Saturday Evening Mail, Volume 12, Number 17, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 22 October 1881 — Page 2

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ONE MORE—ONE LESS.

Tea little cigarettes in a wraper line, The small Ijoy samples them, and then there are nine.

Nine little eigarrettea quickly one by one Get their work in on the youth, and then there are none.

.Four bearded doctor* alttl 'Each with a dllTrent head.

One little funeral to the graveyard bore, One little smoker less—one angel more.

WOMAN'S RIOHTS.

One day at school I told the boys

*T was wrong to chew tobacco A six-year old Grown very bold, Presumed to give his veto.

Hays be, "I saw A fellow chaw

Because he had the toothache Taint never wrong For any one To chew that has the toothache."

The school agreod With him indeed,

His logic charmed the urchins. Q,tiitc puzzled, I Could scarce reply -,«At first to his asxertiona

A happy thought, However, brought

Relief from Greeley's namesake. "Horace." I said, "If a girl instead Hhould chance to have the toothache,

And want to chew. What should she do?"

Like Older ones, by time unschooled, He scratched his bend, And then he said. "She'd ortef have the tooth pulled."

MARRIAGE.

A little kiss .* A little bliss, A little ring—its ended,

a

A little Jaw, A little law,

A Bitter Lesson.

BY ELLA WHEELER.

Helen and tsara Rivers, the village merchant's daughters at Berryville, sat out 011 the pleasant veranda one mild May afternoon.

Or rather Sara sat in-a little rocker, sewing. Hhe was making a dress for her hkby brother. And Helen lounged in the hammock with a novel.

Suddenly Helen closed her book, and "Spbic».' •'SjkHo dear," who began. "1 nmnC 'yrtti to toaso papa to let me go to thQsfNNLJihoce with Mrs. Meridith next moptli, jvill you? 1 am just wild to go."

Sliru hesitated bet'oro replying. Then she only said. "1 am sure I wish yon could go, Helen." "J thought you would favor it," Helen responded with a contented sigh as she re-arranged herself in the hammock. "And if you uso your influence with papa, 1 am' sure ho' will let mo go. He thinks you are so wisoand sensible in all.your ideas and you are. And I shall nootl one or two dresses. Mrs. Meridith wrotfi 1110 yesterday that she was making lip a delightful party, and of such nice, nice poople,-—just the element I would likeu Oh, 1

must

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THE MAIL

A PAPER FOR THE PEOPLE.

TERRE HAUTE,* OCT. 22, 1881

'round the bed. to his learned

w- *Threebig disease*' waiting to destroy, j^gihAll bearing Latin names as long a* the boy.

Two undertakers, gratitude in eye, 0, Bow low to the doctor as they pmw 'em by.

go, Sadio. I cannot

spend the Summer horo. Berryville ro\vs perfectly unbearable to me, with ts little aims and petty gossips, and narrow ideas of life. I "wish you were not going to mako vour home here. Can't you persuade Will to settle sotnowhorwolso?"

Sum's sweet face Hushed a little. "No," she said, "I shall not try. Ho has a line opening as successor to Mr. (iroen: and 110 young lawyer could begin under bettor auspices, 1 think, than he will. Jlosides I shall be very glad to live near father and mother. *1 should feel sorry to go wholly away from them. "Oh, of course," Helen replied a little nbashod "1 knew that of course, but it seems too bad to bo tied down to tiiis Jittlo town all your life when there are ho many larger places. Hut than you have always boon here, and don't suppose it. seems to you as it does to me. 1 know 1 am spoiled for a quiet life, and I must go to the sou-shore. Sadie, try and make papa see that a great deal depends upon it! 1 shall meet so many people, who ou know--my no will

kind of people

all bo of social benefit to me. And if I stay here year after year, and let these opportunities' slip, I shall grow old, and rusty, and waste my life and my accomplishments, which certainly tit nio for a ditTeivnt sphere." "I know it dear," Sara answered quietly. "You are lilted for brilliant circles, and I lun sure I want you to lie happy. I will speak to papa to-night." "Thank you, Sadie," replied Helen, witha cunning smile, and resumed her novel.

