Saturday Evening Mail, Volume 18, Number 48, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 19 May 1888 — Page 2

CHAPTER XIX.

A RADICAL*

Tbe afternoon son was well down on bis last stretch when Philip Breton came back from his factory, and up the street toward Mr. Ellingsworth's bouse. There was some ono with him, a man so tall and slight that the weight of his bead, which was quite large, seemed to bow him. It was an old gentleman, to judge from the wrinkles on his

face,

Philip smiled argumentative!}'. It was liko bis boyhood returned to hear the old roan's mellow tones. "But, Mr. Phiibrick, an honest business man can do more good than a dosen impracticable philanthropists like you." "But think of the things that business principles never can regard. Your help work ten weary hours a day, all ther poor lives business demands that, doesn't it! Well, I say that is where benevolence must come in. It is terrible to be.shut up as they are it kills body, mind and soul. Business principles never can savo them," said the old .gentleman, turning his kindly eyes on the young mill owner "philanthropy, I don't caro what you call it, some gentle spirit of love ought to lift the burden that crushes the lifo and hope out of them, contrary to business principles, higher than business principles."

As Mr. Phiibrick finished, a close carriage rolled by them and stopped a littlo beyond, where a gentleman and lady stood to welcome tho visitor. "Your reforms," answered Philip, after a moment's thought, "should be founded on •business principles. Then tho force of the business instinct will carry them out. Otherwise"— be lifted his hat to Mrs. Ellingswortb, but she did not seem to notice him her eyes were fixed on her husband, who was in the act of handing a lady out of the carriage. Tb® lady wore a traveling suit of a blue shade. Her face was hid as she stepped down, showing a white feather in the back of her hat, and a few strands of golden hair below. Then she raised her face as the carriage rolled away, and a wild, sweet thrill of pain shot through Philip's heart, while every nerve in his body tingled like finely tuned stringed instruments, trembling in sympathy with a resounding chord. His feet refused to toko him away, whilo his hungry eyes devoured Bertha's beauty, for it was no other she come back—his lost darling found again. His heart warmed, as ho looked, into a divine glow how cold it had been, and so long. A groat burden of weariness seemed lifted from him. It was as if, after a dreary old age, the sweet peace of childhood was born in him a ain.

For tho moment he forgot everything that had come between them, as in tho bright, perfumed morning a child forgets the dreary night just past. But the long night had changed her tho exquisite roundness of her face and form hail gone even her grand blue eyes seemed faded like her cheeks, once so rich in their sunset glow. And ho only yearned over her the more tenderly—tho new element of pity seemed only wanting before to glorify his lovo into a religion. He longed to rush to her, putting away her father, who had no caroms for Tier, and his wife, who was darting tl uhes of hate at the unwelcome guest He would enfold her in his arms. She would lo glad for them at last such lovo cs his made the closest kin in the world. Ho took a step toward her, but no one saw htm.

Hit hungry devoured Bertha'» beauty. Tbe eyes of the two women met Their wills met and struggled for the mastery in that moment Undisguised hate was in one face, lofty contempt in tho other. There had been one gentle, wistful expression in Bertha's faeo as she first alighted, but there was no trace of it now. She had drawn herself up to her full height, so that the other woman seemed like a child before her, and her hand, as it fell to her side, opened outward in a gesture of disdain for the creature her father had ohoeen for his wife, It was hardly a second before her rare line parted. They at feast had not changed. Jane wir^-i for fear of some bitter taunt

BRETON MILLS.

A Romance of New England Life.

She had

CHARLES J. BELLAMY,

Editor of the Springfield

Begun in The Mail March 31st.

but he had hardly enough hair to

show whether it was gray or only flaxen. "You have done splendidly, my boy It was an old acquaintance of Philip's, whom be bad used to talk philosophy with at college, one of those benevolent minded gentlemen who aro eo optimistic that they have to go to boys for sympathy. "Splendidly," be repeated, "only why stop just where you aro! If every mill owner would do in his mill what you have done, it would be a grand thing for thin world. But they won't Now you have started beautifully, but there is too much business to your plan."

(Mass.) News.

[Copyrighted by the author and published In The Mall by arrangement with him.]

