Saturday Evening Mail, Volume 15, Number 42, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 11 April 1885 — Page 3

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mmEy

THEMAIL

A PAPER FOR THE PEOPLE

MAKE THE BEST OF LIFE.

What's the ase of always fretting •ver ills that can't be cared? What's the use iu finding faalt with. What we know must be endured Does it make oar burden lighter If we grumble 'neath our load? Does it make oar pathway brighter If we fret the road? Better

IOMabout

our time tbaa flu it

Full of sighs and vain regrets Over some lmtigined bluuder, An he does who always fret-j. We cannotexpect life's pathway To be always strewn with flewers, or the time that God has given To be made of liappy hours. Storms will follow ev«-ry sunshine, Grief be mixed with every joy. Aad tin best that it should be so-r-Gold's too soft without alloy. Maif our trouble's our invention We're to bl*me for half our strife Then if life is what we make it. Why not make the best of lit© ?.

IF.

"Life is so dreary, so purposeless BOW The woman who said the words leaned •back in her luxurious arm-chair, and buried her face in a costly lace haudkerohlef, whose price was a good three month's wages of many of the poor milloperatives whose lot she sometimes envied—the lot of the weary working mothers with tbe rosy-cbeeked babes iu their arms. Tboir children lived, her •hiId her idol, died, llow cruel fate was when life was HO beautiful, its future so rose-colored, its path so soft and sheltered. 8he was a beautiful woman, about forty, dressed iu a rich, lustrous silk, with rare old lace and diamonds. She had known only luxury and wealth in her girlhood, and her husband had with loving care gratitied her every wi*h. After ten years of wedlock, a teaby came. Two months ago that blueeyed, fair-haired little girl died after six yeirs of life in a happy world to her. Then the stricken father and mother «losed their home and traveled. He having business caine to Lewiston and they took rooms iu the best hotel, where they bad been two weeks.

Lewlston Is a busy town for Maine, tbe air is heavy with tbe black, foul breath of the great mill chimneys, and resounds to tbe eternal whirr, bum and jar of machinery. Tbe streets at early dawn and early dark are tilled with a throng of human beings—a tide tbat is flood at worn and ebb at nigbt.

Over the pavements there comes for half an hour a patter, a rush line the noise of the mills, as regular and monotonous— nan women aud childreu— wee children—laws are better now. This was years ago. The men, and women of that generation among the working class, or rather tbe factory working class, did not know hov to read or write. There were too many mouths to feed, besides tbe city was full •f ignorant emigrants, the refuse from •ther lands. "Why 'ud the cbilun want schooling We never bad none. We've lived 'thou it," tbey said sullenly. Their brains were dulled and deadened with roar and rattle of machinery: their eyes 41 tn with watching threads their hearts, like tbeir hands, hardened by six days' toil tbe year around.

Mrs. Morgan, that lady by birth and breeding, cultured and refined, envied the working women, Why Ah, mother love was in bei heart, a yearning for the clasp of clinging hands, the tender kisses of a little rosy mouth, tbe pressure of a soft cheek. "WhatIs the tramping in the morning at half past five?" she asked the housekeeper. "The mill bands, mum," that worthy answered, proud to be noticed. "They goes by here to work. The •wner of the hotel tried to make 'em go anothtrway, but laws, 'merica's a free •ountry, 'n if they is workin' creeturs, they haans much right to the sidewalk as enny of us has.*' The housekeeper was communistic.

Early the next morning the tramp began and Mrs. Morgan jumped from her bed, threw over her shoulders a soft, dinging, white cashmere, fairy-like with swansdown, and peered through tbe blinds at tbe mass of humanity tbat went on, on, pail in hand, eyes looking downward, bowed heads. Seldom a eheerful greeting. She was turning away in weary pity, when a merry little laugh struck her ear. Oh, that laugh Through the window, above the babel of aouud, those clear nates, from a child's happy heart, so like, so like the little dead child's! The mother threw tfpen the blinds and looked down. A docen or twenty small girls were crossing the street, with dinner pails too, for they were workers. It was a foggy morning, with the foul, unwasked odor of a city's awakening, a cold, gray dreariness of earth and sky, but the sun peeped out from a cloud, slyly and shyly as if, the sluggard he was, ashamed of lying abed ao Tate and repentant, half determined to throw the cloud bed-clotbes aside, and get up to work like the rest. Tbe ray struck that one little face, and brighteued the blue eyes and yellow hair. She was a wee thing a few steps behind the rest her legs too short to keep np. She held her sunbonnet over her back by the strings, and a minute tin pall in her band. She was slngiug and laughing, overflowing with the happy life that even the mill oould not crush from her nature. She looked up to the window, she alwaye did. tor she bad seen at night lovely children in tne lighted rooms. She did not know of heaven, or of happier lota than hem. She had ne Idea of fairy land, but in her own brains she had manufactured a albry of that house that no older mind eould interpret. She thought, poor little eoul, that if she worked good and quick, and tended baby afterwards at night, •he might go to the place behind the windows, and be one of tlraee children. 8he only knew there had been children at the mill who were good and worked, and who after a while came no more. Tbe grown up people tu^id tbey were

