The Syracuse Journal, Volume 19, Number 25, Syracuse, Kosciusko County, 21 October 1926 — Page 7

i: YoMi/l j | •: West: ° o o k’j Will Irwin <> 41 o > Copyrtght by Win Irwla < » u WXU Service 4 )

CHAPTER Xlll—Continued —l7— • “Then I came seventeen, and was going to finish next year—music and needlework and Latin and French and ridinc and dancing and deportment, end nothing whatever about life. I hadn’t even read a novel, except surreptitiously. I wasn't a little girl any longer, of course. I had become a woman. That's the period. I suppose, when every girl ought to be locked up for a while. Probably the French are right. And of course with me —the one thing I never had was love. “He was the first—Martin. He came to the seminary about a piece of land they were buying for a new building. You have seen him. He is bonny yet. Hut that was five years ago. I never thought of my Ideal lover of nights after that—only him. Miss Gorham had to go to look for some papers. I was left alone with him for half an hour. Before she came back It had gone pretty far. I bad promised to write to him. He had arranged to put Liter* to me under a boundary stone on the new property. 1 wrote to him ♦very night. And I saw him three times A girl In love can manage that, you know. No one ever suspected me. I always seemed. I suppoee. like an obedient little thing. Hi a letters were wonderful. That isn’t Just glamour. 1 read them over again Just before I came W est. He truly loved me. There were other considerations. I’ll tell about them later. But he loved me. “And we eloped. 1 proposed It. 1 just walked away from the school one night after supper and met him. We took the train to Newport together ami were married. He had arranged everything. It had to be arranged. I lied, of course, about my age." “It all got into the papers. Probably the marriage could have been annulled. But father did nothing about that. I supjxme my stepmother was only too glad to get rid of me for good, 1 wrote to father. He answered with a dreadful letter. Martin Jleane tried to see him. and couldn't. Martin whs piqued. You see, father was rich. And well. I have said that Martin's motives were all mixed up. But tie loved me. He truly did. You see. if he hadn't loved me. he wouldn’t have married me. I was so young and in«x|>erieuced he could have fooled me. easily enough. . “And 1 loved him. but only tn one way I didn't know that then. Ido remember watching him one day from the front window as be walked down the street, and feeling that there was something lacking—but just for a minute. I didn't know for a long time —I was so young and inexperienced—about tthe condition of his business. He was In real estate, as Tve told you. We lived very prettily, ( wasn't much taken with the business friends he brought home to sup|»er; as I look back now, 1 think of them alt as a little unclean spiritually. Nor their wives. I was hungry for my own kind of women. . . . "He used to talk to me. of course, about his business. But 1 was like a nun. for all of the world. A mure experienced woman would have understood much sooner—that It was ail wrong—every bit of it wrong. Then be was arrested. It was all a very bad piece of business The papers were full of it. We gave up our house. We moved Into a furnished room. He was tried finally—and acquitted. Mostly, he'd been Just within the law But he hadn’t done right, nevertheless; and everyone knew it. He took It hard, of course. He was—rebellious. We quarreled, too. But I made him understand that It was wrong. “Troubles came all together. My father died. I went to him at the last —my stepmother could not prevent I wont—l can't now—tell yon all- about that. But 1 knew that he loved me; and that if I hadn't made a wrongheaded little fool of myself by eloping with Martin Deane—we’d have found away tn spite of my stepmother. Then I was very lll—typhoid fever. I nearly died. Martin stayed by. My father had made a codicil to bls will a month before his death. He left me ten thousand dollars. Some of that waa needed to pay our debts. . . . "When 1 was better Martin and 1 alked it all over. There waa no use of staying In Providence. He wanted to go West and start again—honestly. I gave him half of my money. He was to get settled and send for me. I wasn't in condition to travel. I got my strength back very slowly. I had much time to myself—l was very, very lonely. And I suppose when you're In such a state as I was then, and have been so near death—you see things more clearly. I had been greatly to blame. I ran away with him In the beginning as much to spite my stepmother as for any other reason. I didn't really love him as I might have loved—a good man. But 1 loved him enough. He'd never once been harsh or cruel to me. That's a great deal. Isn't it? And I could show him the right way- I’d prove that. He had never grown up. on one side of him. and never would. He didn't see right and wrong dearly—just as a little boy doesn't. I won’t pretend to you, Robert. that I didn't have moments when J was tempted to leave him. But 1 knew that If I did I could never be happy., I should always be thinking of him out tn the world. with no one to take care of—of his soul. That’s what It comes down to, Robert Saving his soul. At bottom, you know. I’m religious. . . ." She paused: her eye*. great and wander with shadow of old suffering.

