Saturday Evening Mail, Volume 13, Number 39, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 24 March 1883 — Page 2

THE MAIL

A PAPER FOR THE PFOPLE.

TERRE HAUTE, MARCH 24,1883

MY NEIGHBOR AND I.

Oh,'I pity my neighbor over the way. Who nas nothing to do hat to yawn all (lay No little hands to tumble her hair, No little "nuisance" to vex her with care, No little "torament" to worry and tease, Nothing to do bat consult her own ease.

Poor, rich neighbor. I am sorry for you— Horry, because you nave "nothing to do." Horry, becaiwe, as the days go by You are restless and weary,you know not why And once in a whi'c I can see the trace Of many a tear on your proud, fair face.

You see I am only a laborer's wife, Doing my part in the treadmill of life Joe, my husband, is of all day, Fighting the giants of want away Baby and I are busy, too, Bat we've plenty of time to be sorry for yoa.

Baby's a nuisance, a plague, and a Joy, But then, you see, it is my own sweet boy I have uo time for a grown or a sigh, No time to be idle as the days go by My arms are full as the day is Jong, Full is ray heart with Us happy songs.

Poor, rich neighbor over the way. Watching my baby and me at play What of your wealth if your heart is bare 1 'Pis to love and belovea that makes life so fair, No, neighbor mine, I can tell you true, Indeed I'd rather be I than you.

Harper's Bazar.

Two Old Lovers.

BY MARY E. WILKIN8.

Leyden was emphatically a village of cottages, and each of them built after one of two patterns: either the frontdoor was on the right side, in the corner of a little piazza extending a third of the length of the house, with the main roof jutting over it, or the piazza stretched across the front, and the door was in the center.

The cottages were uniformly painted white, and bad blinds of a bright, spring green color. There was a little flower garden in front of each the beds were laid out artistically in triangles, hearts, and rounds, and edged with box boys'love. sweet-williams, and pinks were the fashionable and prevailing flowers.

There was a general air of cheerful though bumble prosperity about the place, which it owed, and indeed its very existence also, to the three old weatherbeaten boot and shoe factories which arose stanohly and importantly in the very midst of the natty little white cottages. ears before, when one Hiram Strong

ut up his three factories for the manuicture of the rough shoe which the working man of America wears, he hardly thought he was gaining for him* self the honor of founding Leyden. He chose the site for his buildings mainly because they would be easily accessible to the railway which stretched to the city, sixty miles distant. At first the workmen came on tbe cars from the neighboring towns, but sfter a while they became tired of that, ard one after another built for himself a cottage, and established his family and his-household belongings near tho scene of his daily labors. So gradually Leyden giew. A built his cottage likeC, and ouilt. his like D. They painted them white, and hung the green blinds, and laid ouMheir vegetable Deds at the back. By and by came a church and a store and a postofflce to pass, and Leyden a full-fledged town.

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This was a long time ago. The shoe factories had long passed out of the hands of diram Strong's heirs he himself was only a memory on the earth. The business was not quite as wide-awake and vigorous as when in its first youth it droned a little now there was not quite so much bustle and hurry as formerly. The factories were never.lighted up of an evening on account of overwork, and the workmen for pleasant and salutary gossip over their cutting and pegging. But this did not detract in tne least from the general cheerfulness and prosperity of Leyden. The inhabitants still had all the work they needed to supply the means necessary for their small comforts, and they were contented. They too had begun to drone a little like the factories. "As slow as Leyden," was the saying amongst the fast-going towns adjoining theirs. Every morning at seven tbe. old men, young men and boys in their calico shirt sleeves, their faces a little pale—perhaps from their in-door life—filed unquestiotilngly out of the l*ck doors of the white cottage*, treading Jstill deeper the well-worn foot-paths stretching around

the sides of tbe houses And entered the factories. They were great ugly wooden buildings, with wings which they had rown in their youth jutting clumsily rom their lumbering shoulders. Their outer walls were black and grimy, streaked and splashed and patch*! with red paint in every variety of shade, accordingly as the original hne was tempered with smoke or the beatings of the storms of many years.