Eig

one to a better world, therefore in that house was the better world. She reasoned it all out. She looked op, and there looking looking down only two atories up, was such a lovely lady, with loug,

goVeo

hairw and all dressed ta

white, and looking at her, yea, actually at Uttle Meg Black man. She dimpled all over with happtneea, and smiled up at that window, and went on her way

"fttclard," cried Mrs. Morgan to her sleeping husband. "I have seeo Mar^ caret, In those mill children. I heard Mr voles, her laugh, she smiled aitne.

Then Mis. Morgan fell in a faint. They could sot ess on with her. She

Klid.up

every moralng to see the She learned know Iu Men,

and tbe child learned to expect the "beauty leddy." On* day Mrs. Morgan »ld "Wok.* (She called him thai -when toaeb of the sweet wsjrwsHnsse

of her girlhood came back and she strove to win him to her will.) "You thought me under a delusion. You fancied I really imagined tbat child our Margaret I never aid. You, yourself, were staggered at the likeness. You get up often to aee that winsome face. Oh, it seems as if our own Meg pleaded for her. We are rich, childless, lonely. Let us take her from the toil of tbe mill, the ignorance and vice, to our home, our hearts."

He reasoned with her pleading that the child would inherit tbe vicious qualities of her parents, and would be ungrateful, even bad. She would not be like their own but his wife conquered and one day tbe two sought little Meg's borne.

Mike's alley was a long, crooked lane, leading from Lisbon street. Its architectural adornments were singular tbey were built across the alley, over tbe alley on stilts, around the alley and tucked into corners of the alley, some were portable and were frequently moved. No boree or vehicle ever invaded the lane, and the passageway in many places was only path around a bouse. Away at tbe ena of the alley built against tbe big brick wall of Bartlett's brewery, between the rear of Billy Flynn's Btable and Mrs. Finnegan's cow yard—where it is sad to memion, several emaciated bovines habitually ate swill in absolute disregard of the health laws and the capacities of their own stomachs—was Jeremiah Blackman's hovel. He was known as "Skirking Ginny," the former for his disinclination for manual labor, tbe iatter from hit strong propensity for ardent spirits. Years ago when bis father and mother, decent, hard-working farm folks, had turned him out of tbe home, as a drone tbat ate up tbe substance, be bad taken a bitter hatred to the world and to respectable f-eople who worked. To know anything and to labor were crimes in his eyes. He endeavored to forget tbat be knew how to read and write. He spent twenty years of his life in getting into jail for petty offenses and got food and shelter without work in this way. When employment was introduced into tbe jails, be ceased bis speculations, aad improving his personal appearance looked about for a woman to support him. A lean, hatchet-faoed keeper of a mill-men's boarding-house attracted him, and she married him only to find a barnacle with the qualities, in regard to money, of an octopus. She oooked, cleaned, scoured and scolded herself out of tbe world iu a brief time, leaving "Shirking Ginny" to look around for another partner. There was a big, rosy Welsh girl in one of the mills, whom repoK said was a gOod worker. The small sum left by the late Mrs. Blackman was rapidly dwindling, so the griefstricken widower married the rosycheeked girl, who was a good worker. She bad one bad fault, however, an ambition to swell tbe census. There was Sam, twelve Mick, ten Ellen and Almiry the twins, eight Meg, six Tommy Ave Jane, three and Tony eighteen months and one expected the following summer, this being in March. Down to Tommy they could all work in tbe mill tbat was something.

While the family were at work, Mr. Blackman took care of the bouse, which meant to sit on the step smoking a short black pipe, and to cuff Tommy, Jane and Tony at regular intervals, and then to stroll down the alley to Mike's saloon (this Mike seemed to have a title to all the property in the vicinity,) and drink if be bad money if this" was wanting, to hang arouuci until he was treated. He thought himself a good "manirger," because he allowed himself plenty to eat and drink, saw that his family had barely enough to keep them alive—"in good workin order—they'd be gittin lazy ef fed too high,"—and paying tbe honest rent.

