Saturday Evening Mail, Volume 12, Number 38, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 18 March 1882 — Page 6

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THE MAIL

A PAPER FOR THE PEOPLE.

KBEP NOTHING FROM MOTHER.

They set at the spinning together, And they spun toe fine wnite thread One face w&« old and the other young

A golden and silver head.

At times the young voice broke in song That was wonderfully sweet, And the mother's heart beat deep and calm

Her joy was mart complete.

There vu many a holy lesson, Inwoven with silent prayer, Taught to her gentle listening child,

As they sat spinning there.

"And olflll that I speak, my darling, Prom older head and heart, God giveth me one la«t thing to nay,

With It thou shalt not part:

"Thou wilt listen to many voices, And oh that those must be— The voices of praise, the voice of love,

And voice of flattery,

r#rT

,f-

"But listen to me, my little one,

There's one tWngtuousliaJt fear, Let ne'er a word to my love be said Her mother may not hear.

stretches

big larches

"No matter how true, my darling one, The wards may seem to thee, They are not fit for ray child to hear

If not indeed for me. "If thou'It ever kee thy young heart pure, Thy mother's heart from fear, Bring all that is told to you by day

At night to a mother's ear."

As thus they sat spinning together, An angel bent to see The mother and child whoee happy life

Went on so lovingly.

A record was made by his golden pen This on her page ho »aid: The mother who counseled her child so well

Need never feel afraid. For God would keep the heart of the child With tender love and fear, Who lisps at her mother's side at night

All to nor mother's ear. —(Mother's Magazine.

Who made the Match?

BY K. I,. rUTNAJJ.

Excitement and commotion agitated the little village of Scranton which unusual condition of mind was wholly attributable to the advent of an awkward young missionary, to whom nothing in the world would have been more obnoxious and alarming than such notoriety for the good brother was singularly modest by nature as well as by

^TrUthe dank, humid jungles of Southern Africa, the finger of disease had been laid heavily upon him, forcing him back, much against his inclination to the health-living hills of New England. He took: small credit to himself for carrying tho sacred mission to the heatnon, though he had borne his life in his hand the while for, having little taste for society, he freed himself from its perplexities and complications with delight, to lead tho untrammeled life of he wilderness.

What a narrow, tame existence seemed now before -him! Those to whom he complained of dullness Suggested that he should tahe a parish, marry and settle down. But to all such advice Miles Hartwell had but one answer. "It was a Turco," he said, "this morning to a people who felt themsulves perfect already." He bad no heart for it the dark hned proselytes of other lands, who had hung npon his words as if they were life itself, had uniittod him for any such pastorate. He did not understand the ,ie«ds of such a genteel and godlike •ommunity and as for matrimony, be liad lived single so long, that any woman olu suitable age for him would be old enough t* know better than to marry him and so tho matter was dismissed from his mind.

But the loneliness of his small room pressed sorely upon him he was always happior in tho open air, out where the broad, oasy

of landscape gave

him a sense of freedom and helped him to attune his heart in accord with its •lieerf ulnoss.

And yet tho house ho had selected for

Iris home seemed a fitting receptacle for

It was a warm summer afternoon that Miles, after passing several hours of i»tloss apathy, prepared for his daily stroll. As he stepped out into the hall, t.ho scholars, accompanied by Miss Alden were trooping by. "Miss Alden, Mi«s Alden, that's the missionary," whisjHired a small urchin loud that ij brought the conscious color to Miles's bronzed face.

Mists Alden, thus addressed, gave the .•nissionarry a quick glance from under ler broad-brimmed hat then, dropping »er evtw, she, too, hung out the same origbt signal of distress. "lear, dear, what a pair they would •nake!" remarked an observing youth rom the stairs to a demure little object *ith brown curls. "What fun 'twould to make the missionsry. old Timbucoo. propose to Miss Alden "It couldn't be done," returned his •ompanion, shaking her brown curls to he breeze. "Hid I sav I oould do it? 'Course I iidn't," remarked the respectful vouth, «nding lower to catch another glimpse

Miles. He had passed the larches now, and ras making for the old mill seen in »erspectivo from where the youth stood, it the end of the long twropike just caching the great forests that edged the lorixoa to tho south like a green fringe.

