Saturday Evening Mail, Volume 14, Number 48, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 24 May 1884 — Page 6

THE MAIL

A PAPER FOR THE PEOPLE.

WHAT HE 8AID.

Yon see the sapper' And I wo* slicing tome bre&u, ,, And Richard came Into the pantry

Hi* face was exceedingly red. t1: He opened bis half-shut fingers, And gave me the glimp*e o£a ring

And then—oh, yes, I remember, The kettle began to sing, And Fanny came In with her baby—

The cunnlngest bit of a thing. Aad the biscuits were out in a minuteWell, what came next? Let me see— Oh! Fanny was there with the baby,

And we all sat down to tea, -1 And grandma looked over her glasses Ho queer at Richard and me.

Bat it wasnt till after milking Tnat be said what be had to nay. How was it? Oh, Fanny had taken ti, The baby and gone away—

The funniest rough of a fellowHe had a new tooth that day. We were standing under a plam tree,

And Richard said something low, But 1 was tired and flustered, And trembled, I a.most knowi For old Red is the hardest of milkers,

And Brindle is so horribly slow. ^And that—let ms see—where was I Oh, tha star* grew thick overhead,

Aud we two *U od undei the plum tree Till tbe chicken* fiew up to bedWell, be loved me, and we'reto.be marriea-

Aud that is—about what be said.

ONE.HEART.

To rise early, work late, hurrythrough bis three meals like some hungry animal. and plunge into bed with the first shadows ol eight, was John Chester's idea of existence.

To sit and talk awhile, to read an hour to speak a tender word or bestow a tender caress, were follies and nonsense in his eyes. Yet they would have made Gertrude's life at least content, if not

h*^oor

thing, I don't believe she has

ever bad any one to tell her she ought not to work so bard," mused Breece. "Well, I'll do what I can to brighten her dull life while I'm here." "Are you fond of books?" he asked her that evening as she sat mending. "Very," ahe answered. "I have never bad very many, though, since I came to Iowa." "Would you like to use mine or would you like to have me read aloud a little while every evening, while you 80W "O, If you will only read to me!" Gertrude answered, her cheeks flaming vritb a sudden glory. "I will," be answered, and after that be read almost every evening for an hour, while the steady sonorous snore from the next room testified to the undisturbed slumber of John Chester.

Of course there could be but one result for a woman in Qurtrude Chester's situation, exposed to constant, delightful companionship of a young, refined, and handsome man. She grew to love him with all her heart and soul. For weeks she did not know her danger. Then she began to realize it at first with flight and shame, and then with exultation. "I have done no wrong," she said to ber own soul—"I have not by look or word or act brought this upon myself. It has come to me, and it would not bave come if it bad not been best for me. Life hold anew glory for me the world is more beautiful than it ever was to me. I am better, stronger, nobler for my love. He does not know—he need never know its existence. I can conceal it, but I will try to banish it from my heart."

Breece Berton became indispensable in the Chester household. He often lent a strong arm at the ax, and in the hay field. "It develops muscle," he would say, and as be paid his board bill regularly, John Chester made ho objection. Gertrude grew fresher and younger every day. She had not knowa what it was to have so much assistance and sympathy in all her married life. She sang like a bird, her step grew elastic, and her eyes were glorious in their new beauty.

She held a strong rein upon herself. She was never betrayed into the slightest look or act which told her secret. Her manner toward Breeoe Berton was that of a blithe, frank sister or comrade —whether in presence of others or alone with bhn, and this love grew, and filled ber whole being like a great light.

Sometimes she thought of the time when he must go away. The thought always brought a quick, sharp pain with it, yet only for a moment. "'Well, then." he said in a low, slow way—"I am going away because I love you with all my heart aud soul. Gertrude." 8he covered her face with her hands. Her heart ceased beating, her whole being thrilled with the most exquisite deligot as she listened to his words—a delight that was almost agony. He loved her—be loved. Ah! now she was ready to die.

He reached forward and took her hands from her face. She drew them quickly away, and faced him, white and beautiful as a goddess. "No," she raid, "do not stay—go. It ia best. But 1 am not angry with you —I—I, too—I love you. No do not apeak—do not touch me, Breece. Let it not be profaned. Go. and I will stay. But the love Is ours, and will help and strengthen and glorify our lives always/' "Yes, and some time—.*m« time, Gertrude, God will give you to me. I feel it. I know it* I can wait. Good ntabt."

