Saturday Evening Mail, Volume 9, Number 9, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 24 August 1878 — Page 2

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THE MAIL

A PAPER FOR THE PEOPLE.

TEKRE HAUTE, AUGUST 24, 1878

HI ft EE KISSES OF FAREWELL.

Three—only three, my darling— Separate, solemn, slow .Sot like the swift and Joyous ones

We nsed to know

*WUen we kissed because we loved each -otber, Simply to taste love's sweet, lavished our kisses as the summer

Lavishes heat

iCat as they kiss whose hearts are wrung When hope and fear are spent, jbjM} nothing is left to give except

A sacrament!

First of the three, my darling, Is sacred unto pain the We have hurt each other often f«

We shall again.

When we pine because we miss each other, Ana do not understand How the written words are so mnch colder

Than eyo and hand.

1 thee, dear, for all such pain Which we may give or take lUiged, forgiven before it comes,

For our love's sake!

The second kiss, wy darling. Is full of i^y's sweet thrill We hav« blemed each other always .r

We always will.

We shall reach until we feel each other Past all time and space "We shall listen till we hear each other,

In everyplace

The earth in full of messengers ?Sj Which love sends to rijU fro I kiss time, darling for all Joy

Which we'shall know! r"

The last kiss, O, my darling, My love—I cannot see Through ray tears, as I remember

What It may be.

We mav die and never see each other, Die with no time to give Any sigu that our hearts are faithful

Te die as live.

t,

Token of what they will not see Who see our parting breath. This on* kifB, my darling, seals

The seul of death

The Haunted Hotel

OR,

A Mystery of Modern Venice

BY WILKIE COLUNS.

[Continued, fr»m First Page.] passed. I am here, •with my fixed con victlon—that Innocent woman is ordained to have a fatal influence over my life. I am here with one question to pat to the one man who can answer it. For the last time, sir, what ami—a demon who has seen the avenging angel? or only a poor mad woman, misled by the delusion of a deranged mind

Doctor Wybrow rose from his chair, determined to close the interview. He was strongly and painfully impressed by what he had heard. The longer he bad listened to her the more irresistibly the conviction of the woman's wickedness had forced itself upon him. He tried vainly to think of her as a person to be pitied—a person with a morbidly sensitive imagination, conscious of the capacities for evil which lies dormant in us all, and striving earnestly to open her heart to the counter influence of her own better nature the effort was beyond him. A perverse instinct In him said, Beware how you believe in her! •I have already given you my opinion,' he said. 'There is no sign of your intellect being deranged, or being likely to be deranged, that medioal science can discover—as I understand It. As for the impressions you have confided in me can only say that yours is a case (as I venture to think) for spiritual .rather than medical advice. Of one thing be assured: what you have said to me in ibis room shall not pass ont of it. Your consesslon is safe in my keeping.'

She heard him, with a certain dogged resignation, to the end. •Is that all she asked. •That is all,' be answered.

She put a little paper packet of money ©n tho table., 'Thank you. There is your fee.'

With these words she arose. Her wild black pyes looked upward, with an expression of despair so defiant and so horrible in its silent agony that the Doctor turned away his head, unable to endure the sight of it. The bare idea of taking anything from her—not money oi.lv, but anything even that she had touched—and'denly revolted him. Still, without looking at her, he said, 'Take it back I don't want my fee.'

She neither heeded nor heard him. Still looking upward, she said slowly to herself, 'Let the end come. I am done with the struggle 1 submit.'

She drew her veil over her face, bowed to tho Doctor and left the room. He rang the bell and followed her into the hall. As the servant closed the door on her, a sndden Impulse of curiosity— utterlv unworthy of him, and at the same time utterly irresistlblespratig up In ibo Doctor's mind. Blush inp like a boy, he said to- the servant: •Follow her home, and find out her name.' For one moment the man looked at his master, doubting If his own ears had not deceived him. Dr. Wybrow looked back at him In silence. The submissive servant knew what that silence meant—he took his hat and hur tied into the street.

The doctor went back to to the consulting room. A sudden revulsion of feeling swept over his mind. Had the woman left an infection of wickedness In the honse, and had he caught it? What devil bad powewwd him to degrade himself in thf yes of his own servant? He had behaved infamously —toe had asked an honest man, a man who had served him faithfully for years, to turn spv Stung by the bare thought of it. he ran out Into the hall again, and opened the door. The servant had disappeared it was too late to call him back. Rut one refuge against his con tempt for himself was now open to him —the reflnge of work. He got into big carriage and wont bis rounds among his patient*.

