Saturday Evening Mail, Volume 28, Number 8, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 21 August 1897 — Page 7

LADY FLORA'S GARDEN.

I lovo to watch my lady flit Anionu her garden's quaint trim plots. Her tresses match the sunflowers' gold.

Her eyes the blue forgetmenots.

A very flower among the flowers, She hath the

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rnconscions grace.

Just wn'clt her

OH

the sunshine foils

Upon her blosHom of a face.

Oh. happy ror-e that at her waist She ti«h with her girdle in! Thrice ha pry pinks she tucketh close

Eeneath her little, dimple el.inl

White butterflies that she declares Are !««d flowers' souls drift to and fro, And soien.n l.ees on thrift intent

With their sweet burdens come and go.

The pinnies' wistful tac.cn seem To bri^'h a at her sunny smile. The sweet peas nod their heads to her

In their own easy kind of style.

In sooth, it is a goodly sight, This garden with its trim, quaint plot* And Gwii'.ws Flora in its midst

With ej fca like the forgetmenots.

I love my lady at her work, I love her in her hours of rest, But when I see her 'mong her flowers

I think-1 love my lady be*t. -M. Hedderwick Browne in Kansas City Star.

THE BM'E HOUSE.

Hero is the story thnt my Uncle .loan, who died recently, used often to tell me: You know, lio would say to mo, that my business crillod me often to the four quarters of France. I noticed on one of my journeys near the outskirts of Dijon, which

IH

called HIaisy Has, littlo cottage

of strange uspect find of still more straDge color. The first time I noticed it—it is fully -iO years since then—it was at a stopping of the express train. In the garden in front of It a little girl was playing with a doll, a child of about 10, very fair and rosy, dresKod In a dainty spring dress and with a blue ribbon in hor hair. .She was very pretty. I was not happy that, morning, liiihinoss had not gone well, and I was returning to I'arls sad and preoccupied. This sudden vision in the tiny garden calmed mc. Was it thu beautiful day, the charm of this little girl and the leautiful country that I was looking at? I said to myself, "One must be happy to live here no sorrow, no weariness." And I envied the little girl her childish carclossness and gayety.

Jlut the train started to move. At thu same timeoiio of tho windowsof tho house W/is opened! "Laurine!" a voice called.

And the littlo girl went in. Laurine— tho name was pretty, and an hour afterward In tho idleness of the journey 1 thought of it again, and I saw once more the child, the doll, the garden and the littlo blue house. Then all was jumbled together, grew faint and was forgotten, the morn because for a long time -1 hud no business in that part of Franco.

I went often to the north of Franco or to tho east, now to Lille, now to Nancy, nml you understand I had other things to think of. About ten years passed thus, when one fine day I set out for Marseilles, and on my return the old memoriis returned to me. I took tho night express in order to pass through illaisy-Bas lti the morning. It was still there, tho blue house, of a well failed blue now, and, moreover, it seemed to mo that It had a less woll cured for, less well kopt look than formerly, but In tho garden a tall girl was seated. She was very fair find with a pink ribbon in her hair. It was Luiirine. I recognized her at on no. Noar her was a young man, very prepossessing and animated, hor fiance without doubt, and around them was the Eiimo smiling calm, tho same poace of mind.

I was positively qulto happy, quite moved myself, and when again tho train started 1* leant from my window and, waxing my hand, nodded my head and cried: "Farewell, Mile. Laurine!"

The young girl looked at. mo quite astonished. Then the young man. They burst out laughing, and still from my wlndiw I watched them waving their handkerchiefs ot me. I was delighted.

Year after year passed. I was noarly always on the Marseilles road, but busy, very busy. Kaeh time I was forced to gain nn "hour or two by taking the fast express that passed Ulalsy lhis in the night without stopping. At last ono day, less busy than before, I took the evening train which stops at Hlalsv Has it the morning. How many years had I sinco that little scene in the garden wt.on I had seen Laurine with her llnnce? Twelve, or porhaps 15 years, I don't remember.

This time, when tho train stopoed In front of tho little station, thero wns in the garden only a small 1H\V, with unkempt hair, playing with a great dog stretched on the grass. Was I not to sec Lnurinef

I was already quite sad, when the little boy began to call: "Manitna, mamma, the train!"

