Saturday Evening Mail, Volume 15, Number 49, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 30 May 1885 — Page 3

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THE MAIL

PAPER FOR THE PEOPLE.

[Commenced in The Mail Dec 6tli. Back •ambers can be bad on application at publication office or of news agents.]

Wyliard's Weird.

4*'* "zmmi

MISS M. F.. BRAPDON, Vv-*«

gather of "Lady And ley's Secret," "Aurora Floyd," "Tbe Outcast," Ac., Ac.

CHAPTER XXXIII. 'i*.

"SWEET IS DEATH FOR EVERMORE."

Dismal hours, dreary days of monotonous melancholy, a hopeless lassitude of mind and body followed for tbe widow after that awful sudden death. Every one was very kind every one was con giderate even tbe law was more than usually indulgent. Tbe borror of an inquest was spared to that desolute mourner. Things were made very easy by Sir William Spencer's recent visit, by the fact that he haa been beard by the servants to pronounce tbecase hopeless. Mr. Nicbollstbe local practitiouer, registered the cause of death as muscular atrophy, and considered himself justified in so doing, as to bis mind suicide bad been only a symptom of the malady, a paroxysm of despair following quickly upon Sir William Spencer's admission that the end was inevitable. "If ever a man had aright to take bis own life, that man had," said Mr. Nicholls, when he argued tbe matter with his own conscience

An inquest would bave done good to nobody, but Mr. Nicbolls was very anxious for a post-mortem. He wanted to see if the muscles were much wasted, if the medulla itself showed traces of disease—whether Cru veilhier or Virchow bad the best of tbe argument. But he was not allowed this privilege.

Those early stages of bereavement, while the house was darkened—the sunless Autumn day on which tbe funeral train wound slowly over the moor to the distant burial grouud, the reading of will, tbe coming and going of friends and legal advisers, were as an evil dream to Dora Wyllard. She took no part in anything. She affected no4 interest in anything. Just at tbe last she was asked if she would like to lay her offering •pon the coflin— one of those costly wreaths, those snow-white crosses of fairest exotics which had been sent in profusion to the wealthy dead—but she sbiank from the questioner with shudder. "Flowers upon that coffln No, no."

Yet just at the very last, when the procession was leaving tbe ball, sbe appeared suddenly in the midst of the mourners, pale as tbe dead, broke threugh the crowd, and threw her tribute en the cofliu lid, a handful of wild violets gathered with her own hands in the melancholy Autumn shrubberies. She bent down and laid her face

UJJOU

tbe coffln. "I loved you once 1" she •loaned, "I loved you once! kind hands drew her away, half fainting, and led her back to her room.

The blow bad quite unsettled poor Mrs. Wyliard's mind, people said afterwards. recounting this episode, at second, tnlrd or fourth hand. No one was surprised when sbe left Penmorval within a week of the funeral and went •broad with her two old servants, Priseilla and Stodden.

Heathcote and Both well had planned everything for her, both being agreed that she must be taken away from the scene of her sorrow as speedily as the thing could be done and she bad obeyed them Implicitly, unquestlonlugly, like a little child.

What could it matter where she went or what became of her That was the thought in her own mind when she asaeu'ed so meekly to every arrangement that was being made for her welfare. What grief that ever widowed heart had to bear could bo equal to her agonyt It was not the loss of a husband she had adored—that loss for this life which might have been balanced by gain in a better life. It was the extinction of a beloved image for ever. It was tbe knowledge that this man to whom she bad given tbe worship of her warm young heart, the enthusiastic regard of inexperienced girlhood, bad never been worthy of her love that he bad come to her weary from the disappointment of a more passionate love than he could ever again offer to woman—the first deep love of a strong naturo—a love that burns itself into heart and mind as aqua fortis into steel. He had come to her stained with blood guiltiness—an unconfessed assassin—holding bis bead high among his fellow-men, playing the good citixen, the generous landlord, the patron, the benefactor—he had slain the widows only son. He had lived a double life, hiding his pleasures, lest his gains should be lessened by men's knowledge of his lighter hours. He who had seemed to her the very spirit of truth and honor had been steeped to the lips in falsehood—a creature of masks a ml semblances. This it was which bowed her to tbe dust this it was which weighed upon her spirits as no common loss could have done.

