The Syracuse Journal, Volume 3, Number 3, Syracuse, Kosciusko County, 19 May 1910 — Page 2

Mffai A Pleasing Sense of Health and I Strength Renewed and of I Ease and Comfort followjs the use of Syrup of Figs and Elixir of Senna, as it acts gently on the kidneys, liver and bowels, cleansing Hje system effectually, when constipated. or bilious, and dispels .colds and headaches. To jget its beneficial effects, always ■ buv me genuine, manufactured by the California Fig Syrup Co. —■■ ■ '' — r Dama-ieiis, “City of Magic.” An Oriental city of magic called up iby a slave of the lamp to realize one’s ■ dream of the orient a city ethereally lovely, exquisitely eastern, ephemeral, to be blown away 'by a breath like a tuft of thistledown, not whitp, "but delicai ely pale with a pallor holding the faintest hint, of a seashell flush; a city slender, calni, almost mystic in its fragile grace, set indhe heart of a great wonder of green, a maze of bright and ardent woods, beyond which lie the. desert spaces—this is Damascus from the mountan of Jebel Kasyun. It- holds one almost breathless seen thus . from afar.—Robert Hichehs in Century. \ Deafness Cannot be Cured I by locll applications, as they cannot reach the diseased portion of the ear. Thei» is Only one way to cure deirfness, lAtal that is hy constitutional remedies. Deafness is •! caused lw the inflamed condition of the mu- | cons' lining of the Eustachian Tube. .When, this tube is inflamed’ you have a rumlding i sound or imperfect hearing, and when \t is ) entirely closed. Deafness is the result, and uulessf the infiammati-oti can be taken out and this tube restored to Its normal condition. Wearing will be destroyed forever: nine eases lout of ten are caused by Catarrh, which is ‘nothing but an intlained condition { of. the-mucous surfaces. We will give One Hundred Dollars for any case of Deafness (caused by Catarrh) that cannot be curdfl by Hall’s Catarrh Cure. Send for circulars, free. F. J. CHENEY & CO., Toledo, O. Sold bv Druggists, .75c. . ~ Take Hall’s Family Pills for constipation, lljreeept and Exsoipie. , “Cflonel, that was an admirable speech you made at the elub the other _.l evening' on the obligations of citizenship. I’ve been intending to tell you ~so ever since I heard it. We need more of that kind of talk nowadays. ...1...v0u .leokiOK so gloomy “Dash it all, yes! ' I’ve been drawn on a jury!”—Chicago Tribune. ’ Place Needs a Picture.” This is something you have often ; said 4ibout a certain blank spot on the wall. Modern methods of art reproduction make it possible for the Hewitt * Brothers Soap Company of. Dayton, (X, to settd you-a beautiful picture t for I twenty-five wrappers from Easy Task soap jand a two-cent stamp. This clean/ pure I laundry soap is. thfe one that makes a half day’s work of a whole day’s washing. Timely Caution. “One word more,” said tire manager. ; “Don’t write a play too expensive to be staged.” ° . “What do you mean?” uikst this. The price of white paper lets out snowstorms apd, of course, all eating scenes are barred.” j —Louisville Courier-Journal. Children Who Are’ Sickly. Mothers should never be without a box of Mother Gray’s Sweet Powders for Chil- , dren.J They break up colds in- 24 hobrs, cure Feverishness. Constipation„Headache, Teething Disorders and Stomach Troubles.) Over 10.000 1 testimonials. At all Druggists, 25e. Asfc to-day. Sample mailed FREE. Address,- Allen. S. 'Olmsted, Le Hoy, IN Y. I Got the Essential Faet. Nah—Yes; I’ve released Jack from his engagement.. He told me yesterday overlthe telephone thaf his rich unwle. who was going to - make him his heir, you iftnow, had gone broke. — — Fab —Did Jack ask to be released? Nah—l don’t know whe-ther he did or ! not. lAs so'on’ as he told me about hi 3 unciej'l hung up the receiver. Constipation causes and seriously aggravates many diseases. It is thoroughly cured .by Dr. -Pierce-’s Pellets. Tinvi sugar-coated granules. All in the Family. Portly D ime—Your face is strikingly familiar. Have you ever done any Work; for me before? < 'jiiropodist—No, ma’am. You are probably thinking of my twin brother, who tuns the shoe store on the ground floor. He must have sold you these shoes. A great many o£> his customers come here, ma’am. !. Red. Weak, Weqrrjr, Watery Eyes lleliet'ed By Murine Eye Remedy. Try Murine For Your Eye Troubles. You Will Like Murine. It Soothers 50c at Your Druggists. Write Bocks. Free. Mu rifle Eye Remedy Co.. Chicago. ” Another Hepi. “Hfe’s a champion, is he? He doesn’t look it. Champion of what?” “Yoti don’t keep abreast of the times- He’s the champion cigaroot smoker; lights on® with the stump of another, rolls them himself as he goes along, and smokes sixty without letting any of ’em go out.” CASTO R IA For Infants and Children. The Kind You Have Always Bought Bears the Zjy '< yz""* Signature of