clutched mine and seemed to p.ead for approval. I could not withhold It. T see you believe all this, Constance." I said. "It was my job. My job for life. He went to summer. He wrote now and then. II wrote constantly. He was doing well, he said. Business. He wasn t definite about the moved to Denver. I addressed him through the general delivery. I wrote that I was coming to him in the spring. He advised me to wait awhile. Said he wasn’t quite settled. But I knew the longer I wafted the harder It would be. In the spring I started. I wrote to say when I would arrive. He wasn’t waiting at the station. . . . “One of Martin’s notes to me was on the letterhead of the Canyon house in Denver. It’s a hotel down by the railroad atatlon. Not a very pleasant place. He had gone to Cottonwood a month before. I asked the clerk what Maxell had done for a living in Denver. He evaded that. “So I started for Cottonwood. You kn<>w the rest —" Constance dropped her eyes to her clasped hands. “I couldn't have said all this to you If I hadn’t been through—what happened today. Even If things had gone —happily—if that had been possible— I would have been a long time bringing myself—to say this. But when I looked at you first —I knew. 1 knew you were everything I had ever loved In Martin I>eane and. oh, all I was hungry for! To see you every day—and know you loved me—and'to go to bed early—to think of you. But It was wrong. It was where I very nearly failed—" I burst out here: “You mustn’t say that! I went out to capture your husband last night because I was jealous—” "poor Robert! I.had given you much provocation!" was all she said to that. “And then—l found him. I was riding up the trail to Forty-Rod. He cifuie out of the pines. He was riding 'h black horse. Os course he was astonished. And yet he was glad. He —I felt he still loved me. In spite of the way he’d kept me in the East. That was the main thing. Robert. Not that I wanted him to love me—with you in the world But so long as he loved me—there was a chance. He was mining above Forty-Rod. They expected to strike It soon, he said. Three weeks would tell the story. Then he’d come down to me. And we’d go way together, if 1 wanted to go away. And I did. It hurt, but I •lid. I was afraid—with you. in Cotton wood. Robert. I asked to go up and stay with him at Forty-Rod. But he wouldn’t have that. He said the place was too rough. He asked me not to tell anyone, for the present, that I had a husband here. Just let things stand as they were—for three weeks 1 saftf: Martin, you've gone wrong again !' He laughed and said: •Not very.’ “And I came home, and did let things as they were. It was only three weeks, after all. And I would see you—and then no more. “Last night he came to the tent. Clhne. he said, just because he wanted to see me. He had been drinking. That Isn’t one of. his vices, usually. He said that things were Agoing wonderfully. He'd be ready th two or three days to take me away. 1 made him promise to go straight back to the claim. I wanted to go with him to his horse. He objected to that. But he promised—" "Ami broke his promise !" l Interpolated hotly. “I think he intended, to. nevertheless. Mrs. Barnaby told me this morning—about the robbery and the vigilance committee. She’s the only person I’ve ever taken Into my confidence, and she not very far. Probably she's guessed some of the rest. I found they’d killed three men at Forty-Rod, and had two In Jail—to hang. I went to the jail. Through the side window I saw Martin. I apj»eaied to you. And you saved me. That’s all. I think." Her shoulders, held so proudly erect, drooped now, “No, it? wasn’t all," I said. "Haven't you had enough, Constance? You surely don’t hope—" Her eyes lifted somberly to mine as she interrupted: "I'm not thinking of hope. There is very little hope perhaps—now. All I know Is that I am still the one chance he has. And that I still have a hold. 1 must follow him—try to find film. And when I find him—of course that isn’t pleasant to contemplate. My money is nearly gone. I shall be poor. Perhaps—he will go to jail. And I shall be a convict’s wife. But. Robert, what would you think of a woman who abandoned her child just because it was Idiotic or crippled or vicious? Pd be do'ng the same thing. More. If I should get a common divorce and marry you. it would be to me as though we had conspired to kill him to get him out of the way." Her eyes, until now so dry and solemnly thoughtful, welled for an instant with tears. But she checked them as by effort of the will. “It Is your soul I have been living all this time, Constance," I said, “and 1 cannot deny your soul. I think you will fall, because I think you are trying ' something which cannot succeed. And then I will come to yon again. For I shall pever love anyone eiae. He may hawyou. but you are always mine." \ "YroMtobert. always!" she said. “YX»u mnsijprouffse me that if the time\eomes when I may help cleanly—you wHI let me.” “I pAmtiae. What are you going to do. RolwtF “I shall stay here and face it —If there Is anything to face," I said. "I am a rich Ibaft. yon know. Constance," I added. "I don’t mean my mining property—but I never have to think of money. I could go East and put this behind me. But I want to face it Because I’ll be nearer you. And because you—because I can’t let you be any stronger than I." She nodded stowlf, solemnly. “That’s good.” she said. “Not the part about me—but about you. It is you as Fd like you to be." Then she smiled. almost like her old self In her merry moods. “Can’t we forget this morning—(or * moment? And oh. Robert, you are so tired! You've tmd a dreadful, dreadful night and day! You must sleep now."

