Saturday Evening Mail, Volume 20, Number 50, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 7 June 1890 — Page 6

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There is something in this rebellious speech so sadly regretful, and* eo very near to tears, that instinctively Mr. Ponsonby goes a step closer to her, and puts out his hand as though to take hers but she waves him back imperatively. "When*! sent you that flower," she goes on, her voice taking a still prouder ring as sho feels the humiliation of her confession, and with her soft eyes suffused with tears of childish grief and agitation, "I thought—I firmly believed —it was conveying to you the mes&igc *1 love you!* I counted the jwtals carefully: made saw not oho was missing but I suppose I counted badly. I tell you this tun\\ for no motive but the natural wish that you should Jxlieve taa altogether heartless. You understand me? You must know"-passioaateiy—"that for this reason aJoae I ban? spoken to you to-m^hu" -•I do know." *ays the young raaa earnestly. Again lw& goes nearer to l»er. There is suppressed growing excitement in his faoa aad manner. "Not that it matters now,** say* Miss Disney, her voice trembling more and mom. "Nothing matters any more at alt! We have both learned to he indifferent to each other, and—and—I hope

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Moonshine and Marguerites.

By the Author of "MoUy JJawn," Etc*:

Finding hersalf ooce more in tbesilent ball, Miss Disney stops short and sighs again. Then a great longing for fresh air overcomes her, and, passing quickly through the now deserted dining room, she steps on to the balcony outside and presently finds herself in the garden.

A silvery light hangs over it. The moon, that "goddess excellently bright," is hanging amid trembling fleecy clouds, like a great lamp lent by the heavens to ehed a

glow

upon the despondent earth

Again its rays pierce the gloom of the eastern comer of the gardens and shed a mellow luster upon the forced modesty of Apollo—ivy clad—and upon the dazzling bunch of marguerites, nodding and drooping in their sleep.

Only a week ago she had stood just here with her true love—happy, yet hardly aware of the depth of her happiness and now with what a different gaze she looks upon the world! Knowledge lias come to her too late. Only with the loss of it has come the full appreciation of the thing slie has lost.

Something in the scene before her brings prominently forward a doubt that ever since her last interview with Ponsonby has been weighing heavily upon her. ^ow, it asserts itself fully, it sends a little chill to her heart.

In spite of all her cousin has said, may not her late reckless encouragement of Sir George have killed the love onoe felt for her by Ponsonby? This terrible thought grows stronger the more she dwells upon it, and at length grows into such tremendous proportions that her heart dies within her.

If she now seeks a second explanation •with—with Mr. Ponsonby, will he not be justified in thinking she is seeking to throw herself upon his mercy, and that she is desirous of renewing old associations with him at any cost?

She grows crimson as this thought comes to her, and tears of mortification rise to her eyes. No! she can never speak to him on this subject—never! She will not! She puts up her hands to her face, as though to hide her shamed eyes even from tho tender moonlight, and in so doing hastily decides that she now forever abandons nil idea of seeking an interview with Ponsonby.

She will not speak to him she will not see him again, if possible! Deriving some mysterious comfort from this resolution, and feeling therefore somewhat better, sho takes down her hands from lier eyes, and in so doing finds herself faco to face with Ponsonby.

She turns as white as death but with tho necessity for speaking comes a rush of womanly dignity that reduces her to instant calm and adds tenfold to her girlish grace and sweetness. "Let me speak to you for one moment," sho says Impulsively, with a slight motion toward him. His sudden prcsertco has convinced her that her late cowardly resolution had in it no element of right, and that an explanation is due uot more to her than to him. "Certainly," ho says very gently. All tho sternness is gono from his tone, a settled mclancholy having taken its place. Encouraged, though weakened, by this change in him, sho goes on hurriedly. "There is something I must tell you," nho says tremulously. "But first"— throwing up her head with a little proud gesturo that becomes her infinitely—"I would havo you understand that what I havo to say cannot in any way alter the relations now existing between us. We are separated forever. No one (I am glad to think at this moment) can know that better than you." "No one," corroborates Mr. Ponsonby, in a tono that has acquired even a deeper dye, so far as misery is concerned. "I am glad of that," says tho girl readily. Yet an intelligent observer might havo failed to seo where the gladness lay—certainly not in voieo, or lips, or eyes, Mr. Ponsonby, 1 regret to say, proves himself on this occasion (only) wanting in intelligence, as he openly accepts her statement at her own value, and grows in dejection thereby. "I am very glad of it." repeats Alvs unsteadily and with now averted eyes and a paltry assumption of content, "because I can now .safely tell you, without fear of misconception on your part, that it was all mistake about that marguerite I sent you an hour ago. At that time" (by her manner, it might reasonably be supposed again by the intelligent listener t&at the time mentioned is a year agone) "I was troubled, and—and ashamed of myself (I am neither now), and anxious to lot you know that—that I had uot changed toward you in any way, in spite of anything foolish in me that might have induced you to think otherwise*"