How Grant Rewarded a Brave Boy. The public will never lose its keeif 5 appetite for Lincoln and Grant stories, good ones, based on fact. I have such, a story—a Grant story. It is about the officer in the regular army who will be the last to retire for age, on Aug. 13, 1915, of all the men who served in the Civil War and later became regular army officers. Before he was T 2 years old he was a musician in the Twentysecond Michigan. At the battle of Chickamauga he threw away’ his drum, picked up a wounded man’s musket and was in the two days’ battle, doing full duty as a private soldier. He had a narrow escape from capture. ’lJje commander of a confederate regiment demanded the child’s surrender when the Michigan regiment was flanked. The child replied with a shot that emptied a saddle, and gave the lieutenant colonel of the confederate regiment promotion to the rank of cclmftek For this act of courage the childrsoldier was made a' lance sergeantjpand as such, served to the end ofjjj* term, which included the ba General Grant, about Chattanooga in November, 1863. The old commander heard of the child’s conduct while at Chattanooga a short time “before he went to Washington to accept his second commission in the regular army from President Lincoln. General Gcant and President Grant never fo/got.the child-soldier of Chickamauga and Mission Ridge. The boy’s people were poor. They could not send him to school before .he was a soldier, they’ received most of bis..pay while he was in the army and when the war was over he had to work at anything he could find to do to help the family. In 1871. when 20, he determined to seek an appointment to. West Point. His friends tried to dissuade him. knowing •wwt his lack of education was so great as to make it certain that he would, not be accepted. “Nobct\ would nominate you for a cadet, under the circumstances,” said one of his friends. “Well, I am going to try,, anyway. President Grant knows something about men, and I guess he will send me to West Point.” President Grant’s attention was her called to the child-soldier of 1863 and he was asked to nominate him for the military- academy. The nomination was made at once, but the boy was “found”; or, to use a less technical mathematics, short iff history ana literature, short in height and weight and short in general information. In time the youngster appeared in Washington with a fixed purpose Jo see his soldier comrade and friend in the White House, the .President. \ “Whom do you wish to see?" asked a doorkeeper. > “The President.” “You can’t see him now.” After waiting half an hour the boy tapped the doorkeeper on the shoulder and asked how much longer he woni.l have to wait. - o “I guess you can’t see the President to-day,* was the reply. “I guess I can. You go in and tell General Grant that John Clem of Company C, Twenty-second Michigan, wants to see him.” ’ , The message was conveyed to the President. A cabinet minister was confeiying with his chief at the time. Directions were gi.vbn to let the visitor “come right in.” The great soldier and the child-soldier shook hands like a pair of old friends. “They thought they didn’t 'need me at West Point, General Grant,” said the boy. >• The President, aft,er a moment, of reflection,’ wrote a note, slipped it into an envelope, addressed it and told his. caller to take it to General Belknap, the Secretary of War. The secretaryread the President's note, looked the y'oting fellow over?carefully and asked’him to be seatew . “Do you this note contains?” asked the/Towa general, who also had heard about the boy at Chickamauga. “I do not, sir.” ‘ < “President Grant directs me to appoint you a second lieutenant ,in the United States army.” That was done. He was made a first lieutenant* in 1874, a captain in 1882, a major in 1895, a lieutenant-colonel