Saturday Evening Mail, Volume 17, Number 36, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 26 February 1887 — Page 7

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:rHE' MAIL.

PAPER FOR THE

MfBJv

WEARY.

li f'f

so weary oh, weary of tears

ary of heart aches and weary of fears fiery of mooning and weary of pakr, „,„

/eary,

so weary of hoping in vain.

r, so weary of the burdens of life of toilingonri weary of strife

reary

of parting and weary of night stM r, so weary, and longing for light.

f^Jry, so weary of waiting alone rftry of asking—receiving a stone .% Keaiy of watching, weary of jeers

Ve^g-y, so weary of taunts and of sneers.

1 1

Noary, so weary bat sometime 111 rest, eamlrasly sleeping, hands crossed on my br&ttlj more to sorrow, no more to weep «l'y to lie down and quietly sleep, —The Menorah.

How the Mice Did Play.

[Louise Stockton in Hairper's Bazar.] Vk! The Village of Spruce Creek consisted pf the Burnet homestead and the other Louses. The homestead was not the finest nor by any means the newest dwelling in the village, but it representI the aristocracy or the place. WhatTver the outside world knew of Spruce •reek it knew through the Barnet family. fnto it had been born a Commodore, a Ifudge, and a Major-General, and thus he navy, the law, and the army knew Jjf it. Whenever there was a great dinBrier, or a parade, or a state funeral or reception, Spruce Creek always looked to iee whether the name of Barnet was on [the published list is dignitaries, and .•alued the occasion accordingly.

And now still farther glory fell upon it, and it was represented In literature. In most of the leading magazines there suddenly appeared poems by Beulah Applegate Barnet. This was a distinguished and distinctive name, as the

'ommodore had been Reuben Applegate tornot, and the Judge, Benson Applegate Barnet, and in this family full I'tiraes were always signed.

Tho only shadow upon this new honor .as that lioulah did not livo in Spruce preek. Her father, who had been a youngor brother of tho General's had /one to Denver, where ho had married a daughter of a rich mine owner, and had boon engrossed in business at once. He was always Intending to return home, but, unloss his ghost accomplished the visit, his intentions bore no fruit. He died, and his wife died, and they wero buried in a tomb far more splendid than anything Spruce Creek ever know. The Commodore, the Judge, and the General 'n turn departed this life, but they all *lept together among tho Applegates and J.he Barnots, and Miss Page and her stepmother lived in the homestead together.

Miss Page Barnet, who was tho GenoralV •?'•& child, had always kept up a fpKJMififr*? 5jJidadenco with

Jence with her westVfym invited them to ^elkegan

justify

^«Nortfiwewann-

^io NortE*?1"

out

'v'

ui was the

_^_„v^ht in t^protocted ———X "come

A novel bo^^4 is ohjy pre-

vL'i York, one erowtf re ply "1?, Uoyi.-utted by anotherAcro«»uq,

uu'jy'thinRlTeJwwary^

itf

(.h

and deoidedly uni|ttiiUi ftunate ers to join in and boycott anted going to

It is fair to predtot! lawolligo«. t"CW^s

it,

a,*Xtly

bllxKard o^J&rthroiigh the Bar-

prevailjdppeoplo had not boon in

the \^4ai»,*»#en&y-four hours before it was decided that Maud was a Barnet, •and looked like hor cousin Page. Beulah was an Applegate. She had their soft vollow hair and brown eyes, with dark lashes and brows but Wilbur, the boy sevontoen, probably looked liko his nothor. This they all felt was a pity, as So bore tho Barnot name, and ought to uive looked it.

The Denver Barnots wero delighted |.vitl» their now hoino. Thoir aunt (rbo was everything that was kind aud

Aod. The Homestead impressed them it once. Tho large rooms, the great hquare hall, tho low broad staircase, and tho handsome heavy furnituro delighted bliem. The silver, the china, was in turn Iwlared delightful, and almost the first [thing Beulah shid was*, "Oh, Cousin [page, what possibilities you havo in this pouse!"

Before manv weeks they were rerfeotat home, there was a new phaeton, ml throe saddle horses, and groom.

