Saturday Evening Mail, Volume 22, Number 1, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 27 June 1891 — Page 2

GWENDOLINE

wwt

Ly Mrs. V. H. PALMES.

At 11 o'clock of a soft April morning" Alex Vincent stepped from, the elevator At the fifth landing of the Equitable -building and entered his office a few yards distant.

Mr. Vincent was a handsome young fellow of 2J, with a refined face, dark «ye» and mustache. He wore a light gray overcoat and derby hat he bad a dandelion in his bnttonhole and carried a cane. There waa a general air of langnor and disaffection abont him this morning. What earthly use was there, he wondered, in taking the trouble to -come to his office?

During nine months' occupancy he tuidn't had & dozen clients. In fact, nothing ever came to the office bnt bills and book agents, and he would gladly have avoided both. He was beginning to consider seriously what he was going to do about it. For the present, bowever, he did nothing but throw the winlow up, and sitting down on the broad

Jill gaze over the wide prospect that his lofty height commanded. The wide bine Charles, the low, misty hills, the thin white clouds were soothing. He sat and thought about Miss Marquand'Jfenosicale, and dreaded to turn about and face the perpetual problem of income and expenses. His reverie was broken by the abrupt opening of the office door. "Dispatch for Alex Vincent. Thirty cents charges," sung out the district messenger boy who confronted him as be turned.

It waa with a feeling as near surprise as our philosophical young lawyer was capable of that he tore open the yellow .envelope and read: '•Gideon Dane was buried yesterday. "His heirs will meet for consultation on the 13th. Yon are requested to be present."

The message was dated "Queenstown. Va.," and signed "Gwendoline Dane." Who, then, speculated young Vincent, was Gideon Dane, and who were his heirs? His grandmother, who had died before his remembrance, was, as he recalled, a Virginian, and her name was Daue. This Gideon Dane might have boon her relative. He went out and telegraphed at the end of an hour's cogitation for further information, "Am 1 one of Gideon Dane's heirs?" and during the day he received the brief answer, "You are," with the same signature as before.

It was about the middle of the afternoon on tho 18th that Alex Vincent found himself at the end of his long and rather stupid journey. He had come •over a singlo track road, by a slow train, in a common car. Among his fellow passengers the women were sallow and the men slovenly. He had had a bad night's rest and a poor breakfast. A good many young follows of Vincent's ago would have enjoyed tlie#ovelty and adventure of the journey ^nt Vincent -was of a cool, fastidious temperament, critical and fond of His comfort Before leaving homo he had taken the precaution to visit an elderly aunt, his mother's sister, who in response to his inquiries could only tell him that as far as she knew tho Virginia Danes had been ruined by tho war, and that the northern branch of the family had never been able to get along with them, anyhow. "They were a hot tempered set," said tho old lady, "with no manner of reason or judgment, according to our notions.

But you'd better go on and see to what's left, since they bid you." Vincent, as has been said, was left standing on the platform at Queenstown And the train moved on. He was among the mountains, in the midst of a wild and picturesque scene, A colored boy whom ho beckoned from a sunny doorstep informed him that the Dane place was a "good bit" distant, and that if he would wait for him to borrow a fish line ho'd show him tho road. "Wero there no horses to be hired?"

Tho boy rolled his tongue in his cheek. "There might bo a mulo cart." Vincent decided to start on foot. He persuaded his guide to give up the fishline scheme and carry his valise as a tnoro profitable investment, and then together tho two struck into tho cool, wide gorge already green with April drapery, with rushing waterfalls foaming down the side of the mountain around which they pursued their way. "Reckon iMissGwen' would a sawn't for you sho\ if she'd known you was coming," remarked Vincent's guide, as the dark began to close about them and the mountain fog to obscure tho road. "Has she servants and horaesf inquired Vhu^ut with irritation. "La, yes," drawled the boy, "lots •on 'em." "And is she a—young ladyf queried our traveler. "Didn't you know that?" was the surprise*! reply,

Vincent walked on, reflecting upon these items of information. "Well, how much farther have we got to gvr he inquired at length, tired, shivering in the cold white mist and thinking of the condition of his boots. "We're right there, sah—here's tho lane." was the cheering response.