in 1901 and a colonel in 1903. Upon entering the regular army his education began. For many years he has been thoroughly informed, well educated, and has al ways stood high both with the arpiy and the public. By virtue of his civjl war,service he could now retire with the rank of brigadiergeneral, but it is thought that he will be the last to retire of the thousands of civil war soldiers who went to the regulars. Then we can address the child-soldier of and Chickamauga as Gen. John L. Clem. While this us mofe than a. Grant story, it surelyAis/a story that emphasizes the justice and ness of the old commander. Here is another child-soldier story. It fits in here:” Former State Senator C. Latham Sholes, inventor-of the typewriter, was editor of the Milwaukee Sentinel during a part of the war. Two of his boys, both under 17 years of age, were soldiers. and one of them was a prisoner from whom the family had not heard for some time and consequently they were greatly A third boy,’

not yet 13, went to the busy editor one day with a request for his written permission to enlist. “Why, my boy, they don't want little children for soldiers.” _ “Yes, they do, papa.ij I've just had a talk with the captain and he says he will take me if you will write your consent.” *‘But your mother and I can’t spare You know how hard it was for us to let your brothers go. I can’t give my consent. I left your mother crying? this morning because she does not flftar from her boy who is in prison.” Then the little felow handed his father a copy of that morning’s Sentinel; in which was an article urging a .prompt filling of Wisconsin's quota in compliance with Mr. Lincoln’s last call. “you wrote that, papa, and now you are trying to prevent enlistments. ’ “But I didn't ask them tS’h'ob trundle beds, my child.” “Please wjite your consent, papa, the captain is waiting to enlist me.” “What will you do if I don't give my consent?” “I can write most like you, papa. The captain 'wouldn’t know the difference/’ * * * Written consent was given, and that day the child was in The train bearing his regiment stopped a few minutes at Kenosha, where the Sholes boy was born. Z. G. Simmons, a neighbor when his people lived there, was at the station. “Pretty young for a soldier, my lad,” said Mr. Simmons, “but you can help some,” and then handed the child a? 20 greenback. When ten or twelve years ago Mr. Simmons got ready to give hundreds of exsoldiers an annual outing and banquet he chose the child soldier of 1864 to make the arrangements. Several department commanders have chosen the some soldier for chief of staff. He is now serving in that capacity. Many thousands in Wisconsin -know Louis Sholes.—J. A. Watrous, in Chicago .Rdocrd-Herald.. Foreeil Into Confederate! Army. James Clarke, better known as Dad Clfirke, who died at the county infirmary ' near Logansport, Ind., in April, had served four years in the Civil war, but was unable to get into the soldiers’ homes in the north or those maintained in the south foT veterans of the Confederate army. ■ His histdry ismne of the most unusual iff the annals of the wat. His ambition was to get into the - soldiers’ home at Marion,-but his repeated efforts were futile, and finally in 1 “despair he turned to the county poor farm, and there he had -been for three years, bemoaning his fate that made him a man without a home. Clarke at ,the outbreak’ of the Civil war was traveling 'through the south with a number of Irish peddlers. Tho Ecgaifspurt, Marion, 'Aiidersoh' 3 and Other nearby • Indiana cities. With wagons and * packs they traveled throughout the south selling merchandise of all kinds. The day war was declared 13 of the Irish peddlers were in Jackson, Miss. Excitement was high there, and Clarke and his companions were as enthusiastic as the natives, onlj\for a different cause.' They hastily planned to return to Indiana to enlist and go to tlie front. But before they could leave they were lake's-, into custody, were pressed into the Confederate ranks and compelled to fight against brothers and friends in the northern army. . * For two years they marched, fought and lived with the Confederates, ever watchful for a chance to escape. So far all had escaped death and injury. But during one* battle when the two lines were only a few. hundred feet apart, the little band of