Saturday Evening Mail, Volume 19, Number 43, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 20 April 1889 — Page 7

IHE MAIL.

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A Pape£ foK the People.

Colonel Quaritch.

Continued from Second. 1Pages. CHAPTER IV. THE BSD or TUX TAIX. As tooa

as her father bad goue Ida rose

and suggested that if Col. Quaritch had done his wine they should go into the drawing room, which they accordingly did- This room was much more modern than either tbe vestibule or the dining room, and bad a general air and flavor of the Nineteenth contrary young lady about it. There were the little tables, tbe draperief, the photograph frames, and all the hundred and one knick ,knacts and odds and ends by means of which ia lady of taste makes a room lovely in tbe eyes of brutal man. It was very pleasant place to look upon, this drawing room at Honham castle, with its irregular recesses, its somewhat faded colon illuminated by the soft light of •haded hunt/, and its genuine air of feminine dominion. Harold Quaritch was a man who had seen much of the world, but had not seen much of dmwlng ro^ms, or, indeed, of ladies at large. They had hot come in his way, or if'they had como in his way be had avoided them. Therefore, perhaps, wfs he tbe more sosceptiblo to such influences Vben he came igt contact with them. Or perhaps it was the presence of Ida's gracious sejf which threw a charm about the place that added to its natural attractiveness, as tlio china bowls of lavender and rose leaves added perfume to the air. Anyhow, it struck him that he had never seen a room which conveyed to his mind such an idea of gentle rest and refinement "What a charming room," he said, as he entered it. "1 am glad you think so," answered Ida "because it is my own territory, and 1 arrouged it." '•Yes/,' he said, "it is easy to see that'' "Well, would you like to bear the end of the story about Uir James and his treasurer' "Certainly it interests me very much." "It positively fascinates me," said Ida, with •emphasis. "Listen, and I will toll you. After they had shot old Sir James they took the

Bible off him, but whether or no Col. Play{fair ever sent it to the son in France is not known. "Tbe story is all known historically, and it is known that, as my father said, he asked that his Biblo might be sent, but nothing more. This son, Sir Edward, never lived to return to England. After his father's murder the estates were neiaod by the Parliamentary party, and the old castle, with the exception of tho gate towei*, razed to the .ground, partly for military purposes and partly in the long and determined attempt 'that was made to discover old Sir James1 treasure, which might, it was thought, have •been concealed in some lenret chamber in tho walls. But it was all of no use, and Col.

Playfttir found that in letting his temper get 'tho better of him and shooting Sir Jurnes, bo had dono away with tho only cbanco of And i«K tho money that he was ever likely to have, for to all appearance the secret had died with its owner. There was great noiso about it at the time, and tho colonel was degraded from bis rank in roward for what ho he had dono. Is was presumed that old Sir ^James must have had accomplices in tho hiding of so great a mass of gold, and every means, by way of threats nnd promises of reward—which nt last grew to half of tho total amount that should lo discovered—was taken to induce theso to conso forward if they existed, but without result. And so tho mattor went on, till ufter a few years tho wbolo 'thing Uiod away and was forgotten. "Meanwhile tho sou, Sir Edward, who was the second utiil lost baronet, led a wandering life ubruad, fuorinjjor notcaring to return to

England, now that all his property had been seized. When he was two-and-twenty years of age, however, ha contracted an imprudent marriago with his cousin, a Judy of tho name of Ida Dotferleigh, a girl of good blood and great leauty, bat without means. Indeod, she was tho sister of (ieorgo Dofferleigh, who was a cousin and companion in exilo of Sir Edward's, and, as you will presently seo, my lineal ancestor. Well, within a year of this •marriage poor Ida, my namesake, died, with her baby, of fever, eliicfly brought on, they eay, by want and anxiety of r.iind, and tho aback seems to havo turned her husband's brain. At any rate, within three or four months of her death ho committed suicide. But before be did so he formally executed a rather elaborate will, by which he left all his *ftates in England, 'now unjustly withhold from me, contrary to law and natural right, tho rebel pretender Cromwell, together with tho treoauro bidden tbervon or elsewhere by my late murdered father, 8Sr James do la