With her own hauds sbe explored her husband's desk and dispatch boxes—the receptacle# for bis more important papers—in search of any written confession which should attest the dead man's

fnnocenoe.for

tuilt and ever proclaim Both well's It would have been unutterable agony to her to have made sueh confession public—to have let the curious eyes of the world poor in upon that story of guilt and same yet had any such document existed she would bave deemed it her duty to make it public—her duty to her kinsman who had been made the scapegoat of another's crime. Hd^pilv for her peace there was no such naper found— not a line, not a wort) which hinted at the dead man's secret and happily for Both well the cloud that hung over him had by tM* time dispersed. The steadiness with which he had held his ground in the neighborhood, the fact of his engagement to Miss Heathcote, had weighed with his Bodmin traducers and those who had been the first to htnt their suspicions were now the readiest to protest against the infamy of such an ides. Had Both well emigrated immediately after the inquest these same people would bave gone down to the grave convinced that he was the murderer.

But before the end of that year there occurred an event which wss considered proof positive of Both well's innocence and an absolute solution of the mystery of tbe unknown girl's death. A miner entered a solitary farmhouse between Bodmin and Loetwithiel, In the dim gray of a Winter evening, and killed two harmkaa women folk—an old woman and a young one—for the sake of a very small booty. He was caught red

lent dinner, it was believed

In tbe place that hh was the

one

every

JMUM

pushed man would think no more of doing it than of wringing the neck of a chicken, said an honest townsman of Bodibin.

Thus having identified somebody as the murderer, Bodmin was content and Bothwell Grabame was more popular than ho had ever heen in tbe neighbor hood. He gave tbe county town but little of his society, notwithstanding this restoration to favor. He rarely played billiards at the inn, or loitered to gossip in the high street. He could not forget that people bad cnce looked coldly upon him, but that he bad suffered the shame of unjust suspicion. At Trevenna he was happy, for there no one had ever so wronged him, tnere he was a favorite with everybody, from the rector to tbe humblest fisherman. At Treval&a, too and at Boscastle he bad friends. He could afford to turn bis back upon tbe people who had been so ready to think evil of him.

,,'w'

One of Heathcote's first cares after the Penmorval funeral had been to write to the Baronne de Maucroix. His letter was to tbe following effect:

It Is my grave duty to inform you, madam that the murderer of your son has confessed bis crime, and also that he has escaped all earthly tribunals to answer for his sins before the Judge of all men. A painful malady from which he bad been for some time a hufferer ended fatally on the evening of tbe 10tli inst., within an hour in which he con fessed guilt. His case had been pronounc ed hopeless by a physician but it is just possible the shock caused by the unexpected revelation of his guilt may have hastened his end.

Accept, madam, my respectful homage and permit me a*BO to express ray admira tlon of that truly Christian spirit which you evinced at our late interview.

EDWARD HEATHCOTE.

By return of post Mr. Heathcote re ceived an answer to his letter but tbe answer was not in the handwriting of the Baronne de Maucroix. That band was still forever. The letter was from the baronne's friend and confessor, tbe cure of the village adjacent to her man sion.

MONSIEUR—Under the sad circumstances prevailing at the chateau, I have taken it .upon myself, with the permission of the late baronne's legal representative, to reply to yonr polite communication, which was never seen by the eyes of my lamented friend and benefactress, Madam de Maucroix. Upon that very evening which you name in your letter as the date of the murderer's de»tb, I lied at the chateau, soou after vespers, according to my daily custom, being permitted at that period of the day's decline to enjoy an hour'* quiet conversation with that saintly woman who has now been taken from us. I was ushered as usual into the salon, where I quietly awaited Madam de Maucroix"s apearance, having been told that she was in er S' n's rrom, that apartment which she used as her oratory.

I knew that It was her custom to spend hours in that chamber of her beloved dead absorbed in spiritual meditations so I wait ed with patience, and without surprise, for more than an hour, musing by the fire. Then, wondering at this unusual forgetfulness in one a! ways so considerate, I ventured to lift the portiere and to pass through ti»e intervening salon, which was in darkness, to th? bedchamber, where, through the half open door, I saw a iamp burning.

I pushetl the door a little further open and went in. The baronne was on her knees beside the bed, her clasped hands stretched out straight befoie her upon the satin coverlet, her face leaning forward I should have withdrawn in respectful silence, but there was something stark and rigid in the dear lady's attitude which filled me with fear. I wondered that she had not yet been disturbed by the sound of try footsteps, for my heavy shoes had creaked as I walked across the floor. I drew nearer to her—not a breath —not a movement.