Then a lady stopped out of tho house. It was certainly she, a littlo loss fair, but nevertheless I recogniied her at once, and looking at her quite tenderly I discreetly irnlstHl my hand to my hat. She answered my salutation a littlo surprised. She was indeed always tho same, as simple and amiable as hor own life. On departing, to mark my passage with a little souvenir,

I tossed an orange to tho child in the garden. and saw it roll down the terrace followed by the big dog.

Then came the most eventful period of my life. It was a short tliuo after this that I made mv great journey to Turkey— so eventful, so full of suddeu changes. that today, after so many years. I seem to speak of a dream. How many ups and downs I had before I made my little fortune! It was down there, you know, that ,1 was shipwreckd on the Black sea. You /can imagine If in that life I thought often of Blaisv Has and tho blue house. Ah. well, on the sinking ship. In that ominous hour when I was s* parated from death only by a plnnk. it wns still that memory that crossed my mind as clear and precise as in the (ir-t hour. I said to myself: "My poor Jean, this will teach you to travel around the world. If you had bten willing to live quietly, like your friend

Lmirlne, in some Hue imuse under the sun of Burgundy, such things as this would not have hapivm-d t" vou either." 1 escaped neverthcK s«. and I have often told you how Y«» know the Holland ship tlvil passed, as ti.iii by a miracle, at the end of two days, win my strength wns sjn nt. At the end of JO years— you see. nt my age one forgets theejtaet dates—l returned to Fr.mee. :usd n'tir |w»««ing se\i rn! days In M»r»ein»-« I took for the la-' sine the train t'-r Pari*. 1 had never vs» and the little motley 1 earry'.ng home wuiid snfit. for tut v,. 1'his was 11»* my last

journey, the «•.} of all it adventure*. At 1 e! we :.rj i\ cd at Ht.ii-y I is a. Can vpu l* :o\ My hi art as if it would burst, and I cor-fi that I wa» Dot mnviii when a tew iaur later 1

met my own family. Near the station the blue houso appeared as before in the sunlight. By a singular coincidence I thought all at once of my shipwreck in the Black sea. It mast have been thns that day, calm and indifferent as ever, while out tberv in my last hour I thought of it, but the train was stopping just in front of it, and 1 saw in the garden under the arbor, surrounded by children and granohildren, an elderly woman, not really aged, but with bands of silvery hair under a large cap.

It was Laurine! No one would have known her but me. Not one minute was I. in doubt. And in a flash I saw her •gain as a child, playing with her doll, then as a girl, then as a woman, now as a grandmother, always different, yet always like herself. This time I regretted bitterly thnt I must go away. I knew that I would never pass this way again, and I wanted to stop a moment to speak at least to this old friend of 40 years whom I did not know. Chance favored my wish. A slight accident happened to the engine. They told us we would have an hour at least to wait. That decided me.

I advanced almost trembling to the gate. I tell you I was never so moved. I was never timid, however, and I had just seen sorno rough times among the Turks. At last I rang. The gardener opened the gate. I told him that I wanted to speak to the elderly lady in the arbor. Ho told me to enter, ran to tell the lady, and she came.

The next minute Laurine was near me, and I knew no longer what to say to her. It was sho who broke the silence. "What is it, monsieur, to which I owe the honor of your visit?"

Timidly I asked, "Do you not know me?" "No, indeed, monsieur." "But I know you woll. Just think, it is along time that I have known you. I saw you as a child, playing with your doll In this garden. I wns the man, you must rememlK'r, who said good day from tho car window when you were betrothed, and later, quite a little later, it was I who threw an orange to the little"—

The good lady looked at me quite frightened. She had at first receded several steps, taking me no doubt for a madman. Then, reassured by my good old face, she answered quite sweetly: "You lire certainly in error, monsieur, my family and I hnvo lived in the blue house only about a year."

I was stupefied. "You—are—not— Lau-ri-no"— "Laurine? I do not know what you mean. We hnvo no one here by that name."

It seemed as though I dreamed. As she walked away I asked: "Pardon me. madanie, one more question. Who lived here before you did?" "Before us? An old man, a bachelor. Ho lived here ten yours."