Molle,' to John Geoffrey Dofferleigh, his cousin, and the brother of his late wife and his heir, forever, on condition only of his assuming the name and arms of the De la Molle family, the direct line of, which became extinct with himself. Well, of course, this will, when executed, was to all appearances so much waste paper, but within three years fmm its execution Charlea II was king of England. "Thereon John Dofferleigh produced the documents and on assuming tho* name and arms of Do la Molle actually succeeded in obtaining the remains of the castlo and a considerable portion of the landed property, though tho baronetcy became extinct. His ton it was who built this present house, and be is our direct ancestor, for though my father talks of them as though they were—it is a little weetfcwss of his—the old De la Molles were not our direct mate ancestors." "Well," said Harold, "and did Dofferleigh find the trcasuref* "No, ah. no, nor anybody else. The treasure has vanished. He hunted for it a great deal, and ho did find those pieces of plate which you saw to-night, bidden away somewhere, I don't kuow where, but there was nothing else with them." "Perhaps the whole thing was uonsease,1" •aid Harold, reflectively. caid Ida, shaking ber head, "I am cure it was not I am sure the treasure is bidden away somewhere to this day. Listen, Coi Quaritch—yvu have not heard quite all the story yet—I found something,1* "You wfaatf* "Wait a mi to and I will show you," nrti going to a cab tin tbe corner she unkx 1 it, and took oat a dispatch box, which she alio unlocked. "Here," she said,

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found this. It Is the

Bible that Sir James begged might be sent to his son, just before they shot him, you remember," and tbe banded him a small brown book. He took it and examined it carefully. It was bound in leather, awl. the cover was written J-r 'wrge letters, James do fat Motta. Ilo ua Castle, 181!.* Kor was this alL The first sheets of tbe Bib«\ «k hJoh was r* of the earta** copies of U«e authorial ion, were torn out. cad the top c-oracr was aiao gone, baring to all earar.eo i«cn off by a thata£U* «sdnof

cover and edges brought near to certainty. "Poor fellow,Ksaid Harold, "he must have had it in his pocket when he was shot. Where did you find itf* "Yes, I suppose sol" said Ida "In fact I hare no doubt of it. I found it when 1 was a child in an old oak chest in the basement of the western tower, q:::e hidden up to dust and rubbish and bits of old iron. But look at the end and you will seo what he wrote in it to his son Edward. Here I will show you," and leaning over him she turned to tbe last page of tbe book. Between the bottom of tbe page and the conclusion of tbe final chapter of Revelation tfeero bad been a •mall blank space now densely covered witi\ crabbed writing in faded ink, which she read aloud. It ran as follows: "Do not grieve for me, Edward, my son, that I am thus suddenly done to death by rebel murderers, for naught bappenofch but according to (tad's wiLL And now farewell, Edward, tall we shall meet in heaven. My moneys havo I hid, and on account thereof I die unto this world, knowing that not one piooe 8hall Cromwell touch. To whom God shall appoint, shall all my treasure be, for naught can I communicate." "There," said Ida, triumphantly. "What do you think of that, CoL Quaritch! The Bible, I think, was never sent to his son but hero it island in that writing, as I solemnly telicve," and she laid ber white fingers upon the faded characters, "lies the key to wherever it is that tbe money is hidden, only I fear that I shall never make it out. For years I bave puzzled oyer it, thinking that it might bo some form of acrostic, but I can make nothing of it. I have tried it all ways. I havo translated it into French, and had it translated into Latin, but still I can find out nothing—nothing. But some day somebody will bit upon it—at least I hope so."