It never ontered her mind for a moment that her sister might have plans of her own for tho Summer. "Sadie was such a homebody." Yet Sara had been thinking for some weeks that early in June she could go out into the country to hor aunt's for a few weeks, for a rest and change, leaving Helen to assist her mother, and returti iu time to send her mother out for the remainder of the season. Helen had been with Mrs. Meridith in the city for two months during the Winter and Sadie had fancied she might be willing to stay at home through tho Summer.

But now that Helen had expressed her wish to go away, Sadie gave up her own let her .sis-

plans. She would stay, and ler go—her brilliant, beautiful sister, who was meant to shine abroad, not to stav shut up in her village home.

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"I don't think her education and accomplishments ought to unfit her for home," the father responded. "I sent her to school, and to the musical institution, thinking she would be an ornament to her home, and a comfort to her parents. But it seems to have been a great mistake. Still I suppose there will be precious little peace for me until I consent. You may tell her she can go."

Helen's delight was scarcely greater -than her mother's when Sara announced the success of her mission. Mrs. Rivers was in some respects a very weak woman. She loved her children, it might truly be said, "not wisely, but too well."

A

beauty, and something of a

belle in her young days, she bad in her domestic life, centered all her own personality and ambitions in her daughters. She was unselfish and self-sacriiicing: and while this was repaid by devotion, and gratitude, and tenderness from Sara, her youngest daughter, it had reached a precisely opposite result in Helen. She bad grown to take ail this seltisbuesss and self-sacrifice as her rightful due, and to believe herself made of better and finer material than her mother or sister.

She was a handsome girl, and possessed of a quick, active mind. She had outstripped her classmates at the village high school, and her mother had at once suggested sending her away for further instructions. This the father was equalljanxious to do, but he objected to the fashionable institution which the mother proposed—but at length yielded his consent. After three years Helen came home "finished," but begging for an additional year at a musical institute, which was given her. All this required a good deal of contriving and planning on the part of the mother and sister to accomplish. Mrs. Rivers wore her Summer bonnet all Winter, and made lier old cloak do—and Sara denied herself many little knick-knacks, and turned her old dresses—that Helen might have every advantage, and be an honor to the family.

And at length Helen came home—a brilliant young lady with all the "style" imaginable. And for a few weeks she was quite the rage in Berry ville, and her beantv and her accomplishments were lauded to her heart's content, and her

Enppy.

And lo! the bonds arc rended. —[Des Moines Mail.

arents were in dead very proud and

But, after a few weeks, she began to be an old story in Berryville, and tho young people began to resent her airy superiority, and her unmistakable contempt for everything "countrified." She had accepted their attentions and admiration as a matter of course, and had made not the least attempt to please them or win their regard. When they began to to fall off, and leave her to herself, she set them down as "envious" and "boorish," and wondered how she had endured them as long as she had.

Then she grew restless and unhappy, and sighed for a "change." There was plenty to do in tho pleasant home to keep her time well filled, but she did not do it. Mrs. Rivers and Sara did the family sewing, and Helen was very handy with her needle. But she "detested the work—it made her side ache," she said, and so they did not ask her help. There was a baby brother to look after, just the ago to be always in mischief but Helen declared she "had uo lac* with children, they made her so irritable," and very soon" no one ever thought of asking her to look after baby, even for an hour. There was a fine piano, and an easel, and a box of paints, too butsho rarely touched the instrument after a few weeks. "It made hpr home-sick for the old college," she said and her drawing and painting wcro entirely given up. She wandered about aimlessly—read novels, wrote letters, slept a great deal, and yawned over the "dullness" oT Berryville.