Bowing ceremoniously, sho took me to the gate and oloscd it behind me. I found myself In tho tiny streets of Blnlsy-Bas, quite confused, my heart heavy, as though after some misfortune. I wished, however, to inquire about tho matter, quite sure that there was some unheard of mistake, some strange coincidence. I questioned the guard at the station. Ho knew nothing, being new in tho country, but he directed me to an old man, the oldest in tho village, who lited quite near the station, just opposite the blue house.

He gathered together his thoughts. "Laurino—let me see—Laurine. I don't remember"— "But tho lady I saw in the garden about 15 years ago, rather plump and having light chestnut hair. She had with her a little child and a groat dog." "Ah," said bo, "with a great dog. Wait a minute—with a groat dog. Oh, yes, that was the wife of tho comptroller. She was from Macon, Mine. Oilaiuet, but her name was not Laurine. I remcvibor well, for I was over thena a great deul. Her name was Francoisc."

I was dumfounded. "But look here, monsiour, think back about ton years before. A young girl, fair also tall, with a blue ribbon in her hair, who was there with ft tall, dark young man, hor finnoo."

The old man thought and thought. At last ho eallod his wife, a little old woman, with bright eyes and a determined stop, who seemed to have a good memory. We told her our discussion. "Oh, that was Mile. Stephanie, the daughter of tho contractor, a tall girl, with a ribbon. Certainly, that was she. She married a merchant from Dijon, poor girl, and they aro separated. Sho lives with hor parents up thero at Sombernon, and is very unhappy." I felt my head swim. The hour was over and tJie train was ready to sart. "But Laurine," I exclaimed, "but Laurine. I saw her when sho was quite small mid heard her name. It seems to me I see her yet playing with her doll in tho garden." "Why, monsieur," began the old lady, "why didn't you say that at first? You speak tlrst of a woman, then of a young girl, and at last of a child. Yes, I recall her. I have my faculties yet," she said, with pride, "Laurine? Yes, that is it. but you speak of a long time ago. It is. no less than 40 years. A littlo blond, the daughter of the druggist. They were rcla tives of ours. We lost her just as she was finishing her tenth year, poor thing, in the same year in the month of May."

Just tho year and month in which for the first time I had noticed the blua house. A few days at most after I had passed through, and I for 40 years had followed her life.

At this placo in his story my uncle nl ways been mo sad. He would pass his hand two or three times across his forehead and would say slowly: "You =ee. my boy, story is of no importance, and yet it is tlx whole of life. To live happily in our delu sions we must not examine them too close ly, nor open our eyes too wide, nor descend too far into the depths of things."—Trans lated For Short Stories.

Who First Opened a Sunday School? Robert Knikett has been much belauded as the originator of Sunday schools, but when he was a small boy. with all his philanthropies in the future, a neighbor of bis living id miles from his native city was quietly holding a Sunday school on her own account On a white marble slab in Flnxley church, among other records of Catharine Bovey's life work, there is a mention of this: "How far her bounty extended was best, known to herself alone, but mqch of it appeared to ber honor and God's glory in frequent distribution to the poor, and especially the charity schools round about the country, relieving tho^e in prison and de

1

Uvcring many of them out of it. in con trlbuling to churrhesof the Ensrltsh vsfcah lUhmcnt abroad as well as aiding «ivexn! •t home, in clothing ar.d her In dlgent neighbors and in teaching Un, children, some of whom every Si relay turns she entertained at her house ant condescended to examine them herself."— Longman's Magasino.

LOVE'S FOREVER.

Responsive to the plaintive plea That certified his heart's endeavor, 8he glanced at him disdainfully, And cold as wave of polar sea

This bag, often containing a packet of manuscript for the post on the journey into the township, usually carried homeward a small parcel from the butcher's or grocer's, and not infrequently a book or two, or a review from the library. He usually walked in the road under the shade of the trees skirting the pavement, apparently preferring that portion of the thoroughfare as being free from the jostling of other pedestrians or the arrogant demands upon tho footpath made by the exigencies of retall trade.

Though not long past the middle years of life, 50 being yet a post on his life's journey invisible by half a decade, he wore a look of age. His face was pale and thin,, deep lines marking out clearly the heavy brow, tho deep set eyes, tho sensitive mouth, grey threads already blanching his long dark hair about the temples. He had the air of a lonely man, taking but small heed of those bo passed, exchanging no moro than a civil greeting with any one claiming acquaintance, though be never failed to stop and his face brighten as some small child, who knew the heart of the man, stood smiling in his path. Then would Silas-stop, and with hand quickly dipping into the depths of his bag, exclaim, as if with a novel inspiration: "Lollies? Ah, yes, let me seonow!" And, suro enough, lollies or fruit never failed the expectant urchin.

