Saturday Evening Mail, Volume 16, Number 16, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 10 October 1885 — Page 6

SllWillil

THE MAIL

A PAPER FOR THE PEOPLE.

DORIS BURNHAM.

A STORY OF PIONEER DAYS.

CHAPTER VI. TWICE FOILED.

Another step, aod it would have been Fairfax's last in this world but just then tbere rang through the air a sbrill whistle from the woods a little distance away. Fairfax stopped midway in the boat and answered it and in reply there came a shout frotn Seth: "Hello, Cap! Where are you?"

Here, Setb! In the canoe!" Fairfax seated himself in the boat, and waited till the trapper reached him. Seth boarded the boat, and passed so near tbe villain that the latter couJd have touched him with the end of his clubbed rifle, which be still grasped in a threatening attitude.

A few moment's colloquy ensued, which ended in the two men going to Mr. Burnham's camp, using tbe boat as a conveyance. Munrostoodin a furious rage at being thus thwarted, until tbey had gotten a safe distance away then be left bis hiding-place, and stode off through tbe woods to his cabin, cursing Fairfax and Seth. 80 matters went on for several days. Munro made several visits to Mr. Bumbarn's camp, and used every efforttoingratinte himself with the fair Doris, 8S well as with her father. So far as tbe latter was concerned ho seemed to succeed well enough, but tbe young girl's distrust of him seemed to deepen rather than to melt away. At last it became evident to father that she avoided Munro, and once, when the latter bad just left, after a two-hours' call, in which his most persistent efforts to engage Doris in conversation were rewarded by curt replies, in monosyllables whenever it was possiblo, Mr. Burnham said to her, halflaughlngly: "Do you know, Doris, that you were almost, if not quite, rude to Mr. Munro?" "Rude, papa? I hope not! But if I were, I could not help it! Indeed, indeed, I cannot express to you how distasteful his presence is to me. Why will he come here?" "Is not that easy to be seen, Doris? Why else, save that your bright eyes draw hlui hither?" answered Mr. Burnham, keeping up his bantering tone. "Don't say that, papa! If I really thought that, I would detest him utterly." "Why, my girl? Young ladies are not accustomed to dotest men who are smitten by their charms, are they? "Ah, papa, you tease me! But please don't do it any longer—at least not on this subject!" "Well, well!" replied her father, feigning to misunderstand her meaning. "Then I supposo I must resign mytelf to see you become an old maid—eh, DorLn?"

The girl cHtno to his side, bringing with her lmssock, which t»be placed by his clmir. Thou dropping down upon it, tio placed her inirjy hrown head upon his bMom, and drawing .his arm about her, looked up archly into his face a« nhe asked: "Am I then such a terrible burden to you, papa, that you wish to give me ttwitv to Nome one?" "Not a burden, darling Doris never that, my little daughter. But it is the wise provision of nature thai you should after awhile Hud a mate and tly away, as do the birds, to make a homo nest for yourselves." "That time may never comn, papa," replied Doris "but if it evtr does, the •home nest,' as you call it, shall have its moM honored place for you. I never nhnll separate myself from you, unless vou wlfh it yourself."

Just then Jot ham's shrill whistling of .!a -k o' Hazledean" was hrard outside, and a moment later his stumpy form presented itself in the doorway of the tent. "(Jot your horso ready, Miss Doris, if you want to ride," was his brief message.

Certainly, Jotliam. I'll be ready in a moment," and she darted into her little room to get ready, soon reappearing in her neat,-titling habit.

Jotham stood without with the horse watting hnr pleasure. Her father lifted her light form into the saddle. "Not too far, Doris," continued he. "Never fear, papa," was the gay reply, "here is my hunting horn, and my ride. If the latter does not prove sutliclent for uiv danger I may encounter, tho bugle will call you and Jotham to my aid!" Aud throwing a kiss from her gloved iingor tipa she cantered away through the forest aisles.

Oti she went, enjoying to the utmost the bright day, the fresh breeze and the rapid motion of bar steed. Suddenly S?»th Thomas apneartxi before her, holding op his band in warning. "Wtiat is it. Seth ?"askeu Doris, checking her hotae as she rode up alongside the t»ap{vr. "You told me once, Misn Doris, that you'd like aw fnl well to shoot a deer. Now, If you'd like to try your hand, I think kin git you a crack at one."

