Saturday Evening Mail, Volume 18, Number 20, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 5 November 1887 — Page 7

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Walter Brown field

—OR—

FHE MYSTERY OF PRESTON

FLAT.

BY JOHN R. MUSICK.

CHAPTER F.

THE SEW FARM HAND.

"Do you want a farm hand? ••I don't know." answered Mr. Miles, a well-to-do farmer in the unassuming neighborhood known as Preston Flat. The farmer who was engaged in re-' pairing a broken whippletree rested his axe upon the large chopping block, and gave the speaker a searching glance from head to foot. The applicant was a slender, delicate young man, with a mild blue eye and auburn hair. He was not over twenty or 7 twenty-one «years of age, and his soft white hands contrasted strangely with the hardened, sun-burned palms of the

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farmer's two sons, who stood near by, one with a wagon whip and the other with a bridle in his hand. "I don't know,'1 repeated Mr. Miles as he •canned the youth still more closely. "You don't look as if you ever did any farm work.*' "I can learn." replied the pale youth, his face showing a despairing look as his eyes fell on his only earthly possession--a small budget of clothes tied up in a red hankerclucf. and astick run through them.

On approaching Mr. Miles ho had tak the btukile from his shoulder and carried it in his hand.

The applicant was dressed neatly, though not expensively. His clothes, however, us well as t:'ie bundle, were covered with dust. He raised his despairing eyes to the farmer's face, with a look that at once appealed lo his heart. '•Did you ever work on the farm?" asked tliu kind-hearted Mr. Miles. "ltut very little, vir. I c.in soon learn, though, and am willing to do all I can.11 "II.-:vc* you long been seeking emplovmeilt "Yes, sir, I have -en traveling from house to house, for more than a week," and tin*, young man, or youth, for he could scarcely be called a man, gazed down the lonjr dusty road up which he had so recently come.

Preston Flat was a strip of country lying on the east side of l'reston crock about a doz. miles in extent, and four or live milt sin width. It was settlem"lit compictelv shut in by Mir* rounding hills and bl nil's. The valley was undulating and very fertile.

The valley hid a small village at the head of it under the significant name of Husliville. in l'reston Flat the unambitious farmer was born, grew old and died, little knowing or caring about the great conflicts which agitated the outside world.

He raised hi: corn, oats and wheat Jie fed his corn 1:ii hogs, horses, eatr tie and sheep his wheat was ground into Hour by the miller at JJushville, and furnished him broad.

Nearly every farmer's wife was weaver, ami the bang of looms and the whirr of wheels could be heard from one end of the valley to the other.

The women in dn the jeans for the men ami linsey 'othes fur themselves. The other not -tsary clothes were purchased at I store in Hushville, which also allo:-«led a iniserabl.j market for the products of the farm and what live-stock the fanner had to sell. We are not speaking of l'reston Flat of today, but ns it was many years ago, at the opening of our story.

Kvcry tribe

has

a chief, so every com

munity ahead man. and Preston Flat was not tin exception. Aside from the "great mogul" who owned the village !*tore and post oflice at Hushville and with whom every body liked to show their familiarity by calling him "Dave," was Mr. James Miles, tho farmer. Ills farm was larger, in belter condition, and a better location than any other in the entire flat. Tho great farm-house which stood upon a slight olovation, fifty rods or more from the broad, hardlieatcn road, was pointed to with pride by the other farmers of the neighborhood, and evcrv portly dame in the vrlley regarded It as the highest honor to"1 "take her knitten" and spend the day with Mrs. Miles,

The farm-house was surrounded by stately elms, maple and oak. The barn lots ami barn attachments to the same, and tho vast fields lying beyond filled with ripening com stretching away for two miles, indicated wealth and comfort.

It was to this thrifty farmer Walter Brownticld, with pale face, dust-cov-ered, worn-out ami disheartened applied for work. Dav after day had he tramped from house to house seeking employment, to be turned aside with the assurance that no hands were wanted.