When the Winter came she begged to be sent away for a visit to Mrs. Meridith. Mrs. Meridith was a fashionable lady whoso niece had been in Helen's class at school. She eamedown once to see her niece, and seemed to take a deep interest ir. Helen. JVhon she left she invited Helen to spencLher next vacation with Jier, which she accordingly did, wilting home to her parents a glowing account of the elegant home, and the gav scenes which she was enjoying to the utmost.

So the next Winter Mrs. Meridith had written for hor to come and spend the holidavs with her. "My niece has married and gone," she wrote, "and I long for a young face in the house. Come, and "who knows but you may carry off as great a prize as Bessie did for,'my dear, she has made the marriage of the season."

Mrs. Meridith was a worldly woman and a match-maker. She had admired Helen for her lino form and handsome features, and longed to "mako a sensation" with her in fashionable circles.

So Helen went, and remained two months. She senthoms for money twQ or three times. And Mrs. Meriditli gave her an elegant ball-dress as a Christmas present. And she was quite tho rage, as lier hostess had predicted. And of course she had gone home more discontented ttun ever!

The mother and sister were botli delighted to listen to her accounts of splendid times, and felt very proud of her but the fat her could not refrain from asking, "What it all amounted to anyway? If you were a millionaire's "daughter in the city, and could keep it up," he said, "It would bo one thing.

Hut as it is, it seems to me all folly for you to sip from the fountain of wealth and luxury which yon surely can never drink deeply from," and which will only serve to make you unhappy and discontented with ai quiet life."* '•Father doesn't understand," Helen said to Sara that night. "His ideas are all crude and old-fashioned. I should think he might see, that by allowing me to visit such people as Mrs. Meridith frequently. I may be enabled to do the very thing he says I cannot do—viz., drink deepiv from'tho golden fountain. Mrs. Meridith's niece was a poor girl when her aunt took her in hand, and now she is the wife off rich Wall street broker. If she had always remained in her country home, she would never have made such "a marriage, of course."

So Helen went to the sea-shore and she sent home bright, witty letters, full of fine descriptions of scenery, and of the people she met letters which wene rwwf aloud in the family cirrle, and admired and laughed over for Helen was a fine correspondent.

The father was a little more difficult to itvooeile. "I meant you and your mother should both go away this "Summer," he said, "Helen was gone half the Winter,and I thought it but fair that she should stay, at home and let you go now." "Mother can go all the same," Sara re- has jn*t received an addition in the" per spoti'hM. "She could not «o before the son of Mr. McMahoo, from San Franl**lof July anyway. Ami I do not care ei-»oo—a very wealthy Whlor. Mrs. at all about a change. I am perfectly) Meridith tells me he *wt» stock in one well and happy, and will have enough to of the most valuable old mines in Calidoto korpm* from being lonely." fornia. *\Sn thought Helen if would look 5 After that, every letter contained some ubmt h?r a little instead of always littl® reference to Mr. McMahon. whom thinking of herself," answered the father Helen evidently saw a great deal of ,1 liitle irritably. "I am losing all. and then esnne a letter to Mr. Rivers, patience with her. The mora I do for saying "*he had something to tell him her tins more she wants, and she is never when she ©mi® home, wbi«!» ahe Imped htppy, and never makes anyone else lie would k* glad to hear. and which so. I would convince him tint kindness

Once she said incidentlv in one of her tatters to Sara, "Mrs. Meridith's party

But she I* not in her element ben* at in allowing her to go to the ma-shore r.'»rryville, papa," Sara hastened to say. was not ".••-4.** ••Think of h#r ammi^MnMnto. and In Jlep'--mV: -he. u5i.\ ~:rn ,.2 with ln't hriSHaix stift Is raailjr nnflUM twsar a fmumi such a quiet"plaw. She will be Just Mr. MeMahon, who rt his her element if she eiu g*» to the sea- dsuehtw'* hand in 4©.

I

'Bat la this queried Mr.

Rivers, bluntly. "Who knows anything about bint "Why, Mrs. Meridith met him last Summer at the sea-shore, first, and became acquainted with him. And of course when he came this Summer, she asked him to join her party. I think she had my interests in her mind even then. He is very wealthy, and knows all those moneyed men out West, and uses his monev like a prince. I am sure yon will Use him, papa. He is coming next week to see you, and receive your consent to our marriage, which he wants should take place at an early day."