If the famous physician could hare shaken his own reputation he would have done it that afternoon. Never before bad he made I^DDwlf so little welcome at the t*d*lde,% Never before had he nut off until to Marrow the pre •cripUon which ought been wriueo, the opinion which ongfct to have be*n given, to-day. tie went home earlier than usual—unutterably dissatisfied with himself.

The servant had returned. Dr. Wybrow was ashtimed to question nun. Tho man reported the result of his errand, without waiting to be asked. "The lady's name Is the Oonnteas Nartma. She live# at

Without waiting to bear where she lived, the Doctor acknowledged the all important discovery of her name by a silent bend of the toed, and entered his consulting room. The fee that be bad vainly refused still lay in its little white paper oovering on the table. He sealed it up in an envelope^ addressod to the 'poor box' of the nearest police soort, and, calling tb« servant in, direct­

ed him to take it to the magistrate the next morning. Faithful to his duties, the servant waited to ask the customary question, 'Do yon dine at home to day, si*?'

After a moment's hesitstlon be said, 'No. I shall dine at tb*-$lnb.' The most easily deteriorated of all the moral qualities is the quality called "conscience." In one state of a man's mind, his conscience is the severest judge thst can pass sentence on 1dm. In another state he and bis conscience are on the best possible terms with each other in the comfortsble capacity of accomplices. When Dr. Wybrow left his house for the second time he did not even attempt to conceal from himself that his sole object in dining at the dob was to hear what the world said of the Countess Narona.

CHAPTER III.

There was a time when a man in search of the pleasures of gossip sought the society or 1 adieu The man knows better now. He goes to the smoking room of his clnb.

Doctor Wybrow lit his cigar and looked round him at his brethren in social conclave assembled. The room was well filled but the flow of talk wss still languid. The Doctor innocently applied the stimulant that was wanted. When he inquired if anybody knew the Countess Narona, he was answered by something like a shout of astonishment. Never (the conclave agreed) had such an absurd question been asked before! Every human creature, with the slightest claim to place in society, knew the Countess Narona. An adventuress with a European reputation of the blackest possible color—such wss the general description of the womsn with the death' like complexion and the glittering eyes.

Descending to particulars, each member of the club contributed his own little stock of scandal to the memoirs of the countess. It was donbtful whether she was reslly what she called herself, a Dalmatian lady. It wasdoubtfal wheth er she had ever been married to the Count, whose widow she assumed to be. It was doubtful whether the man who accompanied her in her travels (under the name of Baron Rivar, and in the character of her brother) was her brother at all

Report pointed to the Baron as a gam bier at every 'table' on .the Continent. Report whispered that bis so-called sister bad narrowly escaped being implicated in a famous trial for poisoning at Vienna—that she had been known at Milan as a spy in the interests of Austria—that her 'apartment' in Paris had been denounced to the police as nothing less than a private gambling bouse—and that her present appearance in England was the natural result of that same discovery.

Only one fnember of the assembly in the smoking room took the part of this much abused woman and declared that her character had been most cruelly and most unjustly assailed. But as the man was a lawyer his interference went for nothing it wss naturally attributed to the spirit of contradiction inherent in bis profession. He was asked derisively what he thought of the circumstances under which the Countess become engaged to be married, and he made the characteristic answer* that he thought the circumstances highly creditable to both parties, and that he looked on the lady's future husband as a most enviable man.

Heating this, the Doctor raised a shout of astonishment by inquiring the name of the gentleman whom the Countess was about to marry.

His friends in the smoking room decided that the celebrated physician must be a second Rip Van Winkle, and that be had Just awakened from a supernatural sleep of twenty years. It was all Very well to say that he was devoted to his profession, and that be had neither time nor inclination to pick up fragments of gossip at dinner parties and balls. A man who did not know that the Countess Narona bad borrowed money at Hamburg of no less person than Lord Montbarry, and had then deluded him into making a proposal of marriage, was a man who had probably never heard of Lord Montbarry himself. The younger members of the club, humoring the joke, sent a waiter for the "Peerage and read aloud the memoir of the noblemau in question, for the Doctor's benefit—with illustrative morsels of imformation interpolated by themselves.