"Mm

rnedbow

terrible a blow well trained tongues can give but the words wereonlyeome 1iteco*r^no. place the tone—wrfl, it oau* *1 Mr. E j* worth to glanoe erf: dly at his wife. She seemed vulgar in his ss for t* "lrst time. Jane tried to bri—n it ut, but Lu face only took on an expn on of mdoai iusipiifr canoe. "WV'.wu ft wer» «*yingr resnmed lb. wick as PI jo*v took him. "I bad forgotten."

oth-.r4 ai I'then :-.ued lr.:r r.-rtdi* gtaiaed at an extra tarn. I«*y, .v*V~ ,V"» r—'' !*.

I K., of is tSttftgsnaroos. It Is unfiiir, we have bed enough of

:-r

l. '*.•» tirade wonJd

««tl---totle

JTMA

B«l

-t-**- *lett»*

ha .,^1 ch J®. u-.ai snn, a* bk* y*4 on his way to the west "C*n* afford it, *nt afford U,*w«ot |b» oW gttoUemsn, pstfewlaaaa wjth 1#

forefinger, "that is what you would say. I presume of coarse you cant if the upper classes waste the wealth they do. I tell yoo there is no sense or excuse for a man spending ten and twenty and fifty thousand dollars a year. Why, it is a good workman in your mill who earns ten thousand dollars in a lifetime, adding all bis days' wages together. There ought to be more fairness about these things. Such men as you, Philip Breton, get too much—more than any reasonable creature could want Now, you ought to go right to work and distribute your surplus—I mean your real surplus—back where it came from, intong tho poor. It takes but very little money to buy what can make a life comfortable and complete. Tho rich are always complaining that they dont enjoy life more than the middle classes, but they manago to waste what would make a thousand wretched homes happy without one pang of conscience." "But what do you want me to dof asked Philip in astonishment

The old gentleman's face was flushed with enthusiasm. 'Why I want you to take hold, and begin to make things equal, by paying back your surplus in one form or another. Givo them better homes to live in. Shorten their hours so they can have a little existence besides drudgery pay them better wages."

Philip looked distressed and doubtful. He had thought tbe subject over carefully and belioved he had done a greet deal already for bis poor. His philanthropic friend would turn the whole world topeey turvey.

Why, you know what tho books say— that giving so much would spoil all the spirit and patience of the working classes."

Mere arguments devised to soothe the consciences of the rich," explained Mr. Philbrick with a grand air. "Though there is such a thing as unwise benevolence, encouraging paupers and beggars but a man who works every day of his lifo isn't a beggar. Your father made a good investment that brings you in say a quarter million a year. That is rather above what you pay your best workman but it doesn't hurt your manliness any, my boy. The poorest paid hand in your factory works a great deal harder than you you needn't be afraid of degrading his manhood until he gets a quarter million." "But wouldn't they hang off on their oars unless they had to struggle for a livelihood?" "My dear Philip, you woiftdnt think it necessary to starve a horse, and hang a bag of oats just before his nose to make him go. Bettor feed him the oats, and a healthy animal likes to go. Do you lie off on your oars? You could afford it a thousand times better thauthey. Give them a chance for hope and ambition, and it will produce the beet work ever known. Who lives here?"

He stopped in front of a graceful little cottage, through whose open wiudows one could see into cheerful, well furnished rooms. A row of maple saplings had been lately set in front, and plenty of green shrubs and ample vines gave the place a most charming air. "John Graves, one of my workmen. His daughter married rich, and it is her hus.band's money which has worked the remarkable transformation." Philip was very glad to change the subject "John's wife was sick— supposed to be an invalid. See that ladylike woman watering the hanging pot? that is she. Ellingsworth's money made the cbango.

ter Graves himself, he used to be bowed almost like a cripple. He was as melancholy as an undertaker, and he had good reason to tie, poor fellow. He used to pull a great slouch hat down over his face to hide as much as be could of himself. Well, you wouldn't know him now he is as respectable a looking man as one often sees, and they say he works as hard as ever." "He isn't degraded any, then?" asked Mr. Phiibrick slyly, as they walked on again, "by bis good fortune." "I cannot carry out your proposal, it isn't in ray line, I am a business man and must work in character. I actually feel as if I had made quite a step, for me." "A stop!" cried his companion, eagerly reaching wit to clasp his hand. "A stride, only I want you to go clear to the goal." "I am too slow for you," smiled Philip, sadly, as he shook his head. "What I have attempted seems enough for one life work. I dont want to risk it all by anew experiment Here we are at my house, wont you come in?"