I

•hall never, never, never see yoo again after to-night

Here the voice passes beyond all trembling, having broken down and given place to bitter weeping.

She turns as white as death.

She has lifted her hands to cover her face, and so stands before him, a little, slender, grief laden figure, on which the gentle moon is shining, lighting up the pretty rounded arms and the gold brown tresses of the bowed head. But for not half so long as it takes to write this does she so stand. In a moment she is in his arms, and is sobbing out the remainder of her grief upon his breast.

Ho has drawn her close to lxim, and closer still, until their hearts beat almost in unison. "My darling," he says, with passionate fondness, "my dear, dear love, do not cry like that. I think—I never thought it until to-night—but now I do think that you love me. Alys, tell mc 1 am not deceiving myself."

She can find no words, but, still with her face hidden upon his breast, lifts her arms and slips them lovingly round his neck. It is an answer all sufficient.

Never before has she so abandoned herself to him, and for the first time the gladness of possession enters into his soul. "You are mine now," he says, tightening his clasp round her, "now, and forever! Let us go back a week in our lives and forget that these last miserable seven days havo ever been. You—you don't care for that fellow Grande?" "There is only one person on earth I care for, and that is you!" says the girl, clinging to him, "And yet" "Yes, yes: I know all that. I should not have believed her, but she told me you thought me a baby—a mere silly child— who could have no lover but.you." "Who told you all this?" demands he, vpth darkening brows. "Katherine, your cousin. But"—dissolving into tears again—"it wasn't true. Frank, was it?" "It was not, indeed," says Mr. Ponsonby, grimly. "These last few days have proved it. I cannot help feeling that 1 am depriving you of a title." "You said you would forget this past. horrid week," says Miss Disney, reproachfully, "and now you are sftolding mo about it." "Well, it shall be my last scolding," says Ponsonby. "And as for the other things, you say I thought of you as a child. I tell you now, with your heart against mine, that I thought of you only as the woman I loved beyond all this earth contains." "I know it now I was mad to doubt you," says Alys remorsefully "but she said it and, knowing you are superior to mo in every way, I felt it easy to believe her." "And it was she, too, who brought me the marguerite," says Ponsonby musingly, in a low tone. A sudden thought occurring to him, he tightens Ivis grasp on her arm. Then lie recovers himself. "Why think of anything?" he says, placing his lips to hers. "Let us only remember that we belong to each other by the divine right of love. All else may readily be forgotten." "No," says the girl, leaning back in his embrace so as to look into his eyes. "I shall nover forget this, our first and last quarrel. I don't want tol I am glad of it "Glad, my soul?"—regretfully. ••Yes" triumphantly "very glad. Because," a smile fighting with the tears that still linger on her lashes, "but for it I should never have known how entirely you love me, and I you!" "My belovedl" murmurs he with ineffable fondness.

THE END.

For a Bedroom Door.

Have any of you a homespun blanket? This relic of our grandmothers used to bo about one yard wide, and it was necessary to scam two together to make abed covering of sufficient width. The material has good artistic possibilities, and, as I suggest, is "for a bedroom door" apropos. If yours has no border across the ends, work one in the style of long ago, in a large cross stitch, a band across top and bottom. Work one band en one side of the blanket, and the other on the other side, so when the top is turned over to form a valance both bands of cross stitch will be on the right side.