The next day be said good-by to her in the presence of her husband a white circle about bis mouth and his averted eves atone spoke his agony.

He was suffering intensely—it was a young man's first passion. He bad never loved any woman save bis mother and sister until now. All his heart and aoul bad gone out to this mature and beautiful an4 refined woman who

six years bis senior. He never liked to think of the weeks which followed, they were so full of keenest torture and misery. There was no savor in life—the city sights and sounds maddened him, the faces of old friends were hateful to nicu. Be dreamed only of the glory of one woman's •yes.

He wrote occasionally to the Cheaters, letters which all the world might see. They were tffe and light and rood to Gertrude. She read between the lines. Her days were not so full of misery and pain as bis. Her love was an exalted sort of eestacy, which contained ber in his absence as well as in bis prea*

"He is mine, bete, there, in life or is death," she reasoned. "It is a spiritual anion which does not depend upon physical presence. Nothing can divide v*—now, or never."

She believed in this folly, and waa bsppj, bat she wrote nothing ber hus

band oenld not see, and she felt sure Breece would understand all that she left unsaid.

Two years had passed, when John Chester went on a protracted land hunt to Dakota. Gertrude had mentioned the fact in a recent letter. "By return mail came one from Breece, a few brief passionate lines, begging ber to allow him to see her. She, too, was filled with a wild longing to see him, but she wrote him a calm refusal. "It is not right, or wise, or best," she said. "Come when he returns, but not during his absence."

Breece Berton's jealous hatred of the man who called her wife, prevented him from accepting the conditional invitation.

He .wrote less frequently after that, but be writ her papers and books. She slways felt herself remembered, even when six months passed with no letter.

And so two or more years passed away, and then John Chester's robust frame became the prey of pneumonia. At the end of another year he died.

All that tender nursing and constant care could do, Gertrude gave. She slept only by snatches for months before he died. She sat in torturing positions and held his head upon her shoulders, and dark circles came about her eyes.

Yet her spirit never faltered, some strange power sustained ber. After he was dead and all was over she was ill for a time.

Two months after John died she wrote her first letter to Breece. It was but a few lines announciug his death, and her own subeequent illness.

It brought a letter of conventional sympathy in return. She bad not expected more, yet in ber heart was anew feeling. She could not curb her love, now that it was not wrong, yet she waited for him to be the first to suggest a meeting.

Eight months went by and no line from him. The silence grew unbearable. She wrote again—a formal enough letter, and yet she felt that it would breathe the fire of her soul in every line. He replied after a month or two, with 3 letter of some length, but made no reference to any meeting. "I fancy you will soon be besieged by fortune hunters," he said. "You have my sympathy."

She smiled over that. Ah! that was it! he feared to be accused of seeking her fortune. That was why be kept away from her. Well, she could go to him.

She bad sent no intimation to Breece of her visit, but she dispatched a messenger with a note, telling him of her arrival in the city, and asking him to call that afternoon. She found it difficult to await the return of her messen ger. She paced ber room, saying over and over: "It is like a dream—a dream! Bat O. he predicted it he foresaw it! He said God would yet give me to bim." And great tears broke over ber cheeks.

The messenger brought back word that Mr. Berton was just going to the matinee with a lady that he read the nete, and begged the messenger to say he would call in the evening that he was already late, or would write his rep,fe

er heart fell. Could she wait until evening And how could he ask it of her? How could he bear the interval, and she so near

Ab, but he was acting as escort for a lady. She called back the messenger. "Do you know to what theater the gentleman wasgolng she asked. "Why, with the crowd, to hear Gerster, I suppose," the boy answered. "Everybody goes there to-day."

Gertrude rang, and ordered a carriage. She, too, would attend the matinee. She swept the house with eager eyes. And not in vain. She saw him with a fair young girl at bis side. She was very young, not more than eighteen, ana he was the soul of devotion.