I hope you can, Seth,"sheexclaloned, her f«ce afl aglow with excitement. "I do

want to try shot at onel It- is a pitv to kill the beautiful creatures. Though—but it would ho something to bivtnt of, that I had bagged «t least oue deer!" "Yrrv well. Miss," replied Seth, "just below here is a runway, just on the edge of this timber. Now, you'U jeat go down there with me, awd wait till I can gnaioundio t'other side of tbe open ground where they come to graxo, I'm mo sum I e*n send a deer up this w*v. We can try, anyway."

Doris rode on to tbe designated spot, Seth jH-inted out the course the deer, if o«t was would b« likely to take, »how«d ner the point from which it would make its appearance, aud gave her s»»me «a«e counsel ns to the spot to be aimed at, :.hou!d make it-s appearand impressing her once more with ntv.«4sl:v of absolute silence whiit* the RSIW, the trapper star T.

Her station wan on th# top of a alight eleviUioM. from whl^h she coald command $£••»••.! itnr the runway fr ttrni)« distance. Her how was fastened to a sapliug iittU* di«i*»* away. e*nt®a?ftdly cropping th« temlei grass which WHS abmsd.tm at that spot,

Doris 00 a m»w*v stonfi at the fcsot of a iai^etree, h«r tie 3cr*ss her arm, tm iy for imm«rfi*t» us*. The of the NofcGH only by tbedrvw*y sdghiiK nf th'1 bit*** through the hr»:*.ch' .--f the tree*, or the chatter of a s*o'iirrei, ''^arly her into forgetfuln«s. Time siippxl by until there came a rtmttn* in the bushes,

brought. *11 her mnte* to the

An inaunt themift*r a targe «l**r sprang Inf iew. hi gl««sy sidwi, •tender l.-u *1, ami beautiful bead

brought out into full relief against tbe back-ground of forest as he bonnded in* to the open space.

In her admiration of the beantifnlanimal she for the moment foigot the parting advice of the trapper. Then, bringing her rifle to her shoulder, she uttered at the same time a sharp, quick cry.

The deer stopped for an instant, lifting bis ears and tnrning bis head in the direction from which tbe sound proceeded. That instant was enough. One quick glance along the sights, and then the sharp crack of Doris's rifle rang out upon the stillness.

The animal made one convulsive bound forward, and fell headlong to tbe earth. Doris, carried away by the excitement of the chase, bounded down tbe hill towards him. The dying animal made a futile effort to rise once more, fell again, and when she reached tbe spot tbe beautiful eyes, soft and pleading in life, were glazing in death.

Doris gazed on tho dead animal, and a sudden revulsion of feeling caused the tears to spring to her own eyes. She turned away, sick at heart. "My session for bunting deer is over," she murmured to herself. "I shall never attempt to kill another as long as I live."

Raising her bugle to her lips, she blew a shrill blast as a signal to Seth to come, and then retraced ber steps to the spot where her horse was tethered. As she reached it, .dunro stood before ber. "Ab, Miss Burnham, this is an unex-

r'cted

pleasure! I little thought when heard tbe crack of a rifle, and turned my steps in this direction to see who was tbebuntej that it should prove to be you. I congratulate you upon the fine shot made. Few woodsmen could have equalled it."

His eyes rested upon her in admiration, and Doris felt the same strange repugnance that his presence always excited in her. She felt the blood tingling in her veins under his scrutiny. "It is the first deer I ever killed," she replied, quietly, "and it will probably be the last." So saying, she loosened the hitcbing-strap from the sapling. "Allow me," said Munro, stepping forward with alacrity, arid arranging tbe bridle. "Shall I attend to your game until you can send for it?" "Seth will be here in a moment," she replied coldly. "He went to the other side of the little prairie yonder to drive the deer this way. He should be here by this time." And in her anxiety not to'be left alone with the hateful presence of Munro, she blew a second blast upon ber bugle. "Miss Burnham," said Munro, giving a quick glance around him, and seeing that Seth was not in sight, and speaking in his most courteous tones, "perhaps what I am about to say to may not be wholly unexpected to you. I love you I wish to marry you. Have I any ground to hope that I am not utterly indifferent to you

His eyes were bent upon her face with a most scrutinizing gaze. The rich color surged over her face, and then receeded, leaving it almost colorless. "I cannot marry you, Mr. Munro," said she, her eyes bent to the ground. "I am very sorry that this has occurred.'