“Sleep!" I said. “When 1 have a few hours with you and may not see you for years!” But even as I spoke, a rush of inner drowsiness made insincere my words. Constance looked outside. The tentflaps gaped wide, making visible this rude apartment to all the world. "This camp doubtless thinks about as scandalously of you and me as it can,” she said. “Look. Robert —I'm going to make you lie down on my bed.” Had I been myself. I should have protested. As it was. I yielded like a sleepy child. She wet a towel, washed my face. Shy loosened my collar. Her touch, which normally roused every fiber in mt, was now heavenly soothing. She held my shoulders as I stretched out my aching muscles on the white sheet-counterpane; she knelt beside me, holding and patting my hand. Once she looked swiftly out of doors, then bent and kissed my forehead. I raised my other hand to embrace her, but she put it gently back. ... I was gone. . .. . • •••••• A light shnne in my face. I sprang up sitting. Twilight without. Mrs. Barnaby shading an oil lamp with her hand. "Seven o’clock!” said Mrs. Barnaby. “Your boss has been lookin' over the hull camp for you. Says he’s wanted at town meetin' and you’ve got to get out the paper, though why it should get out —” “Where's Constance —Mrs. Deane?" I asfted. “Her? Oh. she took the two o'clock stage to Denver. Didn’t she tell she was goin’ to?” CHAPTER XIV My decision to stay at Cottonwood and face It all down proved ridiculously more easy than I thought when I matched nobilities with Constance. Disgrace is a coward: It retreats before a bold front. The Indifferent world tn the end always takes toward It the attitude that you take yourself. Nor. Indeed, did Cottonwood probably think me disgraced. They gossiped, of course; I had for a long time an uncomfortable sense that groups had pointed me out when I passed. But to my face men showed only cordiality—sometimes a trifle overdone, and more galling than public reproach. Even that had passed. A mining camp runs with bewildering speed its course from birth to senile decay. Twenty years of Europe! In a month Cottonwood lived a cycle of Cathay. Before August blew the petals from WL w Constance Dropped Her Eyes to Her Clasped Hands. the white columbines, decked the forests with their flaunting sisters in red and yellow, we had become a new entity. Events a few weeks before were as ancient history as though they had happened to my grandfather. Constance wrote from Denver. On the surface this was merely a friendly letter such as any married woman might address to a young man who had rendered her service. Yet the intention shines through the written expression ; and as by an arrangement of words too subtle for analysis I knew that Constance Dean? had not changed toward me. never would change. She had found Martin Deane; had seen him on«'e. “But he thinks It better, considering his position, that we should not be together for' the present—alt her here or .traveling." she wn»te. In all I had six letters from her that autumn —I have them yet. After that she did not refer again even to Martin Deane; only the fourth said: "If there is any change in my situation I shall let you know at once." Meantime I had resumed my regular comspondence with much neglected of late. Into it I poured something of the soul and fervor with which I would have liked to infuse my letters to Constance. The shrewd eye of motherhood seemed dimly and uneasily to perceive the meaning behind this change; her commonplaces about Cohasset were sprinkled with hints that I must have had enough of the West. By November, indeed, she advised me openly to come home, at least for the winter. T want to look you over. Robert!” she wrote. Foor mother—l thought—if she only knew! And I speculated on happiness, as one will In the depths of jnisery. imagining her In the capacity of mother-in-law. if 1 had met Constance in ordinary happy circumstances, wooed her serenely and according to the normal pattern of courting in mother’s time and place. I had no doubt but they would have got on wonderfully. They were just like enough, just different enough. The souls of both were built on a solid structure of honor. Both—to use a word much degenerate In meaning since the days of my youth—were ladies. Both had enormous capacities for friendship with women. And the good-humored candor of Constance would be a foil for mother’s peppery wit. As it was—well, mother boasted that her set in Cohasset had tv*ver known divorce or scandal. If ever life opened again for me I must eome to Constance across events beyond comprehension of mother’s circle. And stili 1 had fhlth that Constance