Tbe afternoon that Mr. and Mrs. Morgan picked their wav down tbe alley, Mr. Blackman was sunning himself on the steps. Tommy and Jane were picking up chips in the lumber-yard beyond the cow-pen, and Tony baa toddled up to the fence that guarded Mrs. Finne gan's gaunt cows, and through the bars was trying in bis baby way to make friends with a sombre calf that straggled about on four rickety legs. "Strangers," soliloquized Mr. Blackman, "an' reeh una. Wot on airth brings'em here?"

He assumed an air of peaceful poverty his evil blue

eye

leered respectful

ly, even humbly bis tobacco-stained mouth drooped at the corners. He shuffled to his feet and blinked inquiringly. The pig, the mainstay of the family, ignoring tbe fact that his place was in tbe rear, pecked around a corner of tbe bouse. "What a dreadful place!" whispered Mrs. Morgan, her face buried in a seuted handkerchief. Mr. Morgan, mindful of the unsavory odors, proceeded at once to business. "You have a child, man "Wal,yeah I'vesivral. There's8am, Mick, Aluiiry 'n Ellen, twins, Mag, Tom, Jane, *n Tony, the baby. Considruble fur a poor man ez carnt wurk on 'count o' rheumatics."

Mr. Morgan looked puzzled. "Is there not one about six years old, a little girl with blue eyej and golden curls asked his wife, eagerly.

Yis, marm that Mag—Masrit proper. She's a year older 'n Tom here!" Tommy and Jane had staggered in under heavy loads of chips, aud stood regarding tbe strangers with the solemn prolonged stareof childhood. "Gitinterthebaouse, chil'un. I let em git chips ter amoose em, marm," seeing Mrs. Morgan looked pityingly at them. Tbe forlorn little creatureek wondering why their parent add rewed them so kindly, wandered aimlessly into the house. "Margaret," repeated Mrs. Morgan, clasping her husband a arm. "Thai's the child. Now, man, we'll attend to my errand here," said Mr. Morgan. "My wife lost a little girl. She has taken a fancy to yours,. We will adopt the child snd bring her up as our own." "As our own," repeated his wife

Mr. Blackman looked pussled. "Haow hev yer seen Mag?"' he asked, thinking that be wsuld beat Mag well for not telling of these rich acquaintenow. "Only going past the window," ssid Mrs. Morgan. "I have smiled to her and thrown her candiss sometimes. I have only spoksn to her onos, one night in the street, and she told me she would love me and be my little girl. Oh, I am sure you will give ber to us." "Give her!" Blackman repeated, impudently, realising the lady was deeply interested "No I haint purpared fur that. I've supported her six year, I'd oughter get suthin fur t." "I'll give you six hundred dollars, a hundred for each year of her life," ssid Mr. Morgan impatiently, seeing through tbe man*S low greed, and regretting be ever saw him. "She will haves good bom*. Yon must, however, make her legally mine, and sign papers to thst effect, snd she must De brought up in ignorance of ber parents and brothers and sistets. These srt the conditions."

Blsckman was silent, studying how to get the best of the bargain. "Where Is bar mother?" said Mrs. Morgan, anxiously.

"To the mill," he snswered?'' "tbar she comes now." As he spoke, a weary, faded-looking woman came op tbe alley with tbe children, Meg shyly peeping at the "bewty leddy" with big blue eyes full of trust and love. It was Saturday, and the mills closed early. Mrs. Morgan repeated tbe offer to tbe mother, and tbat poor face lighted up. "Oh, if she could

then sne grew pale and terror, stricken. The evil eyes of the father were on her. "It must be as him sea," she said, trembling. "Why didn't yer tell me 'bout this 'ere leddy?" said Blackman, clutching tbe child's shoulder. Mrs. Morgan winced. She almost felt Meg was her own. "I doan wan ter, said Meg, without flinching, looking fearlessly at him. H« hated her courage and defiance. "Carn't tell to-day," be ssid, sullenly. "The money's mighty little. Yer recb uns is sllus tryin ter git the beBt o' a poor man."

Morgan turned away in disgust. "This is Saturday," said be we leave Monday. Come to tbe hotel to-morrow nigbt, and let me know. If you agree to our terms, bring the child."

Then the strangers went swsy, snd after they were gone tbe alley resounded with the pitiful cries of little Meg, ber soft white flesh quivering under a brutal lasb.

Sunday evening Mr. and Mrs. Morgan waited anxiously for tbe answer, he silent and stum, she pale and exhausted. She had cried tbe livelong nigbt A servant showed Blackman and bis wife in. They bad made some attempt at Sunday attire, and tbe mother wore a faded plaid shawl over her worn delaine dress. Her eyes were swollen with seeping. They stood near tbe door, abashed and awed by tbe elegance of tbe room. "Well," said Morgan, curtly, "where is the child I tola you I would not change my terms. I am not to be trifled with. "She's to home," said Blackman, sourly. "Why is she not with you "Wal, I thot 't over. Sex hun'ed ain't mooch fur yer to pay yer rech. Yer'd git the best o' me. So I went ter a man in our neighborhood, 'n he sed sex thousand wasleetle eno', 'n I wunt take less 'n tbat no how."

Morgan breathed bard and fast. He was tempted to kick the man down the stain. •'We could pay tbe six thousand," cried Mrs. Morgan. "Richard, we will. The dear little child."

Tbe mother looked at her with tearwet, grateful eyes. She was like a great animal, this poor Welsh woman, yet she bad a mother love in her heart. She would give up her life for her children. Her husband nudged her. She tried to speak at his bidding, but broke into a torrent of sobs, hiding her face in her shawl. Mrs. Morgan got her a chair and stood close to her, laying a soft, ringed band on the plaid shoulder. "She wants ter ss.v," said Blackman, gercel.v, "thet she haint willin ter hev her child brought up 'bove her, nor not ter know her folks 'n lettle brutbers 'n Hesters. It hain't humin ner charutable. Ef we is poor we hes our feellns. Yer kin take Mag by payin sex thousand: but I wunt give no papers—not a line writin. She's mine, 'n ef I see fit I kin take her back. Mavbe yer wuddent treat her rite, 'n then I'd hev no redress. Ef you'll agree to my terms she kin come."

Morgan sprang across tbe room, flun^ open the door, and thrust him into tbe passage. "Get out, you brute, out of m.v sight, or I'll kick you down the stairs!"

Blackman fled for his life, and bitterly did be repent afterward tbat he had not known the man with whom he was dealing. His wife staggered out. Morgan put a five-dollar bill in ber band, and she, still weeping in tbe shawl followed her tyrant. "No, Mary," said Mr. Morgan, sternly, to bis wife, "I will not consent to another effort—I will not deal with him. It is useless he would dog our steps, extort money, and make our very lives a burden. 1 have seen this kind before. Think if you had the child and had learned to love it,and he took her away."

They gave Mrs. Morgan an opiate tbat night, for she was delirious ana hysterical over this second bereavement, and she slept beyond the hour of tbe tramping feet, ana dit? not see the little wist ful, upturned face. In the evening, when she sat in tbe Pullman ca» waitin for the train to start, she saw Meg and her mother on tbe platform looking up at her. Tbey had stolen away in the darkness. She saw tbem through the blinding tears. She opened the window and flung down her purse, and detached from her watch chain a little blue locket (It had been her baby's), and dropped it into Meg's outstretched hand. Tbat was all, for tbe train started, and to ber wild appeal to take the child, to steal it, her husband turned a deaf ear.

Twelve years later tbey came back to Lewis ton. They had traveled the world over, and perhaps the old sorrows were without sting. In deep heart-wounds, however, time and change form but a crust, and at the core is ever the quiver and pain, and to this a chance thrust still may penetrate. Mr. Morgan went out to hunt for Meg be wished to tell his wife that she was happy. A big building stood on the site of the Blackmans' home, but someone directed him to a similar hovel, and there they were, tbe old man decrepid and helpless, but vicious still, his wife a haggard wreck. Tbey lived with the oldest son, who hsd married, and the dirty children about tbe door mightstill be the little Tommy, Jane and Tony, and there was evens pig inquiringly peeping around a corner ol tbe nouse. "You'ae arskin fur Mag." shrilly answered a young woman, the son's wife. "She's gone ter tbe bad, up in a house on street flarnts in her silks 'n satins, the huzzy." "Curse yer," shrieked tKe mother, "yer druv her to't, yer 'n her feyther I" Then old Jeremiah hobbled in. "No, we never," he qnavered "its bim as is arskin done't. Ef he'd took her, she'd be a good gal naow *n a doin' fur me sted o' me starriu' here. He's ter blame."

Mr. Morgan walked sadly sway. He wondered if be was indeed to blame, and how be might have done differently.

Tbat night a beautiful, wretched, painted woman stood nnder tbe window of tbe hotel, and looked up to the window. She remembered her childhood, and her poor old mother bad told ber the lady was here. As she looked the curtain parted. She saw a sweet face in the background of light, a face framed In

silver

hair. Those eyes could not see

ber in the darkness ss she saw to the light, yet tbe lady too remembered. IIot tears rushed to the girl's tearless eyes ber brain whirled. Clutching tbe locket in ber bosom she hurried to tbe river, tbe deep, dark, rushing river that turned the mills, tbe artery that fed the life of tbe town. "Oh, curse tbem all, tbat tbey did not give me to her. Cane God and life!" ebe cried. In bitter agony, and crept down to the stream. A man caught her end held ber lest.

David !"ale said agfeiast.

TERRE HAUTE SATURDAY EVENTNQ- MAIL

she cried, eagerly

He was only a workingman, but he had loved her from a little lad, when he had snared bis dinner with her, and protected her from her brutal old father's wrath. "Yes, Meg, I follered you. I knowed they was here. Your ms told me. I aee you to the hotel I follered you here." »4What do you want?" she cried, angrily, "you shouldn't even speak to me now." "Ter marry you, Meg," he said, quietly. "I alius loved yon. I do now. I'll work for you, an' protect you from all the world an' the wicked tongues." "You'd marry ma now?" in an awestruck whisper. "Yes, Meg," simply, honestly, in msnly love and faith. •'David," she sobbed, "forgive me. I am not fit. Let me die, drown there, wash out my sius in tbe fierce water!" "I ud drown, too, then,' he answered, in his humbly loving way. "Let me try to help you Come to my home, Meg, ss my wife."

With a heart-breaking cry she flung herself into his arms, and he steadied her, soothed the wild grief and led her to bis poor home, yet in its poverty was a tender shelter, in his lone protection from the world.

Mr. Morgan did not tell his wife till long after they were gone from Lewiston, and bitterly did he regret it afterwards, for she grew so sad snd silent. In ten years he died, and his widow went bacK one more to Lewistown. She employed a detective to look for Margaret Blackman. ten years ago a woman ot tbe town. The parents were long dead, and no one knew of ber. One night a servant caire and said a poor-looking man wished to speak to her. She bade her bring bim op, and a slight, middle-aged man, prematurely stooped, came in. His face was pale, as were all tbe mill operatives bis long, brown hair and beard were streaked with gray, and there were hollows in bis cheeks and under the big brown eyes tbat were so pathetic in their sadness. It was the Face of a man who bad known only sorrow and toil. He was neat-looking, but his clothes were old and much worn. He stood near the door—he would not sit down—and twirled his worn hat in bis hands. "My name is David Bertram, marm. Ysu was arskin' for Margaret Blackman, wasn't you "Oh, I was," said Mrs. Morgan, eagerly. "I would do anything in this world for her." "She don't want esythin' of the world now," he answered, quietly -'shes dead." "Dead 1" "Yes, marm, nearly ten years. We was married only a month. We got married that night you was last here. I'd alius loved her, marm, an: no matter what was said, she was good and true, only led astray as young girls of'n is. She was a lovin' wife to me"—he oboked, and brushed his bat, looking down on the carpet—"a lovin' wife, but sorter tired of life, weary, wantin' to go. She sorter faded an'—an' went in a month."

Mrs. Morgan's tears were falling, too. "I would—I wanted to take her. I could not*, Ob, my life would have been so bapp-Aso much better. My husband is deadV nfrfljHFed him. I would not say one wora\,^reproach, but if he had done different# iathis—" "I dunuo as be could," said David, respectf ulbr, *seein* as who he had to deal with, but it's parst now. She was buried with the little locket on her breast, and wished me to say to you, marm, if I ever seed you, how she was grateful for the interest you'd took in her and how you made her childhood a bit happier, and it was a uncommon sad childhood she had, too, an' she also wanted me to say as bow Heaven didn't seem so iur off 'n so onfiirgiven to ber when she died—she said she'd been a sinner, marm, which she wasn't only being "stray, an' she was so young—for your little gal was there as sbe had looked like when a little innocent child, an' sbe thought sbe would speak a good word for her." "Can I do nothing for you sobbed Mrs. Morgan "you are so kind to tell me this." "Thankee, marm. but no. I'm comfortable fixed, an' she'sgot good gravestun," be added, with conscious pride, "an' it would go bard if you wanted to altar that, for had happiness in work

ing to buy her the best, but I'd be grateful, Indeed, if you lay a few posies on her grave, that you remember her

kindly. I'm night watchman to the mills an'I must go. Goodnight." He was gone before she could clasp his honest band.

Sbe wandered drearily to the window where sbe had seen the child years ago tbat wistful, bonsie face, tbe eyes of ber own little Margaret. Bitter memories swept over her the sadness, the sorrow, of the past, the heart-breaking loneli ness of the present, tbe misty future. If life bad been better, kinder to bet. If there bad been no stumbling block. If was the watchword of ber fate and Meg, her own child, and Meg, her heartadopted child, were both in eternal sleep under the stars.—[Patience Thornton in tbe Current. "He jests st sc^rs, who never felt a wound," and a man may stand with his hands in bis pockets snd laugh at a poor worn rheumatic, but If be is a gentleman, he'll step into tbe nearest apothecary shop and buy bim a bottle of Salvation Oil at the small expense of only twenty-five cents.

IN0ER80LL ON FINANCES. I wss coming across from Washington, a week ago with Ingersoll, the great infidel, writes Oath, and be was arguing abont finances with the same skepticism that he srgues about Bibles and Testaments. Said he: "What humbug It is to say there is sny such thing as financial science, or tbat we have any big financiers."

I happened to mention to Colonel Ingersoll, Mr. Chase. "Well," said he, "let us consider Chase for a minute. There was a man who achieved a great reputation by glviog hto not®. It was thought to be a sublime discovery that he conld give his note, and oc it borrow money and pay debts snd organize banks. After he got to be a judge be thought It to be a still sublimer in- «M»tii«.doetor ton&imrtig eonrf stance of science to denounce all bis issues ss Secretary of the Treasury, snd to proclaim them not to be good at law. He became a great financier by gi*]pg bis note, and a great iudge by repudiating bis note, and that,'7 ssid Mr. Ingenoll, "is about all you can make of tbe greet financier in any country.

Imprudence In diet Is one of the prolific sources of disease. We should be especially careful of what we eat nowadays, and In case we do partake of any food tbat disagrees with ua, should be prompt in applying tbe needful remediea. Mrs. Abel Whitby, of Gaoajoharte, N. Yn writes: "I suffered very much from inflammation of the stomach aad impiodence In diet. After taring only two bottlea of Miahier's Herb Btttaara, I recovered. 1 have not •now been troubled either with nausea or romitiiig."

ROME DOCTOR.

Hot,' dry flannels applied as hot as possible for neuralgia. For nose bleeding bathe the face and neck with cold water.

If children do not thrive on fresh milk it should be boiled Tickling in tbe throat is best relieved by a gargle of salt and wator.

If an artery is severed tie a small cord or handkerchief tightly above it. For bilious colic soda and ginger in hot water. 11 may be taken freely.

For cold in tbe head nothing is better than powdered borax sniffed up the nostrils

Whooping-cough paroxysms are relieved by breatbing tbe fumes of turpentine or carbolic acid.

Broken limbs should be placed in natural positions and the patient kept quiet until the surgeon arrives.

Hemorrhages of the lungs and stomach promptly checked by doses of salt. The patient should be kept as quiet ss possible.

Sleeplessness caused by too much blood in the head may be overcome by applying a cloth wet with cold water to the back of tbe neck.

Sickness of the stomach is most promptly relieved by drinking a teacupful of hot soda and water. If it brings the offending matter up, all the better.

A teaspoonful of ground mustard in a cup of warm water is a prompt and reliable emetic, and should be resorted to in cases of poisoning or cramps in the stomach from over eating.

Powdered resin is the best thing to stop bleeding from cuts. After the powder is sprinkled on, wrap the wound in soft cofton cloth. As soon as the wound begins to feel feverish keep tbe cloth wet with cold water.

A standing antidote for poison by dew, poison oak, ivy, etc., is to take a handful of quicklime, dissolve in water, let it stand half an hour, then paint the poisened parts with it. Three or four applications will never fail to cure the moot aggravated cases.

For burns, sweet oil and cotton are standard remedies. If tbey are not at band sprinkle the burned part with flour and wrap loosely with a soft cloth. Don't remove the dressing until the inflammation subsides, as it will break tbe new skin that is forming.

My Crutches Gone.

I have suffered from rheumatism for seven or eight years. For one year 1 was compelled to use crutchbs. I tried various remedies, especially every sort of liniment, but none of them did me any good I saw in the newspapers an advertisement of Swift's Specific foi rheumatism, and resolved to try it. I have taken four bottles. After I had taken it awhile I was enabled to throw away mv crutches. I commenced using Swift's Specific last November, and have had no further use for crutches, and only suffer a little at times now, and would not have suffered at all if.I bad continued to take the medicine. My experience with liniments is tbat tbey aie of but little benefit, and that only temporary. This disease is in the blood and must be eradicated, and tbat is tbe reason I took S. 8. S. It is the best blood purifier I ever used. MRS. MART PARK.

Benton, Ark., Feb. 10, '85.

The Youngest Can Use

It.

My child, when about one month old, was afflicted with a dreadful breaking out on the side of his face. I took him to tbe doctor, who did not think there was much the matter, but the child continued to grow worse. The little fellow was suffering so much and was sotretful that we had no rest night nor day. We consulted other physicians and they did what they could, but brought no relief to tbe little sufferer. I tried everything at hand or that I could hear of, but without the desired effect. About 'bis time I saw an advertisement of Swift's Specific. It was recommended for skin diseases. I purchased lour bottles. The first, bottle did him a great deal of good. After using tbe third bottle tbe disease entirely disappeared, and tbe child is now perfectly well. I would recommend S. S. S. as a household remedy, as it has brought both health and happiness to mv own.

CHAS. W. SAMUEL. Bruington, King and Queen Co., Ya. Feb. 11, 1886. Treatise on Blood and Skin Diseases mailed free.

THH SWIFT SPECIFIC CO., Drawer 3, Atlanta, Ga*

0, Cancer"Cnred/:?1^' 4

Wm. Black, Abigdon, Iowa, wascured of cancer in the eye by Dr. Jones' Red (lover Tonic, which cures all blood disorders and all diseases of tbe stomach, liver and kidneys. Tbe best tonic and apetizer known. Price 60 cents, at Gulick A Co's. t* 8

WOMEN

Heed tec renewed itractk, or who raflsr fr*m laliaitiM ywH'R hi lktir MI* ihtaM try

BEST TONIC

d0MD0t b&clrap t&e twtli. «w rtnwttinrtfnn-'*" Euunra IUxkd, 74 ItewD Aw»„ MBw*-

Dw. JMlUM:

ladtoa ba*e in tile. Alyoctntid nmoiUrz it, and mm mj comjAwrfgota cUar aad been beaMSci*i to my ciifldrao."

Gemrioe bM abore trade marie aadicroand radUaM oawnppar. Take aa other. Madeoolrbr BKaWH CHEMICAL C©„BAlTI*OEK, IK

LtnnaT HJJTP BoOA-awM and rtfaaettre, OOP: Ufarfng Bat of prtPM tor recipe*, tefonnrtigg aboot cotaiiW, «JWB awajr by all faji«rijn reodidna, at aaflad to any addiaa* oa raoatpt ct %e. a«mp,

POPHAM'S ASTHMA SPECIFIC A

SATURDAY EVENING If

TERRE HAUTE, JNI^

A Paper for the People.

A MODEL HOME JOURNAL.

ENTERTAINING, INSTRUCTIVE AND NKWBY. 1 ." *Vs Hi

BRIGHT, CLEAN AND PU*BL

THE FIFTEENTH YEAR

The has a record of vaeoeas aald an attained by a Western weekly paper. Foosteen yean of Increasing popularity proves lfH worth. Encouraged by the eztraordlnaijr •uooeas which has attended Its pubUeatka the publisher has perfected arrangements tap which for the ooming year The Mail will be more than ever welcome in the home drela. In this day of trashy and Impure literature it should be a pleasure to all good people help in extending the circulation of mob a paper as the

SATURDAY EVENING MATL

TERMS:

One year...^.....„ Six months.....^. ...» 1 00 Three months GO

Mail and offioe rabscriT tlona will, invariably, be discontinued at expiration of time. Address P. S. WESTFALL,

WHERE IT IS SOLD.

TERRE HAUTE.

E. L. GodeCke Opera H«*e S. R. Baker ..P. O. Lobby Grove P. Crafts Terre Haute Houee News Stand NationalHoow Clarence Hart South of Poetofflee Walsh & Smith- 661 Main Street Mrs. Elisabeth McCuteheon, 1184 E. Poplar St.

ILLINOIS.

Areola, Ills. Fortle Moove Casey, Ills. B. F. Millar Chrisman. Ills McKee Bros Ferrell, Ills Elmer Hltcb Hut*onville, Ills Harry Adam* Marshall. Ills V. L. Oole Martinsville, Ills Geo. Ramsay Mattoon, Ills..... Paris, Ills ~...W. B. Sheriff 4 Oo Robinson, Ills W. G. Dancer Hcott Land, Ills L. O. Jinkins To edo, Ills ......Edmund E. Parte Verml'lion, Ills J. W. Borer Westfleld, Ills Bird Barlow

INDIANA.

Annapolis. Ind Foster M. Maris Atherton, Ind —Geo. H. Denny Armiesburg, Ind... ..^...—. —-A. E. Boyd comlngdale, Ind -...«•••/ Conner Brazil, Ind —.„.T. M. Robertson Bowling Green, Ind Waiter Bohannon Bridget on, Ind W. J. Dtwee Clay City. Ind

ADMINISTRATOR'S SALE.

Jett

Carlisle, Ind —-J. M. Warner Cloverland, Ind M. D. Falla Cliuton, Ind John ^Baily Catlln, Ind Joseph A. Wright Coal Blufl, Ind E. Davie Coffee, Ina »J- H.1Curry Dana, Ind Chas. Hutchinson Kugene, Ind Watson Farmerfbure, Ind Alfred Parker Fontaiiett, Ind .....Ed. C. High Greencastle, Ind J. K. Langdon Harmony, Ind J. H- Strong Lewis, Ind Fred Cochran Lockpoit, (Riley O) John Smith Meroin, Ind... Frank RemmlnKtoa Montezuma, Ind Chas. E. Hunt New Lebanon, Ind Lee Bnrneu Newport, Ind Bird Davis Praireton, Ind '~.^L ^JOD2? Pimento, Ind W.T. French Perrysville, Ind J. E. Sinks Kockvi I le, Ind .—A. C. BatSi Rosedale, Ind ,'.j Bucher Hulllvan, Ind Ethan Allen Panford, Ind Kd. May Roonover, Ind A. D. Jenkins St Marys, Ind F. M. Curler Slielburn, Ind Chas. From em Wavelana. Ind H. A. Pratt

Notice is hereby given that by virlue of an order of the Vl«o Circuit Court the underKlghed administrate of the estate of Ellas Reeve, deceased, will offer for sale at publie auction, at the door of the court house, In the city of Terre Haute, Vigo County, Indiana, on Saturday, April 25th, 1885, at 2 clock p. m. the following described real estate, to-wlt:

Sixty-seven acres off the e»i»t Bide of the north east quarter of sec. 27, town 12, norta range lo w« st Vigo County, Indiana or so much thereof, as may be nece»ary to pay the debts and liabilities of said estate.

Term* of Hale one third cash. th rest do®

Term* of HAie one intra caen. uii rem. um In equal installments of 6 and 12 months with rates bearing 6 per cent interest v' waiving appraisement laws with appro' """'•J' INF'F^EEVK, 28-1 w. Admin lstratr/x.

t# GRATEFUL—COMFORTING.

EPPS'S COCOA

BREAKFAST.

"By a thorough knowledge of the natural

WM UI IIIB property, ». ... Cocoa, Mr. Epos has provided our breakfaat table* with a delicately flavored beverage which may save us many a heavy doctor* bills. It is by the Judicious use of such articles of diet that aconsiitutlon may be gradually built up until strong enough to resW every tend* icy todisease Handredsoi'suntie meladlM are floating around us readyto attack wherever there is a we«k point, we may escape many a fatal shaft by keep4n« ourftelves well fortified with pure blood and a properly nourished frame. —[CivlJ Service Gazette. ... ...

Made simply with boiling water or milk. Sold only In half pound tins by grocers, labeled thus: JAMK8 EPP8 COHomoeopathic Chemists, Loadoo, Esf.

AVE EVERY THING AND CONVERT IT INTO }-^moneyj

Tbe undersigned has opened a Receiving Room, No. 13 south Second street, where he la prepared to receive Rough Tallow and Greaoe of any kind. Pork and B*ef Cracklings. Dry or Green Bones, for which be will pay the Highest Cash Prices. He will alee toy Dead Hofm by single or car load. Hogs received at tbe Factory, flonthwewt of the City on the Island. Office No. 18 south Second street, Terre Haute, Ind.

HARRISON SMITH, Terre Haute, Ind.

wkoaretbredof CUttcoet thai fade in run*M*e oruxuMing wfU Jh¥t Pnrpleaand "Qunker Stylee" perfectly fart and reliable. FOR 8ALE BY ALL DRY QOOD8 DEALERS.

For On Care of Asthma, Established /VkJ 1 1 1 111 XTm*. Trtol I^lMfe ivoriYTLT KKLIKTXD. T. POF'SXk i'coEST »55&.l|»*

RICHMOND FINES,

CTtTM \i

•y-fst J-'.VS