I bent over her and touched her clasped hands. They were cdld forever in death. It was a peaceful, blessed ending such an end as they who best loved that noble creature would have chosen for her.

Accept, moi sieur, the assurance of my high consideration. PIERRE DUPLESSI.

CHAPTER XXXIV. "WHO KNOWS NOT OIROE?" ':T Tbe Cornish tors, those wild blown bills upon whose dark foreheads time writes no wrinkles, were just one year older since Julian Wyliard's death, and Both well Grabame was established in bis house at Trevenna as an instructor of the embryo engineer. Already two lads had gone forth from Bothwell's house after six months' training, and bad done well at Woolwich. Other lads were coming to him—sons of men he had known in Bengal. He was on the high road to reputation.

After the first passionate disgust with all things during which he had stopped tbe builders, prepared to quash the contract which he had signed with such delight, there bad come a more tranquil spirit, and Both well Grabame bad faced his last unexpected trouble with a resolute heart.

A conversation which he had with Edward Heathcote soon after Julian Wyliard's death had given him bis first leam of light, Heathcote spoke to him aopefully of the future, and urged him to wait quietly. "Your marriage will be so much tbe wiser, so much the more likely to result in lasting happiness fc this delay," he said. "If you are as loyal and staunch as I believe you to be, if it is really my sister you would like to marry, and not this fasclnatiug widow who woos you with fortune in one hand and social status in the other—if you are really bent upon sacrificing these good things for Hilda's sake, be sure sbe will ultimately accept your sacrifice. In tbe meantime be patient and pursue yonr independent course. A woman always respects a man who can live without her." "But I cannot," answered Bothwell. "Life wl'.l be less than life to me till Hilda and I are one."

Dont let her know that if yon mean to be master of your fate in the future," said Heathcote. "Time can be the only test of your truth. If at the end of a year you bave not married Lady Valeria Harborough the chances are that mv sister will begin to have faith in yc«u. I know that she loves you." "Tell me where sbe is that I may go to her—that I may convince her." "I bave promised to respect her secret," answered Heathcote, firmly.

Botbwell accepted this friendly counsel with a good grace, went back to his old lodgings at Trevenna, set the builders at work again, spent his days in the open air and his nights in hard study, ate little, slept less and looked like toe ghost or his former self.

He saw no more of Lady Vsleiia but a society paper informed him early in November that she bad taken a villa at Monaco. He could guess from what resort of consolation she was obtaining oblivion of her griefs. Her grace, her charm of manner, were dwelt upon fondly by tbe paragraphia*. She was leading a life of absolute seclusion on account of her recent bereavement but she was admired and observed of all whenever she appeared.

The succeeding paragraph told of ®r George Mild may's residence at one of tbe chief hotels. He was a distinguished figure at the tables bad broken the bank on more than one occasion.

Bothwell smiled a cynical smile ai the joxt»-position of those two namea. "I suppose tbe gentleman haa foflfot* ten hi* Dealing," he said to himself.

hand which bad sent the French irirltoj It was an infinite relief to him to nex to West End London than as her doom know that Lady Valeria was on the country. "She had a little bit o' money about other side of the Channel, that her face She bad hired one of the prettiest vilher mav be noor lasa, and he took it could not raise before him ghost-like las at Marlow, a dainty bungalow, built from her, and when she screamed he amidst the home which she had ruined, by an artist, who soon tired of his toy

at that embryo home of his from

that the builders were whipped out of their customary jog-trot, ana laid bricks as bricks were never laid before. Both well watched every brick, with a threefoot rule in his hand, and pointed out every flaw in tbe work. He paid his builders promptly, as tbe work progressed, snd gave him every encouragement to be speedy.

Tbe slterations and improvements in tbe old cottage were all finished by the end of November, snd tbe builders had finished the brickwork of tbe new rooms. Tbe old rooms were thoroughly dry and ready for occupation before Christmas, and Bothwell spent his Christmas in his own house, the first Christmss he bad so spent, and a very dismal one. But he had his dog, a devoted collie,