»f the leafy roof above, that the darkness ibout him was not altogether the gloom »f the forest. Not only was the sun fast inking, but dark, angry clouds were filing low in the sky, almost touching .fee tops of the tall phie-tr«es, and sowing ominously at each other aa if deter-' nined to have it out together ere they uddei

its

BurMt protection was a small oio projecting from the main building and bracketed by stout posts, which, at one time, had helped to form the walls of the story below. A horse and baggy were now drawn up ander this projection, and through tbe jagged and broken timbers of the floor allies could distinctly hear the voices rtf two young men, who, like himself, were probably awaiting the abatement of the stoxm. lhey were fast young fellows, and their talk was of the most trivial nature. Miles was glad that the darkness made it unnecessary to open a conversation with them. He took no heed of them whatever until the jhemency of one of the speakers made it impossible not to overhear him. ,,,

driven to the verge of profanity by the distastefulness of the suggestion. A hearty laugh here minglecT with the sound of dripping rain. "That's not exactly the speech one would expect from an engaged man, Fred," was the jocular remark that foll^wcd* "I'm not engaged. I'll be blessed if I am! Why, a fellow can't look at a girl in these days but the whole neighborhood settles it at once for him." "I should say there had been something more than looking in this instance," was the quick reply.

Again the hearty laugh, which had once before broken upon the storm, now filled the pause. "Never spoke to the girl but once in all my life. Pretty little thing, though —one of the clinging, twining Bort but I don't care about being the oak to that ivy. No, my young beggar you'Jl have to get out of it some other way." "Well, Joe, I'll be blessed if I know how," returned the dejected one. "The truth is, the young girl is—well—uncommonly fond of me, don't you know? and I haven't the heart to throw the poor little thing over. I've tried to break' with her no end of timos but we are sort of cousins, you see, and, being quite alone, she clings to me very tenaciously. A fellow isn't to blame if a girl will make a fool of herself over him though, of course, I shall put a stop to it some time, I'll be hanged if I don't 1 bat I can't hit a girl wheii she Is down already, and, they do say, sinde the smart French madame opetied an opposition establishment in town, it goes uncommonly hard with the poor girl to keep alive the little school upon which her living depends."

Why, they're talking of my neighbor, the little school-ma'am?' thought Miles, waking suddenly, as from an astonishing dream, to the conscloosness that be was performing the ignoble part of listener. Ho felt his way in the darkness to a more distaut part of the building, where the hum of human voices was lost in the wild utterances of the storm.

So this was the way in which a young man in this civilized community protected the dignity of a young girl who honored him with her preference. Miles was singularly chivalrous and noble himself, and perhaps had too little patience with a vanity thAt could thus sacrifice another to itself. His impulse was to confront ana upbraid the voung man for so mean a spirit but he remembered that it was not for him to regulate the speech of a stranger and, moreover, that a rebuke would lose its force from one who, it might be supposed. was guilty of an act of espial.

Wlule he was arguing the question with himself, the matter was decided for him by the object of his wrath suddenly shooting out from under the projection into the road beyond.

storm

the

whole savage 'tribe might feel itself iim.uent lover? Kit flin ninrrinifltit tvhii'n T. XIIIAC ijuito outdone by tho morriment which «ometimes emanated from the little front-yard Tor a part of the house was occupied by a small private school, dominated over by Miss Aldcn, the pretty school-mistross.

wss&i"

"I say, Joe," he cried petulantly, "let us be moving." "What's your hurry, Fred returned his friend, with a lazy yawn. "Why not enjoy your weed here as elsewhere" I have it. By Jove! if you aren't hankering to get round to the little schoolma'am "The little school-ma'am be hanged! returned his companion, evidently

When

a fellow is constantly with one girl for years, the neighborhood may naturally suppose that there will be a wedding some time. Whew! I say nothing only mark mv word for it, young man, if you don't Intend to marry the girl, youd better break with her before your liberty is compromised altogether." "Perhaps you are personally interested in the matter?"

was indeed spent. Only

drops from the maples rained down

ops the

so modost a soul. It stood a trifle out *K

to raoiicsi a soiu. IT SWHIU IUIUOUUI upon the homeward path. They fell lino with tho row of trim dwellings gratefully on his hot upturned face as -m either sido, as if originally it had

neen jmrallol with them, but had shrunk

waijjod

cauHe

hack, glad to screen itself behind tho ^in(jow. sent a ruddy ray of light down

that grew tall and grand near the village street. VVas it placed their tlio gato. And as for bustle and gayety,

But he was not

rn""*

leisurely towards the house,

burning in the school-room

guide the wayward steps of her de-

luent

It was tho question with which Miles dismissed the subject from his mind for, after all, what to him were the love grievances of tho mild-faced young womau with whom be had never exchanged a greeting in his life?