He did not understand that his white face and

soft

hands were the chief

cause of his being turned away. What spare change he had was spent in paving lodging bills, and the last night fie had been compelled to sleep in a bam.

No wonder Ids pleading soul was in his lace as having waited long and earnestly for an answer, and it coming not. he said: "Will \u be so kind as to give mo ft trial?"

The stunt farnifcr boys who had been attracted l»y the young man. stood tittering. as they compared his slender form with their own muscular frames. "1 don't know" was the hesitating nnsyver of tho farmer. "You see the fanning season is nearly over. There is ra'Hv not much to do now." "You eertjtinly can gin* me work enough to pay for my board and clothes any ay." said the anxious young ap* plie ant.

The fanner took his foot down front the chopping block, drove thoaxedeep into it. then with his elbow on his knee, and his head in his hands, seemed to be thinking the matter over. "You say ye never did much farm work?" he finally asked, shifting hi foot, knee, hand* and head, to get another look at the applicant. ••No. sir. never hut very little.

Where are ye from?"* "I came from Queenstown." "What is your name?'* •••Walter ttrown field." •"•Walter Brownticld," repeated the

farmer, reflectively, still keeping his head in his hand, in a meditative man-* aer, "I never heard of that name be-, tore as I am not acquainted in Queenstown it is nothing strange." "Thank Heaven!" mentally ejaculated the tired youth, "you are" not acquainted with either Queenstown or my name. Why did I not change it?" It would have been safer, yet I could, not live np to deception."

The farmer then straightened himself up and leaning on his axe began to put what in his estimation were some astute cross guestions. "When did vou leave Queenstown?" I "Aoout ten "days ago." "What have you been doing since?" I "Traveling about the country and looking for work." "Is tnis the first time jrou everplayed the trampP" The question was sharply put, and made the cheeks of the young man tingle with shame.

Poverty and hunger had subdued, to a great extent, his once proud spirit that a few weeks ago would not have borne such an insult. In a tone both sad and truthful, he answered:

Yes, sir, it is." "What business have vou beenened in, in Queenstown f" 'Phis question made the young man's heart leap.

He haa both expected and dreaded it from the beginning. Looking the farmer in the face, he answered without the slightest hesitation. "I was a clerk, sir.* "In what?" i*i

A store.'" 1T 4 1 What kind?" "General retail dry-goods store." "Why did you quit it?" "I suddenly found myself thrown out of employment by a business change in the firm."

This answer was all truth, yet Walter felt that he was telling a falsehood in keeping back a part. "Why aid you not seek employment in some other store there arc plenty of them in Queenstown*" "There are," admitted the youth, "and I applied to all, but they aid not want clerks. Times are hard on merchants, and at hut I resolved to go to the country and seek labor on aiarm. I need the exercise, and don't feel myself above work."

The last expression pleased the practical farmer, who hela in contempt the man or boy who shunned manual toil. "That is sensible, young man, and I believe that in spite of your soft white hands you will succeed. We have not much to do for which it is necessary to employ a hand, but there is corncuttin and it will soon bo gathcrin' time. The sorghum's to grind and make, and plenty o' chores I guess to keep all three o' you boys busy—"

He paused abruptly as though he were again debating tho question in his mind.

Walter, fearing that he might alter his resolution and send him on as so many others had done, said: "I assure you, sir, I shall do my best to please you. I only nsk you to give 'me a trial, and if I fail you can then discharge me." "That's fair, but I declar' there's not .much to do," sajd tho farmer, "Then, sir, tho wages can be fixed to correspond. I am tired of tramping about tho country," said Walter, almost despairingly. "111 tell ye what I'll do," tho farmer at last said. "I've not got much to do, but if you'll ,work here at six,dollars a month, its all right If the work'll justify it, I'll raise your wages."

Tho prion was a nvre pittance, but learning that it included his board, Walter accepted rather than trudge farther.