THE SYRACUSE JOURNAL

would overcome all th.s-she was Constance. At the end of these meditations I would pull myself up and realise that I had been dreamlhg, as a prisoner for life dreams of mountains and seas and green fields. As the camp boomed, so did the Courier. We were publishing six pages on Wednesdays and Sundays now; and our job-printing department, in spite of the increase in power, ran two weeks behind its orders. Just before the big snow Marcus wrote a week’s editorials in advance, packed his carpet bag. and took the stage to Denver, leaving me cocked up on the dixzy eminence of the editorial chair. There followed a period of hard work and trying but interesting responsibility. Marcus intended to be gone only a week; but the big snow came, blocking the passes. It was ten days. In fact, before he appeared at the office without the grace <»» warning by telegraph, walked in upon me the icicles hanging from his mustache. With scarcely a word of greeting or of news, he plunged into the business of supervising the night’s work. When the printers had an hour's copy ahead he said: "Get on your coat and come over to Huffaker’s—the private room. I've got a heap of things to spill about that Denver business; and I don’t want to tell ’em here.” We plodded over to Huffaker’s, silent perforce in the face of an artlc wind. He took off his buffalo coat, wanned his hands at the red-hot stove, before he began abruptly : “What I want to talk to you about Isn't business. It’s your girl.” “Is she—ls she well?" I asked. “Well, and reasonably happy, 1 guess," replied MafCW "Now you sit .down and keep your shirt on. I’ve got a lot to tell you.’’ He came over from the sfove, sat down at the table opposite me, turned on me a look more nearly tender than ever I had seen in his face. But his first words seemed remote from the subject. "You remember Mike the detective?" “Yes.” Marcus nodded. "Well, he’s no common detective. Fancy operative, and all that. When Mr. Taylor hired him, he had to sign a year’s contract Everything was rounded up long before anybody expected. And there was Mike, .eating his head off. So Mr. Taylor lent me Mike. Little testimonial of esteem for my work in stabilizing finance In this camp. “I set him to looking up this Martin Deane. For satisfaction of my own curiosity. And your peace of mind, boy. "How Mike went at it, I asked. But he has a special wire running down to every circle of crooks in the West. Since Deane, alias Maxwell, left here, he's- been hanging round various camps in range of Denver. He’s been telling Mrs. Deane, just as I told you. that he shouldn't go East with her for the present, because it isn’t safe for them to be seen together. Hasn't occurred to you, has It. that they might travel separately and just meet somewhere? It has occurred to Mrs. Deane—l guess—but I suspect she's been fooling herself. Anyhow. I was stringing you because I wanted him right here In the West. And he was stringing her because he wasn't alone in his wanderings. He had company. This man's West makes the good better and the bad worse, in my opinion. And does It sudden. Crooks always have queer spots of virtue In them. too. The marrying crook’s common; Like any other specimen of that species, he wants what he wants so hard that he doesn’t care how he gets It. But he has a whim for sanctifying his intentions <>n worn enfolks with holy matrimony. And. like most men. he’s capable of fancying two women at one and the same time. This Martin Deane, for example. Mike found 'em last month. He's been working since to Identify the signatures. And they’re authentic.” He spread out two documents on the table. An order of divorce. Martin Deane of Wyoming from Constance Deane of Rhode Island. Cause, desertion. Dated last February. A marriage <*ertlficate. Martin Deane of Wyoming to Lucy Baldwyn of Wyoming. Dated two days later—- “ Don’t let your emotions get away with you until I have told you the rest.” said Marcus. I gripped myself, and listened. "The divorce is right and it isn’t right. There's other camps In this West that need a clean-up. That"— he pointed at the date line on the papers—“is one of them. No lawyer Is needed to see that this divorce won’t hold water if the other party wants to fight. He hadn't lived long enough tn Wyoming to establish a legal residence. The court —on the Judge Cowan pattern, ••nly worse. I guess—has delicately refrained from inquir Ing into that. Other party wasn't notified either. If I was a man with any intention of marrying a lady in that fix. I’d wait until she got divorced proper ind legal on her own account. Mrs Deane says—" “You’ve seen her?” “Yes. Found an afternoon off to call. Me and Mike, and afterward me alone. She's plumb sick and tired of this Martin Deane at last. Wouldn't have the spirit of « squashed tar baby if she wasn't." I rose. "I'm going to Denver!" I said. “All right, give you a vacation If you want ft," responded Marcus with a beaming smile. "Only if I were you, on the way to iH’nver I'd glance for a moment into the lakes' parlor of this hotel. It’s fixed with Jim Huffaker ’hat you aren't to be disturbed if you want to loaf and linger there a little while." I flew down the corridor. Constance rose from the sofa; faced me. But as I sprang toward her. my arms outstretched. she stopped me with an uplifted hand. “Robert." she said—and her syllables dropped like honey—“l haven’t waited for you. I wanted to come to you—because you’ve been brave and because H happened here—and because you’ve suffered so much for me —and because I couldn’t wait—and now. Robert, my lover—if you want me—come the rest of the way—" [THE END.]