(Viere

iThev made a tennis-court, and Tor ten miles around the country waked up. were music and singing, and metimes dancing, in the old house, hev made up riding parties and picnics, nd*Miss Page learned to play tennis, and nho forgot all her games of solitair*, and a partner was wanted sho danccd. It surprised her to find how she enjoyed iloasures which seemed to Iwloiig to foung people only, but it made her feel •)lder. The rush of youthful lifo around her Isolated her. and when she danced with a young fellow whom she remembered as a babv, she felt as if to make mends she ought to go upstairs and get out a cap and glasses. And it amused her when sho was reminded by their questions that these college graduates, men and women, who knew se much ,uoro than she did, and knew that they did, did not remember anything of "the •war." And she—woll, she stopnod telling stories of the great men whom she had mot, because too often a suddenly abstracted yet intent expression sugjrestkI that her auditor was calculating her irobable age.

Her cousins never offended in sueta wavs. Thev accepted her forty years as self evident disadvantage, but loved her in spite of them. And so they took her on the tide of their younger, more progressive life, and Miss Page liked it.

The one drawback to the new order Vras the upset condition of the house. In former davs, when a room was fixed twas "fixed*," and there was no need of "urther thought concerning iw Now a room was in the order—or disorder—in which it happened to be left: chairs out of place, the piano open and plied with music, window* without new, curtains crooked, rugs anywhere, hats everywhere but on the hat rack, and books and newspapers in all directions. Miss Page could have born all this, and she did not mind straightening a room every time she entered one, but it annowed iter to have so many alterations suggested. Beulah even draw plans for putting a bay-window in the library, and for into the parlor a little room

throwini where Mrs. barrels of sugar and coffee, and where Miss Page made cake. Wilbur wanted to move a grape arbor so as to enlarge the tennis ground, and when his cousia hesitated, he offered to pav all the ax* pensea. To Miss Page the Barnet hotwe was as finished aa the Great Pyramid.

step-mother, but it was practically Miss Page's. Mrs. Barnet was the second wife ana so seemed like a modern wing to an old building, a postscript, as it were. The whole Barnet family and the villagers looked on her as only a second wife. The mother of Page was the real Mrs. Barnet. And the realized this, and never pretended to interfere, as a first wife might, in the

affairs

In September Miss Page was ill. She had neuralgia, and night after night lay awake groaning with pain. The doctor gave her pills, powders, and drops, but she did not "respond," and he ordered her to the sea-shore.

She planned to stay two weeks, but the weather was charming, the sea-air did her good, and so she determined to give one more weak and perfect the cure. Then the whole family wrote to her and begged her to stay just one week more. Not one of them could "bear the idea of her coming back while there was a twinge of pain left." So, greatly touched by this eager aflection, to which Miss Page had been a stranger ever Bince her mother's death, she staid still another week. When this was almost gone, Maud wrote to her and bade her come on the 28th, and an the 5.10 train from the city, through which she would have to pass. The business-like and peremptory epistle surprised her a little. There was not a word about her health, and she read between the lines, "Now that we are ready to have you, come." But Miss Page was not morbid or distrustful, and she smiled over it and obeyed.

It was dark when she reached Spruce Creek, but Wilbur was waiting at the station, and seemed delighted to see her. There was a suppressed excitement in bis manner the nattered and pleased her no little. They walked along the road and in at a side gate which gave them a short-cut through the greunas. "Let us go in at the front-door," lie said "you are too distinguished a stranger to take any meaner entrance."

As they reached the porch the front door was thrown open, and a golden light shone out, and a white, slender figure darted into it. It was Beulah She stood there, slim and youthful. Her gown was of some soft woolen stuff, and was in straight lines except where a heavy cord girded high under her arms fell in along loop at the-sideand gatherered it up. "Why, you look like A picture," cried Miss Page, hurrying forward. Suddenly she stopped, and a gay peal of laughter greeted ner. She stood like the lady who "went to church one day," and "looked above and looked around," and really would almost as soon have seen a dead man on the ground as what she did see. "The Homestead" had vanished. In its stead was a house all color, brightness, and bric-a-brac. Everything that was of tho Barnets and the Applegates had gene. And gone was its artistocracy, and its dignity of age and of birthright.

Miss Page stood frozen by the horror of the sight. The king who saw an empty space where should have been the palace of his daughter, the Princess Aladdin, was not more shocked than she now was.

But the horror of her face was taken for surprise, the sickness of heart that made her brain whirl was read as admiration, and Maud camegayly forward and bade her welcome. "Come," she said—"come see what transformation scone we have prepared for you. Confess, Cousin Page, is It not lovely?"