They stood at the gate. The front door stood invitingly open, showing the broad oaken staircase, and still beyond, the table set for the evening meaL "Not to-night, thank you." Mr. Phiibrick shook his hand for parting, but did not seem quite ready to go. "Tea is all ready," urged Philip, "and I am quite alone." "Oh no, my train leaves," be made an excuse to look at his watch, "in half an hour." Still he* hesitated.

At last be laid his band gently on Philip's arm. "You are young and have probably along life of usefulness before you. But a man can never telL" Philip looked in surprise at him. "Yoo may change youi- ebind, or give up your work if you should want to, just let me know, I would like to boy yon oat and run things on my plan." "But you are not rich enough. You probably know the valuation of tbe Breton Mills," answered Philip, a little proudly. "1 could pay yon something, and yoo wonktnt drive too bard a bargain. You would be glad, perhaps, to contribute in that way.*

Philip burst into a hearty laugh bis boniest old friend was losing his wits. Give up his factory, and his own scheme that was his only hope in life! But Mr. Phiibrick did not smile. He seemed actually serious and awaiting an answer. "Well, 1 will give you tbe first chance when want to seiL"-

Tbe old gentleman* earnestae* sobered Philip in spite of himself. He was sorry be had laughed. Perhaps he had been mocking bis own destiny, tlie philanthropists proposal began to sifect him as a death's bead at a fasst He *^-:s afraid he could not forget ft Did bis »d know him better than be knew himMlf Did be see elements of weakness in his character that would be sure to wreck his beautiful hopes?

Philip wakisk" u» to his door. Onee he turned aari ioofe star tbe beat but stfll vigorous figure of bad prophet No doubt hewaeafrea'iy pte:agbowtorrrofationiae tbe whole management of tbe mill "I will never speak with him ^gata," be muttered.

Then be fooked beck at hottfeagain. It was in that wry doop*^, open as it was nw.thalftr is had sad kissed ber band to him the last time she bed been a* his

That was when his chief tbongblsof

FERRE HAUTE SATURDAY EVENING

life were as a wedding journey—that was before the first cloud had dimmed his annHgh* And nowsbe had returned. She had shamed ber father* boose and ber mother* pare memory. She had rimmed him who been ber lover since childhood, and all for a man she did not love enough to stay with him. Still he could not help that first tumultuous throb of his heart, the unreasoning wave of joy that had swept over hii^ the very sight of ho- changed, tired fyy She had done ber worst to spoil his life, to drive peace and happiness from his soul, but that pure, steady glow In his heart, ah, it was love yot

Philip's heart was very full of bitterness, tbe fruit of his love instead of peace. He •topped midway to his door, and pinoh^

rose, slowly tore out its blushing petals and let the summer breeze carry them away. The great work for the poor ho had commenced would have made him the huppi^ man in the world if she could have shared his enthusiasm with him Hfa was the ditv position even an! sweot, just the one to get the most contentment out of his life, but loneliness was terrible to him.

Perhaps it is better so," he said aloud, as he crushed the fragment of the flower in his hand. No doubt he was light and weak,

itwasonlyunderthepres^ofagi^tb^i^X^.Tffei den that

gave him intensity. And then Bertha might have weakened his purpose if he formed one, not sympathizing with him, and it had not been her wont to sympathise with him. His very devotion to her might have made twm waver, or for very happiness he might not have thought of anything but his bride. If a man has a great work to do it is better to oi alone. Two souLs never can have but a siqgli thought, and the Inst friction might dgay his progress the least discouragement mtght hinder his footsteps on tbe glad tidings to the wretched.

All that peril had been saved Mm (Jnrraa had proved abetter friend to the people thary be thought, even when be deserted them, id breaking in upon Ptilip fereton's idfc dream of love. 1

Perhaps it was f.-om Bertha's shame had sprung all the good that blessed athousand hopeless lives. 3r

Philip shuddered as be went up the broad stone steps to his silent house. It seemed infamous to associate the thought of with the woman whose beautiful, high bred face he had looked into again today. And Bertha was in the very village with

great outsido world had given her back safe. He need not tremble for her any more, for her father's arm protected her.

He looked across the fields, where he could soe one gable of the house that held her, almost hidden by overshadowing trees. Perhaps she was in ber room this moment weeping bitter tears for the sweet, rare life she had lost by her madnets.

He passed his hand over his eyes. "Must she suffer forever—for what she has repented of, and the streams of despair flow always through her heart, washed whiter than 8nowf'

He walked into his home, and through tho echoing hall and stood in the door of his dining room. There were sideboards and chairs enough to provide for a party—the table glittered with its massive plate, and glistened with exquisite china, bv.t only one seat was placed.

CriAFlHh, iA. YXBY ODD.

It was an hour later than usual the next afternoon that Philip pushed back bis chair from the office table preparatory to going home. He did not acknowledge to himself a certain sweet excitement that affected him as he rose to his feet, much less tho cause of it and he laid it to«rdinai(iy masculine vanity that he paused a moment before a miriW before he wentoot

It was not the same fa xs he used to see in the glass. His black moustache had grown heavy and completely hid his rather unartistio upper lip, but it was not that had changed him so much. His forehead bad same new lines in it and there was, somehow, a firmer look about the corners of his mouth the youth and freshness that had lasted for twenty-six summers had given place on the twenty-seventh. There was a self poise and suggestion of reserved force in him mm that stood for some very rapid development of character.

As Philip went up the hill, bis quick eyes caught a glimpse of a woman's dreas by Mr. Ellingsworth's gate, and in a few steps more ho could see it was the shale of blue Bertha loved. Why might it not be Bertha, why not, except that he was so eager it should be? Ho hurried as much fa be dared—how strongly his heart was beating. She might turn any moment and go into the house. He tried to think of what be oould say to her if it was she.

Yea, it was Bertha. Her face was turned away, showing him only the perfect Greek profile and the uncovered coils of her wonderful golden hair. Her band rested on the gate as she looked off on tbe bills. How grand her thoughts must be to harmonize with the superb dignity of her face. Philip felt guilty at disturbing her, but it bad been so long. He came quite near, so near that the magnetic thrill of ber presence touched him more deeply, more tenderly, be thought, than of old, but she had not turned. He saw the path of careworn lines across ber forehead that had been as smooth as marble. There was a faded look on ber cheeks, lees fup than thejr used to be, and their txqnisttb colossi evenly spread. Her hand was whiter showed its bine veins almost painfully. Hi heart ached over ber, his prc*ad Bertha, Why could not God havo spared ber£ HQW rather have died and saved ber tw» care suffering that bad stricken ftif lovel Then she turned at the sound of footwne, and a great wave of tenderness swept over his soul. He looked at ber so eagerly, so gently that it seemed her face might soften a little, but it did not, nor was there any mark of startled surprise at his coming so suddenly upon ber. "It is yon Philip?* Even ber voice was changed, tbere was anew hardness in it She, reached out her cold white hand to hi in.

For a moment be did not speak, it seemed as if his heart would break, there was «uch a strews upon it And then be was afraid she might be ashamed before him, rtmmri of tbe terrible injustice she bad done him, ashamed of tbe blot that had touched ber name. But whatever she might have fctt, tbere was no sign of any emotion on bertm-. passive faee. "And yon are the mill owner now,"she said. "How odd it seems." She sailed graciously^ but still be could not speak. Be could only look down at tbe thin, line veined hand fc" held, and keep back that trembled on his lips for his lost

And that smile and soch words as were all she had for him at last He hoi to look away for strength to speak. He knst think of socaw commonplace that wonkf not startle ber repoea. Ah! there was the loorway where she bed given him tbe first atient cares* of his life tbe last time bo badt#ked with her, the night she forsook him. I Did she remember, be wondered! Be kpfced tack at tbeeoid, beantifnl eyes, and tbe amosed smile yet lingered on her lips. "Yes, It does seem very odd."

CHAPTER XXL OCT, llilBID srat

Pbillp dipped his pen in tbeinkstaa

waa sitting in his study at home, later in the afternoon than usuaL Nothing unimportant could have detained him so long from his factory, and, besides, there was a look of unusual aolenmity on his face. Philip Breton had just written his will. It was a very elaborate instrument, prepared from memoranda of the ablest lawyer in,tbo stata. A moment ago he bad signed it, and the names of the witnesses wero not dry yet He had been uneasy for a long tinao that the destiny of the thousand creatures who worked in his mill, and of their successors forever, should hang on so feeble a thread as a human life, which might snap before he could give spontaneous energy to the plans that now only lived in his brain. He wrote in large, plain letter across the back of the paper, "Tbe Last Will and Testament of Philip Breton." Then he read the whole instrument over again—the magna charta of Brctonvilio. «Pow glad the village would be when Jhis will camo to bo Itosti'n—£vhJi i^ was found that the mill ownor had not been satisfied with what be cfKatl-J da in his lifetime, but bad placed his benevolence^ on sa perpetual footing, had ri^hgPVtife his hand from his grave to shower blessings on tho laboring

God had dftnHitfed to his charge. poor uocl lipd on^'tfed to

could acco^hanythfnT Thlt If ho had been happy^jfhd blesdeJ with Hjv# and kisses, he might have been like the redfe, never listening to the groans of his poor under burdens too heavy for them to 3fcar. His heart would, perhapsy'have been full of tho little wants and trivial discomforts of his own circle, his mind busy with plans for the future of his sons, while a thousand dreary hopeless lives wore themselves out in the struggle for their scant bread, with never one pitiful thought

Lfrom

him,

the

him. ilip Breton fnl relieved now that he made hi» ntil. He folded it carefully put it in his inner breast pocket Perho thought sadly enough, if ho should die this momei^ it ifould bo better for Breiyille, for ^PwiR'might waver while ho

He might not be able to sustain his tone, but once dead, nothing could be ged. Tho words that an idle stroke of could make null and void when once id becamo rigid in death, would leap from tho written page into potent lasting life. Suddenly he remembered ter oocasion when, as he had sat at this table, he had been interrupted by the servant bringing him a letter—no^. it was-a note from Bertha. And he had been very ha]QK, fancying the shadow had gone from hisHie. He just had opened this very table drawer when the maid had tapped at the door. He had been searching, for something at tbe timo. Ohl it was one of Bertha's pictures, and it must be here still. In amoment more he was unclasping a moroeoo caser then gazing with such tenderness pB one has for the dead on the delicately tinted ovali of Ber? tha* beautiful face in porcelain..* {The great blue eyes seemed to look surprise and re proachathgL It had been long *§or JMfoce dream of sin had of her girlhood. his lipe very tightly^ he bly for her lost ioapcence 'desperately for« looked out of thes^H&ddedkAyes.

so much holy inn Philip' longed unu] hungered purity that' If she had cherished that he Bh the memo was taken

might at (That

They tw

on the afterdpon 0f two, three, o&nosjfc. four could see the |blooming drowsy hum |f the bees as it bad been yesterday. H&had been reading:* tote poem ber that Was as nearas be dared cdtne to re making scfmetimes letting' his voice

ler day.

1« soften and tremble allittle a' passages. He was but Bertha so royally cold, at her, he savr she ^(as beat, and ha shapely bead of the in her repose the ber still b: site pout against tl was beat book and wide. But1 purity of face with

MATT.

eath»

tenderer

lover, and

ddenly glancing eroome with the leaning her

alien ag fin lap bosom roee and and there as if vaguel

Jail frith exquitinous

ardness of her pill' violently as he :ed himself on tbe bench by bc$ dared not profano the vestal sleep as hers he devoured her eyes, but did not steal eq* kisB

from the r«l lips, though there was s&ch a sweet, mute invitation on than. But be put his arm about ber and drew ber toward him as gently as if she were a sleeping infant, and made her bead rest on his shoulder. Then be looked down the red tinged cheeks, like the woods in autumn* tenderest mood, swept by ber long, golden eyelashes, and tried to fancy sbfe was awake, though ber eyes were closed, and that she was willing her bead should rest on his breast and her hair like fine threads of twisted Roman gold kisB his burning face.

But she moved in ber slumber, and then ber star like eyes opened and looked mute astonishment into bis eager face. For one startled moment she did not move, and in midden boldness from the liberty ho had already taken he poured his passionate- declara6ns into her ears, covering her hair and her iheed and then her cod whito hands with

You frighten me, Philip." Ifer quick, q|artled tones as she rose to her feet yot rang i& his ears. 43he looked at him as half of a ml ml to run away. "I dont understand' you," she said, reproachfully. The porcelain picture is just as she was ^ben. "Why, Bertha!" He had risen, too but she drew back from him. "I love you. I want you for my wifa"

How coldly she bad looked at his flushed, excited face. He thought it was tho supreme moment in his life but It seemed to be nothing to her. "Is that all! Why, I thought you were mad."

Ah, and tbe same madness burned in his soul this moment Time could not wear it oot Shame, outrage, desolation could not kill fa. He rose to his feet and pushed the tinteaporoelain away from him.

Mrs. Silas CKngsworth waft all smiles and grace as Philip* entered ber parlor, and she shook hands wfth him, lingered as cordially over the greeting fs if she had quite forgotten ber pretty fingers had ever been on his throat Sib made him take a seat and began to mal» din vernation with him, as if die suppoeed be had called to see her. Bat suddenly sho affected to bo struck with an idea. "Oh, know why yon are not more talkative, you didnt come to see me at alL" She stepped to tbs door. "Susan, call Miss EWngsworth."

Miss!" Then tbere wes no longer any room for doubt Philip shrank at tbe blow she gave him. He had thought all uncertainty was gone long ago, but he found that up to this very instant be had cherished a iparkof hope that Bertha had a right to tbe of tbe man A* had fled with. And •be was "JUNs" stilL His bootoss way saying something, bat be did not bear it, tbere was soch a deathly fftintneas aboot his beart

Then there came a step in tbe hail, and his familiar thrill Of tenderness at her coming. She lingered an instant an tbe threshold, an oldbabftof hers that gave him time to step forward and meet ber.

Mrs. Elllug* mirth bad risen, too, and was waiting to speak. It was only teoderaem in Philip Breton* eyes as he took both Bertha*

hands so gently, but she said "Am I very much changed* then?" and a pained look flitted across ber face. Philip did not answer her for a moment be was so distressed at her interpretation of the love that made his sight misty as ho gazed at her. "Well, I suppose I am in the way," remarked tbe mistress of tbe house, with inbred vulgarity. She was smiling sweetly, but women's smiles do not always signify amiability. "I suppose," she added, letting her skirts touch her two guests as she passed out, "you want to talk over old times with Miss Ellingsworth."

Now camo the last terrible assurance Philip winced at the heartless blow, but not so much as a flush passed over Bertha* face. She accepted the name without even a shade of silent denial on her calm features, though it was the badge of shame for her. "Oh, no," but he dared not look her in tho face for fear she should see his anxious pity for her. "You have been ill, perhaps, but I always thought you the loveliest woman in the world."

She smiled as she let him lead her to a seat "You always said that" Then she glanced sadly into the mirror. "But it is more pleasant to hear now, for I know I am not pretty any longer."

Could she understand that the change that had come over her radiant beauty only changed his love to make it deeper? Could she not see the new intensity of yearning in his eyes as he raised them to her face again? He longed to draw her into his arms and kiss her tired face into eternal smiles. His love had been refined intoanew divineness a love capable of all sacrifices for her that asked no price, but would pour itself in an eternal flood against her dull indifference, if it must be a love more pain than joy, of unutterable yearnings for what he believed she could never have for him that would seem to grow on her unresponsiveness that welled up the mightier for ber coldness, content if hereafter it might throw a littlo brightness on tho path her snowy feet should tread content if she would but let him warm her cold heart with his tenderness. "Aro you glad to be at borne f' ho asked, gently. "Do yon call this home, with my servant its mistressf' For a moment it was Bertha, as she used to be, her anger curling her red lips and flashing new fire into her tired eyes. "Does she insult your "It is insult enough that she is my father's wife. She can not go beyond that" "Shall you stay heroalwayP asked Philip stupidly enough. "I suppose so where' else is there?"

A wild impulse touched him he loved her and she needed love, had he not waited long enough? But a sudden fear came into his mind and chilled his hope like a frozen fountain. She might have a child—hoV strange he had never thought of it before. Ah, it would be a strong love* which could endure that,, a baby to- hang on her bosom and take her kisses, a baby with Curran*face. No, ho could never bear that, anything better than that. Her sin. he could forgave. Though it must linger forever in his memory, he ^wojxld bury it beneath more blessed expend love should, hallow her, he would kiss away Cur run's caresses from her lips.

But if there wero a child Philip started violently and looked at the door -r he- fancied he heard a sound like the pattering of infant feet Ina moment Bertha would, catch to her arms her child and Curran'»r ajjrithalf smother it with a mother*

^sn tfhat a child's vbtee!" ho cried, rising to his (0et and his eyes rested on hor in anew pitiful reproach. He thought she started strangely, as if a mower's instincts stirred in her bosom. "Oh, no it tS enly Jane—I mean Mrs. Ellingsworth. What an innocent little laugh she has."

A child, witli sweet winning ways, is a strange thing to hate, a lovely little rosellfd to blossom no ono knows how faultlessly by and by. But Philip thought he would hate her child—Bertha's child, perhaps with his darling's star like eyes ah, was it not Curran's, too, the symbol of her shame? As be walked home in the twilight ho saw in each toddling baby in the doorways and windows, an image of his own materialized fear and horror. Philip looked back from H1& hill on which stood his home to tho village his father had built up. Those massive mills with their thousands of looms were his thoso long rows of white houses, each one of which held a family rich in possibilities of virtue and hope, they all were his, and the new element of brightness and thrif, that had made the whole village a nursery of comfort and happiness was his work. Behind him was the great stone mansion with its arched gothic windows green with clustering woodbine, it was his too. How powerless ha thought all that wealth and material power can do to solve one of the terrible problems a heart makes for itself.

Moodily he walked to bis stables, in a kind of vague longing for companionship, and threw open the doors. Four horses stood in theii* stalls within, noble looking creatures all of them. They turned their stately heads toward the sound of their master's foot tboy returned bis love with love. One of thorn whinnied welcome and laid back his ears as his master came into the stall beside him. "Poor fellow, good boy Philip patted his whito neck affectionately. "You would do what you could for me, wouldn't you, Joet I know you would, old fellow." He laid his

An image of hit own materialized fear. cheek against tbe animal's velvet noso. "But y«« couldn't go fast enough to get me out of this trouble, not if you died to do it [To be Ikm&HvMLI

tt la a significant fact tbat most of the women who bave achieved fame in art literature, or ••affairs," have enjoyed vigorous health. This sh^ws that tbe mind is never capable of tbe severs and continued application necew«ary to creative work, unlees tbe body is at it* best. Tbe woman who aspires to fill an exalted place among ber associates, must be free from nervous debility nod female weaknesses. Dr. Pierce's Favorite Prescription will banish these, and it is warranted to rentore thoee functional harmonies which are indispensable to health. Asa specific for all tnoee chronic weaknesses and ailments peculiar to women, it is unequaledL

The warm weather Ins a debilitating effects* especially upon thoee who are within doom' most of the time. The peculiar, yet common,?^ complaint known as "that tired feeling,"^ is the result This feeling can be entirely overcome by taking Hood's SarsaparUla, which gives new life and strength to all tbe functions of the body. "I could not sleep bad no appetite. I took Hood's SarsaparUla and soon began to sleep soundly could get up without that*® tired and languid feeling and my appetite improved." R. A. SAITTORD,Kent Ohio.

Strengthen the System Hood's SarsaparUla is characterized by three peculiarities: 1st the combination of remedial agents 2d, the proportion sd, tbe process of securing the active medicinal qualities. The result is a medicine of unusual strength, effecting cures hitherto unknown. 8end for book containing additional evidence. "Hood's 8ursap purifies my bloc seems to tnake Begister of Deeds, Lowell, Mass.

Hood's SarsaparUla beats all iswortli its weight in gold." I. BARRINOTOIII.and.others, l»Bauk Street, New York City.

Hood's SarsaparUla

Soldi by all druggists. $1 six for $5. Made only By 0.1. HOOD

CO., Lowell, Mass.

IOO Doses One Dollar*

DB.

GILLETTE.,

DENTIST.

GFold Filling Speciality.

Office—Corner 8eventfeand Main streets,'1 in McKeen's new block, opp. TerreHaute House

1JNC0LN & HAYNES, -L-* DENTISTS Office south st, opposite post office.

All work warranted as represented.

T^R. GEO. MAE BACH, -1-7 DENTIST. REMOVED to' WnAasb Avenuo, over

Arnolds etoCMag store.

"T)K. R. W. VAN VALZAH,

Suoomaor to

KICIJARDSON A VAN VALZAH, 3DDEHSTTXST.

Offloe—Southwest corner Fifth and Main Streets, over National State Bank (entranoe on Fifth street

Attorneys at Law,

380S Ohio Street

Money to Loan at Low Rates of Interest,

JjSAAO BALL,^^!T!v". FUNERAL DIRECTOR. Cor. Third and Cherry Sta, Tewe Haute, Ind. IH prepared to execute alt ordtm in his lino with neatness andtdlspetch. '3

Embalming a Specialty.

N E N O

]Sf UGENT & CO, PLUMBING and GAS FITTING A 4 deater h» Gas Fixtures, Globes and Engineer's 8upplles. 80S Ohio Street. Haute, 1«|

TTOTEL GLENHAM, FIFTH AVENUE, HBW YORK, Bet 21st and 23d sts», near Madison Square,

EUROPEAN PLAN. N. B. BARRY, Proprietor,

New and perfect plumbing, aooording tbe latent scientific principled

Established 1806. Incorporated 187S.

TDHCENIX FOUNDRY J,.4 -tti,' 3 1. 4 -ift

t,r

^MACHINE WORKS, Manufacture and deal in all kinds of Machinery and Machinery '•fUsere Supplies.

Flour Mm Work

OUR SPECIALTY.

Have more patterns, larger experience and eapacity, and en ploy more mechanics than any other similar establishment within sev-enty-live mites of Terre Haute.

Bepsdr and Jobbing Work.

Given special attention. Write or call on as and see for yourself. 301 to 23o K. 0th st., near Union Depot

Terre Haute, Ind.

Established 1M1. il® Incorporated U88.

QLIFT & WILLIAMS CO., Successors to Clift, Williams A Co. W. 8. Curr, Pres.

J. H. WiLLXAXS, V. P. and Sec'y. gf J. M. oust, Trees

•. Jt V-% JxAirmraoroMBS or

S -*!».

3-. •...•

Sash, Doors, Blinds, etc.

LUMBER, LATH, SHINGLES GLASS, FAINTS, OILS AND BUILDERS* HARDWARE. berryIstr*et, iorner 9th. ^1t rre Haute, Indl XTOTICE oFPirnnos TO VACATE IM STREETO.

Notice is berebygtven that the undersigned has filed in tbe office of tbe Auditor of Vigo County. Indiana and at the regular Juoe session or UB8 of the Board of Commissioners of said county will present to said Board a petition praying for the vacation of Second. (2). Third, (h and Fourth (4) streets In Krumbbaars subdl"'"'"*" three Range

ivision of the Northwest quarter beast quarter of section ThlrtyIn Township Twelve (12) north Nine (f) West In said county.

GEORGE R. PRESTON. By J. A D. Attys.

EvANSVILLE

ROUTE.

10 Hours

Quicker time than via any other route to all points In the South. OnlyjM hours between Terre Hants a**d Jacksonville, Fla., with but one change of can. Woodruff and 'Pullman sleeping ears to Nashville. Por tickets and full information, call on

B. A. CAMPBELL*

General Agent Terrs Haute, lad.

&5V