THE WORLD’S GREAT EVENTS ALBERT PAYSON TERHUNE 1. (© by Dodd. Mead & Company.) The Magna Charta AMAN lay writhing among the rushes and straw that covered the floor of his palace on the night of June 15, 1215. He was foaming at the mouth, biting the rushes to fragments and filling the spacious apartment with blasphemy and lamentations. The man was John, king of England. He had that day been forced to sign a document that cut down his own tyrannical powers and granted certain just rights to his people. How unwillingly he had affixed his signature was proven by the babyish rage he gave way to as soon as he reached his own abode. Nearly a century and a half had passed since the Norman conquest. Norman and Saxon were becoming blended Into one consolidated English race. It needed but a mutual grievance to make that blend complete. And the grievance was at hand. Richard, the "Lion Heart." descendant of the Conqueror and John’s predecessor as king of England, had passed most of his life in France. His courage and rou«h Integrity had made him a popular monarch, although he knew no word of English. He had done brilliant. If ineffective, work In the Crusades, and. on his way home, had been capture*! and thrown into an Austrian prison. John, his brother, had taken advantage of his absence to make an effort to seize the’English crown. Richard was the topical knight errant, the highest type of chivalry. John, on’ the contrary, was a coward and an all-around scoundrel. The nation raised money for Richard’s ransom and he returned home, only to be killed in battle soon after. Richard died without leaving any children. The natural heir to the throne was thus Prince Arthur, son of Richard's next youneer brother. .Geoffrey. But John threw Arthur into prison, had his eyes put out with hot irons and at last murdered him. thus securing the crown for himself. Having done so. he launched out on a career of tyranny, oppression and misrule worthy of Nero. But the people of England were not so submissive as had been those of Rome. They grumbled at John’s exactions and recalled with longing the fair and semi-soclal-istic laws that had aoverned England 'ln the good old Saxon days of Edward the Confessor. For by this time the many grave faults of the Saxon rule were forgotten and only Its virtues remembered. Yet in their discontent Norman baron and Saxon farmer were at one, the king and his tyranny being their common foe. The barons, representing alike the nobility and the people, drew up a modified sort of Declaration of Independence. This document they called the Magna Charta (grand charter). and they presented it to King John for signature. This charter was the keystone of Anglo-Saxon liberty, and was in a way the basls of many of our most important laws. Among, other things it put an end to unjust punishment and provided that every prisoner receive a fair trial by a jury of his peers. It also authorized resistance to arbitrary royal power and put law and th» will of the people ahead of the mere dictates of the king. Naturally John refused point-blank to sign a document that would cut his power In half and give justice to the plain people, whom he despised. But the barons were prepared for such a refusal. They rose in arms and intimidated the cowardly sovereign into granting the people their rights, and demanded that he sign the document. On June 15. 