Herbert John Westwick. First Baron Montbarry, of Montbarry, King's County, Ireland. Created a peer tor distinguished military services in India. Born 1812. Forty-eight years old. Doctor at the present time. Not married. Will be married next week. Doctor, to the delightful creature we nave been talking about. Heir presumptive, his lordship's next brother, Stephen Robert, married to Ella, youngest daughter of the Rev. Silas Maraen, rector of Runnigate, and has issue, three daughters. Younger brothers of his lordship, Franda, and Henry, unmarried. Sisters of his lordship, Lady Barville, married to Sir Theodore Barville, Bart and Anne, widow of the late Peter Norbury Cross. Bear his lordship's relations well in mind, Doctor. Three brothers Westwick—Stephen, Francis and Henry and two sisters—Lidy Barville and Mrs. Norbury. Not one of the five will be present at the marriage, and not one of the five will leave a stone upturned to stop it if the Countess will only give them a chance. Add to these hostile members of the family another offended relative not mentioned in the "Peerage," a young lady'

A sudden outburst of protest in more than one part of the room stopped the coming disclosure and released the Doctor from further persecution.

Don't mention the poor girl's name it's too bad to make a joke of that part of the business she has behaved nobly under shameful provocation there is but one excuse for Montbarry—he is either a madman or a fool.'

In these terms the protest expressed itsslf on all sides. Speaking confidentially to his next neighbor, the Doctor discovered that the lady referred to was already known to him (through the Countess's confession) as the lady deserted by Lord Montbarry. Her name was Agnes Lock wood. She was described as being the superior of the Ooontces in personal attraction, and as beine by some years the younger woman of tb« two. Making all allowance for the follies that men committed every day in their relations with women, Montbarry'* d*»lu.«in was still the most tmn*troos del union on r««oni. In this expression of opinion every man present agreed the lawyer even included.

Not one of them could call to mind the Innumerable instance* In which the sexual influence haa proved irresistible in the persons of women without even the pretention of beauty. The very members of the club, whom the Countess (in spite of her personal disadvantages) could have most easily fascinated if abe bad thought it worth her while, were the members who wondered most loudlv st Montbarry *s choice of a wife.

While the topic or the Countess's marriage waa still the one topic of conversation, a member of the club entered the smoking room whose appearance In­

TERKE HAUTE SATURDAY EVENING MAIL.

stantly produced a dead silence. Doe* tor Wy brow's next neighbor whispered to him, 'Montbarry's brother—Henry Westwick!'

The newcomer looked round him slowly, with a bitter smile. 'You are all talking of my brother,' he •aid. 'Don't mind me. Not one of Vou can despise him more heartily than I do. Go on, gentlemen—go on!'

But one man present took the speaker at his word. That man was the lawyer who had already undertaken th&defenae of the Gonnteea. 'I stand alone in my opinion,' he said 'and lam not ashamed of repeating it in anybody's hearing. I consider the Countess Narona to be a cruelly treated woman. Why shouldn't site be Lord Montbarry's wife? Who can say she has a mercenary motive in marrying him?'

Montbarry's brother turned sharply npon the speaker. *1 say it!' he answerThe .reply might have shaken some men. The lawyer stood on his ground as firmly as ever. 'I believe I am right,' he rejoined, 'in stating that bis lordship's income is not more than sufficient to support his station in life also thst it is an income derived almost entirely from landed property in Ireland, every acre of which is entailed.'

Montbarry's brother made a sign admitting that he had no objection to offer so far. 'If his lordship dies first,' the lawyer proceeded, 'I have been informed that the only provision he can make for his widow consists in a rent charge on the property of no more than four hundred a year. His retired pension and allowances, it is well known, die with him. Four hundred a year ia therefore all he can leave to the Countess if he leave her a widow.' 'Four hundred a year is not all,' was the reply to this. 'My brother has insured bis life for £10,000, snd he has settled the whole of it on the Countess in the event of his death.'

This announcement produced a strong sensation. Men looked at each other and repeated the three startling words, 'Ten thousand pounds!' Driven fairly to tbe wall, the lawyer made a last effort to defend hi* position. 'May I ask who made that settlement a condition of the marriage?' he said. 'Surely it was not tbe Countess herself?'

Henry Westwick answered, 'It was the Countess's brother and added, 'which comes to the same thing.'

After that*there was no more to be said—so long, at least, as Montbarry's brother was present. The talk flowed into other channels, and the Doctor went home.

But bis morbid curiosity about the Countess was not set at rest yet. In his leisure moments be found himself wondering whether Lord Montbarry's family would succeed in stopping the marriage after all. And more than this, he was conscious of a growing desire to see the infatuated man himself. Every day during the brief interval before the wedding, be looked in at the olub. On the obance of hearing some news. Nothing had happened, so far as the' club knew. The Countess's position wsa secure Montbarry's resolution to be her husbsnd wss unshaken. They were both Roman Catholics, and they were to be married at the chapel in Spanish place. So much tbe Doctor discovered about them—and no more.