It was a horrible afternoon to Gertrude one of slow torturing doubt and fear\ At last he came. He had grown handsomer and grander during the six years since they parted. His form was more majestic, his hair darker, bis face bad more expression. He was a superb man—a man to win hearts without making the least effort

Her heart heaved with a wild, suffocating passion as she looked at him. He came forward with easy dignitv, and gave her bis hand, and one swift, all-noting glance. "I am very glad to see you sgain," he said but you are not looking quite well, I fear you are fatigued."

The disappointment in his glance, the formality in his tone, cut her to the besrt. She glanced at her reflection in the tall mirror opposite. Ah! she had not thought of ft before, but she had •n old, O, very old, since they parted. The physical aspect of their love

had never entered very largely into her views. She had dwelt in a state of spiritual exultation, and had forgotten the ears that were stretching between em.

ye th

In that old time neither of them considered her six years of seniority. Now, they both thought of it, for as she looked In the mirror, it was painfully evident.

Yes, I am fatigued," she mid. "The journey tired me, and then I attended the matinee, and the air was close."

Yes, it was dose. I did not see you there." "I saw you," she answered, "and yonr companion. She was a lovely girl."

A slow flush crept over his face. "Yes, she is a beautiful girl. A guest of my mother's—and a great favorite at the house." "And liable to hold a nearer place yet," Gertrude suggested, her own voice soundiug strange in her ears. There was a moment's silence, and then he lifted his eyes and met hers bravely. "Yes," was all be said. Soon afterward he rose to go. They exchanged a few commonplaces, and then he turned and took her bands. "We are to befriends always, I hope?" be queried. tainly why not t" she responded with a ghastly attempt at a smile. "Well, I hoped as ranch. But it's sometimes hard, after an experience like ours, to establish a friendship. It cannot be done no less the passion to wholly outgrown. I knew it was on your past, four years ago, when you refused my last appeal to see yon. I think yonr feeling was more pity and sympathy for a mad boy than anything else, but mine was a genuine freoty. Ihad to fight it for yeaurs, Gertrude. During the last two years I fancied I was outgrowing it: and during .the last year I nave dared dream I was beginning to feel a calmer and more healthful love in my b«mrt. I half dreadetf to meet you though, leat the old fury should return. But now I am glad I bave met you, for I know we will oe royal friends hereafter—end that the put is wholly buried.1" He paused. "Yes, wholly buried," she replied, "and we most always be royal friends Indeed. Breece?4* "I will see yon sgain, 1 hope?" "No, not this time. I am on my way East and only remained over here one

day to meet you." It was quite tn been conceived do

true—but the plan had (be last five min

utes. She could not let bim think she

came from Iowa wholly and meet him, and risk this result.] "Then good-night and go •Write

She dosed the door behind him, sending a blithe good-by after him down the hall.

Then she turned the key and -yf&s alone with her castle crutabled at herfeet, and the happiness of six years lying dead beneath. "My life is all in ruins—all in( ruinsGod help me,'' she moaned. Then, after a little, she said Blowly: "It il not so much that he has gone—but thit it has gone the love which was so fceantiful and terrible—so strong with life and passion. And to think it could be out-

¥hen

rown—and leave nothing, nothing." she arose from her couching position before the open grate, and retired. Next morning a strong smell of gas prevaded the room, and Gertrude was dead. ELLA WHEELER, in Midland Monthly.

A Dakota Blizzard.

Carrie Welton locked the school-house door and walked down the dusty highway towards the farm*house she called home. She was very tired, and the long mile before her seemed interminable. Just then there was the sound of wheels, and a span of bay horses were reined up close beside her. "Would you like to ride home, Miss Welton some one said.

Carrie looked up in the sun-browned face of Alexander Hall. There was no smile in his grave eyes, and the shadow of a frown was visible on his brow. "I thank you—no. 1 would prefer to walk," Carrie responded. "Very well. Get up, ponies."

And the span and buggy whirled past her. leaving a cloud of dust to settle upon ner linen dress and straw hat as she trudged along the highway, looking veryliushed and angry. "The idea of his thinking I would make up with him in this way!" she said, mentally. "No, indeed! He will have to apologize before I ride with him again. I could see that he was just as set and stubborn as ever. No doubt he intended to give me another lecture, and thought (his vould be a splendid opportunity. He wUl learn that I have some dignuy, 1 can tell him."

