Saturday Evening Mail, Volume 26, Number 44, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 25 April 1896 — Page 7

Weir of taristen.

[CONTIXUKD FBOM SIXTH PAOK.[

be lay tosMng in bed that night, bowith feverish thoughts. There fangerous matters pending, a battle {'ward, orer the fate of which she

In Jealousy, sympathy, fear, and alate loyalty and disloyalty to either Now she was re-incarnated in her and now in Archie. Now she saw, ugh the girl's eyes, the youth on his to her, heard his persuasive lnce* with a deadly weakness, and reed his over-mastering caresses. Anon, pi revulsion, her temper raged to see utmost favors of fortune and love ndered on a brat of a girl, one of her house, using her "*wn name—a deadly -edient—and tha ytiidnae ken her aln an* was as Ac's your hat" Now

Aitlful, with a heart as fresh as a girl's 1 strong as womanhood? It could not and yet it was so and for a moment bed was horrible to her as the sides the grave. And she looked forward a waste of hours, and saw herself go to rage, and tremble, and be softened, id rage again, until the day came and labors of the day must be renewed, uddenly ah(i heard feet on the stairsfeet, and sOijn after the sound of a win-w-sash flung open. She sat up with »r heart beating. He had gone to his alone, and he had not gone to bed. jfe might again have one of her night acks and at the entrancing prospect, a tange came over her mind with the apf'oach of this hope of pleasure, all the uer metal became immediately obliterated om her thoughts. She rose, all woman, •til all the best of woman, tender, pitiful, itlng the wrong, loyal to her own sex— ,d all the weakest of that dear miscellat, nourishing, cherishing next her soft irt. volcelessly flattering, hopes that would have died sooner than have acjwledged. She tore off her nightcap, and »r hair fell about her shoulders in profuon. Undying coquetry awoke. By the ot light of her nocturnal rush, she stood itorw the looking-glass, carried her shapeabove her head, and gathered up the suree of her tresses. She was never Wkward to admire herself that kind of odesty was a stranger to her nature and te paused, struck with a pleased wonder the sight. "Ye daft auk! wife!" she 4d. answering a thought that was not id she blushed with the Innocent conscltaness of a child. Hastily she did up the asslve and shining colls, hastily donned a rapper, and with the rush-light In her and, stole Into the hall. Below stairs she jiard the clock ticking the deliberate secids. and Frank Jingling with the decant-

In the dining-room. Aversion rose In er. bitter and momentary. "Nesty, tlptng puggy!" she thought and the next loment she had knocked guardedly at rchle's door and was bidden enter.

Ar&hle had been looking out Into the nclent blackness, pierced here and there tth a rayless star taking the sweet air moors and the night into his bosom seeking, perhaps finding, peace afmanner of the unhappy. He turnas she oame In, and showed her face against the window-frame. 8 that you Kirstle?" he asked. "Come t" "It's unco* late, my dear," said Kirstle, feting unwillingness. vL, no," he answered, "not at all.

In, if you want a crack. I am not Spy, Ood knows!" fhe advanced, took a chair by the toilet ble and the candle, and set the rush'ht at her foot Something—It might be the comparative disorder other dress. it ht be the emotion that now welled in bosom—had touched her with a wand transformation, and she seemed young 'jth the youth of goddesses. t'Slr. Brehte," she began, "what's this ki's come to ye?" {'I am not aware of anything that has )ae,"' said Archie, and blushed, and rented bitterly that be had let her In.

L*Oh.

my dear, that'll no dae!" said Klrs"It's ill to blend the eye® of lore. Oh, Erchle, tak a thoct we It's ower late. shouldnae be Impatient o' the braws o" a, they'll come to their ealson, like sun and the rain. Ye're young yet ?ve atony cantle years sfsre ye. See and hnae wreck yersel at the outset like sae ,ay lthers! Hae patience—they tolled aye tha' was the owonw o' life—hae .iieaee, there's a braw day coating yet. de kens It never cam to me and here I A wl' nayther man nor bairn to ca* my wearying a* folks wl' my 111 tongue. A you Just the first. Mr. BrehJer* 1*1 have a dtfllculty in knowing what yon aan," said Archie. •\V -T, and I'll tell ya." Ae said. "It's it that I'm fearad. I'm feared for my dear. Remember, your faither a man. reaping where he haacae sowed galthertng where ha baa nae strewed, «aay s^eakla*, but mlndl Ye'U have