Harold shook bis bead. "I am afraid," he said, "that what has remained undiscovered for so long will remain so till the end of the chapter. Perhaps the old Sir James wag hoaxing bis adversaries l" "No," ftaid Ida, "for if he was, what became oi 611 the money! He was known to be one of tho richest men of bis day, and that be was rich, one can see from hi«* tatter to the king. There was nothing after his death, except bis Hinds, of course. Oh, it will be found some day, twenty centuries hence probably, much too late to be of any good to us," and she sighed doeply, while a pained and wearied expression spread itself over ber handsome face. "Well," said Harold, in a doubtful voice, "there may be something in it. May I take a copy of that writing." "Certainly," said Ida, laughing, "and if you find tho treasure we will go shares. Stop, I will dictate it to you."

Just as this process was finished and Harold was shutting up bis pocketbook, in which he put tbe fair copy he had executed on a half 6heet of note paper, the old squire came into the room again. Looking at his face, his visitor saw that his interview with "George" had evidently been anything but satisfactory, for it bore an expression of exceedingly low spirits. "Well, father, what is the matter!" asked his daughter. "Oh, nothing, my dear, nothing," he answered, in melancholy tones. "George has been here, that is all." "Yes, and I wish ha would keep away," she said, with a little stamp of her foot, "for he has always some bad news r»r other." "It is tbe times, my dear, it is the times it isn't George. I really don't know what has como to the country."

What is it!" said Ida, with a deepening expression of anxiety. "Something wrong about tbe Moat farm!"

Yes Janter has thrown it up, after all, and 1 am sure I don't know where I am to find another tenant"

You see what the pleasures of landed property are, Col. Quaritch," said Ida, turning toward him with a smile which did not somehow convey a great sense of cheerfulness. "Yes," bo said, "I know. Thank goodness I havo only tho ten acres that my dear old aunt left mo. And now," ho added, "I thiuk that I must bo saying good night. It is 10:30, and 1 expect that old Mrs. Jobson is sitting up for me."

Ida looked up in remonstrance, and opened lier lip* to speak, and then from some reason that did not appear eliinged her mind and held Out ber haud. od night, Col. Quaritch," sho said. "I am so pleased that we are going to havo you as a neighbor. By the way, 1 bave a few people coming to play lawn tonuis hero to-morrow afternoon. Will you come toot"

What!" broke in the squire, in a voice of. irritation ••more lawn tennis parties, Ida! 1 think that you might havo spared me for once—with all this business on iuy hands, too."

Nonsense, father," said bis daughter, with some acerbity. "How can a few people playing lawn tcunis hurt youf It is quito useless to shut one's self up aud be miserable over things that ono can't help."

The old gentleman collapsed with an air of pious resignation, aud meekly asked who was coming.

Oh, nobody in particular. Mr. and Mrs. Jeffries—Mr. Jeffries is our clergyman, you know. Col. Quaritch—and Dr. Bass and the two Miss Smiths, one of whom he is supposed to be in love with, and Mr. and Mrs. Quest, and Mr. Edward Coesey, and a few more." "Mr. Edward Cosseyl" said the squire, jumping off his chair "really. Ida, you know that I detest that young man that 1 consider him an abominable young man, and 1 think that you might have shown more consideration to me than to have asked him here."

I could not help it, father," she answered, coolly. "He was with Mrs. Quest when I asked ber, so 1 bad to ask him, too. Besides, 1 rather like Mr. Cossey, he is always so poiite, and I dont see why you should take such a violent prejui!k-o afniust bim. Anvhow, he booming, aud there is an end of it" "Cosspy, Cossey." said Harold, throwing himself into the Breach. "I used to know that name." It seemed to Ida that be winced a little as he said it "Is he one of the great baal famiiy

Yos,w said iua, "be is of the sons. They say bo will have half a in:'..ion of money, or more, when his father, who is very iniri, dies. He is lobfcifrr «»ser the branch Kiii^s of his house in tin-i part of the smrWI, at least, nominally. Really, I fancy ^r-sr..-if:t« rn. istftainly he manages 1? "Well, well," said tho squire,

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$ Ida watched the door dose. much, GO much that even his not very beautiful physiognomy did not repel her, indeed, rather attracted ber than otherwise. "Do you know," she said to herself, "I think that that is tbe sort of man that I should like to marry. Nonsense," sbe added, with an impatient shrug, "nonsense, you are nearly six-and-twenty altogethertoo old for that sort of thing. And now there is this new trouble about the Moat farm. My poor old dad. Well, it is a bard world, and I think that sleep is about tbe best thing in it" And, with a sigh, she bghted her candle to go to bed, then changed ber mind, and sat down to await her father's return.

