Saturday Evening Mail, Volume 19, Number 6, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 28 July 1888 — Page 7

¥3

THKMAIL

A PAPER FOR THE PEOPLE.

UNDER THE ROSE.

m—(Hide).

If I sbonld s^al a little kiss Oh, would she weep, I woodert tremble *l the thought of bliss If I sbouli steal

a

little IdMt

Such pouting Ifps wguld never miss The daloty Mt of plunder If I should steal a little kiss,

Ob, would she weep. I wonder?

sue—faside).

He longs to steal a Kiss of mine— He may, if he'll return It If I can read the tender ttgu. He kniga to •teal a kiss of mine* ••In lore and war"—you know the Une

Why cannot be diaoern it? He long* to steal akin of mineHe may if he'll return it,

BOTH—(five minutes later) A little kla* when no one sees—

Where is the Impropriety* Ho* street, amid the birds and bees, A little kiss when no one sees "or I It wrong, the world agrees.

If taken with sobriety little kiss when no one nee*. Where is the Impropriety? —Samuel Minturn Peek.

The New Curate.

•'You haven't seen blm yet? Well, that's a pity.' He's quite a catch, I am told. Young, handsome and single. Why don't you set your cap for him, Mattle? You've got as good a chance as the rest of them, and twenty-four years is not old, by any means."

She leaned over the garden gate as she spoke, this veritable village gossip. I can see her now, with her great poke bonnet, from which the clustering gray ringlets peeped, the keen blue eyes that seemed to read your very thoughts, the trim little figure, clad always in ample skirts of Quaker gray or sombre brown.

Never was there a wedding, funeral or christening in the villiage without this estimable lady's presence. What a harmless little body she appeared and how Incapable of carrying about that wondorful budget of information! How nleoly she imparted her knowledge to her listeners, beginning with, "Well, I don't mind telliug you," or "They do say, but of course you can't believe anything," and ending with, "That's between you and me it will go no farther."

I was in tho garden that morning trainiUm, ra ing some early June roses my thoughts were not tho brightest, scarcely in harmony with nature, which was decked in one of her brightest mantles. It was quite unnecessary for Mrs. Briggs to remind me of my age. I was thinking seriously of It. Twenty-six. Not very old, to be sure, and yet uot young to an unmarried wom&o. I must bo content with fewer laurels, less conquests. I must stop out of the lipid as it were, and leave the romance und day dreams to younger and fairer girls.

It mattered little to me whether the curate was young and unmarried, or a portly old follow with a wife and grown daughter*. At heart I disliked this interfering old woman who had broken in on my reverie.

I thanked her kindly for her advice, telling hor that at present I had no attention of setting my cap for anyone, not oven for the new curate, so saying I went back to my work and roses. "Thoro, Mattle, don't get riled. Of oourso It's nobody's business if you're (rointr to leave yourself an old maid out take my advice and don't spend your time fretting and worrying over Bob Preston, for he ain't worth it, nohow.'

She shook hor head wisely and was oft beforo I had tlmo to recover from the vmel thrust that had opened the old wound—Robert

Preston and the past.

I had tried to guard my heart, to tram-

1aughed

le

under foot the old love. I could have at my girlish folly, as if it wew a dream until a thoughtless word had brought back the past, like the dead ris«m to life again, 01 a smouldering fire that needed but a gontle breoxe to make it a

One

burning ilame. One by ono the roses dropped from my hands. One by owe the blinding tears fell. I was only a weak woman after all, as, covering my face with my hands, 1 sobbed. "Robert, oh, Robert! Why were you false?"

It *11 cAino buck to mo—that visit to Aunt Martha, where I first met Robert Preston, a

young

student just returned

from college. I cannot tell you all t^oae 4rlght, happy day dreams how I loved him and waited for the happy davwhen lie would ask me ft»r that love. He read tny answer in luy tell tale face before tn'y lips uttered it.

So engrossed with Robert 8 society, I took lltue heed of other matters, scarcely giving thought to the fact that a young lady, the daughter of a deoeased friend of my aunt's, was going to make her home with us. She cauie. FYom the moment I looked upon her lovely face in happiness was gone. I was a pretty Rid, fair and fragile, yet one might as well compare a simple little daisy to a full blown poppy or a rich red rose as my frail beauty to this girla exquisite lovllness.