The farmer then told his youngest son, a strapping yoltth of f-cvcnteen, to carry the young man's bundle into the house, while John, the older son, and Walter wont after a load uf rails to mend the fence. It was thus that Walter Brownfield commenced as a hired hand for Mr. Miles, tho chief farmer

Preston Flat.

0HAPTI1H II. JACK nAWKINS.

Mr. Miles' family consisted of his wife, two sons ana a daughter, who wont by tho name of "Pinkey." Mrs. Miles was a good-natured, motherly dame, who was at home only with cows and poultry.

Tho sons were robust young men who had inherited their father's constitution and their mother's good nature. Each, to use his own expression, "was as strong as an ox."

There is no more beautiful specimen of God's handiwork than the hardy sons of tho soil yvhom we find in the rural districts. It is these samo farmers' sons of tho soil who not only furnish tho muscle of our country, but the largest amount of brains.

It is these robust farm lads who make our legislators, our Governors and Presidents. We ask the reader who doubts our assertion to just think a moment how many Presidents of tho United States there havo been who were nofe born and chiefly reared on farms.

But we beg pardon, we are wandering from the story. The morning after Walter Brownfield's engagement to Mr. Miles, he was aroused at early dawn by John Miles nudging him in the side, saying: "It is about time farm men woro op. We must git out and feed." "Yon mean go to breakfast?" asked Walter, rubbing his eyes eieopily, and contrasting this early rising with the pleasant morning nap he was permitted to take in the city. "Breakfast, nop said John, in a tone of some contempt "D'ye 'spose we people in the country do nothin' but eat No, sir, we must git ont an' fedtt the hogs, horses, cattle and sheep afore breakfast \Te'll be late about it I assure you." wded John, rather snappishly. "Ben's been gone for an hour or more."

Walter crawled from the warm bed shivering with cold—for the first au-| tumn frost had fallen during the night —wishing that he could havo got halt an hour's more sleep.

Seeing that John regarded him seme-: what contemptuously, he hurried on the farmer costume, and went ont

There was haying cattle, measuring and carrying to each hone his rations, of cats, 'feeding the green fodder to

^c#8llSfeSMI

rBRRE HAUTE SATURDAY EVENING MAIL.

the sheep in the pasture, of which Walter had his due share assigned him. He felt a little timid as the cattle with long sharp horns ran after him, while scattering the hay, but his determined will overcame his tewor, and he got through the feeding with credit to himself.

Breakfast was announced, and he accompanied the boys to the rear yard, where there was a well, some wash basins and a towel hanging on the oatside wall.

This was a strange place for one to perform his morning ablutions and arrange his toilet, but he found it not unpleasant, and supposed it was health inspiring. They drew the cold, sparkling water from tho well and each proceeded to wash his face, head and neck.

Walter followed their example and found towel, comb and mirror hanging on the outside wall, by and with wnich he arranged his toilet When this was completed they went to breakfastWalter was sure ho never enjoyed a better meal.

Mr. Miles, as was his usual custom, laid out the work for the boys during the day. Ben, the younger, was to plow some meadow land, and John, the older, and Walter were to "cut and shock" corn."

Mr. Miles himself harnessed a span of horsjs to the light farm wagon and announced that lie and his daughter Pinkey would go to Bushville to do some fall marketing. The farmer also intended to take some bags of wheat to the mill to be ground.

Pinkey Miles was always pretty, but when she was attired in her holiday dress, and neat little leghorn bonnet, she looked more so than ever.

Walter received one glance from those roguish hlack eyes as she came out to get into the wagon, and he felt a strange fluttering at his heart

He stifled down any emotion he might have, and taking his corn knife followed John Miles to one field, while Pinktiy, by her father's side on the wagon, drove away

Mr. Miles had on his holiday clothing also, including a high crowned narrow rimmed hat, which has in latter /lays been termed a "plug."

Pinkey gazed on tho blue sky, tho Jight fleecy clouds, the leaves of the trees now assuming a golden hue, and followed the birds in their flight, or •listened to their gladsome songs, while jher practical father gazed about on the fields, and inspected the fences, barns *and houses, making various criticisms on the same.

The spirited horses went down the 'road at a good round trot, and clouds ,of dust rose in the rear of the wagon, ifloating away to settle on the leaves of the trees, or accumulate in the fields.

They had passed a small farm-house situated on a hill with afield extending along the road, inclosed by a miserable, fence. I There's that trifling Jack Hawk 'ins," said Mr. Miles to his daughter pointing to a man with dark brown whiskers, broad-brimmed hat, in his shirt sleeves, sitting on tho fence near a miserable old tumble-down gate. "I'll declare, he's tho laziest man in the entire flat Always sittin' on the fence and nevor doin' any good. Besides he keeps that tramp Bill 1 about him all the time, *who is twice as triflin' as he.'' "How do they make a living, father Jf they don't work?" askea Pinkey, who, farmer girl like, knew no honorable means of support save manual toil. "I do not know, daughter that has always been a mystery some people can sit on tho fcnce all day and nevei come to want, while others work foi dear life an'can hardly make ends meet. But they do say Bill Martinis thief, an' he may steal enough in his tramps to keep Jack and his family ^iwm cfo»nrr from starving

A small boy, tho son of Jack Hawkins, ran to tne fence to peep through at tho father and daughter as they drove by. They saw Jack Hawkins' team of gray mares harnessed to the plow and standing just inside tho gato, while Jack Hawkins himself sat on the fence, as if he was waiting for them to ^approach. "Helloa, neighbor Miles!" cried Jack, as the wagon camo opposite him. "Going to town to-dayP" "Yes, Jacki are ye putting in your wheat?" asked Mr. Miles, reining in his restless horses "Just commenced plowing for it," answered Hawkins, a grin on his face that made it at once distrustful. "Why ain't yot\ plowing now •stopped to tako a rest?" "No, broke a clevis, and Bill's gone to tho house to get one." "How long since ye had that field in cultivation?'" "Some three or four years," said Jack, descending from the fence and advancing to the wagon. He was a man about forty-five years of age, with bushy hair and beard, a crestfallen

S*aycame

eye and sauare, massive chin, forward at his usual lazy, shambling rate, and familiarly put one foot on the hub of the fore-wheel next to him, supporting his elbow on the knee of his elevated leg, and resting his chin in his hand, ho seemed to square himself for a two hours' talk. "Got a new hand, I her'd?" said Jack. ~n\ "Yes hired one yesterday.'* "D'ye think he's much account?" "Can't say. I've not given him a fair trial yet" answered the fanner. "lie is rather a delicate fellow?'* "Yes, rather." "Don't look as though he'd ever done much farm work?' "No, he says he never did, bnt he seems willing to learn." "Do you think he can do it, if he docs learn?" ••I don't see why he should not** •"Why, he's rather weakly, yon know." "Rather a slender young man."

Yes don't look as though he could manage a fiery team, or do a hard day's work." "Those slender chaps sometimes deceive one." 'What has he been doin*?" asked Jack. ••Clerking In a dry-goods storm." "Where? "At Queenstown.** "A clerk, hey?*' "That's what he says he** been doing."

"A reg'lar laities* gentleman, then," laid Jack, with a shy glance at Pinkey. "(hie o' them fellars what can measure salerco. talk soft,. and walk on eggs without breakin' 'em." "He seems willing to work, and a perfect gentleman, answered Mr. Miles. Then, to change the conversation, he said: "How much winter wheat do you intend to put in?"

S[r.

j:'

"Dunno," was the answer "some fifteen or twenty acres, I suppose." "'You are rather late commencing for that much." "Ya-as but if I don't git It all in, ril have to be content with puttin1 a part" "You haven't plowed five furrows yet" ••No just commenced*' said, the careless Jack Hawkins, shifting his foot to the ground and putting the other foot on the hub. "Our clevis broke: and Bill went to the house to git the other." •'You have your grays, yet," said Farmer Miles, as he gazed over the fence at the two rather likely-looking gray mares attached to the plow. "Yes, an' it's ashanofe to liev to hold 'em to a plow." "Why? ••They are both racers. Thev kin outrun a greased streak o'- double geared lightning." "But they'll do more good at the

low," was the answer of tne practical Miles. "Howlong has that youngchap been from Queenstown," asked.* Jack Hawkins reverting to the subject which seemed to interest him. ••About two weeks or ten days," was the answer. "What is his name?" "Walter Brownfield. But it's getting late and we must be going," said Mr. Miles, starting his team. "Don't work too hard." There was no need of making the request, for Jack Hawkins was not liable to do that "Never fear about that" said Jack, with his distrustful grin. "Don't git drunk," he shouted, as the wagon rattled away. The noiso and distance made his tones inaudible to Mr. Miles and daughter. "His name is Walter Brownfield," said Jack, as he re-entered the field, by the old rickety gate, and took a seat on the beam of tne plow. "His name is Brownfield, and lie's from Queenstown was a dry-goods clerk. It must bo tho samo fellow, but Bill's a comin' an' he'll be apt to know. We must make Lis acquaintance ef it is."

CHAPTER 111.

A TRIAL or BAUD WORK.

Walter Brownfield cast a last look, at tho wagon as it rolled away with tho fanner and his pretty daughter, then heaving a sigh, followed John Miles to tho cornfield. "Did you ever cut corn before?" asked tho young Hercules, when they came to the cornfield. "No, I never did," answered Walter. "Well, sir, then you'll htev to be keerful or ye'll split your shin open." "How?" "Don't you see theso corn knive^is sharp?" "Yes." "Well when ye take a hill of corn tLis wry," wrapping his strong lefl arm around a large hill of heavy stalks, blades and ears aqd 'rawing ib toward him. "Thero ye see, when ye strike it about a foot from the ground with your knife, you have to strike toward ye and if ye don't watch it'll go cleai through the corn an' into your shin." "Yes, sir, I porceive," said the uninitiated farmer. "You must so regulate the force of your blow that it will just sever the stalks of corn, and yet not strong enough to do yourself bodilj harm, added Walter.

The illiterate John Miles looked at the new farm hand with surprise. His smooth sentences were pleasant even to John's uneducated ear. Hit eye survey( I the slender form of the youth from oot to broad high f6rehead and then remarked: "Well, ye may not be much on the work, but by the tarnation, ye know how to handle your mother tongue which is more than 1 do." "But you have a large fine manly form. You ar& gifted by God with the strength of four men like myself, oi which you should be proud." "Yes,' said John, with a sigh, "J was made big—so was the ox ana to be big in this world is to be a drudge. You are one o' these genteel fellers what kin talk like a book somethin' 1 nover could learn when a boy." "Learn it now, since you are man," said Walter. "I'm too big and aint got time to go to school. Pinkey is the only one o' us children who could learn at school.*' "You need not go to school to learn a great many things about the parts oi speech. "How'll I learn, then?'* "At home." "Got no teacher.** "I could teach you.** "But we have to work.** "You will find an idle moment a©casionally, which, if properly improved, would accomplish wonders in the course of time."

The young man scratched his head a moment thoughtfully, and then said: "P'raps' somethin' could be done in that way. but we must get to work here, or we'll make no show afore noon."

He then pfoeeeded to show Walter into the mysteries of starting a shock of fodder. "You help me on the first row through, and we kin each bring a row back, he said to Walter.

The corn was large and heavy with giant stalks and blades that made the field deem a wilderness. John announced that they would cut the first twelve hill square. So he counted six from the wrath side avd six from the west. They started in at the southwest corner. Then he took four hills that formed a square in the center and binding them diagonally took the tops, so as to form a rude coop. •That*s the skeleton," explained John "on which we build the snock."

He then commenced work, grasping a hill in his left arm he held it dose to his shoulder, with one blow of hit heavy sword-like knife he severed the entire hill. Then to the next, the next, and the next in nidi rapid succession natal he had gathered sufficient to

(sake a large armful when he bore it to the skeleton and stood up against it almost straight, the butt end down and the top up.

Waiter stood for a few moments watching his tutor, and saw gradually and even rapidly growing around him a clear spot He began to imitate the example of John Miles, with a partial success.

He was as awkward in this as John Miles would have been in a drawingroom, and the warning cry of "look out for your shins" frequently came to his ears.

But after a short time he became more skilled in the use of his heavy sword, and found that by ordinary care there would be no danger of even a slight wound.

Shock after shock of tall stalks roso in the field, leaving a broad traii behind them. Ever advancing into that impenetrable jungle and sweeping all before them, the young men moved on without stopping.

John Miles seemed to work faster as he became warmed up to it, and Walter Brownfield in his youthful ambition strove to keep pace with him.

The sun rose higher in the heavens, and the morning, which at its birth was cool, grew warm before it was onefourth over.

The hotter grew the day, the faster John Miles worked. His strong arm seemed never to tire. Starting in with a merry whistle he kept it up through the entire day. The higher rose the sun, the hotter the day became, the faster he worked, the shriller sounded his whistle over the field.

Walter made a manly effort to keep pace with him, but found that impossible.

The perspiration streamed down his heated faco, and even through his shirt The corn blades chaffed his neck and the side of his face, until every stroke he made caused intense pain. But he had started to do or die, and made no complaint. On the road was weary tramp and starvation here was labor and pain, but food ana shelter. He contrasted his pleasant laborious condition, with his life of a few .months ago. How different How he had been humiliated. The sense of the great wrongs he had endured, seemed to steel his arm and rouse his fainting spirits.

Try as he would he could not compete with the robust son of his employer. Like a raging hurricane John Miles swept around Walter, leaving ^naught but the bare field, while tho inexperienced vouth was struggling with a few hills of corn.

Would that arm never tire, would .that piercing whistle never ccaseP thougnt Walter, as ho struggled to :keep up with the young farmer. John saw that,ho was doing all in his power to keep pace with him, and knowing that no farmor in the cntiro flat coula do that, he did not attempt to hurrv him. Thus hour after, hour passea. To the panting Walter, it seemed ages John Miles seemed to gain untired strength and rapidity with each stroke. Iiis blows fell faster and he heaped tho earn up higher while his whistlo sounded louder and shriller upon the morning air.

They had been continually advancing into the dense wilderness, and there had seemed no end to it. Not a breeze was stirring or could stir in that dense corn, to oool the brow of tho almost fainting youth.

At last when his head grew heavy and throbbing, when he was dizzy from heat, and felt as though he was chilly instead of warm, they suddenly burst through the wilderness, and

grove of elms ana oa&s, was just across tne fence.

Let's go to Uncle Dan's and git a drink," said John, as the last snock of fodder in the row was comploted, sticking the knife in the ground.

Walter was willing to do any thing which promised a momentary' respite from the sultry heat of the burning sun.

Tho sweet, cool breeze came to kiss his forehead the moment he emerged from the tall, dense corn.

They climbed the fence, and walked through the grove of elms to the cottage door.

A pleasant-faced old man, near sixty years of age, was sitting on the front porch in his large, easy aqu-chair, enjoying the cool breeze tnat swept round his cottage.

Hello, John, ye have been at work this mornin'P" said the old gentleman. "Who's this ye got with ye?"

This is our new hand, Walter Brownfield," answered John with his native awkwardness. ••Wall,*how d'ye do, WalterP" said the old gentleman, arising and extending his hand to that individual

You bnys must sit down on the porch, for I know you are hot and tired take cheers? and he placed two split bottoms for them. "We're nearly choked for a drink, Uncle Dan," said John. "In course ye are I might a knowed it jest sit still an' I'll go an' git some fresh water from the spring."

The old gentleman put on his hat, took his cane and went into the cottage, whero he told his wife, a pleasant old lady known all over the flat as Aunt Margaret, to band him the waterbucket

Aunt Margaret camc out to talk to the tired boys. Th» awkward John Miles did not attempt another introduction, so Walter was compelled to sit in embarrassing silence until the motherly old lady asked him his name, where he was from, all about his parents, and numerous other questions 'ar more embarrassing than the silence.

Uncle Dan returned with a cedar bucket (they call a pail a bucket in the West) full of cold water, and a gourd.

Walter was sure be never drank water so sweet, clear and cold, and had not the kind old lady cautioned him against drinking too much while he was warm the result might have been disastrous to his health.

How long hev ye been in this neighborhood, Walter?" asked Uncle Dan.

I only came yesterday," answered Walter. Well, how long hev ye been farming?"

This might be called my first trial at hard wori."

The old gentleman opened his. ejWi vide, and looked at John Miles. "I guess it's so,*' said John, with jrin on his broad face. He was aa iwkward in the corn this morning as

I'd

be in Dave Black's store but ka arut most tarnation quick, and he'a rrit, by hokey."

They took another drink eaoh from -Jie gourd, and then returned to the iela to cut another row of shocks before dinner.

I wonder why that young chap ivorkin' on a farm? He looks like he'd io better as a skule teacher, a lawyer a clerk in some store," said Aunt Margaret "I don't know,'* said Uncle Dan, sitting in his great rustic chair and watching the young man as ho climbed tho f8QC6* "I don't know why he's here in the Flat, but I know he all right, He a good honest young man. I from his face.

can

To Bo Continued.

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vtwvf' 1 VI I

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Is it any wonder, then, that if the blood be not pure and perfect in its constituents, you suffer so uiany indescribable symptoms

Ayer's SarSafs&rillft stands head and shoulders" above every other Alter* atlve and Blood Medicine. As proof, read theso reliable testimonies: ?r I*

G. C. Brock, of Lowell, Mass., "says: "For the past 25 years I have sold Ayer's Sarsaparilla. In my opinion, the best remedial agencies for the cure of all the diseases arising from impurities of tho blood arc contained in thl* medicine."

Eugene I. Hill, M. D„ 381 Sixth Ave., New York, says: "Asa blood-purifier and general builder-np of the system, I have never found anything to equal Ayer's Sarsaparilla. It gives perfect satisfaction."

Ayer's Sarsaparilla proves equally efficacious in all forms of Scrofula,, Boils, Carbuncles, Eczema, Humors, Lumbago, Catarrh, &c.j aud is, therefore, the very best

Spring and Family Medicine' in use. It beats all," says Mr. Cutler, of Cutler Brothers & Co., Boston, "how

Ayer's Sarsaparilla

does sell." Prepared by Or. J. C. Ayer it Co., Lowell, Mass. Prie« $1

six boUlea, $6. Worth $6 a bottle.,,

Titt's Pills

Tbls popular remedy never fail* te effeetusilj' core 'V Dyspepsia, Constipation, Sick

Headache, Biliousness And all diseases arising: from a Torpid Liver and Bad DigestioiL

Tho natural reaatt l« rood appcifC* and mII1fle«h.

Dow »m»ll

ty finar coated and ea»y«o awallow. SOLD EVERYWHERE.

O S

HOR8S AND CATTLE POWDERS

viil

FOUTZ

RAM wfll die of Cmjc. tsrr* or tr*« ., sr fontn I*o«r4e» an nwl to CmRlcn«inani«iil|inrnH HMCMinu. f- wR! prevwit O?x Fowr*. iBf* Po*(ler» wnt tnmaxi the ct mint •'ttfi cr*mm iweatr per eeoL. sod make the taoer Una

Powder* wfll cure or pmeat ctinoft

DMkam to whlrti Hone* and Cottle are Mt)eeC 'iff I-' Fomr» Povmhwiu.«tr« MM everywhere.

DAVIS a. fOUTK. Proprietor*