Saturday Evening Mail, Volume 12, Number 32, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 4 February 1882 — Page 2

*Y

THE MAIL

A PAPER FOR THE PEOPLE.

TERRE

HAUTE,

FEB.

4, 1882

DON'T SLOP OVER.

"Don't slop over," the old man said, As he placed bis hand on the young man's head; "Go it, by all means, go it fast, Go while leather and horseshoes last, Go it while hide and hair on horse Will hold together; go It, of course. Go it as fast as ever yon can, But don't slop over, my dear young man.

"Don't slop over, you'll find some day That keeping an eye to tbe windward will pay A horse may run a little too long, A preacher preach jtut a fraction too strong, And a poet, who pleaseth the world with rblmes, May write and rarret in after times. Keep the end of the effort always*in viow Bat don't slop ovsr, whatever you do. "Don't slop over the wisest of men Are bound to slop over now and then, And vet the wisest, at work or feast, Are the very ones who blunder the least. Those who for spilt milk never wail, Arc the ones who carry the steadfast pail, Wherever you go, go In for the fat, But don't slop over, and stick to that. "Dont slop over, distrust yourself. Nor always reach to the highest shelf. The next to the higbtest wQl generally do, And answer the needs of such as you. Climb, of course, but always stop, And take breath, a little this side of the top. And so you will reach it, wind and strong, Without slopping over—so ends my song.

Harper's Weekly.

GORDON LEIGH.

A small room, with dark wainscoting and hard-wood floor, touches of crimson shining out upon tbe walls, and curious diamond-paned windows. In the rosetwined oriel window a grave-faced, mid-dle-aged man, covertly watching the downcast face of a girl still in her teens.

The man is Gordon Leigh tbe girl is Leslie Morgan, Gordon Leigh's ward. To-night is Leslie's eighteenth birthday and Gordon, who has grown to lovo his ward as men only love the women they wish to marry, determined to seek an opportunity to plead his cause. Place and circumstances befriend him. lhe Hummer moonlight, hay-laden, llowersoented, drifts in through open windows the evening insects hum their faint, indolent chorus of encouragement while in the distanoe, like earth-fallen stars, (gleam the lights of the night boats passing up and down the river and old Mrs. Leigh lies fast asleep in the library. Still Leigh is silent. He feels the hush and stillness of the night, and now that he is face to face with the question of his life, he wonders at his own effrontery for all men, even the vainest of them, feel strangely small and worthless when their hopes hang on a woman's word and Gordon Leigh possesses less vanity thnn usually falls to man. "Leslie," he says at last, and his voice sounds strange to his own ears.

Sho turns hor puro young face toward him with wide-open, questioning eyes. "I have something to say to you." "And I," she echoes, "softly, "have something to say to you."

There is a look in her eyes he has never seen thore before—a glad, steadf&st look that yet hides itself half shyly. It stirs him t® his innermost nature. He fanales she can hear his heart beat, aud wonders if she has guessed his secret, and if that smile of ineffable content is the forerunner of his "yes." "Shall I toll my story iirst?" she asks, with a little tremulous quiver of happiness, as ho makes no attempt to spdak.

He nods assent, glad of a moment in which to realize his new-found joy before stretching out his hands to take it. "It is a love Btory," sho says, softly, the eyes looking dreamily over the moon-floodod lawns and terraoes, welling over with that same subtlo look of contentment. "Yes?" It is all he can frame his lips to say, but ho moves a step nearer, and bends his iron gray head till she can feel his breath upon her hair. Then sho stretches out a slim white hand, and he is it half convulsively. i, Hushing all over her lair girl face. "1 wanted you to see it."

Ho loosens ills hold, and with A sudden senso of ill, looks at tho fingers lying cool and still in his. A diamond Hashes iu colors into his eyes, dazzling and blinding hitn. Ho puts his hand to his lioad in a dazed sort of way, and grows white to the lips. "Mother?" he questions, with a*pitoous break in his voice. "Oh, no," she answers, simply. Wullaeo llobart. 1 have promised to be his wife."

Gordon I^igh drops the hand as though it hurl him, and walks to a distant window. Ho is a strong man, and a man accustomed to self-control, but it is several momeuts before he can force his features to assume their customary oxpressiou. When ho returns to the

Eer,

irl, he finds her standing where he left a smile on her lips, a far-away look in her eyes, that warns him he is forgot ten. He coughs sharply. It startles Leslie into a remembrance of his presence. She turns to him, flushing slightly, and then she says, with a pretty air of penitence, "I fear'l am very rude, Gordon." "My dear," answers this middle-aged man, with kindly gentleness, "we never expect a woman to look beyond her lover's arms. But do you know what manner of man this is you have chosen for a husband?" His voice does not falter now it is quiet and firm, and very, very tender. "I only know that he loves me," 4he replies, with a half-exultant ring to her voice, "and that I lovo him."

Gordon Leigh's face grows ashy pale. He turns toward the window that he may not see the pain be fancies his words wifl bring into her face. He might have spared himself the trouble. She listens with utter indifference to the story of Wallace Hobart's hard, fast life, and when Gordon Leigh looks around cautiously, the sight of her smiling face dnmfounds him. "Child!" he cries, passionately, "can yon marry a man like that?"

Sho rouses herself with an effort, looks at him half dreamilv, as though collecting her thought**, laughs softly, and in a low voice—a voice vibrating with love and tenderness, says: "I

come of age to-day, and

I

shall give

ray whole future into his keeping whenever he asks it." Leigh groans aloud. He realises the uselessnoaa of further argument*. Leslie Morgan is a woman whose reason will never rule her heart-beats.

Ah. me! what a curious thing life is, with its unanswerable "whys" and curious, blind folded herefores"! *•1 would have been content to walk through life on thorns, Leslie," he says, gently, "eouKl you have followed tread-j log on roses: yet I am powerless to save yon from a lifelong misery." "Ah, if you oqly knew him, Gordon!

then your words wopld be kinder snd more appropriate." "God grant you are right!" he answers solemnly, and* turns and leaves her without another word.

A perplexed look creeps into Leslie's eyes. She leans her head wearily against the casement, and wonders why people yill say sash things. The Summer roses brash softly against her eheek, and the Summer moonlight bathes her in a shimmering, mystic light that makes her seem half wierd, half real.

Wallace Hobart, coming from the darkness of the trees into the open lawn, smiles at the picture, and springs forward to her side. The weariness dies out of her face when he gathers her into his arms, and whispers low, impassioned words of love. She is supremely, ecstatically happy, with the nappiness that comes to ns but once in a lifetime but tbe man she loves cares little for her, though he cares a great deal for her money, and in his mind the one balances the other.

Leslie's qoiet gentleness palls on Hobart. He is accustomed to an altogether different kind of woman. He can no more appreciate the singleness and purity of her nature than she can trace the record of his sin-lined face. He is not a handsome man but he possesses a subtle facination of manner, a sudden light ing into brilliancy that outrivals mere perfection: and then he is undeniably clever, and has a will that bends everything before it. He is a connoisseur in love-making, for It has been one of the occupations of his life, and it is little wonder that inexperienced Leslie falls a victim to such manifold attractions.

With lips closo pressed on hers, Hobart bids Leslie name tbe wedding day She hides her shame-faced face upon hu

shoulder, and clings to him in silence. He laughs, and lifting the crimson, tear stained face with gentle hand, looks straight into her eyes with a subtle power that holds her gaze against her will. "Now don't be foolish," he commands, "but name the day." "When you will," she answers, timidly, "for I cannot be your wife too soon.'"

He leaves her on the stroke of twelve, and while she kneels and thanks God for her lover, that same lover is playing for heavy stakes with men of his own stamp, and he has not evert one thought for the fair girl worships him so blindly.

The wedding day dawns at last, bright and cloudless, lhe two are married with all the accompany gran the usual numoer of bored groomsmen and flirtatious bridemaids, the ordinary number of duplicated atrocities and use less gifts, aS well as the inevitable colla' tion of indigestible sweets and unpalatable pyramids of glittering stickiness, served by the self-same obsequious waiters one meets everywhere.

pomp and ceremony that grand weddings. There are

The men stare curiously at the sweet bride face, and exchange glances of amazement. "Too good for him," says one. "Give him three weeks to forget her in," udds another, with worldly wisdom. "It is her monoy," explains a third, shortly.

Gordon Leigh overhears these ro marks. He shuts his teeth hard together, and turns on his heel. He cannot call men ^o account for speaking truth Ho is glad when tbe day is over, for he finds it almost beyond his strength. His whole soul cries out against him when he lays iunocent Leslie hand in that of Wallace Hobart. He croses the carriage door on Leslie's face with a sraile, though her cheeks are wet with tears, and her good-byes end in sobs. He comforts his mother and oheers the guests, and speaks a kind word to Leslie's old nurse, who sits weeping in Leslie's room but when the old nurse has lost her troubles in dreams he shuts himself in the little room with the curious diamond-paned windows, and rests his head on his folded arms, and sits alone with his sorrow the whole night, for in all the world there is no one to comfort him.

Leslie finds her honey-moen a brief glimpse of pjtradise. Then the serpent creeps in, and the shadow that is to darken Leslie's future falls across the happiness of her present. She finds her dreams of married life only dreams, and her idol only clay.

Hobart soon wearies of his wife's companionship, and seeks excitement amidst old haunts. The last night of their wedding tour Leslio watches for him till the wee sma' hours grow large again, and works herself into a state or nervousness that imagines all possible evils. Ho returns toward daylight with feverishly brilliant eyes and feet that feel their way. She'chokes back her sobs, fearing they may annoy him, and greets him with a smilo. "I'm sick," he mutters, thickly and sho, in hor innocence, believes liim. "Then I will send for a doctor, dear," she answers, tenderly.

Ho stares at her iu a stupid, puzzled way then, as tlio idea works its way into his liquor-laden brain, ho bursts into a fit of maudlin laughter.

She shrinks back with a sudden thrill of horror, while something, she can scarcely toll what, bring the awfnl truth straight home to her, aad then and there Leslie learns her woman's lesson—that to put another beforo one's self is to say good-by to one's peace of mind forever. "It will bo different when wt get homo," thinks Leslie but Bhe finds herself mistaken, for Hobart goes from bad to worse and Leslie soon has but one aim in life, and that is, the hiding her husband's weakness from an all-seeing world. Poor child! In the tenderness of her woman's heart she cannot give his failing a harsher name, for she still loves him. No matter at what hour he stumbles home, the little wife is always there to let him in. No gsssiping servants ever see Wallace Hobart out of his right mind and she draws the mantle of wifely silence over his faults, shows to the world a proudly-smiling face, and hides well her own heart-aches.

After awhile the world begins to talk and Madam Grundy's tongue is a sharp and bittor one when it touches scandal. Stray bits drift to Gordon's ears. At first he gives them little heed. Then tbe bits grow larger and keener-pointed, till they arouse all the indignation in him. He determines to give Madam Grundy the lie, or discover tbe truth for himself, and so finds himself a self-invited guest in Leslie's home. He only remains three days, but these three days tell the whole story. He finds Leslie a trifle paler and thinner, with deep, dark circles round eyes that seem ever fearing trouble. The girl does not weep or moan but he knows by the dread expectancy in her face that she is a woman without hope. "Oh!' thinks Gordon Leigh, with angry bitterness, "how blind women are to unpalatable truths, till their blindness has darkened all their lives!" Then the old question goes echoing through his mind: "Does she love him. or does she not?'' and he is as far from an answer as ever.

One evening, coming up from tbe village, with his arms overflowing with fragrant red Jacqueminot roses, be stops to give some to Leslie, and is about leaving, when Hobart enters, excited by drink, nnd maddened with his loss at play. Hobart hates Gordon Leigh. His

own wrong-doing makes him suspicious of Leslie's every act. He imagines she is entertaining Gordon

with

in

a rehearsal

of bis sins. The thought works mischief

his overheated

forward

Drain.

to

He steps

Leslie's side, and something

in his face makes the girl shring back toward Gordon. Hobart sees the movement, and raising his hand, strikes her across her face. It is not

a

hard blow,

but it leaves a dull red mark which stretches across the whiteness of her cheeks.

Leigh's indignationigets tbe better of him. He is about to collar Hobart, when the girl suddenly steps between them with such a piteous, dumb pleading in her eyes he has not the heart to touch him, and lets his hand fall heavily to his side. "He has never ^struck me before," she murmurs, trying to hide her shame with her small, slim hand, "and he is not himself to-night."

The blow sobers Hobart into a realization of his cowardice. Had Leslie been alone, ho would doubtless have kissed her, and won a ready pardon as it is, he slinks off to bed, at war with himself and all the world. "My por child," asks Gordon, pityingly, "now long is this to last? "I took him for better, for worse,"she answers, "and I will never leave him," and Gordon finds himself again wondering whether or no Leslie loves her husband.

The next morning Hobart's groom bows himself into Gordon's library with a note from Leslie.

Gordon opens it with a hand that trembles in spite of all his efforts to the contrary. Its contents seem to paralyze hinj. "Your master dead!" hegasps,looking to the man for further confirmation of the news. "Yes, if it plaze yer honor. He would ride that divil of a Collins, whin he warn't able to ride a mule. Collins tbrowed him at the old elm, sir, and he never knowed nothing after that." "Terrible! terrible!" exclaims Gordon. "Go home at once, James, and tell your mistress IU1 be with her directly."

The man bows himself away, and Gordon is left to his own reflections. They are curious and complicated, and make his face look old and hard. Of course Leslie will return to her old home, and of course all arrangements for the funeral will devolve on him. He shakes himself free of his reverie, and carries Leslie's note to the mother. "Poor wee lassie/' says that tenderhearted matron, with tear-filled eyes and voice. "You must bring her to us at once, Gordon—at once."

He nods assent, kisses her lovingly on her soft white hair, and goes on his errand of mercy. He finds Leslie perfectly calm and sclf-possessod. The red mark still shows faintly on her cheek, but she seems to have quite forgotten it. There is a settled sadness upon her face, and a wearied, half-affrighted look in her eyes, that touches Gordon Leigh to the heart.

Leslie agrees to everything her guardian proposes, even to leaving her new home at once, without a moment's hesitation.

So Gordon Leigh has the face he loves beside him onco again but it looks older and graver now in its frame of widow's weeds, and bear traces of much suffering.

Gordon Leigh and his mother are very tender of this young girl left widowed when she should have been her happiest. They cannot seem to do enough for her, and their kindness touches tbe young widow as nothing has touched her since her marriage. j*f

No one speaks of Leslie's Misband. Gordon believes she still loves his memory, and clings tenaciously to everything that reminds her of him while Gordon's mother thinks quite to the contrary. Leslie herself is silent on the subject, and hides whatever love or loathing she may feel in the silence of her own heart.

In the early Spring-time, when fruittrees hang heavy with blossoms, Leslie's child is born. The child is a boy, and it lives scarce long enough to claim a soul. They bring it to her in its tiny, whitelined coffin, with lilies-of-the-valley agound its face and white violets in its hands. She looks at the motionless baby body with a great yearning in her eyes, kisses the little lips that have never responded to hers, and turns from the dear dead body with a piteous wail of despair.

Two, three, and four years pass away, and Leslie Hobart is Leslie Hobart still. Sho receives none of the attentions common to* women of her uge, but turns a cold shoulder to every man that looks at her, and shrinks from the thought of another marriage, with fear and repulsion.

Gordon remonstrates with her, but all in vain. "I have lived my life," she says, earnestly, "and I only want to be let alone."

Gordon wonders if anything will rouse her from the lethargy in which she seems to have lost herself for though she talks and smiles, her words lock tho old mischievous sparkle, and her smile is sadder than any tears. She never refers to her child or her husband, but Gordon knows that sho keeps their graves fresh with flowers: and she rarely passes a very young child without stopping to speak to it, and after such encounters tbe wistfulness in her eyes deepens to positive pain.

He finds her sitting in the twilight one evening in the room they both love, the room with curious, dihmond-paned windows, and her lashes are wet with tears. The gardener and his young wife, with their woe new baby, are crossing the lawn to the greenhouse. "Leslie," ne says, gently, "are you still grieving for your little one?"

No, no," she cries, with 6udden passion. "I cannot thank God enough for taking him. If be had lived, be might have been like bis father. I was only thinking of what I ussd to dream life was, and what I find life is."

She catches her breath sharply, startled at her own vehemence, and he ceases to wonder. He now knows that Leslie no longer loves Wallace Hobart or bis memory, and the thought gives Gordon a tlirilTof joy. "Child," he says, slowly, and the suppressed passion in his voice quivers through &ii its forced indifference, "four ears ago, in this same room, I told you had something to tell you. Other things drove my sccret out of your mind. I thought then that you would never hear it, but now the time has come to tell it. Leslie, my little one, would you like to hear what that 'something'

"Oh, no!" she cries, eagerly. "Let us go on as we are." "That is impossible,n be answers, and in simple, manly manner, tells tbe story of his love.

She listens with fingers nervously interlaced, and when be asks her if she can give him any hope, she sadly shakes her

He is silent a moment, thai touches his lips to her clasped bands. Good-by," he says, quietly. "Iwill go away by myself and conquer this madness, and when it is quite euded, I will come back and be your friend. Don't cry, little one God knows I would not bring even a shadow's shadow across your life. I shall soon get over it,

iSir

Slip

mmmsm

r&

•a*

..

^^TERRE HAUTE SATURDAY EVENmG MAII^5*^p^

never fear and ilk the meantime, goodby." "It is I thatehould go," she says, brokenly. "This is your home, child, and without you all the world is alike to me. Smile before I go, Leslie I don't like to leave you in tears."

Leslie smiles, obedient to his will, and Gordon stoops and reverently touches the clapped hands once more then with a look that is literally a caress he leaves her alone with the moonlight and the roses.

Gordon's departure arouses Leslie most effectually from her lethargy. She awakens to find her heart still keenly alive to love. Home seems homeless without Gordon. She misses him in the morning, when the mother is deep in household cares she misses him in the evening, when Mrs. Leigh nods drowsi ly in the starlight, and the lovers go strolling past two by two. Everything about the house reminds her of him. The papers, the books, the flowers, and roost of all the little room with the curious diamond-paned windows. She longs for his return, but pride keeps her silent, for has she not tola him her life was ended over and over again? And now she finds her life has but just begun. She discovers that her love for Hobart was an infatuation and a madness born of youth and inexperience, while her love for Leigh is a something based en respect and tinged with reverence.

Mrs. Leigh is puzzled by the variable ness of Leslie's moods. One day the girl sings and laughs with her old-time merriment, and the next she is dull and listless ana sad. She flits from one thing to another with a rapidity that distracts slow Mrs. Leigh, and nolonger repulses the attentions of men, but receives tbem as other women do then suddenly becomes interested in her toilet, dresses her hair as Gordon likes it, and tries the effect of colors.

Mrs. Leigh accounts for the change in the usual woman's way. She feels sure Leslie is about to be remarried, and settles upon a Mr. Guerdon as the happy wooer and in the midst of it all Gordon Leigh comes borne, and is told Mrs Leigh's suspicions before he has been in the house two hours. "I am very glad of it," he answers, calmly. "And Gordon is a good fellow, though just a trifle stupid. I suppose she will tell me the whole thing tonight." "I suppose so," echoes his mother for she is fully convinced in her own mind of tho truth of her assertions, and fancies Leslie is only awaiting her son's return to make the engagement public.

Gordon looks tired and sober when he joins Leslie in the room with the curious diamoiid-paned windows. He can scarcely realize that her marriage is not a dream to-night, she seems so like the child Leslie that grew into womanhood under his roof. "Little one," ho says, kindly, "the mother tells me you are quite yourself again. I arn very glad, and if there is anything you would like to tell me, I shall be glad to hear it. You must forget those foolish words of mine. I am quite over that now, and am content to DO your friend. Believe me, little one, I shall bo the first to rejoice over anything that makes you happy."

The girl looks at him through a mist of blinding tears. What can ne mean? Has he already forgotten her? "Gordon," she answers, "I made a terrible mistake in the beginning of my life, and I think I have made another." "Tell me about it," he says, quietly. "Ah!'' she answers, brokenly, "you have made that impossible." "I?" he asks, in surprise. "I do not understand you." "Neither can I explain." she replies, proudly. "Leslie," says Gordon, firmly, "I intend to know what you mean before I leave you, so you may as well tell me at once." You shall not wreck your happi ness twice. Of course it is about lovo," with a little, bitter laugh. "Of course," sho answers^"and it all means nothing, and ends in foolishness." "Has Mr. Guerdon been trifling with you?" "Mr. Guerdon? "Why, he is to be married to Kitty Cleave next week." "Leslio, I am not the sort of man that wooes two women, neither am I of tho kind that urge for what is denied them. I hold it cowardly to torment a woman, for a 'no' means 'no' but all men don't hold these rules. So tell mo who it is that worries you, and I will call him strictly to account." "His name is Gordon Leigh," said Leslio, averting her face. "Speak, child, and explain yourself," he cries, passionately but sheonly says, in a cold, still voice: "You need no explanation." "Child, you madden me! Can it bo possible that you have learned to love me at last? Fool that I am to imagine it! Of course you love soino otbor man, and want me again to give away what I hold most precious. "Leslio"—his breath coming thick and short—"you are cruel to make mo suffer so. Do you want to give me a glimse of heaven that I may better realize the depths of hell?" "It is you that are cruel, Gordon, not I." "Then tell me that you love me," he cries. "Yes, Gordon, I do love you, with all my heart and soul and strength. Does that content you, Gordon? Am I cruel now?"

He kisses her very tenderly, aad leads her to the mother. "See, mother," he cries, gayly, "your predictions are verified. Leslie is to bo remarried." "But where is Mr. Guerdon?" asks the mother, in blank amazement. "I have taken his place, mother. Havo you any objection? "Weft! well!" ejaculates Mrs. Leigh "what a blind old goose I was!" "We are all blind at times, mother but it doesn't matter since it ends in—" "Moonshine!" whispers Leslie, as tbe moon shines down upon them.

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HOW*S THE BABY

"How's the baby?" "His croup is bettdr this morning, thank you. We gave Mm some of Thomas' Eclectric (XI as you advised, doctor, and shall give him some in an hour or so." Next day

the doctor pronounced th«^oungat«r

THE BOY OF THE PERIOD. Mary A. Livermore.

The boy of the day is not receiving ths proper home culture. Children slip away from parental care. This is due to the rigorous old' time home culture. Education must be inculcated by the mother. In Wales, England, the character of tbe mother is inquired for as a recommendation for the son. The average boy, noisy, impetuous, detesting homework, bankrupt in education ana a dodger of churches and other pious places, yet has a fathomless tenderness for his mother, but he wants no specta-

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"KIB8 ME MAMMA."

"Kiss me, mamma, before I sleep," How simple a boon, and yet how soothing to the little suppliant is that soft, gentle kiss. The little head sinks oontentedly on the pillow, for all is peaoe and happiness within. The bright eyes close—the rosy lips part in a sweet smile, for the little heart is reveling in the bright and sunny dreams of Innocence. Yes, kiss it, mamma, for that good-night kiss will linger in its memory when the giver lies moulding in the silent grave. The memory of a gentle mother's kiss has cheered many a lonely wanderer's pilgrimage, and has boen the beacon light to illumine bis desolate hoart for remember life has many a stormy billow to cross, a rugged path to climb, and we know not what is in store for tho little one so sweetly slumbering, with no care or sorrow to disturb its peaceful dreams.

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Of

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J. RICHARDSON. R. W. VAN VALZABL

RICHARDSON & VAN VALZAH DENTISTS.

Omen—Southwest corner Fifth and Main streets, over National 8tate Bank (entrance on Fifth street. Communication by Telephone.

CO.

LINCOLN,

can

DENTIST

Office, 19}$ 8. Sixth, opt tracting and artificial teoi E work warranted.

One thing

osite P. O. Ksapeclolttas. All td&w-tf)

Optician and Wntchmakrt For the trade. No.

515

Main street, I-VJJO

of big man with watch.

JJEMOVAL. Dr. J. P. Worrell,

OCULIST and AURIST, ... 6S6 Main Street (McKecn Block), TERRE HAUTE, IND. Orsics HOURS—9a HI. to 12 m., 2 to 5p.m

w. BALLEW, DENTIST,

OHM, 483£ Halo Street, over •Id eonftcllonery stand. TERRK HAUTE, IND.

Can be round in office night and day.

AGNER & RIPLEY,

Importers and workers of

SMteti erwlt« aad Italian KsrkM

MONUMENTS,

MTAT1IABY, URNS, *1 C. No. 418 Cherry St., bet. 4th and 6tb. TKASRK HAUTE, IND.

W.B. Clixt. J»H. WILLIAM*, J. M.Cun

CLIFT,WILLIAMS & CO,

MAN or AOTU Riuia or

Sash, Doors, Blinds,&e

AND

DBAMCRB IN

LUMBER, LATH, SHINGLES, GLASS, PAINTS, OILS and BUILDERS' HARDWARE.

Mulberry Street, Corner Ninth, TKKRK HAUTE, IND

N

OTICE.

THE

Eldredge Sewing Machine OMiee

Has been changed to

Fisk's Stone Pump Building,

No. 117 South Third stroet, between Ohio and Walnut, west side.

It is Warranted.

It is the most complete, desirable machine ever offered to the public. Being the latest, it lias tho advantages* having very desirable and new Improvements.

Dont buy until you see It. Harry Metsoker, late solicitor for the White, will bo glad to sfte hi# old customers.

Office, 117 South Third street, second door north of Fouts, Hunter & Co' Livery Stable,

W. H. FISK, Agent. [UCRATIVE EMPLOYMENT

for Uie winter in farming districts, Very] largo returns for comparatively little lat •For full particulars addross immcdlat l*u*se£

JVUO CO. 7»a BrwMwvr-

0AROLINA TULU T0NIG!

—FOR—

Pulmonary Diseases and Men* eral Debillfy.

SURE cure for Dyspepsia in all its stages also for Coughs, Colds. Bronchits, Asthma^ and all diseases of tho Throat and Lungs and the only remedy that is beneficial in Malarial climate. This is a preparation of Balsam of Tula, Itock Candy, magnesia and other mcdiclnos beneficial in above diseases, the basis belug being a purer ItiM and Ryo Whiskies. This Itice Whiskey commonly known ns Arrack in tho Soutb, and as Samshoo In China. It has been used for many years by the Ciiinsse, and also by negro laborers In the southern rico fields as the only antidote to Malaria and Rico Fever.

This Tonic is classcd by (Commissioners of Internal Revcnne as medicinal subject only tothestamp tax, which does not subject the vender to License as liquor dealer*.

We guarantee a positive case In evenr case Harmless and very pleasant to take. Try it. For sale by all druggists and grocers at 1 JW per quart bottle. The trade supplied at»lib* eral discount by fi. nuimAur,

RIPPET0E & MILLER'S "White Front," 64? and 649 Main S

Where you will a5ways fiul he beat

SUGARS, tOFFFEES, TEA*, TABLE StPPLISl"

And AI1 Staple and Fancy Groceries

At the Lowes Prices.

CA&H PAW

#11111

Wholesale Grocers, and

DIILIGK & BERRY. Wholesale Druggvits. TERRE HAUTE, IND. HENRY BISCHOFF & OO. New York and Charleston 8. C. Bole Manufacturers and P. O. Bos 26T0.

irers and Proprietors, Depot, Vi Wall St., K. Y.

trf\ Elegant GenuineChromo Cards no two OU alike, with name lOe.SNOW & CO. Meriden, Conn. dlfr-3m.

A ^9APer day at home. Samples PO tU $61/worth & free. Add raw Bttoson ACo., Portland, Maine.

wmTiomrn MERCHANTS

ALL

SEEDH iu papers left ov

XVi.1 close of Seanou. for condlt of this NKW SYSTEM, 11 JO Afottt Advantai^ioog ever oHierod to both Merchant and Consumer.

LANDRETH'8 GARDEN SEEDS grown on their own Farms, OTXR 1,500 •ACRES devoted to this purpose, aro UTA7CDABD POR CUAT.ITY. WHOLE8ALK TUADE I'KICE I.IST-! for i- balk or other torn, mailed to merchants on application.

DAVID LANDRETH & SONS, Seed Growers. 21 & 23 S. SIXTH ST. PH HAD ELPMIA

Hjr

Cemitrj Hen and My Htomen front Country—A* yon come down on the stroet can from the depot, tell tlie conductor •top at

JFOfgJPKOIH?