His morning visit to the tradesmen, the library or the postofflce completed, he returned to his home by the way he had come.

It was a pleasantly situated little cottage, nestling among trees and shrubs on a gentlo slope, its wide veranda commanding an extensivo and beautiful panorama of the distant city, with its spires and domes, tho river with its shipping, and the still more remote horizon line of the ocean. Here ho lived placidly with his old housekeeper, a servant of his parents' family, as his sole companion and servant, nor did he desire other society, and his needs were few and of the simpJ^st.

His most welcoml companions were his thoughts and his books, his occupatimis tho weaving of romances, essays and occasional verse, for all of which he had a ready market, and his sole recreation the cultivation of his garden, in which flowers, fruit and vegetables grew abundantly and supplied the peeds of his neighbors as well as his own.

That his thoughts were for tho most port pleasant enough wns evident, for Silas Seabrooke was of a reflective but not of a brooding temperament. His memory contained much of happiness, and one groat disillusion which he had long since compelled to give up its sting. Ho permitted himself, while suffering secretly, only to dwell upon the please titer aspects of that remembrance, excluding all of pain in loyalty to the woman who cans'd it, his love for whom he permitted nothing to impair.

The memory of his marriage, brief, ill advised, ill fated, was to him full of the gratification of conquest—tho capture of a beautitul woman, a queen among her sex in her physical attributes, at the supreme moment of her pride, when her beauty dazzled and enslaved ail wbo came within its influence. That he, of all those worshipers, was chosen as her husband was a pride to his simple soul, which, blind to ber real motives, never faded. Though subsequent events might have disillusioned him, he wrapped his heart about with the memory of that brief time of perfect joy, the short year of physical happiness in the union with her perfection, seeking to tetain "after exceeding ill, a little sweet" of memory, and succeeding In idealizing every word, every act of the tragic comedy of his disastrous marriage.

To the faithful Margaret, his old housekeeper, that period of "blind infatuation," as she called it, bore altogether another aspect. She knew that the queenly beauty of this woman was her only wealth. In all attributes but that of physical perfection she was deplorably deficient, and the shrewd old woman guessed that the fame achieved by Seabrooke and his popularity with all grades of society was the sole reason of ber preference for the 9ober minded young author, then at the first flush of his success, his name on everybody's lips.

Seabroofce's dream was as brief as it was brilliant. His wife passively accepted bis homage, basked in the sunshine of his social success and dragged him out of hfs literary dreams to society functions, in which she was able to shine with increased luster as the bride of a famous writer. Silas, rhted in bis wife's happiness, found iself floating passively on the ocean of adulation which his genius and his wife's beauty 'led forth, but bis hori ton was not clouu «s, for while the earnings of his past successes were rapidly diminishing under the strain of her extrava gnnee, he was producing no new wort with which to supply the future, for tb unaccustomed gayety of his new life utterly unfitted him and left him little leisure for his literary work.

The position soon grew grave. Economies b™me necessary, disillusion followed, t: ir fine house was given up, and

TEKRE HAUTE SATURDAY EVENING MAIL, AUGUST 21, 1897.

"Than must we part forever, May1 Borne rashly spoken word has chilled harn And scornfully she'd turned away Prom motive speech, whose potent sway

Had evening after evening thrilled her.

Was voice that spoke the word "Forever."

A sob, a moan. With leaden feet Prom broad veranda he descended. Trod ruefully the murky street, Praying meanwhile for winding sheet

And whatsoever with it blended.

"This wee most cease!" he said, then laid His hand upon a dagger straightway. A gasp, a shudder! Then the blade Was pocketed, and tracks were made

Back toward the cruel maiden's gateway.

A form rushed out, four arms were locked In clutch that seemed ne'er meant to sever. A simultaneous labial shock, And twenty minutes by the clock

Had marked the bonds of love's forever. —Richmond Dispatch.

SILAS' RAPTURE.

