Saturday Evening Mail, Volume 17, Number 30, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 15 January 1887 — Page 2

THE MAIL.

A PAPER FOR THE PEOPLE.

IN DARKNESS.

As one who from the house door goes at night— (A stormy night, when clouds drive eerily), And, ere he goes, puts out the only light That, glimmering through darkness on his sight, Perchance a welcome homeward guide might be} So from the warmth, the shelter and the love (Which more than walls or .cres make the home), Turned I away. No star that gleams above— 'No guidance such as awkward led the doveCan point me back—doomed ever more to roam. Hod with the awful blackness of the night, Had that my ruthless hand put out the light. —Walter Buell in Detroit Free Press.

I had a mania for hands, had made a study of thorn all my life, observing them closely and connecting them with tho characters of the individual and I could not rid my mind of the sight of of these white ones. "Who draws the water here?" I asked lit Mrs. Jane when we sat at lunch a few hours later. "Sarah or Yiney," answered Mrs. Jane. ,,

I had seen them both they were mother and daughter, and black as a black night. "Does any one overcome from another houso to get water here?" I asked. "Oh! yes," replied Mrs.

I saw hor face—not hor face, her eyes! They were wonderful—brown, limpid, long-lashed, and so largo! The face was nothing—a blowsy blank.

Instinctively with tho gust the hands went up, the* hat was drawn down, and there was onlv a hired girl, stepping, not

& &

Miranda.

{Dorothea Dean in Brooklyn Magazine.] I wa« sitting in mr cool summer par lor at Mrs. Jane's when I first ww her. Not Mirinda total then only a pair of white, strong hands, pulling down the pole of the well-sweep. Their whiteness startled me it was a dazzling and yet dull white and thej' drew down the pole, heavily weighted as it was at one end, with an easy air of power that moved me to admiration and envy.

To whom could they belong? I won dered. Mrs. Jane had not hands like these, nor had her nieco. One over the other they pulled down the pole, held it still an instant, and then let the long length slip quickly up again through their white circlet. So engrossed was I in watching them that it never occurred to me, till tne whiteness ceased to cross my vision, that my wonderment could easily be satisfied by rising from my lounging-chair and crossing over to the window. Then I rose and looked out.

There was no sight of human being at the well or down the long, grass-grown path. The sweep was not even stirring In the motionless May air. Perhaps it had been a mirage of my drowsy brain, or the hands ghostly hands. Yet there were drops of water trickling down the flume and a splash on tho curb and platform.

Jane

"Farmer

East's folks got all their drinking-water from this well they say no other is so deep and cool." "And who draws it?" "The hired help mostly," replied my landlady "what is it to you?"

I made no answer. Of course, it was not the hired help. would bide my time.

It was just at sunset when I saw the hands again, and, this time, the whole of the personage attached. "Farmer East's hired help," said my landlady over my shoulder as I looked out on a blue cotton blouse dim with frequent bleachings of alkali, a faded red skirt, huge rubbered and rosinesUckinged feot. The hired help? then surely not tho same whit© hands? And following ovory detail of the tlimsy dress, I noted the stubby figure that was not a shape but a structure merely, the poor shoulders, tho short neck, the hair that was unmistakably yellow and not gold and then I mechanically followed the linos of the blue sleeve till I saw the white hands on the gray pole.

When the water rushed from the flume I watched for her lift the nail up and go along tho path. Instead she turned around so that she faced mo, yot without giving me a glimpse of her face, for the broad-brim mod man's hat shielded it completely. She raisod her head and looked off to the mountain. For a minute, perhaps, she stood thus, then she turned but as she stooped to lift the brimming pall a sudden gust of mountain winci swept down from the tree-tops and lifted tho broad brim of her hat flat a a in

the grassy

path, one side freighted down with the tooavv pail, one arm horizontally extended to'oirect the balance. Had I fancied again? Wore the eyes and hands a eoneoit of mv imagination?

After this I watched for her every day. Always twlee, often more than twice, aho came, and always one of the times at sunset. Then, and never at any other time, she turned and looked to the mountain. Curious at this, I went out and stood In the same position she had and looked. Through the shimmering green of the oaks was a little break and a vistaed view of the mountain not a prettv glimpse, merely a few straggling evergreen trees on a high, bleak part of it. What could she see there? and why should she look only at sunset?