On tbe day of the wedding, after a feeble struggle' with himself, his actually sacrificed his patients and their guineas and slipped away secretly to see the marriage.

To the end of his life be was angry with anybody who reminded him of what ho bad done on that day.

Tbe wedding was strictly private. A close carriage stood at the church door and a few people, mostly of the lower class snd mostly old women, were scsttered about the interior*of the building Here and there Dr. Wybrow detects the faces of some of bis brethren at the club, attracted by curiosity, like himself.

Four persons only stood before the altsr—the bride and bridegroom and their two witnesses. One of these last was a faded looking woman, who might have been the Countess's companion or maid the other was undoubtedly her brother, Bsron Rivar. The bridal par ty (tbe bride herself included) wore their ordinary morning costume. Lord Montbarry, personally viewed, was middle aged military man of tbe ordlna ry type nothing in the least remarkable distinguished him either in face or fig ure. Baron Rivar, again, in bis way was another conventional representative of another well known type. One sees his finely pointed mustache, his bold eyes, bis crisp, curling hair, and his dashing carriage of the head, repeated hundreds of times over on the Boulevards of Paris. The only noteworthy point about him was of tbe negative sort —he was not in tbe least like his sister. Even the officiating priest was only a harmless, humble looking old man, who went through his duties resignedly snd tele visible rheumatic difficultiea every time he bent bis knees. The one remarkable person, tbe Countess herself only raised her veil at the "beginning of the ceremony, and presented nothing in her plain dress that waa worth a second look. Never, on tbe face of it, was there a less interesting and less romantic marriage than this. From time to time tbe Doctor glsnced round to the door or up at the galleriee, vaguely anticipating tbe appearance of some, protesting stranger, in possession of some terrible secret, commissioned to forbid the progress of the service. Nothing in the shape of an advent occurred—nothing extraor dinary, nothing dramatic. Bound fart together as iran and wife, the twodiaappeered, followed cloee by their witnesses, to sign tbe registers and still Doctor Wybrow waited, and still he cherished the obstinate hope that something worth seeing must certainly happen yet.

The Interval passed, and tbe married couple, returning to the church, walked together down the nave of the door. Doctor Wybrow drew back aa they approached. To his confusion and surprise the Countess discovered him. He heard her say to her husband, 'One moment I see a Mend.'

Lord Montbarry bowed and waited. She stepped up to the Doctor, took his hand, and wrung it hard. He felt her overpowering black eyes looking at him through her veil. 'One step more, you see. on the way to tbe end!'

She whispered thoee strange words and returned to her husband. Before tbe Dootor oould recover himself and follow her, Lord and Lady Montbarry had stepped into their carriage and had driven away.

Outside the church deor stood tbe three or ftwr members of tbe dub, who, like Doctor Wybrow, had watched the ceremony ont of curiosity. Near them wsa the oride's brother, waiting alone. He was evidently bent on seeing tbe man whom his sister had spoksn to, in broad daylight. His bold eyes rested on the Doctor% Usee, with a flash of suaplcton in them. Tbe suddenly clewed away the Baton nulled with charming courtssy, lifted his hat to bis sister* friend, and walked 08.

The members constituted themselves into a club conclave on the church atepe. They began with the Baron. 'Damned ill-looking rascal!' They went on with Montbarry. 'Is be going to tske that horrid woman with him to Ireland?' 'Not he! he cannot face tbe tenantry they know about Agnes Lock wood.'

Well, but where is he going?' 'To Scotland.' 'Does she like that?'- 'It's only for a fortnight they oome back to London, and go abroad.' 'And tbey will never return to England, eh?' 'Who can tell? Did yon see how she looked at Montbarry when she had to lift her veil at the beginning of tbe service? In his plsoe, I should have bolted. Did you see her, Doctor?' By this time Dr. Wybrow remembered his patients aud had heard enough of tbe club gossip. He followed the example of Baron Klvar, and walked off. •One step more, you see, on the way to the end,' he repeated to himself on bis wsy home. 'What end?' [TO HK OOKTIWOKD.]

All About a Brick.

BT A NSW YORKER.

One bright morning in the month of November, some years ago, I was preparing to go down town, when tbe servant informed me that a man was wailing at the front door to see me. 'Tell him I'll be down in a moment,' said I.