One of the most familiar figures to the permanent residents of Kennersley and one which never failed to attract the notice of the casual visitor was that of a middle aged man, dressed in a seedy frock coat in all seasons of the year, with loose black necktie flapping in the wind, and black, soft felt bat, shapeless with indolent wear and grey with undisturbed dust. A stout staff of orange wood, unadorned and without ferrule, assisted him in his walk, though his figure was vigorous in spite of the slight stoop of a thoughtful man, and a common string bag completed the more noticeable features of his appearance.

devotion. A few weeks' experience of the "squalor," as she termed it, of their compulsory retirement, the continual troubles of which dried up the founts of his inspiration and kopt his pen still inactive, with the imminent approach of a struggle for bare existence, brought its inevitable disaster. His wife frankly confessed her disillusion, and retired disdainfully from the contest with adversity.

Where she went Silas made no attempt to discover. He worked on steadily in bis loneliness, and recovered muoh of his lost faculty, producing work which achieved a fair measure of success, though he never again attained the triumph of former days. The greater part of his earnings he faithfully sent to his wife's solicitors, but Silns never attempted, and soon did not desire, to communicate direct with the woman who had deserted him. Enough for him that by his remittances she was placed beyond the reach of want, or even of the need for that economy which she detested. If she should ever want bim, she knew where he wus to be found, and thnt sufflced. He had the solace of b.j loyal remembrance of ber at best He bad his Work, which was only possible in peaceful solitude, and he knew it would be, worse than folly to attempt to disturb either.

Thus the years passed on until one morning as he was starting out on his daily errands a telegram was placed In his hand. It was a summons to the death-1 bed of his wife. Without allowing himself the delay of preparation, habited in the threadbare garb he had long considered I sufficient in his present retired life, he hastened off to the city where it appeared that his wife dwelt, so strangely nenr to him and yet divided from him by that gulf of estrangement passable only at this urgent summons.

It was not more than half an hour after the receipt of the telegram that he stood before the door of a handsome mansion in one of the suburbs. Ho gave his name to the maid who answered his ring and was immediately bidden to follow her np stairs. At the door of one of the rooms a young girl was standing, her pretty face pale and drawn and her eyes heavy with weary watching. The maid servant mentioned his name and withdrew. "You are too late, Mr. Seabrooke. I am po sorry. I telegraphed to you immediately my mistress told me to, but that wns only at the last moment," And she led the way quietly into the room.

Silas could at first distinguish nothing in the darkened room. As his eyes grow accustomed to the darkness ho saw the figure of a young man kneeling beside the bod in an abandonment of grief he made no attempt to conceal. The figure of his wife lay still under the sheet, her white facc framed in masses of her rich brown hair. Silas saw that the intervening years of their estrangement had left but few traces on that beautiful face, and he rejoiced that her way in life had flowed smoothly to its close.

He stood thoro for a moment looking down at his wife and wondering at the calmness with which1 l^e could look at that face which he had thought could neves fail to move him.

To him she seemed now rather a picture, a memory of a long dead past, and bis heart was strangely cold and untouched. Presently the young man beside him rose to Ills feet, and, now seeing Seabrooke ft.r the first tinio, uttered an exclamation of surprise, and turned to withdraw. Silas, however, plaoed his band on his arm and restrained him. "Tell tno," be said gently, "what Was she to you?" "Nothing," was the quick reply, uttered almost fiercely, "but I loved her." "So did I—once," said Silas. "Do not go. You have more right here than I."

He bent down to kiss the brow of the dead woman with reveronce and with eyes blinded to the present, seeing only tho joy of the dead past and the peace into which sho had entered.

His lips touched the calm forehead, his eyes caught a momontary glimpse at tho closed windowsof her soul, his nostrils inhaled the strange odor of death. His companion saw him shudder and shrink back as ho raised his head abruptly, looking round with a sudden glance of horror. "Oh, sho's warm still warm!" escaped him in a breath caught as with sudden pain, and he turned back to the door, fleeing from the living dead woman not yet quite passed through those portals irrevocably dividing her lifo, in which he had no share, from that of tho past in which alono ho could hold hor in imperishable memory.—Edward Wilder in London Sun.