hiB

Bothwell's chief delight was derived from bis own little inventions and contrivances, his shelves in odd corners, his pegs and books and ingenious little cupboards. These he gazed upon and examined daily in silent rapture. When bis two boys came to him, long-legged brawny youths, with open countenances, grinning perpetually for very shyness—he took them to see all the shelves and hooks, and expounded his theories in relation to those conveniences. There was not to be a slovenly corner in the house every article was to have its peg or hook, or shelf or cup board. Tennis balls, rackets, foils, sin gle-sticks, whips, skates, gnns, boots, caps and gloves. Everything was to be classified—departmentea. Organization was to be the leading note. Before a week was over the boys bad began to adore Bothwell. They were sporting and could afford to keep horses, so Bothwell and his pupils bunted with fox hounds and barriers all through that long Winter, far into the gladness of Spring. The boys were always with him. He had no leisure in which to abandon himself to sadness, except when he Bhut himself up in his study to write to his cousin Dora, who was living in Florence, attended by her maid and by Stodden, the old Penmorval butler. Sbe was living in absolute retirement, broken hearted, seeing no one, seen by no one. lhe society papers bad nothing to say about her.

From Bothwell. Heathcote sometimes heard of Julian Wyliard's widow, heard of her with an aching heart. No message of friendship, no

TERKE HAUTE SATURDAY EVENING- MAIL.

pushed her out ol tbe train. Such ai He worked on with all the better will and exchanged tbe villa for a house-boat |n«nn#i Burnins* Diseases

the which

knowledge that this dreadful siren was more unhealthy, but which possessed far away. He worked with such energy the cbsrm of not being rooted in the soil. The house bsd seemed perfect when

Srawing-rooms

pipe and his books,-snd

be made the best of his dreary life. He bad a couple of lads, bis first pupils coming to him early in January, and he wanted to air tbe house in bis own jer son. He was a little proud of the first house of his own, ana even in the midst of bis sadness, as every man is proud of the thing he has created. He walked about the rooms, opening and shutting the doors and window sashes, to see bow they worked. Needless to say that some of tbem did not work at all, and that he bad various interviews with the foremen and carpenters, by whom good deal of tinkering had to be .done before everything was shipshape. vThat was Bothwell's favorite expression. He wanted things ship-shape. "He ought to call his house Ship shape Hall," said the foreman.

Tine of recognition

had there ever been for him in any of these letters to Bothwell, of which he was generally told,

Bome

of which had

been read to him. Hilda had been quietly pursuing her studies at the Conservatoire all this time, seeing a good deal of Parisian life in a very modest way, that inner life of •ling artists and men of letters, and their homely, industrious families, a life in which sbe found much that was intellectual blending with a pleasant simplicity, an absence of all pretense. She liked the Tillet girls, and sne liked her surroundings while music, which had always been a passion with her, now became the sole object of her existence. 'I suppose you will come back to tbe Spaniards some day and take care of tbe twins and me," her brother said to her one day in the August after Wyliard's deatb.

He stopped in Paris to see Hilda, on his way to Switzerland. Yes 1 shall go back to my old home —when Bothwell Is married." "That is rather hard lines for me, seeing I don't believe Bothwell has any idea of getting married to anyone except you."

Hilda blushed, and then shook her bead despondingly. "Who can tell what he meant to do," sbe said. "General Harborough died than a year ago. Lady Valeria could scarcely marry within a year."

But if •Bothwell meant to marry Lady Valeria, be would scarcely be Irrinding lads at Trevenna," answered Heathcote. "He has behaved so well that I feel it my duty to plead for him."

Hilda put her arm around her brother's neck and kissed him, by way of answer.

Let me finish my studies at the Conservatoire. and then, at the beginning of next Winter, I will go back to the Spaniards, if you should want me there But perhaps you will have found another mistress for tbe old house before that time." "I know what you mean, Hilda," he answered gravely.- "No, there is no hepe of that." "Not yet, perhaps. It is too soon. Dora Is too loyal and true to forget easily. But the day will come when her heart will turn to her first love. You bave never ceased to care for her, have you, Edward "No, dear, such a love as mine means once, and once only. My wife was all iroodnest, and I was grateful to her and fond of her—but that affection was not like tbe old love, and it n«rver extinguished tbe old love."

Be sure your reward will come, in due time." "I can afford to wait, Hilda."

He went on to Switzerland, strayed aly, the St. Gotha route invitu him. He a:

into Italy, the St. Gotha route inviting rot a month at Florence, and he saw Dora Wyllard several times during that period, for half an hour at a time. She bad taken up her abode for the Summer at a mountain inn, near the Abbey of the Gray Monks, in the forest of Vallambxosa, a truly romantic amidst the wooded hills. Hither 2d ward Heathcote made his pilgrimage, himself richly rewarded by halt an hour's Interview but there was little in such interviews to stimulate hope. Tbe widow was bowed down by the burden of her sorrow. Her only feeling in rotation to Edward Heathcote was that be atone upon earth knew the story of her husband's life, and that be alone could fully sympathize with her on her hopeless misery.