It was brought to mind, however, the following day on receiving a small, sweet-scented note written in a largo school-girl hand, requesting his presence that afternoon iu the school-room. Poor Miles was taken a-back and, if the truth must be told, gave voice to his annoyance in a phrase not strictly clerical. It seemed- rather to alarm the small youth who stood fidgeting in the doorwav awaiting an answer. "'Tell her I will come directly," returned Miles, with a good-natured pat on tho boy's plump shoulder.

good as his word. It

was certainly an hour before he could screw up his courage to the point of descending to the next floor. What could the young woman want of him? and how horrible to visit her with the concentrated stare of fifty eyes upon him As he thought of it

his

soul was shaken

within him. A belle dressing for her first ball could not have lingered longe.over her toilette than did Miles on this occasion. Not that he cared a fig for the effect of his fine broadcloth it was a mere pretext to put off a disagreeable duty. However, tne

thiDg

must be got

ten'over somehow, he told himself so, breaking off suddenly, he made a plunge down stairs, and knocked recklessly at the school-room door.

It was opened by the school-mistress herself. Se could ndt have been expecting him so soon, for she gave a little start of surprise on beholding him. "I've come," remarked Miles, looking beyond the little girlish figure to the row of giggling upturned faces of the scholars.

The little ("town that had formerly been securedSft well-built troughs now jursued its sinuoHs course through this tylvan solitndi. Miles followed It in «iinctively, plunging in among the unlergrowth, and filling the air with the .mngent flavor of sweet fern apd young j«— tine», as he crushed them beneath his Miss Alden looked anything but gimtieet. It seemed a fitting outlet to his fied by the announcement but as it

sent flying from the desk to the floor, she turned inquiringly towards him.

But the poor fellow could not think of a word to say. He would have (riven recklessly of his worldly goods if the young woman would but leave him to /j himself. Perhaps the pretty school-

veredone" while the sutfden illnmina- ma'm divined hU thoughts or, it may ion of the darkest thickets warned htm be, she was at her wits' end to know return homeward. what to say to eo shy a visitor for.

The tempost was raging wildlv by tbei after providing him with a book with time he had gained the old mill, and he which to follow the recitation, she went was glad to avail himself of the shelter on with the one which his entrance had which

mouldering walls afforded. interrupted, as if he had been miles The room which seemed to offer the. a war. Standing with her back to him,

Milea could yet see the proud poise of the little head, and the warm, soft hue of her golden hair. Sometimes, too, the clear, firm sweep of the chin was plainly discernible fram where he sat, while there was ever before his eyes the graceful movement of the body as it swayed back and forth with the interest of her work.

Miles suffered but he was not so abashed but that there broke on his troubled spirit an appreciation of the charms of the beautiful woman. Though modest and quiet, she seemed so selfcontained, so clear-headed, so capable of managing her affairs in a simple, straightforward way. She was too direct and honest to send for him without an object. What did she want? Miles was one who liked to get at the bottom of everything at once, and he determined that as soon as she was at liberty he would inquire what he could do to serve her, and go about it with a will: for 1m liked the little woman, and would have thought it no hardship to serve her but when she turned to him again all his courage faded away, and he oould only wish himself up-stairs again. It seemed to him actually fiendish of her to stand there toying with the Bmall bell, one single stroke of which would send those giggling scholars out into the village to proclaim that they had left him alone with the school-mistress Miles rose, stammered something (he never could tell what), and the next moment the school-room door closed upon his troubles* He was only sure of two things,—that a roar of childish laughter followed his exit, and that he haa left his hat behind bim.