The next evening I stayed over by the well when I heard the click of the street gate and stood there when she came up. I did not speak but watched her—watched the hands, envied them, devoured them, wondered at them, thinking there must be character, strength, soul, purpose, everything in the make-up of their owner. I said, as she was letting the pole whirl swiftly up through her fingers: "It is verv high «P now, that end you had in your reach a moment since. I should not like to see it go so beyond me, once had grasped it it is letting power slip from you."

She looked at me, not with surprise nor with assurance and then she looked up into the blue sky, where the end of the long pole was chained to the sweep. "What would be the good, inarm, she said, "of having it down? My pail is full now marm." And she stooped and lifted the pail, but suddenly, teeming to recollect something, turned and looked to the distant mountain. Only for a moment, then she was gone.

I stepped forward and looked again upon ber little vista. Through the break in the brilliant green I saw the bend of the wooded mountain and a broad belt of vellow light lingering behind and above the tree-tops. In the morning I conldsee the separate trees even now each branch of the evergreen trees was plainly distinguished, for the light was Ullow and strong. But why should she, this girl, this hired help, look toward it nightly? Oould ahe aee and appreciate the delicate tints and sombre

•TSSid not get her out of my thoaght* after this. Not only the hand*, but the erea! bow could they both have come into ao incongruous a aetting? or waa it

—^tlble that the setting was not that, tut only rough because unpolished? A su'dden thought occurred to me. Why not take her, polish her, make her whole beautiful as her hands? The eyes hinted at a soul beneath their brown depths. What they needed, surely, was only a few doors "opened, only a little beauty and light let in. Suppose I try it?

It startled me at first I grew used to it, though, and it fascinated me. Why should I not take her? there was no one in all the world had the right to say me nay. I. Catherine Stoddard, could remember back thirty-two years, had lived thirty-seven. For twenty years I bad enjoyed my annual income of four thousand—all mine, no one to support out of it. "Give me a share do not let it be incumbered by persons or conditions. I will be satisfied with less, so long aa what I do have is mine,' I said to my brother, Bannatyne, when my fathers estate was being settled and they were urging me to accept as my portion the fine old house and grounds, and yet incumbering it with conditions of possible marriage and issue and death.

I had my way, and, like my patron saint, for whom I was named, swore celibacy all the days of my life. It must be confessed, though, that often I had been lonely in these twenty years often there had come to me a longing to have some one to belong to me, to be all mine own, though I would never have acknowledged this to Bannatyne or my friend, Christine Barton. But here was an opportunity of gratifying the wish. Should I embrace it? I planned, I dreamed of it, and waking, planned again. And each day the hands crept deeper into my heart. I loved them, admired them, worshiped them I began to want to touch them, and fancied what strength they would give, how effective they would be in pleading. And so daily they were before me they seemed to implore me to take them, to give them soft ease, to put them in their rightful place.

And I thought of the hands Vedder made, in his accompaniment to the Song of Omar Khayyam, "Hands filled with the tangled skeins of human life and instinct with meaning," the tangled skein forming itself ever into that mystic swirl of life and death that seemed never absent from the painter's thoughts.

These white, beautiful hands appealed to me strongly, subtly this tangled skein of human life—what knot, what twist of it had placed the threads of mine among soft, easy ways, and hers among hard? Why had I right to step on velvet carpets while she scrubbed splintered floors? Was it a twist of the threads of her life and mine that gave to me square, thin hands and round, colorless eyes, leaving to her those exquisite ones? Had the tangle given her my eyes and hands,

01*

had I taken from

her this sense of refinement that had been my solace from a child? Which was the robbed one, which the thief?

It mystified me, it maddened me. I threw 'down the copy of Stuart Mill—I tossed it on the table beside Comte and Hume and Locke, tossed from my mind their "Induction and Causation," their "Hethods of Agreement and Difference," and "Residue and Concomitant Variation." I had laid by the summer to these studies, had come down to the valley to pursue them in quiet. But here was an opportunity of penetrating nature other than by induction, here was something real to study, something to prove.