to look ix^the guriy face o'm, where it's 111 tQlook.)-andvaintor6ok foirmorcy^ Ye minit me o' bonny ship pitted oot into tha black and gowsty seaa—ye're a' safe still, dttin* qualt and crackin' wi' Kirstle in your lown chalmer but whaor will ye be the morn, and in wh&tten horror o* the fearsome tempest, cryin' on the hills to cover ye?" "Why, Kirstle, you're very enigmatical the night—and very eloquent," Archie put in. "And, my dear Mr. Efrchie," she continued, with a change of voice, 'ye maunae think that I cannae sympathize wi' ye. Ye maunae think that I havenae been young mysel'. Langsyne, when I was a bit lassie, no twenty yet—She paused and sighed. "Clean and caller, wi' a fit like the hlnney bee," she continued. "I was aye big and buirdly, ye maun understand a bonny figure o* a woman, though I say It that suldnae—built to rear bairns—braw bairns they suld hae been, and grand I

KIRSTIEJ, INDEED,' CRIED THE GIRL "MY NAME IS MISS CHRISTINA ELLIOTT." v"

trembled lest her deity should plead loving the idea of success for him a triumph of nature anon, with reling loyalty to her own family and x. she trembled for Kirstle and the •idit of the Elliotts. And again she had vision of herself, the day over for her •-world tales and local gossip, bidding .rewell to her last link with life and ghtness and love and behind and beaji, she saw but the blank butt-end bfre she must crawl to die. Had she %n come to the loes? she, so great, so

would hae likit It! But I was young, dear, wl' the bonny glint o' youth In my e'en, and little I dreamed I'd ever be tellin' ye this, an auld, lanely, rudas wife! Weel, Mr. Erchle, there was a lad cam' courtln' me, as was but naetural. Mony had come before, and I would nane o* them. But this yln had a tongue to wile the birds frae the lift and the bees frae the foxglove bells. Deary me, but It's lang syne. Folk have deed slnsyne and been buried, and are forgotten, and bairns been born and got merrit and got bairns o' their ain. Slnsyne woods have been plantit, and have grawn up and are bonny trees, and the Joes sit In their shadow, and slnsyne auld estates have changed hands, and there have been wars and rumors of wars on the face of the earth. And here I'm still—like an auld droopit craw—lookln' on and craikln! But Mr. Erchle, do ye no think that I have mind o* It a' still? I was dwalling then In my faither's house and It's a curious thing that we were whiles trysted in the Deil's Hags. And do ye no think that I have mind of the bonny simmer days, the lang miles o' the bluid-red heather, the cryin' o' the whaups, and the lad and the lassie that was trysted? Do ye no think that I mind how the hilly sweetness ran about my hert? Ay, Mr. Erchie, I ken they wey o' it—fine do I ken the wey— how )he grace o' God takes them, like Paul of Tarsus, when they think at least, and drives the pair o' them Into a land which is like a dream, and the world and the folks in 't are nae malr than clouds to the pulr lassie, and Heeven nae malr than wln-dle-straes, if she can but pleesure him! Until Tam deed—that was my story," she broke off to say, "he deed, and I wasnae at the burying. But while he was here, I could take care o' myseP. And can yon puir lassie?"

Kirstle, her eyes shining with unshed tears, Btretched out her hand towards him appeallngly the bright and the dull gold of her hair flashed and smouldered in the coils behind her comely head, like the rays of an entemal youth the pure color had risen In her face and Archie was abashed alike by her beauty and her story. He came towards her slowly from the window, took up her hand In his and kissed it "Kirstle," he said, hoarsely, "you have misjudged me sorely. I have always thought of her, I wouldnae harm her for the universe, my woman!" "Eh, lad, and that's easy sayln'," cried Kirstle, "but it's nane sae easy doin'! Man, do ye no comprehend that It's God's wull we should be blendlt and glamoured, and have nae command over our aln members at a time like that? My bairn," she cried, still holding his hand, "think o' the puir lass! have pity upon her, Erchle! and oh, be wise for twa! Think o' the risk she rins! I have seen ye, and what's to prevent Ithers? I saw ye once In the Hags. In my aln howl, and I was wae to see ye there—In pairt for the omen, for I think there's a weird on the place—and In pairt for pure nakit envy and bitterness o* balrt. It's strange ye should forgather there tae! God! But yon puir, thrawn, auld Covenanter's seen a heap o' human natur since he lookit his last on the musket barrels, if be never saw nane afore," she added, -with a kind of wonder In here eyea. "I swear by my honor I have done her no wrong," said Archie. "I swear by my honor and the redemption of my soul that there shall none be done her. I have heard of this before. I have been foolish, Kirstle^ not unkind and, above all, not base." "There's my bairn!" said Kirstle, rising. "I'll can trust ye noo, I'll can gang to my bed wi* an easy halrt."* And then she saw In a flash how barren had been her triumph. Archie had promised to spare the girl, and he would keep it but who had promised to spare Archie? What was to be the end ot It Over a maze ot difficulties she glanced and saw. at the end of every passage, the flinty counts ce of rmlston. And a kind of horror ieil upon tu at what she had done. She wore a tragic mask. "Krchle, the Lord peety yon. dear, and peety me! have bulldlt on this foundation"—Ikying her band heavily on his shoulder—"and bulldlt hie, mill ptt my halrt in the bulldln* ot It. If the hale

