Saturday Evening Mail, Volume 12, Number 41, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 8 April 1882 — Page 3

Per

HE MAIL

A PAPER FOR THE PEOPLE.

VIM CABOLAN

OB,

'ATAL BEAUTY.

CHAPTER XXXIII. HAND IX HAND. Oh! thou dead

'.And everlasting witness! whose unsinking Blood darkens earth and heaven.—BYRON. ^Closely veiled, and wearing one of those pttg mant?«s that go effectually conceal outlines of the figure, Madame Merille presented herself at the door of the on Be in which M. de Lasaulx lodged, and 1ed for the count.

She was evidently expected, or M. de nix was accustomed to receive mysrious visitors, for the servant at once *heral the lady into a handsomely-fur-*"sbed »itting-room, and, placing a chair her, told her that monsieur would be ith ber immediately.

Madame Merville looked around her. 'here was nothing in the room to indicate ae character of its occupant indeed, here were few evidences of the apartment being occupied at all, showing that Ihe French nobleman spent very little of time at home. E Perhaps, under different circumstances, Madame Merville might have smiled at lh« siugnlar ]xsition in which she found •leraclf but there was too much at stake,

mind was too much on the stretch for jy feeling of amusement to find a place. could only await, with intense anxiety, the entrance of M. de Lasaulx. Her atience was not long tried. In about ten JSinuteH an inner door, opposite to that by .vhich she had entered, ojiened, and there sintered a tall, handsome man, with gold-en-colored hair and moustache, and dark •)lue eyes—a face once seen not easily forgotten—and the amazed Frenchwoman at },nice recognized Dare Devereux.

She ro.e in some, agitation, instinctively Krawing hei- veil closer around her face. "Monsieur," she said hurriedly, "there ,ias been some mistake I ask a thousand htanlons. This was the address given me, Mind—" 'Madame," interrupted Devereux, bowing low, and appearing1 perfectly self-pos-sensed, "I assure you that no mistake at all ho* ljeen made. Allow me."

He crossed to the door by which she had [entered the room, coolly locked it, and [turned to her once more. "I hope I do not alarm you, Madame 'Merville," he said, "but I do not want to incur the remotest chance'of interruption. I You made an apjointment at Mrs. Russell's yiaUt dejeu with M. de Lasaulx to call here to-night?" "M. Devereux "Have no fear he smiled now "you are apeakiiiff to the same man to whom you Rpoke that night." -Surely, sir," said Madame Merville haughtily, "you have not brought me here to pass off upon ine a jest." "Perish the thought! but I congratulate yaelf that clearly nothing in me reminds you of M. de Lasaulx. Pray be seated, madame." He placed her gently •in the chair from which she had risen, and •continued "M. de Lasaulx is, as regards ['aejurate identity, a myth. It was I who, [in that disguise, penetrated to the salon of

Madame

Hester Ransome, who now calls

[herself Russell it is I who was once^erjTrival Claremont's dearest friend. Do you Tunderstand me? Do you believe me?"

I Madame Merville had removed her veil, And was now gazing into the handsome vlface with an ever-doapening wonder in tlier own. llelievo him? Yes. But understand him It seemed imjwasible. I "You M. do Lasaulx?" she repeated •vj|owly. "I cannot realize it." yHut you cannot doubt it? I can repeat

LI you every word that passed between us. If you choose, I will in ft few wolaments become again M. le Comte de LaIfiaulx." •A'tf/i, not), monsieur. I do not doubt. Illtfw can that bo? Only I am dazzled— bewildered. I cannot, even now, see anything in you to recall M.de Lasaulx. Your [very voice was so different." 'The disguising of tho voice." said l)ev[ereux, "I found more difficult than that of the person and I had to meet men who Ijknew me well and met me daily in my ,©wn jicrsouality. Hester Ransome had inot spoken to mc since my youth but she [is woman not easily deceived. Anil now, madame.'* he drew forward a chair and seated himself—"you may, per haps, ask, •What, is the object of all this disguise, this watch set upon Madame Ransome?