northerners planned a dash for liberty. At a given signal they broke for the Yankee lines. But they had not gone very far before a hundred Confederate guns w£re turned on them. Twelve fell dead to the ground, and Clarke, the only survivor, fell to escape the rain of lead. A burly sergeant was about to impale him with a bayonet when a colonel thrust the sergeant aside, ordered Clarke back to the line and made him again take up the fight against the Yankees. ’/ Soon after this Clarice was transferred to Andersonville prison, where he nid guard duty for_ three months under Captain Wirz. Compelled to shoot at any prisoner who .stepped across the dead line, Clarke always ! shot wide of the mark. Later, when . he Was sent to the front again, the company to which he was assigned was captured in battle by the Union forces and the prisoners were sent to the northern prison near Detroii. Clarke protested that he was a Kankee and had been pressed into service, but none would believe his story. However, on the third day of his imprisonment, he met and was recognized by his half-brother, Joe Murphy, I who was on guard duty. Murphy had. heard of the fate of Clarke and the ; other Irish peddlers, and when he explained the circumstances, .Clarke was > paroled and sent back to Logansport. . Several years ago, he > spent his i spare time building a coffin. He was | very enthusiastic over the project and " was buried in it.—lndianapolis News. \ He Was Not a Soldier. “On the day of the General’s death an old soldier of the Confederacy remarked to a stranger near the cigar stand in the Kimball House: ‘Well, poor Grant is dead at last.’ ‘Yes,’ remarked the other, ‘and he ought to have died thirty years ago.’ ‘Say, stranger, was you in the war?’ ‘No, sir.’ ‘Thought so—good day/ ” London has 2,150 miles o? streets and 390 miles of tramways.

Master of Appleby F'RAJVCIS Ly'JVUS COPYRIGHT 1902 BY • THE BOWEM-MERRHX COMPANY

5 CHAPTER XIX. What Richard’s most natural resentment would have led tb, in what new tangle of ihe net of bitterness we might have bben enmeshed, we were spared the knowing. For when he said, ‘She is not here,” two happenings intervened to give us both other things to think of. The first was the advent, at the far end of the oak-lined avenue, of a troop of British light-horse, trotting leisurely; the second was the swinging inward of the door of unwelcome, with old Anthony grinning and bowing,behind it. Now when you have fairly surprised a fox in the open, he asks nothing more than' a hole to hide him in. There were the hunters coming up o the avenue; and here was our dodge-hole gaping before us. So, 03 hunted things will, we took earth quickly; though, truly, | twas an ostrich-trick rather than a I fox’s, since’ we left the horses standing without to advertise our presence to all and sundry. It was Richard who‘i first found the wit to realize the 6s“The horses! —we may as well have left the town crier outside to ring his bell and tell the redcoats we are here,” he would.say; and before I knew what he would be "at he had snatched the door open and was whistling softly to the big gray. Hearing his master’s call, the gray pricked his ears and came obediently, with the sorrel tagging at his heels. A moment latev, when the up-coming troop was hidden by a turn in the avenue, we had the pair .of them in the hall with the door barred behind them, “So far, so good,” quoth Dick. Then to the old black, who' had stood by, saucer-eyed-and speechless, while: “Anthony, do you be as big numbskull as you’were born to be, and hold these redcoat gentlemen in palaver till we can wfin out at the back.” The old majordomo molded his g6bd-will, but now my slow wit came in play. “We’ve done it now,” said I in, or not at all. Had you forgotten the stair at the back?” Judge, for yourselves, my dears, if this were the time, place or crisis for a man to fling himself upon the hall settle, grip his ribs and laugh like any lack-wit. Yet this is -what RichardJennifer did. It was in the very midst of his gust of ill-timed merriment, while the horses were nosing niftily" at their strange surroundings, and the hoofstrokes of the redepat troop could be plainly heard on the gravel of the avenue, that I chanced to lift my eyes to the stair. There, looking down upon us with speechless astoundment in the blue-gray eyes, stood our dear lady. Another instant and shs was with us, stamping her foot and crying: “What is this?