CHAPTER V.

THK SQUIBB EXPLAINS THE POSITION. "I don't know what is coming to this country, I really don't and that's a fact," said the squire to his companion, after they had walked some paces in silence. "Here is this farm, the Moat farm. It fetched twentyfive shillings an acre when 1 was a young man, and eight years ago it used to fetch thirty-five. Now I have reducsd it, and reduced it, to fifteen, just in order to keep tbe tenant And what is the end of it! Janter —he's tbe tenant—gave notice last Michaelmas but that stupid owl, George, said it was all nothing, aud that he won Id continue at fifteen shillings when the time came. And now to-night he comes to me with a face as long as a yard arm, and says that Janter won't keep it at any price, and that he does not know where he is to find another tenant, not ho. It's quite heart breaking, that's what it is. Three hundred acres of good, sound, food producing land, and no tenant for it at fifteeh shillings an acre. What am I to do!" "Can't you take it in hand and farm it yourselfP asked Harold. "How can 1 take it in hand! I have one farm of a hundred and fifty acres in hand as it is. Do you know what it would cost to take over that farm!" and ho stopped in his walk and stuck his stick into the ground "Ten pounds an acre, every farthing of it— and say a thousand for the cov^nants—about four thousand pounds in all. Now where am 1 to get four thousand pounds to speculate with in that way, for it is a speculation, and one which 1 am too old to look after myself, even if 1 had the knowledge! Well, there you are, and now I'll say good night, sir. It's getting chilly, and I have felt my chest for the last year or two. By the way, I suppose I shall see you to-morrow at this tenuis party of Ida's. It's all very well for Ida to go in for her tennis parties, bt$ how can I think of such things with all this worry on my hands? Well, good night, CoL Quaritch, good night," and be turned and walked away through the moonlight

Harold Quaritch watched bim go hnd then started off homo. ilo entered tho bouse, and having told Mrs. Jobson that sho could go to bed, sat down to smoke aud think. Harold Quaritch was, like many solitary men, agreatsmoker, aiul never did ho feci tho uccd of tbe consolation of tobacco more than be did this night A few months ago, when be bad re-tii-cd from the army, he found himself in a great dilemma. There ho was, a bale, active man of three and forty, of busy habits and regular mind, suddenly thrown upon tho world without occupation. What was he to do with himself/ While bo was asking himself this question nnd waiting blankly for an answer which did not como, his aunt, old Mrs. Masscy, departed this life, leaving him heir to what she possessed—it might be three hundred a year in alL This, added to his lcnsion and tho little that he owned independently, put him beyond tbe necessity of seeking further employment. So be had made op his mind to come to retide at Molehill, and live the quiet, somewhat aimless life of a small country gentleman. His reading—for he was a great reader, especially of scientific workswould. he thought, keep him employed, seeing that in addition to reading he was a thorough sportsman, and ait ardent, though owing to tho*n» illness of his means, necessarily not a very extensive, collector of curiosities, and more particularly of coins.

At first, after he had come to his decision, a fueling of infinite rest and satisfaction bad tn'ren possession of him. The struggle of was over for h.m. No longer would he be obliged to think, and contrive, and toil: henceft his days would slope gently down toward the inevitable end. TronBle lay in the past now rest and rest alone awaited him, rest that would gradually grow deeper and de*ner as the swift years rolled by, till it was swallowed up in that almighty peace to which, ng a simple and religious man, be bad kx-.1 forward from childhood as tbe an. 1 object of his Ufa.