What.have you known of her?' Before 'answering these questions, let me ask you if yon sufficiently know me by repute tb trust me?" "Assuredly! I might ask you, monsieur, how you come to trust me so much as to kput yourself, to a great extent, in my pow^r?" "I relied on my instincts and my knowlf,s,Nlge of human nature. Of that anon. It 'occurred to me that we were loth working

I lor the same end. 1 saw that the name of Pfcrcival Clare mo nt was not strange to you. Pardon roe," as she colored painfully. "J did not for a moment misunderstand yon. My thought pointed to a tie which wrongest neither hint nor you. May

I ask if that tie existed—If yon are Peroiral Clawmoot'a wife?" ••God help me!- alio said, bowing her head in uncontrollable 'agitation, "I am."

For a few momenta there was absolute faience. Devereux first broke it, stretch4ng forth his hand, aa she slowly lifted her face. "WU1 you," he said, and his voice was low and trembling, "let me take your hand in mine? Will you count me in all things your friend and. aa much aa is .pos«lJe, your protector? Percival Claremont was to me more than a brother. His wife shoold be as my sister."

She could not s]cak. though she strove to do so. She placed her hand in silence in that of Devereux, and he lifted it reverently to his lips and kissed it. "I never knew," he said in the same low tone, but more steady now, 'that Percival had married. I lost sight of him for years, and then when I heard it was not (from him I was sent for to identify him.

How was it that you did not know my name -My hushnnd never spoke of yon. I did not know of his death till manv months after it had occurred. I was ill. prostrated by fever, and when I was able to seek information, the only account I could obtain was meagre, and the name of the gentleman who identified^my husband was wrongly given. An official to whom I applied told me that |ie was a Frenchman your name ami your faultless accent had not unnaturally deceived htm."* •Your marriage, then," sail Devereux, as she paused, "was secret •It wasj it took place, Italy._ I was

living in the outskirts of Rome with some relatives. My father, Yicomte de Chatelard, was of the old noblesse you would know the name. He was exiled for his Legitimist opinions, and he died in Italy. My relatives were harsh to me, and when I met Percival Claremont, and he wooed me, I listened to him only too readily. He told me he could not marry me openly on account of property which would not come to him if he married against his father's consent and I believed him. I fled with him, and found out too late, the reason of his desire for secrecy. He was already in the toils of Hester Ransome, and he feared her jealousy. No wonder that he never mentioned your name to me. It was shortly after my only child was lorn that I discovered his treason, yet I could have forgiven him. I loved him with my whole soul. I know that he struggled against the influence that was dragging him down, that in the end conquered. He left me one day, taking with him our child. I knew to whom he had fled, but I knew not where she was. The double blow struck ma down for months I hovered between life and death, and when I was able to move, able to act, I learned that Percival Claremont had found a suicide's grave. And of my child, I knew not whether she lived or died—I trust in God that she is dead. What could her life be, trained by Hester Ransome f*

She covered her face again, trembling violently. Devereux bad listened with outward calm to this tale of wrong and misery, but with a thousand bitter emotions stirring within him.

Claremont had, indeed, sinned deeply— even more deeply than his friend had dreamed but terribly hail he suffered for that sin. And his wife's love still clung to him, though he had lieen so faithless to her, and had even robbed her of her child. "Are 3*011 certain," said Devereux gently, striving to comfort the unhappy woman, "that Percival left your child with Henter Ransome ••I cannot tell. Sometimes I cherish the hopu 1 hat he did not. She never speaks of a child, and I, seeking her for years, only discovered her in London a little while ago, by \vhat is called a chance." "And you sought Hester Ransome," said Dare Devereux, "for the sake of revenge." "Not for revenge only," said Louise Claremont through her teeth, "but to discover the truth. I do not believe that my husband died by his own band." "I know that he did not."

Mrs. Claremont sprang to her feet with a stifled cry. "You know itf If that so? Tell me how—tell me all T" "Hush!"—the firm hand was on hei's— "try to be calm. Remember you have still your part to play—»your secret and mine to keep. Read this."