- Are you gone mad. both of you?” Dick’s answer was another burst of laughter, loud enough, you would think, to be heard by 'those beyond the door. ‘tßehold four witless beasts, Mistress Madge—two horses and two asses,” he said. And then to old Anthony: “Open the door, Tony, and invite the gentlemen in.” But Margery was before him. Ah, my dears, a man’s wit is like a matchlock, fizzing and sputtering its way noisily to .find the powder whilst the enemy hath time to ride up and saber the musketeer; but a woman’s is like the spark in a tinder-box—a quick snip of flint and steel and you havp your fire. In a flash my lady had torn down the heavy curtains from an in-, ner doorway and was carpeting a horse path for us to the rear. “Quick!” she cried; “lead them .gently/’ | She -went padding the way with whatever came first to"hand, rugs, curtains, table-'coverings, and I know I not what besides; and by the time the British troopers were hammering at the outer door, we were deep within the old mansion and had made shift to drag the unwilling horses by one and two-step descents to a room half under and half out of ground, which served as a sort of ante-dungeon to the winq cellar. ' 4 Here I thought v»e might be safe for the moment, but not so my lady.-Call-ing Dick-to help her —in all the fierce haste of it I marked that she called to Dick and not to me—she Unlocked and opened the door to the wine "vault, and in a trice we two and the luckless horses were safely jailed in pitchy darkness, with the stout oaken door slammed behind us, the bolt shot in the lock, and the kdy withdrawn,' as we could see by the spot of light which came through the keyhole. The excitement of the narrow escape somewhat overpast, we sat long on the edge of a wine-bin, speculating, in whispers as to what would befall, and listening vainly for the footsteps which would forecast our release or our capture by the enemy. But when no sounds, threatening or encouraging, casne from the upper world, we groped abfcut until we found the cellar candle, lighted it with flint and steel and tin-der-box, and took a survey of our jail. ’Twas the same old cavernous wine vault of my youthful remembrance, such an one as has not its mate in all Carolina to this good day, as I firmly

believe. ’ This stone-Aached cellarage was more like a cathednal crypt than a store-room for a country gentleman’s table-stock of wines. It seemed ■ a weary while before we heard the key rasping in the lock of our prison door. “ ’Tis Madge.” said Dick, with a true lover’s gift of second sight; and ’twas he who went to help her swing the thick-slabbed oak. What passed between them I did not hear, nor want to hear. But when the door was swung to and locked again I knew we were not free to go abroad. Richard came‘back to ’me in the inner vault beariirijsgifts; the better part of a boiled ham with bread to match, a jug of water from the well, and more candles. “We are Tiot to starve, but that is our best netys, thus far,” he said. “Os all the houses on our side of the river, Lord Cornwallis must needs pitch upon this manor of Appleby for his rallying x headquarters. Madge can not guess when he and the army will be 1 gone, and she is frighted stiff for our sakes.” This was sober news,- indeed, but we could do naught but make the. best 91 it. As-Jor me, I was most anxious to know if the good priest were at Appleby, and what of my chance for seeing him; but of this I could say no word to Richard. 1 So, when we had done full justice to my lady’s bounti. we stowed . the horses in the deepest of the vaults and stripped more of the bottle coverings for them. But having only the jug of water, we could do no more than swab their mouths out with a wetted kerchief in lieu of giving them a drink. I can'not tell you all we spoke of in that day-long immurement. There was' some talk of the great struggle for independence, now, though we knew it not, drawing near to its .close; and there was much of reminiscence, harking back to the exciting and tragic scenes in which we two had had our entrances and our exist. Also, there was a tribute paid to the memory of our true old friend and trusted eorri'5 - . —r. w--Yeates, so lately gone to his own place. From speaking of old Ephraim and his sudden ,taking-oft we came to things more nearly present; and at length Dick would lay a finger, gently ujion the mystery in which he was as yet walk- ■" ing as one blindfolded. “One black night,” he said, “you told me that your life lay between Madge and me.” “So it did—and does. I have worn that life upon my sleeve.” ' We fell silent upon that, and there, in the candle-yellowed’ gloom of our dungeon harbor, I fought the fellest battle of my life; fought,it and won it t too, my dears, once and for all. There* was a cold on my brow when I began in low tones to teli him the story of that fateful night in June.” At rising forty ’tis no light thing to lose a friend—nay, to turn a friend’s love to scorn and loathing and bitter hatred. He heard me through without a word; and at the end, when I looked to see him spring up and bid me draw and let him have his one poor chance ■for satisfaction, he still sat motionless, winking and staring at the guttering' candle. And when he spoke ’twas with a quivering of the lip that was not of anger. “ ’Tis I who stand In the way,” he said. , ■ ’ “No; for she loves you| Richard, as dearly as she hates me. {And ’tis not so hopeless now, else' I had never screwed together the courage to tell you all this. She has at last consented to the Church’s undoing of the incomplete marriage—’twas this she wrote me about when were were at the Cowpens, and [twas her letter that *set me upon going\'o Winnsborough to see the priest.- I missed him there, as you know; I am here now by her own appointment to meet him in her father’s house.” , He shook his head slowly. “You’ve killed the hope in me. Jack. Ido think you are all at sea; ’tis you she loves—not me.” “But she has saved your life thrice.” “Yes; from a strained sense of wifely duty, as she took good care to tell me.” “None the less —ah, Jack, you do not know her as I db; she would never have consented to stand before the priest with you had there • not been something warmer than hatred in her heart.” ' “’Twas a bitter necessity, fairly ■ forced upon her. You forget that the breaking of the marriage is of her own ,proposing—at least, I should say Denly hinted at it.” ‘ “There may be two sides to that, as , well. Have you ever told her that you love her, Jack?” “Surely not! I have been all kinds of a poltroon in this matter, as 1 have confessed, but this one tiling I not done.” “Well,” said he, speaking' slowly, as one who thinks the path out word by word, “what if she believes 'tis you who want your freedom? What if you have made Iler that bitterest thing in the world —a woman scorned?” At this juncture a most singular thing happened. Though we were sealed in, as I have said, from all the outer world with no crack nor cranny for a peephole, a blinding finish of lightning,

blue and ghastly, came suddenly to fill the whole cellar with its vivid glare. I was wholly at a loss for a moment. Then I remembered that there was, or had been in my boyhood days, a narrow, iron-barred window in the farther end of the wine cellar, opening beneath that other window of the'great ’south room where I had climbed to spy upon the conspirators on the night of Captain John Stuart’s visit to Ap-’ pleby. So it chanced that when another flash came I was looking straight over Dick’s head at the place in the farther 4 aft-ching of the vault where the little window should be. The momentary glare showed me the low square of the window opening, and framed for a flitting instant therein a face of malignity peering in upon me with foxy-fierce eyes; the face, to wit, of Gilbert Stair's lawyer-factor. In a twinkling the vision was gone, and in the space between the flash and the crash there was a sound as of a wooden shutter slamming in place. Dick heard the noise without knowing the cause of it, being so far beneath the window as to see nothing but the. lighting of the glare. ' “What was that?’ he demanded, when the thunder gave him leave. “ ’Twas our trapper chipping the shutter on the window over your head,” said I. “He was looking in to see if we were ripe for bunging.” “’Tis no time for riddles; what mean you?” . "I mean that we shall have a tile of redcoats down upon us as soon as ever Owen Pengarvin can give the alarm.” “Oho!” said Dick; and then he pulled his sword from its scabbard, and I could see the battle-veins swelling in his forehead. “'They can hang me when 1 am too dead to cut and thrust more —not sooner.” I got me up and went to find the sword which I had laid aside in the horse-baiting. ’Twas a poor blade — one of our captures at the Cowpens; and when I tried its temper it snapped in my hand. “Never mind,” said I; “give me the broadsword scabbard and I will play it as a cudgel, ’tis cnongh and full heavy enough.” He laughed and clapped me on the .shoulder, swearing out his love for me as if I had said something moving. “You are every inch a soldier, Jack; you would put heart into a worse craven that lam ever like to be.” And he , loosed the iron scabbard and gave it to-mie. ■ Now ehsued a most painful tipie of waiting and listening for the tramp of Our takers. We posted us near’ the door, a little to the side, so that its inswing might not catch us; and so, bracing t’or« the onset, we waited till , the strain suspense grew so great that we both started like frighted children, when finally the key was thrust into the lock and the bolt, shot back. /Bitt when the heavy door gave inwarij, as at the pushing of a wfak or tiirpd hand, we saw our dear lady standing in the half gloom of the antedungeon, breathless and trembling with ■‘Come!” sBB pantea, ’"come qußOy —mere is not an instant to spare. The factor has betrayed you; will be here directly with the dragoons!” I cut in swiftly. “He'has' not seen Dick; does he know we are both here?” She had one hand on her heart to still its tumultuous beating, and the other behind her, and she could scarce speak more .for her eagerness to have us out and away. “No; it-you he saw; aKd my father heard Colonel Tarleton give the oi;der. Lieutenant Tybee is to take a file of his troopers and hang without grace the man he will find hiding in the wine cellar; those were his very works. Oh, will you never stir?” . There was a sound of cautious footsteps in the inclined pasage leading from the butler’s partny above, and our chance for escape that waV was gone. “To late!” said Dick; and with an . arm about Margery he whipped behind the great oaken door opened back against the cellar wall, whispering me to follow. (To" oe continued.) The Herald. It comes before the swallows dare, While yet the wind is in the north; dayg are short anef trees are bare, It brings its lovely blossoms forth. It beckons us down sunny ways "Where clematis and roses twine, ■ft'here light the genial zephyr sways The larkspur and the' cmumbine. All in a garden'fair with Spring, We seek the ivied trellis seat, While thrushes in the lilacs sing Around the lawn so green and neat And all the beauteous flowers that bfow Shall reign victorious over weeds; For it has come, despite the snow— The first bright catalogue of seeds. { —London Chronicle. “BliiSKards.’ It has come to be the fashion of late years to call everything a “blizzard” in the way of a snowstorm with a little chill in the air and sojne wind. A true “blizzard” is altogether different from the mild flurry that has by a distortion of language come to be called by that name. It is a howling, sweep* I ing blast of zero air, carrying small particles of ice horizontally across tht levei ground, forming great drifts al points of obstruction, freezing men ‘ac they are caught out in the open, blinding them as they -/- their way home, killing the stock which stands huddled in groups for warmth. Plainsmen who have survived a real “blizzard” laugh at the molly-coddle fashion withcjvhich little-snow squalls are given that title of terror by eastern people.—<-Washington Usual Way Wanted. / As the train neared the city the col ‘ >. ored porter approached the joviak/ faced gentlemanf saying, with a smiKj: “SbalP Ah brush yo’ off, sah?” “No,” he replied; “J prefer to get off in the usual manner.” —Princeton Tiger. .

Hood’s Sarsaparilla Cures all blood humors, all eruptions, clears the complexion, creates an appetite,, aids digestion!, relieves that tired feeling, gives figor and vim. Get it today. In usual liquid cr chocolated tablets known as Sarsatabjs. 100 Doses sl. W«» Greedy. Helen, aged 6, was telling Mary,! aged 7, of her plans for the future. “I’m go-' Ing to be married,” she announced, “and have eighteen children.” I“O!” gasped sfary, her eyes wide 1 with amazement, “you mercenary wretch!” —Cleveland Leader. “CUT THiS OUT _ J . And mail to the A. H. Lewis Meftieine 00., St. Louis, Mo., and they Will; send vou free a 10 day treatment ofi NA-, CUBE’S REMEDY (NR tablets.) Guaranteed for Rheumatism, Constipation. Sick Headache, Liver, Kidney amV Blood Diseases. Sold by all Druggists. Better than Pills for Liver Ills). It’js free to you. Write today. , The blind population of the world numbers sixty-four out of evgrjf million. , Do vottr clothes look yellow? It feo use Suss bleaching. blue. It will maW them White as snow. All grocers liOc. Protracted. “Hello, Barker!” said Smitkin,meet1 Ing his friend dn the street. “How goes it?” “All right, I guess.” said Barker. “Seen Bobbie Sponger lately?!’ “Yes; Bobbie is down at my place at Westhampton nbw. I invited him down for the week end ” “Why, I thought 4hat was | Mieeks ago!” “It was.” said Barker, “but. you know, Bobbie is'an expert at nfiaking both ends meet.”—Harper’s Wejekly. jagWfijs® WESTERN CANADA Senator Dolliver, of lowa, £The stream of emigrants from tho United States Canada will continue.” Dolliver recently .paid a I-. V-M&t jhljlnw _ V^sifc to Western Canada, snyst “Thiere 'is a s L1 a n d h u n per i n t h e hea rta S *■ Ih 1 s ing peoI EM pie; this will account for S 8 * the removal of ;so many II 8 * * A lowa farmers to: Canada. H . Our people aroi pleased < g with its Governmeht and the excellent PS Jwfi tra ti°n of law, and they W aro coming to you in ‘5 L- c teu9 thousaiias. and they are still comim?.” low.icor.tribtt&d lureejj, I _ Jy to tho 7O,O<K)i A rue riS 1 ran fanners who madejCamuhib°nie duringj 1009. I' ieldl crop returns alone 4?) J <Diri tiff year added tothewealth of thocountry upwards of Grain growing, mixed fnrm•S tag. cattle raising mid dairying JY $ are all profitable. Freeliomesteads of ItiO acres ace to bo ■fe ' had in tlie’very best districts, ICO acre pre-emptions at $3.00 Per acre within certain areas. Schools and churches in every w settlement, climate unexcelled, soil the richest, wood, water and ,-vjl building material pleutjifiil. For particularsnstolociiiion. low - st> J'flSN settlers’ railway rates andidescrip- « ‘I tivo illustrated .pamphlet. “Last 'aSvxJr I h'' st West,” and other J nformaJ tion, write to Sup’t of Immigration, Ottawa, Canada, or to the following Canadian Gov't Agents: W. IIJ Rogers, 3d Floor Traction-Terminal Building. Indtanat»>lis, Ind., and H. M. Williams;, Room SO. Law Building, Toledo, Ohio. (Use address nearest you).] i Please say where you saw this advertisement. DyTort Wayne List i W. C DOUGLAS r SHOES »5, «4, <3.50, »3, <2.50 & «2 THE STANDARD S-' FdR 30 YEARS. r Millions of men vrear W. L. Douglas shoes because they.arethe low- fejthwl' est prices, qJßity considered, in the world, t ' / 'S’ « ' Made upon honor.of the 6//S; \ Fwf best leathers, by the '■'sKjJy' l /•- J-V most skilled- workmen, in all the latest fashions. z n W. L. Douglas $5.00 X/ .. I and $4.00 shoes equal A /X Custom Bench Work x /i costing $6.00 to SB.OO. y. / • Boys’Shoes,s3,f2.so<&s2 ilf W. L. Douglas guarantees their value by stamping S—his name and price on the bottom. Look for it. Take N«r Substitute. Fast Coldr Eveleth A»k your dealer for W. L Douglas shoes. 1-j not forsaleinyour town writefor MailOnierCataJog.show. ing how to order by mail. Shoes ordered direct from factory delivered free. W.L.Douglaß, Brockton, Mass. FOR DESSERT TO-DAY. Deliciously Flavored JELLYCQN The Perfect Jelly Dessert. FRF Ff BEAUTIFUL ALUMINUM JELLY A’OLDS. The offer Is fully explained on lOc.rackage. the circular in every package. Sold By All Grocer*. KB S* C PAY ,F GORED Ja HIKE RKD (.ROSS Fil» and Fistula Cure. REA CO., DEPT. 85, MINNEAPOLIS, MINN. PAST CARDS Os Ocean, Seashore, Board Walk and Bathing Scenes as Atlantic City. Printcd in natural colors. All new. Teh for 10 cents, stamps or silver. The Calvert Co M 123 So. Virginia Ave.. Atlantic City, N. J. OPPORTUNITIES—Louisiana Plantations sis4o $35 acre. Hardwood Timber Lands. $8 to sl4 acre. E. J. Hamley & Son, Lake Providence, Louisiana. JADIES Can .make $2 to $5 a day selling Bordeaux Pocket Moistener for all gummed surfaces. 25c for sample. Write today. ' Joliet Office Supply Co.. Joliet, 111. i. E. INISSISSIPPI S2V an acre buys 2080 acres good hill land. Ten payments, fine Stock or Fruit Lands. Ike Chase, Moscow, Tenn.