Vr~?othec

were to fa'. I think, lad

die*. I w":M dee! Excuse a daft wife that loves ye, and that kenned your mlther. And for His name's sake keep yersel' frae Inordinate desires haud your heart In halt* your hands, carry It canny and tatgh dinnae send it up like a bairn's kite toto the eoUleshangie o' the woods! Mind, Malster Erchle dear, that this life's a' disappointment, and a mouthfu' o* mools

TERRE HAUTE SATURDAY EYEOTG MAIL, APRIL 25, 1896.

tt the appointed, end.** but KttttKC vsf woman, youT? asking me ower much at last," said As chie, profoundly moved, and lapsing lntt the broad Scots. "Ye're asking what nae man can grant ye, what only the Lord of heaven can grant ye If He -see fit. Ay! And can even He? I can promise ye what I do, and yon can depend on that. But how I shall feel—my woman, that Is long past thinking of!"

They were both standing by now opposite each other. The face of Archie wore the wretched semblance of a smile hers was convulsed for a moment, "Promise me ae thing," she cried. In a sharp voice. "Promise me ye'il never do tmpfhing without telling me." "No, Klrstie, I cannae promise ye that,' he replied. "I have promised enough, God kens!" "May the blessing of God lift and rest upon ye, dear!" she said. "God bless ye, my old friend," said he.

CHAPTER IX.

BY THE WEAVER'S STONE. It was late In the afternoon when Archie drew near by the hill path to the Praying Weaver's" stone. The Hags were in shadow. But still, through the gate of the Slap, the sun shot a last bjtow, which sped far and straight across the surface of the moss, here and there touching and shining on a tussock, and lighted at length on the gravestone, and the small figure awaiting him there. The emptiness and solitude of the great moors seemed to concentred there, and Klrstie pointed out by that figure of sunshine for the only inhabitant. His first sight of her was thus excruciatingly sad, like a glimpse of a world from which all light, comfort, and society were on the point of vanishing. And the next moment, when she had turned her face to him, and the quick smile had enlightened it, the whole face of nature smiled upon him In her smile of welcome. Archie's slow pace was quickened, his legs hasted to her, though his heart was hanging back. The girl, upon her side, drew herself together slowly and stood up, expectant she was all languor, her face was ^PfyBjhlte, arms ached for him, her soul tip-toes.

But he deceived her, pausing a few stepa away, not less white than herself, and holding up his hand with a gesture of denial. "No, Christina, not to-day," he said. "To-day I have to talk to you seriously. Sit ye down, please, there where you were. Please!" he repeated

The revulsion of feeung Christina's heart was violent. To have longed and waited these weary hours for him, rehearsing her endearments—to have seen him at last come—to have been ready there,breathless, wholly passive, his to do what he would with—and suddenly to have found herself confronted with a grey-faced, harsh schoolmaster—It was too rude a shock. She could have wept, but pride withheld her. She sat down on the stone, from which she had arisen, part with the Instinct of obedience, part as though she had been thrust there. What was this? Why was she rejected? Had she ceased to please? She stood here offering her wares, and he would none of them! And yet they were all his! His to take and keep not his to refuse, though! In her quick, petulant nature, a moment ago on fire with hope, thwarted love and wounded vanity wrought. The sohoolmaster that there is in all men, to the despair of all girls and most women, was now completely In possession of Archie. He had passed a night of sermons, a day of reflection he had come wound up to do his duty and the set mouth, which In him only betrayed the effort of his will, to her seemed the expression of an averted heart. It was the same with his constrained voice and embarrassed utterance and if so—if it was all over—the pang of the thought took away from her the power of thinking.