Miss Page could not speak. She was so sensitive and tedder that she could not tell those happy, loving faces how hateful tho house looked, and she was too honest to deny herself "It is a great surprise—" she began and then she looked at the little group, and smiled. They wero all so picturesque! Maud was in a dress of pale dull yellow, and around her throat and wrists and waist was a curious embroidery of pearls. Mrs. Barnet had a trailing drefcs of brown brocade, and the finest and softest of thin muslin was wound around hor head into a turban instead of a cap.

They all stood In front of the door leading into tho parlor. Miss Page, looking in, saw a room new to her. All the paintings were gone, and a new papi covered the walls. The heavy curtains wore down, and long soft folds of dark red silk had taken their place. As she looked she saw objects familiar to her, but in now places. Tho chairs were covertid with Chinese embroideries over the arm of one sofa hung her own mother's India shawl, and on another was a tawny South American fur robe. On a table was tho leopard-skin from the library iloor, and in the corners were fans and parasols, and in a recess stood a great earthen jar of blue, in which the Barnet house-keepers had for generations been used to made their pepper hash. In it were two long stalks of cat tail. On the mantel-piece there was nothing but shells, brilliant in color, and heaped up as if they were bricks.

They took her into what had been the library. By what name it now knew itself she could not imagine. The heavy bookcases had been carried away, and in their place there were some little bamboo shelves, on which were books, flowers, and corals. Where the Generals sword had hung was an Indian bow and arrows. The piano had been moved to this room, and the old stove carried awav to give room to the great fireplace, which Miss Page, for the first time in her life, now saw. In it, on a pair of great fire-dogs from the garret, blazed a fire of hickorv, which producod a temperature of about eighty-six degrees or more. The flower stands from the dining-room windows stood off in dark corners, and the old spinning-wheel, brilliant in modern gilt, and hung with ribbons, was in a window. The shades were gone, and pieces of red and old gold striped matting, rolled, and held by pale green ribbons, curtained the windows and on the table whare for generations had rested the family Bible was a great

Sieee

Barnet Vept preserves and

of yellow coral from the garret. ut what "most surprised Miss Page in this room was the table set for dinner. It was certainly a very pretty table. The cloth was pale yellow—it was her choicest lunch cloth—and down the center was the heavy plush border embroidered with white liiifts which had once formed part of the parlor lambrequin. Ferns trailed over the cloth dainty little jugs from toilette tables upstairs now held what once formed the contents of the massive and now banished caster. On one side were arranged some easy-chairs, and on the other a sofa piled up with cushions. Miss Page recognised the large square table which always stood folaed In the hall, but it seemed to her lower, in spite of the impossibility of cutting down the great clawed feet. "Now,"said Beulah, holdinghercotudn by the hand, "w® will dine like reasonable people, and each meal will be a poem. We will no longer go into a atiff dining-room, called by a bell, to feed ourselves. But here, in this lovely room, with our life around us, we will have what will give us spiritual as well as

physical here, a

Ana if we are not all

ere, a tap"—and she lightly touched

The house belonged to her and to her with its wooden hammer a small Bur

't-'t./: -i-/

that were pure

ly Barnetian. And so the summer passed. The cousins were perpectly at home, and took as much interest in the affairs of Spruce Creek as any one else did, and certainly added very much to its social Life.

:T.--J-'*

mese gong—"a single musical tap will give warning that the table is spread." "Then this is not the dining-room?" said Miss Page, feebly. "It is the 'living-room,'" cried Beulah "we have restored that full, significant title. It is not a library, a parlor, a sitting, nor a dining room. It is our livingroom, Cousin Page." "And we are going, to live simply," added Maud "we are not going to profane it with horrid greasy smells. Our food is to be pure ana sweet." "Hay, for instance?" asked Wilbur.

Maud looked saucily up at him and said, "If you crave it, dear." Then they led her into the large, welllighted room which she remembered as the dining-room.

A heavy curtain hung across the doorway, and Beulah paused before she raised it. "Into this room," she said, "we do not admit the world. This is our familyroom. In it are what we as Barnets prize. I am sure, Cousin Page, that you will like this arrangement."

