Saturday Evening Mail, Volume 19, Number 13, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 15 September 1888 — Page 7

-1

f- ,'-* /•. -, ,. 'r gt

LAST YEAR.

above into'tte pore, bin* eky, the fleecy cloods float idly by, thy btoesom** fragrance, perfect Janet list thy chorus of sweet bird* in two* "And jflt— there is that mars the beaoteoos scene, red drawn mine eyes sod it between. shame upon thee, foolish heart—a tear— 1^. joy tbou mournest vanished wtth last yearf

"Twerevata

Po seofc for lost years birds to last year's nest, Its sweet flowers dead, its bMs are kmc siace flown. 1/ As rata •o cherish last year's lore within thy breast, ,Wben with its joys, its idol, too, is gone.

firm a nettle and its power to sting Is lost, 'tis said. Ah: listen, then, poor heart A"'l from this adage quaint learn well thy part. jR, Clasp close thy sorrow to thine aching breast,

In soothing other's woes tbou shall And rest rom love's cold ashes purer Ares shall spring, md sorrow vanquished shall hare it* sting.

Mew life shall from dead love at I jth arise, And phoenix like shall soar and seek the skies.

say you are suiliciently delicate in our statement of the point at issue." •Uood land! Hear that, will you? Talk United States, young feller." •When 'r' y' goiu t' tackle y'r grass, fsuld Wheolock, dropping propitiatingly nto dialect, and sucking at au orange 'I swear I don't know. Tho weather in mighty ketchln', but I reckon it'll [nettle by Saturday if it does I'll be into it brlgh't an' early Monday morning. I swear It's about the hottest und wettest uno weather I've notlst for a hundred years 'r so. Come, Marthy, it's holdin'

rup

a little I guess wed hotter scoot." As motherly Mrs. Hidings gathered up her bundles and moved toward the door Amos stopped to say to Wheolock "Sav, Norm, don't yer fire any of that (Iudo English at the boys, 'r they'll bolt the ticket and lot y' dr*p into a hole, gents." •'lloid on a minute, Mr. Ridings," called Hance Knapp, tho prlnclpalof the vlllsgo school: "you didn't finish what S»ou were saying about Mrs. Bout. I'd like to know more of her."

A—w! (lit Wheelock there t' tell ho knows her as well as 1 do. I must be glttln' home t' feed m'calves." But he stopped aud stood a mornont relloctlvely, then laid his packages down, leaned against the counter, and, after a silence, spoke ugaln In a curious tone—a mixture of sympathetic omotlon and a doprecatton of what he feared might be called a weakness: 'I've known Matilda Bent since she was a glrl—'n' a darn purty girl she was thirty years ngo. Not purty, like a doll

vI/*'pose

It was Monday, too, and you had no uslness staying to dinner on wash-day. I hop© von hadn't anything but salt

spf

That was about the sl*e of It, I

ear I couldn't keep in' eyea offn that *man! They was four mon of us, and

that weakmlnded girl o' hers and a boy md that woman done all the waitln on h« table and went slldln' around there like a ghoat. The way she got dinner dinner ready and got rid o' work was a ution snakes! No nolae, no fuss, no rrtls—but It made me trmrl! An* hen I got off one o' my best Joke*—she nt drawed up her thin lips offui her

H)th, but her eyes didn't laugh! they :opt dark—and when I thought o* them vtth o' bor'n, \---i how purty they used look behind aor red lipm and now—I wear I felt sick. I couldn't eat another uuhful. It almost scemetl as if she was jest a dead woman workin' along «ben she ought t' be reetln' in her rare,"

There was a death-like pause when mos flntehed only the dree»-' the rain, beginning again, br uie Shush, till Amos spoke again with th# air a man who suapect* he has been car* mI too tar. "Why don't you laugh, Wlieeioek? ore's vT"- rrr the laugh out to come In," said, ibo silent group.