He stood before her some way off. "Kir3tie, there's been too much of this. We've seen too much of eaoh other."

She looked up quickly and her eyes contracted. "There's no good ever comes of these secret meetings. They're not frank, not honest truly, and I ought to have seen It. People have begun to talk and it's not right of me. Do you see?". "I see somebody will have been taming to ye," she said, sullenly. "They have, more than one of them," replied Archie. "And whae were they?" she cried. "And what kind of love do ye ca' that, that's ready to gang round like a whirligig at folk talking? Do ye think they have nae talked to me?" "Have they. Indeed?" said Archie, with a quick breath. "That is what I feared. Who were they? Who has dared

Archie was on the point of losing his temper.

AS a matter of fact not anyone had talked to Christina on the matter and she strenuously repeated her own first question in a panic of self-defence. "Ah, well! what does it matter?" he *aid. "They were good folk that wished well to us, and the great affair is that there are people talking. My dear girl, we have to be wise. We must not wreck our lives at the outset. They may be long and happy yet, and we must see to It. Klrstie, like God's rational creatures, and not like fool children. There Is one thing we must see to bef.ire all. You're worth waiting for. Klrstie! worth waiting for a generation It would be enough reward." And here he remembered the schoolmaster again, and very unwisely took to following wisdom. "The first thing that wt must see to It that there shall be no scandal about, for my father's sake. That w. uid ruin all. Do ye no see that?'"

Klrstie was a little pleased, there ha£ been some show of warmth of sentiment In what Archie had said last- But the dull Irritation still persisted in her bosom with the aboriginal instinct, having suffered herself, she wished to make Archie suffer

And besides, there had come out the word she bad always feared to hear from his lips, the name of his father. It not to be supposed that, during so many days with a love avowed between them, some reference had not been made to their conjoint future. It had. In fact, often been touched upon, and from the first had b^en the tore point Kirstle had wilfully closed the eye of thought she would not argue even with herself gallant, desperate little heart, she had accepted the command of that supreme attraction like the call of fate, and marched blindfolded on her doom. Bnt Archie, with his masculine sense of iY *nsiblUty, must reason he must dwell on some future good, when the present good was all In all to Kirstle he most talk—and talk lamely, as necessity drove him—of what was to be. Again and he had touched on marriage again and again been driven back Into indistinctness by a memory of Lord Hermlston. And Klrstie had been swift to understand, and «uldt to choke down and smother the nn1er*tanding: swift to leap up tn flame at mention of that hope, which spoke volamas to her vanity and her love, that sfc*

might (me day be Mistress

of BOi

WjjIjc,

miston swift, also, ttr recognise in his stumbling or throttled utterance, the] death-knell of these expectations and constant, poor girl! In her large-minded madness, to go on and to reck nothing of the future. But these unfinished references these blinks in which his heart spoke, and his memory and reason rose np to silence It before the words were well uttered, gave her unqualifiable agony. She was raised up and dashed down again bleeding. The recurrence of the subject forced her, for however short a time, to open her eyes on what she did not wish to see and It had Invariably ended in another disappointment So now again, at the mere wind of its coming, at the mere mention of his father's name—who might seem indeed to have accompanied them in their whole moorland courtship, an awful figure in a wig with an ironical and bitter smile, present to guilty consciousness1—she fled from It head down. "Ye havenae told me yet," she said, "who was it spoke?" "Your aunt for one," said Archie. "Auntie Klrstie?" she cried. "And what do I care for my Auntie Kirstle?" "She cares a great deal for her niece," replied Archie, in kind reproof. "Troth, and it'B the first I've heard of it," retorted the girl. "The question here is not who It is, but what they say, what they have noticed," pursued the lucid schoolmaster. "That Is what we have to think of in self-defence." "Auntie Klrstie indeed! A bitter, thrawn auld maid that's fomented trouble in the country'before I was born, and will be doing't still, I daur say, when I'm dead! It's in her Mature it's as natural for her as it's for a sheep to eat." "Pardon me, Kirstle, she was not the only one," interposed Archie. "I had two warnings, two sermons, last night, both most kind and considerate. Had you been there, I promise you, you would have grat, my dear! And they opened my eyes. I saw we were going a wrong way." "Who was the other one?" Kirstle demanded.