Suppose I took this girl with the hands and eyes, put her in dainty attire, let her live in rich, shaded rooms, and eat of delicate fruits and viands, and be among strong, stirring pictures and beautiful people—would there not be a response, a thrill of like life, a bursting of the caged soul? Aye, surely.

By a process of elimination I set aside as unimportant the other facts which stared me in the face—the rude body, the rude surroundings from a child, the wholly uncultivated mind. The hands and eyes were there, and a proof that all else was, only dormant because of a not per atmosphere. /hile the spell was upon me she came to the well, and I stepped to the door and called her in. She obeyed the summons, only lifting her eyes in the least touch of wonderment, and sat back in the velvet chair I had placed for her with an inborn grace, I thought.

Drawing a hassock up beside the chair, I sat down and touched the white hands that laid on the arm of the chair. Ah! what gracious things would they not be capable of? "Miranda," I said, "how long have you been living at service?" "Seven months, marm." "Will you stay at the place you are now all the rest of the summer?" "Oh! no, marm!" she said, "they don't *are for me any longer because the toacher he doesn't board there now, nor the clerk, and Mrs. East says, marm, she can do her work herself."

It had been a perplexing thought how I was to get Miranda away from her place but there was the way made plain, a sure proof that I was doing the right thing. So I told her what I wanted of her, keeping my eyes on her face and watching all its'phases of wonderment and delight and indecision and pleasure, as I pictured to her in glowing colors the dainty dresses, the rich food, the elegant home, the great city ways and sights the free use of gold for all her desires, the free love of my heart. I fascinated her and gained my point. She would go with me in the morning, and, meantime, I was to write a letter to her mother explaining it all.

She left me, her face all eager with excitement, and went out and took up the heavy pail—"for the last time," I thought, exultingly. But I noticed she turned and looked to the mountain be fore she walked away and, as she looked, a shadow came over the bright eagerness and the eyes were dim.

I told good Mrs. Jane that I had altered my summer's plan and was going back to the city, paid her twenty dollars in gold for the disappointment, and then begaa to

{Mick

ray trunks in a sort of ex

ultation. I had something to study now, some one to watch over, some one to be all mine. I put Mill and his oompatriots in the bottom of ny biggest trunk, saying to myself that next summer, when

study them

Miranda and I

would be in England and then I began to imagine Miranda in blue flannel traveling suit, to tone down the yellow shock of hair, walking the deck of the palace steamers I could see the look In her eyes when she would pass with me down the nave of St. Paul's or Westminster and face the choir how white her hands would look, how like chipe of marble they would gleam on the 6*1 uatrade* of gray stone and granite! Hardly could I aleep the long night for thinking of it, and mapping out all the untried years.

At a little after nine in the morning, just as I was wondering if, after all, ahe would elude me, there was a timid knock at the door—and Miranda!

She was attired in a whole dress of dull red, that brought out a roseate glow on her*face and yellow hair. On her head was some sort of antique hat of mountain style, which to my overwrought Imagination seemed to be trying to be true to ita mechanical law or rising as highaa its source —mine, according to the prevailing fashion^ rested flat as a news

|HVTMUU^ IWIUtvUf spa per on my lengthwise puflk. nd the hands had cloth gloves, pur

TERRB HAUTE SATURDAY EVENING MAIL.

ple at that, over them. I shuddered, and doubted with the hands covered, and the red dress on, she looked s® like what she really was, a hired girl from the mountain. Should I?—but I smothered the feeling before it could form itself into a thought, and we started for the depot.

At nightfall we reached the city. I had dispatched to Julia and Hetty to have the parlors aud bedrooms aired and lighted so the gasiliers were brilliantly burning when we drove up to the house, and through the portieres as we passed through the hall were glimpses of the blue and gold of the parlors. Miranda gave a sigh as we entered. I fancied it was one of content that she had at last fouitd her true level.

All of August we stayed in the city. I had beautiful artistic dresses made for her instead of roseate stockings and rubbers, I gave her morocco slippdrs and satin shoes. The daily perfumed baths toned down the blowsy face the soft brushing smoothed the yellow shock into a ruddy gold.