He did not deem it wise to place her in possession of the whole truth. He drew out a pocket-book, and from it took Percival Claremont's last letter to him.

Through blinding tears the dead man's wife read that letter, pressing it again and again to her lips but when she had tinished, she laid it down and rose to her feet, dashing the tears aside. "These words,M she said, "denounce Hester Ransome as a murderess. They were not written by a man who intended to'take his own life. No! The spell was broken his eves were opened he would have returned to his double allegiance— to his wife, to his friend—and it was her hand that dealt death, and her life shall be for his."

1,J

"Aye," said Bevereux, "so help me Heaven! And henceforth we will workwife and friend—hand-in-hand, to bring Percival Claremont's murderess to justice. As yet you have discovered nothing?" "Nothing, I have not dared, up till now, to search for papers or other evidence, and I know not how to approach Fanchette—her accomplice. I am convinced. She is more impregnable than Hester Ransome." "To you, but not to me. It is on Fanchette that I rely. You, who must have instantly discovered her weak point, will know why I have such faith that, impregnable as she seems, I shall discover much through her. Leavo Fanchette to me. It will be strange if I fail with her. For the rest, keep your present role. Let no shrinking from a painful task cause yon to spare those who are, for the time "being, your victims. It shall be my care to refund all sums unfairly won. The goal wo are striving for may lie far off, but gain it we shall, as surely as there is a sun in the heavens."

And Louise Claremont believed him..— Who could doubt that success must be with that indomitable will, tha* steadfastness of purpose, that infinite power of resource?

What had Hester Ransome, clever as she was, to oppose to the forces arrayed against her?

It was late'when the friend and wife of Percival Claremont separated, and M. de Lasaulx did not appear at ••Russell's," as its frequenters were in tho habit of calling it, that night but the next night he did appear, and lost a considerable sum to the fascinating Merville, and when he went out, Fanchette was the richer by half-a-sovereign, and had another kiss.

The kiss she did not value (if she had only known what it cost to give it!) but the half-sovereign she put to her store, and smiled delightedly over the ill-gotten hoard.

Fanchette, like many other* of ud, was a poor fool after all. CHAFTBH XXXIT«

FARTI50 IX8TRPCTI05S,

Christmas was drawing nigh, and that season would inevitably interrupt Dever•ux's plans. A number of guests bad been invited to spend the Christmas and New Year season at King's Royal, and of course many of Mrs. Russell's "customers" would also be scattered.

Dare and hia wife did not, however, intend to stop long in the country, bnt purposed returning to town at the end of the second week in January.

Meanwhile, the supposed Count de Lasaulx made the best of his opportunities with regard to Fanchette, on whom he bestowedfrequent gifts,increasing in value, and to whose charms he professed himself enslaved.

Naturally. Mdlle. Fanchette kept all this profitable love-making to herself, and was feven cunning enough to avoid any eitra display of frippery in the presence of Madame Ransome, lest that acute per•ooage shoult suspect her handmaid ot carrying on flirtation with any of the inentera of the Salle Russell. the last night before his departure for Devonshire, Devereux said to Fanchette as he passed out: "Ah, Fanchette, we shall not meet again for perhaps a month. I am going to Paris." "Monsieur is cruel,'" said the woman tossing her head. *Yuel to myself, Fanchette* Dost thorn think I would not remain if I couldf It

freqi A)

I $ J%

is not pleasure—it is business that drags me from London, and as soon as I can I will return." "The time will pass slowly while monsieur is absent," said Fanchette, trying to assume that look, half arch, half Bad, which sits so charmingly on a pretty face, but is a complete failure on an ugly one. "Not longer to thee than to me," returned the count, putting bis arm ronnd the very ample waist of the Frenchwoman, and he would far rather have embraced a coal-heaver, had a choice been allowed him. I shall count the days till my return. Hist! Someone comes!" How he blessed that someoneinhis heart! "Adieu, Fanchette—nay, au rexmrP

He kissed her, slipped two sovereigns into her hand, and hastened into the street.

