Terre Haute Weekly Gazette, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 14 June 1883 — Page 6

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^ujtroi, amrot tne same hour Herbert Archer paced the sitting-rocm of his station with a scowl as black as night upon his face. Frequent mutterings escaped his lips. Once he exclaimed, almost fiercely:

uLet

"Yes." ,aL) «rcU T»i "And the colonel?" "Treats him as an old friend and, Mr. Archer, that is all I know." "But not all that you must know, Mat. What did the colonel say to my message?" "When I told him that I had tramped from Sydney in'search of employment, and you having no need of me had sent me on to him, as he had some new cattle, he said he would do what he could for me—that at any rate I might stop for a week or so." "Good. But how did you manage to return here?" "I said I had to return to tell you." "Right. Well, watch this man, listen to his every word, mark what be does, and to-morrow night at eight o'clock meet me in Blackmail's Qully, and I'll give you further orders if necessary. You Know the reward I Will be liberal. Now you may go."1

When alone Herbert Archer paced the room awhile in thought. Then as he ascended to his chamber he muttered: "No one life—nor two—shall not balk me, Florence Grainger, from making you mine. I said I loved you bettjer than life, and that life I'll sacrifice rather than see you another's." iE!: 1U- m.**?%f*I

CHAPTER V.

I MARK'S SUSPICIONS INCREASE.

In the joyous excitement of meeting Philip again Florence had almost forgotten Herbert Archer's proposal, and the alarm and indignation it nad occasioned her. She had had neither time nor opportunity to acquaint either her' aunt or uncle with what had occurred, and the blow on her temple which might, by being remarked, have led up to it, was concealed by her hair.

When, therefore, in her o\yn chamber she recalled the events of the day, both her alarm and indignation were modified. How could she feel alarm, with Philip, now her acknowledged betrothed, near to protect her? And her own exceeding happiness made her experience pity for tne suffering of one whose fault was loving her too ardently.

Reflecting upon it, she deemed it tne greatest kindness to her discarded lover merely to state he had proposed and been refused, without entering upon the manner of his proposal, which she felt, by arousing her unble's scorn, if not anger, would shut the doors of Shady Creek against him for ever. As to Philip Bathurst, when he awoke the next morning, he found it at first rathqr difficult to believe that he was really under the same roof as Florence ana, what was more, her accepted lover with her uncle's consent. There was only one obstacle to be overcome before he made her his wife—the getting enough to keep a wife upon. "But I don't despair of that" he exclaimed, as he sprang up. "What men have done surely can I, and I'll not let the grass grow beneath my feet either. If once I can bag enough nuggets to buy a station and stock it, I'll work like the shepherd kings of old, and, with the coloners experience and advice, will soon get a sufficiently extensive sheep run to make my sweet Flo tnistress of.

Charles Bathurst's anger against his nephew had been so extreme that his disinheritance had been pitiless, and he had refused him the smallest assistance to commenoe his new life upon. "Qo and work if you., will," he had exclaimed, "and if your white hands prove unfit, starve —do you understand? —starve. I will not help "If will and energy be present," Philip had rejcWSB quf8W^, the hands, however white, that 9911 pu.ll an oar or handle a rifle, can useli'spade or pick, and the fortune so gained will be sweeter than the,«ne obtained bf dependence and the sale of one's liberty.". "I hope you will find it so," was the sneerttig retort.' "Whether I door no, ©f course will not matter to you," wept

?,.

,,V

THURSDAY, JUNE 14, 1883.

HROUGH DANQHB

—OE—

LIFE IN AUSTRALIA.

him have a care

—let him have a care." Suddenly there was the quick beat of horses' hoofs on the road. He sprang to the window, and threw it open. As the light poured forth, the horse stopped, and two minutes after there advanced towards Herbert Archer a man in the dress of a farm laborer. He was of middle height, with a heavy, dogged jaw, and overhanging brows. "At last, Mat/' exclaimed Archer, impatiently, "Come in."