Put Himself In Another's Place. The member of congress from—I won't say where—is the kindest hearted fellow alive. He was going home very lnte one night when he met young man whom he knows. The young man wns hopelessly drunk. The congressman happened to know where he lived, and kindly guided him home. A light was burnipg in an upper window of the house, and the congressman had no sooner pulled the bell than the door was flung open and a tall and vigorous woman appeared. She said not a word, but sho grabbed the intoxicnt ed young man by the collar and gave him a shaking that fairly loosened his teeth in their sockets. Into the hall she shook him and slammed the door. The congressman was descending the steps when the door opened again and his friend flow out as if flung from a catapult. He landed at the foot of the stairs and the congressman picked him up. He was very much frightened, and he was almost sober. He managed to gasp out "We don't live here. We—we moved last week."

That's nil the congressman's story, but I think the really interesting thing would be to know what happened to the man who does live there.—Washington Post.

A Darin Wasp.

Some wasps live in part upon honey, which they collect from the most open petsiled flowers, and thus to a very moderate extent they may be regarded in the light of flower fertilizers. Kirkland says, In the first volume of The American Naturalist, that "the paper hornet (Vespa macij^ata) often enters my nucleus hives when I am rearing Italian queen bees and captures the young queen in the midst of ber little colony, usually just after she has commenced ber first laying. I have seen this depredator enter the small hive, drag oat the queen and fly away with ber to the woods" (p 52). Some of the species of the genus stes store up honey which Is poisonous, from the fact that it has been oolle from ondus f! were. Tl are id in Sou-.: Aroer: where alspecies of the genus Cbartergus occur— wasps that a very remarkable and tougb nest, w:»„ fanoel shaped combs Inside, arranged one inside of another^ nest fashion, bat not in contact except at their pHr-ts of At the apexes of th' cones an

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apertures of entrance

tb« comparative nclmion of a country lor the inmates to pan up among the oon-1 cottage completed the ruin of hie wife's leal tter*.—Popular Science Monthly. r^charms to the old. renewed yooth.

is

7 N-W Ex ....7.10 am 21 Decatur Ex 3.30

5 & N Lim*. 12.01 am 3 & Ev Ex*. 5.38 am 7 NO&FlaSpl* 2.55 1 Ev& I Mall. 3.35

EVANSVILLE

No matter much of

a business woman a woman may be, when the little lovegod makes up his mind to shoot, there is no protection

against his arrow. Yet many a young woman whose affections are already engaged, hesitates to assume the obligations of wifehood and motherhood, because she feels unfitted for them by some physical weakness or disease.

The special ailments to which the feminine organism is liable, not only unfit a wo man for happy wifehood and motherhood, but incapacitate her for any sphere of action. No woman can discharge the daily duties of any position with comfort or satisfaction who is constantly weighed down by headaches, backaches and dragging, weakening drains.

Troubles of this nature are not by any means a necessity of womanhood. They are positively and completely cured by Dr. Pierce's Favorite Prescription. It imparts genuine health and strength to the womanly organs. It was devised for this one purpose by an eminent specialist in this particular field of practice.

For several years I suffered with prolapsus of the uterus," writes Miss A. Lee Schuster, of Box 12, Rodney, Jefferson Co., Miss. "Our family physician treated me for kidney trouble, and everything else but the right thing. I grew worse and worse. My body was emaciated, hands and feet clammy arid cold, stomach weak, with great palpitation of the heart. I dreaded for night to come for I would suffer with nausea all night and so I continued until some kind unknown friend sent me your book with a marked page. I began taking your 'Favorite Prescription,' contraiy to my family's wishes, and I began to improve right away. I have taken thtee bottles ana now I am very nearly well and am very happy, and thank fill to you.'"

RAILROAD TIME TABLl

Trains marked thus run daily. Tralm marked thus (t) run Sundays only. All othei trains run daily, Sundays excepted.

VANDALIA LINE. MAIN LINE.

Arrive from the East.

7 West. Ex*. 1.30 am 15 Mail & Ac* 9.50 am 5 St. L. Lim* 10.15 am 21 St. L. Ex*.. 2.35 3 Elf. Ac 6.30 11 Fast Mail*. 8.55

Leave for the West.

7 West. Ex*. 1.40 an 5 St. L. Lim*.10.20 an 21 St. L. Ex*.. 2.40 3 Eff. Ac 0.35 11 Fast Mall*. SI.OO'P 0

Arrive from the West.

