien know it. They were eareful. prudent, saving men, and always had ready cash for small ventures. Tbe Bonanza possession is the result of this thrift and forecast, Ficod is about fifty years of age. He is slightly under size, sturdy ana stocky in build. His face is expressive of self-pos^enion, resolution snd common sense. His family eocsists of a wife, a son and daughter. Hie daughter t* a young lady of prepo***1*sing rppearenee, who puis on no airs. Mrs. Flood is a matronly lady, quiet and

benevolent, and enjoys tbe esteem of Kir neighbors. Bhe refuses to give large parties, bapuseshe would have to Ignore ber frienfl aid acfeaintsncss of jiumbier dayw T|§ family live corijyins comfortablb h0use, whic& would not be considered more than respectable for well-to-do mechanic or moderate shopkeeper. Flood's word is as good as his bond so where. O'Brien is sn older msn-^fnll seventy. He is tall, with verv gray hair, and slightly stoops. Flood hc|dS' the] fort in tbe President's iroora, ana is seen by few persons. O'Brien can be found outside, in tbe banking room, sprightly old man, apparently looking after things. He is unmarried, but lives ia princely .«tyle in a mansion built by Senator Sbaron. His relatives keep bis house.

JQW BIKING'S NEW JPR0VE$QS.

*l*his life'Is like a game of cards. We must play the hands dealt to us, and the credit is not so much in winning as in playing a ooor hand well.' •When hear a man bragging about what be did last yesr, and what ne's going to do next year, I can tell pretty near what he's doing now.' •Don't despise your poor relations, they might get rich sometime, and then it would be so bard to explain the thing.' •The reputation a man gets from his ancestors wants about as much altering to fit bim as tbeir clothes would.' •There is no woman stationed on the fece of the earth who tries so hard to do right, and fails oftener, than the average mother-in-law.' 'An enthusiast is an individual who believes about four times as much as he can prove, and can prove four times as much as anybody else will believe.' •Falling in love is like falling down stairs it's bard work to find out just how the thing was done.' 'A man who has been waiting for the last fifteen years for something to turn up, is still in the same business.' 'A poodle is a woman's pet, and I have seen some I would like to swap livings with.' 'Mice can live any where comfortably but in a church they fatten very slowly in a church. This proves that they can't live on religion any more than a minister can.' 'The worst tyrant in this world is a woman who is superior to ber husband, and lets everybody knows it.' 'Love is like tke measles yon can't have it but once, and tbe later in life we have it, the tougher'it goes with us.' 'Great thinkers are not apt to be great whistlers. When a man can't think of anything, he begins to whistle.' 'The man you can have to work on a farm for nothing and board bimseif, just about earns bis wages.' 'Neatness, in my opinion, is ore of tbe virtues. I have always considered it twin sister to chastity but none work so hard as the victim of ecstatio neatness. I have seen a neat person who "would not let a weary fly rest long enough on their best wall paper to take breatn, and who would chase a single cockroach up and down stairs until his legs were worn off.'

OS. H. BRIGGS, 'ft, }t«* %•$

PRODUCE AND COMMISSION MERCHANT, aud Dealer in

HIDES, PELTS, RAGS, BUTTER, EGGS, AC., Corner of Fourth and herrv streets, 1TERRE HAUTE, INK

can

-fi'

AttBKOSIft

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BESTOBES

GRAY HLAJLXi

TO ITS

ORIGINAL COLOR.

RING'S AMBROSIA

ERADICATES DANDRUFF, —Vtxrcr Bitmort, ASA I tolling of the Soalp.

RING'S AMBROSIA Prevents Baldness,

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•Ok

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Projmetors

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ARMERS' GRIST MILL.

Lower End of Thirl Sireef.

JOSEPH ABBOTT, Proprietor.

T1?,

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LH new mill is now in fall blast, making a No. 1 article of

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•if.

aJ m*, jm«*«***'f Tfrrrefraufe ^4 Mnnvv .J*"•* 'na. 10

[OUR T^VJ-YEAR'S GIFT. Bamraau

$8.00 NEW-YEAR'S GIFT

OF ^*1

GIVEN AWAT

TO EVERY SUBSCRIBER OF THIS PAPER!

Vtnslfttlnfr of an Klwrant Extra Coin a net and an Eleeaut Extra «'oln MIlTrr I'laWnl liultrr maki^e both the Set of Tr^poon. and Builrruseful S«w-*«*r'» 'v O- Mibacriber of thU paper, and a '*''\vetmyimad«#rT*Kf»-i .-ntawitb thooldestablfahedand reliable Kf 1 v*r (MuttM «•».. iI :iWtf. O.. to rnipply every anbscriN-r of th valuable Silver Tableware »*-Vear'* tlJfl. ThU elegant *e*

Sett- Yeafm Gift 0Utermmrm Fmniitin Order,

Mafctac lb* Elfgaal (6 00 TEASPOONS AfiD BUTT£Fi*KNlF£ tot DMMr IU full, «Kh posture. Cfanlj, aad BlaW.

ftmnwnhvr (Win* hat (OftMrlbei* Of tbl» ,a on,-r. with •JJJES.

that retails ftt

nuttcr-knlfr that retails at

net 01 Tfiwpoom and Buller-KnllV a variable rj- cutwcriber of thla paper, and a Oift that all abonld acle Ea«l« Cold and this paper with tin#

Of •aiSS

SILVER TEASPOONS AND BUTTER-KNIFE

w»-s £^R,Sif„e.°SSSl ort.r .nil 1.

A iv at in W in O

suf-

%£££"cVwgST under*"mf wrart u.1.

1*1! »erw«re t» jx»U«e or cUargea. wi»!' yon are ri-quin-'l lo «wl, arid tlie Silverware tauen DHLIVZIiEn TO YOU FREE. nwra ..• IU Ib'lnw'n* »-T«) „sn MI.VM 1*1.ATI00.,1«0 Kim Ktr*+l. cmcinnau, v. cur CTT OCT TUM

-iT.owed thla ••.OO r.'Jer and n-'il f.ir il.t.* rliatK**. that tire

'9., tO ll-flfrtBn'll. *•.

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