Buttonhole the hem of your valancewith a coarse stitch into these, at intervals, tie large rings, which afle covered by being crocheted over with heavy flax thread of a dull blue hoe. 1 nto the rings tie the lengths of the thread to form tassel*. Mix two or three shades of the thread in making these. Then, if you have fallen heir to a piece of old brocade, cut from it any of the res or flowers whiolj your taste may su.. ast, ami apply them, in a scattered mam to year hanging. Coach the edges of these figure* with a cwrse gilt thread or cord.

In default of the brocade, procure apiece of Sax velottt from an upholstery store, ami cat from it your & r. r- These «tr -dly to he fontMin ti -igns. Ttu-"-.l be found to be quick work, white exceedingly novel in elleet ami p* ?, the trea* e&t being so purely eonv al.-*Exch je, tfcfttt** Have Cold Feet.

Delicate women* writers and sadentary persons, who feel chilly even in summer should never sit without foot warmer* or fur Uned slippers if at all chilly. Mental exercise exhausts the bodily heat. You remember how George Eliot always was chilly when writing, and many a profiMttfonal worker recognises the familiar feeling.—Cor- New Yon HerakL

N

TERRE HAUTE SATURDAY EVENING

Interesting: Points on the MifR nutiae Thereof!

PRENTICE MCLFORD'S NOTE BOOK

Breakl

Log Hat life Gettlnjr Breakfast—Corn Whisky at 11 s. m., Koon, Dinner, Afternoon—Home After Work—Wood to Cat, "Water to Brine and Supper to Cook,

[Copyrighted, 1880, by tke Author.]

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|E GOT out of our blankets heavily. Legs and back were apt to be a little stiff in the

morning. Or if not stiff, they lacked action. Working all the day previously, possibly in the water, or with it splashing all about, tugging at heavy boulders, shouldering wet sluices, to say nothing of the regular pick and shovel exercise, would make itself felt even when the limbs and blood were younger than now. Dressing was a short job. A pair of damp overalls, a pair of socks, a pair of shoes, or possibly the heavy rubber mining boots. Flannel shirts we slept in. A face swabbing with cold water in the tin basin outside and a "lick and a promise" for the hair with the comb. That was about all for week days. Vanity of apparel there was little for the working miner. Who was there to dress for? Woman? The nearest was half a mile, 50 years of age, and married. Then breakfast. The fire kindled in tile contrary little stove. Possibly it was necessary to attack with an axe that dried old stump near by and hack off a few chips to cook with. The miners wood pile-was generally small.

He got in fuel on rainy days, or at the odd intervals to be spared from work. You put on the worn tin teapot, lowered the gauze covered meat safe from the tree, cut a steak from the chunk of bull mahogany within called beef, slung a dab of lard in the frying pan, put therein the meat and let it sizzle. Two or three boiled potatoes might be sHced, fried more or less brown in the gravy, and this, with bread and tea, formed the breakfast. The bread was the bread of your own laborious baking, the loaf of an irregular shape, the crust very hard and thick, the color often "pied," being black where it had burned, brown where it had baked, and of a pallid whiteness where it had not baked at all. Within the loaf might be close, heavy, and in color either a creamy or a canary yellow, in proportion to the improper amount of yeast powder used.

The table is a broad shelf against the wall. There is no tablecloth. You did not always wash up after breakfast, for the dishes, as they stood, were all in place for dinner. Some fastidious miners washed their dishes after each meal .most of us did not. It was too much to expect of hard worked humanity. The cabin door is open while you eat and from it you look forth on the claim. There lies the bank of red earth as you left it yesterday after the "cave." There is the reservoir full of coffee colored ditch water which had run in during the night after being used for washing in a dozen claims "up country." Then you draw on those damp, .clammy rubber boots, either to the knee or hip high, the outside splashed with the dried reddish mud, and smelling disagreeably of rubber as you pulled them on and smelling worse as you became heated and perspiring. In these you waddle to the claim. I forgot. Breakfast over, one of the most important acts of the day was next on the programme. That was the filling, lighting and smoking of your pipe. Nothing could hurry you through this performance. The filling was cut in slivers with a careful and solemn consideration the weed was carefully bestowed in the bowl the match was applied with a deliberation savoring of a religious act tho first puff rose in the air as incense to the early morn, and smoking thus you waddled in your big boots to the claim. There you met your three partners, all likewise smoking. There they stand on the bank, looking Into the ground sluice. There is no "good morning" or other greeting if anything, grunts. There lay the tools—shovels, picks, crowbar and sluice fork—helplessly about, as left tlast evening. A little muddy water trickles through the line of sluices. One of us goes to the reservoir, a few hundred yards off, and turns on the water. Another goes to tho tail of the sluices with the sluice fork. Then is heard the clicking of the pick and the grating of the shovel against tho red dirt down comes the muddy water over the hank and the day's work faa& fairly commenced.