6 N. Y. Ex*.. 3.20 am 4 Ind. Ac.... 7.10 a 20 Atl'c Ex*.. 12.30 8 Fast Line*. 1.45 2 N. Y. Lim*. 5.10

Leave for the East.

12 Ind Lim'd*11.20 a nc 6 N. Y. Ex*.. 3.25 a 4 Ind. Ac.... 7.20 an 20 Atl'c Ex*. .12.35 8 Fast Line* l.SO-p 2 N. Y. Lim* 5.15

MICHIGAN DIVISION.

Leave for the North.

AT.fromthe North

6 St Joe Mall.6.30 am 8 S. Bend Ex.4.25 2 St.JoeSp'c'l 5.20

5 South'nEx. 10.00 am 21 T. II. Mail.11.15 an 3T. H. Acc...6.30p

PEORIA DIVISION.

Leave for Northwest.

Ar. from Northwest.

12 Atltc Ex ..11.10 an 2East'n Ex. 5.00 pn

EVANSVILLE & TERRE HAUTE.

NASHVILLE LINE.

Leave for the South. Arrive from South.

8 & N Lim* 3.55 an 2 H&E Ex*11.00 an 8NO& FSpl* 3.35 4 & Ind Ex*11.10

INDIANAPOLIS

Leave for South.

33 Mall & Ex..9.00 a 49 Worth. Mix.3.50

Arrive from South.

48Tn Mixed.10.10an 32 Mall & Ex. 2.55

CHICAGO & EASTERN ILLINOIS

Leave for North.

6 & N Lim* 4.00 am 2 & Ex.11.20 a 8 NO&FSpl* 3.40 pm 10 Tli&M Loc 4.10 4E ScC Ex*. 11.55

Arrive from North.

3C&E Ex*.. 5.30an 9 M&T1I Loc. 10.45 an 1 0 & Ev Ex.. .2.30 5C &N Lim*. 11.55 pn 7 NO&FSpl*.. 2.50pm

C. C. C. & I.—BIG FOUR. Going East. 36 N Y*C!nEx*l.S5 am 4ln&CldEx. 8.00 am 8 Day Ex*... 2.56 18 Ivnlckb'r* 4.31

Going West.

85 St Ex*... 1.33 a a 0 Ex & Mail*10.00 a 11 S-W Lim*.. 1.37 pn 5 Matt'n Ac. 6.30

LAKE AND RAIL.

Chicago

and

Milwaukee

Graham & Morton Transportation Co., steamer lines from Benton Harlior and St. Joseph. Mich., to Chicago and Milwaukee, connecting at St. Joseph with the Vandalia line. This line operates the first cfass side wheel steamers "City of Chicago" and "City of Milwaukee" and the propellers "City of Louisville" and "Woods.' making trips twice dally to Chicago during June. July. August and September, daily trips remainder of season, and trl-weeklv trips to and from Milwoukee. Service first-class, fare lower than all rail routes. Through tickets on sale from all Vandalia line stations.

J. H. GRAHAM, Prest. Benton Harbor. Mich.

DocksChicago, foot of Wabash ave. Milwaukee, foot of Broadway.

St. Joseph. E. A. Graham. Benton Harbor. J. H. Graham & o.

V=P

VandaliaPennsylvania

Why sizzle and fizzle, when you can get to a region where existence Is delightful. Look at our Bill of Fare!

Points in Michigan.

St. Josfph and return, Ottowa Beach and Macatawa Prrk and return. *11.56 Traverse City and return, ?1*.10 Petoskey Bay View, and Charlevoix and return. $19.25: M-. lnac Island and return. £30.25. and an other points a very reasonable rates. 'I )-se ...n are good to return nntil Oe »er::!-- wl7. *1"! :n there Is oor own Lake M&xinkuckee. Ttiru Haute's favorite, only a little over four hours distant, and we have the "Sunday ov«r" ticket—the ten days, and season tl tc. at low rates.

T' «f»« sleeping cars leave Terre Haute at -J" m., dally, except Sunday, and reach al. the vT* Call at city ti:-^et A ue or Union St*uun. E. l-AKi:.rNGic»N.

G- 'fral Agent.

To the Young Face

OOMFUBDK**Poweeaghneefresher

Try it.