It ain't a laughing matter, Ai» dd Whocloek, In r«f»ly. The tew^n .as so great thai the tmx* ^tartcd into he ey«s cf Mi*. RiiUngs, Wiping her a a we'd Nstttar be going. Am** •I min is begin.-'ng I dH-H ,4m U\t tM§ay ,tn sick, Mr. Rot*!# I »t ip and her tills week, «ur©Pwr tired out like, and needs at le

**1 shouldn't wonder a hit,**said Anw**, krlmlv. picking tip hi# |sa»*sftl« and owlttf hi» wife out to the«

Z. C." in Home Journal.

[Hamlin Garland in Bel ford's MagaxlneJ

A Common Case.

that woman Uvea is more'n I said Amos, in a pause which remark of'Robie the grocer,

f'r she's Aiwthin' but skin and bone swear it makes me crawl t' see her go ^lidin' around like a dumnied spirut. 'a' when (the smiles sbq makes y* think a skeleton, like that in Doc. Carver's ,fflce." 'Mi*' Rent i* a good woman, Amos—" "Of course she •«," retorted Amos, [looking over at his wife, Heated on the 1«y-goods side of the store "she's too '4d, Marthy, too danged patient by [half t' suit me. Id like t' here her get her high heels once, and swear "Amos Hidings!" "Wall I would. It'd relieve her, and night stir up old Joe Bend a little." "Joe ain't over 'n' above energetic, [take it," said Roble, from the counter, •here he was reflectively chewing racker. "That's a sufficiently delicate perlph isis," observed Norman Wheelock, the ounty superintendent of schools. "Perlff— how many?" queried Amos

Marthy here'd say she was

tffomely—'' "Now, Amos!" "Probably she would a been, In some ves. But she had nice toeth and brown hair—an' she laughed a good deal thon, [an* she had a soopl© sort away in dan loin' thnt was mighty han'sum. But her fnce was good and looked brainy. Pact •was, she was a mighty tlne-halred girl— My? O, I know what you moan bj jt inkln.' Used to go t' dances with her inyself before Marthy came across m' path. Yes! M'tlldy was a great girl laugh aud dance In them days: wouldn't thluK it, t* see her now. Well I iWarthy she come—'" "I guess we'd better bo going, Amos, tit in Mrs. Hidings, rising hastily. "No. I'm gltrn started now, and fthev's no stoppln' me till I finish my «rmon. I'm just lhnberin' up,and you •an't tell what I'll say »of the utmost •radical value' (as Editor Foster said of ny specch at the Grango Picnic), I was jp to Bent's last week t' buy a couple o* pigs--a |alr o' his black and tan Berk»hlres for if they.s one thing Joe Bent *n do, it's raise pigs. It was most dint«»r tlmoand I staid t* dinner."

Heoantii! to a kkwb-..^ -Jd

'rdlesKikw t*a*k jro« e^leaMd rl»a|»a

what that woman's life is worth t' her— "r what any wife's life is worth on the western farm? Its bad enough f'r Marthy an' me, but our livin'is a general picnic all the year round compared to such a life as M'Uldy Bent's." "Ridings got pretty well stirred up," commented WheelocK, after Amos had driven away. "I don't know aa I ever saw him come closer to breaking down You see he and Matilda Fletcher used to go together a good deal, and it's prett hard lines for him to stand by and loo. on while she fades away in this way. can remember how she was looked upon though I was a little ahaver when she was a woman. She was considered 'flne*haired girl,' a little too fine-haired, some people were always saying." "But what sort of a fellow is Bent?" "O, good enough sort: ton tan average. Hard worker himself in his way thinks hfs wife ought to do the same. I he's

lackin

igh, bat lacks vim—staminy

works well enou somewhere. He Robie was waiting on a customer at the forward counter, and Wheelock lit another cigar and settled himself in his chair. The rain was beginning again in earnest, a continoons musical roar was rising from the roof of the low storeroe at the back. Through the open door a number of fowls could oe seen foraging about for food to last overnight