By this time Archie was in the condition of a hunted beast. He had come, braced and resolute he was to trace out a line of conduct for the pair of them in a few cold, convincing sentences he had now been there some time, and he was still staggering round the outworks, and undergoing what he felt to be a savage cross-examina-"Mr. Frank!" she cried. "What next, I would like to ken?" "He spoke most kindly and truly.", "What like did he say?" "I am not going to tell you, you have nothing to do with that," cried Archie, startled to find he had admitted so much. "Oh, I have naething to do with it!" Bhe repeated, springing to her feet. "A'body at Hermiston's free to pass their opinions upon me, but I have naething to do wl' it! Was this at prayers like? Did ye ca' the grieve into the consultation? Little wonder if a'body's talking, when ye make a'body ye're confidants! But as you say, Mr. Weir—most kindly, most considerately, most true, I'm sure—I have naething to do with it. And I think I'll better be going. I'll be wishing you good-evening, Mr. Weir." And she made him a stately curtsey, shaking as she did so, from head to foot, with the barren ecstasy of temper.

Poor Archie stood dumbfounded She had moved some steps away from him before he recovered the gift of articulate speech. "Kirstie!" he cried. "O, Kirstle, woman!"

There was in hlB voice a ring of appeal, a clang of mere astonishment that showed the schoolmaster was vanquished

She turned round «on him. "WTiat do ye Kirstle me for?" she retorted. "What have ye to do wi' me? Gang to your aln freends and deave them!"

He could only repeat the appealing "Kirstle!" "Kirstle, indeed," cried the girl, her eyes blazing in her white face. "My name Is Miss Christina Elliott, I would have ye to ken, and I daur ye to ca' me out of it. If I cannae get love, I'll have respect, Mr. Weir. I'm come of decent people, and I'll have respect. What have I done that ye shauld lightly me? What have I done? What have I done? O, what have I done?" and her voice rose upon the third repetition. "I thocht—I thocht—I thocht I was sae happy!" and the first sob broke from her like the paroxysm of some mortal sickness.

Archie ran to her. He took the poor child in his arms, and she nestled to his breast as to a mother's, and clasped him In hands that were strong like vices. He felt her shaken by the throes of distress, and had pity upon her beyond speech. Pity, and at the same time a bewildered fear of this explosive engine In his arms, whose vorks he did not understand, and yet bad been tampering with. There rose from before him the curtains of boyhood, and he saw for the first time the ambiguous face of woman as she is. In vain he looked back over the Interview he saw not where he had offended. It seemed unprovoked, a wilful convulstion of brute nature. (The recollections of the author's stepdaughter and anlanuenisls, Mrs. Strong, enable the following summary argument to be given the intended course of the story from the point where it was interrupted by the author's death:—Archie persists in his good resolution of no farther compromising young Klrstie. Frank Innes takes advantage of die situation thus created to pursue the purpose of seduction which he has conceived and Kirstie, though still really loving Archie, allows herself to become Frank's victim. 'Old Kirstle Is the first to perceive something amiss with the girl, and believes that Archie is the man to blame. He, desiring to shield her as far as may be, dees not deny Kirstie's charge but goes to find young Klrstie, who confesses theiiruth to him. Archie, loving her in 'spit of all, promises to protect her through 1 ^r trouble. He then has an interview with Frank on the moor, which ends by Archie shooting Frank at the Weaver's Stone. Meanwhile the Four Black Brothers, enraged with Archie as the supposed seducer of their sister, seek him out with the purpose of vengeance, and are just closing in on him when he Is arrested by the officers ot the law for the murder of Frank. He is brought to trial, and the presiding judge is his own father, the Lord Justice-Clerk, who like an old Roman, condemns his son to death, but presently afterwards dies himself of the ordeal. Meanwhile old Kirstle has discovered the truth from the girl, and communicates It to the Four Black Brothers, who. In a great revulsion of feeling in Archie's favor, determine on an action after the old manner of their house. They gather a following to force the prison la which Archie lies condemned and, after a great fight, rescue him. The story ends with the eaeape ot Archie and young Kirstle to America. *1 do not know." adds tha amanuensis, "what was to become of oid Klrstie bat that character grew and strengthened so la the writing that I am sure he had some dramatic destiny for tor.'*)

The Bod.

Pure, rich Mood is the feme cure (or nervousness, and Hood's Sarsaparillaisthe one True Blood Purifier and oervetonie.