A few momenta snore and they saw the lights of the house blinking through the fog, and then through the windows the ruddy glow of firelight The house, Vincent could dimly distinguish, waa large, old fashioned, with a wide ve rands. The door at which h« knocked was opotN*! by a white haired colorou man, wrinkled, brotu&ed, bent and silen —a deaf mate, Vincent learned after•ward.

A moment later he was standing on the threshold of a targe rwm, lighted bj the fire rather than by the two candles which burned in tall silver candlesticks on the shelf. la his momontary worwy he took in the dark, heavy furniture which sparsely rurnisbed the spadoo* room, the aids mgs on the bare flodr. the email round table laid for supper, ami the broad red conch before the ftro on which a young woman was stretched at rfoll length, sorroowled by steeping dog*.

Vincent rather recoiled from the unconventional aspect of the scene. He iiked the proprieties as he understood them. He expected a proper reception from somebody. He sfafod stiffly on the threshold, hardly knowing whether to advance or retreat An inquiring growl from an aroused dog broke the silence. The lady started at the sound, and sat upright. The dog, too, was on his feet She laid one hand quickly on the hound's neck Mid roee, facing the doorway where Vincent stood, as it were, at bay, while the deaf mnto held his candle at arm's height, as if to light the visitor's face for his mistress' inspection. "Alex Vincent?" the lady asked, doubtfully. She was a tall, Diana like girl, with amass of dark, tumbled hair and in a riding habit.

Vincent bowed coldly. 'Have I the honor of speaking to Miss Dane?"

"Have I the honor of speaking to Miss Danef" "O, Cousin Vincent, where did yon come from? How did you get here?" she cried, coming, toward him. "I"— said Vincent, and stopped to smile and extend his hand in response to Gwendoline Dane's rapid greeting, while even his cool, New England blood* tingled at sight of the young beauty who was holding his hand in hers, looking with superb scrutiny into his eyes, with which her own were level, while she said hurriedly: "I see. You got off the train at Queenstown. Barmore is three miles nearer, but how should you know that? I rode to Barmore, taking an extra horse. Since you were not there I supposed you had not come, and so wont off on along ride. I haven't been home half an hour. But how tired you must be and how hungry, and how damp. Come to the fire."

She turned toward the old negro with a gesture he apparently understood. "Supper," she said, "and a fire in Mr. Vincent's chamber."

The dark cloth habit she wore was not long enough to interfere with her impetuous movements. She wheeled a big leather chair toward tho fire, the dogs who Had followed her discreetly getting out ^j&per way. 1 "Sitwown," she said to Vincent, in an imperious way, to which be was certainly not accustomed, but winch he could not retrain from admiring, so well it suited this "superb, great, haughty" girl who claimed his cousinship. "I am ashamed of such a scant welcome," she said, seating herself opposite her guest and keeping a light hold upon the collars of the two most uneasy dogs. "My visit is purely one of business. Miss Dane. I had no expectation of laying claim to your hospitality."

Vincent had recovered from his momentary surprise at Miss Dane's beauty, and totally ignorant as he was as to the nature of the situation in which he found himself, was inclined to stand ujon his dignity. "Yes," she said, with a little sigh, "1 had no alternative but to summon you as I did. But we will not talk business to-night To-morrow will be soon enough."

By this time the supper waa served. Tho fragrance of coffee with mountain cream, the platter of fried trout, the haunch of cold mutton with a salad of brook cresses, followed by cakes and jellies, was sufficient to soften Vincent's mood. His young hostess watched him and waited upon him with interest mingled with a delicate air of amazement Evidently she was unaccustomed to young and hungry men.