The streets were very quiet, save the splashing of the rain drops into the pools. "Between you and me, ProflT, I'm going to say just what I mean. Don't let it get out, or my chances for re-election wouldn't be worth a pewter cent. The fact is, that woman is being murdered, just like thousands of others like her in this country. It's the rule. I wouldn't be surprised to hear of that woman's death to-morrow." "But Amos said she wasstill working.' "Working, she's got to work till she drops, There's no rest for her this side of the final hole in the ground. I've seen .that woman ofl and on for over twenty years, and she been going on in the samo way about every year that I can remember. After she married Joe Bent she mighty soon found herself In harness, and she's never got out of it since. Iamned If I think she's tried! She sees, all around her, other women In substantially the same fix, and I suppose she thinks it's in the nature of the American civilization." "If she's dissatisfied she never says anything about it. Now don't Joe knowingly abuse her, for he didn't he's an easy-going—say! you remember the story about the winged horse that the peasant yoked up to the plow with the ass, and how tho poor cuss of a Pegasus chafed while the ass grew fat? Well, now, Joe Bent ain't egsactly an ass, nor his wife a winged ^creature. But—h'm— I guess I'll ha! t' back out that hole and trv again." "No! I soo what you mean, Norman. Llfo on Bent's farm, as on most farms in America is a terrible grind. Yet one person can got fat where another chafes and frets tho life out. The man who is content with a diet of meat and drink alono can fat the one who was to live on finer fare starves." /Vee-ciRoly 1 Joe is a slow coach. An easy fit. Nothing worries him. A little fills his dipper. But Matilda Fletcher was worth a better man. She was too fine a grnin for Joe. She was one o' these kind o' people who grow, no matter how old thoy get. Joe is just where he was at twenty-five. He naturally sojers, leans back in the harness, nips at the blue-joint along the furrow. See?" •'I see." "Hiswlfo hehas starved t'death and worked t' death—without knowing it. Why? She is living in the very little log-house he built on his house first. Matlldy had a natural love for pretty things—flowers and pictures, and tho like o' that—but she hasn't been able to have a single thing of that kind. Her timo has boon all takeu up with cooking and washing and nursing children."

Here Wheolock paused, and, leaning over, said, In a low voice: "Horglrl Julia ih a little weak in the bead, and some people wonder at It—I don't. Why, that woman cooked for a reat crew of men right up t' the day of er birth-bed. I saw her, when she nad no business to be standlug up, out chasing the cattle from the corn-field. That night her only girl was born."

Knapp gave a long, quivering, indrawn breath. "Don't go on, Wheelock, for heaven's sake! You bring back a thousand things of the same kind that I have seen. I havo seen tens of such starving, wornout women. It is no wonder the percentage of the insane is large from those farms. I know the homes—poor, small, without a single touch of color gracewhore the only ornament to the bare wall Is a clock todlng off the hours of oeaseless toll." "Thero that woman has lived, In that miserable little hovel, for a quarter of a century. She has heard nothing, of tho grandeur and glory of this great age we xast about, what are pictures and operas and dramas to her—or to us, for that matter, Norman?

fy.

Just the sunlight II use no

on the blank wall of mighty pageant passes, catch now

(Ond shadow play our prison. The by, afar off. out and ai flash from a Ivan nor pierces our window, the rest is a dream." "And yet this is America." "Yea, this America," bo went on, in the same bitter voice. "The America^ farmer living in a semi-solitude, his wife a slave, both deuiod the things that make life worth living. Fifty per cent of these farms are mortgaged, in spite of the labors of every mem I the fam-

mighty pafl of sight nt pulse of

again a faint pulse of the music, a from

11 v. and the most frugal living. Wheelock, it makes me ugly to think of these things." "Why don't you get out of it. 1 ain't'bound in as Matildy Beat is, 0V0n lis I am." "I can't stand it much longer, to tell the honest truth. But in the city, the tenement—" "Davis was just in," upted Robie," "and says Doc. tluitold him Mrs. Bent was worse—as g»od as dead." "What of?—I work?'* "Yes, ami cat r." "Omcw!" "So hi --'i. It turns out ahe'a been going arc with that thing hid in her r*ast for year*.* "Well! by—heavens!" e*H«ded Wheelock. as soon mi he took la situation, turning on Ro i- in i- «xdt -t.