Fanchette would have failed to recognize her noble lover in the fair, handsome man who the next night sat in the chambers of the Count de Lasaulxwith Louise Claremont, or Madame Merville. "We shall be in London again," Devereux said, "within a month. I have now gone far enongh with. Fanchette to be able by that time to begin pumping her. Like all vulgar-minded and ignorant people she triumphs secretly in the power she holds over her quonaam mistress, and I shall touch her upon that point while working her vanity upon the high pressure system. You, of course, have not failed to take note of anything that indicates where Hester Ransome's private papers are kept—if she has kept any?"

Madame Merville shook ber head. "There is no place in the salon," she said, "nor in the room in which we sit in the mornintr and take our meals, where papers could be kept. If she has any she must keep them in her sleeping apartment." "Have you made any search there?" "I have not dared to,make more than a cursory survey. There is nothing in the small desk that stands in her room she has frequently sent me to it for paper and other requisites, and there is no room for a secret compartment. All the other articles of furniture in the room are of the ordinary kind in a lady's apartment but a thorough search might be productive. She is too clever a woman to lock up compromising documents in strong boxes or noticeable cabinets." "Aye. When, then, the time is ripe," said Devereux, "she must be drugged, and while I keep Fanchette occupied in flirting, you must search or perhaps both must be drugged." "I pity you," said Mrs. Claremont, with an irrepressible smile, "having to make love to sueh a woman as Fanchette!" "I think I deserve your pity it is, indeed, an odious task but I think always of the goal, and that nerves me to anything. As to any communication which it may oe necessary for you to make to' me, write to me at King's Royal but, 1 need hardly sav, it is best not to write if it can be possibly avoided. Not that any eye but mine would see your letter. Yida and I never interfere with each other's correspondence, but, in such work as ours, the fewer letters tho better. If you should need to telegraph, do so only as from Marie." "But," said Louise Claremont, "in country places the contents even of telegrams are not always sacred. Pardon me if I ask whether if your wife should chance to hear of such a message

She paused as she saw the smile on Devereux's lips. "Vida," he said," has full trust in me and, faith! she may well think I should be fickle minded to look on any woman after her. She has never even questioned me as to my long and unexplained absences and I care nothing what the country yokels should say of me, nor does she. A "male pseudonym would be but a transparent subterfuge. Be sure no one would believe the message came from a in." "Very well I will do in all things as you shall direct." •Thank you but do not say 'directI only suggest. Before we part, let me touch on a painful subject it is for your sake." "M. Devereux, you only give me pain when yon apologize." 'Nay, I could not do less. I allude to your child. Do you not think that you have too readily assumed her to be dead?" "Perhaps," said the mother, "I have allowed the hope to influence too strongly the thought." "If she were living," continued Devereux, "do you think you could recognize her?" •I fear not," said Mrs. Claremont sorrowfully. She was a very beautiful child, but- still little more than an infant when I lost her. I could not say certainly that I should know her." "Under what name was sho baptised?" "Anna Teresa Vilna." "The last an uausual name but, of course, if Hester Ransome had charge of the child she would have given it another name. How old should she now be?" "Nearly nineteen." "And you have not the slightest clue to her whereabouts, the slightest idea as to what has become of her?** "No. I think if she had lived, Hester Ransome would not readily have parted with her." 'If she grew up as beautiful at ber childhood promised." she would fie too valuable to be lightly parted with. For your sake, indeed, I trust she died while she was innocent. Hester Ransome could not be relied upon to keep a young girl out of evil. Even if she did nothing to corrupt her for her own base ends, only evil could result from such an atmosphere as that of the Ransome salon. But all this," he added, "must speedily be cleared up. When Hester Ransome is in our power, we can dictate terms, and force her to disclose all she knows of your efcild."

It was late when the two confederates departed, and Louise Claremont returned to her task with a more hopeful heart. She had that profound faith in Dare Devereux which be never failed to inspire. She never for an instant doubted that he would sueceed, whether she herself did so or not, and she knew, that if diplomatic means failed, he would carry things at the last by a roup it main.

So came another, though briefer interregnum. CHAPTER XXXV.

AT KUIO'S ROYAL.