HER HAPPY DAY,

Charming Story of and Marriage.

MtdidM

Twa Open letters From a Chicago Girl .-How Happiness Came to H«.

Among the tens of thousands of women who apply to Mrs. Pinkham for advice and are cured, are many who wish the facts in their cases made public, but do not give permission to publish their names for reasons as obvious as in the following, and no name is ever published without the writer's authority this is a bond of faith which

Mrs. Pinkham has never broken.

Chicago, Jan. 5th, *95. My dear Mrs.

Pinkham:— A friend of mine, Mrs. wants me to write you, because JjBhe says: "you

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Our doctor (my uncle) tells father that I am in consumption, and wants to take me to Florida. Please help me! Tell me what to do, and tell me quickly. I am

engaged

to be mar

ried in September. Shall I live to see ths day? LUCY E. W. v*-'-' -'j Chicago, June 16th, *9S My dear Mrs. Pinkham:—

This is a happy day. I am well and gaining weight daily, but shall continue the treatment and Vegetable Compound during the summer, as you suggest. Uncle knows nothing about what you have done for me, because it would make things very unpleasant in the family. I would like to give you a testimonial to publish, but father would not allow it. I shall be married in September, and as we go to Boston, will call upon you. How can I prove my gratitude?

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Mixed Ac.. 4.45 nt 4

1 ud Ex*l 1.10

EVANSVILLE & INDIANAPOLIS. Leave for South. Arrive from South. 33Mall & Ex..9.00am 48TH Mixed. 10.15 aro 451 Worth. Mix.3.30 32 Mail & Ex. 3.15

CHICAGO & EASTERN ILLINOIS. Leave for North, rt O & N Lim* 2.49 am 2 T11 & O Ex.11.20 am 10 Local Pass 5.1W 4 E & Ex*. 11.20

Arrive from North. 5O & N Lim*.. 1.10am 3 & E Ex*.. .5.20 am 9 Local Puss ..!.20 am 1 & Ev Ex.. .3.00

C. C. C. & I,—BIG FOUR. Going East.

Colnji West.

3*St Ex*... 1.32am St Ex & Mall*10.03 a 11 S-W Lim*.. U!3pm 5 Mat toon Ac 7.05 pm

,10 THE,

jem

SOUTH

ONK WAT TIOKIta M( MW

At 1 Cents a Mile

CnOM THB MOUTH OVM VMM

kOUIIVIkkl NASMVILkB N. «,

To individuals on the Fir»t Tuewlay,flJnd to parties of seven or more on the Tnira Tuesday of ea?h month, to nearly all pbiats in the South and on special dates Excursion Tickets are sold at a Httle more than One Fare for the round trip.

For full information write to J. RID6ELY, N. f. Pus. Agent, CHlcago, C. P. ATMORE, BW'l P8M. AIt« LOfliMlllll. K7*,

SENT rftfef:

Write for County Mnp of the Son'til to either of the above named erentlemen, or to P. 8XD JONES,

Pass. Agent, in charga

of Immigration, Birmingham, Ala.

A FEW FACTS

Those who contemplate a winter's trip to this amiable climate will bear In mind the

BIG FOUR ROUTE

magnificent Wagner Buffet Sleeping ('ain, Buffet Parlor Cars, elegant Coaches and Dining Cars dally from New York. Boston, Buffalo, Cleveland. Columbus. Sandusky. Chjh cairo. St. Louis. Peoria. Indianapolis and MF» termedlate points to Cincinnati, where direct connection is made in Centra) Union Statioa without transfer across the city, with hrough trains of Pullman Hleeplne Cars to Jacksonville. via the Queen A rescont Kmite ana Louisville & Nashville Railway.

For full particular* call on a (rent "Bljt Four Route" or aldre»w

E. B. SOUTH, General Agent,

D. B. Martin. Gen. Pass. & Tkt. Afft»

E. O. McCormick. Pass. Traffic Mf?r.

^e-mau» size op aox

OZZONI'S

COMPLEXION POWDER!

I bas been the standard for forty yean sad Is mora popular to-day than ever before. POZZOM'g istbeldasleompiejcioa powd«r—besatffrtn*, I refreshing, Meanly, healthful and hsrciea*..

A dtlletU, lnvtolbte protection to the Zace. WittemirbesefPOZZOXllsmrj •Wmirt llnnliri GOLD YVWV

BOX la gives tree el etarge. VT DRUGGISTS an FAWCY STORES.