If you are going fWT

SOUATH

Why not

Via the

Tennessee (entennial Exposition

THE LOUISVILLE & NASH-

1

VILLE RAILROAD CO-*

Presents the best possible service from Northern to all Southern cities, and will carry you through Nashville, the location of tne Greatest Exposition this country has ever baa. with the possible exception of the Columbiau.

DOUND TRIP TICKETS AT

lv

LOW RATES

Will be on sale from nil points to Nashville on every day between May 1 and Oct. 31, 1897. For full information write to

I. H. MILLIKEN, Dist. Pass,

kgl,

LonisTllli, ly.

C. P. ATMORE, Gen'l Pass. Hi, Louisville. Ky.

I he Coast Line to MACKINAC

*—TAKE THE—»

TO

MACKINAC DETROIT PETOSKEY

CHICAGO

New Steel Passenger Steamers

The Greatest Perfection yet attained In Bout Construction Luxurious Equipment, Artistic Furnishing, Decoration and Efficient Service, insuring the highest degree of

COMFORT, SPEED AND SAFETY

FOUR TRIPS PER WEEK BETWEEN

Toledo, Detroit and Mackinac

PETOSKEY, "THE SOO," MARQUETTE. AND DULUTH. LOW RATES to Picturesque Mackinac and Return, including /teals and Berths. Prom Cleveland. $18 from Toledo, $15 from Detroit, $13 50.

DAV AND NIGHT SERVICE.

Between Detroit and Cleveland

Connecting it Cleveland with Earliest Trains for all points Hast. South and Southwest nnd at Detroit for all points North and Northwest. Sunday

Trips

June, July, August and

Sept.

Only*

EVERY DAY BETWEEN

Cleveland,Put-in-Bay ^Toledo

Send for Illustrated Pamphlet. Address A. A. SCHANTZ, a. W. a., OITNOIT. MICH.

Tne Deiroti Cleveland Sieam Nav. Go.

Webster's International: Dictionary

Successor of the "thuilirhlgcd." The OMO Great Standard Authority, fio wrllos Hon. ). .T, llrewer,

Justice U. 8. Hupromo Court.

Htaudard of the U. 8. !ov*t

Printing

Office, the t'. H. Hnpreme 1 Court, all the Stale Hu-

fircmetlie

Court*, and of near-

nil Hctioolbook*. Warmly Commended for Slato Btiier!nteriilont»i or School*, C'oIWn President*, anil other Kilucutor* almost without number.

Invaluable in tlin household, ami to tlm lowlier, srliolnr, pro frmloiMil man, and sclfel uoa lor.

I THE BEST FOR PRACTICAL USE. It Is easy to find the word wanted. It Is easy to ascertain the pronunciation.

It la easy to trace the growth of a word. It Is easy to learn what a word means. Tho Chicago Tlmea-Herald myat—

Webster'* International Iilctlonary luiMprfnent, nrtty on ererylhlnK i^rwlnln

It lias perfect

n"h'iman

tffoi land scholar­

ship on uiafcolt— I »P*.14. lHflR. OET THE BEST. W~Speeimen pages sent on application G. A C. 3IKKRTA CO., Publisher*,

Sprlntffleltf, Mann., I'.ft. A

Established 1861. Incorporated 1888

Clift & Williams Co.,

Successors to Clift, Williams & Co.,

*AWtT*ACTURERS Or

AJTD DEALERS IS

Lumber, Lath, Shingles, Glass, Paints, Oils

AND BUILDERS' HARDWARE,

Mulberry St., Cor. Ninth.

J. H. WILLIAMS.President. J. M. Ctirr, Sec'y and Treaa

(Tblekeater'* EncUah

DIMIMII

Brand.

ENNYROYAL PILLS

Original mm4 Only VmilM. ••re, aiwnjt idUMe. V*tics ut

CKIRMTUFT TFOELUT PI*

td Is Ke4 sad OM stulttc wlh Maw rifttea. Take

iMatherv •'•••iM&mftnmiiulhiU*' itmtmd ir UmM. Ai orMod 4a, nxmpt far jswtlmUr' 'mtlamiUli u4

Bctlaf for urilca," (fr, b? rrtara Matt. IO, Cfclefcotertl Ual DraggM*.

IMS TrKitM' Jhm Paper.