"Beatrix, may I come in It was Vida's soft voice, and the response was the prompt opening of the door by the temporary owner of a most luxurious dressing-room.

Enter Yida in crimson cashmere cham-ber-robe, and both girls seated themselves in low chairs before a superb fire.

It was the "witching hoar of night,'* & few days before Christmas day. King's Royal was entertaining right royally what the duly papers denominate "a distinguished party, including the eminent surgeon, Gifford West, who contrived to gain this brief holiday, and, as we have seen, the pretty Beatrix Mansfield, to whose apartment Vida now resorted for

KilPfSS

TBRRE HAUTE SATURDAY EVENING' MAIL.

that recreation pre-eminently attractive to both young women and young^ men—a midnight "confab."

Without, the snow fell and the north wind whistled. But the harshness of the external elements only brought into stronger relief the warmth and comfort within, and Besftrix settled herself in her fauteuU with a happy, little laugh, as the wind howled round the gables and shook the leafless trees near the windows. "Isn't it cosy?" said she, stretching out her daintily-slippered feet to tho ruddy blaze.

Yida laughed too but she almost envied her friend the unalloyed bappipess that shone in the blue eyes and parted the sweet lip3 with a smile that lingered lovingly. Yida's smile was brief, and bad always in it a tinge of sadness. "Very cosy," she assented. "Bnt I wonder bow many poor things are wandering homeless to-night, and how many, bred in comfort, are shivering over poor fires and dreading Christmas day?" ••Oh, Vida, don't be dismal, there's a dear. You are always thinking of the people who haven't what they want. You can't feed and clothe the whole world, you Quixotic young person. No, I feel very selfish to-night." .. "Because you are happy "Well, I don't know* does happiness make one selfish! It hasn't that effect upon you." "You are sure that I am happy?" "One of your cynical speeches,' Vida. What have you lacking to make you happy? I am sure you are the most enviable of women". "Ami?" "There isn't a girl in Mayfair," resumed Beatrix, "who would not have given her head to be where yoa are now." ••That only shows their folly, Beatrix but never mind me, I want to hear about you." "About me!" exclaimed Beatrix, with an ingenue air that would not have deceived a much less keen-sighted person than Vida Devereux. "I have nothing to tell you." "Then you ought to have," said Vida, "or you will have soon. AUons done, my little friend, does not your face betray you A girl wears such a look as you have for only one cause. You turn away. Well, why do you do that, if you have nothing to tell me "Oh, Vida, you are too bad!" cried Beatrix, laughing, and blushing exceedingly. "He hasn't said—I mean, that is—I Here she paused dead.

Vida took up the parable quietly. "He has not said anything formal yet but he will, little Bee and his preference is no secret to Dare and me. How could it—nay, how should it be And, Beatrix, though he is so much older than you, he is so much better than any .younger man, you know, that, in your place, I would not exchange him for one of them.'' "I would not, indeed, Vida!" cried Beatrix warmly "and I am sure her head sank, her eyes fell again, she added, hesitatingly: "I am sure mamma does not mind, or she would not let him come so much, for she must see." "Your mother only wants your happiness, Beatrix," said Yida, caressing the pretty head which was now laid confidingly on her shoulder, "and she knows that it is safe in Gifford West's keeping. It is better to have between you the difference of twenty years than the difference of a lack of sympathy. I think more misery is wrought by that source of trouble than by itfly other." "I suppose so," said Beatrix musingly, "especially to a temperament like yours but don't you think it must be worse where, for some reason or other, there is no confidence "How do you mean?" asked Vida, still stroking Beatrix's fair head with a perfectly steady band. "Why, suppose, now, you had a secret from your husband?" "You might have that without guilt." "But don't you think it would always feel like guilt. It would to me." "Surely the nature of the secret would be taken into consideration and then, it the husband were willing to tolerate the concealment?" "How many men would, Vida? I wonder at you raising the question, for you are far more worldly-wise, and less inclin^a to believe in human goodnesa than I" "I have ample reason. Still, you leave my question unanswered." "Not because I shirk it. Aonan might be willing to let the wile guard her secret, but still it would be a secret, and that should not be. Don't you agree with me?" "Yes," said Vida. "Would not you be unhappy under such circumstances?" "I think so but I am not so good .as you are, Beatrix." "I am not good," said Beatrix, "and^ if your ideas on some points are less strict than mine, that may be only training. I don't pretend to reason much I have not your intellect. Still, I am sure you would not feel it right to have any serious secret that you would not betray any trust by tellhig bim. ••Then it mu«t

IXJ

a guilty secret."