I had given her no studies that was my plan, my problem. I was to let her alone, to surround her with beauty, and see if she would not blossom out instinctively for I had fancied her a bud all ready to bloom if given the proper atmosphere. I was to make the setting of the stone pure and bright, and see if the stone would not prove a gem, and shine I was sure the gem was pure.

My friends were at the seaside or mountain no one saw Miranda to know her. I played for her beautiful symphonies and studies and sonatas I laid fine engravings and views about we drove and walked and I read and sang to her. Now and then she said Something which made me think she was undergoing the process, would in time blossom. But there was no soulful light yet in her eyes, no gleam of hidden spirit over the face. I tried to be patient, though, and was never once faithless.

September came—September days often beautiful and bright in the country, oftener hot and oppressive in the city. The pavements and stone walls and brick houses were heated to a furnace heat: the wind hardly blew over the scorching scene, and we were all wilted in the torrid air. I was sitting alone, one of those hot mornings, in my shaded parlor, cooling drink beside me, palm leaf fan in my hand, idly planning lor Miranda, wondering what she would make in the years to come, fancying how she would* look when she would be twenty-one, and- a bride, perhaps, in white moire and pearls and duchess* lace and orange blossoms and I thought of the morning she came to me arrayed in her red dress, ready to enter into this new life.

At the contrast of my two mental pictures I laughed aloud—a habit I had. As the laugh died away, a consciousness of some one in the stillness came to me, and I turned and looked toward the door. Mirinda was there—Mirinda! In the ruddy dress and thick boots and ancient hat! I began to laugh, again, when she came quickly though reluctantly forward, stood beside me. I gazed other in amazement. Was this a bit of acting? "O marm! you'll forgive me!" she exclaimed, "but I can't stay any longer. You've been good to me, but I ain't happy. I thought I would be, and I liked the pretty clothes and the big house and the silver dishes on the table but they aint everything, marm. It does not suit me I was never made fer it, and the heat it fairly chokes me, and I don care if I do tell you—I've got a beau on the mountain home. He's Sylvester he's begn waiting for me two years, an I havenlfserved hitn squfcre inf eomin here and planning to give hiui up."

I did not speak in the pause she made it pleased me to be still and let her talk. When she began again she seemed embarrassed, and fumbled nervously with her dress. The hands were covered with the odious cloth gloves. If they had been in sight I never could have been so cruel they would have moved me to pity her, would have compelled me to. "I loved him, anyway," she continued, "and it aint no good for me to know more than he does. Thats what mother said when I wanted to go to school last winter, instead of going to the valley to service. I told her I would like to know some more if I was to get married in a ar. And she said—this was what she said, marm:

4You

don't want to know

more than your husband they don't like it they like to be biggest in everything: and you'll be happier if you let them be. It isn't natural for a man to look up to a woman and ask her about things, and he's the one to be respected.'

Shades of Catherine of Seville! To hear such sentiments in my house! "So to think," Miranda said, "as how I'd better go back again, seeing that I love Sylvester and want to marry him."

I noticed that she had lapsed into the old, rude vernacular with the old clothes. That was a little triumph of my theory. She had seemed, unconsciously, to speak properly in her rich attire, never once marry their appropriateness. As she ceased speaking, she looked appealingly up at me but 1 gave no sigh of relenting, and, after a few moments of silence, she continued: "This is not the first time I have thought of it. I haven ever forgotten it but I've kept shoving it down and saying to myself that I would forget. I haven't, though and to-day I looked out of the east parlor-window, and there was a little place, marm, right through the trees, where I could see the Blue Hills. There was a place like it in the valley—I could see it from the well—it was a piece of Sylvester's farm, and when the sun had just gone down you eould see right through the branches of the spruce-trees. Sylveeter said, when I told nim, that he would always go there and stand by one of the trees when the sun was going down, and maybe I'd see him. I never did but Sylvester thought I could see miles off, because my eyes were so big. I always looked, though, when I went to draw the water."