The man doing so, the other closed the window and advanced. "Weill Who is he?" he inquired, eagerly. ta "A Mr. Philip Bathurst, come to Australia with his foster-brother to try the gold-fields." "Yes, yes. What more? Tell me all, man." "He seems to be a gentleman, and has rich connections—an uncle, his fos-ter-brother said. He saved Miss Grainger's life when she was in England, and it was by chance they met to-day." "Chance! An agreeable chance," said Herbert Archer through his teeth. "They called each other by their Christian names." "So they did to-night, when I saw them on the verandah, billing and cooing, all the world like lovers." "Lovers—lovers! That's what it is— that's what it is," ejaculated Herbert Archer, pacing' the room excitedly. "But trust me, Mat, never man and wife. The fellow, then, is Staying there?"

Philip. "I

may perish inthe hush, or -succumb to: feve$ at the digging: but be assured of this, Uncle Bathurst, I will,, starve- and die before I will ask you for ope shilling to prevenjt, either.''

So. they, had parted. Philip had packed his portmanteau, and that very ni^hrhadWept Ms f6stej-brdther 3

mencea cnerr new nre wicn just a nundred and fifty pounds between them. The spirit of wisdom and economy at once had seized Philip, who had prepared the most serviceable of outfits, and now he looked in the glass, after expending an extra quarter of an hour over his toilet, he laughed heartily in comparing his bronzed bearded self with the aristocratic young gentleman who had sauntered away lire at Brighton. "What do I care?" he thought "this existence is far more manly it seems to give one abetter right to five, and I'll wager it makes no difference in my darling's love. Hallo! there she iis flitting among her flowers like a butterfly. What a sluggard she will think me."

And, with a last glance at himself in the glass, he ran downstairs. There is, however, many a slip twixt cup and lip, and on reaching the verandah Philip found that Flo had disappeared but tne colonel was there, on tne point of paying a visit to the stock-yard, to which he persisted ii} carrying off his guest, who had to consent, though he cast a wistful glance round for her he had longed to see.

Only a few seconds before his appearance Flo had passed from the garden into a miniature wilderness of bushes to gather some large bronze-huedleaves with which to surround her flowers, her dog trotting by her side.

As she stooped to gather them, a low growl, and then a Dark of welcome, caused her to raise her head, and she stepped quickly back upon perceiving Herbert Archer within two paces of her. "Mr. Archer!" she ejaculated. "My presence. I perceive, is as distasteful as unwelcome," he said sadly, almost humbly. "1 knew it would be thus. Yet I could not help but come. Florence, I have been waiting this opportunity to speak to you, to crave your pardon—for—for —my words of yesterday." "Indeed, Mr. Archer, they hardly merit it," she responded coldly. "I know it. I know not what possessed me. I was mad—mad with love," he ejaculated. "No, no, do not fear I no longer urge that I am aware of my fate, and accept it. There is another more fortunate than I—another to whom I must give place—another, who is to receive your, smiles, your caresses, while I have but your cold frowns. Obi did you but know the wretched night I have passed," he proceeded passionately, "from the remembrance'of the last look you gave me, from the knowledge that I had offended you—you whom I sd love—you would pitiy me. I cannot bear it: such another night would kill me. Florence, I am here to, pray, to humbly entreat pdtdon. Do not refuse."

He had flung himself at her feet, and now timidly^—as it" seemed, reverentially —clasped her dress.

Flo was startled, but more so at' the change in him. He was wan and haggard. She could well believe in that sleepless night, and she did feel pity. ""Mr."'Archer," she rejoined, as steadily as she could, "you had no right to address me as you did yesterday

qU"No?hing

as yet."

"Florence—I should say Miss Grain-

?or

:er, dare I ask for more than pardon— silence? You cannot appreciate the humiliation a man experiences who loves, and is pointed at as—rejected. You have pitied me—I have read that in your eyes, too pure for concealment you have promised to forget in mercy to me, ana the suffering it would give me, will you keep -the utterance of my love a secret between us two?" "Again I answer, most willingly," replied Flo, a greater gentleness in Her manner, for she was touched by the earnestness of his manner, and the evident pain he was undergoing. "Mr. Archer, if the secret be between us two, the more easy will it be to forget. Let us say no more about it but, if you will, let us continue friends."