There are widows and widows. White Dora Wyllard was living alone the pines and chestnuts of the A nea, seeing no one bot monks and occasional tourist, and reiigioaaly avoiding the latter, Lady Valeria Harborough living op the Thames, in a neighborhood which has of late become ao fashionable as to rank rather an an-

SBi mmmm SMS#

tbe

was less commodious, a good deal

Lsdy Valeria took it but she sent down a West End upholsterer with a keen eye for the beautiful to make all possible improvements, and the result was a nest which might bave satisfied a modern Cleopatre. Yet it did not quite satisfy lady Valeria, who found fault with good many things, snd informed the upholsterer that although his taste was fairly good and the coloring well chosen, there was an absence of originality in his work. "I have seen other houses almost as

retty," she said, "and I have seen just like this, which is worse. I hate to live in rooms like other people's."

Tbe upholsterer murmured something about a royal princess and a royal duchess, both of whom bad condescended to exress themselves pleased at his decoration of their houses but Lady Valeria froze him with her look of scorn. "I hope you don't compare me with royal princesses," she said contemptuously. "They are accustomed to let other people think for them, poor creatures, and they take anything they can get. No one expects originality in a palace. I don't wish to grumble, Mr. Sheradale but I am just a little disappointed in your work. It has no cachet."

The upholsterer accepted his reproof meekly, but with an air of being wornd-

ed to the quick and he took care to debit bis wounded feelings against Lady Valeria when be made out bis bill.

That villa up the river in the lovely June and July weather seemed to be in the midst of the world's fair. It was gayer than Park Lane—a more concentrated gayety. Pleasure wore her zone a little looser here than in London. TLere was a touch of Bohemiacism. People wore what thev liked, said what they liked, did aB they liked. There were few stately entertainments, few formal dinners or smart dances but everyone kept open house, there was a perpetual dropping in, or going ard coming, which kept carriages and horses at work all day between houses and stations. The river was like a high road, and half the population lived in white flannel, and smart tennis frocks, and eccentric hats. It was a world apart—a bright glad Summer world in which there was no such thing as thought or care a world of shining blue water and green meadows, dipping willows, rushy eyots and hanging woods a world in which there were hardly any regular meals, only a perpetual picnic, the popping of champagne corks heard in every creek and bac^-water, while humbler revelers rested on tbeir oars to drink deep of shandy-gaff a world musical every evening with glees, and songs, and serenades, to the accompaniment of feathering oars.

In such a world as this Lady Valeria Harborough lived over again the same kind of life she had lived at Simla—but not quite tbe same, for at Simla sbe bad maintained her dignity aB General Harborough's wife. She had received the worship of her admirers as a queen in the old days of chivalry might receive the homage of true ktights. Now she had a different air, and the homage that was offered was of a different quality. That Winter of widowhood at Monaco, with her staunch ally, Sir George Mildmay, in constant attendance upon her, made a curious change ia Lady Valeria. It had vulgarized her with that gratuitous vulgaiity which has become of late years one of tbe leading notes iq English society—the affectation of clipped words in slang phrases, the choice vulgar ideas, tbe studious cultivation of vulgar manners. Naturally this acquired vulgarity of May Fair is not quite the same as thst or Brixton or Highbury. There is not the genuine riDg about it. The accent is the sccent of Patricia, but the words are the words of Plebeia. It is, however, all the more offensive because of that blending of aristocratic insolence—that Pall Mall swagger which gives tone the language of Hoxton and Holloway.

Lady Valeria had fallen into the fash ionable slang and the current drivel. She had left off reading, and bad taken to cigarettes. Her court was less of a court than of old, and more a smokeroom. People came and went, and did and said what they liked in her presence. Sometimes in the dreamy noontide, when the closed Venetians and the Bbadows rooms recalled the atmosphere of Simla, Lidy Valeria reclined in her lounging chair, fanning herself languidly, and half stupifiedf with chloral, a state which sbe described as being "a little low." Sometimes in the evening she was all fire and sparkle, a vivacity which her enemies sttributed to dry champaigne. There was a great deal of champaigne consumed at that ideal villa but with a perpetual drorp'ng in of visitors—a household conducted upon the laxest principles, who could tell wnat become of tbe wine. The empty bottles were the only difficulty, since there seems to be no use yet invented for empty champaigne bottles the very outcasts, the rag and bone collectors, reject them.