Vincent's surprise was likewise growing. Was this young princess the only member of tue family? It began to seem so, since no one else appeared. "Miss Dane," he said as they resumed their seats before the fire. "I find myself here by your command. Now I must ask in what way I can serve yon?" "You wish to know the story tonight?" "I do, if it is your pleasure." "We are distantly related, Mr. Vincent My grandfather was your grandmother's cousin. I suspect that he once hoped to be something nearer. Bnt no matter for that He adopted me when all the other Danes were dead and gone. Five are buried on the battlefields. Within the past few year* he began to talk to me of onr northern relatives. Evidently he made inquiry concerning your whereabouts, for a few weeks before his death he told me that when he was gone I was to telagraph yon, as I did. He said you were a lawyer and would know how to manage the business, and th?t yon and I were the only heirs of the Dane estates." '•This young beauty,** mnsed Vincent, "can tell a very straight story—for a woman,'" "May 1 ask, Miss Dane, if yon live on this lonely place akawf* "Aleae—well, yes, since grandpa is gone. Oh. I have a companion, Miss Chatworth. She has gone to Qaeeaa* town today to fetch the mourning which waa ordered tfcera. She will return tomorrow, r—Gwendoline Dane's face flushed slightly—"I had no idea thai |m wereayoongman," she said frankly. "Has your grandfather's wQl been opesiedT" asked Vincent "No, I pnefetred to wait till yoa cstme.** "Von haws shown me a great deal of

HliflllSlS

consideration—as one who deprives you of part of your inheritance." He rose as he said this, as a signal that he was ready to bid Miss Dane "good night" She stood also. For a second they looked each other over. He |ras wondering at her perfect grace, the faultless curves revealed by the clinging folds of the short, shabby habit the delicate perfection of throat and ears, the brilliant assurance of the large eyes which looked unwaveringly into his own. ^Ifl "I need friends more than money," she said finally. "And I," he returned lightly, "may say I need money more than friends! Your want is the easier one to supply"

She drew a quick breath. need money'-1" she asked intently^p "Badly," he returned smiling.

She put both hands out impulsively as she had at their first meeting. And am sure yoa need rest.,, iTo-mowfow will taHc"«| MjT

The dog^iad' risen as she ^fb$nd stood in various attitudes! of attention. The deaf mute, who it seemed to Vincent lurked like an Afrite invisible

vm-

'if1

1

flar-

he was wanted, appeared with his flaring candle. The young man took the fine, nervy hand extended, arid pressed it ever so slightly. "I shall live for to-morrow," he with rather more gallantry than he monly indulged in.

Then, in his warm, quiet cham with a south rain dashing at intervals against the pane, he lay awake only lonfc enough to wonder what sort d'f an Arabian Night adventure was this which had befallen him, and to drav^ a dreamy contrast between this yoqpg

omig

Virginian and the women of colder ti^ts and lesser curves and charier manners— the girls of his social set who gave him grudging waltzes and short tete-a-tetes, and said to their mammas: "Oh, don't be frightened! We know well enough that Alex Vincent can't marry for ages to come/'

Vincent looked from his window the following morning upon a scene which remained long after in his memory. The April sunshine flooded the rolling country. The grain was springing, the orchards in bloom.. The lane through which he had come last night had a border of magnolias just in bud. In the distance the mountains rose in warm tibts of pura a I

He descended to the parlor. Theoreakfast table was laid, the windows wide open, and in the flooding sunsfiine Miss Dane and Miss Chatworth vMtq examining the black gowns in which the family were to be dressed for the dead master.

Later came the lawyer from? Queenstown and the old minister from Barmore, and Gideon Dane's last will and testament was solemnly unsealed and read aloud. Gideon Dane was a man of substance. He owned broad, rich acres, flour mills and herds of cattle. Besides he had numerous investments which were duly described. And he gave and bequeathed all these things to his-next ofJrin, Gwendoline^ Dane and Alesteacent, with the hope that "their agesbeing suited and their interests one, their lives and destinies might be united." The lawyer read these words in a distinct. formal tone, and paused. There was a stir of sensation through the little company, and Vincent and Gwendoline were the only two who did not exchange glances.

At noon there was a grand dinner served. Soon after the guests mounted their horses and rode away. Vincent lighted a cigar and strolled down the lane under the budded magnolias. The secret was out Old Gideon Dane had chosen to provide a protector for his heiress in this mediroval fashion. They had queer notions, these Southerners, regarding family obligations.