With that impulse fert by all generous natures, Flo extended her hand. He took it, and held it with almost a nervous reverence. "You are too good for me, far too

food

but you are an angel, I—a man," said. "'As a sign that the past is dead, that henceforth we are friendsonly friends—may I kiss your hand?"

Before.She oould reply, he had pressed his lips on the slender fingers then he released them. "You have made me a comparatively happy man, Sliss Grainger." he remarked, "I will no longer detain you."

Will you. not come and see uncle?" she inquired, at a loss what to say. "Not now, please, not nowv" ne rejoined, with a waving motion of the hand. "Good-day."

Glad to be free, Flo made

that for a space you had lost all selfcontrol must be your excuse. Your repentance wins my compassion, though I felt I could never feel Kindly towards you again." "Oh, Florence!" and he boived his head on her dress. '.'If, indeed, you. Wish my pardon, I give it sincerely." "You forgive!* he cried, looking up. *4Oh, Florence—angel!"* "Only," she proceeded, drawing a little back, "on condition that you never address a syllable of love to me again." "Your will shall be my law," he an'swered, "only do not'banish me. We were friends—I hoped to be more ao not punish my presumption by making me less. Forget the words I spoke yesterday." "Most willingly,"she responded, with a sense of relief. "Now, rise. Mr. Archer this is no position for you," "One instant," he pleaded. "Tell me this. Have I to entreat the pardon of others?—your uncle's, your aunt's?— How have they regarded me?" "At present I have failed to. find an opportunity of acquainting thfem with what occurred," sne replied. "They know nothing?" he repeated,

Mark became silent.'

similar

response, an# passed him %here he yet knelt. Before quitting the trees she looked b&fck. Herbert Archer was prone on the grass, his hands clutching it spasmodically, and his frame quivering with emotion. "Poor, poor fellow!" thought the girl as she hurried on, tears of pity in her eyes.

She would have recalled her sympathy had she seen Herbert Archer as he rose up a few moments later. Wan and haggard yet, for he was in the field ofthtenetfee war of jfwilousy, but his features wore a smile of triumph and satisfiactfen. "When matters go so easily^ it would be ungrateful to dream of failure," he reflected, as he* quitted the spot. "I have conquered her fears, I have" won her compassion* ana,- equalVgStAl her silence. I can nflw visit Shany

Gr4efc

as usyal, suad wheu.i am.'oqt.on'lvatori4 'ilEitLiHVi T""xgt learn more of this

vitn THE TERRE HAUTE WEEKL» orASETTEi

Philip Batnurst—wny ne is nere, wuau he intends to do—before I can form my plans, which I feel already success will crown."

Reaching the clump of trees where his horse was fastened, and which commanded Shady Creek Station, he looked back srnJ his teeth clenched angrily as he beheld standing in the verandah, side by side, Philip Bathurst, his rival, and the woman he loved. "How secure, no doubt, he thinks himself," he muttered. "But, nevernever," shaking his clenched band.— "Little does either guess what the future has in store."

It was true. Even he did not divine all. There are people who do not believe in presentiments Mark Hilton was not one of them. He had a presentiment that danger was threatening his fosterbrother, and he could not snake it off. Neither was he ignorant of the quarter from whence it would come. The expression of Herbert Archer's countenance when he first saw Philip haunted him, and his belief was strengthened when he learned his love for Florence Grainger. "Whatever Mr. Phil may say," he pondered, "things may be done out here that never woula be attempted in England, and that man is capable of doing it.

wish Mr. Phil would get off to the diggings." But Philip Bathurst, despite his assurance that he would not let the grass grow beneath his feet, appeared in no naste to leave Shady Creek, where matters apparently were proceeding so evenly that Mark's suspicions might have died out, but for one circumstance.