F-vii^h man and vain imagining! Here, whiie we draw breath, there is no rest We st go on continually, on from strength to n.Ttb, or wenknr-ss to weakness we must wy* b:* troubled r.bout this or that, and .stev. bave this to desire or that to regret It is an inevitable law within whose

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Men of the stamp of Harold Quaritch generally pass through three stages with reference to the other sex. They begin in their youth by making a goddess of one of them, and finding out their mistake. Then for many years they look upon woman as the essence and incarnation of all evil and a thing no more to be trusted than a jaguar. Ultimately, however, this folly wears itself out—probably in proportion as tbe old affection fades and dies away—and ia replaced by contempt and regret that so much should have been wasted on that which was so little worth. Then it is that the danger comes, for then a man puts forth his second venture, puts it forth with fear and trembling, and with no great hope of seeing a golden Argosy sailing into port And if itsinks or is driven back by adverse winds and frowning skies, then there is an end of his legitimate dealings with such frail merchandise.

And now he, Harold Quaritch, was about to put forth this second venture, not of bis own desire or free will indeed, but because bis reason and judgment were overmastered. In short, to put it briefly, he had fallen in love with Ida de la Molle when he first saw her five years ago, and was now in the process of discovering the fact There he sat in his chair in the old, half furnished room, which ho proposed to turn into bis dining room, and groaned in spirit over this portentous discovery. What had become of his fair prospect of quiet years sloping gently downward, and warm with tho sweet, drowsy light of afternoon! How was it that he had not known those things .that lelonged to his peace? And probably it would end in nothing was it likely that such a splendid young woman as Ida would care for a superannuated army officer, with nothing beyond four or five hundred a year and a Victoria cross— which be never wore—to recommend him! Probably if she married at all she would try to marry some one who would assist to retrieve tbe fallen fortunes of her family, which it was absolutely beyond bis power to do. Altogether the outlook did not please him, as be sat there far into tho watches of the night, and sucked at his empty pipe. So little did it please him, indeed, that when at last he rose to find bis way to bed up the old oak staircase—the only imposing thing in Molehill—he had almost made up his mind to give up the ide^i of living at Honham at all, to sell the place and emigrate to Vancouver's Island or New Zealaud, and thus place an impassable barrier between himself aud that sweet, strong face, which somehow seemed to have acquired a touch of .sternness since last he had looked upon it

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Ah, wise resolution of quiet night, whither do you go to in the garish light of day! To heaven, perhaps, with the mist wreaths and the dew drops.

When the squire got back to the castle be found his daughter still sitting up in the drawing room. "What, not gone to bed, Ida!" ho said. "No, father, 1 was going, and then I thought that I would wait to hear what all this was about Janter and the Moat farm. It is best to get it over." "Yes, yes, my dear—yes, but there is not much to tell you. Janter has thrown up the farm after all and George says there is not another tenant to be bad for love or money. Ho tried one man, who said that he would not bave it at 5 shillings an acre, as prices are." "That is bad enough, in all conscience," said Ida, pushing at tho fire irons with her foot "What is to be doner "What is to be doneP answered ber father, irritably. "How can I tell you what is to be done? 1 suppose that 1 must take the place in bend, aud that is all." "Yss, but that costs money, does it notP' "Of course it does it costs about four thousand pounds." "Well,"8aid Ida, looking up, "and where is all that sum to come from? We have not got four thousand pounds in the world." "Come from! Why, 1 suppose that I must borrow it on tbe security of tho land." "Would it not be better to let the place go out of cultivation," sho answered, "rhther than risk all that sum of money f'

Go out of cultivation! Nonsense, Ida, bow can you talk like that! Why, that strong land would be ruined for a generation to como." "Perhaps it would but surely it would be better that it should bo ruined than that we should bev Fatner, dear," she said, appealinglv, laying one haud upon his shoulder, do bo frank with me, and tell me what our position really is. 1 seo you wearing yourself out about business from day to day, and I know that there is never any money for. anything—scarcely enough to keep the house going ond yet you never tell mo what we realty owfr-and 1 think 1 have a right to know."