Turning, he saw Gwendoline and her great white hound Blanche coming slowly toward him. "Would you like to se where grandpa is buried?" she asked..

He assented, and was about to throw away his cigar. "Don't throw it away," she said a little nervously. "Cant you treat me"— and she laughed shortly—"as if 1 were a man: or at least as if you were under no restraint in my presence?" "No," he said. "I cannot. The cigar is no sacrifice." "But," she said, as he walked by her side, "we have got to be quite frank with each other and we might as well throw overlKmrd as many formalities as we can. Don't yen think so?" "Possibly."

They walked on in silence, the dog dropping her delicate pink nose within Gwendoline's palm. "Mr. Vincent" said tfie young lady at last '"I had no intimation of the precise nature of my grandfather's will, or I should not have sent for you as 1 did, even though 1 simply obeyed his injunctions. What 1 want to say is that the clause which—places me under your protection is no way binding, as of course you know, and for the sake of simplifying things I wish to say that we will regard it as if it had not been written." "Unquestionably you have such aright —to ignore this clause—legally and morally, Miss Dane. For my own part I do not feel so free. 1 need not particularize, but permit me to say that I have made a decision. I shall make no claims to the estate under your grandfather^ wiH."

She turned slightly pale. "You feel that your inheritance is oonditionalT "Yes." "I beg you net to think so. The last thing that grandp^ would have wished is that we should—marry"—her lovely complexion toned paler still she held her proud head aloft, the full lips treo bled and hear soft dark eyes met hear companion's without wavering—"unless we liked each other." "It would be impossible far us even to know whether we—liked each other or oot Miss Dane, meeting under s^ch prearranged »»onditionsu You are very fonng" "I am twenty." "You might make a fatal mistake, it is far better that we each retain oar freedom, and in order that we may I refx "Tc

rM

nounce all such claim as the will gives me to the property." "The conditions are jtQp. severe,"*she said with irony. MHpRHM "Pardon me." They looted at eacli other. "You are the meet beautiful woman I have ^yer,, known," he marked frankly. "But," she interposed^ "I felt it from the first—you are not free." "I am free," Miss Dane. '"It is not of myself I am thinking, bnt* of you, I must spare you the embarrassment of this position, and to do this I must leave yoa at once—to-night." "I shall not attempt to influence you," she said coldly, "further than to say that the only train making connections for the north leaves Queenstown at noon, ansl I should be glad to have you remain till morning." "Under the circumstances I will accept your invitation with gratitude," he replied.

re­

Vincent continued his walk alone after risiting Gideon Dane's grave, Miss Dane excusing herself and returning to the house. He ate his supper also in solitary state with Miss Chatworth, who invited him to play eribbage afterward. At 10 o'clock he ventured to ask if Gwendoline were not at home. Miss Chatworth opened her irild eyes and explained that Miss Dane had ridden to Queenstown during the arternoon, and would not return till morning. "She means to avoid seeing me again," thought Vincent, with annoyance, and strange to say the annoyance was keener than that he felt in the determination to give up a nice property to which he had so unexpectedly acquired a title.

He was wrong, however, in regard to Gwendoline's intention. The following morning was rainy, and when he descended to the breakfast room Miss Dane was standing before the fire. In- her new black gown, with the white hound standing close beside her, she looked imperially calm and handsomer than ever.

Vincent's own fine face brightened. "I was afraid you did not mean to see me again," he said frankly. "I feared y^u were disgusted with your new found cousin." "You were wrong," she said gravely. "I went to Queenstown in your interest I have destroyed the will. As the only surviving members of the Dane family the property belongs to us jointly by law. As for the few bequests, I thought you would not object to carrying out grandpa's wishes. For the rest, we stand as though the will had never been made." "You have destroyed the will!" exclaimed Vincent, "but" "What is done can't be undone," she said, unmoved. "And what shall you do now?" he asked with uncontrollable surprise. "If it seems to you worth while, I shall advise you to stay and get the property appraised and things in shape. I should like to keep the place, if there is any way of arranging it" "But surely you will not live here. You must see the world." "Oh, I have seen it—the world of London and Paris and Washington. I have been grown up these five years."

Vincent gave up his proposed journey for that day. He set to work with Gwendoline examining accounts. The morning passed and other mornings in the same fashion. In the afternoon the thoroughbred horses were brought to the door afad he and Miss Dane, followed by a party of dogs, went galloping over the country. .:

A good many of these April days went by in this fashion. Gwendoline took him over the landmarks of her life. Here was a hollow tree where she spent the night once—she was lost in a fog on the mountain. "Were you alone?" "Ob, no Blanche was with me." "Could she have protected you?" "Certainly. Do you doubt?" She looked at the dog, who felt herself the object of conversation, and posed for orders. The delicate limbed, pink nosed creature was transformed. She glared at Vincent, whom she had never taken to, and showed the fine, fierce pointed teeth, every limb stiffened the brown flecks in her eyes flashed like flakes of fire.. She tittered an almost inaudible growl. Gwendoline had to kneel dowu before the creature to pacify her. "You can fancy what she would do at the word of command," said Miss Daue, rising. "Yes," said the young man, with something like a shiver running down his backbone.

One day they went higher up the mountain than ever before. "This is where I shot a wildcat once," said Gwendoline. "That pleased grandpa. How the creature looked at me! But sometimes I have thought I could feel just as she looked, if I had occasion." "What sort of occasion?" asked Vincent amused. "Oh"—she laughed uneasily—"if, for instance, any one should make me jealous!"

Ridiculous as the feeling was, it began to annoy Viilcent that Blanche always made one of the party on these walks. When they rode he did not mind the dogs, but it seemed to him as though the white hound had assumed a sort of guardianship over Gwendoline, and never left him alone with her. "Do you take Blanche to protect you from me, Miss Dane?" he said half irritably one day, when the dog, who was nowhere in sight when they started, came with great bounds to Gwendoline's side before they reached the end of the lane. "You don't like Blanche?1said the girl. "Blanche doesn't like me." "Shall I tell you why?" said Gwendoline carelessly ,and not thinking of the implication of her wards. "She is jealous"

Vincent's eyes gleamed with triumph, *Let me see if that is so," he said, and 6e drew closer to Gwendoline's side and taking her hand drew it through his arm. The dog whined uneasily and tried to thrust herself between the two. •«Yra win have to choose.between os,1* said Vincent, ^5

Be quiet Blanche," said the young girl quietly. But Blanche, with a- muttered growl, had her white farepaws

firmly on Vincent's shoulders, her lithe height towering above his own. It took all Gwendoline's authority to reduce the great beast to obedience, and finally to send her baying piteously home. "Now I have you all to myself,**, he said significantly. fy "Poor Blanche!" said Gwendoline "no one has ever come between her and me before." "Do j*ou want her back?" "No." "You have chosen between us." "Between you and—a dog, Mr. Vincent!" "At any rate, you have chosen me." "Did you isk me to choose?" "Yes, Gwendoline," he said explicitly, "and I ask you over. I ask you to choose me for your lover—for your life!"

The hand he held trembled. "Are you not afraid to let me love you?" she murmured.

"JLre you not afraid to let me love yout "Afraid?"' "Oh, you don't know how fierce—how jealous my love is." "For me, Gwendoline?"

She snatched away her hand and covered her burning face. "I worship you," she said. "But I never meant to let you see it." "Gwendoline, my beautiful, sweetest girl."

That evening the final battle was fought out with Blanche. Gwendoline, with her own firm, white hand, lashed the dog into submission, and made her fawn, conquered, at Vincent's feet. She was pale and shuddering with excitement when it was over. "Would you do as much for me?" she aSked. 'Give up a dog for you—my princess?" he said with a kind of uneasy admiration for this splendid Amazon. "Would you give up what you loved because I did not like you to love it?" she'asked.

Vincent only kissed tho beautiful lips that asked this absurd question. It was now the end of May. The past weeks had been a transformation scene in Vincent's life. The office, the rare clients, the bills and the book agents, the dandelions on the common and Miss Marquand's Friday rausicales had faded into an undistinguishable past. Life, at its intensest, with its bloom and fragrance, he had lived on this Virginia farm. To wake betimes in the morning and hasten down to his meeting with Gwendoline, to share every moment of the day with her among the papers in Gideon Dane's brass bound desk, over the broad acres of the plantation, up and down the mountain roads, along the trout streams, in the dairy, among the acres where the strawberries were reddening—a round of business, pleasure, passion.

But at last, as even the lovers came to recognize, a change must come. Vincent must return to Boston and straighten up his neglected affairs. Then he would engage board for th9 summer for Gwendoline and Miss Chatworth, somewhere at the seashore where he would join them.

For once, indeed the last night of his stay, a Juno night with a young moon in the warm sky, he and Gwendoline in the hammock on the veranda, parting seemed impossible.

Continued on Third Page.

What Cured Him?

Dlstutbed,disturbed wl'h pninoppressed, No sleep, no rest wiiat dreadful pent such terrors thus ensnared him? Dyspepsia all nigbt. and all day, It really seemed bad come to stay: Pray, guefta you, then, what cured him? It was Dr. Pierce's Golden Medical Discovery. That 's the great cure for Headache, Scrofula, Dyspepsia, Kidney Disease, Liver Complaint and General Debility. An inactive Liver means poisoned blood Constipation means poisoned blood. The great antidote for impure blood is Dr. Pieice's Golden Medical Discovery. Acting directly upon the affected orirans, restores them to their normal condition. The ''Discovery" is guaranteed to benefit or cure in all ca*esof disease for whicb it is recommended, or money paid for it will be promptly refunded.

A 8|lendid Horse Medicine Chamberlain's Immediate Kelief has proven Itself to be a great remedy diseases among horses, and has been found especially effective in the treatment of colic. Read the following testimonials. ltM

MiUington, III.. Feb. 6, 1688.

I have used the Immediate Relief for horse medicine with great success, and have witnessed three or four horses die of colic .Imply tor

wan

Owners of horses are not sate in being without it. Get a bottle from your druggist and try it

Remarkable

Facta.

Heart disease Is usually supposed to be incurable. bnt when prepay treated a large proportion of eases can be cured. Thus Mm. Elmlnt Hatch, of Elkhart, I rid., and Mrs. Mary Baker, of Ovid, Mlcb., were cured after sottering SO years. 8- C. Llaburger, druggist at San Josa, 111-, says that Dr. Miles' New Heart Care, which cored the former, "worked wonders for his wlin." Levi l«gan« of Buchanan, Mich*, who bad heart disease for 39 yearn, says two fcotUes made htm "fcH like anew man.** Dr. Miles' New Heart Cure void and guaranteed by all druggUt*. Book of wonderful testimonial* free. I

Peculiar

Peculiar in combination, proportion, and preparation of ingredients, Hood's Sarsaparllla possesses the curative value of the best known reme- JH- dies of the vegetable laOOQ Skingdom. Peculiar in its strength and economy, Hood's Sarsaparilla is the only medicine of which can truly be said," One Hundred Doses One Dollar." Peculiar in its medicinal merits, Hood's Sarsaparilla accomplishes cures hitherto un

wSSarsaparillan""

the title of "The greatest blood purifier ever discovered." Peculiar in its "good name at home,"—there is more of Hood's Sarsaparilla sold in Lowell than of. all other blood purifiers. Peculiar in its phenomenal record of DA#*ii|!«*-salesabr'oa* no other CUUIKtl preparation ever attained so rapidly nor held so steadfastly the confidence of all classes of people. Peculiar in tho brain-work which It represents, Hood's Sarsaparilla combines all the knowledge which modern research"* science has I O I IbCl I developed, with many years practical experience in preparing medicines. Bo sure to get only

Hood's Sarsapari3la

Bold by all druggists. fl s!xforj!3. Prepared only by 0.1. HOOD & CO., Apothecaries, Lowell, Mass,

IOO Doses One Dollar

J)R. L. H. BARTHOLOMEW,

DENTIST.