Mrs. Rivers was beside herself with joy and Sara seemed very much pleased at Helen'8 bright prospects. "Ouly," sho said to herself, "only I wish I were qiiite sure that-Helen loved this man. It seems to me her heart is not much touched, only her pride is. pleased, and her amoition gratified. But then I may be wrong, and she seems so happy. And it is just the life she ought to lead—the life he will give her."

When Mr. McMahon came, Sara was a little shocked to find him almost as old as her father, and quite as gray. But he was fine looking, and very elegantly dressed, and his manners were highly

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olisbed, ?4iis voice music itself. After had leen with them for a day or two, Sara could quite readily beiieve that Helen loved him. "He is certainly a very fascinating man," she told her father, as tbev sat talking about him. "And though I did not quite like him at first, I feel almost a sisterly regard for him now. Heseems very fond of Helen, and I have nodoubt they will be happy." "I hope so," sighed the father, "and it seems to be the only sort of life that Helen is fitted for. I wish I knew a little more about the mau. He gives me the address of several prominent men in the West to write to, if I desire further information. And yet these men aro all strangers to me, and I don't know as it would amount to much. I suppose Mrs. Meridith knew he was all right, or she would not have introduced him to Helen."

Mr. McMahon pleaded for an early wedding, and a quiet one. But Helen insisted on a display. "I want all my friends here,"-she said, "for the ceremony, and a brief^poeption, and then we are to go intpjjie city, and Mrs. Meridith is to give us a grand fulldress reception, for which she writes me she will issue cards to two or three hundred friends. A girl is only married once iu a lifetime, you know, ordinarily," she added, with a carrying smile. "So please let me have it just as nice as I want it."

Mr. McMahon consented reluctantly. "I hate a display," be said, "especially at a wedding. Still, dear, have it your own way. Only don't delay it too long. ""The last of October is as soon is I can ready, and as soon aa Mrs. Meredith can make her preparations."

So Mr. McMahon went away, and tried to be content. But they all saw that the plans were greatly to his distaste.

But Helon had no idea of yielding in this. She was secretly elated at the idea of having all of Berryville witness her brilliant fortunes—hateful Borryville, that had been so envious of her. And then the grand reception at Mrs. Meredith's—why, it was all like some story of a princess in fairy-land.

Little thought she gave to the work and worry and expense it all involved for her family. Did they n0t owe it to hor, thoir handsome and bright child, who wa9 to confer such an BbgOr upon them, in this brilliant marriage?

So the preparations went on, and the whole village was on tho qui vive of excitement. Helen made no effort to couceal her approaching marriage. She was glad to know thatit was the snbject of discussion at almost every tea-table In the village. She felt sure every Kiri *n town was dying of envy.

She talked to her mother and sister constantly of the brilliant future that lay before her, and, in her bright dreams of days to come, she failed to notice the weariness of her mother's face, or the tired look her sister's often wore. "I wish Helen spoke more of the mau and less of his money." said Sara to her young lover, Will Waiters, one evening, as they sat talking together. "I fear she does not love him as she should the man she is to marry but perhaps she will grow to care for him."

And so the days went by, and the eventful 31st of October came. It was a perfectday—soft, hazy Indian Summer. The pleasant village home was thrown o(en, and was one bovver of bloom. Guests filled it rapidly, and tho bride was robed in her elegant white silk—a gift from Mrs. Meridith, and the giver's la*t of many gifts—a string of beautiful pearls circled lier fair neck. All was in readiness, and tho hour drew near, but the bridegroom did not come. Ten, fifteen minutes, half an hour, then an hour of dreadful, mortifying suspense. People began to say it was "queer and by the end of the second hour, many of the guests had gone home. In an agony of terror, Helen sat in her room, every nerve strained to the utmost tension. When the third hour had passed, a telegram came. "Unavoidably detained," it said "explanations will" follow."