Carrie was so tired she ate but little supper that night, and retired early to her room to think over matters in solitude, away from the clattering tongue of good Mrs. Smith, who felt it her solemn duty to "entertain" ber boarder —said entertainment consisting in recitations of the neighborhood affairs, past and present.

When Carrie felt well and happy, and was not worn out with her day's work, she bore it very heroically-

But to-night she was too nervous to endure the ordeal. Mrs. Smith's voice grated upon her nerves like the filing of a saw, and she flew to her room for protection, pleading a headaobe. In truth it was a heartache which troubled the girl.

During the lAst six months she and Alexander Hall had been very good friends—suoh very good fnends that they were, in fact, lovers, and needed only a few words to belong to each other for all time words which would have been spoken ere this but for an unexpected event.

Smitbtown boasted of two stores which, of course, were visited at certain

Eandsome,drummers.

eriods by One of them, a dashing fellow, had recently made It in his way to pass Sunday in Smitbtown. Every one. in tbfe little town knew why he had remained.

He bad chanced to see Carrie Welton one evening at the store making some purchases, snd be was not at all slow to express his admiration for the teacher.

He begged the favor of an introduction, which, owing to the somewhat informal manners of Smitbtown rociety, it was not difficult to obtain, Bince everybody knew everybody there, and the handsome agent seemed a very nice fellow indeed, one whom all the young ladies would be glad to consider an acquaintance.

Mr. Parker attended church the following Sabbath, and walked home with Carrie, much to the indignation of Alexander Hall.

He took it upon himself to say some very cutting things to Carrie when they next met, to rebuke ber for her readiness to receive attention from a clothier's "dummy," as he called Mr. Parker, and they had parted In anger.

Their next meeting was that on the dusty road. Carrie congratulated herself upen her behavior, and then she cried herself to sleep. But she was sure he would come sin in a day or two, and then she would be a little more gracious, and take him back into her favor, for really SmlthtoWn was very dull without him.

But Alex, did not come to her the next day or the next, and a whole week went by without her seeing bim.

Then a strange report came to her ears. "Alex. Hall has an auction to-day," one ef her pupils remarked. "An auction, What for?" Carrie asked wonderingly. ire', sold hi. farm to Mr. Roberts, and to-day he sells off his horses snd mschinery." "Does his mother go with him?"asked Carrie, with a dull pain at her heart. "No she to going to Iowa, to her daughter. Of course the farm belongs to her snd the money will be hers snd she says she does not want to go into a new country. But Alex, is wild to go, and pa says be will be a rich man in a few years—thst the land out there will sell for a big price."

It was not a very orderly school the remainder of that day. Carrie seemed to be in a sort of nightmare.

Oonld it be true And was he going away without coming to say good-bye to her, and this shadow between them

But be did all the same.' Three horrible days and nights went by, and then she saw him pass the school- honse on the afternoon train which would bear him from Smith town.

It was the noon hour, and she and several under smaller cb

As be passed by he swung Us bat to tbe children, with whom be was a favorite, and said: "Good-bye girls! goodbve, boys I 1 am off for Dakota! And then he was gone.

How tbe dreadful weeks wore bv Carrie oonld never .tell. But they did go by, and tbe end of the term came at last—in August.

It was three months since Alex. Hall had gone. Mr. Parker bad visited Smitbtown once during that time, and bad been astonished to have Miss Welton, turn ber back upon him very deliberately when she wet him at tbe village store.

He was not accustomed to this kind of treatment from pretty girls in small villages for Mr. Parker waa one of tbe young men who bad "a sweetheart in every port," and be fully resolved to

TERRS HAUTE SATOKDA^ EVS5TOTO MAIL

jlely to

T»"

h«

ire, and t—us. I

said. "Write me at yonr li when you return, come and think we shall be settled by thit time."

make Miss Welton his Smitbtown sweetheart and now all his plans were upset by tbe very disdainful manner of that young lady herself.

He sought an explanation by post, but his billet-doux was never noticed, and he was obliged to look elsewhere for sweetheart to'make his number good.