This was it, then this was why she had looked sad when she turned from that last night this explained the shadow and the tears! "What will you do?'* I said: "how will you get home? and when will you want to go?" For even then I did not choose to relent. How could I And words to express my disappointment? "Oh! I can go," she answered. "Iremember how we came, and I've enough money for my ticket. The mail-man he comes to the valley twice a week for the mountain mail, and he lives on our road. I can ride over with him." "Certainly,'' I said."

Then oyer and over she thanked me for all I had done, and said that it because she was not really fit that she went away. I watched her closely as she talked. The face was softer, certainly, than when she came the figure was better, the voice sweeter but the eyes, that I had so hoped would become soulful and beautiful, were not they were big. brown, limpid still, but no expression, alas! none.

I called Jane and told her to accompany Miranda to the depot and put her on the right train. I saw that she had sufficient passage-money, and then I turned my need aside and looked steadily out of the window. At the door she fumbled and could not open it with the clumsy gloves on. She draw them off.

I could feel that she was doing this, though did not see. I knew the white of the hands were dimming the porcelain knob, and I tried not to look, but could not resist. There they were—strong, white, and beautiful! the nails like a flutter of rose-petals blown over the whiteness! I stretched out my arms involuntarily, I felt that I must keep them, must bring them back. I had loved them so! Why were they given to her? why must they go from me?

They were gone, and I was alone. For hours I sat there, going over every detail of my plan that had proved so miserable a failure. As I thought of this last incident I was ashamed of my coldness and cruelty. I might have been sympathetic, might have given her all her clothes and belongings to help in her new,home. Yet, why should I? She had found them all to be burdensome, she had been unhappy because of them —why should I force them upon her again and mar her rude life with Sylvester?

How had I failed? I could not determine. But I kept all the story to myself till in the late winter, when I told my friend, Christine Barton.

She laughed merrily, and she said, putting her arms up about my neck: "O you poor St. Catherine! What a wheel of torture you are twisting yourself upon, with all these ideas and fancies and studies of yours! Let them be, and be an every-day woman! Why, bless you, dear, you need not be so disgusted because of Miranda leaving all this luxury for that Sylvester of hers. I do not blame her one iota. Plebeian or patrician, these lovers absorb one's whole thoughts I have one myself, and, though he is a different variety from Sylvester, yet he is the same species for I could not be content in the Queen's palace with him in the Lone Valley. He is the vorv Rev. John Eggleston, my dear, and he lives in Brighton, your summer haunt so now, instead of paying your board to meek Mrs. Jane, you shall move your dainty parlor to the Manse and bide with me, for I am going in the spring.'

She did. And one day in early July I received a dispatch it ran thus: "Miranda and Sylvester to be jined. John is to jine them. Do come."

I went and in the heat of the July Sabbath we drove across the green valley and up the wooded mountain road to the little school-house where the meeting was to be. "The 'jining' is to be after the service, you know, explained Christine as we filed into the little entryway and settled our draperies and waves which the vigorous mountain wind had disarranged.

Inside, on one of the side seats, sat Miranda. I saw with a little glad surprise that her dress was blue and simply made, her hat actualljr of the same shade and trimmed with only a ribbon. Her wedding suit had been modeled from ber morning dress. She looked pretty her face was soft, and if ever there was a glimpse of soul in the big eyes it was there then, on this her wedding-day. •she started a little when she first recognized me, but she did not stare, like the others. Perhaps she had gained that from her short life with me.

I looked around the school house for Sylvester, searched closely along the well-filled seats on "the men's side, looked them over and over again, and gave up finding him, when on one of the scarred, notched desks I saw a now hat —a soft, black felt, with a cord and tassel on one side, a primrose in the band, and peeping from beneath it a thum and finger of a white cotton glove. Behind the hat sat Sylvester. He was not tall, he was not handsome nor big nor broadshouldered, but small, thin, red-haired, fre*(kled!

I had fancied he would be big and com-manding-looking. anyway. Perhaps his heart was big land true I hope it was full of love for the great-eyed little girl who sat across the aisle gazing out of the window over the waters of the broad bay. What was she thinking of, I wondered—longing for the pleasant ways of her city home and regretful of her choice? anxious as to the possibilities and doubts of her future? Pshaw! her mind was probably at rest, and I was as bad as the country folk in staring so.