We stand in a row, allowing sufficient rqpm between each for swinging the pick. We are undermining the bank, the water running at our feet and between usand the bottom of the bank. Each chunk of red dirt dislodged by the pick falls Into the running water, and if It be hard and will not readily dissolve it must he broken up by pick or shovel to keep the stream clear and unimpeded. Tb* large bowlders are picked oat by hand and thrown behind us—not in disordered fashion, either. Boom in the

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cut is »carce and must be economized, so the 9*er accumulating bowlder pile is "faced up" with a neat wall, laid without mortar, but with Some care and skill. The bed rock is under our feet. We are undermining the bank and keeping the stream turned in as much as possible to the part undermined. The gravel for afoot or six inches is pretty hard, and the stones here are harder and closer packed than those nearer the surface. There the gravel is lighter. Many of the stones are light and rotten a blow with the pick dashes them to pieces. This streak just above the ledge and for a few inches in the crevices of the ledge is our "pay streak," where ages on ages ago some stream ran, depositing, as all streams do, the heavier gravel on the bottom and the lighter above. Occasionally the pick strikes a firmly imbedded bowlder hard and square on its point, in such away as to send the vibration like a shock along the iron, up the handle and into one's arm and "crazy bone." Our bank of dirt is about eight feet in height. A few inches of the top is a dark mold, below that are three or four feet of "hard pan," below the "hard pan" light sandy gravel and rotten bowlders,* and near the ledge is the pay streak. This order of formation has varied as we have worked up and into the bank. At first, near the river's edge, there was only mold on a very light alluvial sand. This was readily washed off and paid $4 or $5 per day. A little farther back we struck the edge of the red gravel streak. This for a time paid better. Farther still came the deposit of light sandy gravel, and lastly came in the accursed "hard pan."

Our claim, on being first prospected, was reported to pay three cents to the pan from the top down. We believed it at first, not having learned that "three cents to the pan from the top -down" means the biggest kind of luck. If you get an average of half a cent a pan from the top down, and the dirt would wash easily, we should maks money. It was hard even for an "honest miner" to give as a result of a prospect anything less than "three cents to the pan." But "hard pan" is our foe. "Hard pan" is the essence of brickbats. Its consistency is about that of chalk. It seems the finest kind of sand cemented and pressed together. It can be carved into any form with a knife. It takes as much time to work off a square foot of hard pan as ten square feet of soft gravel. When, after half a day's labor, we succeed in getting down a cave, it goes into the ground sluice in a few great lumps, which must be battered to pieces with our picks before the water will slowly dissolve them into mud. And it doesn't hold a "color" of gold. The work in the ground sluice goes on hour after hour. Pick and shovel and. scrape, scrape and shovel aud pick, the water meantime tumbling and roaring over the bank and making it difficult for us to hear one anothers' voices. Tho sun climbs higher and gets hotter. The water pail is frequently visited. The backs of the gray shirts are wet with perspiration. In an easy, companionable claim, where tho partners are all good fellows and on good terms and not too insane in the matter of getting an enormous quantity of dirt through the sluices each day, there may be more or less brief suspensions from the work, when all hands lean on their shovels and talk politics, or horses, or last night's poker game, or h^Ve a short service of tobacco smoke, v&th the usual solemn preliminaries of cutting the plug and filling pipes. But if the majority of the "company" are a mean, crabbed, close fisted lot, the misery goes on without cessation.

