Saturday Evening Mail, Volume 22, Number 48, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 21 May 1892 — Page 2

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1 DOCTO STORY.

Croft house, at the end of the Tillage, that had stood vacant so long, was let at last. A ladder gleaned against the wall a painter was painting the shutters, a gardener digging in the garden.

Day by day the aspect of the place improved. Soft ratiaHh shades shrouded thp ""windows flowers bloomed where only weeds had grown the garden paths were laid with gravel. One night a traveling '.carriage was driven rapidly through the village and in at the gate leading to Croft house.

Whence came the vehicle? Who its occupant? No one knew, but everyone desired to know. Nothing that took place within that dwelling transpired outsideIn passing by one saw only that the standard roses flourished and that the grass grew greener. What comments were made on the raysteWous and invisible inhabitants: What strange tales circulated.

I, the village doctor, concerned myself little enough about the matter. The occupants of Croft house were no doubt human beings, and as such must suffer some of the ills that flesh was helr-to in that case my services would be required. 1 waited patently.

A week went by, and one morning, before I set off on my rounds, a messenger arrived requesting me to call on Mr. Wilton, of Croft house. Dressing myself with more than ordinary care, I crossed the village green. I was young, and felt Important.

I was shown into the drawing-room. It was gay with Bummer flowers, redolent of their perfume. On a couch lay a young girl, in appearance almost a child. She was pale, delicate-looking, ant}.very lovely. In front of her knelt a young man of two or three and twenty—one of the handsomest young fellows I had ever seen. He held the hands of the beautiful girl, and they were looking into each other's eyes. As I approached he rose, bowed, and welcomed me with an easy grace that won my heart. "I

confess I expected to find the village doctor an older man," he said, with a frank smile, as he offered me his hand. "It is for my wife I desired your attendance," he continued, looking at her with the deepest affection, Una is not strong."

Then at a sign from him, I fjat down beside the couch of my interesting patient. "You are very j'oung, Mrs. Wilson,"

remarked. It was certainly a rather leading question. "I am 17, doctor," she answered simply. "We have been married only a few months. We are strangers hero, and wish to be so. Oh, Charlie, please explain," she asked, turning to her husband with a faint blush.

You can do it far better than I." IIo bent over her, kissed her on the forehead, then straightening himself and looking at me, said: "In attending my wlfo, Dr. Gray, I must ask you to undertake a double duty. We have decided to tell you our secret-—in part—so that while we are your patients I trust we may look upon you as our friend—one who will assist us in keeping our secret and in living the entirely secluded life we desiro to lead hero. Wilton is an assumed name. My father refused to acknowledge my marriage with tho girl I lot-to. Her father withheld his consent to his daughter marrying into a family too proud to receive her. We would have waited any reasonable time when our parents sought to separate us entirely we took our lives into our own hands. We married, and hope—in time—to bo forgiven."

They had both spoken to mo with the candor of youth, of love, and of inexperioncc. It takes very little sometimes to bring & doctor into close relations with his parents. I seemed to become the friend of this interesting young couple at once. I assured thorn they need not fear being intruded upon by the villagers, and the only gentlemen's residences within calling distances wore tenantless at that season of the year, the owners being either up in Londoner traveling abroad. As to the vicar, ho was a man whose advanced age and iuftruiltfod effectually precluded him

from visiting more than was absolutely necessary among his parishioners. "If you go to the church—a mile ft-om here," said I, "he may or may not call upon you. If you do not go, I think I may safely say he will not consider it neces"Bary. In that case you may probably never meet."

Mr, and Mrs. Wilton thanked me warmly, pressing me to come to see them frequently, wlilcli I did with ever-increasing pleasure as the beautiful romance of these two loving hearts unfolded itself. I soon discovered that Mr. Wilton had received a college education I also gleaned that "Una" wns somewhat his inferior in social position, and that since their runaway marriage they lmd been traveling abroad. It was no business of mine to know more than they chose to tell. I respected their secret, and asked no questions.