Lady Valeria was going to the bad. That was the general opinion amorg her nearest and dearest—tbe people who eat her dinners and drank her wine, and smoked her cigarettes, and used ber luxurious rooms ss if the villa had been a club. Sbe had taken a horror to solitude, must have a crowd about her always, be amused cost what it might as she hated her own family sbe would bave none of then) at any price. Hence tbe somewhat rowdy following which made the bouse by the river notorious.

Lady Valeria had been ruined by a Winter at Monaco. That was what some people mid. Others ascribed ber deterioration to the facto! havingescap ed all control, and having too much money at ber disposal. Others shook tbeir heads, and asked wbst could be expected of any woman whose gnide, philosopher and friend was George Mildmay. "And he means to be ber husband," added one shrewd observer. "My dear Aubrey, she detests him," urged another. "That makes no difference. He means to marry her. A woman who takes choral will marry any man who makes op his miftd to have ber." [ooirrmuKD KKXT WKUE.]

THE OLD, OLD STORY.

Why do we hear ao modi about dyspepsia? Simply becanse so many people have it. Why are so many people talking about tbeir core from this dreadful disease? fiSmply because tbey have been taking Brown'a Iron Bitters. Thus it is with Mrs. Taylor of Lynchburg, Sumter Co., 8. C., who says, I have need Brown's Iron Bitters for dyspepsia with mo«t favorable results. I believe this medldne to all that ia repreeanted." Dy* peptics,and suffers from neoralgia, wmknasa, ate., should try It.

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mail 10 eei

Uste,Owe(0,:

Prosecute the Swindlers! If when you call for Hop Bitters (ste green leuster of Hops on the white iabd) the druggist hands out any Btuff called C. D. Warner's German Hop Bitters or with other "Hop" name, refuse it and shun that druggist as you would a viper and if he has taken yonr money for tha stuff, indite him fov the fraud, and sua him for damages for the swindle, and we will reward you liberally for the conviction. "J HAVE SUFFERED!"

Qerrnai

POTTICK

CHEMICAL CO., Boston, Mass.

Send for "How to Cure Skin Diseases.,"

PTTTfCURA SOAP. An exquisite Toilet, vlll itli,and Nursery Sanative,

AND

CHEMICAL

CO., Boston. Complete Local and Constitutional Treatment for every form of Catarrh, 'rnm a Simple Cold Influenza to loss of Smell. Taste, and Hearing, Cough, Bronchitis, and Catarrhal onsumption.in every package.

Clergymen. Vocalist*,

And Public Sp'eakers without number owe their present usefulness and success to Banford's Radical Cur» fur Catarrh.

Rev. Dr. Wiggln says: "One of the best remedies for Catarrh—nay, the best remedy we have found in a lifetime of suffering—is Sanford'8 Radical Cure. It clears the head and throat so thoroughly that, taken eaali morning on rising, there are no unpleasant stcretionsand no disagreeable hawkingduring the entire day, but an unprecedented clearness of voice and respiratory organs." POTTER DRUG

AND

CHEMICAL Co., Boston.

r«. Weary Miflenr irora Rheumatl m, Neuralgia w.ik und Hore Lungs.

VOLTAIC DB ELECTRO (Jtitigl is HIKI Coids.Weak oft Back. Weak Stomach and Bowels, Dyspepsia, Female sv ms*. Shooting Pains through the Loins and Back, try these Plasters. Placed over the pit of the Stomach, they

With every disease imaginable for the last three years. Our Druggist, T. J. Anderson .recommend-

"Hop Bitters" to me, --iT I used two bottles! Am entirely cured and heartily reaommend Hop Bitters to eveky one.

J. D. Walker, Buokner, Mo.

Counterfeiting Proves Superiority •'Although counterfeiting is one of the greatest crimes against the business of any country, and in many cases— "Destructive of health and life »..*» "It proves beyond a doubt the", v.:?. "Superiority"

Of the article counterfeited As no inferior article is ever counterfoitod*

Proof of this is found in the great number in "Australia, England, France,

gia*

Germauy, India, Belgium Canada and

the U. S.

Of counterfeits of the grest remedy, "Hop Bitters,"* Whose name and merit* are so well kuowtlie world over that it ia a

'l!

"Shining mark and favorable pray "For Counterfeiters!!" Beware of all that does not have a green cluster of hops on the white label.

l/l

Prosecute tbe Swindlers!!!

If when you call for Hap Bitters (see greek clustcr or Hops on tbe white label) the druggist hands out any stuff called C. D. Warner's German Hop Bitters or with other "Hop" name, refuse it and shun that druggist as you would a viper: and if he has taken your money for the stuff, indict him for the fraud and sew him for damages for tb© swindle, and we will reward yon liberally for the conviction.

No. 415J OHIO STREET,

JERRE HAUTE, INDtylty.

./ ,v [E»tabliah«d 1818.) viD*' lor all Diseate of the Bye, 1Car, Head, Jw Throat, Lwngi and all Chronle IHteatet,

CHRONIC DI8XASB8 ofWMMaM

Children FUtnU, Pile*, Lnmi«,GMM«n,OpUS Habit, Rheumatism, Neuralgia, Skin DIMIMI. OJB BASES of ths STOMACH, LIVKit, SPLIKK, disease* of the Kidney* and Bladder, and all IUHHMIIHBAKTl the Q»nito-CrlLatj Syntem. ALL HBBVOtlS DISEASES Paralydf, Chorea or St. Vitse Dante, KB* iepsy, Catalepsy, SCROFULA in all Ita forma, aM 16 thoae dtaeaaea not aucceaafnlly treated kr toe "hn Physician*' and Deformities ef all kind*, ana Inatrnaew furnished.

EZECTHICXTTand ELECTRIC A TMI

gMfk All eases of Agne, Dmab Ague er snd I'erer, Fistula, Piles, ulcers and

FWMMMOhtHk

ef the Rectum, Lupus, most Caaoers, aseet Skin Itt* eases, Female Diseases generally, Oranvlated Mia, Dlorrs of the Cornea, Weak and Sore Kyes, Gstuft ef the Bye. Bar, Nese, Throat er 6kla Spermatorrhea or diseases peculiar to

MM/Ees*ma),fliYsnfsnand

Operations for Pterygium, Strabiimias Cross Bye". Artificial Pupil, Opiam Habit, Tape Wc Varicocele, Hernia or Rupture, Bpilei Sore Legs, Old Bores Cany where upon mat Ism, Acute Chancroids.

erygium, mm

Pupil, Opium Habit, Tape Worms, Hydreoela.

or File. 00

1 the body

Chronic, ttonerrfacsa, Syphilis

Bright'* DiiuN ait Biliest Calk, Ite.

OonsnMaiioa bee and lavttod. ,, Address vM

GRATJBFUl.—COMFORTING.

EPPS'S COCOA

BREAKFAST.

"By a thorough knowledge of the natural laws which govern the operations of digestion and nutrition, and by a careful app«oation of the fine properties of well-selected Cocoa, Mr. Eppshus provided our breakfast table* with a delicately flavored beverage which may save us many a heavy doctor*" bills. It is by the Judicious use of such tides of diet that aconsiitutiou may be gradually bnllt up until strong rnongh to renit every tend* icy to disease HundredN of subtle meladltj are floating around UN ready ta attack wherever there is a weak point. W# may escape irinny a fatal shaft by ourselves well fortified with pure blood a— a properly nourished frame."—[Civil Bervtoe Gazette.

Made simply with boiling water or mflk. Hold only In half pound tins by grocers, libeled thus: JAMES EPPS CO„ Homoeopathic Chemists, Load on, E«j.

•QANVILLEROUTE. Chicago and Eastern Winois Railroad.

Milwaukee,

Chlefijro MI

adison, Green Bay, Minneapolis, 8t. Paul, Cedar Kapids, Omaha

And all points in the North and f?ortbwe*l«

THREE TRAINS DAILY

Between Terre Haute and Chicago ant In time to make close connections trains on all roads diverging. a®-Woodruff Palace and Sleeping Goodies on all night trains.

Touriats Onides giving a description of the various Mnmrne1- Resorts will be furnMied upon application to R. A. CA MPBELL, GenT Ag't.

Main«• r: A. Chicago,

The Mirror

is no flatterer. Would you4 make it tell a sweeter tale ?V Magnolia Balm is the charm-^ er that almost cheats thert looking-glass.