A queerly assorted group are we thus laboring together. Jaok Gwin's impelling hope and life's idea is to earn enough to pay his passage home to Philadelphia and buy him a suit of clothes. A decent suit he has not earned these five years. He would be the terror .and distress of liis relatives if ever he got back, for with him $5 in his pocket over expenses and sobriety are an impossibility. McFadden dreams of a cabin, a cow, some geese and goats, a horse and a wife, and is in a fair way of realizing them all. He saves most of his earnings, gets drunk wisely only on holidays, pays his debts regularly, hates the English, lives in that little black, brownish cabin up yonder, does all his cooking in two tin pots, sleeps in _one pair of ancient blankets and a most disreputable bed quilt, and §3 will cover the cost of all his domestic fittings and utensils. Bill Furnea, a French Canadian, has drifted here into this hole in the foothills very much as he drifted into the world—without aim or object in life save present enjoyment. He is a good worker and works because he was brought up to it and can't help it. He is a good boatman, a good logger, a skilled woodcutter, a devotee of poker and generally a successful one, an entertaining scamp, full of wit and originality, quick to take in the peculiarities and eccentricities of others, something of a dandy, as far as dandyism can be indulged in this out of the way place, and a born scamp, glib of tongue, unreliable, and socially the best man Of the crowd.

It is near 11 o'clock. There stands in a cool corner of the claim and careftilly shielded from any stray flying pebble, a black bottle. It is nearly full of whisky —very common corn whisky, it is most welcome at this hour. Poison it may be, but a draught from the tin cup brightens up and makes all things new. The sunshine is more cheerful. All nature smiles. The picks descend with increased force and a host of new day dreams start into being. It revives hope. It quenches despair. It gilds the monotony of our lives, It was ever thus, and possibly ever shall be, world without end. It is high noon. The sun is over our head.- and the shadows are at their shortest length. One of our number trudges wearily tap to the reservoir to shut off the water. So soon as its flow lessens we trudge off in wet overalls or heavy rubbers to our respective cabins. We are now ground sluicing at or about the year 2380, when miners generally had abandoned "cabining" in sqnads and each man kept house by fcimself. Canse —general incompatibility of tem per, temperament, disposition^ and habit. The

MATT.

sober miner found it disagreeable to live permanently with the spreeing miner, and the miner nice in his domestic economy and particular about his food soon became tired of a companion who never aired his blankets and didn't care whether liis bread was light or heavy, sweet or SAur.

Trudging to our cabin® we pick

up the dried twigs in our pa»E. These are to kindle the dinner fire. Dinner is very much like breakfast, beef or bacon, bread, tea, dried apple sauce. The boots are kicked off and .thumped into a corner. The temperature is up to that notch that induces perspiration without any exertion at all, and the ugly little stove makes it hotter still.

We sit down to the noon meal in a melting condition, and rise from it in the same state. Dinner is eaten, the "nooning" is over, back again to the claim, turn on the water, pick, shovel, scrape, pry, toss back bowlders and prop up sluices slipped from their supports. Between 2 and 8 o'clock a sn^wv vJliite cloud rises over a distant peak to the eastward. It seems like a great bank of snow against the blue sky, and the longer we look at it the farther we seem to peer into its translucent, clear-white depths. It rises over that peak at almost tho same hour every afternoon, and is almost of the same shape. It is the condensed vapor of the snow melting on the higher Sierra summits, eighty-six miles distant. It is imposing in its silent imperceptible rising, its wonderful whiteness, its majesty, its distance. It seems a fit bed of snowy splendor for fairies or some sort of ethereal beings to bask and revel in. It seems to be looking down, half in scorn, half in ftity. at us four weary, miserable worms of the dust, feebly pecking at a bit of mother earth, muddy, wet, and feebly squirming in and about this bank of dirt.