1215. John and the barons met at Rnnnymede. a little Island In the middle of a river. There the Magna Charta was read aloud to the king, while a circle of stern men, armed to the teeth and in no mood to listen to refusal, stood threateningly about him. The scared monarch signed the charter under this force and then rushed home in a paroxysm of impotent fury. Recovering his senses, he cast about, like a cornered rat. for some way to undo what he had done. A brilliant Idea came to him. Some time before, being frightened by a papal threat, he had become formally a liege servant to the pope. He now sent to the Vatican. explaining his 111 luck and begging for aid. In reply the Pope at once issued a decree declaring the Magna Charta null and void, and excommunicating all who should seek to uphold it. But the barons and people of England were too thoroughly aroused to be affected by even this command. They stood by the Magna Charta and prepared to defend tnvlr rights to the death. With a vast army of foreign mercenaries. John ravaged hts own kingdom in a mad effort to secure submlsaion to hte tyranny. In retaliation the barons declared he was no longer their king, and Invited Louis, king of France, to come and reign over them. The deadlock was broken by John's death. His Infant son. Henry 111. succeeded to the throne, and a new era of honest few slowly dawned, baaed on the charter's principles. To the courage and manhood of her barons and plain people England owes her rise to greatness. But for them B he might for centuries longer have wallowed in the slough of despoHsuf and oppression. Old Indian Cemetery Memories of old Indian burial grounds around Victoria harbor were stirred with the finding of two skulls and parts of other human remains tn a pocket of soil on the crest of Coffin island, connected by a footbridge with the land. Th® aborigines adopted the system of burying in trees as well «« in shallow earth mounds, the latter fenced in. Among burying grounds of the kind was that of Dead Man island, completely burned In 186a .

HIGHER THAN WOOLWORTH BUILDING Year’s Sales of Lydia E. Pinkham’s Vegetable Compound

■ ■ ■ ■ W ■ A MRS. ED. DAUGHERTY ISO* ORCHARD AVINUX. MU SC ATI NX. IOWA The Woolworth Building tn New York City, which towers 792 feet above the street, is the highest building in the United States. It all the bottles of Lydia E Pinkham’s Vegetable Compound sold in 1925 could be placed end to end. they would make a column as high as the Woolworth Building with enough left over to extend from Lynn, Massachusetts to Cleveland. Ohio. In many little villages as in many thriving cities along the route, who are glad to tell others about Lydia

Never Can Tell “She refuses to marry me.” * “Cm.” "Says it is final.” “Don’t count top much on that, young feller.” '

Children r , V-ryfor llr 1* ”4 yk - Fletcher’s \ki' Castoria is a pleasant, harmy Jess Substitute for Castor Oil, Paregoric, Teething Drops ' ii ' and Soothing Syrups, especially prepared for Infants in arms and Children all ages. To avoid imitations, always look for the signature pf p ro jj directions on each package. Physicians everywhere recommend it

The bee is little among such as fly; but her fruit is the chief of sweet things.—Apocrypha.