Tho squire turned' impatiently. "Girls havo no head for these things,•" be said, "so what is tho use of talking about it!" "Dut 1 am not a girl lam a woman of six-uud-twenty and putting other things aside, 1 am almost as much interested in your affairs as you are yourself," she said, with determination. "1 cannot bear this sort of thing any longer. 1 see that abominable man, Mr Qnest, continually hovering about here likoahird of ill omen, and I cannot stand it and I tell you what it is. father, if you don't tell me the whole truth at once, 1 shall cry," and sbe looked as if she meant it

Now, the old squire was no more impervious to a woman's tears than any other man, and of all Ida's moods, and they were many, be most greatly feared that rare one which took the form of tears. Besides, be loved his only daughter more dearly than anything in the world except one thing—Honham Castle —and could not bear to give her pain. "Very well," be said, "of course if ybu wish to know .about these things you have a right to. I have wished to spare you trouble, that is all but as you are so very Imperious, the best thing that I cao do is to let you bave your own way. Still, as it is rather late, if you bave no objection, I think that 1 had better put it off till to-morrow." "No, no, father. By to-morrow you will have changed your mind. Let us bave it now. 1 want to know how much we really owe and what we have got to live on."

The old gentleman bummed and hawed a little, and after various indications of impatience at last began: "Well, as you know, our family has for some generations depended upon tbe land. Your dour nw»tl?er brought a small fortune with ber, five or six tboumnd pounds, but that was. with the sanction of the trustees, exported upon improvements to the farms and paying off a small mortgage. Well, for many yean the laud brought in about two thousand a year, but somehow we alwgv- found it difficult to keep within that incTmi For instance, I found it necessary to repair tbe gateway, and you have uo idea of the expense in which those repairs landed nic. Then your poor 1 .rothrr James cos* of rn.--v.. -r, and always w- "d have the op in such a: fxtrava^sot weal into the army, and ws what i..' r' -t :isera. fw-r hro-. Ht ws~ very erfmvriijMfc a*. r. r.t ,i j. pet vrae I wo^ •..A—1 i.-r-vcr my Ihru oft' And taat -snot f-- *~-y Ml .i i.iii. .in '-ids •. him, ar«l I k/id to fir, tbshif it was Cfiljr

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know which way to turn," and be paused and drummed bis fingers uneasily upon a book. .* "Yes, father, but you have not told me yet what it is that wo owe." "Well, it is difficult to answer that all in a minute—perhaj* twenty-five thousand on mortgage, and a few floating debts.1"And what is the place worth "It used to be worth between fifty and sixty thousand pounds. It is impossible to say what it would fetch now. Land is practically a drug in the market But things will come rouud, my dear. It is only a question of holding on." "Then if you borrow a fresh sum in order to tako up thi3 farm, you will owe about thirty thousand pounds, and if you havo to pay 5 per cent, as I suppose you do, yop will have to pay fifteen hundred a year in interest Now father, you said that in good times the land brought in two thousand a year, so, of course, it can't bring in so much now. There fore, by the time that you havo paid the interest there will bo nothing, or less than nothing, left for us to live on."

Hor father winced at tbe cruel and convincing logia "No, uo," ho said, "it is not so bad as that You jump to conclusions but really, if you do not mind, I am very tired, and should like to go to bed." "Father, what is the good of trying to shirk the thing just because it is disagreeable!" she asked, earnestly. "Do you suppose that it is more pleasant to me to taik about it than it is fop you! 1 know that you are not to blame about it 1 know that poor dear James was very thoughtless aud extravagant, and that tho times are crushing. But to go on liko this is only to go. to ruin. It would be better for us to live in a cottage on a couple of hundred a year than to try to keep our heads above water bore, which we cannot da Sooner or later theso people— Quest, or whoevur they are—will want thoir money back and then, if they can not bavo it they will sell the placo' over our heads. I believe that man Quest wants to get it himself—that is what I believe—and set up as a country gentleman. Father, 1 know it is a dreadful thing to say, but we ought to leave Honham." "Leave Honham 1" said the old gentleman, jumping up in bis agitation. "What nonsense you talk, Ida! How can I leave Honham! It would kill me at my age. How can I do it! And, besides, who is to look after the farms and all the business! No, no, wo must hang on and trust to Providence. Things may come round, something may happen one can never tell in this world." "If wo do not leave Honham. then Honham will leave us," answered his daughter, with conviction. "I do not believo iu chances. Chances always go the wrong way against those whb are looking for them. We 6hall bo absolutely ruined, that is all." "Well, perhaps you aro right, perhaps you are right, my dear," said tho old gentleman, •wearily. "I only hope that my time may come first I have lived here all my life, and I know that I could not live anywhere else. But God's will he done. And now, my dear, go to bed."