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The men worked peacefully and evenly in the shoe shops all day and tbe women staid at home and kept the little white cottages tidy, cooked the meals, and washedthe clothes, and did the sewing. For recreation the men sat on the piazza in front of Barker's store of an evening, and gossiped or discussed politics and the women talked over their neighbor's fences, or took their sewing into their neighbors' of an afternoon.

People dlea In Leyden as elsewhere and here and there was a little white cottage whose narrow foot-path leading round to its beck door its master would never tread again.

In one of these lived Widow Martha Brewster and her daughter Maria. Their cottage was one of those which had its piaxsa across the front. Every summer day they traised morning glories over it, and planted their little garden with the flower seeds popular in Leyden. There was not a cottage in the whole place wboee surroundings were neater and gayet than theirs, for all that they were only two women, and two old women at that for Widow Marsha

alone since Jacob Brewster died and stopped going to the factory, some fifteen years ago. He had kih them this

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articular white cottage, and a snug sum in the savings-bank bes4d for the whole Brewster family worked and economised all their low Uw*. The women had corded boots at home, while the man had worked in the shop, and never spent a cent without thinking of it overnight.

Leyden folks all thought David Emmons would marry Maria Brewster when her father died. "David can rent his house, and go to live with Maria and her mother," said thev, with an affectionate rssdiness to arrange matters for them. But he did not. Every Sunday night at eight o'clock punctually the form of David Emmons, arrayed in his bwt clo.be*. with hf* stiff white dickey,

and a nosegay in his buttonhole, was seen to advance np the road toward Maria Brewster's, as he Jiad been aeen to advance every Sunday night for tbe last twenty-five years, but that was all. He manifested not the slightest intention of carrying out people's jndido plans for his welfare and Maria's.

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She did not seem to pine with hope deferred people could not honestly say there was any occasion to pity her for her lover's tardiness. A cheerier woman never lived. She was literally bubbling over with jollity. Round-faced and black-eyed, with a funny little bounce of her whole body when she walked, she was tbe merry feature of the whole place.

Her mother was now too feeble, but Maria still corded boots for the factories as of old. David Emmons, who was

sixty, worked in them as be had rotn his youth. He was a slender, mild-faced old man, with a fringe of gray yellow beard around bis chin his head was quite bald. Years ago he had been handsome, they said, out somehow people haa always laughed at him a little, although they all liked him. "The slowest of all Leydenites" outsiders called him, and even the "slew Leydenites" poked fun at this exaggeration of themselves. It was an old and well-worn remark that it took David Emmons an hour to go courting^ and that he was always obliged to leave his own home at seven in order to reach Maria's at eight, and there was a standing joke that the meeting-house passed him one morning on his way to the shop.

David heard the chaffing of course there is very littla delicacy in matters of this kind among country people but he took it all in good part. He would laugh at himself with the rest, but there was

in my natur' to do any other way. I suppose I was bom without the faculty of gittin' along quick in this world. You'll have to git behind an' push'me a leetle, I reckon."

He owned his little cottage, which was one of the kind which had tbe piazza on the right side. He lived entirely alone. There was a half acre or so of land beside his house, which he used for a vegetable garden. After and before Bbop

green

beans. If David Emmons was slow, his vegetables were not. None of the gardenrfti Leyden surpasted his in luxuriant growth. His corn tasselled out and bis potato pateh was white with blossoms as soon as anybody's.

He was almost a vegetarian in his diet the products of his garden spot were his staple articles of food. Early in the morning would the gentle old "bachelor set his pot of green things boiling, and dine

greatly

at noon, like mild Robert

Herricb, on pulse and herbs. His garden supplied also bis sweetheart anefner mother with all the vegetables they could use. Many times in the course of a week could David have been seen slowly moving toward the Brewster cottage with a basket on his arm well stocked with tbe materials for an innocent and delicious repast.