I listened to the cultured, yet plainly worded sermon, and I looked round on the faces of the weather-beated men and worn, tired woman, drinking so eagerly these words of life. What a tower of strength the text was: "Lo, I am with you always, even to the end of the world."

From one window I could see the beautiful valley, from the other the blue waters of the bay, and the misty island three miles out. What a place to live in! What inspiration te gain from the valley and the hills and the sea! I did not wonder the pastor was awed, that he spoke with a depth of eloquence I had never heard surpassed and I experienced with the people the regret when he paused and said, "Let us pray,"

Then came the ceremony. The two "contracting parties" walked up and stood befere the little wooden table. The pastor spoke the few words of admonition, joined the hands, and made the twain one. Those snowy hands! how beautiful and wonderful they were! Christine involuntarily started forward when she saw them, and the Rev. John Eggleston glanced quickly from them to me" He had heard the story long before. "They do say they be as white as that when they're just out of a black wool tub," I heard an admiring voice behind me whisper. The benediction came, and then the meeting was out.

I stepped forward and shook hands with SyWester then I took both Miranda's white ones in my own, and bent and kissed her on the great eyes. I could not wish her joy how could there be joy in such a dull, barren life? If she had stayed with me! and I thought of the bride in moire and pearls and duchesse lace and orange blossoms—

Ten years passed. All of the ten I was in England. When I returned, I went down to the yalley to my Christine and on a waning summer afternoon the pastor droye me up the mountain to see Miranda. He put me out before a small, shingled, whitewashed house. In afield at one side was a man piling burnt logs* in the window were Ave chili

...

luv

UUftUIr iv^o

id faces and

in the dooway stood Miranda—not a girl now but a woman, with a house and husband and children.

She knew me atonoe, and seemed glad to see me. She brought me milk and ginger cakes and the hands she passed me the filled tumbler with were white as the milk within. She talked to me freely and calmly of all her life of herehildren, their ages and attainments, and how wonderful the little one was who died. Then the pastor droye up, and I rose to take my leave. I eould not forbear asking her one question, sashe stood before me in the doorway. Within. were the tow-head fed children, the rough, bare floors without, the charred fields, the red-haired, blackened man she stood between—fresh-looking still, and the hands resting against the framework of the whitewashed door—how yellow and gray the whitewash seemed!

I looked straight into the brown eyes, and I said: "j4re you happy, Miranda, happier than if you had remained with me? "Oh! yes," she said, "if you'll excuse me I was not ever suited for the other life, and could never have been happy in It."

I knew she meant it. And I thought,

as I drove down to the valley, of the first time I came face to face with her, and spoke to her the reply she made floated back to my mind, and I wondered if there was not philosophy in it. She had no need of the wellsweep, because her pail was full, was what she had said.

And I, I had fancied that because the heights of luxury and refinement were so far beyond her reach, she would want them—Her pail was full, her life complete without.

The distressing disease, Salt Rheum, is readily cured by Hoods Sarsaparrilla, the great blood purifier. Sold bv all druggists.

THE LITTLE PEOPLE.

A little friend of ours was recently taken to the barber's shop to have his hair cut for the first time. As the barber cut and clipped the little fellow seemed to become considerably alarmed, for he suddenly said, in anxious tones: "You'll leave enough to grow, won't you, mister?"

A child at a boarding house, who had made friends with the children of a family who were about to leave, saw with disappointment the advent of a gentleman and wife without children. She anxiously asked mother concerning them:

Why is it, mamma, that Mr.

and Mrs. Blank have no children? Are they bachelors?" It was a Baltimore schoolboy whose bad behavior had led the master to depart from his accustomed rule and resort to a flogging. The next day the boy "brought a note." The master read it as follows: "Licking don do this boy no good—talk to him." Peculiarities about the epistle led to inquiries it turned out to have been written by the boy.

Little Mabel has had a birthday and is five years old. She has a little boy friend of six, whose mamma overheard the next morning the following conversation: "Now, Willie, you must put your arm about me so, drawing it about her waist, "and I'll put mine so, around you* neck, and then we'll walk along, and you must tell me that you love me. Thats courting, and we must begiu some time."