On the second night of his being there, some sharp words had arisen between him and Mat Greeve, which but for the stockman's interference would have ended in blows. "Keep a civil tongue in your head, fellow,'' had remarked the stockman, angrily. "Remember Jeck here is an old and valued-servant, while you are here only on trial." "Well, can't the black nigger," growled Mat, "fight his own battles without yonder new importation doing it for him?" For Mark had taken the part of the aborigine whom the other had been goading by his ridicule. "If he wants a fight on his own account I'in ready for him and he began rolling up the sleeve from his brawny arm, pt the same'time casting an evil glance at Mark. "We'll have no fighting here," put in the stockman, -*ana if you are of so quarrelsome a disposition, Mr. Mat, you won't do for us, so you may tramp back to Mr. Archer and tell so."

As he entered the passage, a cool air showed that an outer door had been opened. He knew which, and strode to it. Pulling it slightly ajar, he beheld Mat Greeve rapidly, but with an ap« pearance of skulk, making his way over to the stock-yard, but keeping in the shadow.

Mark paused no longer, not even to reason iiDun the wisdom or th« fnllv of the proceeding, hut closing the door, followed. Where could he be going at this time of night? And now it occurred to him that att t|i§ self-same hour he had missed him from the room on the previous evening. "It's 110 concern of mine he might say but I fancy it is. At least, though it end in a fight, I'll find out," thought Mark, as cautiously he tracked the gliding. skulking form of Mat Greeve into the hush. "V

.r-i -'i- l*

,«f Ji

CHAPTER VI.

MAT GRF.BVE HITS HIS MAN. Mark Hilton, in the old country, had been a skilful deer-stalker, which served ftim somewhat in his present tracking of Mat Greeve. Using every available bush as a cover, he followed, keeping him in sight until they reached a part where the growth was thick then, to his vexation. Mat vanished.

Cautiously Mark tried to discover the path he had" taken,!but in vain, and after a quarter of an hour hfe deemed it wisest to retntn to the station. Entering the general room, he had hardly been there twenty minutes when he perceived Mat slip in. arid t£ke his place in a distant corner. Then he could not have g6ne very fat.

Mark resolved to keep abetter watch the next evening. When it arrived, openly complaining of indisposition, be retired early to bed, or apparently did •0, for directly he safely oould he quit* tea the station and made for the clump of bushes, where he had been thrown off the scent before.

#Here

he lay con

cealed, waiting., He had not to wait yery long. Speedily he heard some one approaching, and in the dim light, for the moon was only just silvering thetop of the ranges, perceived Mat "Greeve.

He passed so near, Mark might have, touched him with his hand.'.Keeping him in sight he followed, Again Mat disappeared, thit th& tifod, Mark saw how. He had passed .!b^trfceen two bA wrtiM WUHPB lliere seemed no path.

After a pause, man, aoing me same, found himself on a ledge some three feet broad, covered with short coarse grass. On one side was the dense bush, on the other a steep ravine, at the foot of which flowed the river.

The two men stood in the deep shadow in earnest converse. If he could but hear what they said his suspicions would be either confirmed or removed.

Again, how?' From where he was he could see, but not hear. Was there no way by which he could make a circuit. Cautiously he looked round. Before him were the bushes behind, the ravine, on the ledge of which he stood.

What was he to do? Never, he resolved, to return until he had discovered if Mat's companion was Herbert Archer or no.

In his anxiety for a moment he forgot caution. He rose up, and for a second his head appeared above the bushes. There was tne sharp report of a rifle.— Mark felt a violent Dlow on his shoulder, and knew he was hit.

He flung up his arms with a cry, reeled back, lost his footing, and fell over the ravine, crashing through the bushes.

No sooner had he fallen than Mat and Herbert Archer clambered to the spot. "It's that confounded foster-brother of the new chap," exclaimed Mat Greeve. "I told you I thought he was watching me. Now he is done for." "Would that his master were with him!" ejaculated Archer through his closed teeth. "It would save us no end of trouble." "I reckon we'd better make sure there's even an end of this one," remarked Mat. "How? Can you descend this steep side? Impossible!"