To go back for it was not to be thought of. He would sooner go bareheaded to the end of the world than run the risk of again making a fool of himself before so many spectators. What a hateful visit it was, to be sure! leaving a sting behind it which poor Miles could neither forget nor understand. Forty times a day he told himself that the. poor child was in trouble, and needed a helping hand. Had she been old an ugly, none would have been extended more readily than his but, somehow, Miles felt himself too awkward and uuaccustomed to the ways of the world to grapple with so delicate a trouble as that which he suspected was hanging over the pretty head of his young neighbor, so he shrank away from her more persistently than ever, though the positiou of his rooms offered a post of observation which kept the little woman well under his surveillance. There were few, indeed, that trespossed upon her solitude without his knowledge. Her most frequent visitor was the young man, her cousin, whose intentions towards her Miles so well understood. He saw them often enough together, as many a partingchat was held in the hall or in the doorway. The look of the young girl on these occasions was different from that she wore at any other time the weary, jaded air was gone, and there was a glow in the qtiiet face arid a ring ih her young voice which jarred harshly upon Miles.

Once they came and stood for a long time under the full glare of the hall lamp. The young man had ft letter in his hand, which he was playfully withholding froni her grasp, while she fluttered coaxingly about him, lifting up her small white hands with such a pretty air of persistency that it was at length

Jight

delded to her grasp. He noted how the streamed off her golden hair as she read it, her arm comfortably locked in her cousin's the while.

Miles viewed the tableau without any particular complacency. Indeed, it irritated him more than he cared to own. He wondered if the jjirl even suspected tbo young man's disloyalty. The in quiry presented itself to him with such trouDlesome frequency that it was a .positive relief when an event occurred which seemed to promise some definite conclusion.

A note, written in the same schoolgirl hand as the first one, was thrust into his hand one day by Miss Alden's former messenger. It hinted, in almost child-like language, of trouble, and requested him to call upon her in the evening, when the absence of the schoolchildren would make a confidence possible To Miles' strained mood there seemed nothing unnatural or unusual in this, and he lost no time in complying with the request.

Though it was early Autumn, Miss Alden had lighted the odorous pines heaped upon the hearth that evening, for the sake of a little cheer, and had drawn up her small table by the cozy flame—a table covered with French dictations. English compositions, and other school exercises, all of which must be corrected before she slept that night. Turning these over listlessly, she was startled by a peremptory knock. It was Miles, who stood at tho door wearing such a look of determined resolutidn, that the little school-ma'am fell back as she. admitted him. He established himself upon the edge of the little chintz-covered lounge with the air of a man who hf.d a task to perform, and was bound to go through with it at all hazards. "I've come to do you good," said the young divine stoutly. "Indeed?" observed Miss Alden, elevating her evebrow8in a vrav that sadly discomposed poor Miles, wlio began to surmise that lie was arrogating to himself a greater power than he possessed, but he went on recklessly "You are in trouble you are very unhappy. I am truly sorry for you. Whatever confidence you are pleased to place in me, I will strive to merit. It is my office, you know, to weep with those that weep."

Miss Alden shrugged her shoulders: a gesture that might imply amusement or annoyance. "So you came to weep with me. You are very kind,'' she said "but, really, you will have to cry alone. I could not squeeze a tear to save my' life."

It was plain to Miles that the young girl, as she stood there with both hahds in her apron pockets, was making fun of him. Miles was pre-eminently a good-natured man, but he had a vague perception that he was in some way in a ridiculous position. The bashfulness which had hitherto made him painfully conventional, and not a little pragmatical, now gave place to a manly indignation. He arose with a grave dignity that quite awed Miss Alden. "I have no intention of intruding myself upon you," he said, gently "but since you have twice sent for me for mpathy, I thought that 1 had an uneniable'light to give it. I am not very clever at leading a young girl to talk of herself but perhaps it was neither wise nor in good taste for me to undertake it, yet I did wish to help you, if I could. You should have respected my motive, even If you were not edified by my conversation.

Miss Alden resisted a very strong temptation to plump down in the nearest chair, in an amazed heap. Her spirit rose at the rebuke, and, to tell the truth, a real respect for the plain words she had beard made her reply to them with an equal frankness. "I do not know what you mean by mv asking for your sympathy," she said. "If I had needed commiseration,

I certainly abonh) not have sought it of a stranger. It may be, the surprise occasioned a curtnees and incivility of manner which I regret: for, believe me, I ap-

TERKE HAUTE SATURDAY EVENING MAIL

I preciate your kindness, and 1 your frankness, which permits an equ candor from me." And the innocent young girl looked with a grave, childlike confidence into the eyes of her companion. "Do you mean that you never sent for me?" he returned, testily, taking from his pocket two little notes, and laying them defiantly in Miss Alden's open palm.