One morning—my visits had become almost daily now—I saw at once that there was something wrong with Mrs. Wilton, and she saw also that I perceived it "Yon need not feel my pulse, doctor It is my heart," she said, in answer to my looks. "You will Had me foeslishly weak, I know," she added, forcing a smile, "but I am miserable because my husband Is go lug to leave me." "Leave you! For how long?" I inquired anxiously.

She blushed, and, looking down, answered shyly: "Till this evening. Ah, don't laugh,** she implored "we have never been separated for so long since we were married. I am nervous and fanciful, I suppose, but scarcely slept last night for thinking of it. and when I did a dreadful dream kept repeating itself—" "Oh, you must not mind dreams," I answe**&. *•1 never did much before, but this—ah, Charles," she cried, as Mr. Wilton came In booted and spurred, "I will come and see you mount."

I saw the parting from the drawing-room window where I stood—saw her husband place his hands on either side of the sweet face, and gruw down into it with a look of unutterable lore saw their lips meet together for a moment after that he kissed her forehead and her beautiful fair hair, then sprang into the saddle and rode off awlfUy, as though he could not trust himself to linger. At the gate, turning, be waved his last farewelL

She came into the drawing-room pmsfr ently. "Doctor, excuse me I think I will lie down," she said, her large blue eyes looking peculiarly plaintive, brimming as they were with tear*. My presence was not needed then. bowed and took my leave,

»Vssss."

Bnt the evening of that day I was sent for to Croft house. "He has not returned," were the first words spoken by Mrs. Wilton as I entered the drawing-room. "And, oh! what a day it has been!" she continued, feverishly "so long, so sad! I seem to havei lived a cruel lifetime in each hour." "But it is not late. You said Mr. Wilton would not return until evening*" I urged. "It been evening a long time now. See, the snn Js setting. Then it will be night." She shuddered.

I sat with her an hour, perhaps, trying in vain to distract her thoughts. And I, too—knowing not how or why—became uneasy. She told me her husband had gone to the nearest town, for letters he expected to find at the postoffice. I knew that I could have ridden there and back easily in the time. Still, a thousand simple causes might have delayed him. I begged her to take courage, suggesting that she would probably-laugh to-morrow at the fears she had entertained to-day. But she shook her head. "I suffer too much ever to laugh at sucb feelings as these," she said, in a half-whis-per. "I do not wish to think it, but it is as though I knew something dreadful wasOh, I cannot, I dare not clothe the terrible thought in words. That would make it seem so real—so almost certain. Dr. Gray, can this be the punishment for my disobedience—come so soon?" she asked in awestruck tones.

I could not answer, but proposed that she should wrap a mantle round her and come with me into the garden to watch for her husband. She thanked me gratefully, and I carried out a basket seat for her and placed it on the lawn.

Sitting with her hands clasped about hex knees—paler, more fragile, moije childishlooking than I had ever seen her—of a sudden I felt, rather than saw, that a change had come to her. She bent forward as though listening intently, and at the same moment a distant sound struck on my ear—the galloping of a horse on the high road.

Was there ever before on human countenance such a beautified expression as that which dawned and deepened on Mrs. Wilton's as,the sound approached? It was close to us now, but the trees iu the garden hid the road from our view. Without slackening speed the horse galloped in at the open gate. "Oh, Charlie! Charlie! Oh, thank God!" cried the girl, in what seemed a wild, ungovernable ecstacy of gratitude and joy. But I pulled her back or the horse would have been upon her.

Then I saw that the animal was riderless, covered with dirt and foam that the bridle Jiung loose, dragging on the gravel.

A groom who had been on the watch came out. In another moment all the household were assembled on the lawn.

Mrs. Wilton had fallen back, as I thought, fainting in my arms. But no, her senses had not forsaken her. She raised herself and pointed in the direction the horse had come. "He lies there—there!" she cried, and, pushing me from her, ran forward toward the gate. I bade the servants bring lanterns and follow me. To Mrs. Wilton, whov was out in the road by this time, I said all I could say to dissuade her from going with me but my words fell on deaf ears. Feeling it was useless—in one sense cruel—to persist, I compelled her to take my arm. Endowed for the time, by excitement, with almost superhuman strength, she seemed to drag me forward rather than to lean on me. After proceeding about a mile, we came to a bit of level road, which for some distance in front showed clear and distinct in the moonlight. Hero, I fejt certain, we had lost all trace of the horse's shoe marks, which hitherto had been every now and then perceptible in the dusty high way. "There is a shorter cut—If ,^e knew of it," I said, and stopped. "Then if there is he would'come by Ithe would be sure to flud out and come by it." she cried.