With another scowl and mutter, the back." And, seizing the tough stem of man retreated to another part 0/ the a bush, he swung himself into the ravine, which he began swiftly to descend.

room. "What a hang-dog ruffian he looks,.1' remarked Mark to tne stockman.

"Looks what he is, I reckon. Some ticket-of-leave convict, I suspect, whose throat is itching for the halter it merits. threw himself panting on the ledge. Mr. Archer ought to have sent him, "Well?" packing." "It's all right. He's done for,'- re-

Mark had become interested at that plied Mat Greeve. L['t I name, and now asked, carelessly: "You saw him?" "He sent him? One of the servants "No because the river's got him. he didn't want?"

sHis

The other srave a short iangh. sfts I "I reckon I did a worse when I cut and run from the convict settlement," ju^t he rejoined. "A chap learns a lot, and grows nimble when he's fighting for life and liberty. You wait here till I come

Herbert Archer watchea him anxiously, and when he had disappeared waited as anxiously for his return.

It was not long before he did so, and

He's tumbled flop in, and what my bul-

"No, the day before yesterday he ap-! let began the water's finished.^ plied for wOrk, and Mr. Archer, who "Are you sure?" I hadn't any to give him. Sends him on "Surel Certain. Do you think a man here, knowing master had some fresh could tumble down this here place with cattle, and a heart that never sends any a bullet in him, and get up and quietly one adrift." walk away? Besides, there's proof. His

present!- hat was bobbing about the stones."

ment made him ready to catch at any- "His hatl Where is it?" thing that seemed suspicious. And it I "Where? In the water, a course.— You dont think I was such an idiot as to fish it out?" ejaculated Mat Greeve, contemptuously. "I ain't anxious for the property 01 a man with a bullet in in him to be found in my persession." "True, I forgot. If it's^und it will be thought the fellow tumDled in and

did seem suspicious that Herbert Archer should have taken such interest in sO villainous a fellow as Mat Greeve, and to seek a place for him under the colonels, roof. "How. Mr. Phil would laugh at me,? he reflected. "But I can't lielp that: I'll tell him nothing about it. only I'll was drowned." keep a watch on Master Mat." "If they don't find the body, which

Indeed, the man had suddenly ao- might alter their opinion," was the cool quired a fascination for him, and fur- remark. tively he kept his eyes on him as he sat "In any case I don't see how we are smoking and chatting with the laborers, to be suspected." Suddenly he saw him glance swiftly up

at the clock, then, after looking cau- how they could prove it. The bullet tiously around, as one desirous to escape observation, move near the door. Here he paused,.glanced round again, and, finding his companion's attention occupied, quitted tne room. Mark waited one moment, then, impelled by a power he could not resist, followed.

"Not you. I might but I don't see

wouldn't fit my pea-shooter, and," as Herbert Archer started, then turned fiercely, "it would never be suspected that I'd used yours. It's my advice now that we make tracks for home." "Yes. We must not be seen near this spot. But about Philip Bathurst?" "Without this alters his plans he sets out for the bush in three days. It's my opinion that you'd better attempt nothing until he's off. And if you attempt it on him, a man killed more or less out here ain't taken into much account." "I agree with you and will wait. We bad better not leave here together. So good-night."

He moved some paces, then half turning, asked: "By toe way, if you are suspected for —this, what will you do?" "Take again to the bush," laughed Mat Greeve, coolly. "Where, a course, you'll keep me until I can do it for myself." "Don't fear. Be cautious, and 111 not desert you." "I'd just like to see you do it," grinned Mat Greeve to himself, as he watched the other hasten along the ledge.

Five minutes after this Mat followed, returned to the station, and joined the rest.

Herbert Archer found it difficult to sleep that night, from the sound of the whirl and rumbling of waters, rushing over a drowned man.

Mat Greeve slept like a top, -k Not until the following morning was Mark Hilton's absence remarked. Then,

not

riSpJlt^hen^hSSrbftef

rHd

hdur went by

o. I In lSSrir tR i5fti.liiSiiPPTf

and no Mark, the intelligence 01 ms

disappearance was communicated to I

the.colonel, and £nally to Philip Bath-

urst', whose anxiety was instantly aroused. Had he strolled into the bush

•"Had he,"Mra*"|S^^i^^hes of bjato-rttngoS^OT aoHito tfvU'fii^posGd aborigines?

Mark had already become' a favorite, and search partiefe wert eagerly formed. All through the day the bush rang -with the peculiar Australian cry, "co-hee.'1 and

I cessfu?^£J^£j waif HTs" foster-brother-Even Flo's sympathy failed to console! him,.and butdsoiMthe eolonel'^ reasoning he would not have let even

»V* Vn'J'V}

'el., fi

nat was louna in tne river, ana on one of the boulders in its bed drops of blood. On further search it was ascertained that a portion of the overhanging ledge had given way, and that some heavy lsody had fallen through the

The shadows of the bushes fell across bushes lining the side of the ravine the path, offering security, and Mark, 1 Even to Philip Bathurst Mark's fate hearing Mat Greeve's tread ahead, went seemed now plain. He had evidently on

been strolling near, had come too close

The ledge rose by a gradual incline,1 to the edge, had fallen, and been killed then sweeping round, made a rapid de- by the fall, the river washing awav, scent to a small opening, belted by save those few spots, the traces, while trees and underwood. it had carried the unhappy man's body

Into this he was just in time to see with it, hiding it perhaps in some deep Mat Greeve spring. At the same time water-hole. a man came quickly out of the shadows' When the dry season came the skeletowards him. Who was it? Mark 1 ton might be found, but until then it's strained his eyes to see. He felt cer- recoveryjvas hopeless. tain it was Herbert Archer, but was not positive. Still he must be so before he left. How?

"Ah. Flo, darling," exclaimed Philip when she sought to comfort him, "you cannot imagine how poor Mark loved me. He would have given his life any day in my service."

I can Delieve it, Philip. The false grasses on some of the ledges of the mountain ranges are cruelly treacherous. But, Philip, there are others, dear, of whom you must think beside your poor foster-brother."

Of you, drnr~st. Ah, yes. Mark gone I should have had small heart for the gold-fields had I not you for an incentive," he answered, fondly regarding her "still his loss has been a crushing blow to me. He was so leal and true. If I thought there was any chance he had escaped—that he was not dead "I fear, Philip, there is no chance," rejoined Flo, sadly "the men have searched every inch of the surrounding bush, so if he had even crawled among them to die he would have been found." "You are right, love. Then there is no reason for my delaying my departure to-morrow, though I take with me a heavy heart." "My kind Philip," whispered the girl as she leaned her head on his breast.— Then she rose up quickly as the door opened.

It was the colonel, but he was not alone. With him came a portly-dressed man, with stooped shoulders, bright eyes, shaggy brows, and a long, grizzled, not over-clean beard, that covered all the lower part of his face. "Philip, said the officer, "I bring you proof, I think, of your fosterbrother's fate, if more were needed. This old Jew just now craved rest at the station, being on his way to the diggings. WTiile ne was receiving refreshment, Dav^s, the stockman, recognized this stick he carries as Mark's. Is it so?"

Philip stepped quickly forward, and the Jew placed it readily in his hand. "His!" he exclaimed. "Indeed it is. I remember his cutting it as we came through the bush. And see, here are his initials. Where did you get this?" he demanded of the Jew. "Eh? Yat do you say?" asked the latter, in a thin, husky voice, putting his hand to his ear. "The poor fellow is deaf," remarked the colonel.

Philip Bathurst repeated the question louder. "In the river, young shentleman," replied the Jew. "Just ver it takes the bend at Schwollen Creek. The shape was shingular that's vy I took tne trouble. If you vant it, if it ish your friend's, take it." "I will, and thank you. It is as you say, colonel. There can be no doubt now. Poor, poor Mark!"