Removed to 671 Main st. Terre Haute, Ind.

J)R. G. W. LOOMIS, HDZEZETTIST. 2W0 north Olh st. TerraHaulo, Ind. 1 square from Electrio Cur Line.

JP 0. DANALDSON,

ATTOBHEY .A.T LAW 228i WABASH AVENUE.

J)R. 0. M. BROWN, DIECIETTXST Olllce 511^ Ohio Street, Terre Haute.

fm W. O. JENKINS, XJ OlTlce, 12 south 7 st. Hours 1 :S0 to 3:30 Residence, cor. 6th and Linton.

Office telephone, No. 40, Baur's Drug Store. Resident telephone No. 17U.

J^R. GILLETTE., D. D. S. DENTIST. N. W. Cor. Main und Heveuth, opposite the Terre Hnuto House.

A RCHITECT. w. k,. "w: -wiXiSOUST, With Central Manufacturing Co., Otllce, 980 Poplar St reet. Terre Haute, Ind.

Plans and apecltlcatlons furnished for all kinds of work.

"Ypl. LOYEZE, DKAI.EK IN

Sugar Creek Ccal

Address, MACKSVILLE, P. O.

JSAAC BALL,

FUNERAL DIRECTOR.

Cor. Third and Cherry St*., Terre Haute, Jnrt, Is prepared to execute all orders ii ui« lint with neatness a odd lspate I

Bmbalmlng Speclttlty. ____

J^ISBIT & MCMINN,

UNDERTAKERS,

10.1 NORTH FOURTH STREET, All culls will receive the most careful attention. Open day and night.

RS. ELDER 4 BAkfiR, JiOMKOl'ATltlO

PHYSICIANS and SURGEON'S.

OFFICE 102 8. SIXTH STKEET, Opposite Savings Bank. Night, calls at olllce will receive prompt attention. Telephone No. 186.

TXOTEL RICHMOND -0_ EUROPEAN. E. A. FROST, Propr. Formerly manager Sherwood House. Evansvllle, Ind., late Mangr. Hotel Grace, Chicago.

Hooiun 7flc, $1.00, $1.SO J*er l)*jr. Steam Heat, Centrally located, two blocks from P. O. and Auditorium, opp. the new Lester Building. N, W. Cor State and VanHureii—CHICAGO

"PfOTEL GLENHAM, FIFTH AVENUB, NEW YOKK, Bet. 21st and|22d sts., near Madison Square.

DB

EUROPEAN PLAN. N. B. BARRY, Proprietor

New and perfect plumbing, according te the latest scientific principle*.

R. W. VAN VALZAH, Successor to

RICHARDSON & VAN VALZAH, ZDEHSTTIST. Office—Southwest corner Fifth and Mais Streets, over National State Ban* tenirancs on Fifth street.

]^£URPHY & TULLY,

Practical Tailors.

Pantaloons a Specialty.

SSS% Wabanh Ave., ovr-r Huiiter'sShlrtStore, TERRE HAUTE, INDIANA.

GIVES SATISFACTION IN ALL BRANCHES. —-exvu oi*

HI. IF1. RBIKEBB,

655 Main Street, South Side. J.KUGENT. M.J. BKOPH» J^UGENT & CO., PLUMBING and GAS FITTING

A 4 dealer In

Oaa Fixtures, Globes and Engineer's Supplies. soft Ohio Street, Terr* H»ot«, lad

Established 1WL incorporated

QLIFT WILLIAMS CO.,

Successor* to CI I ft, Williams A Co, J.H. Wiixiah*. President. 3. M. Cuonr, Sec'y and Tress. ajivta crrtrainw or

Sash, Doors, Blinds,

etc..

AXD DXALKRS 17*

LUMBER, LATH, SHINGLE8 GLASS, PAINTS, OILS ATSfD BUILDERS' HARDWARH. olberry street, eorner 9th.

r*i£li)e'»~S£sZ. A-,