And I led her back a little distance to a gate at the entrance of a wood, whore sure enough wore traces sufficient to show we were again on the right track. Servants with lanterns had overtaken us by this time so, calling out at intervals and listening In vain for a response, we entered the dark wood. Through it was an almost unfrequented bridal path, considered somewhat unsafe by day, but particularly so at night the gnarled roots of trees formed a network upon the ground. It was with considerable difficulty we made our way. Mrs. Wilton stumbled many times, and would have fallen but for my support. At last she loosed my arm and ran forward, signing me not to follow her. In another moment the wood resounded with a wild and piercing cry. She had seen what the rest of us had failed to see, and when I came up to her she was kneeling beside her husband, her hands clasped about his neck, her face close pressed to his. One agonized look she gave me as I bent over them. "My dream!" she said. I understood.

There was an ugly wound on' the back of poor Charlie Wilton's head the body was still warm, but the heart had ceased to beat. Though Mrs. Wilton did not speak again, she never completely lost her senses, but her mind seemed stunned. We put some hurdles together and carried him back thus to Croft house.

An inquest was held, every particular of which was minutely reported in the county newspaper, to appear in condensed form in most of the journals of the day. But no friends of the dead man ever came, forward, nor was it satisfactorily proved whether his death had been the result of violence or of an accidental fall from his horse in the dangerous pathway through the wood.

The poatoSHce officials at I— perfectly remembered the deceased calling for letters on the day in question, giving the name of Wilton but there were none for him. In the bank was lodged to his credit sorae£3,mODO. 1 took upon myself the arrangements fox the funeral, as of everything else. Mrs. Wilton's mind had not diffidently recoveml from the shock it had received on that terrible night to understand or care for what went on around her. Only once, when I urged writing to her friends, did she even momentarily rouse herself to answer me. "My father will never forgive me," she said. "I acted in defiance of his commands. No, I cannot write to him." Then she added, "He has married again," which perhaps in part explained.

A month later a baby was born—a boy, whom she called when she spoke the name tears sprang to her eyes for the first time. It was not until I saw those tears that had the slightest hope of her mind rallying from the shock but then I knew the liviug child would save her. She looked upon him as having been sent direct from heaven to solace her for

nerloss. SJie regarded hrm as an emanation from the departed spirit of her husband. There was certainly something nocommon abont the child* He wns pretty, but not engaging- He never cried, but it may also be said he never smiled. He did not suffer bnt there was about him none of the joyonsness of childhood- It seemed as though tne thunder-cloud that had burst over the mother's head had left its shadow on the child.

Between two and three years after Mr. Wilton's death a change seemed likely to occnr in my own prospects. A rich relation—a physician of high standing—wrote, urging me to come to London immediately on a matter, so he said, of tho greatest importance to myself. There was nothing to prevent my complying with his request. The village was in a healthy state my outside practice mi£ht be made to spare me. I wrotestating I would be with him the following day.

I went to Croft house to say good-bye. It was summer. Mrs. Wilton was sitting out on the lawn with Charlie on a rug close at her feet. She made room for me beside her, and we talked together for a short time of her affairs and of the child. It was not Until I had risen to go that I broached the subject of my departure. She looked surprised, alarmed. "But, Charlie,'' she said, "If he should be ill?" "I.would not go if he were ill. I will return at once if he should need me," I answered, earnestly* '"But is he not the picture of health? Why, he comes exempt from every childish trouble." O

I told her my relative's address, ktgftring she only cared to havo it in caserne needed me for her boy then I lifted tne child in my arms and kissed him. "Goodbye, little man!" I said, cheerfully. He was a splendid little fellow, of whom his: mother might well be proud he resembl&l his father, too, and was growing more like him every day. „T

I was about to sit the child down, but something—some feeling I cannot define— impelled mo to hold him closer, to look into his face—his eyes—more scrutinizingly than I had ever done. And so looking, I shuddered at the thought that then assailed me. Great powers! Could fate be so cruel? Had Heaven no pity for this poor mother, who, so young, had already borne enough of sorrow? I put the boy down quickly and turned away.

Perhaps—perhaps, after all, I may have been mistaken! I reached Loudon and Dr. 's residence that eveuing, and my worthy relative quickly explained the object of his summons. He wished me to undertake, with his supervision, a case requiring the utmost care and consideration one which rendered it necessary that a medical man should reside tor a time beneath the same roof as his patient, and be with him night and ddy.

This patient was Lord Welbury, a selfmade man so far as his immense wealth was concerned but he came of an ancient and honorable race.

I accepted the munificent conditions offered, and within a couple of hours of my arrival in town was driven to Lord Welbury's house in Belgravia, and entered upon the duties of mv post.

For some dfcys and nights my responsibilities absorbed all my attention. The life of the sick man hung on a thread my riiedical capacity was taxed to its utmost I knew not, nor cared not, for the time being, what went on outside that chamber.

The crisis passed, the patient began rapidly to recover. The first day that 8ae#«li able to sit up in his room he asked me a startling question. He said: "Doctor, am I sane?" "Your mind has never been affected," I answered, unhesitatingly. "Your lordship is as sane as I am." •'Good. Therefore a will made by me now could not be made invalid?" "Most certainly not on the ground or incompetency." "Then my will must be made to-morrow or next day at latest. This illness has warned me to delay no longer. My niece's child will be my heir."

His words set me musing and turning over in my mind how this could be. "Your lordship is childless, then?" The remark slipped from me almost unawares but they were fatal words, as the result proved. "1 beg your pardon," I added, seeing surprise and some annoyance written on his face. "Not at all," he answered, courteously. "I suppose you are acquainted with my family affairs, for they are no secret, have a son, though no communication has passed between us for nearly four years. He set me and my wishes at defiance by marrying beneath him, consequently will inherit little more than an empty title, mean to leave my fortune to my niece's child. The boy was committed to my care when his parents went to India two years ago. He is a fine little fellow, and it shows how close in attendance you have been on me if you did not even know he was in the house—" "Was your son's name Charles—that of the girl he married Una?" I asked, scarcely heeding his last words. My heart was beating faster than it should, my voice in my earnestness less steady than it onght to be. "Yes. But why these questions?"

I knew he was well enough now to hear the troth, therefore I answered: "Because it is my belief your lordship's son is dead. I will relate to you a sad story when I have finished you will be able to judge whether or not you are concerned in it," Then I told, as briefly as I could, the Croft house tragedy and, as I did so, read in the ever-increasing interest with which he listened to my tale that my suspicions were correct. .fit

That the man I had to deal with was of a proud, egotistical, and unsympathetic nature I was well aware that the death of his only son would not vitally affect him I had rightly guessed, but I was scarcely prepared for the interest he displayed on learning of the existence of his grandchild. The better nature of the man seemed touched. I spoke of little Charles' beauty, his likeness to his father—even hinted at a resemblance to Lord Welbury himself. With the feverish impatience of an invalid he demanded that the boy should be sent for at once.

TERKE HAUTE SATURDAY EVENING IVfATt*

"He cannot live without his mother. The two lives are bound together as one." "Then write to the mother and bid her bring him," was the imperiousreply. And the speaker turned his face away as though to intimate that no more was to be said. The affair was settled.

j||'

On quitting the room encountered nurse leading a smiling, rosy little urchin clad In velvet and richJacc. ••Speak prettily to tbe kind doctor, Grorgie," said the nurse. "This is the lit* tie heir, sir," she whispered to me.

Three days later Mrs. Wilton—I mast still call her so—and her son arrived. I met them at the station, and took them in

yae of MSt tordship^ carriages to the house. The boy,, exhausted apparently by the fouraey,. was as&eptwhea he entered it he was still sleeping, when his mother carried him across the threshold: of Lord Welbory'sdoor.

His lordship's reception of her was. not ungracious. Could he feel touched at sight of this gentle^ beautiful young creature who had loved his son so- well*- But it was evident he resented the fact that his grandson, whom he had especially desired to welcome, could not be prevailed upon to notice him, or enticed, to- leave his mother's arms. "Excuse him he is so tired,"" pleaded the young mother, reading the disappointment out her father-in-law's face. •^Weli^welL Off to bed with him, then. Bring: him tome bright and smiling in the morning." $$ 1^"^*

Bright and smiling! Soniehow the words struck me—even haunted me—they- were so totally inapplicable to Charlie. I tried to remember if I had ever seen a smile upon that grave baby face, but tried in vain.

When I entered Lord Welbury's room next day—my presence there at nights was now dispensed with—the old man, -in dressing-gown and slippers, .was reclining in an easy .chair. In front of him stood Sirs. Wilton, with Charlie clinging to hei long black draperies. "Come here. Gray," exclaimed his lordship, irritably. "I cannot get my grandson to notice me. What is to be done?" "Charlie is shy. He lias been used to nc One but me," murmured the mother, raising her eyes with an appealing look.iD them to minK "Madam, I fear you are spoiling him," said Lord Welbury, sharply. "The othei child took to me at once, but this—" "Send for the other, sir," I suggested, and presently "the little heir," with whom I had previously made acquaintance, was brought in by his nurse. The latter sat down in afar corner with some knitting. The child—as apparently he had been accustomed to do—ran to the old man and scrambled at his knee. "I love 'ou, I love 'ou," he cried.

Lord Welbury's face was radiant. I "Now, Charlie, my man," said he, as the other child, after his affectionate greeting, scampered off to play beside his nurse.

Charlie was placed on his grandfather's knee. "Say *1 love you,'" whispered Mrs. Wilton, as she tried to clasp her own child's arms about Lord Welbury's neck. "Say, 'I love 'ou,'" echoed the boy, me chanically then dropped his head and lay quite placidly as though he slept. "Ha, ha! the young rascal! He's making himself at home at last," observed Lord Welbury, well pleased. "And now that I come to see him more closely, he's not unlike what his father was at the same age, only quieter. Do you know he almost strikes mo as being a little dull? Have you found him so, madanj?" "I have been too sad a companion for him, sir. I know—I feel it now," sighed the poor mother, her eyes wandering from her own boy to ollovV the antics of the other, who, astride a stick, was careeriftg merrily about the room. "That can be soon remedied," Said Lord Welbury, putting Charlie off his knee, "let the two youngsters romp together, I warrant they will make friends if let alone."

And in order to try the experiment we three sat apart and kept up some desultory talk. This lasted but a short time, how ever. It was broken in upon by a startled cry from the younger boy, Georgie, who, apparently terror-stricken, rushed across the room. "Naughty boy!—naughty boy! Send him away. He's making laces at me cried the spoiled child in an outburst of passion, poiuting with outstretched fingei at his little companion.

The nurse dropped her knitting and rOst Instantly. "I've seen it from the first,'' she said, calmly confronting us. "The child is half an idiot, my lord."

All eyes wero turned to poor Charlie, who stood among some broken toys, his features distorted into the ghastly sem blance of a smile.

Mrs. Wilton, running to her boy, shielded him with her arms. "My darling! my darling! Has God no pity?" she cried, and bore him from the room. She had prayed day and night—this unhappy mother—tc see either a smile on her baby's lips .or a tear in his eye. and hitherto her prayei had been denied. It was granted now. The ppor dulled senses of the child, roused into something like activity by the antici of his lively playfellow, had catised the lips to smile. But what a smile!

Lord Welbury turned pale. A look ol disgust, not unmixed with anger, settled on his face.

Continued on Ikird Page

faof that all men with gray and many Bbaded whiskers should know, that Buckingham's Dye always, colors and even brown or black at will.

The Way of the World.

"I met that Mrs. Smythe coming up the avenue with a great bunch of pink rosea pinned on the front of her black dress. What taste that woman has!" "But, Ella," said the mother-of the young lady who was speaking "pink anil black go well together." "Yes, but pink and wrinkles don't. Roses on that elderly specimen—the idea!"