You or

HJood Uod! Ht^u't tl^. v. Jinan to bear without being eaten up by cancer? Say, *-!. th^N rm-ig -:r the misery a lit" „\^ta

won't be able to sleep*«onnd fora -t. Cter -rSla~*-g sevr-'crn h-nre rt U«y —Sunday*all-Hhn-i u:- by in«h. Say! now—now—don't a Job In tiia connects, Why, Hamlet** little Ikr* :-r w» sit for tlii- n. Dying lasho?" **So the Jiinks.? "Tbaak aomebody for that! The worn"11 a -U Ver V'-thr-lilo1 r«w '-r )»:•-.« s~.liix£ f«w breakfaat will erfcr reaih th«re. T* '.- iy! *-H ar Bel' nf -«ilflil v.H-4ta.n** •IM t» at ai* "No! tHtt we^Vi in* a t• on Jm, tt w«re*» 9 Hfc

bowlu" "Well! thai jost end* Matildy Flafefc-

The amazed Marthy could only chafe the hands, and note sorrowfully the frightful changes in the face of her friend. The weirdly calm, slow voice began to shake a little.

I'm dyln', Marthy, without ever gitsed tc tin' to the sunny place we girls—u think—we'd git to, bye an' bye.

TV-SO*?"

iv-

11.» afar* -V *^Tk :r n. Y-

rep

'i.»

C-.

TERRE HAUTE SATURDAY EVENING MAHi

er," said Wheelock, after a few momenta' silence, and after his excitement had ebbed away in a few oaths. "She* done with life. I'm not much on relig ion, gentlemen 1 believe what seems reasonable to met and let others do the same. If that woman haa got a belief that tells her she will be eternally young and happy on the other side, so much the better for her. And as for me, if there ain't any other world to reverse such a sentence as she has served out in this world, don't ask me to justify the American civilization—or anything else —that's all! I can't do it. I won't try. "In the event that there was anotne world to rectify wrongs in this, would suffering in America or any other place be justified?" asked the young teacher.

The others were silent. II. Mrs. Bent was dying there was no doubt of that now, it there had been be fore. The gruff old physician—one of those overworked aud underpaid coun try servitors—shook his head and push ed by Joe Bent, her husband, as he pass ed through the room which served as dining-room, sitting-room and parlor The poor fellow slouched back to his chair by the stove as if dazed, and before he could speak again the doctor was gone.

Mrs. Ridings was just coming up the walk as the doctor stepped out of the door. 3* "Oh! doctor, how is she?"

4tShe'»

a dying woman, madam."

"Oh! don't say that, doctor. What's the matter?" "Cancer.' "Then the news was true—" "I don't know anything of the news. Mrs. Ridings, but Mrs. Bent is dying tfocts of a cancer primarily, has had for years—since her which died in infancy, you

from the which shi last child remembei "But, d- ctor, she never told mo— "Neith« did she tell me. But no matter now. I have done all I can for her, If yon can make death any easier for her, go and do it. You will find some opiate ponders there with directions. Keep the pain down at all hazards. Don't let her surfer that is useless."

When he good matron entered tho dowdy, suffocating little room where Matilda Bent lay gasping for breath, she was sick for a moment with bympathetic

There the dying woman lay, her

world narrowed to four close w^lls propped up on the pillows near the ono le wlnd(

little window. Her ©yea seemed verylarge and bright, and the brow, made prominent by the sinking away of tho cheeks, told that it was no common woman who lay there, quietly waiting the death angel

She smiled, and lifted her eyebrows in a ghastly way. "O, Marthy!" sho breathed. "Matildy, I didn't know you was so bad, 'r I'd a come before. Why didn't let me know?" said Mrs. Hidings neellng by the bed and taking the ghostly hands of the sufferer in her own warm and soft palms. She shuddered as she kissed the thin lips. "I think you'll soon be around agin," she added, in the customary mockery of an attempt at cheer. The other woman started slightly, turned her head, and

razed on her old friend long and intentThe hollowness of the other's words stung her.