He turned away to hide his emotion, and the colonel dismissed the Jew back to the kitchen. "That is a strange, fearless, andpersevering race," he remarked. "That fellow has, he says, come all the way from Sydney, getting a lift where he was able, on his way to the diggings.As far as I can see, he has small capital and less luggage. Yet he speaks hope-, fully of his future.". "Which, being a Jew," said Philip, trying to smile, ".will, according to the world's opinion, be golden. At least, we must confess that idleness is not their failing. They may wither, but they never rust. You say, colonel, that he is bound for the diggings. I owe him something for bringing me this memento of poor Mark. If he is not in a hurry, let him bear me company tomorrow. He can ride my foster-broth-er's horse, for which I can get a better price at the diggings than here." "That's true: and if this Jew, Philip, be an honest Jew. be sure another of their failings is not ingratitude."

The Jew, on hearing the proposal, jumped at it with delight, and was by no means loth to pass the evening by the wuiionauie nre over wnicn ne cowerea, his deafness debarring him from joining much in the conversation. But if his tongue was idle, his bright keen eyes were not. From beneath their shaggy screen of brow they were ever restless and on the alert.

The next morning, a few hours after dawn, Philip Bathurst's horse, with well-stored saddle-bags, was led round.

The colonel considerately went to inspect them while the young people said farewell.

It was along time taking place. The officer had to cough ohce or twice to hasten it. Finally, Philip pressed Flo' again to his "heart ere he tore himself away. "Pray, for me, dearest" he said. "Is it likely I should forget, Philip? Heaven watch over you, dear, and bring you safely and speedily back."

One part of that prayer Heaven answered. Then came a long, fond look, a lingering pressure of the hand, then Philip ran to the gate, bade the colonel farewell, sprang in his saddle, and with a

last wave of his hat to Flo quickly over-

n°n-api«arance at,whjch.. ei the Jew, who had ridden on a litI tie, when Doth pnt their animals at a quicker pace.

uflo

f°r

the

l»«1,uAh®if

ftnlv

HW*

.1^.1

and fortune!"

thought Philip, adding with a sigh,

nw t*w frark-wfii* with

a oniy

P°°r -Mars: were witn

The cn tiriv&lirfi of ?lns story will foundin the proceeding issues o! thi pfr pafcmn in i«—Mimw •———f—j

s&oUynMMdadbjTHE MAR jfcfctetbaadM ofSruto Toot- aaakso4. 6mipl6, effective.

Ada$k-

ness interrupt the seargh. At efirly dawn, after a sleepless«igbt, clue was mscoverea. The mis sin 2 man a

SOMETHING NEW

If it were possi

to get the testimony of tbe multitudt have used HOOD'S SARSAPARILLA to billty, languor, lassitude, and that gt feeling of stupidity, weariness and e, tion which every one feels during this we should be able to present to our re such an overwhelming mass of comi atory messages, that the few who hay! tried it would do so at once. It is a po fact, and has been so effectually strated that no one to-day denies it, Hood's Sarsaparilla contains more real cinal value than any article before the pt

What

Man

2*1

No.

415J

DLUCUT, M.J

MESSRS. C.L HooDi Lowell, Mass.: Dear Sirs—I have fered from kidney

lJiu, plaint and billousne: fifteen jvars. Have everything and neve any good. Last Jan before I commenced

with

Ktdfieii ing HOOD'S SARSAP,IaA,everything I ate

1,16

*"1

p*!11

C/ ompiaint Chest and aims, bead and dizzy. I could get up without feeling weary and all fa out. Many mornings I was obliged down cutne lounge. To do any work ed almost impossible. Have taken two ties. The backache, dizziness, pain in chest and arms, ana that feeling of int wearines&are all gone. I can eat anjrt and it does not press me at all. Feel like work in fact, like a new man. heartily recommend HOOD'S SARSAPABI and hope all who desire to know anyt about it will come to me and ask wh think of it. Very truly youra,

JONATHAN J. COBXJB

HOOD'S SARSAI&ARIU Works through tbe blood, rgpulatin!), ta and invigorating all the functions of tbe

Sold by druggists. Price $1, or six fo C. I. HOOD & CO.. Lowell, Mass.