The "elderly specimen" wettfc )b"6me, todk off her roses, smelled of them lovingly, shook their petals tenderly, and then with a little sigh put them into a pasteboard box and called a messenger. "Take t&ese to Blank hospital and give them to the little girl in room No. 3 of the children's ward."

We will follow the roses. A little girl, pale, deformed, la£ sleeping on a narrow cot. Her face was distressed, and in her sleep she murmured over and oveiwtgaln the one word "pain,"

When she opened her eyes she saw something pink. "Oh," she cried, "my dear, dear roses! Mrs. Smythe has sent them. How I love tbemf'

They lightened her room, and lifted the cloud from the dark horizon of her life, and brought a breath of the air and sunshine that to the child were only heavenly dreams

Mrs. Smythe loved flowers too. That was why she wore the rases home before she sent them out on their mission.

And as usual the wotM misjudged her. —Detroit Free Press.

Chamberlains Eye aadSkla Ointment A certain cure for Chronic Sore Eyes, Tetter, Salt Rheum, Scald Head, Old Chronic Sores, Fever Sores, Eczema. Itch, Prairie Scratches, Sore Nipplwand Piles. It is cooling and soothing. Hundreds of cases have been cured by it af

ter

all oiher treatment had failed. It is pot up tn 25 and SOeent boxes. For sale by druggists.

Ijji

1 JJwty t» Her Family. Diametrically different constitutions and temperaments are found in the same family. One son may be gifted with talents approaching to genxosy in arts or mechanics, while «mother may have no natural gift except & sturdy manhood, which every one must leant to respect, end it would bemadness for one brother with his practical, everyday ideas to argue against the other, who may seem to him but a flighty dreamer.

There is room enough in the world for all kinds and conditions of men and women, provided always that they are honest and true. It is a mother^ duty especially to study the inclinations of her children to curb back ito good aspiration to check no useful talent, however mediocre it may seem to her. It may be the stepping stone to something higher.

A mother's life must be of necessity a concession, in little things—a continual sacrifice. A happy family life of many members cannot be maintained unless there^is concession and sacrifice tn the part of every member. And in a small way tho family life is an epitome of the life of the great world outside.—New York Tribune.

A Butterfly Existence

Humorist—My jokes are never old. Critio—And never will be, They all die an early death.—Yankee Blade.

Never had a preparation a more appropriate name than Ayer's Hair Vigor. When the capillary glands become enfeebled by disease, age, or neglect, this dressing imparts renewed life to the scalp, so that the hair assumes much of its youthful fullness and beauty.

Heart Disease cored. Dr. Miles' New Core.

Refreshing Retreats.

Summer days are fast approaching and now is the time that excursionists, pleas-ure-seekers and sportsmen, i-hould figure out a route for their Summer vacation. In doing so, the delightfully oool summer ana fishing resorts located along the Wisconsin Central Lines come vividly to view, among which are Fox Lake, 111., Lake Villa, 111., Mukwouago, Waukesha, Cedar Lwke, Neenab, Waupaca, Fifield, Butternut, and Ashland, Wis. Wisconsin has within the last five years become the corner of attraction for moie pleasure seekers, hunters and fishermen than auy other state in the union, and each visit increases the desire to again see the fragrance that is apart of the inviporating atmosphere, wander through the oolonnades of stately pines and hook the speckled beauties with a hand made fly.

For pamphlets containing valuable information, etc., apply toD. W. Janowitz, T. P. A., Indianapolis, Ind,, or .Tas. C. Pond, General Passenger and. TicketAgent, Chicago, III.

Are you nervous? Use Dr. Miles'' KerrliieJ|jj|

A Remedy fbr the Grippe Cough. A remedy recommended for patients afflicted with the grippe is Kemp's Balsam, which is especially adapted to diseases of the throat and lungs. Do not wait for the first symptoms of the disease, but get a bottle ana keep it on hand for use the moment it is needed. If neglected the grippe has a tendency to bring on pneumonia. AU druggists sell the Balsam.