Sbe leaned down and kissed him, and as sbe did saw that his eyes were filled with tears. Not trusting herself to speak, for she felt for bim too deeply to do so, sho turned away and went, leaving the old man sitting there with bis gray bead bowed upon his breast

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4 ,^ [TO BE CONTINUED.]

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4. f-1

"Death has so many doors to let out life,'' sang an old time poet. In those days they had not discovered remedies that shut these doom. How different is Dr. Pierce's Golden Medical Discovery, from the old time doses. Consumption or lung-scrofula, Is one wide door that it shuts, if taken in time. Don't waste a a moment then, lest life slip through that open door. It is guaranteed to cure in all cases of diseases for which it is recommended, or moaey paid for it will be refunded.

i. suffered from a very severe cold in my head for months and used everything recommended but could get no relief. Was advised to use Ely's Cream Balm. It has worked like magioin itf core. I am free from my cold after using the Balm one week, and I believe it is the best remedy known. Feeling grateful for what it has done for mo Isend this testimonial.—Samuel J. Harris Wholesale Grocer, 119 Front street, New York£4

..Ji1 Mother, Wife, Daughter. Those dull tired looks and unpleasant "Dr. Kilmer's feelings speak volumes. Female Remedy" builds quickly a :y" builds up run-down constitution nnd brings back youthful beauty. Price$1.00. Pampblot Free. Binghampton, N. Y. Sold, recommended and guaranteed by J. fc C. Baur.a* -u a 1 Wki

DISEASED BLOOD.

Humors, Blotches, Sores, Scales, Crusts, and Loss of Hair Cured.

Terrible Blood Polnon. Suffered all a man co aId unflfor and LIt«. Face and body t-[covered with awful »ore». I'wtl the

Cntlcura Remenles ten week* and In practical! cored. A remarkable cane. I contracted a terrible blood- poison I tut year ago. I doctored with two good physicians, neither of whom did me any goon. Buffered all a man could suffer and live If earing of your Cuticura Remedies I concluded to try them, knowing if they did me no good they could make me no worse. I bave been using them about ten weeks, and am moat happy to say that I am almost rid of the awful sores that covered my face and body. My face was as bad, if not worse, than that of Miss Boynton, spoken of in your book, and I would say to anyone In the same condition, to use Cuticura, and they will surely be cured. You may use this letter in the Interests of suffering humanity.

E. W. REYNOLDS, Ashland, Ohio.

Covered With Runninfc Sores 17 Years, bave been troubled with skin and scalp disease for seventeen yean. My bead at times was one runnicg sore, and my body was covered with them as large as a half dollar. I tried a great many remedies without effect until I used theCuticuraRemedies, and am thankful to state that after two months of their ose I am entirely cured. I feel it my duty to you and the public to state the above ease. L. R. McDOWELL, Jamesburg, N. J.

Du| tad Scratched 38 Yearn.

years, baa have suffered everything, and tried a number

K•dno

refief.

of doctor# but got no relief. Anybody could car* remedies cured the. (Jod bless the man invmuvt Cutieami

they cured me. The Cuti-

bave got enm Kelt who Invented Cutleara!