Munro's face darkened, but his voice was as soft and well modulated as before, as he again pressed his suit. "This is 110 boyish passion that I offer you, Miss Burnham, he urged. "I love you deeply aud truely. I have health and strength, a fair amount of good looks, I hope, aud thougn I am at present living here in the forest, as IH your father, I have wealth to offer you—yes, 1 can place you in a position even superior to that which you now hold. I beg you to take time to consider this matter. I will not take your present answer as final. lain willing to wait—to allow you to get bettor acquainted with me, but I cannot give up my suit. Pray say you will consider ti\y offer."

Doris was embarrassed and distressed. "Mr. Monroe, it is useless to consider such a matter. My answer would be the same if I Uiet jou each day for a year. I can never marry you."

The blood Hushed his cheek, and mastered himself by a strong effort, he replied: "At least you will tell mo your reasons for your refusal?" "One reason is enough. I do not—I never can—love you," she replied, in agitation.

Perhaps you already love some other man answered Munro, sneeringly. The bright blush that overcame ber paleness, covering her neck and brow, was an eloquent answer, though she spoke never a word. "I see, my surmise is correct," said Munrd, in a bard voice. "You have no right, Mr. Munro, to ask me such a question," said Doris, looking firmly into his face. "The only question you can ask, *sagentleman, is, whether 1 love you. I do not—I never cau. That should be sufficient."

Munro turned upon ber, an angry light in his eyes. He wasabouttospeak, when be saw Seth's form suddenly come into view, coming from the same direction as did tho deer Dori9 had shot. Simply saying, "It is sufficient—at least for the present,'' with a meaning emphasis on tho last two words, he lifted hia hat, turned and strode off through the forest.

Doris beheld the approach of Seth with thanltfulnessc '•Hi!1' called tbe trapper, "You did git Jiim, sure enough I 1 heerd the crack of your rifle, and then your horn. I was a good ways behind, but the second time you blew*it I jest linked into the w&lkin' and pawed dirt till I got here. 'Speet you feel party proud of that shot, don't yer, Miss Doris?"

Doris, leading her horse by the bridle, walked down the little hill towattl Setb, so that he should not discover the retresiting form of Munro, replying to his question as she did so.

But there was one witness of the interview of whose presence she was unconscious. The young Indian chief, Grey Eagle, stood behind an overturned oak near by, aud hisgsxewas fixed upon the retreating form of Munro, bis face wearing a look of hatred that boded no good for WauniUt white lover.

Leaving Seth to bring the deer to the tent, which duty he cheerfully volunteered to perform, Doris mounted her horns and started homeward. Her thoughts naturally were upon the recent interview with Munro.

She was an* at the manner in which he had tal -sa ber dismissal of his soit, and especially at the question as to whether the loved another. The imp tineni query would have excited hut contempt had there not been down in her bear! the cansdonsnesa of what she dared not admit to herself—that sh» rea ly did care for one man as she oevor had before.

Though she strove to drive the thought away, yet ftwwd he:-H* ».• r. ly contrasting Monro with iU ej i'a:--fox, and araea to the latter youog gendemand advao* asw !T into a walk,»» 1 h% fc:r! inn -n t:i *he suddenly thought* "What would I have said bad It been Fairfax instead of

A rosy floah came ?r her t-. She gathered op the Uwew.v.*. tith a smart touch of tbe whip star horse]

off rapidly, as if ahe would leave behind tbe thought that had surprised her—tbe question she dared not answer to herself!

On she went rapidly until she reached the tent. Summoning Jotham to take her horse, she entered. Her father was absent, but in a few minutes returned. "What, Doris! Back already? I did notexpect you so soon. I am glad, however, that you returned. I fear, 1 scarce' know why, to have you take such long rides through the woods." "Well, I will quit making them so long, papa," she replied, "if they annoy yon. But I have some news for you. I have killed my first deer!" "Indeed, my little Diana! Well, I suppose you are happy that your ambition is gratified at last!" "No, papa I shall never kill another." And she gave him an account of the killing of the deer, and her revnlsion of feeling as she stood over its dead body.

That afternoon, she was seated alone near the door of tbe tent. She bad been reading, but the book had fallen to her lap, and her gazed was fixed absently on the heaving green waters of the lake, now swept by afresh breeze, that sent tbe long rollers from tbe northeast thundering upon the rocky beach -in front of the tent, breaking tbere in showers of white foam.

But her thoughts were not upon tbe scene before ber. She was again dreaming of Sidney Fairfax. He seemed ber ideal of what a young man should be— brave and courteous, frank and gentlemanly. His manly upright appearance bad won ber respect and interest from the first, and though she would not admit the thought, even to herself, the favorable impression had so deepened that it bad become afar stronger and warmer feeling.

Suddenly a shadow crossed her line of vision. She looked up, balf expecting to see Fairfax in propria persona but it was a young Indian brave. In one hand be carried a string of find. Tail and straight, with an expression of manly dignity and native gravity upon his face, he formed an admirable picture, framed by the open door of the tent, with a background of forest trees, and in the distance the tossing billows of the lake.

Doris felt not the slightest fear of the unexpected visitor, who nodded gravely as she looked up, and then walking up to ber laid bis offering of fish at her feet. "The Indian brave is very kind," said she aloud, half perplexed, and wondering whetber he could understand her. "What shall I give him tor this?" indicating the fish Dy a motion of the finger. "Gray Eagle wants nothing," hereplied with dignity, and in very fair English. "He gives them to the white girl. Will she take them "Yes," answered Doris, "and thank you."

Grey Eagle stood erect, and gazed curiously Into her face. There was nothing impertinent in his look. It was a mingled expression of curiosity and wonder. The son of the forest had never seen a. being so bright and beautiful as this young girl. Doris bore his scrutiny in silence. He suddenly seemed to recollect himself, aod turning on his heel left the tent and disappeared in the forest.

Mr. Burnham and Jotham returned shortly, and she related the circumstance to them. Jotham had seen him coming that way, but paid no attention, as there were wondering Indian hunters through the wodfls occasionally, though this was tbe first one to visit the camp. "Anyhow, them fish'll be mighty nic«?. Boil 'em for supper," said he. picking up the string, and departing for the kithen tent.

CHAPTER VII. V,,, WAUNITA's QUEST. ii

The Indians of the village which Munro had visited in few days thereafter put into execution the intention they had communicated to him at the time of his visit—that of removing to a point cn the Miami of tho Lakes, near the falls. The spot was a pleasant one, with a deep forest on every side, though a white settlement was not far away.

Waanita had of course accompanied them, and occupied her lonely lodge on the border of their encampment. She was not satisfied with the new location of the band. The young braves obtained fire-water of the whites, and the nights wereofter. turned into drunken orgies. She missed, too, the presence of Grey Eagle, who had disappeared on the same day that INfunro bad left the village, and none knew whither be bad goue.

She missed the young brave, who treated ber as an elder brother might treat a sister, and a day never passed that he did not leave his offering of game or fish at the door of her lodge. The other Indians, however, treated her well, for not only was she well liked by all, but her white husband, the Pauther, was a priuio favorite with tbe Indians, and they supplied all her wants abundantly. Still, there was no one on whom she could call as she could upon Grey Eagle, and his absence made her life still more lonely.

Munro bad promised to visit her when tbe camp was mover], though he had no idea of doing so when he made the promise. Each day when tbe girl arose she hoped that he wou.d appear, and each night as she retired to ber QOUCII of skins it was with a feeling of desolation and axiety.

His honeyed words had lest their force, now that ho was absent, and the old doubts of his constancy, her fears that she would never again see him, that had troubled her even in tbe joy of bis presence, returned with triple force.

Ooe evening, as the cloudy twilight was deepening into a stormy night, she sat in her tent, her little babe sleeping ber arms, tbe deep feeling of loneliness that ei.compassed her gave birth to a new idea, a wild resolve.

If the Panther could not come to her, she would go to him Once thought of, the plan grew in favor. Any one of the braves would furnish her with a canoe. She would take the babe, descend tbe Miami, and seek ber iv^'te hu ng tbe shores of tbe lake 1 to tbe great bay of tbe Sanduskys.

Darkness settled cc""*!etelv down upon the forest as toes thinking over thia n, her little v. ^rrior pre sod to her uvMtom. Tbe i-* cry r»f «t echoed over tiw br e*p-:"-r of tb" livi-r, ands®".') i-hor-l in h"ir fouri'l. closed the flap of the tent, and »y .I^wn to u«r nation to Nek Fi-f.:aer h.. n«x', ':*y.

With the coining of nxtrnin she tbrHl r* i-f «r!' Km her ?r-

t* on, IK -a--!, ing ber that i'ant come. th--Indian r*irS as Mrivhte siv.-r un,!"i8he r'imin* »l purpose, U.V that ha won id "'.villi she would

mi,!-" titrv sjrf-.jj of Hi |."p: !U6l illixVi? U4tl iifcf 1 one fthe young'

not cr-Twnt.

TXRRE HAUTE SATURDAY fiVESTING MAIL. 1HS

The news of Waunita's departure was soon noised through the camp, and the Indians crowded around her tent with their offerings of dried meat and other food, so that she was suppled for even a longer journey than that which she con tem plated.

Her preparations were soon made. Tbe canoe that bad been selected had an abundance of skins and blankets placed in it, to furnish a couch for her and her child. The food was also placed therein, and her rifle, a gift from Munro, which she could use with skill, and the few otner things needful.

The whole camp sympathized with the sad-eyed girl, whose love for the white hunter caused her to brave the journey whose determination could not be determined—a search for tbe Panther over a wide stretch of forest, that might take her days to traverse. So the bank of the river was crowded with the Indians, to bid her farewell and wish her a successful journey.

Tne old chief, when she was ready to start, stepped into his canoe, saying, as he seated himself and picked tbe paddle: "Waunita must not go alone past tbe pale-face settlement. Their you eg men are bad, and she might have trouble. Waconomo will go with her until they are behind us."

On tbe two canoes went down tbe broad stream side by side, a little distance apart and Waconomo, true to his word, did not leave Waunita until all danger to her from the white settlements was past. Then, resting on his paddle, he made ber a mute gesture o! farewell, and watched her until Bhe bad gone far down tbe stream, when he returned to the village.

All day she went on, and in tbe afternoon she reached the wide bay at the river's mouth. Fearlessly pushing on, directly for the long cape which formed its eastern extermity, she rounded it, and her canoe floated on tbe waters ot Lake Erie.

That night she sought a sheltered spot along the shore, and drawing her cauoe upon the sandy beach, ate ber evening meal, and composed berself to sleep in the bottom of the boat with her babe, well wrapped in blankets and skins, but with only the sky above her, twinkling with a myriad stars.

Two days later, she wearily paddled her canoe along the shore of the peninsula, looking still for some sign of human occupancy. Her eyes brightened as she noted tbe gleam of tbe white tents of Mr. Burnham's camp among the trees. It was the first token of the presence of man that she had seen since ahe left Waconomo, on the broad bosom of the river.

Plying her paddle swiftly, she was soon in front of the camp. There was no sign of life about it. Mr. Burnham and Doris were absent, and Jotham had taken advantage of his leisure to try his luck as a hunter with his old musket.

Waunita rested a moment, undecided what to do. Then she resolved to go on until she had secured a safe place to land and hide her canoe, when she would visit this camp and endeaver to learn more of its inhabitants.

Onward she went, until she saw the wide expanse of the bay open before her. Then she knew that she must be near her journey's end, and went on, along the bay shore of the peninsula, to find a suitable spot to land, and perhaps to remain for the night.

It was evening. A rude little lodge was pitched in a pleasant spot among the beautiful waters of the bay to be seen. Tbe lap was open, and tbe old Indian woman who bad warned Fairfax but a few days before, came out, and began to mend the dying fire that burned just before the opening. Looking up from her work, she saw Waunita stepping wearily from her canoe.

The old woman stood and watched the girl as she came toward her, carrying ner babe in her arms. Finally her dim eyes recognizsd Waunita, and she hurried to meet her. "Waunita is welcome," were ber words of greeting, as she took the babe from tbe tired girl, and tenderly carried it in her arms to her lodge. "Waunita lias come to visit the Panther," said tho girl. "Does Mahkewa know where his lodge is "The lodge of the white hunter is not along journey," replied the old woman, "but it is too far for Waunita to go tonight. She will stay with me till morning, and then g- to join her husband. Mahkewa lonely, and it would be well for her if Waunita would live with her always."

Though the suroundings weie rude, they were such as Waunita had been familiar with all her life and the varied cargo of the boat being removed to the lodge, and the boat itsei securely hidden, Wauuita felt happier than she had beei. for davs

With morning she prepared, with a light heart, to set out on her journey to tbe cabin on tbe edge of the swamp, Which was familiar to Mahkewa, though Munro had no idea that it had ever be«u visited in hia absence by any oue. The old woman b«d agreed to take care of the babe till Waunita should roturn for it, and gave ber such directions that she could not fail to find the spot she sought.

Light of heart, buoyed up by the hope of meeting Munro. the girl kept steadily on, guiding herself by tbe landmarks of which Mahkewa had told her and her heart yave a great bound when she reached his cabin, »nd saw, by the light blue smoke that curled lazily from tbe chimney, that it was inhabited. Just as she reached the door, it opened and Munro stood upon the threshold.

An angry imprecatiou came from his lips. "Tbis something I bad not looked for," be said to himself.

Waunita, ready to spring into his arms with a cry of happiness, stopped suddenly, tnd an expression of inteuee pain passed over his face. Tbe dark, soft pleading eyes were heavy with uosbed tears as they gazed ou his angry face. "Thiswon'tdo! I must ke#p ber from suspecting me till all is ready!" was his unspoi tho -ht. Hesl pcd

She no %r, at was an a»'*«Uir»sl-d .that »& should the nr- 1 ha JutMnn wo'nen, ttt the man- hnJgeoi old Mahkewa. Hawaii euuie aw :t of a noe. So tbe old chief and me her ttiere. aod aft«r »*i. b" •a., fain to -tent to her u'- would take ber -:-sk to the vrifc" and axti *r^nt to sfeicv* a «vr swbt leave brr 1 So, feeling newbat m-wm l. but,

Wau

nita's fciaj, *ud took be* icndiriy into his embrace. Then, leading her into the *»in be closed f!i" -1- nnfl paid "3 v. as sorry to fin th.it W a had come on such a long journey. Did she come alone "Yes," rhe replied sadly, "The Pan-th»-r st:n-r-«l a v.-a? ln^ that I OOOM uu u£(.r, and cxme to him. I4

heantfry?" MO, I '.ni v.'it. a'r.(:rv,w 1 V". soot hi b«'. -j j: :.ui and canning .Tfbm'ly, "But!am *or: TV !:•.!! Y.11 \T.P -N

FTTF BV.T

-tnt- ii'rr.ey a! -r:o. \S",u dl.i n-.i K-'ineone coina ,'*h y.u It v.y*.hinJ: •i'Tharrv? •'t- Wn-u'itn, her hui.itr'a

fcer, j.- j. t: .!•" Invo t:-* w-'itd Tint his Wu.4 a« irifl s,

-J."

her brow, nnl the tender, to v. rig irt ly i'l. He u-tve I'Hbi'- n-asouswl.y ha-' nv-t a jif-r. and when shesp-^wcf brumher tot!- if, 'x .5?... .K b» •-•5 a h'iu:-r eo r,j.--ir.:m-.. S h]

with a dull, sick pain at her heart, Waunita left MUDTO, and oame back to the lodge of the old woman.

She sat down and took her babe In her arms. Mahkewa inquired if she had found her husband, and Waunita found relief in repeating his fond conversation. Finally she told the old woman of his desire to have her stay there, instead of at his own cabin.

The old woman gladly assented, and they chatted pleasantly together, finally Mahkewa spoke abruptly: "A white hunter and his daughter are encamped by the waters of tne lake. The Panther is acquainted with tbem. Mahkewa has seen him there, and has found him talking with the white girl in the forest."

Her eyes were fixed sharply on poor Waunita's face. The latter made no reply. Placing the sleeping infant tenderly on the pile of skins, she rose, and, without a word, quitted the lodge. [TO BE CONTINUED.]

Note.—Be suspicious of persons who recommend any other article as "just as good," and take nothing else but Dr. Bull's Cough Syrup.

A party paid ten dollars for a horse at an auction sale. Tne horse was lame and bruised all over. A bottle of Salvation Oil costing 25 cents was used he is now valued at two hundred dollars.

THE KITCHEN.

VALUABLE COOKING RECIPES.

The following have been tested and used in tbe family of the editor of The Mail, and we commend them to our readers:

OYSTER SALAD.