The very day that school closed Carrie received a letter from her Uncle Tom. Uncle Tom was her only near relative, a roving man of Bohemian tastes, a sort of jack-at-all-trades, and good at none. But now he seemed to have found anew location where he would be liable to remain some time. "I am in Dakota," he wrote, "and I've taken up the nicest claim you ever saw—one hundred and sixty acres. I have built me a little house, and I keep old bachelor's hall. I go where I please in the day. I'm only five miles from the railroad, and people are coming in and villages going up fast. I have plenty to do ana see—odd jobs of carpenter work, to keep me in living expenses, and then I go back to mv shanty and sleep nights* You know I was a soldier two yea re in the late war. Well that counts just so much time on my land, and when I once own it. I can sell it or keep it for a homestead, as I choose. Lots of women are taking up claims. Now, I've been thinking of you, Carrie. There is a splendid quarter section a litway from mine. It will be picked up soon, and if you want to make money, and have the grit te stand roughing it, you'd better be the girl to pick it up. You must have saved up something, teaching so steedily as you have for five years, it would cost you but little to come out here on & landholder's ticket, but a little more to put up a small cabin, snd but a little more to keep you for six months, and then you just about own your land—at least you've only got to make periodical visits to it after that. And you can find enough to do in the meantime. And you can wear your old clothes and dresses as well as the best of them. And in a few years you'll bes rich woman, Carrie, for this land will sell at a good price, it so admirably located ana fertile."

Carrie bad no sooner finished the letter than ber decision was formed to go. She hated Smithtown and everybody in it, and the further she could get away, the better.

She wrote her uncle that she would arrive within the next three weeks, and she was with him ia less than two. "I have the lumber already for your little house," he said, as he drove her from tbe station to bis "bachelor" hall.

Somehow she was lighter-hearted and happier since she knew she was in Dakota than she had been for months. She knew why—she did not cheat herself. It was because she wss in tbe same country with Alex. Hall. It gave her a sense of companionship—this very knowledge. "In the morning I will take you out and Bhow you your claim," continued her uncle. "And I've chosen this site for your cabin. It'll be about a mile from mine—just a nice walk for you when you get lonesome."

The next morning was bright and sunny, but of course windy. "What a wind! Does it blow often like this asked Carrie, as they rolled along over the smooth prairie. "Wind Why, this is a calm day, my dear" said Uncle Tom. "Just wait until you have seen a Dakota blizzard, my dear, before you talk of wind."

By and by they came to Carrie's "quarter section," ss Uncle Tom called it.

Carrie could not see where it "began" or "left off." she told Uncle Tom. It was like all the rest of tbe country—just land, and nothing more prairie melting intoprairie as far as tbe eye could reach. "Well, but I know where the invisible lines lie," responded Uncle Tom. "Now over yonder on that knoll your cabin will be built after we have attended to the legal formalities, and that is the extreme southern limit of your claim. A little south of it there is a slight ravine, and then another knoll. Tbe ravine is tbe dividing line between two quarter sections." "Whoowns the other one?" asked Carrie, anxious to know who might be her neighbor. "I donjt believe it is taken, though I heard something about it the other aay. Some fellow was looking it up I believo. There are some dozens of them around almost daily. That was the reason I was in a hurry for you to come."

A few days later, after the legal formalities had been attended to, Uncle Tom drove Carrie out again to look at the cabin tbat was in process of erection on the opposite knoll. "Why, tbat claim has been taken, tool I wonder who will be my neighbor queried Carrie. "I can find out at the land office," Uncle Tom replied.

He did so and gave Carrie the desired information the next day. "It's some fellow named Hall—A. Hall," he said. "He's just sold out his interest in some claim about fifty miles north of here, and now he's taking up thought the whole village had arrived, this, which be intends to keep as a homestead. They often sell out at a nice figure after staying a few months on a claim. Some fellow pays them a good sum for their chance, and they go elsewhere." "A. Hall.

Carrie felt a sudden leaping or Ler heart and a cuiious excitement. But it was likely that this was Alex. It would be too wonderful to be true.

Yet it was Alex! She saw bim at the postoffice tbe next day, and passed bim without so much as a glance.

Alex, looked as if he had seen an apparition, and took a atep forward and then stood still, chilled by her cold glance in which there was no recognition.

After all, it was bis own fault. He knew he had conducted himself like a brute and an idiot when he left Smithtown.

He had realized it a dozen times since —realized it constantly, in fact—with a dull heartache whenever he was alone with himself.