To Miss Page it seemed like the temb of the Barnets. Faithful to the central principle of unity and harmony, everything here was heavy and massive. The windows were draped by the damask curtains from the parlor here were the bookcases, and a great carved secretary which formerly stood on the second floor in the hall. All the family portraits were gathered together from different parts of the house, and the Generals sword hung over tde mantel-piece, with the Commodore's hat above it. On the brackets and on the top of the bookcases were scattered pieces of a set of silver once presented to the Judge. Some ancient samplers were fastened below the windows. "And you see," said Beulah, pointing to some framed certificates of life memberships in Bible and Foreign Missionary societies, "that we didn disdain even these tokens of the individuality of our ancestors. And Maud is going to paint our coat of arms on a til3 that we will let into the mantel-piece instead of that dreadful marble scroll, and I have already ordered from a heraldry office a proper family tree, which we will hang upon an easel which is to be made of those muskets from the Revolutionary war." "It is easy to see," said Miss Page, "that you have explored the garrets.'' "Every trunk and closet," cried Maud, "and oh, what lovely things you had put away!—things from all over the world." "Brought by the Commodore," added Beulah, possibly for Miss Page's information. "It was the coral—the great piece in the—the living-room," continued Beulah, "that gave us the first idea. Wilbur went up into the garret one rainy day and explored, and ne brought the coral down, and told us of all those Chinese embroideries, and so we went up, and we explored, and we brought first one thing and then another, until we began to see that we were introducing a new element, changing the character of the house, and so the idea grew and own. Cousin Page, haven't we surprised you?" "You certainly have," said Miss Page. "And pleased you?" "Mamma," cried Miss Page, suddenly, turning to Mrs. Barnet, "cannot I go to my room? Had I not better go there?"

Mrs. Barnet had followed the party from room to room. She had watched Miss Page with anxious eyes, and now at this appeal she came to her. "Nothing is changed there," she said. "Let her alone, girls she is tired."

Now, for the first time since she entered the house, Miss Page felt at home. Either because they had not dared to go so far, or because they had not time, the girls had not touched Miss Page's awn room, and she hardly knew whether she was crying from pleasure or pain as she sank down on her faded blue lounge and saw all the familiar furniture In its

Eefore

lace. But she had not been there long there was a gentle knock at her door, and Mrs. Barnet came in. "I was afraid you would not like it, Page," she said.

4'Like

it!" cried Miss Page. "Oh,

mamma, I do not see how you could let them do it!" "Indeed, my dear, I had no idea they meant to go so far, and, do you know, I feel as if they rather took me for granted. They did not consult me much, Page."

At this her step-daughter smiled. People were apt to take Mrs. Barnet for granted. "They might have thought of me," then said Miss Page. "They did they thought of you in everything. You have no idea, Page, how often they said, 'Would Cousin Page like this, do you think?' "H m," said Miss Page. "Thev fancied you would be delighted. And it is rather pretty, don't you think?" she added, with a timid eagerness that was bent on finding seme ground of conciliation. "I don't know," Page replied "I might think so of some new plebeian house. But our house, mamma/'the Barnet Homestead! Why, every one knew at once that it was the home of family of blood and breeding. It spoke for itself." "You won't—" "Oh no," cried Miss Page "I won't disturb it to-motrow. But they must understand that it wen't do—that the old order must be restored." "Well, then, just for the present." "But a very short present, mamma."

But the Barnet Homestead had not yet exhausted its surprises for Miss Page, and when she went down to dinnercalled by the musical, lingering tone of the gong from Burmah—she found a strange gentleman in the "living-room." He was, however, strange to her only. With all the others he was evidently on the most familiar terms. When Miss Page entered the room he was playing "cat's-cradle" with Beulah, and this frivolous game usually records a step beyond the primary one of the holding of zephvr. He was a tall man with blende fiair and Shakespearian beard, but he was not young. When Beulah introduced him as Mr. Dunbar, and told Miss Page that they were so much indebted to him for all kinds of help, and for suggestions in altering the roomsand that they never could have accom, plished so much without his assistance, the helpless victim of their cruelty concluded that he was an artist. But before long she discovered that he was the exGovernor of a Western State, and had come East to put his little son under medical treatment for threatened blindness. Miss Page despised flirting men, especially if they were married, and at once she retreated into an icy silence.

Then she discovered that for ten years he had been a widower. This bit of information was skilfully given by Mrs. Barnet, as they drew away from the fire with the nuts.