One large can cove oysters, 8 eggs, I large head celery or cabbage. Make a dressing of the eggs, cups vinegar, pepper, butter, salt and mustard. Cut up tbe oysters and celery, mix, and pour dressing on just before serving.

CRULLERS.

One cup sugar, 2 eggs, 1 cup sweet milk, butter size of walnut, 2 teaspoonsful baking powder, nutmeg and salt, flour to make as soft as can be handled. Do not work the dough. 1

ICE CREAM CAKE.

Whites of 8 eges, 1 cup milk, 2 cups pulverized sugar, cup butter, 2H teaspoonsful baking powder, VA cups flour. Cream butter and sugar. Add milk and flour with baking powder and tben tne beaten whites.

CREAM ICING.

White of 4 eggs, beaten very light, 3i cups pulverized sugar. Dissolve the sugar in water and boil until it hairs. Pour it on the eggs and beat hard uutil it is cold. Before it cools add 1 teaspoonful of pulverized citric acid and two teaspoonsful vanilla. When cold spread between tho layers as thick as the cakes themselves.

FRUITCAKE.

One and Vj lbs butter, 1 lbjfiour, 1 lb sugar, 3 lbs raisins (seeded), 2 lbs currants, 1 lb citron, 1 lb figs, 13 eggs, 15 cents' worth orange and lemon peel, (mixed), 2 tablespoonsful ground cinnamon, 2 tablespoonsful ground cloves, 3 nutmegs, 1 teaspoonful mace, 1 cup molasses, 1 teaspoonful alspice, 2 wineglasses best brandy, 2 wineglasses wine. This makes two large cakes. Send to bakers to bake. .J." CHOW-CHOW. '4

Four quarts small cucumbfefs, 4 quarts white onions, 4 quarts string beansgreen—2 quarts lima beans, 1 bead cabbage, 50 gii kins, 4 qts. cauliflower, 1 doz. small red peppers, (seedless), 10 cloves, 2 ounces celery seed, 1 ounce white mustard seed, 1 ounce turmeric, 1 ounce sti cinnamon, I pound mustard, 1}4 pounds sugar. Let the cucumbers remain oue night in weak salt water. Boil the beans and cauliflower ten minutes, then add everything except pickles cover with vinegar in which mustard has been mixed, boil until the vinegar thickenB. Add pickles about ten minutes before leaving the fire. Half of this receipt may be used as this makes a lurpe quantity. Seal it in bottles, having sufficient vinegar to come to the top.

CHOPPED HAM KOR SANDWICHES. *!TO rtne pound boiled bam, choppoci very fiue, take six hard boiled eggs. Mix tbe yolks with vinegar, pepper, salt and mustard chop the whiles with the ham. _____________

ANOTHER LIFK 8A VJZD. About two year* af, a prominent citizen of Chicago was toid by his physicians that he must die. TUey said his system was so debilitated that there was nothing left to build on. He made up his mind to try "new departure." He got some of Dr. Pierce's "Golden Medical Discovery" arid took it according to directions. Ho began to improve at once. He kept up tbe treatment for some months, and is to-day a well man. He says tho "Discovery" saved bis life.

Widows who live in grass retiiement shouldn't throw glances.

MODERN A RCIII1ECTURE. Mr. W. W. Armitage, architectural draughtsman, No. 402 Montgomery street, San Francisco, California, writes that having a very severe cough, which he found it difficult to remove, he tried Red Star Cough Cute, and after a few dose- was completely cured. Encouraged by this remarkable result, be gave it to the young members of his family who were sick from a like cause, and it produced similar effects upon tbem. He recommends its use in every household.

Almost anything that fits is considered fashionable now.

The "Old Commoner" as tbe friends of Thiiu 1. Stf-v-jrm, tbe distinguished Congt!_-^:i a,n v."jre fond of calling him, once wrote to a fellow member who was iiff' iug from indigestion and kidney "Try Misbler's Herb Bitters, I believe it will cure yon. I u-'l it for both ind?ration aud aflWuon oi ihe kidneys, auo it is tbe roost wonderful coitii ination of medicinal b^rbs I ever saw,

A Chin^" phy»iciaa ha* opened an office in

Vf-Mms of y*»ntbfol indiscretions, sofIlering from nerwu*- deMiity, lack of -«.• fin- uiory, and kin-fs sjiup'.tMia. sii 10cents in b: iojpifor large illustrated treatise, j-i\in: or ".-itaJn »ure, with rmm-!!!•:•:'.i.-i. Address, ary Med"sal Ai-^vriation, AOS

Main bireet, ButUlo. X. V.