"Well, yes j" in any. case I should not like it." -Nor I but let us drop theories? I want to talk about you, Beatrix."

Was not the wound in her heart always fresh and bleeding How she bad winced under innocent Beatrix's light and unconscious touch. Guilty? Yes, day by day the burden of her secret grew heavier, and yet her own hand felt as powerless as ever to remove that burden, and cast it at her husband's feet.

It was not till two o'clock in the morning that Vida left Beatrix, and went, not to her own, but to ber huslmnd's dressing room, where she found bim sitting reading.

It was strange that, when the sense of wrong weighed most heavily upon her, she instinctively sought comfort from the man to whom the wrong was done.

Deverenx looked up as his wife entered tb« room, and with a smile stretched out ^ii tyied, and the went and knelt down by him, and clung to him in silence.

Nor did be speak more than a few loving words, soothing her tenderly but the shadow deepened more and more. No loss of love or trust, but still that bitter sense of a shadow between two lives that should US?as one, and were not might, perchance, never be.

And the next day pretty Beatrix beard the words that crowned her happiness, and so soon as her lover would release ber flew to tell Vida and Vida embraced and kissed her fondly, telling her she deserved the man she had .won, and almost her last words were: "Beatrix, you were right last night, quite right. Never let there be a secret between you and your husband."

And Beatrix never dreamed that Vida spoke from a stern experience. [TO HE X)NTIXVKD.]

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The only known Specific Remedy for Epileptic Fits.

SAMARITAN NERVINE

Cures Epileptic Fits, Spasms. Convulsion?, St. Vitus Dance, Vertigo, Hysterics, Insanity, Apoplexy, I'aralyeis, Kheamstism, Neuralgia, nnd all Nervous Diseases. This infallible remedy will positively eradicate every species of Nervous Derangement, and drive them away from whence they came, never to return again. It utterly destroys the germs of disease by neutralizing the hereditary taiut or poison In the system, and thoroughly eradicates the disease, aud utterly destroys the cause.

SAMARITAN NERVINE

Cures Female Weakness, General Debllty, LENcorrhma or Whites, Painful Menstruation, Ulceration ef the Uterus. Internal Heat, OIMTUI, Inflammation of the Bladder, Irritability ot the Bladder. For Wakefulness at uitfht. there in no bettor remedy. Dnriug the chanuc of life no Female should bo without it. It quiets the Nervous System,and ivesrest, comfort, and nature's sweet Bleep.

SAMARITAN NERVINE

Cures Alcoholism, Drunkenness and the habit of Opiuin Eating. These degrading habits are by far the worst evils that have e»er befallen sutlerhumanity. Thousands die annually from noxious drugs.*. The drunkard 'driuka liquor not because lie nkesit, but for the pleasure of drinking and treating his fiiends, little thinking that, he is on his road to ruiu. Lilto the Opium Eater, he llrst ukes the drug in small quantities ns a harmless antidote. The soothing iulluence of the drug takes strong hold upon ita victim, leading him on to his own destruction. The habiu of Opium Kating and Liquor Drinklug are precisely what eating is to alimentivwness, as over-eating first inflames tho ptomacb, which redoubles its cravings until it paralyze* both the stomach and appetite. Soevory drink of liquor or dose of opiuin, instead of Mitlffying. only adds to its fierce tires, until it consumea the vital force and then itself. Like the gluttonous tape-worm, it cries "Give, give, give bat never enongh until its own rapacity devours itself. Samaritan Nervine gives instant relief in all such cases. It produces sleep, quiets the nerves, builds up the nervous system, au.l restores body and mind to a healthy condition.