On going to tbe door a man of tall 'stature and robust appearance, calling me by name, requested assistance, saying that he bad a large family a wife in delicate health, and no means to procure food for them. 'You appear to be strong and healthy why don't you work asked I. 'Simply, sir, for the reason that I cannot procure work.'

Not having any work .to give him, I thought I would test tbe sincerity of his intentions. •If I give you work, what pay do you want?' 'Anything, sir, you choose to give me, so long as 1 can obtain means for my suffering family.' 'Very well," said I, 'I will give yon 25 cents an hour if you will carry a brick on your arm around tbe block, for five hours without stopping. 'Thank you, sir I will do it.'

After hunting awhile I found a brick, placed it on tho man's arm, started him on his walk, and then went down town to my business.

Nofrhaving the least faith in the man's promise, I thought but little more of it, vet, as I knew I should be back within five hours, I determined to see if be performed bis work. My business kept mons as a matter of course me away rather later than I expected so I had to forego my usual walk home. and took a Fourth avenue car to be back within the five hours.

As I approached the corner of tbe street where I reside I found a great crowd of persons gathered, two lire engines, a hose cart and a book and ladder truck. Upon inquiring wb^re the fire was, I was informed that it was a false alarm, and that what brought the people together and occasioned the agitation was the spectacle of a tall man carrying a brick on his arm around the blook for nearly five hours. The neighbors were looking at bim from the windows and doors as be passed along some thought he was crazy, but when spoken to his answer was 'Don't stop me it's all right.'

As he interfered with no one, he was allowed to walk on undisturbed. Where is the man now I asked. •There, you can see him at the other end of the block, walking with his head down,' was the answer.

He was just about turning tbe corner. and I waited till he had performed tbe circuit then, taking him by tbe arm, I marched him to my house, followed by a lot of boys. In tne meantime the fire men, engines and hose cexza rattled off. Tbe man was thoroughly tired out when I took bim into my hall and seated him on a chair, and my servant went for a little wine and something to eat. I paid bim a dollar and a half. He informed me tbat, while making one of his turns, a lady came out of a bouse and inquired why be was carrying that brick, and on bis giving her tbe reasons he received a dollar. The object soon became known, for as be passed the houses small sums were given to bim by different persons, and be was well satisfied with his day's vork. •But,' said be, 'what shall I do to morrow •Why,' I replied, 'go early in the morning to the houses from which you received the money snd ask for work and, no doubt, you will find some one who will put you in the way of getting it then report to me.'

Tbe following afternoon he informed me that be had been sent to a German. who kept a pork establishment in Third avenue, and who wanted a clerk to keep bis books. He was to get {6 a week if his work proved satisfactory, and bis duties begsn on the following day Before leaving me he asked for the brick which bad brought him such good luck, and I gave it to him. Within tbe year I ascertained that tbe man had been transferred to a larger establish ment of tbe same kind, with a salary of fl.000.

Threo or four years after this I was riding in a street car, when a well dressed man accosted me with a smile and asked me if I knew,him. Seeing me hesitate, ha said: 'Do you recollect tbe man who once carried tbe brick

He then informed me ^tbat be waa doing a prosperous business on his own account, bad laid up money, and expected soon to build himself a house uptown. 'What became of the brick?' I in quired. 'That brick, sir, has always occupied aplaoe on our mantelpiece, and we value It as tbe most precious of our little possessions. It haa made oar fortune.'

O VERCBO WEDNESS.

A belated and rather poverty-stricken foot traveler, whose railway ticket waa nod on all country roads and cattle paths, stopped st smsil mansion of apparently four rooms and a kitchen, in the South Hill suburbs, tbe other evening, to beg a night's lodging. As he stood timidly knocking at tbe halfopened door, he heard the shrill commanding tones of tbe lady of tbe bouse, disposing the garrhwn_ror tbe night:

right home, its theft bed time, and lf tbeysee Louisson tbe way sendberto Miss Crosier* for Alice and Jim, and if they know where Earn is yon take this lamp up to grandma* room and aak her If abe wont take care of the baby while I go and find Wdt,«nd while I am gone you undreas Mabel and putber to bed, snd if cooain Harry comes while I am gone tell bim he's to sleep with you." And the traveler sighed snd turned away so oppressed with a feeling of overcro wdednees, that he walked out into the country and alent all nlsbt in tbe middle of a prairie aiMinilesionfr—BorlingUw Hawkeye.

EXTRA VA GANCE OFF UNERALS. [Harper's Weekly.]

It was a.very sensible clergyman at Pittsburg who recently read a paper upon the expensiveness of funerals, and they were very sensible colleagues who adopted his views as their opinions. Mere fashion is nowhere more hateful than in the burying of the dead, and none the less hateful because imposes enormous expenses upon those who cannot afford them. The sayings of & year are often squandered in the idle ostentations of a funeral. It is a not unnatural feeling among the poor that the last service they can render to a beloved friend shall not fail in any usual distinction and the result is that a living family is often straitened that a dead member of it may lie in a mahogany coffin and be followed by along train of carriages to the grave. Reform must come from those who "set the fashion," and a modest simplicity in funerals can be obtained only by the example of those who can ailord to be extravagant.

The worthy undertaker, who Jives by the death of his fellow creatures, is naturally desirous that grief should be lavishly manifested, and he encourages to the utmost this somber splendor. The young American used to be shocked as he read in English stories of mutes and mourning carriage^ of men hired to wear the garb of sorrow, and of grief measured by a train of emptiness. Two or three years ago the movement against this extravagance began in England,and it has the public sympathy and support of very eminent persons. It has shown itself in this country by the common request, with the announcement of a death, that no flowers be sent. A simple and beautiful tribute of affection has grown into an opprerssve fashion, and certain flowers have become odious to many persons from their constant associations with funerals. When such gifts are in truth the offerings of love and sympathy no symbols can be more touching but the moment they spring from the mere force of fashionable custom, and are sent to the house of mourning as gifts are sent by formal acquaintances to a bride, with no more feeling than in the leaving of ceremonious visiting cards, they are touching and significant no longer. The change in the mere fashion of flowers upon such occasions can be carried by the same good sense into every other funeral extravagance, so that the poor need no longer teel that their dead are slighted if they are not buried with ruinous expense.

There was another suggestion made at Pittsburg which is worthy* of consideration. It was proposed that funeral sera matter of course should not be preached and to this suggestion there will probably be a very general amen. They are of necessity eulogies, for no good hearted preacher would choose such a time to tell unpleasant truths. Yet, if a man has been selfish, hard, grasping, selfindulgent, sordid—and there are such men —what is the poor preacher to do? The well-meaning reply that every person has something good in him, and the eulogist can speak of that, is conclusive if the preacher is not to give his honest view ol the character of the dead. But to say of a man notorious for his meanness that Inwent regularly to church, or of a debauchee that he gave generously to the poor, is not to tell the truth, but to dodge it. A change in this habit, however,must spring from the good sense of the clergyman, and the community in which he lives. And the first step toward ^the change calling attention to the subject as the Pittsburgh clergymen have done.

TO LADIES TRAVELING ALONE. A Chicago lady has prepared the fol lowing hints which will be found useful to ladies who travel unattended.:

I noticed in the newspapers recently an account of an appalling calamity happening to a lady traveling alone through New York state.

I am not familiar with modes of pro cedure in removing insane persons to asylums, but would have supposed that men in charge of such persons must have papers in their possession showing they were lawfully making the removal. If this is so, it strikes me it would have been an easy matter to insist on the showing of such papers^ and that the conductor should have so insisted. Also, the falseness of the story could have been easily proved by making inquiries^ by telegraph from the next station, and in many other ways. Rut the lady unfortunately seems to have lost all presence of mind and so increased her own danger, making people around her think her insane, too. l*rom time to time we read of other mishaps meeting women traveling alone, till it sometimes.seems as if it were utterly unsafe for a woman to travel alone. Still women must travel, and very often alone, and by exercise of due caution and foresight there is no reason why it should not be perfectly safe for them to do so. There area few rules if followed, it seems to me would save a world of anxiety an] trouble. 1. Before starting on a journey, famil iarize yourself with tho route, and with names of good hotels at the various stopping places. 2. Never travel with just enough money, but always carry enough to provide for any possible emeigency« This will saye much anxiety. 3. Wear but little jewelry and keep the larger part of your money in some inside pocket, out of sight (the trouble of the lady already spoken oi came partly from wearing valuable jewelry). 4. Always look after yourself, and do not allow a stranger to procure your tickets or checks for your baggage. 6. Avoid, if possible, making changes in car by night, but, when unavoidable, go with others. Do not become separated from the crowd. 6. Take io hacks, but go in an omnibus where there are other people. These are perfectly safe. 7. If in any doubt as to changing cars, checking beggpge, ete, inquire in advance of the eondactor. Tbe conductors on our trains are always polite and willing to be of service, especially to women traveling alqpe. 8. Do not wait till about to make some change ha train before inquiring of the cooductor, for, ten to one, he will then be hurried and you will only half inform yourself and, finally, 9. Under all circumstances endeavor to retain preseooeof mind. One who can do this will have no trouble traveling, and, instead of its beix» unwise for women to travel alone, I think it an advantage for them to make trips alone, for there are lew people who are not at times obliged to do sou and experience does away with much of the possible danger in traveling.

Dr. Ball's Baby Syrop te rsoommend1 by 9$ druggists as being a jmre* ifsUble ^reliable preparation.

Clifford's Febslfave.

In tbe cure of Fever and Ague this remedy displays extrsordinsry powers. Properly used, no case can reeist it, and other diseases of an intermittent character, including tbat moat distressing dis-^-ease, Periodical Neuralgia, have been found to yield, with equal certainty, to its influence. It eradicates all malarial from tbe system, givea tone and vigor to^ tbe whole body, and prevents disease« from becomming seated. Try CUP-. FORB'S FKBRIFCOK it is sure, safe and|.v speedy in its action. You will never re- jwi gret buying the first bottle, and you will have discovered a friend you cannot afford to lose. J. C. RICH

ARDSON,

Prop'r, St. Louis.

For sale by all druggists. Augl7-4wf

Accomplished at Last. The grand climax of success is at lastp^ achieved. Tbe poor rejoice, the sick arise and walk, the rich bask in the bright sunshine of perfect health. Tbep physical miseries or the human frame need no longer be endured DR. KING'S CALIFORNIA GOLDBN COMPOUND, for Dyspepsia, Constipation. Sick Headache, Coming up or Food, Jaundice, Liver Complaint, Biliousness, General Debility, Drowsiness and Low Spirits This wonderful remedy will positively cure, and that where every other remedy has^ failed. To prove that this wonderftal. remedy will do all we claim for it, you are presented with a trial bottle /rc«o/ cost, by which you will readily peroeive its wonderful ourative qualities, and which will show you what regular one dollar size bottle will do. For sale by: Gulick fe Berry, Terre Haute. [6]

Consumption Cared. An old phyaician, retired from practice. having bad placed in his hands by an East India missionary the formula of a simple vegetable remedy, for the speedy and permanent cure for consumption, bronchitis, catarrh, asthma, and all throat and lung affections, also a positive and radical cure for nervous debility and all nervous complaints, after having tested its wonderful curative

Eis

owers in thousands of cases, haa felt it? duty to make it known to bis suffer-^ ing fellows. Aotuated by this motive,' and a desire to relieve human suffering,!!" I will send, free of oharge, to all whoP!ff desire It, this recipe, with full directions for preparinjK and using, in*Berman, French, or English. Sent by mall by^-. addressing with stamp, naming this'^ jasper, W. W. Sherar, 140 Powers'Block&!> Rochester, N. Y. j, (eow)

CATARRH

Sneezing Catarrh, Chronlo Catarrh, Ulcerative Catarrh, permanently cured by

SANFORD'S RADICAL CURE.

fl»Tmrcn'A RADICAL CUMroaCATASRB IS a

safls. •*,

rtniti. ami permanent euro for Catarrh of ersty 4v» 'i in, and 1* tho moxt porfoct remedy ever devliea. vlajjpllodr*

ii.ia.il piimcea of over •trUctfoo, aulncM, or

l.«! liVM|n| UlIM VIVSUSVS M1W W'fc!

iry fcoll-.iff of heaviness, obdizziness. Constitutionally t&rS

administered It renovates tua blood, purifies It of' tho acid pofeon with which It Is «lwas charsod In Catarrh,suttulntusthostomacli. liver,andklunetl, pnrfocts digestion, maUcs new blood, and nernuta^tf tho formation of sound, hoalthv tissue, ana anally obtains complcta control over tho disease. Ths OH remarkAbld curat!vo power*, when all other remoDLOJ utterly fall, of SWPORD'H RADTCAL Cent, ara 0? attested by thoiwinde who grnteililly recommend It to fcllow-snflrcrcr*. No statement Is mmlo re-1 gardlng It thivt cannot bo substantiated by tho most re*poctnlilo mvl rellublo rcfcronecs. It Is a irreat and (food modlflno, end worthy all eonfl. dcncc. Each pnclau-c contann a Trcatlso on Catarrh and ))r. Bmit^ril's Inprovnl lnhallnff Tuba, cad full directions for Hi use In allcasos. PrlcolL.

An Enthusiastic Friend of Sanfbrd's Radical Curo.

IICIIATTOM, CUAKT Ci UrtwcM'A Fr:a AXD) M.U.INS l.vnrjSAKCB AOENCT, Plao tHrui.it,

S'DL 77.)

St. Louis, Mo., Feb. 7,1077.

4$

A. A. MKLU~n. Washington Av., City. —Dear Melller: Tliav for soma years burn troubled with W»Catarrh. and for tho past two yours havoauflured & seriously with It. Noticing your ndvi rtlsommt of

5*

bAvrosb's Rkmkpt(U.vuiOAi.ci-nu), I decided to try It. lhavo used onlrtwo loii los, and as a result I fool so ntueh relieved thut" 1 wiumo on our personul relations and wrlio thin Io you and ask that yon take some measures togctltir.ora prominently liefor.) the nubile, that othorsmuy Imvasuch relief as I have, Imvo recommended to qulto a number of niy Irlends, all of whom huvu cxpr'Voil t» tne their high cstlmuto of iu Value aud gjodcfTuchi 'M With them. 1 really think It particularly adapted to wants of m-ii... EH. Loal* people, ntid t!icy all ought to know if It, and those who nr?d it should trylt, I will risk tho assertion that KMO 1 oz. vials (us a sample) to bo plvm awny wlllkt'll as many hotilcs.

Trjsoms pluti. Lot tho pronlulinvnltj they need It. I believe 1 could soil MW bottles myself—of ronrse you conhl lurftcly Increase tills number. r& Why not try It? Tou:s truly, WM. BOWEN.

Sold by all Wliolesalo end Retn'l Drucgtsts snd Dmlers in Mcdlclno throughout the united States :z tndCanadas. WKEft l&POTTETt,OtneralAganU stead Wholesale Draggles, Boston,

MOM.

LAME BACK!

AAV

RHEUM ATBSM

OVBSDST

I r:

COLLINS'™

cwri.

FLASTEB3

ftekt A Potttr: Oentlemen, Qtif year

suto I wasseizud vli,i asovero attac of Rii:umntlsmln my rlglithlp.ts w.ilcli I vatMibjBCt. Itrlud tli.v. various liniments and rhcuim tic cures, but St' without tho least benefit, when mv son, a druggl»t, snggrstefloaoofTonrCot.UNs'VuLT IIOFLAHTSM. Wt Tho ffli'ct was almost magical, for, to my grut it) jg® «urprl«n, I was almost inimedl»tt-iy ell jmin, umi ^, was able to work upon my fnrs as usuul, wlic:ruoa, before thi application or iho Pl-ister, I could riu nothing, and every step gavi mo pain. Afcwwciks since, one your fro the first stuck, tho dlx wo returned,bat 1 nn happy to say the second Plaster proved asefiiraclons as tho 11 rs', and I am now w. lf. My wife wfrlics mo to add tbotouo Plaster has ft cured her of a very Ism back. We think there i* nothing In tbe world c,trrmedlesthat ran compare with the COLLIss' VOLTAIC PLASTzasfor Rheums torn and Lame ttnek, and cheerfully r-c«ttinit.ud them to tbe safTerl-tg. Tonrs very repect(ullr.

OUAXD, M., Jens 6,13TS. ROBERT COTTOX. NOT A

QUACK NOSTRUM.

Genllenun,—l hereby certiry thru for several years past I li.iv* n»:d tho V-LTUO Vl. ISTILCS IN tar pructic and have n*vrr known C.cm t»fall in anordltgspeeiy relief In tlUNK'Ciwr* for which they ore rccnmtncnucil. Tbrvnrnnut a quack iKxttnim, mit but a remcdUl agent or gr at *n -. rv truly jroan*. V. r. COL-INS, M. it.

ItccuMwr. May 27.18: i. PBIOB ta cn*Ti. Beearefblto iiriinCou.r V.I.TAIOPLA»T«B. IS Scombination ofEiecirt«• and Volute Pla«*-e, with highly Me:ic*t*d F1m»-r, as ae-n In the above eat. Sold by all Wholesale and Retail Druggists |hrou^uttb^rn{udtwat'( and anadaa. and br WKK&S a PuTT:ti. Prt/pH' fr*. Bo-ion/M^as.

KILLS all tbe PLXB8 In *1 ream laTWO^ HOURS.

xoc. worth will un

than fio worth of

No dirt.

BotAttic MtJifin-

i,,.,