For rfariy I a vie* f!m -r Ciwij rh. I have wied rr*ny vSflfC little or BO ««.

M.'.it 1.3 cn» "1 Bly'* Cream Jtsirn aud more real bf»ti«iit fr that than -iH tbe «tadded U-tr-th-er. Y011 cat! rfin.mmeod it tjeiog a awfftMid valua. le medicine.—A. L. FUJU.KB, Daaby, N. Y.

From the Old Dominion.

I have been a sufferer for many yearn, from Cattarrh and Blood Taint. After the application of all tbe known remedies for such diaeasses, I found myself last summer on the very verge of the grave. Nothing seemed to do me amy good. As a last lesort I commenced taking S. S. S., and have taken in all 18 bottles. Before I had finished tbe second bottle I felt a decided improvement, and am to-day enjoying most excellent health—better than for many years. 1 take great pleasure, therefore, in recommending Swift's Specifio for these diseases.

MRS. E. J. COSNAHAN.

Richmond, Va., June 29,1885.

Swamp Malaria Conquered. I have been using Swift's Specifio in my family for the past two years as an antidote for malaria and also as a blood purifier, with the most satisfactory results. I live on the banks of the Ouchita river, in what is called the swamp country. Myself and family enjoy as good or even better health tbau the average people who live in the hill country. I am confident that S. S. S. has banished tbe malarial poison from our systems, and consequently given as good health. I use it at intervals during the spring and summer, wbea tbe system indicates, being charged with poison, and it invar-| iably drives it out.

E. B. CRYEKS.

Trenton, La., June 30, 1885. Swift's Specific is entirely vegetable. Treatise on Blood and Skin Diseases mailed free.

THE SWIFT SPECIFIC CO., Drawer 3, Atlanta, Ga. or 1{7 W. 23d St., N. Y.

crJACOBS Oil

THE GREAT

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Jjoiiaofnppctlir, Howrlii costivc, l'aiu in tho bend, with dull nenaatlon in tho back part, Ptilu under tho abouldcr-. blade, Fullnoan after eating, with a dininclination to exertion of body or mind. Irritability of temper, Low npiritn, with fcclfntf of bnvina nejrlectcd name duty, Woarincon, Dlzzlncsa, Fluttering at tho Heart, Dots before tho eyca, Ilcndacho over tho risht eye, Restlessness, with fitful dreams, Highly colored Urine, and

COWST8PATBON.

TCTT'S Pli.J.9 are especially adapted to such caso!«, 0110 dose cfTects such a chnngc of fee! tifr 11 to astonish the sufferer.

They Increase the inetlt«!,and cause tho body to Tnke ou J'lcnU, triii'* tho *v«tom is nonrished, nnd by th -ir Tonic Action on the Digestive OrKaito.Hesttilar Mtools ajro

TUTTS

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GHAT JUIR or WHISKFUB changed to a GLOSHV BLACK by a stntriH application of this DTK. It imparts a natural color, acts instnntuneously. Sold by Druggists, or sent bv express on receipt of #1. Office, 44- Murray St., Now York.

Tfce BUYERS' GUIDE fa issned Sept. and March, each year. 49-356 pages, 8%xll% lncheSfTOltbovei 3,500 illnst rations a whole Pictnre Gallery. GIVES Wholesale Price*

direct to eotuumrrs on all goods tot. personal or fhmily use. Tells how to order, and give* exact cost of every thing yon use, eat, drink, wear, or have fnn with. These INVAIA'AKLK BOOKS contain information gleaned from the markets of the world. W® will mail a copy FREE to any address upon receipt of 10 cts. to defray expense of mailing. I«et us hear from yon. Respecttfnlly, MONTGOMERY WARD A CO. 227 & 220 Wabnah Avenue, Chicago, 111,

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Head. Allay# In-

Ifliimation. Meal»

luie Soros. E»-

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Smell. A fjiilck

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repo-

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Men Think-

they know all about Mustang Iiniiiicnt. Few do. Not to know not to have.

-V Jk