JPatrolman Julius

Zeidhsr

Of the Brooklyn, N. Y.f Police Foreo, gladly testifies to the merit of Hood's Sarsaparilla, His wife take3 it for dizziness..and indigestion and it works charmingly. The children also take it with groat benefit. It is without doubt a most excellent thing for That Tired Feeling. I chcorfully rccommend

Hood's Sarsaparilla

and Hood's Pilla to every one who wishes to have health and comfort" Get HOOD'S. HOOD'8 PlLL8 euro llvor Ills, constipation, blllouanoM. Jaundice, and tick ha&dache.

WE CUREskfh

mentA,Eyeand Ear Department B, Female Diseases Department C, La Grippe, Catarrh,

and Nervous Diseases. We have tho most com

description 01 your csNt tnu oc & codw* gious, inward, nervous or constitutional trouble or result of evil habits, send urine by express, prepaid, to

DR. BEN. TOMLIX, S02-4-8-8-10 OMo St, TERRE HAUTE, IND.

xir

THE NBXTTMOKWtWCr.il PEEt BRIGHT ANO NEW ANKMY'OOMFLEXiON- I8L BETTER, lly doctor nays It set* gently OD-tlie stomach, liver maktdneys, and la a pleasant* laxative. This drink Is made from herbs, axul Is prepared for oso as eaBllr as tea. It ls called

LAM'S MEDIGIHE

per pock*g*.

Bay one May. LMeri^»mtl\lMedrctne ro^ve* the bowels lzLArdcr.t»Annealm neoess&xat*

Railroad Time Tables.

Train rked thus (H) denote Parlor Car» attached. Trains marked thus (S) denote tsleeping.Oaraattaeheddaily. Tralna-niarkstf thus (BTdeuofeo. BuffotCars attaahed. Praia* marked'ttains-C*) ran daily. All othor trains run daily, Sundays accepted.

T. H. A I. DIVISION. I.BAVJB POH TOME WK8T-

No. 9 AVcstona Express (SJkV). 1.42 a nv No. 5 Mail Train Man No. 1 FiasvLiue^tB&V). 2J5pm No.21 U»pm No. Fnflt'Mnlli*... .......... WMpm No. l&CUttngham Aoo- *05

IiBA-MB HOR THB BAST.

No. 12 OinolnnnUi Kxproes klO am No. (l New York Express (isiV 1.51 am No. 4 Mall and Accommodation 7.15a NovSOiAtlantlo Express (PAV) No. 8 Fast Line 2.85 No. 2 6.05

AttKIVBpFROM THE KA8T.

No. ft'Westorn Express (SAV)... 1.S0 am No. 5JMail Tnalu M.*am No. l.Pnst bine-* (PJfcV) S.HJ pin No. 21. ij.©5pm No. 3A1ail! audi Accommodation (1.45 ux No. rFaat Mall *.. .......... 8.00

ARIUtVK KHOM THJC "WXST.

No* lSLCinclnnati Express *£3) 1.00 am No.. ONow Yovk Express (.WAV, 1.42 am No..20»A'Maiitic Express (PAV). 1LVI2 No. 8-Kasfc Line 2.15 pm No 2. MX) Now lit Effingham Ac. 9.80 an

T.H.AU DIVISION. LKAVK 1TOK TH S MOKTli.

Noi.6&&oatk Bend* Mali 6.3) am |Mo«.54iS(»aiti Bend Express 4.i0 pin

AKKIVK KKOM THR NOHT1I.

!No»,51 Terra Haute Express 11.45 am iNot o3iSouth Bend Mall ...... ?. pin

IB. & T. EC. ARltlVK rMOSt MOUTH.

No. 0 Nosli & C. Ex*1 (S A 11). 5.09 No. 2 T. H. & East Ex 11 50 No. 4 Ch A lnd Ex* {S .:i pin Wo.#*.,. v. 5.00pm ijKA VK FOR SOUTH. NO. .1 Ch A Ev Ex*(S) 0.00 am No. 1 Ev A JikI Mall «.!•*' Now 5 Ch A N Ex*\SAB) UM*» i» Ko. 7 10.42 am

No. 32 Mail A Ex

No. 3 No. 4a No. 1 No. 6

AkHI Vl'. KHOM HOlI'l'll.

a ni

No. 32 Mail A Ex i...4.2o J.KAVK KOK bUt'Tll. Jit No. 83 Mail A Ex .......... 8.5i No. 40 Worth'» Mixed ........ 4.2JI in

C. & IE- I.

AKKIVK FHOM NOHTll.