Aspirin SAY “BAYER ASPIRIN” and INSIST 1 Proved safe by millions and prescribed by physicians for Colds Headache Neuritis Lumbago Pain Neuralgia Toothache ’ Rheumatism | DOES NOT AFFECT THE HEART~| Accept only "Bayer” package W ZY TPs' which contains proven directions. > Handv “Bayer” boxes of 12 tablets J J Al <o bottles of 24 and 100—Druggists. A. trrf. m«t B«m M-mfsonw of of SUWUcacW

A woman just loves to quarrel with a man who Is not quarrelsome.

Eiii c ° nsti i ,ation! How to Keep ■rw® Bowels Regular DR. W. •. CALDWHL. AT TUB AAB OF •>

To Dr. W. B. Caldwell, of Monticello. 111., a practicing physician for 47 'years. It’seemed cruel that so many constipated men. women, children, and particularly old folks, had to be kept constantly “stirred up” and half sick by taking cathartic pills, tablets, salts, calomel and nasty oils. While he knew that constipation was the cause of nearly all headaches, biliousness, indigestion and stomach misery, he did not believe that a sickening "purge” or “physic” was necessary. In Dr. Caldwell’s Syrup Pepsin be discovered a laxative which helps to establish natural bowel “regularity” even for those chronically constipated. Dr. Caldwell’s Syrup Pepsin not only causes a gentle, easy bowel movement

E. Pinkham’s Vegetable Compound. In a recent letter, Mrs. Daugherty says, "I was ill for four months before I took your medicine. I found one of your books at my front door anA read it. It seemed to fit my case, so 1 began taking Lydia E. Pinkham’s Vegetable Compound, and after I took the third bottle, I found relief. lamon my eleventh bottle and I don’t have that trouble any more, and feel like a different woman. I recommend the Vegetable Compound to every one I see who has trouble like mine. I am willing to ataswer any letters from women asking about the Vegetable Compound."—Mbs. Ed. DaVohebtt, 1308 Orchard Avenue, lowa. Mrs. Carr Also Helped Muncie, Indiana.—“l could not get around to do my work. I took treatments and they did me no good. I had always heard of Lydia E. Pinkham’s medicine and I thought it would be like all the others, but I found out after I took half a bottle, as I have proved it wonderful. I am taking it yet and I can do all my work. I am feeling fine now, i and it Is your good medicines that have done it. I tell every woman • of the good I get from taking the Vegetable Compound and from using ■ the Sanative Wash."—Mbs. P. W. i Carb. 721 West Powers St, Muncie* i Indiana.

WE PAY YOU CASH gold i crowns, false teeth, old plates, diamonds, magneto pointe. BMEIKH GOLD KKFINING CO.. »6 Fifth ■ Are.. NBW TURK. Send goods now. References: I Chatham-Phenix Bank New York. Let any man speak long enough, he Will get believers. —Stevenson.

To see what is right and not to do it is want of courage, or of principle. —Confucius.

Men who shake hands the hardest are the hardest to shake.

but best of all. it never gripes, sickens. or upsets the system. Besides, it is absolutely harmless, ahd so pleasant that even a cross, feverish, bilious, sick child gladly takes it Buy a large 60-cent bottle at any store that sells medicine or write “Syrup Pepsin.” Monticello. Illinois, for a FREE SAMPLE BOTTLE and just see for yourself. Dr.CaldveU's SYRUP. PEPSIN