IPS

OHIO

STRKi

TERRE HAUTE, INDIf I

(Establisued

For all Disoaae of the JEye, JEar, Bi uM Throat, h*tng» and all Chronic

rf^^^Especia'.ly CHRONIC DISEASE8 of WOTT, m.-^* Children Fistula, Piles, Lupus,Cancers, Habit, Rheumatism, Neuralgia, Skin Disea.«fv EASES of the STOMACH, LIVER, SPLEEN, t! 1diseases of the Kidneys and Bladder, and all dit-e the Genito-Urinary System. ALL NERVOT\y EASES: Paralysis, Chorea or

8t.

Vitus Dance!

lepsy, Catalepsy, SCROFULA in all its forms,, a: those dineafes not successfully treated by tbe Physician" and Deformities of all kinds, andinstru furnished.

ELECTRICITY and. EZECTRIC'JiA»

All cases of Ague, Dumb Ague or and Fever, Fistula, Piles, Ulcers arfd

of tbe Rectum, Lupus, most Cancers, moat tiltr eases, Female Diseases generally, iiranalalvu Ulcers of the Cornea, Weak and Sore Eyes, Cn of the Eye, Ear, Nose, Throat or Skin fEczem! Spermatorrhoea or "diseases peculiar to Men and Yc|

SoreLegB^Otd 8SSSKT'

Bqrw the b(d#i SyJSiii

Brigkt'i DHiiw and Billoas Colic, Etc.] ftwatutaUon free and Invited.

Address with stl

tfjaMHma 7'HE

Admiration

OF THB

WORLD.

Mrs.S AAllen%

WORLDS I

HairRestorer

IS PERFECTION/

PaUk

Benehotna*. Mrs. S. A. ALLEN has justly earned this title, I and thousands are this day rejoicing f. o»er a fine bead of hair produced by

her unequaled preparation for restore •K ving. invigorating, and beautifying the Hair. Her World's Hair Restorer qtackiy cleanses tbe scalp, removing

Dandruff and jiiaa die fall the,

n.- gray, is changed to its natural color, giving it the same vitality and ,VIJ luxurious quantity as in youth.

COMPLIMENTABY. "MY hair is now restored to its^ youthful color I have not. a gray hair left. I am sat-

Krrt

mtawtsn to fall a) pert

cleanly, jleannK Seoi

with pt! r'iciui

4*1

ft'

t5anvasie&! Streetmen

^el(3 at sight Send stamp 64 page catsus. B. N. HOUSK,

isfied that the preparation is not a dye, but acts on the secretions. My hair ceases to fall, which is cer-f tainly an advantage to me, who was in danger of becoming bald."

This is

the testimony of all who use Mrs. S. A. ALLEN'S WORLD'S HAIR RESTORER. 1 ii who tave had tbar (ray hair mttiwd to its natural color,, and their bald spot •orercd

•tthtair. after wbkane bottle of i^ak AujSt^VoRuirsUAiK lanM Itfeaotadye.

•T9

'A*-OnniTIVt-Ctrre without Medicine «JBUSUMiMf fc"PHHIBteg oetobfer 16,1876

5»ebox,NflL1l

xtiU oore*ay casein Xoqr

days yle*7^o.8Mirlltcufre*tbe most iiate case,

ni»Hff ot'hott long standing-

ALFCS'E ^TTKMCITEI JDWK, 1 N|o bm—wan t%cmh of cubebs, copaiba, oroi' oX Mua4«ilfc.wuQU^ji*»Va*e^ertatn to produce dyBSep«la4y l«Blrofring the coatings of tbe jttdmacu. Bold by ail druggists i,T malXeipn receipt.of price. For further

JartTcfiiars sfcna for circular. P. O.

,533.

Cincl ati,

iiox

J. C. AliiAN Co., PIIDC 8H Jonn street, New York.

wul