That was all. And no explanations followed—not from the groom. The next day a letter came frem Mrs. Meridith. It ran thus: "My dear child, my heart is torn with grief and despair for you. Last evening all was in readiness—and the guests began to assemble, and still you had not come. I began to feel nervous, and troubled, and at length, quite desperate, when Mr. Meredith took me aside and showed mean item in the evening paper which I had not beforeseen. I enclose it. Believe me deeply afflicted by your mortification, which'l, of course, share to a grent degree. I dismissed the guests as well as I could, and shall hush the matter up to the best of my ability. I hope you will come and see mo soon. Do not be too much affected by this blow—severe as it is."

The item enclosed was as follows:: "This moruing quite a sensation was caused at the M—e street R. It. Depot. Just as the train was about to depart, a dashing looking female boarded the rear car, evidently looking for some one. This some one proved to be no other than a well-known society lion here—Mr. McMahon, of San Francisco, who was to have been married this p. m., and to whom a brilliant receptiou was to be tendered by a well-known society lady here this evening. But the untimely appearance of a former wife upon the scene, at the eleventh hour, has seriously npset these agreeable plans, and the would-be briJcgroom departed on a western-bound train with his foimer wife, a few hours later, looking none too i»ppy."

This item, written with the usual heartlessness and levity which is the '•iU?m" reporter's only "stock in trade, proven to fie quite true,

Mr. McMahon was an adventurer, who had made a fortune by successful mining ventures in tho West. He had left a wife in Haines when be went to seek his fortunes and Wing successful, and of a r\. ing. advent rous nature, he had n.' East to enjov his fortunes as a bsdLu.ji. One stiauiK Uc sc& shore

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TERRE HAUTE SATURDAY EVENING MAIL.

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bad been so pleasant tbat he quite decided to come again. After years of a none too happy married life, he found It very pleasant to be lionized as a "rich bachelor."

He came again, with what results we know. Mrs. Meredith and Helen both wooed him. He devoted himsrff to Helen—at first out of mere oourtesy— then he grew attached to her. Daily association with a handsome, brilliant girl proved dangerousjand he resolved on a desperate move. He would marry her, ana risk detection.

It was four years now since he had written to, or heard from, his wife. Possibly she was dead he hoped so, for they had been very uncongenial.

If living, it was not likely she would ever find him. Anil he could, at least, count on a few years of happiness with this beautiful girl, who seemed to be so very much in love with him.

If necessary, he could produce letters from friends in California, where he was supposed to be a bachelor.

So ho reasoned, and so he planned. But nevertheless, discovery overtook him at tho eleventh hour, and Helen was saved.

Saved, but through what terrible humiliation, what agony» worse than death!

Of course the facts in the case were soon public property, and the a flair was in everybody's mouth. Many were sympathetic more were of tho opinion that it "served her right." Helen had never tried to win friends, and had held her head very high. Of course the peoploshe had snubbed were not sorry for her downfall.

Mrs. Rivers and Sadie seemed utterly crushed for a time and Mr. Rivers looked years older. "This is what comes from seeking after false gods," he said. "0 mv child, my poor child, what will become of her!" And white, stricken, despairing, Helen sat and echoed the cry, "what will become of me!"

She shut herself in her room, and saw no one, save her own family. The days were liko years—each crueller than the last.

If she bad loved the man as some women love, she might have been ill— mercifully ill, and suffering bodily, which is alwaj'S a rest and relief to the mindj

But it was not wounded love it was mortified pride and ambition, aud the thought of a life-long disgrace which she had to contend with. Through the long terrible nigbts she lay awake, and thought with sickening terror of the curious and uusympathizing eyes she must meet, when she faced the world again of the cruel things people were saying of her. and of the notoriety—the dreadful

notoriety

that woulcl attach

itself to her wherever she wfent sho the beauty and the belle, an Object of curiosity to the common rabble. "If I had not made it so public," she sobbed "if I had not iusisted 011 a grand display here, and in tho city, it would not have been known by so many peo-

le. But now, everybody knows it, and there—aud go where I will it will follow me. Oh what shall I do with mv miserable blighted life!"

And through the long dark hours of tho night, and the longer, more dreadf«l hours of day—for the glaring daylight is always' more pitiless than the tender night—sho grew to analyze herself as she was. Alas, so few of ns do, until sorgfe such hour comes, and the unwelcome knowledge is forced upon us! "I have done with pleasure, happiness, brilliant scenes, and admiration," she said at last. "Wherever I should go now, this old stigma would follow,me, and I should feel that glances I onco thought were admiring were now curious. There is no hope of anything bright in my future. I have reached the summit of success and joy, and been cast down into the depths of despair. It is hard, cruelly hard',' but cannot help that now. The only thing left for me is to try and make other people as happy as I can. No gr6at mission is open to me I must begin in the little ways—the littlo vexing, trying cares, that Sadio bears so sweetly. 1 am not good or patient like her: but I suppose patience is a quality we can cultivate—not a gift. I will begin at once."

Great was the amazement of Mrs Rivers an hour later, when Helen came out of her room neatly dressed, and said. "You look tired, mother, l^et me hold Robbie while you take a nap. Go and lie down on my bed it is nice and quiet in there."

Mrs. Rivers was about to say she need not take the child, that Sadie would be at liberty soon, when Helen anticipated her. "Let me have my way, mother—my new way, just as you always let me have my old way. I trust the results will bo happier ones."

So the tire mother took the rest she sorely needed and Helen gave her little stock of patience its first voluntary trial with tho troublesome child.

It was hard work, and tho tears fell, but Bhe conquered, and bushed the child to sleep at last. Then she sought out Sadie. "I want to help you sew, dear," she said. And Sarah looked up, and underderstood, and gave her work to do.

That was the beginning—small indeed, but still a beginning. And as the days went by, the opportunities multiplied when Helen found her assistance a help and rest to her mother and sister aud she began to wonder how they had borne all the household and domestic burdens alone so long. "I have been cruelly blind, cruelly selfish," sho said, mentally "but, God helping me, I will live a different life henceforth, hard and barren as it will be."

It was hard but it was not barren. It was hard nnd weary work to care for a troublesome baby hour after hour to sit with bitter thoughts for company through long afternoons, and sew on plain garments to restrain the irritable words, andimpatient impulse. "But it is ail there is left to me," she sighed "unless I do these little common daily duties faithfully and well, mv life will be liwe Dead Sea fruit." But f»v and by, when the baby grew to reach out

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own

outer world, it was not so hard. People stared ai her. She saw them whisper, and look, and, smile, and go through all the torturing performances a mixed world does when a notorious orfamous person is in their midst. To the famous it is frequently painful to the notorious'it is torture. Helen went home with every nerve unstrung and the wound newly bleeding. But she went out again the next day aud the next, and where of old she "had given the p9ople she met a haughty bow, she now gave a smile, or a pleasant word. It was wonderful how soon the current of publie sentiment turned in her I'avor.

A cordial word, a pleasant greeting, a little interest shown in their well-being, was all that was needed to win many of Berryville for fast friends, ready to defend, instead of censure ready to sympathise, instead of triumph, in her trounle. Before six months had gone by, Helen had ten friends where she had formerly had one. And life began to seem bright to her onco more—brighter than she had supposed it possible.

She was young, she was fair, she was accomplished, and she had a pleasant home, and many friends. It seemed to her the homo and friends she had newly fouHd, and the knowledge tbat she was a comfort and help to her parents, and that she was loved and respected bv the voting people of the village, was balm to her wounded pride and affection.

So, out of the old selfish, frivolous girl rcw a rare, sweet woman—a woman so oveablo and so attractive from her thoughtful kindness and her unselfish interest in all who came in her way— that she became not only the pride of her family, but the pride of the village as well. And hers was a popularity far greater—far more gratifying than the old belleshlp ever had been.

Sadie married and moved into hor own home, and two years, three years, went by. Then love—true love, came to Helen. A new railroad was to pass through Berryville and the young sur veyor met Helen, and mutual love seemed to follow as a natural sequence. It came like a shock almost to Helen, who had fancied her life drama ended with that old miserable affair. "He will hear of that old story, and scorn me," she sobbed, as, in the silent watches of the night, she acknowledged to herself that she felt an interest in this young survoyor that she had never felt jfor any man in her life before.

Later, when he asked her to be his wife, she asked him, with flushed cheeks and drooping eyelids, if I10 had not heard the old scandal. "Yes," he said "I have heard it. And I have heard, too, of the beautiful life you have lived since then—the life of unselfish, devotion to all yout friends. I feel unworthv to be the suitor of one so rarely noble—but you can lift me to your height, dear, in the long, glad years that lie before us, when each shall be a help to the other."

So the great joy of a happy, reciprocated love came to Helen, to crown her life, and complete it.

Yet when she came to leave the old home for anew one, and the little village for the city once So longed for, sho found deep sadness mingled with her happiness. "After all,"sho said to herself, "there is no higher joy in life than that derived from doing the little, vexing, trying duties of dnily life faithfully urid well of ministering to the horrly comfort and pleasure of those near you aud this old home, and this once despised village where taught myself this lessen through bitter tears that, through God's mercy, have turned into gems of light now—are very dear to me so dear that it is very hard to go away and leave them, even with love to lead 1110!"

Helen is a liappy wife and mother now, and an ornament to society as well. For her husband is a prosperous and rising man and her accomplishments fit her for any circles. But the old lesson of unselfishness, learned in those dark days of sorrow, has never been forgotten: and it is that, rather than her boauty or brilliancy, that makes her so attractive to all who know her—an attractiveness tbat increases with tho years, instead of diminishing as do simjsljrjpersonal charms.

Health and strength given to delicate women, nursing mothers, and infant children who use Brown's Iron Bitters.

TUTT'S

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little hands and cry for her In preference to its mother even, and when Sara would say in family conclave, "Ask Helen, she has so much better taste than I and when the dear mother turned to her almost hourly for advice and counsel, Helen began to see tliat h«r labor waa not wholly "barren," for it bore the fruit of love an appreciation already. Then, too, she felt her own heart "expanding with new eruptions. She had loved her family in a vague way always, as we naturally love those who take* cans of ns. Now she loved with a new love the tender, protecting affection we give to those we desire to shield and guard. She grew to watch her mother's face to see when the "tired" !r.rk came and when her father caroe home at night, worried and vexed with his div work, she opened the piano and pl r. wland s»«ar to him an hour at «tlm«

l.» rt

almost breaking

with its hitter, silent burden meanwhile. Alter ahs bad the terrible SS.

PILLS

INDORSED BY

PHYSICIANS, CLERGYMEN, AND THE AFFLICTED EVERYWHERE. THE GREATEST MEDICAL

TRIUMPH OF THE AGE.

SYMPTOMS OF A

TORPID

appetite,Nausea.bowelsooatjva,

F^nln'theg^,with^^»eji»aTOln tTJeTbVck part, fain under this shoulder^ blaTe, fulin wafter eating, wfth a aigin linotion to exertion of body or mina, Irritability of temper. Low •plriti, JUo«« of memory, wlfha feeling of having neglected some'duty, wearlneM.TVfainewgj Flattering of the.Heart, Dotabefore the

eyes* enow tsitin, neaoncnci nwm nets aTHglitrSighly colored Urine. IF THESE W ARinirGS ABE THTHEEDED, SERIOUS DISEASES WILL SOON BE OEVaOPEO.

TU'IT'g FILLS are especially adapted to utirh CR#*#,on® done effect* «nchi»ch»*ige of feeling an to astonish the sufferer.

They IwrreaK the APP*''

body to Take on Flirsh, thus tho system I* Moari«lted. *nl by lliolrTotsle AetUwson the |tlK#*tlrr Organs. K«nilar arenro«m"w1 prifp Scent*. W array fM~, ».*.

TIITT'S HAIR DYE.

tikj* n*iHorWHraaci?wi

b*

mIM mtll

ny

$2$

-A rV"

ry ?i ,y«„ j)

DO

be rim by either steam or water power, shrt is especially adapted tn the engines used fori threshini

TAMAXINE Cures Liver Complaint in all its

LIVER.

'foj'

changed toaOtflBsr

)1i by a single application of this Dtb. It a. tmtofal color, acts Instantaneously. -icj(,.t»,or »«ul hj vxprrs* on receipt off 1. ft tjee, 35 Murray 8t., New York.

S iit r* #ASr*t »f n»4 aM

Send for oc New Illustrs ted Price-List No. 30, for FallandWin-

terof'1881. Free to any address. Contains full description of

all kinds

of goods

for personal and family use. We deal directly with the consume^ and sell alj goods in any quantity at

wholegile

prices.

You can buy better juid cheaper than at home. MONTGOMERY WARD & GO. 227 and 229 Wabash Avenue,Chicago.ILL.

Portable Miilav Saw Mill recently rqualea u. borhood mill.

With improvement* recently tn.de is mneirh-

11 may bo opera! by either two tiireo men. anil wil cut as uinch liimba in proportion to tif I power nnd numbtl of hands employe ns mills of l&rgel capacity.

It can

It makes smootlTanii ovqn lutaber. leaves no stohshq and wilt cot any sited l*)t up to four feet in dtameti It may be transported from one locality to another ail re-erected ready for ntoinR in from two to three UnyJ and can be maaa prolltnMe in localities where thervjl not sufficient timber to justify the erection of a lan mill. Send for.descriptivu circular, price, etc.. to 1

CUANULKK A TAYLOR, Indianapolis, Indian!

TARAXIM

The Great Vegetable Lit Corrector.

It contains no Calomel or Mineral of kind, it* Main Ingredient is the Con oentrated Medical Principle of the Taraxicutn or

Dandelion.

TARAXINA

Specific for all Dlabusee arising Deranged Liver, Bowelst Spleen or Kidneys,

Is a S,

TARAXI1 Never fails\ to cure Chro\

Ague, Try TARAXI1 Cures Dyspepsia I

"^Stages.

TARAXINE Cures Habitual Constipation.

Indigestioi

TARAXim

I» for Sate by all Jtrttggists and Ijy, Medicine Dealers.

Pricef SO Cts. and $1.00]

A.KIEFER,

Indianapolisf Ii

DR. CLUM'i

Liver Gathar

Sf '**1 A

CURING ALJL DI8EA! Arising from Disordered Liver and Impnrj cleansing the System from nil Impurities.' moving nearly all diseases that afflict rr#i^

A sure cure for diseases of Liver nncl •, also of Rheumatism and NeuralKln. Corni of the choicest ingredieuts of tli$ yegcUu dots.

Glum Compounding

REDWING, MINNEj

WSOLD BT ALL DBUOOWTB. DUfUMO THE PAST TWO YKAM there hii» bwn sold, through our THKEE TiforHA Nf bottlw of "(1,1 MVKR CATHAIU IO," strovner em of Jffjfupirit nnd M'ril could wnrt'v,

4*oifaftry Men and My Women tromj Coiiuir-} —AN you come down on th«» car* from (he depot, fell lite «-o»slnf«oT WtO|» fll

&

RrPPETOE

Where yon will alwkyi fluil line

SVCTARS, COFFFERH, TEAS,^|'ABi.K

And 111 Staple and Fsincy Oro™ri«'

Ai ilie L«we» Pri«*r»-

THEHwafisii i*n rssti'Epaid rnooil

Irag*l

MILLER'S

"White Front," 647 and 649 Main