Before many days had passed, Miss Page became need to Mr. Dunbar. She could not help it, as he was always coming and going. His little boy was never happier than with Beulah, who read to him, and taught him songs, which he iprano. The litfather, the boy, m, Had Mr. Dunbar been a bachelor, Mtsa Page might have thought him too old to marry Beulah, bat a widow or a widower are relatively so much younger than spinsters and bachelors of the same age that she felt she coold not object on this point. And soon she began to feel that

tie group of three, the ana Beulah, interested Miss

.VIS if •/...'. 3 Sf

y"-?/ .'•- ,f .j.. .v" .. i- V..-* .X •.„•£• ik- *^4- --it- v. -A., fc-. •*...„•*». -V..U 4 tJ ii*... ,-w -vfc,. •,

TERRE HAUTE SATURDAY EVENING MAIL.

the ex-Governor was a man to whom woman might well trust her future. When Beulah amused the little Charlie, the father talked to Miss Page, and she found him kindly, wise, and full of a cheerful philosophy that seemed to be founded on strength and experience.

One day he drew from her the story of her discontent. "I am not at home," she said. "I wander around these rooms like a visitor. I feel like a poor relation who must count up her blessings whenever her discontent or discomfort threatens to choke her. I used to dust and arrange the rooms now I am almost afraid to touch anything. Yesterday I turned a fan around, and Maud cried out that I had broken a beautiful harmony by putting the blue instead of the red side out.'' "You ought to banish the girls, and surprise them when they return," he said. "We have no right to shout for the new king before the old one dies."

Miss Page shook her head. "They enjoy it so much," she replied "and I could not condemn them now to an order of life that they would feel was formal, and, as Maud says, false. No,' she added, with a little sigh, "the only thing I can do will be to marry them off. Then, after they are gone, mamma and I can restore the old order. But"—and then she sighed again—"I should miss them."

Mr. Dunbar looked a little. keenly at her. He fancied that now the shock was over, Miss Page had her own unconscious enjoyment of a freer, brighter life.

One day she told him that the night she came heme she could not sleep, and about one o'clock she came down-stairs to get a pack of cards.

Of cards?" he repeated. Yes. I used to play solitaire when I was nervous—before tne children came— and I thought maybe it would tranquillize me. But I could not find them. At last I opened the drawer of the table on which the family Bible has lain for generations, and there I found the cards, and Wilbur's poker chips, and everything they use in playing." "Yes," he said "we put them there as we found them, Miss Beulah and I. You played your game?" "Yes." "What did you play? I like solitaire." "The Salic law. You play with two

?rou

acks, but the queens are of no use. put them aside." At this he laughed but that evening he brought out the cards from the desecrated table drawer, and made Miss Page teach him the game.

They had many such little confidences, and Miss Page began to feel as if she had almost a mother-in-law's claim upon him.

One day he came into the house as she was at work in what had been the parlor, but was now the "red room." She was sitting by the window sorting over yarns. "I am glad you have come," she said. "I am watching for Beulah. When she comes I shall have to go upstairs, unless you will take her out again and keep her for a while." "Why can't you stay here?" "Stay here!" Miss Page repeated. "How can you ask such a question? Do you think I should have the courage to sort out scarlet yarns in a crimson room if Beulah were present?" "Come into the next room." "No Maud and Mr. Lynn are there." "You would disturb a greater harmony?" "Yes."

Then he sat and watched her for a while. "How long has Miss Beulah been gone?" "An hour, at least."

Then, after a time, he asked another question: "When is Mr. Lynn going back to Denver?"

"And Miss Maud's marriage is not to be at once?" "No not until next spring."

He got up and began to move some bronzes on a table. They had once ornamented the mantelpiece—a well-balan-ced, symmetrical row of three pieces— but they looked "so conventional and devoid of idea" that they had been scattered on tables. He carried them to the mantel, and moved some of the shells, and put them in place again. "Do you like that better?" he asked.

Miss Page looked up, and her eyes filled with tears. "I would,' she answered, "if my father's picture hung there as it used to do from my earliest memory." "But not as it is now "No," she answered. "I would rather have all different, if there is any change at all."

So he put them back on the table, and sitting down by her, took her scissors, and began to snip bits of her scarlet yarn on the floor. He was leaning forward, with liis-elbows on his knees. "When the girls marry you'll have your old home back," he said. "That is still your dream?" "Yes but it is not altogether a pleasant one. I love the girls."

"So do I," he replied. "Miss Page laughed at this. them?" she said. "Yes, both of them. I do two lovelier, sweeter girls. Barnet loves Beulah best." "So do I," said in her turn* "I am sorry," he said, but do you love her so well that you will refuse to consent to a little plan I want to propose?