But Maria was not to be outdone by her old lover in kindly deeds. Not a Saturday but a goodly share of her weekly baking was deposited, neatly coveted with a white crash towel, on Dirad's little kitchen table. The surreptitious air with which the back-door key was taken from its hiding-place (which she well knew) under the kitchen blind, the door unlocked and entered, and the good things deposited, was charming, although nl "There goes Marcia ing," said the women, peering out of

ighly ineffectual,

oes Marcia with David's bak-

ugf WWUIWUl VWV v» their windows as she bounced, rather more gently and cautiously than usual, down the street. And David himself knew well the ministering angel to whom these benefits were due when he lifted the towel and discovered with tearful eyes the brown loaves and flaky pies—the proofa of his Marda's love ana culinary wcill.

Amongst the younger and irreverent portions of the community there was considerable speculation as to the mode of courtship of these old lovers of twenty years' standing. Was there ever a kiss, a tender clasp of the hand, those usual expressions of affection between sweethearts?

Some of tht more daring spirits had even gone so far as to commit the manifest impropriety of peeping in Maria's parlor windows but they had only seeu avid sitting quletand prim on the little slippery horse-hair sofa, and Maria by tbe table rocking slowly in her little cane-seated rocker. Dia Maria ever leave her rocker and sit on that slippery horse-hair sofa by David's side? They never knew but she never did. There was something laughable, and at the samfe time rather pathetic, about Maria and David's courting. All the outward appurtenances of "seeping company" were as rigidly observed as they had

been

twenty-five years ago. when David Emmons first cast his mild blue eyes shyly and lovingly on red-cheeked, quick-spoken Maria Brewster. Every Sunday evening, in the winter, there was a nre kindled in the parlor, the parlor lamp was lit at dusk all the year round, and Maria's mother, retired earlv, that the young people might "sit up.,r The "sitting up" was no very formidable affair now, whatever it might have been in the first stages of thecourtsbip. The need of sleep overbalanced sentiment in those old lovers, and by ten o'clock at the latest Maria's lamp was out, and David wedded his solitary way to his own home.

Leyden people had a great curiosity to know if David bad ever actually popped the question to Maria, or if his natural slowness was at fault fa this as in other things. Their curiosity had been long exercised in vain, but Widow Brewster as she waxed older, grew loquacious, and one day told a neighbor, who had dropped in in her daughter's absence, that "David had never reely come to the pint. She aupposed he would some time for her part, she thought he had better but then, after all, MM knowned Maria didn*t care, and maybe twas jest as well as 'twas, only sometimes she was afeared she sbouid never live to see the weddin* if they wasn't spry." Then then had been hints concerning a certain pearl-colored silk which Maria, having a good to get at a bargain, had purchased some twenty yean ago, when she thought, from sundry remarks, that David was coming to tbe point and it was further intimated that the silk had been privately made np ten years since, when Maria had again surmised that the point was aboutoeing reached. The neighbor went home in a state of great (Might, having by skillful manoeuvring actually obtained a gUmpee of the pearl-covered silk.

It was perfectly true that Maria did not lay David's tardiness in potting the important question very much to heart. She was too cheerful, too busy, and too much interested in her daily duties to fret much abont anything. There was never at any time much of the sentimental element In her composition, and her feeling for David was eminently practical in ita nature. She, although tho woman, had the stronger character

of the two, and #ere was something rather mother-like than lover-like in her affection toj him. It was through the protecting care which chiefly characterized her love thatthe only pain to her came from their long courtship and postponement of marriage. It was true that, years ago, when David bad led her to think, from certain hesitating words spoken at parting one Sunday night, that be would certainly ask the momentous question soon, her heart had gone into a happy flutter. She had bought the pearl-colored silk then.

Years after, her heart had fluttered again, but a little less wildly this time. David almost asked her another Sunday night. Then she had made up tbe pearl-

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colored silk. She used to go and look at it fondly and admiringly from time to time once in awhile she would try it on and survey herself in the glass, and imagine herself David's bride—a faded bride, but a happy and beloved one.

She looked at the dress occasionally now, but a little sadly, as the conviction was forcing itself upon her .more and more that sne should never wear it. But the sadness was always more for his sake than her own. She saw him growing ah old man, and the lonely uncared-for life that he led filled her heart with tender pity and sorrow for him. She did not confine her kind offices to the Saturday baking. Every week his little house was tidied and set to rights, and his mending looked after.

Once, on a Sunday night, when she spied a rip in his coat that nad grown long from the want of womanly lingers constantly at hand, she had a good cry after he had] left and she Had gone into her room. There was something more

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itiful to her, something that touched heart more deeply, in that rip in her lover's Sunday coat than in all her long years of waiting.

As'the years went on it was sometimes with a sad heart that Maria stood and watched the poor lonely old figure moving slower than ever down tbe street to tfis lonely home but tbe heart was sad for him always, and never for herself. She used to wonder at him a little sometimes, thoug always with the most loyal tenderness, that be should choose to lead the solitary, cheerless life that he did, to go back to his dark, voiceless home, when he might be so sheltered and cared for in his old age. She firmly beliered that it was ouly owing to her lover's incorrigible slowness, in this as in everything else. She never doubted for. an instant that he loved he. Some women might have tried hastening matters a little themselves, but Maria with a delicacy which is sometimes more inherent in a steady, practical nature like hers than in a more ardent one, would have lost her self-respect forever if she had done such a thing.

So she lived cheerfully along, corded her boots, though her fingers were getting stiff, humored her mother, who was getting feebler and more childish every year, and did the best she could for her poor, foolish old lover.

When David was seventy, and she six-ty-eigbt, she gave away the pearl-col-ored silk to a cousin's daughter who was going to be married. The girl was young and pretty and happy, but she was poor, and tbe silk would make over into a grander wedding dress for her than she could hope to obtain any other way.

Poor old Maria smoothed the lustrous folds fondly with her withered hands before sending it away, and cried a little with a patient pity for David, aqd herself. But when a tear splashed directly on to the shining surface of the silk, she stopped crying at once, and her sorrowful expression changed into one of careful scrutiny as she wiped the salt drop awav with her handkerchief, and held tbe dress up to the light to bo sure that it was not spotted. A practical nature like Maria's is sometimes a great boon to its possessor. It is doubtful if anything else can dry a tear as quickly

Somehow Maria always felt a little differently toward David after she had given away her wedding dress. There had always been a little tinge of consciousness in her manner toward him, a little reserve and caution before people. But after the wedding dress had gone, all question of marriage had disappeared so entirely from her mind that the delicate considerations born of it vanished. She was uncommonly hale and hearty for a woman of her age there was apparently much more than two years* difference betweeu her and her lover. It was not only the Saturday's bread and pie that she carried now a'nd deposited on David's little kitchen table, but openly and boldly, not caring who should see her, many a warm dinner. Every day, after her own house-work was done, David's house was set to rights. He should have all the comforts he needed in bis last years, she determined. That they were bis last years was evident. He coughed, and now walked so slowly from feebleness and weakness that it was a matter of doubt to observers whether he could reach Maria Brewster's before Monday evening.

One Sunday night he staid a little longer than usual—the clock struck ten before be started. Then he rose, and said, as he had done every Sunday evening for so many years, "Well, Maria, I guess it's about time for me to begoin'."

She hel

tied on habit he a minute there seemed to be something he wanted to say. "Maria." "Well, David?" "I'm gittin' to be an old man. you know, an' I've alius been slow-goin I couldn't seem to help it. There has been a good many things I haven't got around." The old cracked voice quavered painfully. "Yes, I know, David, all about it you couldn't help it. I wouldn't worry a bit about it if I were you." "You dont lay up anvtbiug agin me, Maria?" "No, David." "Good-uigbt, Marfa." "Good-night, David. I will fetch you over some boiled dinner to-morrow."

Sht held tbe lamp at tbe door till the patient, tottering old figure was out of sight. She bad to wipe tbe tears from ber spectacles In order to see to read her Bible, when she went in.

Next morning she was hurrying up her housework to go over to David's— somehow she felt a little anxious about him this morning—when there oatne a lond knock at her door. When she opened it a boy stood there, panting for breath be was David's next neighbor's son. "Mr. Emmons is sick." lie said, "an* wants you. I was goin' for milk, when be rapped on tbe window. Father an' mothers in thar, an'tbe doctor. Mother said, teii yoa to harry."

The news bad Spread rapidly people knew what It meant when they saw Maria harrying down tbe street, without her bonnet, her gray hair flying. One woman cried when she saw ber "Poor thing!" she sobbed, "poor thing!"

A crowd was around David's cottage when Maria reached it. She went straight in through the kitchen to his bedroom, and up to hisside. Tbe doctor was in the room, and several neighbors. When be saw Maria, poor old David beld out his hand to her and smiled feebly. Then he looked imploringly at

tbe doetor, then at the others in tbe room. The doctor understood, and said a word to them, and they filed silently out. Then he turned to Maria. "Be quick," he whispered.

She leaned over him. "Dear David," she said, her wrinkled face quivering, her gray hair straying over her cheeks.

He looked up at her with a strange wonder in his glazing eyes. "Maria"— a thin, husky voice, that was more like a wind through dry corn stalks, said— "Maria, I'm—dyin', an'—I allers meant to—have asked you—to—marry me."

THE OLD MINSTREL.

The Opera Hall was crowded, for the famous minstrels were giving a benefit performance. They had just concluded the sweet refrain of the "Swanee River." The tumult of applause was hushed by tbe appearance of a ragged old wreck crowding to tbe front.

Lifting his banjo as a sign of brotherhood, he cried with a choking voice: "Boys, sing that song once more—once more for a poor old minstrel's sake. It brings back tbe lost and dead my old borne rises before me, where 1 was once good aiid happy all the day. I learned the song thereof my mother. The vision of her smiling face praising the boy comes back with the ringing notes of the ban ,o and the memories of long ago. I wandered away to play and sing for the world. It listened and applauded. I was flattered, feasted, intoxicated with fame and the whirl of pleasures. But I wrecked it all. Now, old and broken in heart and |n strength, I am left with but one^.frlend—my banjo. No one listens US it, for the world has found new favorites, and the old minstrel is turned away. She who first praised me died while I was playing for the world— died without seeing me for years. The song she taught her boy led bim from her side. He left her for the world. The world has forsaken him as he did her. Boys, sing my mother's song again, and let my old heart thrill with a better life once more."

Tbe bouse signalled its assent. The old minstrel sat down in the front row. When the solo reached the concluding lines of the second stanza, tbe singer's eyes turned pityingly upon the wanderer, and with voice trembling with emotion came the words— "All np and down this world 1 wandered,

When I was young Oh, many were the days I squandered. Many were the songs I sang." The stranger sat bending forward, the tears coursing down tbe furrows of care, his fingers unconsciously caressing the strings of his battered banjo. All the summer of bis life came back to his heart again,'—mother, home, love, and all his boyhood dreams.

The chorus began, and tbe shrivelled fingers sought the chords, and with a strange, weird harmony unheard before, tbe strains floated along the tide of song. The house was spell-bound. The timeworn instrument seemed to catch its master's spirit, and high above tbe orchestra accompaniment rang tbe soullike chords from its quivering strings.

When the interlude came, tbe minstrel leaned over his banjo with all tbe fondness of a moth«r over her babe. Not a sound from either was beard. The solo rose again and the almost supernatural harmonies drifted with it. Bui he bowed like a mourner over tbe dead. Every heart in the audience was touched, ana tears of sympathy were brushed awav by many a jewelled hand. Tbe singer's eyes were moist, and with plaintive sadness the last lines were sung "When shall I hear the bees a humming

All round the comb, When shall I hear the banjo tummlng, Down in my good old home.',' The last chorus followed. Tbe hoary head of tbe minstrel was lifted and bis face shone with tbe light of anew dawning. His voice joined with a peculiar blendiug, perfect in harmony, yet keeping with his banjo high above the singr era ring like a harp-string long overstrained. Tbe memory of better days, tbe waywardness, sorrow, remorse, hope and despair of all his life seemed pent up in those marvelous tones. The chorus closed and bis head sank down, the long white locks shrouding the banjo.

The manager came before the curtain and said: ''The minstrels give one-half the benefit proceeds to the wandering brother." The house approved with loud demonstrations. A collection started in the galleries and swept over the hall like a golden shower. The two sums were heaped together on the stage. Such a contribution never graced tbe footlights before. Again tbe audience broke forth in round after round of heart good cheers.'

But the banjo was still hushed under the shroud of snow-white, hair, and no word of thanks or token of gratitude came from tbe silent figure towards which all eyes were turned. They called him to the stage and the manager went to escort him there. He laid his hand on tbe bowed head—tbe soul of tbe old minstrel bad wandered away once more. He was dead. His heart had sung that last song on the borders of the spirit land—sang it as the bird sings when it escapes the prison bars which makes life "sed and dreary," and flies far away from the scenes where "the heart grows weary longing."— Council Bluffs Nonpareil.

CONUNDRUMS.

What is every one doing at the Wme time? Growing older. When are gloves unsalable? When they are kept on tbe hand.

Why do the recriminations of a married couple resemble tbe sound of waves on tbe shore? Because they are murmurs of the tide.

What iS^ tbe nearest thing to a est looking out of a window? The window. Why is tbe absence of a letter like tbe presence of a hand-organ? Because it makes u-sic of music.

When is a thief like a seamstress? When be cats and rans. Why are troubles like babies? Because they grow bigger by nursing.

Why is a fiddle like an inferior betel? Because it's a vile inn. What living thing has only one foot? A leg.

Why Is grass on which the cow feeds older than yourself? Because it is past-ur-age.

Why should Africa rightly be considered to rank first of the continents? Because It bears the palm.

Why are cashmere shawls like people who are totally deaf? Because yoa cannot make them here.

LIVER, KIDNEY AND BRIQHT8 S DISEASE. A medicine that destroys the germ or of Brigbt's Disease, Diabetes, Kidand liver Complaints, and has to root them oat of the System, above all price. Such a medicine is

ney power is abov Hop Bitters, and positive proof of this can be found" your by it.

can be found by one trial, or by asking roar neighbors, who have been cured

MB. A. B. DAVWOX, Car Dep't. P. C. A St. L. R. R.. says: "Brown's Iron Bitters is a reliable tonic and invigorator."

CO UNTR YGIR&S.

A young woman who s$pns herself "Girl Not Afraid," Writes i* follows of "Country Girls." "|Ve should never be afraid to be called 'country girls.' Was not Martha Washington a country girl Mrs. Sherman, wife of the lieu-tenant-general of the United States army was a dignified and lofty minded country girl. No little child in all Columbia but Knows that the gifted wife of our dead president was once a simple country girl. And did Mrs. Garfield spend the fresh hours of girl-life in the rock-ing-chair, munching pickles and cake, while she steeped ooth brain and senses in the pages of weak and sentimental stories Did she load her fingers to the knuckles with dollar rings, 'sot' with diamonds as big as the doorknob, while horny-handea father and brother chopped all day in the woods and ate a frozen lunch? The brilliant Mrs. Logan, with the 'presidental bee' in her turban, was a romping, fun loving lass, from tbe regions of tne setting sun. 'Tis said she scarcely saw a city till past eighteen, and tbat it is to her wonderful insight into character, her tact and energy, that the senator owes his elevation in the world. Indeed, Mrs. Grundy says that this self made woman writes most of her husband's clever speeches. Now, girls, we cannot all be presidents'wives, but there isn't one of you who hasn't some gift to make the most of. Let us forsake the stove and rocking chair, and, first of all, lift half tbe burden from mother's shoulders then find a real cure for back-biting and gossip in live, healthy books. Instead of these sentimental kissing parties we'll coax tbe young men into getting up a lyceum (won't the tavern men wail ?). Then nothibg easier than for one band of boys and girls to dash into the city and hear a lecture or concert or to attend—I'll whisper it—the theatre."

YOU HAVE HAD, ENO UGH." Wben a man has drank up his farm, his house, his furniture when he has ruined his wife, beggared his children and lost his home when he is too dissipated to find employment, too worthless to obtain a situation when no one can trust him when credit is gone, and the last cent is spent when no man is willing to treat him or give him a penny with which to obtain drink when every other resource has failed, and life has become a curse, and be stands before the liquor'dealer's bar and begs for a drink to quench bis raging thirst and quiet for an hour the hell of torment that rages within him, then tbe time has come and, as the liquor dealer shows him out into tbe cold and darkness, he says to him: "You have had enough." He may plead, be may expostulate, but in vain. "You have had enough." So long as he had in his pocket a dollar or a dime, he had not "had enough but when he bad spent all, and comes for charity to the man who has robbed and ruined him, he makes this stereotyped answer: "You have had enough." While his money lasts he may drink as he will but when money is gone and all is gone, he has "had enough."

Young man, entering upon a course of dissipation, you may not know when you have "had enough." When you are a poor, broken down, penniless wretch, tbe rum-seller will give you the information. \He iir fotins you ''you have had enough," and tLen you can crawl into your grave in the Potter's Field "you have had enough." Perhaps you prefer to determine for yourself when you have "had enought." and if yoa will take tbe advice of a friend, you will say: "I have had enough now to last me long as I live I drink no more."

1 1

r3!ft

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SKINNY MEN.

"Wells' Health Renewer" restores healtL and vigor, cures Dyspepsia Impotence. Hex* ual Debility. 81.

Never Utve I p.

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1

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mosfhannlesR. A distinguished specialist on skin diseases says: "If indies must use cosmetic*. reeocneod Mmry Stuart Face Powder as the simplest and most harmless." Flesh or White. Price 85 cents per oox. Agent for Terre Haute, Ind.,

GULICK & CO.

No Gongs, No Banners. "A Summer1 Idyl." From Providence Merchant. Mis. GEORGE II. DAVIS, a fruit dealer at ,297 AYcstmiiistet Str%9t, bears his grateful^! testimony totfe une^pWDMiHtcellcnee of the6* production of one of our most skilful Providence pharmacists. Mr. Davis says, Last spring I was- very greatly troubled with severe inflammation of the kidueys, and it became so bad that at times I urinated blood, and my sufferings were intense. My condition was so painful that tor a while I was scarcely ablo to attend to business, and the severe pains would come so suddenly ami severely that I would be obliged to leave a customer whom I might hapjieii to be waiting upon. During apart of the time 1 wfts unablo to walk, and scarcely knew what to do or which way to look for relief. At this tlm» a friend recommended Hunt's Remedy. I took two bottles of it, and it took right hold of my disease and cured mo very speedily, and I have experienced no trouble wiih my kidneys since. "And, furthermore, Hunt's Remedy has strengthened me very much, and since I began to use it I have been able to attend to business, and am all right now. I heartily recommend it to all. What it lias done fur me it will do for you who are afflicted."

Suffered for Twenty Years. HON. JOSHUA TRTIUN,, of East Saginaw, Mich., says," Count me among the enthusiastic friends of limit's Remedy. It has proven in my case all you claim for it. Having suffered for about twenty years with severo disease of the kidneys (whioh our local physicians pronounced IJright's Disease), I mado a journey East to consult tho eminent Dr. Haven, of Hamilton, New York, of whose fame in this specialty I hail heard much. Dr. Haven examined mo carefully and simply said, Go and get a llottle of Hunt's Remedy and take according to directions." After having travelled so far for treatment, is struck me as rather funny to be directed tako a medicine which I.might have bought within a stone's throw of my own door but 1 was in the doctor's hands, and of course I followed his advice, and right giad was I that I did so, for before I had taken Hunt's Remedy half a dozen times 1 found immense benefit from it, and by continuing the us.of it for a limited timo I recovered from my troublo entirely, and am to-day, I think, one of the most rugged of rugged Micliiganders. The world is Indebted to yon, sir, for tli'i promulgation of such a medicine, and I hopo you may not go without your reward."

Hep Bitters are the Purest and Best Bitters Ever Hade. They are compounded from Hops* Malt, Bhchu, Mandrake and Dandelion —the oldest, best, and most valualemedicines in the land contain all the best and most curable properties of all other remedies, being the greatest Blood Purifieri Liver Regulator, and Life and Health Restoring Agent. No disease or ill health can possible long exist where these Bitters are used, so varied and perfect are their operations.

Thev give new life and vigor to the aged ana infirm. To all whose employments cause irregularity of tbe bowels or urinary organs, or who require an Apetize, Tonic and mild Stimulant, Hop Bitters are invaluable, being highly curative, tonic and stimulating, without intoxicating.

No matter what your feelings or symptoms are, what the disease or ailment is, use Hop Bitters. Don't wait until you are sick, but if you feel bad or miserable, use Hop Bitters at once. It may

ip.

Do not suffer or let your friends suffer but use and urge them to use Hop Bitters Remember, Hop Bitters is no vile, drugged, drunken nostrum, but th© Purest and Best Medicine ever made the "Invalid's Friend and Hope," and no person or family should be without them. Try the Bitters to-day.

Positive Caret KLY'M

Crean Balm,

FOB

CLVf*

Catarrh and Hay Fover. Agreeable to Use.

irivKi*

4

A Great Discovery^ Y't iM That is daily bringing joy to the homes of thousands by saving many of their dear ones from an early grave. Truly is Dr. King's New Discovery for Consumption, Coughs, Colds» Asthma, Bronchitis, Hay Fever. Loss of Voice, Tickling in the Throat, Pain in the Side or Chest, or any disease of tne Throat aud Lungs, a positive cure. Guaranteed. Trial Bottle 10 cts at Cook & Bell and Gulick 4 Co's Drug Stores Large size, 1.00. (6)

TJKRQULLKD KOH COLD In HEAD Headache and

Deafness,

or any kind or mucous membninal irritation, inflamed antl rough surfaces. A preparation of undoubted in 11. Antjlv by the llt-

1 a V. finger into the HjAi 6 nostrils. It will be absorbed, efltectually denning the nasal passages of catarrh a 1 virus, causing healthy secretions. It allays inflainatlon, protects the inembranal linings of the head from additional cold, completely heals the sores and restores the sense of taste and smell. Beneficial results are realized by a few appilca-

A thorongh Treatment will (Jure

Cream Ilahn has gained an enviable repu-t tat Ion wherever known displacing all other preparations. Hend for circulars containing full information and reliable testimonials. By mail, prepaid, 50c. a package-stamps received. Bold by all wholesale and retail druggists. ELY 14 CREAM BALM CO.

Owego, N.

FSA A WEEK, 111 day atbomeeaslly made. Cosily f/» OBtfifiree. Address Tscs ft Co., Angu«u, Ms.

The Great

Consumption Itemed

BROWN'S

EXPECTORAH

Baa b**n t**Ud in hundred* of com. a Hiirnr failed. Ut arreit and cure CON8V MPT ION, if taken in time. It Cures Cough*, It Cures Asthma. It Cures Bronchitis. It Cures Hoarseness^ It Cures Tiyhtness of the Ch .st. It Cures Difficulty of Breatl ing

Brown's ExpECJOIIAN'l

Specialty Kecommendtd fot

Wmoovixe Covsm

It vrill thorien the duration of the dina and alleviate the jHwwjfm of erufhim mo as to enable tho child to pats through without leaving any eoriouo consequence*.

PBICEf 60c and $1,90.

ik-SA, KIEFEB, ItHlianafclie, Ind*,