Ch A Nash Ex^S) ....... 5.50 am Aec 10.25 am Ch A Kv 8.10 pm O A N Ex*(HAB).

9.60

l.KAVE VOK MOKTH.

No. 0 No. 2 No. 50 NO. 4

N A 0 Ex«'(SAB) 5.20 am A E 1 2 1 0 1 in WatsekaAcc .'8.20,pro Nash A 0 Kx«(Sl....... 10.45

V. SC IF.

AKKIVK KKOM NOKT11WE8T.

No.

4 Pa*n

Ex 11.25

No 2 Pass Mall A Kx 7.15 pm LKAVK KOK WOHTIIWK8T. No 1 Pass Mall A Ex ........ 0.55 am No. 8 Pass Ex

315 130

I. &c ST. Xi.-IBIGh «£.

OOINO KA8T

No. 12 Boston ANY Ex*. 1.34 am No. 2 Cleveland Acc 7.36 am No. ltf Southwestern Limited* 1.00 No. 8 Mull train*. 8.48 pm

OOJNG WEST.

No. 7 RL Louis Ex*,5:. 1.34 am No. 17Limited* 1.5#pm No. 3 Accommodation '58pm No. 9 Mall Train* .0.09am

nil res

rlltas

LADIES!

Now York oaw

WILL O.ROOO'S MA0IC tho bosti mony erfoctjSCALE slm* plc»t Ladles' Tal lorlnit Syin tomlnuso. Owitto.ooosaM

Cuts all garment* worn by ladled and Children Undo* dins undergarments and sleeves) to at tho form par* Jectly no trying on or refitting, finally learned.

DIVO OH TRIAL lil« ntitrilvMnl «4 BJAI5 is «4 «V%rlll To» (he MAflIC MUI»B sod IKSTBI.'t'TIOS ROOK, and jaa nt rHuni It »UMn SO l« a*4 we will

rrTauA rtrrj t+ni

of roar

MMfT. AOKXTS WAXTKD. R.frrMifM «!«»•. Clw«l»r«/rw, ROOD MAGIC 8CALE CO., OHIOAOO, ILL'S*

TTOTEL RICHMOND 1 -1—L EUROPEAN, *r E. A. FROST, Propr. Formerly mannier Sherwood Honse, Evab»« vllle, Itid., late Sfangr. Hotel Grace. Chicago.

Bomn* 75c, $1.00, Sl.ffO Per l»ay. fit cam Heat, Centrally Ixtcaled. two blocka from P. O. and Auditorium, opp. the new Leater Building. N. W. Cor State and VanBaren—CHICAGO

FOR MEN ONLY!

gor LOST or FA1LCTO MA1TH00D. [ChmtralaadlfZBVOVSSEBnJCrT, W«aka«M «f Body and Xiad, Zffxta lkf Error* or Excess** in Old or Yotug, ItlHOCD futtr Rmtorvd. Mo« to Mutt ami

ten^liwWK^K^DCTKMimi OIUIASS* riRTS*fBOt»r

AUtmm

CRIB MKOICALCO., BUFFALO ,N« Y»

CURE FOR CATARRH

tei

By Hypodermic

Tumor*, tai

Dim*

ptarc, Hydrocele and Varicocele. One treatment generally cures. Ho one els* 1mm tMitreatnumt. Send stamp lor pamphletnorcali at HTpoJeTOtq la^acto, eorogr SIXTH mad OHIO ffiTfc, TERSE HAUTE,

I A I ri

FOB OYER FIFTY YEARS tiiis old SoverelgnEemedy has stood the test, and stands to-day the best known remedy for Catarrh, Cold in the Head and Headache. Persist In its use, and it will effect a cure, no matter of how long standing the case may be.

For sale by druggists.