SAMARITAN NERVINE

Cures Nervous Dyspepsia, Palpitatiou of th« Heart, Asthma, Bronchitis, Scrofula. Syphilis, diseases of the Kidneys nnd all diseases of the Urinary OrspuiB. Nervous Debility, caused bp the iudiscretions of youth, permanently cured by the use of this invaluable remedy. To you, voung, middle-aged, and old men, who are covering your sufferings as with a mantle by silence, look up, you can bo saved by timely efforts, and make ornaments to society, and Jewels in the crown of your Maker, If you will. Do not. keep this a secret longer, until It saps your vitals, and destroys both body and soul. If you are thus afflicted, take Dn.

RICHMONO'S SAMAR­

ITAN NKUVINK. It will restore your shattered nerves, arrest premature dccay, aud impart tune and energy to the whole System.

SAMARITAN NERVINE

Is for sale by druggists everywhere, or mny be bad direct from us. Those who wish to obtain lurther evidence of the curative properties of Samaritan 'Nervine will please enclose a 3-cent postage stamp ror a copy of onr Illustrated journal of Health, giving hundreds of testimonials or cure lrom persons who have used tha medicine, and also their pictures photographed alter their restoration to perfect health.

Address

BR. S. A. RICHMOND & CO., World's Epileptic Institute, IT. JOSEPH. MO.

Drain Tile

Eureka

K-, DWIOHT,

rauuMwuim.

This remedy will act hi harmony with tbe FeiMlesntSiiat all times, sad also immediately upon the abdominal and otcriae mosclet, sod restore them to a beaKliy sad strong condition. 1 Dr. Marctrisi'to Uterine Cathoiieofl win care faninz of the womh, LocorrtxES, Chronic Inflammation sad Ulceration of tbe W«Hnb, Incidental Hemorrhage or Flooding, Painful, Sr^resaed and IiTegusr JifeastraatkHi, Kidney Complaint, and is especial]/ adapted to tbe Change of Life. Send tar pamphlet free. All betters of inquiry freely answered. Address as above. ....

POtL SALB BY ALLTOtOflWM. PriceSljiOparbotOsT Be fore and a* tot Jft. Marchtei Uterine Catbolfcda. Tsice no cMer.

Trade supplied by COOK A BELL.

Machine

This Much I no is aubitaatlol and durable in construction uliaplo in Ita arrangements eaay ofacoosa to its wearing parts bavins 8TBEMOTH THAT XVEM OHOB8KBGLECT aould scared BB.JEAK,— leaving littlo to bo desired aa an EFFECTIVE TLLX XACHUTS.

VI 4HTS tbls Msoklas bt either ftori r. Oar Mil well aaMeS to either, tfar Tils la* rsafe la *1m hoa a lei la*, la diameter sad ia ilitpt »»rr lbe« to i»U tfcetaau*fenn—ln. a«» Briek Mecbls.lt Uslo aooapleta eaeeeee. tl fatty wsrraated a Tile or BrU* U»etlnr Seed f«r etreulaf.

CH4JIDX.SB TATLOK. IndianapoUa,LzuL.

DRUNKENNESS

with THK MmiLI OKLOK19R LIB E. KEELfrr, *. D.. Burgeon C. III. a, OOO auras. Bootarree

CAMIT CURB® or SOLD. LESLIE A. K.<p></p>REEtf$

IS A THOROUGH REMEDY

Inevervcaae of Fever and Agna, while for Disorder* of the tttemach, Torpidity of the Liver, Indigestion and disturbance! of tna Animal force*, which debilitate, it baa no equivalent and can have no substitute. It should not be confounded with the triturate compounds of cheap spirits and awenttal oil* often sold under the name of Bitters.

iiaiuo v.

F01 Bale bydrugjrlftt* and general dealer* verywhere. Wholesale agents. JOHN tXJNFARE. Terre Haute, Ind. AnOA week. 112 a day at home eaxilymade. t| Coatly Outfit fre«. Address True fc Co., Augusta, Maine.