The young girl regarded them intently for a moment, with a pretty air of bewildered uncertainty tnen a sudden light seemed to penetrate her perplexities. "Ob, the wretched little fiends!" she exclaimed, fiercely and selecting from among the heap of school-exercises a copy-book written in a large, school-girl hand of one of her scholars, she opened it and laid the two notes in close proximity.

Poor Miles saw it all in a moment. They must all have been penned by the same unpracticed hand. It was like a ldden blow to him. "So I am

here

Eut

without an invitation,

after all," he said. "Well, I am truly glad you had no need of me. I—I hope you may never lack for friends, and your cousin may prove to be the kind, devoted lover whicn your sweet life demands." "My cousin a lover! Dear, dear, will absurdities ever end!" And Miss Alden laughed such a genuine laugh that it cleared all doubts that might have lingered in Miles' mind. "Wbv, who could have put such an odd idea into your head? Tom is often here, because he is the only relative I have, and seems to stand with me in the place of all that are gone. He is a dear fellow, Tom is, self-complacent and

uffed-up as collegians are wont to be it never occurred even to his conceit, I know, to attribute to me anything but the most cousinly affection."

Miles certainly did not feel called upon to disturb

this

harmless confidence

in her cousin he only smiled rapturously, shook Miss Alden's hand with a ve'hemency which that surprised young lady considered uncalled-for, then reseated himself on the lounge with the air of a man who had nothing further to ask for iu this vale of tears.

So, at least, thought a certain impish looking youngster, who observed the interesting spectacle through the window, his view being obscured, at times, by ahead of brown curls which was occasionally thrust between the window and himself. "Well, Miss, who's likely to win this bet?" remarked the urchin to the little maid at his side. "How do you know old Timbuetoohas proposed?" returned the child, ively"Well, if he hasn't yet, he's \-going to," observed the wise vouth. "He's working up to it beautifully."

Subsequent events proved the justice of this assertion. There was a wedding in Scranton in good time, at which these two young persons assisted with equal complacency for, if the youth had won tho wager, his companion, being the author of the two notes to which we have alluded, claiined the honor of having made the match.

HYSTERIA, nervous excitability, wasting of the muscles, impurity of the blood, quickly relieved by using Brown's Iron Bitters.

A WOMAN'S ROMANCE IN A NUTSHELL. He was introduced to her at a ball she (}anced with him and forgot him.

She met him again at a reception, was reintroduced, and remembered she had seen him bofoie. Where. She knew not. Yet for some moments his arm had been around her slender waist.

At the reception she talked with him. and found him dull. She looked at him. He might be called handsome, but was awkward. When he sat down he was

Eead

rone to sprawl. He stood with his forward, and stumbled ungracefully in his walk. She flushed with annoyance, left him, and went into the conservatory with a man more to her

She found him one evening at the house of a friend. She eonversed easily on topics of general interest. He sat in a chair too low for him, and his feet were painfully apparent. She disdainfully turned her shoulder toward him. Presently she rose to go, and dropped her handkerchief. He bent lightly forward and caught it up, almost before it touched the carpet. As an intimate friend at tho house, he prepared to see her home. Ho arranged her cloak with eager defence, and she smiled. Ho trampled on her skirt as she passed out of the door, and she fiowned.

They arrived at her gato he pushed it open, took off his hat, and almost ran away.

One day she was coming home from a shopping expedition with a small parcel in her hand. He came up with her, bowed awkwardly, blushed, and asked if ho might take her parcel. He did not say much, but listened in adoring silence. When he left her she laughed, and said he was intolerably stupid, yet not a bore.

Pretty soon he began to call often, and attended her to the opera and theatre when she would permit him. He was always near her, and anxious to be of service. He was manly, and among men a favorite. Ho rode well but danced indifferently. The other girls laughed at him, but he did not heed it. She danced perfectly, was talkative, daring and impulsive.

She snubbed him, and shook him off for more accomplished men. He finally said he loved her. She laughed, said "Impossible," tormented him, neglected him, refused more eligible suitors, and finally married bim and adored bim for all time.

Of such is tho nature of woman.