For a time his love was unchanged* I laughed in my foolish heart at niv •doubts and fears, At times I would find his serioua eyes wandering from me and resting admiringly on the beautiful face -of Kathleen Lee. No man could resist that wondrous fascinating face. She never encouraged him, but the drooping lids, the

faint

flush, the trembling of the

little hands, all told plainly that she too

IOH^whUuflfer«d.

In my mad jealousy

I grew almost to hale the child. He loved me before she came, her beautiful flower like

face,

that love.

to rob me of

Was

she blind that she did

not see wo were betrothed? I prayed that she might go away and U*y« to ourselves once more, and Robert would go ?k to his old fond w^-*. His ca-

hands In his and looking fondly *t me. "Nonsense, Mattle! Do you know my little girl, that you are growing nearer and doarvr to m« everyday?"

For a time I was satisfied, trying to be content with but a share of his love. We were seated In the g"- en one afternoon In early autumn, I.^jcrt, Kathleen and I. She was looking unusually handsome In a i«w* of JL Mull. My lover bad Just paid ra« Imerited compliment, for which she wws nlhuit to make a gracious reply, woe® Aunt Martaa t» "Hobert^.she said placing her hand fondly on %, shoulder as she spokis wilt von gall some grapes for I 4lutl that some of the bunches hang too

*7:t

high. The girls will go with you to hold the basket."

He rose to comply with her request. Kathleen was at his side in a moment, while I refused to go feigning a severe headache. "They do not want me," I reasoned within myself.

I watched them aa they walked away together, he carrying the little wicker basket and she tossing her bright curls with that coquettish air that came so natural to her.

I cannot tell yon what tempted me to follow them. It most have Seen some evil genins. Slowly I followed down the pathway, taking every precaution, however, not to be obaerved. Seated upon a little rustic bench, I could see every movement of my lover and Kathleen.

How lovely she looked standing in the orchard, the sunlight falling athwart the lovely upturned face, on which a smile rested! Never was seen a fairer vision. Her sleeves of soft texture falling back showed the shapely outstretched arm.

Sometimes a peal of merry laughter would fall upon my ear. They did not miss me—not even Robert, he was content with Kathleen.

The basket was full to overflowing, and still they lingered. One bunch of lucious grapes, the last gathered, was in Robert's hand. He stooped to place it withlthe others, when their eyes met, their hands touched. Was I dreaming. Alas! no. I saw him stoop and kiss her fondly. I waited no longer. With a cry of pain I turned and fled to the seclusion of my room, where I sobbed out the trouble of my young heart, with only God to hear me.

I went away unexpectedly. I W*F homesick, I told Aunt Martha. I left» letter for Robert, giving no explanation of my conduct, simply telling him it waibetter we should part. I was a proud girl and would not stoop to acknowledge a rival.

I remember taking the ring he had given to me from my hand, and whats struggle it cos1' me to place it with that letter—the last I should ever write Robert.

I came home to mother, who was quiw an Invalid and needed all my care. 3 never heard from Robert save once, thro' Aunt Martha, who wrote: "Of course, Mattle, you've not forgotten Robert,whom, to speak candidly,you treated rather unkindly. He has gone to New York to practice medicine. He is doing well."

An old newspaper bad fallen into my hands, where an account was given of a brilliant reception. Among the guests were the names of Dr. Robert Preston and wife. I knew it was Robert and Kathleen. I made no inquiries, and re celviug no further information took it for granted that Aunt Martha's kindness of heart prevented her from referring to the past. I closed my heart forever. The world will never know me as a disappointed woman, I thought, flattering myself that I had quite succeeded fn deceiving humanity in general, until the gossip had come upon me with her idle work, bringing to life the bitter past that I thought I had buried years ago. "Going to service, Miss Kenwood?"

It was my neighbor who asked me the question. Marcla Hall—a dear little girl with the utmost faith in mankind in general. I smiled faintly as I caught sight of tho new bonnet with its dainty ribbons, evidently got up for the new curate. "Young and foolish," thought I. "Wait until she is twenty-six, and I'll wager she will not buy a now bonnet for all the new curates In town."

Slowly we walked to church on that bright Sunday morning, Marcla chatting gayly and I, dressed In the plainest of dresses, walked silently beside her.

I had not fully recovered from Mrs. Brlgg's unkind remarks, and was determined to show her my disinclination to "set my cap" as she termed it, by appearing in an exceeding unbecoming gown. I was really disappointed, on catching a last glimpse in tlie mirror, to flud that notwithstanding my plain toilet and my twentv-six years! was still a mother ow well

pretty woman, and to hear my say as I stopped to kiss her, "He you're looking, Mattie!"

How crowded the little villias church was—filled to overflowing. Everyone was there, even that hateful Mrs. Briggs. I caught a glimpse of tho great poke bonnet as I walked quickly to my seat.

They were singing as we entered, yet I scarcely heard them, feeling rather embarrassed at coming late to be gazed at by the entire congregation.

I sank wearily among thesoftoushions gladly taking refuge behind a large palm leaf fan kindly proffered by a portly old gentleman beside me.

Now a hush, a slight flutter among the congregation, a rustle of garments, with now and then a subdued whisper as the pulpit was rolled close to the chancel and the new curate ascended. "He's just lovely," whispered Marcla, pulling softly at my sleeve. "Do look at hltn, Miss Kenwood."

I kept my eyes downcast. If every woman in the congregation cast glances of admiration I was determined to do otherwise. a "Am I my brother's keeper?" was toe text. Clear and distinct were tho words of the speaker. The first words had caused my heart to beat wildly. How like that voice of long ago—that rich, soft voice that pleaded for my love! I listened like one in a dream, until I raised my eyes to see before me—Robert Preston.

Yes, Robert Preston. Changed, to be sure not the bright, boyish face of long ago. There were lines of care and suffering on it now, while the dark hair was streaked wltu silver.

Was Kathleen dead! I wondered. Had he given up his practice? Was he happy? Fifty different queriea crowded upon my memory. Why had fate thrown us once more together after my bitter struggle to forget. One thi tig was determined upon- I must leave the village. I dared not trust my reason further Reason as 1 would my heart told me that I loved him still.

It"was all over. I could hear the whispered comments of the worshippers on the eloquence of the new curate. The singers were chanting in that nasal, drawling tone so natural to village choirs and still I sat dreaming. "Are vou coming," asked my companion then, as I rose mechanically to obey, "Don't vou like him Mi« Kenwood? Do toil mo vou listened attentively, and once, as. I looked at yon, I thought you going to to *w^y, you looked so L-^e. Aire you "Yes, I like hlm,w I added aloud, while my .rt whispered, "God pity me, I love

We were out once more In the bf »t Tishine, oora'-t: quite vr*»xpecu.~.y »n a little -i mp com!,—id of the wwltl members of the cot rep: around the new con.—, 11 learned he was a man of wealth ataudl -T^ght-. a* a mat—, of VasU:. S.'iiiC -It' '"1K was the pastor** wife—presented me him. ?"nir«vr*

rr.rr. ?mt

as

t:-.

he said: »I bir® tin* the pleasure cf meeting Miss iw« before."

I cannot

•W It bi _utthn_.

were ail yalk..

TERRE HAUTE SATURDAY JfiVJaNISTGr, MAIIi

yard toward* the highway, and I found myself alone with Robert. He was the first to break the silence. It pained me to think It was a commonplace remark. "How is Kathleen," I asked, endeavoring to show how little I cared for the past, and how, without betraying the slightest emotion, I could inquire after his wife's health. "Kathleen?** He looked dazed at the question. "I believe she is well but not happy, poor girl."

He believed she was well. How strange! Had he grown weary of her as of me? Was he utterly devoid of honor? '•Not happy," I said, as I toyed nervously with the roses in my bodice. "She should be very happy as—as your wife," I faltered "As my wife," he said, gazing in blank amazement. "Did you—oh, Mattie, you have judged me wrongly. I never married Kathleen."

He looked like a man upon whom a sudden truth had dawned, or one accused of a great wrong who could prove his innocence.

It was in the twilight before service that he told me it all. The notice in the paper concerning Robert Preston and wife had refered to his cousin. He had entered the ministry from choice, as he had come into a large fortune through the death of an uncle. True, be admired Kathleen as a man would admire a beautiful woman, but he never entertained the slightest feeling of love for her.

The scene in the orchard was but a little ruse gotten up by Robert and Kathleen to excite my jealousy, little dreaming of the serious result.

Kathleen had made a most unfortunate match, like most beautiful women, making a poor selection from her many suitors. Poor girl, what a dear, kind letter she sent to us, telling? how happy she was to hear we were united. "Just to think of it," said Mrs. Briggs. "He come back to her after the other girl had given him the mitten. I would not take nim. Would you?"

We can afford to laugh at her idle gossip, we are so happy, Robert and I. I smile proudly to think that without "setting my cap" I have captured the new curate, after all.

KISS ME, MAMMA, I CAN'T SLEEP.

THE PATHETIC CRY OP A SWEET CHILD WHO PLEADED PITEOUSLY AND THEN DIED.

Ladies'Home Journal.

The child was so sensitive, so like that little shrinking plant that curls at a breath and shuts its heart from the light.

The only beauties that she possessed were an extremely transparent skin and the most mournful, large blue eyes.

I had been trained by a very stern, strict, conscientious mother, but I Was a hardy plant, rebounding after every shock misfortune could not daunt, though discipline tamed me. I fancied, alas! that I must go through the same routine with this delicate creature as one day she had displeased me exceedingly by repeating an offence, I was determined to punish her severely. I was very serious all day, and upon sending her to her little couch, I said: "Now, my daughter, to punish you, and show you how very, very naughty you have been, I shall not kiss you to-night."

She stood looking at me, astonishment personified, with her great mournful eyes wide open—I suppose she had forgotten her misconduct till then, and I left her with big tears dropping down her cheeks and her little red lips quivering.

Presently I was sent for. "Oh, mamma, you will kiss me I can't go to sleep if you don't!" she sobbed, every tone of her voice trembling and she holdout her little hands.

Now came the struggle between love and what I falsely termed duty. My heart said give her the kiss of peace my stern nature urged me to persist in my correction that I mignt impress her fault upon her mind. That was the way I was raised, till I was a most submissive child and 1 remembered how I had often thanked my mother since for her straightforward course.

I knelt by the bedside. "Mother can't kiss you, Ellen," I whispered, though every word choked me. Her hand touched mine it was very hot, but I attributedit to her excitement. She turned her little grieving face to the wall: I blamed mvself as the fragile form shook with self-suppressed sobs, and crying, "Mother hopes little Ellen will learn to mind her after this," left the room for the night. Alas! in my desire to be severe I forgot to be forgiving.

It must have been twelve o'clock when I was awakened by my nurse. Apprehensive, I ran eagerly to the child's chamber. I had had a fearful dream.

Ellen did not know me. She was sitting up, crimsoned from the forehead to the throat her eyes so bright that I almost drew back aghast at their glances.

From that night a raging fever drank up her life and what think you was the inccssant plaint that poured into my anguished heart? "Oh, kiss me, mamma, do kiss me, I can't go to sleep! You will kiss your little Ellen, mamma, won't you? I can't go to sleep. I won't be naughty, If you'll only kiss me! Oh, kiss me, dear mamma, I can't go to sleep."

Holy little angel, she did go to sleep one gray morning and she never woke again, never. Her hand was locked in mine and all my veins grew Icy with its gradual chill. Faintly the light faded out of the beautiful eyes whiter and whiter grew the tremulous lips. She never knew me, but with her last breath she whispered, "I will be good, mamma if»only you'll kiss me."

Kiss her! God knows how passionate but unavailing, were my kisses upon her cheek and lips after that fatal night. God knows how wild were my prayer* that she might know, if but only once, that I kissed her. God knows iiow I would have yielded up my very life, could I have asked forgiveness of that sweet child.

Well, grief is unavailing now! She Is In her little tomb there is a marble urn at her head and a rosebush at her feet there grows sweet snmmer flowers there waves the gentle grass there birds sing their tins and vespers there the blue sky sr....as down to-day and there lie* buried the freshness of my heart. ..

Yo«r Fricwi Committed Salclde.' never suspected ft, none of yonr frit is dreamed of it, he did not know It himself, but it is exac'v what he tid, v. "rerfv-ies*. Do yon r^nieml hissallexfon? D« MI rec set bow he to -n-. \:v. of headaches and "i'm gt?t?ng Mlh" said to rut div.-bm I -'sss i:'1 pass I haven't anyiw? h. I I-.- in

•,i-n-.g/w

1 -1

Soon after tisat yon iteardof Itwa*

'•••rv

waa

Jdeoand ev-

«TM'.:v

iuriirta^d. If he

I'! V'"':"fI«*• -a**-i««»*upk tve Mi {n twm M« writing upon which

THE NETER-DO-WEELS.

MEN OF GENIUS WHO WERE AT FIRST UNDERRATED.

A

*rt,

?T-

Aatbora Wboe* Now Fmmotxa Works Wars

One* Ltofhcd At—Story of th* "Ugly Duckling**—Poa at West Point tolffs tJaflaialMd Manuscript,

The opinions of friends and neighbors as to a man's powers arc rarely of any value. Sometimes they ridiculously overrate him and push some donkey forward into a conspicuous position where the length of his ears, as defined a.xainst the background of the horizon, may be accurately and publicly ascertained. But more frequently—and especially in the case of a man of real genius—they arc inclined to undervalue one whom they have come to regard as one of themselves.

Montaigno tells us In his "Essays" that his attempt to become an author was laughed at In his own presence, and. even after ho had won his fame, he found that "at home he was obliged to pur chase printers, while at a distance printers purchased him." Balzac's family were sarcastically Indignant at his presuming to believe that he could write, and visited three failures with the usual exasperating "I told you so." When Swift introduced Pornell to Lord Boilngbroke and to the world ho made this entry In the journal. "It is pleasant to see one who hardly passes for anything In Ireland make his way hero with a little friendly forwarding." Daniel Webster in the very height of his fame, just after his famous Bunkor Hill speech, took a run down to his native village, which he had not visited in so many years that he was not recognized by his former cronies. Accosting a:i old friend of the Websters, he gradually, after due discussion of the weather and the crops, turned the conversation upou his own familv. Thereupon his companion burst out into enthusiastic encomiums upon the virtues and abilities of Daniel's elder brother, Ebenezer, who had died young, and whose early death bo fittingly deplored. Daniel slipped in a modest query as to whether there was not a brother named Dan. "He never was much account," said the -old gentleman, with a shako of his head. "I believe he went to Boston and became somo kind of a lawyer or "nother."

Andersen has allegorized his own forlorn and unappreciated youth in the story of the "Ugly Duckling" which turned out to be a swan. This story is a favorite with Bismarck. "I was an ugly duckling myself," he once told a friend "my poor old mother never would believe that there was any good In me." Isaac Barrow's

Eis

arents conceived so mean an opinion of temper and parts when he was a boy at the. Charter House school that his father used to say if it pleased God to take away from him any of his children it might be Isaac, the least promising. Adam Clarke's father was equally uncomplimentary to his own flesh and blood when he proclaimed his son to be "a grievous dunce." Sheridan's mother presented him to a new tutor as "an incor rlgible dunce."

Foe at West Point was a laughing stock to his schoolmates. Byron at Harrow was in no wise distinguished above his fellows. Napoleon and Wellington in their school days were distinguished only for dullness. Tho mother of the latter must be added to our list of complimentary parents. Arthur was good for nothing, sho thought, savo as food for powder. Robert Clive's family were thoroughly disgusted with him by the time he was 18 years old, his reputation for stupidity being then only equaled by his reputation for general wickedness, and, gladly accepting an Indian clerkship for him, they shipped him oft to Madras, "to make a fortune or die of a yellow fever." Goldsmith, up to the time of the publication of The Traveler," was looked upon as an idiot by almost all who knew him. Afterward he was dubbed an Inspired idiot. Burns was a dull boy, good only at ath letlc exercises. Sir Humphrey Davv was by no means esteemed a bril liant boy. "While he was with me," says his teacher, David Gilbert, "1 could not discern the faculties by which he was so much distinguished." And be sure that the good burghers of Stratford-on-Avon saw nothing in Will Shakespeare, the butcher's boy, but a wild, harumscarum scatter-brain, whose only chances of future elevation lay in the chance open to all rogues on the gallows. Indeed, the Rev. Mr. who waa pastor in the poet's birthplace in 1048, says there was another butcher's boy In the same town who was deemed more than an equal of Master Shakespeare In parts. This prodigy won the love of the gods, and died young.

Scott tells us in his "Diary" that for a time he was underrated by most of his companions, though subseqnently getting forward and held a bold and clever fef low, contrary to the opinion of all who thought him a mero dreamer. "Dunce he is and dunco ho will remain." was the sentence passed upon him by Professor Dalzell at tho Edinburgh university. The coldness of his critical friends at the outset of lifo had almost deterred him from poetical composition, as it afterward caused him to throw aside the unfinished manuscript of "Waverlpy" to molder away for eight years in his desk. The first sketch of his maiden effort at original verse, "The Lay of the Last Minstrel," he read over one evening after din ner to his friends Erskine and Crouneston They listen .id with just as much apparent attention as the laws of courtesy abso lutely demanded, smoked their cigars, passed tho claret, hemmed, drew a sigh of relief at the end of the first canto, and returned without a word of eommont to the thread of conversation which Scott bad broken into with his cold dash of poetry. Ho Interpreted their silence aa un uttered condemnation, and threw the stanzas aside in di« .»t nor was it until after that they again saw the light

When Heine read his two stanza*. "The Pino and tho Palm." to a rotcr, which numbered sucl. men as Fi ue, Sc'."-gel. Chainb**", etc.. they all L_. ^t Iato peal» ©fines' galshablo laughter which well, nigh put him out of conorit with a poem whoee fame is ow world Add'-^Mi •dvimi Pop® to his mrtbology into "T. Baf* -f t:.- Lor Wordsworth a frfeutk a2' ta«bughl to leave out of his vol .:.oof "Lyii •.! Ballads" the p»- "We are Seven." assuring him tri.it It would brinr upon him il.• iughter of all 1': Pope had the asttro of in:'-r:uuig a friend wh- told .m **-at waa a thing just ?itc A:i&- ii Man." whicn was nx*t atxstaff. flirHt'-ut coherence or ontsectum. that be had mn

x-r- -x«v tA in Ii.iyl IfftOtltlDW CTttiC SCUBftl Bli Blti QillwMu*

Soffit

«o Prevent Fraud.

Arc the people aware that newspapers are sold at a price less than the cost by weight of the paper on which they are printed, and the press work? As a rule one-half of the price paid by the public goes to the intermediary. Thus, if tho price of the paper is two cents the newsman receives one cent thereof. Always a larger edition has to bo printed than is taken by the public, because the publisher wishes nobody to go nnsuppllea who desires tho paper, and It is impossible to to tell at what point the demand may be larger on any one day than on other days, ana he consequently takes the risk of printing as many as will certainly be called for, whicL always proves to be less than the number actually called for.

This has led to the rule general among the publication offices of receiving back from the newsmen any unsold copies, and refunding them the one oent per copy originally received for them. This very liberal treatment has created a great many abuses. It has led a great many boys and men to stand at the cars, ferryboats and other thronged places and solicit the gifts of newspapers from people who have read them. Thereupon these newspapers are slightly moistened and Ironed, as the case may require, and sold back to the newspaper olfice for the full price originally paid. Thus the publication office is swindled, and gets nothing at all for a very large percentage of its issue, which has been read and then returned as if unread.—New York Mail and Express.

"My love, what magic spell thrown Upon your facet Its charm I own. Whence came thy pure and pearly teeth? Thy roy lips? Thy perfumed breath?" She said, in accent sweet and clear, lis only SOZODONT, my dear."

The Atmosphere of lot#

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Potter Drug A Chemical Co., Boston.

No Hheumafciz About Me. IN ONE MINUTE.

taneous. Infallible, safe. A manrelousAntidote to Pain, Inflammation and Weakness. Utterly unlike and vastly superior to all other plasters. At all druggists, «2Tc five for 1.00 or postage free, of Potter Drug and Chemical Co.. Boston. Mass.

TiR. GEO. MARBACH, J-J DENTIST.

REMOVED to «B% Wabash Avenue. Arnold's clothing store.

D'LINDSEY-S

BLOOD

SEARCHER

Makes a Lovely ComptadeB. fe id Took, sad cans Boil*. Pins* ifals, Meraurisi sad all Blx c. Setd by your Droggist. Seflers Medicine Co., Pittsburgh,?

SELLERS'LIVER PILLS

it

gram k!4 t»yw Tk*j I

friipdiw, Ciimi

mrz •U«« Mr mf*. Miw««

F.n. 'XT'

C,I.St.L.&C.

THE POPULAR BOCTB

.Jl BKTWKXK

CINCINNATI, INDIANAPOLIS TERRE HAUTE

ST. LOUIS, LAFAYETTE, and CHICAGO.

The Entire Trains run through Without change, between Cincinnati and Chicago*. Pulman Sleepers and elegant Reclining Chair Care on night trains. Magnificent Parloe Cars on Day Trains.

Trains of Vandalla Line [T. H. A L. DivJ makes close connection at Colfax with C. I. St. L. & C. Ry trains for Lafayette A Chicago

Pullman and Waguer Sleeping Cars and Coaches are run through without change between St. Louis, Torre Haute and CinciunaU Indianapolis via Bee Line and Big 4.

Five Trains each way, daily except Sunday three trains each way on Sunday, between Indianapolis and Cincinnati. Tho Hnlv 1 .iiiawhich makes Cincinine Ull! JUllieuatl its Great Objective point for the distribution of Southern and Eastern Traffic. The fact that it connects In the Central Union Depot, in Cincinnati, with the trains of the C. w,4B,U. R., [B. O.J N. Y. P.40.R. R.,[Erie,]and theC.C.C. & I. R*y, [Bee Line] for the East, as well aa with the trains of the C. N. O. & T. P. R^f, [Cincinnati Southern,] for the South, Southeast and Southwest, gives it an advantage over all its competitors, for no route from. Chicago, Lafayette or Indlauapolls can make these connections without compelling passengers to submit to along and disagreeable Omnlqus transfer for both passengers and

passengers Checks to all

h^fhrough Tickets and Principal. Points can be obtained nt auy Ticket office, C. I. SU L. & C. Ry, also via this line at all Coupon Ticket Offices throughout

J^HTMAR^TIN, JOHN KG AN, Dlst, Pass. Agt. Gen. Pass. A Tkt. Agt. corner Washington Cincinnati,Of and Meridian st. Ind'pls.

TTB~S~»

Shortest

3 EXPRESS TRAMS UULV

PROM

•VAN8VILLI, VINOINNKS, TKRRI HAUT1 and DAMVILUi TO

CHICAGO

WHENCE DIRECT CONNECTXOIf is mado to sll points EA8T, WESTsad NORTHWEST

Art for Tiikiti tU Giloifo 8ut#re IlllMia 8. &

For rstst, time tablii snd Information Is dttaM* address your nearest Ticket Ageat* WILLIAM HILL, Oan. Pass, and Tkt.

CHICAGO, ILL.

R. A. CAMPBELL, General Agent, Terro Haute, Ind. ¥1116 A BCD Philadelphia I Hlo HAr Cll»t t*10 Newopaper AaVeS* ISSf Aipm-Tof Mossfe H. W. AVSIt AtOlfr- mir authorised agents.

CRAWFORD HOUSE,

Corner of 6tli and Walnut St*. CINCINNATI, OHIO.

Kntrance on Sixth 6tre«t.

LEWIS VANDEN

.PKOPRIKTOB,

RATES:

$1.50 and $2.00 per Day.

CATARRH

lEJIiTT'S

CREAM BALM

Cleanses

the Nasal

Passages, Allays

Pain and Infla-

matlon, Heals tli

Scnell,

The Cutlcura Anti-Pain Plaster relieves Rheumatic, Sciatic, Sudden, Sharp and Nervous Pains, Strains, and Weaknesses, me first and only pain-killing plaster. New, original, instan­

HtfFEVER

Sores, Restores the

Senses of Taste and

Try the Cure.

pai

and is agreeable sll, regl

tiled into each nostril ice SO cents at Druggists

A particle is aj pi: -d.eo. V» Warren St.. New York.

by mall, registered. 00 eta. ELY BKOH.,

The "favorite"

Waist.

Kcnmlcal.

tfealthfnL

Comfortable.

Durable.

Designed for I'Mr dies who prefer not to weareorsifc yet deal re to dm vomethlne tnfft will give form at *h*ne the t»yj while afT«*dln e**y mi',- '»rt,

Mnnu! lure1 theCof' t(X Co. Jiwtkaon. Hold at wl by 11 A fc N I

',EPDP» OH*

University ofYinjinia.

(Founded by TUO-MAH JKRD Session of months beg l-.-. It A-

M. ,r

"iiM'Utelii "i-'M""). U& !•.. 'tifi.l. ea«I sr A

O it

FOR MEN ONLY.

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