Men, such as U. S. Senator Voorhees, of Indiana, are loud in their praise of St. Jacobs Oil as an instantaneous cure for rheumatism, neuralgia, sciatica and other bodily pains.

A Two-foot ltule—Make your wife warm her feet before retiring.

PHOTOGRAPHS.

It seems hard that a man must become famous in order to sell his photograph. He must either commit a groat crime, or make a champion ass of himself, in which case [esthetic ladies become "wild" about him. "Pedacura Plasters" have become deservedly popular upon their own merits all "druggists keep them, and those who do not will get them. For Corns and bunions they stand to-day without a rival.

Some rich New York lovers pay $50 for a bonquet of white violets.

"Now, Gen'ml, you're posted come! Give us your views. In brush at the front, what's the powder to use?" He winked ivt a star as he puffed his cigar. And slowly replied, ilIna brush ut thejtont. I never use powder, but—SOZODONT."

(*o Where You Will

you'll find SOZODONT in vogue. Peole haye thrown away their tooth-pow-Jers and washes, and plfeced this odoriferous preservative of the teeth on the toilet table in their place. It keeps the teeth in splendid order, and spices the breath.

"Spalding's Glue," always up

What True Merit Will Do.

What is a cold in the head? Medical authorities say it is due to atmospherio germs, uneven clothing of the body, rapid cooling when in perspiration, Ac. The important point is, that a cold in the hear is a genuine rhinitis, an inflammation of the lining membrane of the nose, which, when unchecked, is certain to produce a catarrhal condition—for ca tarrh is essentially a "cold" which na^ ture is no longer able to "reselve" or thro-# off. Ely's Cream Balm has proved its superiority, and sufferers from cold in the head should resort to it before that common ailment becomes seated and ends in obstinate catarrh.

TIRED OUT!

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tttamr pnetiem, and find fca

flfjroa. la fwhjiw. oralowoop-

Otioaof tba ««am. Brown** bc«i1 UtUmif ltteafl thatte rUt»«t lecfc* Dm. W. H. WAisaa. H» ThW-ywood Suwi. GMnSsn. D. 0„ the-fade 3 tba tm. Hathiim twttf, B.«»

Oanaia* ban abov* Trad* Ma»kaad«(WMdi«dBiMf oowrappar. Take Mker. Matfaoalrhr BKOWS CUBICAL OS, BUTI19IX,

»*$ if-

MM*

*:fci StW

•fc A Captain's Fortunate

'JtL- aK Zz&Mj

Discovery.

Capt. Coleman, schr. Weymoth, plying between Atlantic City and N. Y.,*had been troubled with a couch so that he was unable to sleep, and was induced to try Dr. King's New Discovery for Consumption. It not only gave him instant relief, but allayed the" extreme soreness in the breast. His children were similarly affected and a single dose had the same happy effect. Dr. King's New Discovery is now the standard remedy in the Coleman household and on board tho schooner. Free trial bottle of this Standard Remedy at Cook, Bell fc Lowry's Drug Store. (4).

^Renews Her Vouth.

?own,

Mrs. Phcebe Chesley, Peterson, Clay Co.. tells the following remarkable story, the truth of which is vouched for by the restdents of the town: "I nm 73 years old, havebeen troubled with kidney "complaint and lameness for many years could not dresst myself without help. Now I nm free from, nil pnln nnd soreness, and am able to do all my own housework. I owe my thanks to Electric Bitters for having renewed my youth and removed completely all disease and* pain. Try a bottle, only 50 cents, at Cook, Belle and Loury's Drug store. (4)

Buckleu'a Arnica Salv«.

The Best Salve in the world for Cuts, Bruises, Sores. Ulcers, Salt Rheum,'Fever Sores, Tetter, Chapped Hands, Chilblains, Corns, ant all skin eruptions, and positively cures Piles, or no pay required. It is guaranteed to giv«

Jtsatisfj

perfec action, or money refunded. 25c. per box. For sale by Cook A Bell. (tf.)

CONSUMPTION CURED.

And old physicians, retired from practice, having had placed In his hands by an East India missionary the formula of a simple vegetable remedy for the speedy and permanent cure bf Consumption, Bronchitis, Catarrh, Asthma and ali Throat and Lung Affections, also a positive and radical cure for Nervous Debility and all Nervous Complaints, after having tested Its wonderful curative powers in thousands of cases, has felt it his duty to make it. known to his suffering' fellows Actuated by this motive and a desire to relieve human suffering, I will send free of charge, to nil who desire it, this recipe, in German, French or English,with full directions for preparing and useing. Sent by mall by addressing with paper, W. A. No YES, Rochester, N. Y..

stamp, naming this Power's Block. olo-eow 19t.

QLENHAM HOTEL,

FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK*' Bet. 21st and 22d sts., near Madison Square. EUROPEAN PLAN.

N. B. BARRY, Proprietor.

New ana periect plumbing, according to. the latest scientific principles.

HALL'S

There is more Catarrh In tills section of the country than all other diseases put together, and until tli» last few years was supposed to be incurable. For a great many year** ^Doctors pronounced it, a local disease, ana prescribed local remedies, and by constantly failing to cure with local treatment pronounced it Incurable. Science has proven Catarrh to be a constitutional disease, and therefore requires a constitutional treatment. Hall's

Catarrh Cure, manufactured by F. J. Cheney & Co., Toledo, Ohio, is the only constitutional cure now on the market. It is taken Inter_nally In doses from 10 drops to ii teaspoon fill. It acts directly upon the blood and mucus surfnccs of the system. They offer one hundred dollars for any case it fails to

#cure.

rto_ths

sticking point. 15-4w.

True modesty has such a sway over intemperate and licentious tongues, that they are unconsciously forced to recognize its merits by being silent in its presence.

The unprecedented sale of Boschee's German Syrup within a few years, has astonished the world. It is without doubt the safest and best remedy ever discovered for the speedy and effectual cure of Coughs, Colds and tho severest Lung troubles. It acts on an entirely different principle from the usual prescriptions given by Physicians, as it does not dry up a Cough and leave the disease still in the system, but on the contrary removes the cause of the trouble, heals tho parts affected and leaves them in a purely healthy condition. A bottle kept in the house for use when the diseases make their appearance, will save doctor's bills and a long spell of serious illness. A trial will convince you of these facts. It is positively sold by all druggists and general dealers in the land. Price, 75 cents, large bottles. [eow.

Send for circular^ and iestL-

'moninls. Address, F.J. CHENEY A CO.. Prop'rs, Toledo, Ohio. Sold by Druggists, 76 cents.

CATARRH CURE.

Lawrence, Ostroin & Co.'s

Famous "Belle of Bonrbon".

IS DEATH TO

MALARIA, CHILL8 AM) FEVER, TYPHOID FEVER, INDIGESTION, DYSPEPSIA, SURGICAL FEVERS,

BLOOD POISONING, CONSUMPTION, SLEEPLESSNESS or INSOMNIA, and DISSIMULATION of FOOD.

10 Years Olcl

Absolutely Pure. No Fusel Oil.

THE GREAT APPETIZER.

PRODUCING OUR •lCli£ ortOORMtf BSE MI3T THE FURTT OR NOMMTIMIT OFTNC MM THUS MOW IT Of fUSO. Oil KFBW IT IS Oil

LOUISVILLE, Kr., May 22, 1888.

This will certify that I have examined the Sample of Belle of Bourbon Whisky received from Lawrence Osimm A Co., and found the name to be perfectly free from Fusel Oil and all other deleterious substances and strictly pure. I cheerfully recommend the same for Family and Medicinal purposes. ,4 J1 P. darkuMI M. D.

Anylitical Chemist, Louisville, Ky. For sale by Druggists, Wine Merchants and Grocers everywhere. Price, fl.25 per bottle.

If not found at the above, half-dox. bottles express paid In plain boxes will be sent to any address In the United Mtates or Canada, on receipt of six dollars.

Lawrence, Ostrom A Co., Louisville, Ky.

H. Hl'LMAN, Agent, Terre Haute, Ind.

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