At 4 o'clock there ar6 longer pauses in our labors. .There is more leaning on shovels and more frequent glances at our timepiece, the sun, as he sinks in the western heavens. The shadow of the hill opposite creeps slowly down its side. It is a cool, welcome shadow. The strongest worker secretly welcomes it. Though he be a "horse of a man," his muscles all feel the effects of the long day's labor. It is more his strong will than his body which keeps him swinging the pick". We arc in duty bound to work till 0 o'clock. Everybody works till 0 o'clock. Everybody is more or less tired at 4 o'clock, but it is not the capacity of the body for labor that fixes the time. It is custom, stupid custom. Tho gauge is the limit of physical strength, not for tho weakest, but the strongest. The great, brawny armed, big boned Hercules of our company doesn't feel it much. Ho may walkthree miles after supper to the bar store, play cards and drink whiskey till 0 o'clock, and then walk back again and be up fresh for work next morning by 6:80 o'clock. This is 1800.

In 1870 ho showed it, however, and in the marks of age was ten years ahead of his time. You can't keep up this sort of thing—digging, tugging, lifting, wet to tho skin day after day, summer and winter, with no interval of rest, but a steady drag twelve months of the year—without paying for it. There's dissipation in the .use of muscle as well as in the use of whisky. Every old miner knows it now and feels it. Don't you? How does the muscle of 45 years in 1882 compare with that of 25 years in 1862? Of course, man must live by the sweat of his brow or the sweat of his brain, but many of you sweat too long in those days, and I hear you all saying, "That's sol" Start anew the fire in tho little stove thump the wet boots in the corner drag yourself down to the spring a few hundred yards distant for a pail of fresh water hack a few more chips from tho dried stump mix some flour, water and yeast powder for the day's baking sit down a minute on your flour. barrel chair and look on your earthly possessions. The worn and scarred trunk you brought yearn ago from the states it holds your best suit of a forgotten fashion, two or three white shirts, a bundle of letters from home, a few photographs, a Bible not worn out with use, a quartz crystal, a few gold "specimens," a tarantula's nest, the tail of a rattlesnake and six vests. Do you remember how vests would accumulate in the mines? Pants, coat, everything else would wear out—vests never.

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fSwifs ®8E"

Prentice Mulford.

Practical.

According to the philosophers everything lias twp uses, a lower and a higher. Some very common people find this out for themselves, so far, at least, as tho practical application of it is concerned.

The daughter of the rector of a parish in East London over tho border taught the choir boys a new tune at a Monday evening's rehearsal, to be sung on the following Sunday. Sunday morning clinic* "Well, Johnny," said Miss "1 hope you haven't forgotten the new tune, for we depend much on you." "Naw, mum, not a bit. I've been a-skeering the crows with it all the week."—Youth's Companion.

Slow SalcMe.

The ingenuity of the would-be suicide is constantly taxed to accomplish his purpose outside the beaten paths of self destruction. Jonathan Williams, of Davidson county, N. C.T deliberately starved himself to death. Insisting that.his appetite had failed, he refused food, putting aside the tempting dishes ^prepared by an anxious wife. Twenty-five dayg served to finish the job, and while the average healthy mind sew the superior advantages of pistol or chloroform, thf gentleman in question probably derived a gr-rtf deal of solid enjoym^Hn theprogof his hunger, and tn- unpleasant but novel sensations of the experiment —Wa«h:::^l'-U PdBt.

An aid and well posted goat who was kept by s-eflpefc society far tise in initiations, was dbewing the leg of a hoot, when a young kid came along and asked: ••Say, don't It make you awful tired to have those duffers in the lodge ride you

"No, sot much. You sed, I get used to it by degrees."—Texas Siftings.

Remarkable Rescue.

Mrs. Michael Curtain, Plainneld, 1 makes the statement that she cau& cold, which settled on hsr lmngs was treated for a month by her fami physician, but grew worse. He told she was a hopeless victim of consur tion and that no medicine could cure Her druggist suggested Dr. King's N Discovery for Consumption she bong a bottle and to her delight found hers benefited from first dose. She coutinu its use and after taking ten bottles, foui herself sound and well, now does hown housework and is as well as ever was. Trial bottles of this Great covery at J. & C. Baur's drug stoi large "bottles 50c. and ?1. -j

Happy Hoo&iers.