But be bad never been quite brave or manly enough to write and ask ber

rdon, believing ere this Mr. Parker tbe first place in ber heart. And now she was here in Dakota! How strange!

A greater surprise awaited him in tbe knowledge that CSrrie's claim and cabin were just opposite his own.

The two cabins were completed and furnished, and tbe occupants moved in. Alex.'s was tbe more pretentious of tbe two in the exterior, and Carrie's the more sumptuous within. For she hsd brought ber books and she bad a few plants, and with those indescribable feminine knick-knacks, which some women seem to create by a turn of their hand, her rooms were very cosy.

Yet she was not very much at home. She passed a great deal of ber time at Uncse Tom's, setting his "bachelor ball" to rights, and mending and darning for him.

But she went to ber desolate little bouse to sleep. She was not timid—«be knew that no barm could come to ber there.

She knew tbat the tow of kindness prevailed in this new country, which was better than any law, "to keep tbe

peace," to bind the people together. She occasionally saw Alex., but they never recognized each other yet there was to her a sense of protection in the knowledge that he was so near. "Got acquainted with your neighbor yet, Carrie" asked Uncle Tom after a month had passed. "Ne, and I don't want his acquaintance," answered Carrie, rather icily. "Nice fellow, I think," said Uncle Tom. "He's got business in him, and will make a successful man. He's taken up a tree claim now. I was talking with him to-day." "What's a tree claim asked Carrie. "Ob, you plant so many trees and have 'em growing' at a certain stated time—sa^ two years—and the land is

ours. He said you might do that, and worth just so much more. It would

cost you but a trifle to have the trees planted." "He is taking an interest in my affairs, is he? Well, nobody thanks him for his advice," snapped Carrie, in a voice very musical to her.

Uncle Tom wondered what had come over the girl, usually so sweet tempered. The weeks went by, and November came. Carrie was on tne third month of her six. She had made a great many friends, and had read and sewed, and made her uncle's cabin and ber own very tasty, and comfortable, and neat with her handiwork.

She felt that her time had been well employed and the days had not been Ions. And yet she and Alex, bad never exchanged a word. No one—not even Uncle Tom—knew that they had ever been friends.

One November day Carrie was "tacking a comforter." which she had pieced together out of bits of calico. The wind had been blowing with increasing fury from the northv/est all day.

Toward evening it became terrible, and a sleety snow began to fall. It seemed to shake the little cabin to its foundation.

Carrie felt her heart sink with fear. This was something beyond any of her former experiences, and she remembered what Uncle Tom had said of a "blizzard." "This must surely be a blizzard," she thought.

Higher and higher rose the wind, louder and louder it shrieked. The walls of the house shook, trembled and then—

Carrie was conscious of being lifted up into the air by some unseen force, ana whirled through the darkness and then falling. After that she knew nothing for a brief apace.

She was only stunned, and when she opened her eyes she found herself still in her own room, but with everything still in a confused mass of rum about her, and Alex. Hall kneeling by her, rubbing ber bands and calling ber name. "It was not necessary to come over," she said. "I am not hurt in the least."

Alex, broke into a laugh. "Come over!" be repeated. "It ia you who bave come over, Miss Carrie you made tbe first call In spite of yourself. And very glad lam to see you, even in this unceremonlus manner. y* "What do you mean she asked. "I mean tbat you came bouse and all, and planted yourself right in my dooryard with a thunderous clatter. It ia a wonder your neck was not broken, my dear. Are you sure you are not injured?".he asked with a tender concern. "Do you really mean, Alex., that my house blew over into your yard?'' "I mean just that, Carrie. I always* thought your cabin rather shaky—mine is twice as substantial—and new you will be obliged to accept my hospitality for tbe present. Fortunately. 1 have a man and wife stopping with me this week- friends of miue from northern Dakota, who*" I am entertaining until they got a house built. Tbey have slept soundly through all this blizzard. Tbey are uSed to the country. But I will wake the good woman now, and she will attend to you."

Tbe next day Alex, said to her. "Since vou unbent sufficiently to call upon me In such an uncermonious manner, Carrie, before I beg your pardon for my old disagreeable meanness, can'i you stop still further and marry me, now that I do most humbly crave your fergivoness? I hsve always loved you."

Of course Carrie could not refuse. "'Pon my soul J" said Uncle Tom, when he had heard the whole story. "It's better than a magazine yarn! You are the heroine, Carrie' and Alex, is the hero and I am the sort of good angel, you know, tbat fixes tin things.', "You and the blizzard," laughed Carrie.

WOULD YOU BELIEVE IT! Nature,* great remedy, Kidney-Wort, has cured many obstinate cases of piles. This most distressing malady generally arises from constipation and bad condition of tbe bowels. Kid-ney-Wort acts at the same as a cathartic and a healing tonic, removes tbe cause, cures the disease and pre motes a healthy state of tbe affected organs. James F. Moyer, carriage Man'fr, of Myerstown. Pa., testifies to tbe great healing powers of Kidney-Wort, having been cured by it of a very bad case of piles wbicb for years bad refused to yield to any other remedy.

PILLS

TORPID BOWELS,

DISORDERED LIVER, and MALARIA.

From these sources arise three-fourth* ol the diseases of tbe human raoe. These symptoms indicate their existence: Xxss oi Appetite* Bowels costive, Side Httdsuu,fUiseu after eating, aversion to •xartlom ef bodjr or mind, Krnetatlon of food, Irritability of temper, Low

fore th* *v

•red IJrin*, COHTSTIPATIOiii" and demand the use of* remedy that acts directly on tbe Liver. AsaLiver n^idne TUTT's PIL.LA have no egnaJ. Their action on the Sidneys and Skta is also prompt removing all imparities through these three scarwagers of the systems," producing appetite, sound digestion, regular stools, a clear skin and a vigorous body. HI'lTt) PltLS cause no nausea or griping nor interfere with daily work and are a perfect ANTIDOTE TO MALARIA.

HE FBEM LIKE A HEW MAX, *1 have had Dyspepsia, with Constipation, two years, and have tried ten different kinds of pills, and TOTM are the first that bave doae me any good. Tbey bave cleaned me oat nicely. My appetite is splendid, food dl*©*t* readily, and I now have salsmt pamnoes. I feel like anew mat.- W.J)7 EDWAHDS, Palmyra, O. SoMe— —Vnr.aSe. Office, 44 Hsmy8WK.Y.

TUlTS HAIR DYE.

GHAT fUnt

WMOCM changed bv

stantty to a Gxossr BLACK by a single application of this Dn. gold by Druggists, or sent by express ou rsseipt of ft.

Offiee, 44 Murray Street, Tew Yotfc. TVfTf HAMAL Of BSEfBL RECEIPTS FBCL

iCARTHS 1VER PILLS

CURE

BIck Beadache and relieve all the troubles'fad*

P&in

la the Side, Ac.

able socosas hss been shown in curing

SICK

Headaehajet Csrter'sLittleLirer Pillssre eqoaS^' valuable in Constipation, coring, and praTCDtiqg this annoying complaint, while they also correct, all disorders of the stomach, Stimulate tha liver and regulate the bowels. Srea if they only cured..

HEAD

Ache they would beslmost priceless to titose who suffer from this distressing complaint but forta-rta natsly th«lr goodness does not end here, and

ACHE

Is thebene of BO many lives that here is where make our great boast. Oar pills core it whBfr Others do not.

Carter's Little Liver mis are very email ant very easy to take. One or two pills makes doss. They are strictly vegetable and do not gripe crnuse, but by their gentle action please all whonsethem. mvialsst#5cents flye forfl. BoUL by druggist* everywhere, or sent by mail. CASTER MEDICINE CO New

Wabash Scratches and Itcli.

Is cured In thirty minutes by the application of WOOLFORD'S SANITARY LOTION. Sold by Buntln A Armstrong.

CAIN

Health andjlappiness.

Goodwin, Bd.

DO IS OTHERS HAVE DONE.

Are your Sidneys disordered?"

"Kidney Wort brought ne from my Brave, woro, aft«r I had been (rlron up by IS b««t doctor* to Detroit." IL W. Deveraux, keohanlc, Ionia,

Hioh.

Are your nerves weak?

"Eldney- Wort cured mo from nervous wcalcn«» &e., afterI van not expected to IlTo."-ltrs. M. IL

ChrUUa* Monitor.

Clare land, 0.

Bright's Disease?

Have you

"Kidney Wort cured me whon sny water waa JuS' like chalk and then like blood." Frank Wilson, Peabody,

Suffering from Diabetes

tdney-Wort Is tuo mont cuoccmful remedy 11 "Kidney ever used. 01

.... ... I hava almont Immediate relief." Dr. rhllllp 0. Ballon, Monkton, Vfc.

Have you Liver Complaint?-..

"Kidney-Wort cured mo of chronlo Liver Disease* *fter

I5enryWart,°iate

lay

"Ed

Col. 69th Nat. Guard, N. T-

fdney-Wort,

our Back lame and aching?

(1 bottle) cured mo when 1 wans®-

lame l~had to "roil^ out of.bed." M. Talluaffo, Milwaukee, Wla.

Disease?'

liver and kidney

^laidney-T^ort made'nie soundln liver and kidncra after years of unsuccessful doctoring. Its worth

"Kidney.

after years oi unsucceauui uuhuhui. flO a box."—8am'l Hodges, Williamstown, West Ya»

Are you Constipated?

"Kidney-Wort causes easy evacuations and cure* me after 16 years use of other medicines." 7 Kelson FalrehUd, St. Albans,

Have you Malaria?

"Kidney-Wort has done better than any othar remedy have ever used in my practice." Dr. It. K. Clark, South Hero, Vfc.

Are you Bilious?

'"Kidney-Wort has done me moro good than aajr other remedy havo ever taken. Hrs. J. T. Galloway, Elk Flat, Oregon-

Are you tormented with Piles?

"Kidney-Wort j*rman^iMy

Ladies, are you suffering?

"Kidney-Wort cured me of peculiar troubles «r several years standing. Many blends uw and nr^j» It." Mrs. H. Lomoruaux, Isle La Motte, Vfc.

If you would Banish Diseaso and gain Health, Take

ising powders. Apply bp the finger into tha nortrei*. Send for eirsular. fiOcents at droggists. 60 ®*«ts by mail registered.

ELY BKOS., Drng'fe, Owego,

2G6edition, price only #1. BT MA.IL rOMT-PAID.

UOW THYSELF.

A Great Medlci«i« Work on Man* 1|0O1. Exhausted Vitality. Nervous and Fliyslcial Debility, Premature .®a"'

Errors

of Youth, and the unto'd miseries rosalting from indiscretions or excesses. Ag, book for every

eured

me of biecdlnc

piles. Dr.w. C. Kline recommended it to me. Geo. a. Borst, Cashier M. Bank, Myerstown, Pa-

Are you Rheumatism racked?

"Kidnoy-Wort cured me, after 1 was given up die by physicians and I had

'offered thirty

year* ..

Elbrldge Malcolm, West Bath, Mala*.

I DNEY-WORT

TH« BLOOD CLIAHSIR.

__ ThiflVrmedy

AT mm til was discovered bjr i|tM preHent proprietors, and lb ne result of experiments, based on many years experience as PliarmxclstH. It ia wholly different from a 11 other preparations ever lined for then® in perfectly harml%» and agreenblr, of fcring In tbos* re-

mrmn

HAj-FEVER

Mpects a marked contrast to the an us a harmful liquids,. snuffs and cauter

old. IteonUlnsl!Bpres«^l^for^l^t», and chronic dlseai^, one of which to invaluable, Ho found by the ftutbort wboye

300 pages, bound in beautiful French muslin* embossed coven, full gilt, guaranteed tobea finer work In every sense—mechanical, IHerary and professional—than any other worlc *ofd in this country for I2J50, or themoney will be refunded in every only «U» by mail, postpaid. Illustrative munple cents, tfend now Gold medal awarded tbe author by tbe National Medical. Association, to tbe officers of wblch he r& fTbis book should be read by the joapg for instructions, and by the afflicted for relief, it will benefit alL—London Lancet.

There is no member of society to whom this book will not be nsefnl, whether youth, parent, guardian, instructor or clergyman.—

A!?dd«SsthePeabody

out

Medical InslitntejOr

Dr. W. H. Parker, No. 4 Bulflnch Htreet, Boston. Haas., who may be consulted on aii diseases requiring skill and experience Chronic and obstinate rfisaases tbat |J 1? A 1

instance oClailaxe.

bave

baffled tbe skill ot aU otherHrjA AJ