AN OVERWORKED SCHOOLGIRL. From one of this large class of sufferers, we have the following testimonials: "CINCINNATI, N. J. August 1880. "From a feeling of gratitude and a desire to benefit others in a like situation, I voluntarily give my experience with the Compound Oxygen Treatment. When I began it I had for more than a year between suffering from nervous prostration for 1 belong to a class which increases yearly, viz. overworked scbool-girls. My general improvement for nearly two months after I began the Home Treatment was scarcely perceptible, but at the end of that time I began to improve, and now, after eleven months have passed, I can safely say that I have been cured. I sleep and rest well, and am generally in possession of a good appetite, while headaches and backaches are quite unheard of. My throat is cured, and my voice is stronger than ever before. I surprise my friends bv my greatly increased physieal strength. The fact that I have induced several friends to try this Treatment is an evidence of my faith in its curative

gxygen,

wer."

Our Treatise on Compound containing large reports of

nwwi and full in formation sent free. Drs. Stark ey & Pal en, 1109 and 1111 Girard street Philadelphia, Pa.

THAT RICH EXPERIENCE.

Fre« Pre** Interview Snstaiaed and Ita sonrce Revealed.

Detroit Free Press.

A few months ago an interview with a rominent and well-known physician,

paper

made by the doctor, and the facts he divulged, were of so unusual a nature as to cause no little commotion among those who read them, and many inquiries were raised as to the genuineness of the interview and the validity of the statements it contained. The name of the physician was at that time suppressed at his owM request. The seal of secrecy, however, can now be removed, as the important and interesting letter which appears below will abundantly show. In order, however, that the reader may better \mderstand this letter, a few extracts are herewith given from the interview in question.

After an exchange of courtesies and a few reminiscences about the war, in which the doctor was a prominent surgeon, the reporter remarked upon the doctor's improved appearance, upon which he said: "Yes, I have improved in health since you last saw me, and I hope also in many other ways. One thing, however, I have succeeded in doing, and it is one of the hardest things for anyone, especially a doctor, to do, and that is, overcome my prejudices. Sfou know there are people who prefer to remain in the wrong rather than acknowledge the manifest right. Such prejudice leads to bigotry of the worst order. Now, 1 am a phisician, and of the "old school" order, too but I have, after years of experience and observation, come to tho conclusion that truth is the highest of all things, and that if prejudice or bigotry stanil in the way of truth, so much worse for them— they are certain to be crushed sooner or later. Why, when I knew you in Detroit, I would no sooner have thought of violating the code of ethics laid down by the profession, or of prescribing anything out of the regular order, than I would of amputating my hand. Now, however, I prescribe and adviso those things which I believe to be adapted to cure, and which my experience has proven to-be such. "How did you come to get such heretical ideas as these, doctor "Oh, they are the result of my experience and observation. I obtained my first ideas upon tho subject, though, from having been cured after all my care and the skill of my professional brethren had failed to relieve me. Why, I was as badly off as many of my patients. with a complication of troubles, including dyspepsia, and consequently imperfect kidneys and liver, and 1 feared I should have to give up my practico. For months I suffered untold agonies. Dull, indefinite pains in various parts of tho body lack of interest in everything around me a loss of appetite headaches all these disagreeable symptoms were added to pains which were both acute and constant, Sick as I was, however, I becaute restored to health in a surprising manner, and in an incredibly short space of time, and it was this that proved a revelation to mo. That was the starting-point, and my prejudices faded rapidly after that, I can assure you. I went to reading extensively, and analyzing more extensively, ana sinco that time I have discovered many things of real value to humanity. Why, only a few days ago I advised a lady who was suffering from a serious female difficulty and displacement, to use the same remedy which cured me. I saw her this morning and she is nearly well the pain and inflammation are all gone and sho is around as usual. We nave no right in tho medical fraternity to sit back and declare that there is no such thing as improvement or advancement, or that we have a monopoly of the remedies that nature has given to mankind. There are changes going on in every department of life, and there are great developments in medicine as well. Thousands of people die every year from supposed tj'phoid fever, rheumatism or other complaints, when in reality it is from trichina, caused by eating poorly cooked and diseased pork. Thousands of chil* dren are dying every year from dronsy as the apparent sequel to scarlatina, when in reality it is from diseased kidneys which have become weakened by the fever they have just had." "Well, doctor you have got some new truths here, certainly, but. they sound very reasonable to me." "Well, whether tbey are reasonable or not, 1 have demonstrated to my own satisfaction that ihey are true, an 1 propose to stand by them no matter how much opposition 1 may raise by doing so. Any innn, be he politician, preacher or physician, who is so considerate ot bis pocketbook or of his own personal ends us to stultify himself by KUppreBsing the raanileBt truth, is unwortny the name of man and*unworthy the confidence of the public he serves."