Wm. Timmons, Postmaster of Id ville, lud., writes: "Electric Bittehas done more for me than all oth» medtcnes combined, for that bad feelir arising from Kidney and Liver trouble John Leslie, farmer and and stocktna. of same place, says: "Find Electr, Bitters to be the best Kidney and Liv medicine made me feel like a new man, J. W. Gardner, hardware merchai|r same town, says: Electric Bitters just tho thing for a man who is all ru down and don't care whether he lives S dies he found new strength, good petite and felt just like he had a no lease on life. Only 50c. a bottle, at J. C. Baur's drug store.

Forced to Leave Home.

Over 00 people were forced to lea* their homes yesterday to call at thf druggist's for a free trial package Lane's Family Medicine. If your blocis bad, your liver aud kidneys out of der, if you are constipated and have headache and an unsightly complexion don't fail to call on any druggist to-da for a free sample of this grand remedy The ladies praise it. Everyoue likes Large-size package 50 cents. 1

Mother, Wife, Daughter.

Those dull tired looks and unpleasan, feelings speak volumes.

uDr.

Iviliuer't

Female Remedy" builds up quickly I run-down constitution and brings bap youthful beauty. Price $1.00. Pamphlet Free. Binghanipton, N. Y. Sold,recon* mended and guaranteed by J. it C. Ban

Hold It to the Light.

The man who tells you confidentlj* just what will cure your cold is proserin lug Kemp's Balsam this year. In the preparation of this remarkable medicinA for coughs and colds no expense issparecf to combine only the best and purest ingredients. Hold a bottle of Kemp's Balsam to the light and look tnrough it notice the bright, clear look then compare with other remedies. Prieo 50c. an*! $1. Sample bottle free.

To Cure Kidney Trouble*

Use "Dr. Kilmer's Swamp-Root Kidney* Liver and Bladdor Cure" It relieve* quickly and cures the most chronic and complicated cases. Price 50e, and 81.00. Pamphlet Free. Blnghampton, N. Y, Sold, recommended and guarautoed J. & C. Baur.

mmm

FOR GRAIN RAISERS.

Can they make money at present prices ^YES!

HOW?By keeping the soil rich, By cultivating it well, By using the best seed,

THEN

Have their Grain and Seeds Threshed, Saved and Cleaned

BY THE

NICHOLS & SHEPARD

It will handle Grain and Seeds FASTER, BETTER and

CLEANER,

than any other Thresher. It will save enough extra grain (which other machines will waste) to pay all threshing expenses, and often three to five times that amount.

It will Clean the Grain and Seed so*much better that you can get an extra price for it.

It will do your work so much QUICKER, so much^ CLEANER, and so free from WASTE, that you will save money.

Such Threshing Machinery is made only by

MICH0LS & SHEPARD

BATTLE CREEK, MICHIGAN.

SEBIOUS MISTAKE.

A.

Much

mUchlef 1* dmm in

the treatment of

Cm«tlpaiim. Th« wramon opinion lu that •fl requirement *are fulfilled 1ft lie medlcln® force* miloodlng: of the bowal*. A great error. nimplr pnrjcatlre, correct* no morbid condition* eomeqamitly their

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followed fry *rf«a«?r eonUrene**. Ar«medr, to b« effoctuai *nd prrmjuurot, 7nn«t be composed of tonic, alterative, eorrectfv« .nit rorthartll-prowrttok Then* ar« IMlmlr•bijr combined in

Ifr.

T«tt*» Urrr J'ilU.

Th*ry trUl, In a,abort tfm*, euro all the »aff«rinn that re*olt from inactive bowel*. TWrfre tone to ttm fntcatine*, stimalate the Moetkma, and correct Imperfect fttnotlonal action of the stomach and llrer.

Tntt's Liver Pills

NEVER DISAPPOINT.. Prlct. 25c. OBm, 39

41 Park PUce,

K. r.

AuJCin 10 }lom**Orown Nuniery *ux-k. WANTED

I0ST

LIBERAL TERMS.

Unequalled facilities. One of the largest, and bett known ffurterie* In the country. AddreM W. T. SXITH, Geneva Xnnerr,

KutablUhed In 1840. Oeneva' V. Y.

Y: