Saturday Evening Mail, Volume 19, Number 6, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 28 July 1888 — Page 8

THE MAIL

A PAPER FOR THE PEOPLE.

UNDER THE ROSE.

BB—Mtd«).

If I sbonkl steal a little Idn Oh, would tbe weep, I wooderf 1 tremble *t the thought ot Mia It I rfioull steal a liuie kiss! Such pouting tips would oever mitt

The dalaty bit of plunder If I should ctpal a tittle kis. Oh, would she weep. I wonderf

SHX—(aside).

He long* to steal a kiss ot mine— He may. if hell return It If I can read the tend** sign. He kntg* to steal a ki» of mine* "In love and war*'—you know the line

Why cannot bo discern It? He longs to steal a kiss of mintHe may if he'll return it.

BOTH—(flve minutes later) A little kiss when no one sees—

Where is the Impropriety* How sweet, amid the birds and boes, A little kiss when no one sees Nor I* It wrong, the world agrees.

If taken with sobriety little kiss when no one sees. Where is the Impropriety? —Samttel Minturn Peek.

The New Curate.

"You haven't seen him yet? Well, that's a pity.' He's quite a catch, I ana told. Young, handsome and single. Why don't you set your cap for him, Mattie? 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 (Juaker gray or sombre brown.

Never was there a wedding, funeral or christening in the villlage without this estimable lady's presenoe. What a harmless little body she appeared and how incapable of carrying about that wonderful budget of information! How nicely she imparted her knowledge to hor listeuors, beginning with, "Well, I don't mind telling 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 the garden that morning training some oarly June roses my thoughts were not the brightest, scarcely in harmony with nature, which was decked In one of her brightest mantles. It was quite unnecessary for Mrs. Brlggs to remind mo of my age. I was thinking seriously of it. Twenty-six. Not very old, to be sure, and yet not young to an unmarried woman. I must be content with fewor laurols, less conquests. I must stop out of the Held as It were, and leave the romance and day dreams to youngor and fairer girls. it mattered little to me whether the curate was young and unmarried, or a portly old fellow with a wife and grown daughters. At heart I disliked this lnterfering old woman who had broken In on my reverlo.

I thanked her kindly for her advice, tolling her that at present I had no attention of sotting my cap for anyone, not oven for the uew curate, so saying I went back to my work and roses. "There, Mattie. don't got riled. Of courso It's nobody's business if you'ro jrolng to leave yourself an old maid but take my advice and don't spend your timo fretting and worrying over Bob Preston, for he ain't worth it, nohow."

She shook hor head wisely and was oft beforo I had time to recover from the cruel thrust that had opened the old wound—Hobert

Preston and the past.

1 had tried to guard my heart, to trample under foot the old love. I could havo laughed at iny girlish follv, as If It were a dream until a thoughtless wort! had brought back the past, like the dead rlssn to life again, ot a smouldering fire that needed out a gentle breese to make it a burning ilame. One by one the roses dropped from ray hands. One by eno the blinding tears fell.

was only

a weak woman after all, as, covering my face with i»v hands,

sobbed.

"Robert, oh, Robert! Why were you

U\Tall

came back to mo—that visit to

Aunt Martha, where I first met Robert Preston, a young studentjust returned from college. I cannot tell you all those bright, happy day dreams how I loved him and waited for the happy day when lie would ask me for that love. He read «ny answer io tny tell tale face before uttered It. crossed with Roberts society, I

tnV lips uttered it. So engrossed wl took lltue heed of other matters, scarcelygiving thought to the fact that a youn lady, the daughter of a deceased friend of my aunt's, was going to make her home with us. She oame. From the moment I looked upon her lovely face

Jitpie

gone. I was a pretty tie. ret one might as little daisy to a

full blown poppy or a rich red rose as my frail beauty to this girls exquisite lovllneea.

For a time his love was unchanged* I laughed in my foolish heart at mv -doubt* and fears, At times I would And his seriou* eyes wandering from me and resting admiringly on the beautiful face of Kathleen I«eo. 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 ahe too

How 1 suffered. In my mad iealousy I grew aim to hate the child. He loved me l.c?4re she came, with her beautiful flower like f*«Storob me of that love. Was she bMi3 that she did not see we were betrols a? I prayed that she might go

awav

lighter.

and ve us to

our*elves once more, and RoLuU would so back to his old Wud ways. Hi# caresses were growing

Ter,

his

spoke of uls -. -ming nej| -t»

He answered lightly, taking both my hands In his ana looking fondly »t me. "Nonsense, Mattie! Do you know my tittle girl, that you are growing nearer and doarvr to me «v«ryd*v?"

For a time I was satisfied, Itrying to be content with hut »h*re of his lore. We were seated in the garden one afternoon in early autumn, Robert, Kathleen and 1. She was looking u»* handsome in a draw of Mull. My lover had just paid herawellmorited com went, for whwh ane was *!*mt to tWL... gracious reply* when Aunt Marttia came to us. •'Robert*, Placing her hand fondly on shoulder as ahe will yon gather aome gr »r tfiad that some ot the bu~—ht^ too

imuu

*lK»k«s

%SfSlia

high. The girls will go with yon 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 ss they walked away together, he carrying the little wicker basket and she tossing her bright curia with that coquettish air that came so natural to her.

I cannot tell yon what tempted me to follow them. It must have been some evil genius. Slowly I followed down the pathway, taking every precaution, however, not to be observed. 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 withfthe others, when their eyes met, their bands 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 wae homesick, I told Aunt Martha. I lefts letter for Robert, giving no explanation of my conduct, simply telling him it was better 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 whate struggle it cos* me to place it with that letter—the last I should ever write t« Robert.

I came home to mother, who was quiu an invalid and needed all my care. 3 never beard from Robert save once, thro Aunt Martha, who wrote: "Of course, Mattie, 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 newnpaper bad fallen into my hands, where an account was given of 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 receiving 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, llattering myself that I had quite succeeded in deceiving humanity in general, until tho gossip had come upon me with her Idle work, bringing to life the bitter past that I thought I had burled years ago. "Going to service, Miss Kenwood?"

It was my neighbor who asked me the question. Marcia Hall—a dear little girl with the utmost faith in mankind in general. I smiled faintly as I caught hlght of tho new bonnet with its dainty ribbons, evidently got up for the new curate. "Young and foolish," thoughtl. "Wait until

she

is twenty-six, and I'll wager

sbo will not buy a now bonnet for all the new curates in town." Slowly we walked to church on that bright Sunday morning, Marcia chatting gayly and I, dressed in the plainest of dresses, walked silently beside her. 1 had not fully recovered from Mrs. Brigg's unkind remarks, and was determined to show hor 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 find that notwithstanding my plain toilet and my twenty-six years I was still a mother ow well yo"u're look'lng, Mattie!"

How crowded the little vllliage church was—tilled to overflowing. Everyone was there, even that hateful Mrs. Brlggs. I caught a glimpse of the great poke bonnet as I walkod 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 rladly taking refuge behind a large palm ieaf fan kindly proffered by a portly old gentleman beslae 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 Marcia, pulling softly at my sleeve. "Do look at him, 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 tne 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 1 raised my eyee to see before me—Robert Preston.

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

Was Kathleen dead! I wondered. Had he given up his practice? Was he happy? Fifty different queries crowded upon my memory. Why had fate thrown us once more together after my bitter struggle to forget. One thing 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 ^U«r of the now curate. The slngt we chanting In that nasal, drawling tone so natural to village choirs and still I *at nming. "Are vou ining," asked my companion then, as I rose mechanically to obey, "Don't you like him Miss Kenwood? Do tail me you listened atten tively, and once* as, I look thought you were going to you looked so pale. Are you ill

I cannot tu.

Mint av

s/»

Yes, I 1 him," I" added al—d, while my *rt whispered, "God -y me, I love him!"

We were out once more In the

br rht

sunshine, coming quite nnexpeet upon a little group eomj of the w^thfer members of the w^iegauco hcred around the new curate. They had led he BHU-. -^.4 standichoatna^ Lie vl? a matter of taste. Home one—1 think ft the wife— -n. 0» met, ottt aa resting those serious eyes upon me, he said: "1 have had the pleasure cf meeting Miss Renew- --V*

bannened that we

were all walking oat thi* „-h the church

liiHHE HAUTE SATURDAY EVENING MAUI

yard towards 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 Us 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 wean 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 sudden truth bad 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 bad refered to bis cousin. He had entered the ministry from choice, as he had come into a large fortune through the death of an uncle. True, he 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 unfortun ate 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. Brlggs "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. 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 PITKOUSLY AND THEM 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 \^as 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 mourn ful 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 hor 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, Ellon," 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 ragintr 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! Yon 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 mo! 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 tuy 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 roe."

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 prayers that she might know, if but only once, that I kissed her. God knows" how I would have yielded up my very life, could I have asked forgiveness of that sweet child.

Well, grief is unavailing now! She te in her little tomb there is a marble urn at her head and a rosebush at her feet there grows sweet summer flowers there waves the gentle grass there birds sing their rutins and vespers there the blue sky st es down to-day and there lies buried the freshness of my heart.

T«w Frtcad Committed Suicide.

Yon never suspected it, none of year frir is dr used of it, hedil not know Tr mseH, out'! Is es«'% what he did,

Ihelesa. 1 you mber his sallow le. a? Do you ree^Joct how hf» 'jvttjpJ.T'n headaches and .i-i'- n? "I'm dtting quite Wl-

Mia yon dii.v. bat I

K'1-** pm ":T. lovfitl .l-.ne art?'••r it, h»- I nt in g.'" Soon after that ath. ltwssw nu "ly was gr.vUiv snrpr

.v"

beard of

•n and evtd. If he

!r. !•:.•: Tr nt Purgabei and well 'n't h?* ex:*:n e. The '•ste*1

uUta,

tmid io

,an .j swre.

ilaii!

their

THE NE'ER-DO-WEELS.

WEN OF GENIUS WHO WEHE AT FIRST UNDERRATED.

***&»*"

»1 *y

Authors Who— Kaw Famous Works Wm Onee iMfhed At—Story of tho "Ugly Duckling"—Poo at West Point—teetfs

Us&nlfthed Manuscript.!,^

The opinions of friends and neighbors as to a man's powers are 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 njainst the background of the horizon, may be accurately and publicly ascertained. But more frequently—and especially in the case of a man of roal 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 purchase 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 intra duced Parnell to Lord Bolingbroke 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 littl

Tittle friendly forward

ing." Daniel Webster in the very height of nis fame, just after his famous Bunker 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 old friend of the Websters, he gradually, after due discussion of the weather and the crops, turned the conversation upon his own family. 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 ho fittingly deplored. Daniel slipped in a modest query us to whether there was not a brother named Dan. "He never was much account," said the *old gontloman, with a shake of his head. "I oelieve 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 parents conceived so mean an opinion of his 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 lncor rigible dunce."

Poo 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, save 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 off 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 athletic exercises. Sir Humphrey Davy 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 was 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 tne gods, and died young.

Scott tells us in his "Diary" that for a time ho was underrated by most of his companions, though subsequently getting forward and held a bold and clever fef low, contrary to tho opinion of all who thought him a mere dreamer. "Dunce he Is ana dunco ho will remain." was the sentence passed upon him by Professor Dalxell at the Edinburgh university. The coldness of his critical friends at the outset of life had almost deterred him from poetical composition, as it afterward caused him to throw aside the unfinished manuscript of "Waverley" 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 oneevening after din ner to his friends Erskine and Crouncston They listened with just as much apparent attention as tho laws of courtesy abso lately 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 com men to the thread of conversation which Scott had broken into with his cold dash of poetry. Ho interpreted their silence aa un uttered condemnation, and threw the stanzas aside in disgust nor was it until long after that they again saw the light

When Heine read his two stanzas. "The Pine and the Palm.** t» a •.eric hicli numbered *vcli men as FCT'IU^, SrL.cgel. Chaxnisso. they all -»t peal* of inextinguishable laughter which well, nigh put him oot of maseSt tH*h a poem whose fame la

rid tfi Addison

advised Pope c.- to hia f»irf mr*1—logy into ?ue .-f viae IJC* Wc worth's friends ail mgbt r* to leave oat of his volume of -"l.vn-.il Ballads" the poem "W*arei^~: suring him that it would fet 1 -i upon him the laughter of al! I': Pope had tJ- pkjasum nf fnfori: ng a friend who .1 httn -I.rit ti. we i, :ur sr-1 out en': AEssay on Muti." wiucn was koomi 'rie stuff, without coherence or tneetfe that he had seen the "tl g" before it veal to press, since It was his own writing upon which the astonished critic sehted fab hat. "blushed.

bowed and took his leave forever."—Lippiacott's llagirim

Wijit «.*.

uv« «o Prevent Fraud

Axe the people awaze that newspapers axe sold at a price less than the cost by weight of the paper on which they are printed, and the press work? As a rale one-half of the price paid by the public goes to the intermediary. Thus, if tho price of the paper is two cents the news* man 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 unsupplied who desires tho paper, and it is impossible to to tell at what point the demand may be larger on any ono 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 th*n 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 cent 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 *nd 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

very large percentage of its issue, which has been read and then returned as if unread.—New Tork Mail and Express.

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,,'Ai #)t', ., '.V

,aT' .-»

Love

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pi If PLE8, Blackheads, red, rough, chapJT Juil ped and oily skin prevented by Cutlped 8oaj).

IN ONE MINUTE. The Cutlcura Antl-Paln Plaster relieves Rheumatic, Sciatic,

"BT Sudden, Sharp and Nervous Pains, Strains, and Weaknesses. \XJ|^*rhe first and only pain-killing plaster. New, original, Instantancous, infallible, safe. A malicious Antidote toPaln, Inflammation and Weakness. Utterlv unlike and vastly superior to all other plasters. At all dra«gisU,«5c five for 11.01) or postage free, of Potter Drug and Chemical Co.. Boston. Mass.

TlR. GEO. MARBACH,

±J DENTIST. REMOVED to Wabash Avenue, over Arnold's clothing store.

DrUNDSEYS

BLOOD

SEARCHER

~Mak«s a Lrrdr Conplezlaa.

rStleodid

'Select Medicine Co., Pittsburgh,!

•SELLERS' LIVER PILLS

IT«« LM|(WHUKR«MNFFW. TK*7 Ixeartw DMMM,

Van. gypm**[.«•—?)

,v*. "r-ffv"

~5\ .V

C.I.St.L.&C,

1 E POPUUUEt BOUTB BKTWZXH "T

CINCINNATI, INDIANAPOLIS 2 TERRE HAUTE

ST. LOUIS, LAFAYETTE, 5 and CHICAGO.

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

Trains of Vandalla Line [T. H. A L. DlyJ makes clone connection at Colfax with C. 8t. I* 4 C. Ry trains for Lafayette A Chicago

Pullman and Wagner Bleeping Cars and Coaches are run through without change between St. Louis, Torre Haute and Cincinnati Indianapolis via Bee Line and Big 4.

Five Trains each way, dally except Sunday three trains each way on Sunday, between Indianapolis and Cincinnati.

Tho Hnlv 1 ,ino

W to

llie Ulliy

makes Ciiicln-

ljllieUatl

Its Great Objec

tive 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. A B. R. R., [B. O.J N. Y. P.AO.R. R., [Erie,] and the C. C. C. A I. R*y, [Bee Line] for the East, as well

with the trains of the O. N. O. A T. P. RSr, [Cincinnati Southern,] for the South, Southeast and Southwest, gives it an advantage over all its competitors, for no route from Chicago, Lafayette or Indianapolis can maka these connections without compelling passengers to submit to a long and dlsagreeabla Omniqus transfer for both passengers and

Checks to all

rh Tickets and

Principal. Points can he obtained at any Ticket office, C. I. SU L. A C. Ry, also via thfit line at all Coupon Ticket Offices throughout

J.'H^MAR^IN, JOHN EG AN, Dlst. Pass. Agt- Gen. Pass. A Tkt, Agt. corner Washington Cincinnati,Qf and Meridian st. Ind'pis.

Shortest

Quickest

ROUTK

3 EXPRESS TRAINS DAILY

PROM

KVAN8VILLK, VINOKNNIC, TKRRI HAUTE and DANVILUI

CHICAGO

WHENCE DIRECT CONNECTXOK Umadotosll points EAST, WESTand NORTHWEST

Aik for TUkiti TU OLietgo lutira Wlwia *.

For ratM, tims tsbls* and Information In dltall* addroi your nsartst Tioksl Agtnt,

WILLIAM HILL, Oan. Pass, and Tkt. CHICAGO, ILL. R. A. CAMPBELL,

General Agent, Torre Haute, Ind.

CRAWFORD

HOUSE,

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

Entrance on Sixth Street.

LEWIS VANDEN

.PROPRIETOR,

RATES:

$1.50 and $2.00 per Day.

CATARRH

ELY'S

CREAM BALM

Cleanses the NMSN)

Passages, Allay*

Pain and Inca

rnation, Heals tin

Senses of Taste and

Smell,

Try the Cure.

HffFEVER

Sores, Restores the

A particle Is an piled into each nostril and la agreeable, rrlce SO oents at Druggists by mall, registered. 60 cts. ELY BROS.,

The

"ir

avorite" Waist.

Ecomleal.

Uealthful. COMFORTABLE.

Darable.

Designed for '"dies who potto wear yet desire to fromMhlng will give form •hsne 1 ihe loi while aflbrdlnf r: »Ui' -'»rt. \i:.,nut.tai the «net Co. -kson,L Hold at

A E

University ofYirginia.

{Founded by TUOXA* Jr.rrKmos.) mUm of ftnm month* t- -iitsl* rlst, IAS.-.. There ar*» 1#* ut LU.-.:N!' tloa in'Utrr., .\r»»•A»r"u'*re, Kfp\**rpx/j. ». ui fy-tr. i.xpartit.. Location efevatliJ.J. 1 '.7 ,-sfflfWapply tall

V!.%" iw t., lj„. IK, «"i, of Fa» titty. 1'. o. t. iii vcrsily ul VH., V*,

FOR MEN ONLY.

taw

vfcor or •XMMMk KO. bxA trnt itmlrit) *MX* mroTcai. oo.. KXRRWAUO. jr. T.

J. mm. N &L*"

vWJ?

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