"Beth of

not know But Mrs.

He laid the scissors down, and looked at Mi88 Page. "No" she answered, "I will not. love her, but I do not mean to interfere with her happiness." "Then you would sonsent to part with her?" "With whom?" cried a gay voice at the door. "Whom is it you arc going to part with Not Jane, Cousin Page, when we have just got her trained so beautifully?"

Page colored violently. She knew how to meet the situation,

hardly knew now to meet me »u,u»wuu, with Beulah, all flushed and rosy, comin on vants

the scene, asking about the ser"Oh no," she hurriedly replied

—"not Jane." "Well, it can't be Melvina. Neither you nor Aunt Barnet could eat a dinner cooked in your own house by any one else. Then noticing for the first time the confined look in the eyes of her cousin, and wishing by an entirely absurd joke to turn a subject into which she had so thoughtlessly blundered, she came up to Miss Page, and leaning over her chair, said, with a little laugh, "Perhaps it is I?"

Tb her surprise, Miss Page turned her head and looked up. Her face waa now almost colorlesa, and a light that w« neither calmness nor happiness shone in her soft gray eyes. "It is yon, dear! We were talking of your marriage." "Oh no!" cried Beulah. darting around the chair and falling on her knees as she took Mis* Page's hand in both her own. "Don't talk of that, Cousin Page! I do not want to marry-—not now, at any rate. I want to stay here in this lovely home, and write a book. You know," and she turned her pretty bead and looked up at the ex-Governor, who waa still standing, "what I have often said to you, a woman ought to try and do her best work while she bekmgs to herself— before die Is under the innuenoe of another person. Yen don't know, Cousin Page,''she continued, "because we have

never talked on the subjoct, how strongly I feel about tiiis. So don't let us evur say a word about marrying until 1 have justified my individuality.

At this fine phrase, uttered by a very pretty, very fashionably dressed young lady in a new walking dress, with a charming hat on his soft hair, both the ex-Governor and Miss Page smiled, and with a hot blush Beulah answered the smiles. "But I am very much ill earn-

^"I do'nof doubt it," Miss Page replied, taking hold of the round little chin and turning Beulah's face toward her own eyes: "but, my dearie, when it is a question between happiness and individuality, do not allow happiness to be the sacrifice and then Miss Page gently loosed her hand and moved as if sho would go.

But the ex-Governor sat down in the chair in front of her, and leaned over toward Beulah, and took her hand. "Are you my friend?" he said, with a grave smile.

The girl nodded her head, and her eyes sparkled with mischief. Miss Page saw that she did not understand the gravity tho of position. "Then range on my side now," he said, "and help me when I tell you that your cousin was mistaken when she said we were talking of your marriage," he hastily added, ''but not yours."

Miss Page stood up. In her eyes were pain and confusion. "I am sorry," she said—"I am sorry I misunderstood you. "Whose marriage was it, then, Mr. Dunbar?" said Beulah, who was still kneeling.

It was her own. I was trying to ask her to marry me." "Ask me!" cried Miss Page. "Yes, you and he came to her and took her hand. "I wanted to ask you if no other home could be sweet to you—if you would not consent to go away with me, to leave Beulah in the homestead in the care of her aunt, and to let me make a new home for you. It would not be the Barnet Homestead, Page, but it would hold the present instead of a cold dead past in it, and I should try to make you very happy in it." "Oh, it is not possible," said Miss Page, drawing her hand away, aud stepping back ana leaning against the table on which one of the bronzes stood. "I have no thought of marrying. I am not young." "But I want you to think of it, and you are younger than I am

Beulah had jumped to her feet, and An around her.

she ran to her cousin and put her arm

"Oh, Cousin Page," she said, "it would be lovely! and you would be so happy! You were never meant to petrify in this old, old house." "Believe her," cried the ex-Governor, taking both ner hands in his own. "Come with me, Page. Leave the Barnet house to its ghosts and to these younger people. Come with me, and you will see how sweet and perfect your own life can be. Trust me, Page, you have never yet lived your own life."

Thus surrounded, thus encompassed, with Beulah's arm around her and her eager eyes beaming down on her, with her lover's hands holding both her own in a firm grasp, like nothing she had ever known, what was Miss Page to do?