The above are pome of the principal points in the interview referred to. Now lor the sequel. The following outspoken letter from the doctor himself which has just been received, is published in full:

Editor Detroit Fret Fret*: Sometime avo a reporter of your paper bad an interview with me wbich be said be would like to publish. I consented on condition tbat you would not mention my name until I gave you permission. 1 have now accomplished the purpose I bad in mind, and wish to say to you (which you can publish or not, as vou see lit) tbat I had debated for a Jong "time whether I would shake ofT some of the professional fetters whioh bound me with others for year-, and tell the truth or not. When I look back, and thought oi the tortures, like iboee detcribed by Dante in bis trip to the infernal regions, wbich I endured from dyspepsia, and recalled bow much I would have given at tbat time for the relief which I have since obtained, I determined tbat 1 would take the step so long meditated, and thereby discharge a duty to my fellow men. If I could thereby save one poor mortal one night of the terrible suffering wbich 1 endured, I would be fully satisfied, be the other consequences what tbey might. dyspeptic condition was produced by a torpid liver, wbich did not, as a consequence, remove the bile from the blood. Tnis produced derangement ol the stomach, inflammation of its coats, dyspepsia, constipation, headache, depression of spiriH, yellow complexion, fat-covered eyes, chills

and

When in this frame of

fever in

short, I was miserable to the last degree. I appealed in vaio to my books,

skill and to*my fellow physicians. The mvsteryot my ill-health grew deeper. I traveled everywhere—exhausted all authorized expedients—but to no purpose!

mind,

desper

ately in need of help, but expecting none one of my unprofessional friends called my attention to some unusual cures wrought by a prominent remedy ana urged me to try it. I emphatically declited. Bnt secretly, and with the Ann determination that I would never let anybody know what I bad done, 1 began its use. It was only an experiment, yotj know, but for tbat matter, all medical treatment is experimental. Well, to make along and surprising story short, experienced a sort of pbywcaJ rcTOln-

tlon. My skin got a better color. My iver resumed its functions. 1 «o longer had to arouse the bowels with oatbaptics. My headsches disappeared with my dyspepsia but still I was. not convinced. "Nature did it,"-1 reasoned. But, determined to push the investigation to the extreme, while I was in active work, I tried the eflect of the remedy on my patient9 afflicted with kidney, liver and urinary diseases, watching every development carefully and studiously. Then I was completely disarmed for tho remedy stood every test imposed 1

Under such convincing circumstances, the matter of confessing my cure became a question of conscience and of duty to humanity. "Here is a remedy," I said, "that has done for me what, the best medical skill of the country could not accomplish"—and as an honorable man I will not suppress the tacts. I therefore write you and most unhesitatingly assert that for all diseases of the kidney's, liver, stomach or urinary organs wliioh are amenable to treatment," Warner's Sale Kidney and Liver Cure surpasses any remedy I have ever known or used, and sinco physicians have so much ill-success in the treatment of diseases of these organs, I am prepared toacceptaii the consequences when I say ihat they are. if conscientious, in duty bound to use this pure vegetable compound in th« ir practice. \*ours verv rruly.

J. W. SMITH. M. P,

Statements so outspoken as the above and coming from such a reliable source are valuable ptyond question. They conclusively show not only the power of the remedy which has become so well known and popular, but the reat imirtance of attention in time to the first indications of declining health. When professional men of such hijih standing sink their predjudiee and willingly declare their belief i" tbat which ttiey know to be valuable, the public may confidently follow their example.

CAMARITAxi

CURES FITS.

NEVER PAILS.

«AMAUITA

NKKVINE

Cured my Jlttl« Ktrl of "tfl- S,1C

Wl18 nlso

"n"1

dunih. but It cured her. Sin? enn now tuik and In-ar «s well aa anybody. PHTEU BOSS, Sprlugwntor. WLI. SAMARITAN KERVISIE Has been the mean* of curtnR my wife of rhpnmntUm.

FLKTCIIKR, Fori CUIIIWI, Coi.

SAMARITAN NERVINE

Mndc a sure curc of nisc or flu for my ROD. K. B. liAi.t.s, Hiiittsvlili', (van. MAMAKITAiV \ERVI.\E Cured me of vertigo. nciinlRla mid slrk !'ndi*cb'.