O

cut i-i? i.:.'"-iwh-M

•••mat

..z*, V. «.-d, a :d .»?«• tiM infect ujva the of it aii aad, njxm

Mass.

CHEXEY OKEKX, Cambri.l Cuticura Beaedlei Are sold by all druggist*. Price: Cuti'nraSO rents Soap, cents Resolvent,«1. Prepared by the Potter Drug and Cheml Corporation, Boston. wrgend for "How to Cure Skin Mpages,JM' 'Htutmtloit*. :dumt s. nt ifPUafe, Blackheads, chapped a: tfiy fl* prevented by Cuticura Medlt~.„d ft ml

ACHIIG SIDES BACK,"

Hip, kidney, and uterine pains and weak (lenses relieved In os« mla-

r-M

ate by thr- Catfeara Anti-I'ala

I plaster, t! flrst and only lo*tan-..r.-uspaln-klll.str rcfthenlttf plaster.

VIBRATOR

THE

The same £rm which. 31 years ago completely revolutionized the Threshing Machine trade by inventing a new Threshing Machine, much better than any machine before known,—so that all builders of the oldstyle Threshing Machines Stopped making them and copied the new machine as closely as they dared —have now made another advance, and in their New Vibrator present a Threshing Machine containing entirely new features in separation and cleaning, which place it as far ahead of any other as the old Vibrator was ahead of the "Endless Apron" machines. Every Farmer and Thresherman should at once get full information regarding the NEW VIBRATOR, which will be sent Free on

NEW

THE

NEW

VIBRATOR.

THE

NEW

VIBRATOR.

THE

NEW

VIBRATOR.

THE

NEW

VIBRATOR.

THE

NEW

VIBRATOR.

THE

NEW

VIBRATOR,

application to

NICHOLS &SHEPARD

BAI TLt Cfs EETK, ICH |u

INDIGESTION

Sold by & C.<p></p>Tint's

AN

AN ARTIFICIAL GASTRIC JUICE. NOT A SECRET REMEDY.

EXACT FORMULA ON EVERY 80TTLE. Endorsed by the best Physlclsns (or the cure ol Dyspepsls.

Chronic Diarrhoea, Constipation, and depraved conditiou of the blood, resulting from imperfect digestion. Price, l.OO for large bottle containing aji ounccs. Sufficient for four weeks' use (cost 35 cents per week.)

5

MORSE'S DIARY, «^n«f.orneWcdn.

111

tsining Calender, is

months' Disry, and elegant engravings, mailed free on receipt of two, s-cent stamps. Addrcas, HAZ$H MORSE, 55 Main St., Buffalo, N. T.

BAUR.

Pills

FOR TORPID LIVER.

A torpid liver derange* the whole tam, and produce* s'«

Sick Headache, Dyspepsia, Costiveness, Rheumatism, Sallow Skin and Piles.

There la no better remedy forth*** common diseases than Tutt's l.lver Pills, aa a trial will pr*v*. Price, SOe.

Sold Everywhere*

MEMORY

MARVELOUS

DISCOVERY.

Only Genalne System ef Memory Tralnfa*. Four llaoks itcnrned la oae reuliif* Mind waaderlnc cared.

Erery ehlld and adult areatly benefitted. Great inducements to Oomspoadenos OIMMS. Prnmwctos, with Opinions of Dr. Wm. A. Haas» mono, the worhMsmod BpaoUliatln Mind vmqsmi.

dvoeaU/N. r..

lllchara Procter, ths a. JadaM 227 Fifth Ave., !C

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DETECTIVES

in every coonty. Rhrnwd m*-n torn tin Her

Instrn'-ri/.t,* in mr went service. Kxperj- not International pap* •!:..! »"«*aiB«»cxs*t!»*»*'*«—"**{crUa-fltdal•tlDetect)™, ln»lf 'iil -r

«bo»ec«pta r,

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for»ertkuU£«.

Address,

Brsasas Oetecthre 8*rssnco.44Arcade,Clacl*aati.0L

999 Aesrlaa.MaeMn 1o *1 im

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