She looked down, with the color rising in her cheeks, and then she looked up into Mr. Dunbar's eyes with a frank ana modest grace, and with a proud little gesture that well became a daughter of the house of Barnet, she drew her hands away and slipped on from Beulah's tender arms. "Do you think," she said, iti a voioe soft yet full of pride and of feeling, "that such a subject as this ought to be discussed before witnesses?"

The "witness" laughed, and in her turn colored at being thus arraigned as a trespasser, and at once she ran out of the room.

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MARK.

ECZEMA ERADICATED,

Gentlemen—It I* doe yon to ny that I think I am entirely well of enema after harto^ taken Swift's Specific. I hare been troubled with It very little In my face since last spring. At the beginning of cold weather last fall it made a slight appearance, bat went awav and naa never returned. S. S.». no doabt broke it np: at least it put my system In good condition and I got well. It also benefited my wife greatly in case of sick headache, and made a perfect core of a breaking oat oa my little three year old daughter last summer.

WaUdneville/Ga., Feb. 18, I860. Iter. JAM Kb V. M. MORRIS. Treatise oa JUooa and Skin Diseases mailed free.

PETER HENDERSON & GO.35

HANDSOME WEDDIHB, BIRTHDAY OR H0UDA THE WONDERFUL

LUBURG

Aiottt KxcelUrnt.

J. J. Atkins, Chief of Police, Knox^v ville, Tenn., writes: "My family and are beneficiaries of your'niost excellent medicine, Dr. Kings New Discovery for Consumption have found it to be all that you claim for it, desire to testify to its virtue. My friends to whom I havo recommended it, praise it at every opportunity." pSth

Dr. Kings New Discovery for Consumption is guaranteed to cure CoughsColds, Bronchitis, Asthma, Croup an£ every affection of Throat, Chest andf Lungs. Trial Bottles Free at Cook, Belldfc Lowry's Drug Store. Largo Size, $1. (8)£

Brace Up. r\-

You are feeling depressed, your appetite is&4 poor, you are bothered with Headache, youi are ndgetty, nervous, and generally out ofp:, sorts, and want to brace up. Brace up, butf not with stimulants, spring medicines, or* "or tn bitters, which have for

medicines, eir basis very

teratlve that will purify your blood, start#! healthv action of tho Liver and Kidneys, re-s. store your vitality, and give renewed health and strength. Such a medicine you will find's in Electric Bitters, and only 50 cents a bottle? at Cook, Bell & Lowry. (3)

Bueklen'aArnica Salve.'

The Best Salve in the world for Cuts, BrulR68,|. Sores. Ulcers, Salt Rheum, Fever Sores, Tetter, Chapped Hands, Chilblains, Corns, and*

per box. For sale by Cook A Bell.

TpOR DYSPEPSIA,

Plies,1

Mental and Physical Exhaustion,:

Nervousness, Weakened Energy,

INDIGESTION, Etc.

ACID PHOSPHATE

A liquid preparation of the phosphates and phosphoric acid.

Recommended by physicians. 'It It maKes a delicious drinK.

Invigorating and strength-

1.1 i.

ening. .Pamphlet free.! For sale by all dealers.

Rumford Chemical Works. Providence. R.

BEWARE OF IMITATIONS.'1

ELY'S CREAM BALM

CATARRH

¥d

Druggists: by mall, registered, 00 cts. Clrc larsfree. ELY BROS., Druggists,Owego, N,

THADE

Circa-*' Y.P

Tas BWITT Sractro Co., Drawer 3, Atlanta, Oi ,44

T.qyr

ia otferea ana ueacrilxxi.»« our

CATALOGUZ No. 340. *^ich this rear we send out in an iflitmifais4 cover: "Tfie Csfcifbftpe is replete with new engravings of the choicest flowers and vegetable*. tfMOf Pi ttiMbJi o.i to obtained from as: and contains, besides. 2 beautiful colored plates, and toy fuH on all garden work. Altogether It is the best ever offered by ut. and. we bett*r£« h« must publication of its kind ever issued. Mailed cn receipt «f 10 cents (In siMike), aiuca marifo deducted from first order. Please be sure to order Catalogue bv ths mimoer.5^^''

Frlce$7 nniLDREN'8 CARRIACE8

an mi iiMwfl Ullli flw lalt—tfr T"t*- —-mir-i, snlltn-"-* a iw fc FiH" riMiil sCst tn fsrslnrir siilmn siiliiw

THILUSttRe MANF'C CO., 145 N.Oth St.,Phllada h.

VBOKTA III

NOVFI