Miss. WM. HKNMO.V. Aurora. IU.

SAMARITAN NERVINE

Was the means o( curlnif my wife of npflsm*. Kiev,.). A. EIIIB. Uenvrr Pa. SAMARITAN NERVINE Cured mo of nstlimii. after spending over $3,000 will) other doctors. S. it. Honso.v, New Albany, tnd.

SAMARITAN NERVINE

Effectually cured me of nt)R«tn». MI

.JKVNIK

WA«n*,X,

740

West Vnn Buren St. Chicago, III.

SAMARITAN NERVINE

Cured our child of fits after irlven to dlfi by our family physician. It having over li* In 21 hour*. ilE.NBY KNKK. Vwvllln, Warren CO., Trna.

SAMARITAN NERVINE

Cured me of scrofula after suffering for Wprlit yrnrs. Ai.ur.nr SIMPHON, l'corta. 111. SAMARITAN NERVINE Cured my son of flts, after spending »2.400 with other doctors. J. W. THORNTON. Clalborn, Mis*.

SAMARITAN NERVINE

Cnred me permnnently of epileptic flts of a atubborn character. KBV. WM. MARTIN.MecliftHl'.Ht|*rn,Md. SAMARITAN NERVINE Cured my son of flt*. after having hud 2.5(X) In eighteen rtonths. Mr.s. E. FOBF.B, West L'otsdam, N. V.

SAMARITAN NERVINE

Cured in? of epilepsy of nine yenm' standing. MISH OIU.CNA MAHXIIAI.U Grunby. Newton Co..

SAMARITAN NERVINE

Hn* permanently cured me of epilep«y of many years duration. JAMOH SI'TKR. S:. Joseph, Mo. SAMARITAN NERVENE Cured me of bronchitis, iwthm* and jfrr-rril debility.

OI.IVXU MrEiis. I ronton, Ohio.

SAMARITAN NERVINE

Has cnred me of asthma also scrofula of many vav standing. ISAAI: .JRWKI.U ovl:igton, Ky. SAMARITAN NERVINE Cored me of flts. Have been well for over four years.

CIIAULEB E. CURTIS. Ottftls. Uounlnss Co.. MIna. SAMARITAN NERVINE Cured a friend of mine who had dyspepnla very badly.

MICDAKI. O'CONNOR. Kldjsway. Pa. SAMARITAN NERVINE

Has permanently cured me of epii'-piir flu DAVID TIIRXBLT, lies Moines, Iowa. SAMARITAN NERVINE Cured my wife of cpll'-psy of 35 years standing.

HK.NRTCLABK Fairfield. Mich.

SAMARITAN NERVINE

Cured tnjr wife of a nervous dlseiwe of

III"

h^od.

E. GRAHAM. North Hope. Pa.

SAMARITAN NERVINE

Cured my son of drs. lie has not hnd a flt for about four years. JOHN DAVIS, Woodburn. Macoupin Co., III.

SAMARITAN NERVINE

IS FOR SAI.E

BY ALL DRUGGISTS

Or may be had direct from n*. For furth-r Information inclose sump for our Illustrated Journal giving nldf nces of cures. Address

DR. S. A. RICHMOND IT CO.. World's Epileptic Institute, ST. JOSEPH, MO.

PORTABLE JTIULAY SAW TLILI,

With improvements rtcotlr made ia aa tootled a oelprh MDlltL borhoo4 mill. It can bt ran bj el ther stesm or niter p«»»r.«od is «p«riallr adapwd to ibe enirine* ated for thrctbinr.

I', mar operated liT tritln-r two or three mm. sad will cat nineb lumb«r in proportion to tbo power anifc •umber uf hands employed a* mills ot larger esyacjt j.

It nakes SB*otii CTr% latofceYTwares sa4 will nt amy to Wf fret in lwet«r. It may be transported frost oa iMilltr to *a*tfc«r aad K-tmtH ready for taw)** in fro» twb to threo day*, and can IMI welublt in localities vktrt tkrri i» mot re (Relent tinier jintlfj the erection of a largo

IADIES I0USE I

DM ONLY Book

omwktod I lew pato'd

IXEW EDITION/, MSSG'SA:

I WSStSnTtHitll^Srteat ti»e. wTOi over so Steel Portrait* of TSSs of tfjwwte llojse. Hoaaeaoftfce President*. U4J««*0e»tlMt'" ire both rcry