I hope not, Marthy—I'm ready t' go I want t' go, I don't care t' live." The two women communed by looking for along time in each other's eyes, as If to get at the very secretest desires and hopes ot the heart. Tears fell from Marthy's eyes upon theoold and nerveless hands of her friend—poor, faithful hands, hacked and knotted and worn by thirty years of ceaseless dally toil. They lay there motionless upon the coverlet, pathetic protest for all the world to see. "O, Matildy, I do wish 1 ootild do something for you. I want to help you so. I feel so bad that I didn't come before. Aln' they somethin'?" "Yes, Marthy—jest set there—till Idle —it won't bo long," whispered the pale lips. The sufferer, as usual, was calmer than her visitor, and her eyes wero thoughtful. "I will! I will! But oh! must you go? Can't somethin' be done? Don't yo' want the minister to be sent for?" "No. I'm all ready. I ain't afraid to die. I ain't worth savin' now. O, Marthy! I never thought I'd come to this— did you? I never thought I'd die—so early in life—and die—unsatisfied."

She lifted her hoad a little as she gasped out these words with an intensity of utterance that thrilled her hearer—a powerful, penetrating earnestness that burnt ,like fire. "Are you satisfied?" pursued the steady lips. "My life's a failure, Marthy I've known it all along—all but my children. O, Marthy, what'll become o' them? This Is a bard world."

I've

been a glttln' deeper and deeper 'n deeper—in the shade—till it's most dark. They ain't been no rest—n'r hope f'r me, Marthy—none. I ain t—" "There, there! Tillie, don't talk 80— don't, dear. Try t' think how bright it'll be over there—" "I don't know nawthin' about there I'm talkin' about here. I ain't had no chance here, Marthy." will heal all your car©—" can't wipe out mvsuSerin's here" "Yes He can, and lie will. He can wipe away every tear, and heal every wound." "No—He—can't. God himself can't wipe out what has been. O, Mattle, if I —was only there!—in the past—if I was only young and purty agin! You know ho\v tall I was? how we used to run—O. Mattle. if I was only there! The world was all bright then—waan' it? We didn't expect—to work all our days. Life look«d like a meadow, full of daisies »nd pinks, and the nicest ones. And .'id sw» seat birda was just a little ways r. —where the sun was—It didn't look— wasn't we happy?" ••Yea, yea, dear. But vmi musn't talk so *i ." Hie 1 woman though: Ma- I mind *t- dering. "Don't wmt at raed'eine? Ain't your

**\'v.4. lie daisies and pinks all tamed

to Oil, iv.-i -Wi vm. iee—hM b" a al«ysi

little,

h« son ivy

bin-! me,and I v. only lie luJta ^.4

T.%r'k .-f. ro n*» •*.! lie SUXi -WL^-L

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:lt•'. erav. an* di1'

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nm a -.' rub fmi-tii y«.»r"

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tw immttii mimjr ^us icii IvtMUA"

Ing the poor face, and the hands getting more restless each nfoment It was as if Matilda Fletcher had been silent so long, had borne so much without com plaint, that now it burst Irom her in torrent of incredible force. All her most secret donbts and her sweetest hopes seemed trembling on her lips or surginj in her irain, raking her poor emaciatec frame fur utterance. Now that death was sure, she was determined to rid her bosom of its perilous stuff. Martha was appalled. "1 used to think—that when I got married I'd be perfectly happy—but never have been haopy sence. It was beginning of trouble t' me. I've never found things better than they looked they was always worse. I've got further an' further and further from the sunshiny meadow, an' the birds an' flowers —and I'll never get back to 'em again never.'" She ended with a sob and low wail.

Her face was horrifying with its in tensity of pathetic regret. Her strain ing, wide-open eyes seemed to be seeing those sunny spots in the meadow. "Mattie, sometimes When I'm asleep think I am back there agin—and you girls are there—an' we're pullin' off the leaves of the wild sunflower—4i?tcA Men, Poor Man, lieggerman,'—and I hear you all laugh when I pull off the last leaf an' then I come to myself—aud I'm an old, dried-up woman, dyin' unsatisfied!" "I've felt a little that way myself, Ma tilda," confessed the watcher, in a scared whisper. She saw that it was not mere wandering thought which the sufferer was babbling. "I knew it Mattle I knew you'd know how I felt. Things have beeu better for you. You ain't had t' live in an old log house all y'r life, an'work yourself skin an' bone for a man you don't re spect n'r like."

Matildy Bent, take that back! Take it back, for mercy sake! Don't you dare die thinkin' that—don't you dare!".

Bent came to the door at this moment, and the wife knowing his step, cried: Don't let him in! Don't! I can' bear him—keep him out 1 don't want see him agin." "Who do you mean? Not Joe?" "Yes. Him."

Had the dying women confessed to murder, good Martha could not have been more shocked. She could not understand this terrible revulsion of feeling, for she herself had been absolutely loyal to her husband through all the trials which had come upon them. She could hardly appreciate the utter lack of sympathy between Joseph and Matilda

But she met him at the threshold, and. closing the door, went out with him into the summer kitchen, where the rest of family were sitting. A gloomy silence fell on them all after the greetlugs were over. The men were smoking all were seated in chairs tipped back against the wall. Joe Bent, a smallish man, with a weak, good-natured face, asked in. hoarse whisper: ./ "How is she, Mis' Ridings?" "She seems quite strong, Mr. Bent, think you had all better go to bed if I want you I can you, Doctor give me di rectons."

Ail right," Responded the relieved man. "I'll sleep on the lounge in the other room. If you want me, just rap on the door.',

When, after making other arrange ments, M^-ha went back to the bedroom, she startled to heat the woman muttering to herself, or perhaps be cause she had forgotteu Martha's absence.

But the shadows on the meadow didn't stay they passed on, and then !,t,V»flt',v»n {w^sall the Drighter on the flowers. We used to string sweet-williams on spears of grass—don't you remember?*

Martha gave hor a drink of the opiate in the glass, adjusted her on the pillow, and threw open the window, even to the point of removing the screen, and the gibbous moon flooded the room with light. She did not light a lamp, for its fiame would heat the room. Besides, the moonlight was sufficient. It fell on the face of the sick woman, till she looked like a thing of marble—all but her dark eyes.

Does the moon hurt you, Tilly? Shall I put down the curtain?" The woman heard with difficulty, and when the question was repeated said,

slowly: "No, I like it." After a little—"Don't you remember, Mattle, how beautiful the moonlight seemed? It seemed to promise happiness—and love—but it never come for us. It makes me dream of the past now—just as it did o' the future then an' the whip-poor-wills too—"

The night waa perfectly beautiful, such a night as makes dying a terrible loss. Tho summer was at its liberal est. Innumerable insects of the nocturnal sort were singing in unison with the frogs in tho pools. A whip-poor-will called, and ita neighbor answered it like an echo. The leaves of the trees, glossy from the late rain, moved musically to the light west wind,feud the exquisite perfume of many flowers came in on the bteeze.

When the failing wemau sank into silence, Martha leaned her elbow on the window-sill, and, gazing far into the great deem ot space, gave herself up to unwonted musings upon the problems of human life. She sighed deeply at times. She found herself at moments in the most terrifying position of the human soul in space. Not a wife, not a mother, but just a soul facing the questions that harass philosophers. As she realized her condition of mind she caught glimpse of the thinking of the woman on the oed. Matilda had gone beyond or far back of the wife and mother.

The hours wore on the dying woman stirred uneasily now and then, whispering a word or phrase which related to her girlhood—never to her later life. Once she aaid: "Mother, sing to me hold me. I'm so tired."

Martha took the thin form In her arms, and laying her head dose beside the sunken cheek, sang, in half-breath, a lullaby till the sufferer grew quiet again.

The eastern moon passed over the house, leaving the room dark, and still the patient matron sat beside the bed, lift ten ing to the slow breathing of Matilda Bent. The cool air grew almost chill the east began to lighten, and with thr coining light the tide of life sank In th dying body. The head, hitherto rest- .^hlcb ImIjt turning, ceased to move. Th eyea grew ilet and began to soften lik«sleeper's. "How are you now asked tb watcher several tl mos, above th« bod. and bathing back the straying hafr. "I tired—tired, mother—turn me," th" murmured, drowsHy, with heavy lid* drooping.

Martha adjusted the pillow wain, and tamed the face to the wall. The p« r. tortured, re»*fmw brain slowly I it*grinding drl, and the thin hea. yesr«- of hopeful 1ml, stn^Jt*n in "ndleaa -1«ep.

Matll. I "r ban 'oond r-«.'» t' ft Horaford'a Acid Phoepbato tuipaata c« Favrcr to Ui* Rnia. kjirl: t:i*

fe-

ij: "•o*.-oof in .i*"

i" tin' ,io**T.

Kr Bdsr**

Is No. 13S.

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Electric Bitters.

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Sore from Knee to Ankle

Skin entirely gone. Flesh a mass of li»,ease. X.eKliminlHhe1 «»n« ililrd in six*, Condition hopeless. Curert bythc Cuti cura Remedies.

For three years I was almost crippled with an awful sore leg from my knee down to my ankle the skin was entirely gone, and the liesh was one mass of disease. Some physicians pronounood it Incurable, it had diminished about one-third the size of the other, aud I was in a hopeless condition. After trying all kinds of remedies and spending hundreds of dollars, from which I got no relief whatever, I was persuaded to try your CuMcura Remedies, and the result wtw as follows: After three days I noticed a decided change for the better, and at the end of two months I was completely cured. My tlesl) Was purified, and the hone (which had been exposed for over a year] got sound. The flesh began to grow, ana to-day, and for nearly two years past, my leg is aa well as ever It was, sound In every respect, and not a sign of the disease to be seen. 8. U. AHERN, Dubois, Dodge Co., Oa.

I*errllle Suffering from Skin DIncase# I havo been a terrible sufferer for years from diseases of the skin und blood, and nave been obliged to shun public places by reason of my disfiguring humors. Have had the best of physicians and spent hundredsof dollars. but got no relief until I used the Cutlcura Remedies, which have cured me, and left my skin as clear and my blood as pure as a child's.

From 143 Pounds to 178 Pounds. I have taken several bottles of Cutlcura Resolvent with all the results I could wish for. About this time last year, when commencing its use, I weighed 146 pounds, and to-day I weigh 172 pounds.

GEO. CAMPBELL, Washington, D. C. Notk.—The Cutlcura Resolvent is beyond all doubts the greatest blood purifier over compounded.

Cutlcura, the great skin cure, and Cutlcura ap prepared from It, externally, and Cutlcura Resolvent the now blood purifier, internally, are a positive cure for every form of skin and blood disease from pimples to scrofula.

Cutlcura Remedies are sold everywhere. Price, Cutlcura, 60 cents Resolvent, $1.00 8oap, 25 cents. Prepared by the Potter Drug and Chemical Co., Boston, Mass. Send for "How to Cure Skin Diseases." 64 pages, GO illustrations, and 100 testimonials.

IXRV'Q Skin and Scalp preserved and beauJnDI 0 titled by Cutlcura Medicated Soap.

Constitutional Catarrh.

No single disease has entailed more suffering or hastened the breaking up of the constitution than Catarrh. Tho sense of smell, of taste, of sight,of hearing, the human voice, the mind,—one or more, and sometimes all, yield to Its destructive Influence. The poison It distributes throughout the system attacks every vital force, and breaks up the most robust of constitutions. Ignored, because but little understood, by most physicians, lmpotcntly assailed by quacks and charlatans, those suffering from It have little hope to be relieved of It this sldeof thegrave.

I Is time, then, that the proper treatment of His terrible disease by remedies within the reach of all passed into hands at once competent and trustworthy. The new and hitherto untried method adopted by Dr. Sanford In the preparation of his Rapical Cukehas won the hearty approval of thousands. It Is instantaneous in affording relief in all head colds, sneezing, snuffling and obstructed breathing, and rapidly removes the most oppressive symptons, clearing the head, sweetening the breath, restoring the senses of smell, taste and bearing, and neutralizing the constitutional tendency of the disease towards the lungs, liver and kidneys.

Sanford's Radical Cure consists of one bottle of the Radical Cure, one box Catarrhal Solvent, and one Improved Inhaler, neatly wrapped In one package, with full directions price, «1.00.

Potter Drug A Chemical Co., Boston.

KIDNEY FAINS, Strains and Weaknesses,

Relieved In one minute by that marvelous Antidote to Paln. Inflammation and Weakness, the Cutlcura Anti-Pain Plasters. The first and only pain-killing strengthening

plaster.

free, ton. Mam.

Especially adapted to InKidney and nens. Warranted

cure

•iantly relieve and speedily Uuerine Pains and Weak:

OBATXFVlr-COMLFOKTlNO.

Epps's Cocoa

BREAKFAST.

"By a thorough knowledge of tbe natural

'oooa, Mr. Epps has provided oar breakfs*i itbles with a delicately flavored beverage ive u* many h« '-'f doctors' '•ills. Iti* the llefoos n* of such ar of diet that nstltatkm •. ». built up unt strong eno -j tendency to dlsee* Hundr mladies are floating ond a*

of sob' ady to

Mm rberever there is a weak ioay cape many a fatal shaft wir» T^euforftfied with rob mmrtabed frame [Cli t(«t*inplf with fcoHinjr water or milk 8 -i half pound tins by grocers, la* jajkes zrPn co.

1 and a

H«mw)»sM« Cfcwafeita. Losdoa. K»t

I. GAGG,

BSAJMEK Ml

ABTIST8* SUPPLIES Plot nr.- frames, •'Ictrmf

V-stt

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Who Got Stuck?

Not the wholesale dealer. Horse Blankets don't tear in his store.

HORSE

BLANKETS

Not the retail dealer. Horse Blankets 1't tear there either.

The fanner who works hard for his money got stuck. You need not get stuck if you will ask your dealer for one of the following Horse Blankets:

5/A Five Mile.

•u Pl»« MUm of Wsrp TbrwUML.

5/A Boss Stable.

RtnagMt Horea BUnktt X*4s»

5/A Electric.

Jut Ui* thins for Oat-Door

5/A Extra Test

Southing How, V*ry Btroaf.

30 other styles

At pritM to nit •••rybo*?.

[Copyrighted

a8&8, by Wm. Ayrss & Sons.]

THE GREAT TRIAL.

Before the Bar of Enlighteuec Judgment I

A Voice fr^m•Connecticut*^

Okfiok' OK A. SQUrRES A SON, WTioleRalo Oyster and Provision Dealers* JS'os. 33 to 43 Market Street.

Hartford, Conn., Feb. 28,1887.

Gentlemen: Yndr medicines are used to oulte an extent by many of my friend# and. they give the best of satlHfaotlon in all cases. Yours truly,

ALV1N SQUIRES.

In the great trial before the bar of pubopinion, the Scientific Remedies of R. C. Flower stand peerless and alone. They cure when physicians and all popular remedies are powerless* They are the fruit of sclentlUc study, exhaustive research, and great experience.

The above letter, coming from so wellknown and reliable a source, speaks volumes yet it is but one of thousands of similar communications that are pouring upon us from all directions.

Dr. R. C. Flower's Liver and Stomachs Sanative is a never-falling cure for all forms of disordod or torpid liver, for dyspepsia, indigestion, malassimllatlon^ It Is the best Spring Remedy for general debility and lassitude ever prescribed.

Only $1.00 a bottle. For salo bv your druggist, who, on application, will pr»* sent you with a copy of our magnificent' Formula J3ook, froe.

TheR.C.FlwrMed.Co.

762 Washihgton

st,

Boston, Mass*

Shortest

Quickest

3 EXPRESS TMIM MILT

CHICAGO

WHENCE DIRECT COSWECnO® 1* made to all points EAST, WE8T*ad NORTHWE8T

ferralM.t -otstot* a^4r*si your neareei icWi Agent WILLIAM HILL, Cen. PaM. and Tkt. «g

CHICAOO, ILL.

ft A. CAM "IFLL, (Mwm a««9I, Tm Haul*, lad.

-v

*2 SSi

'^4 •iSi: