6
A BLOSSOM IN THE SOUL
Across an apple ripe, from out your store,
Cu' a thin transverse slice, through grain
and core,
Not quartering or ranging with the stem.
There, In the center, an artistic gem.
(Safe In that casket, guurded and concealed.
Held to the light, Is unto you revealed;
Perfect tn outline, though long hid In
gloom.
Is limned a perfect, shapely apple bloom;
The spirit of the blossom, from the past
Preserved within the apple's heart to last.
A seal and symbol, though thus veiled and
mute—
That blooms ara really souls of ripened
fruit.
That blossom once made fragrant far and
wide,
Like scented snow, but who thought It
would hide
Within this body as a secret shrine.
Perfect in form and in ghost-like outline.
Proof of the all-important, eladsome truth.
That old age may possess the hoart of
youth.
Men missed Its youthful presence, thought
It dead.
Watched for Its disappearance with vague
dread,
Long missed Its beauty, thought Its petals
gone,
Tet here, like some veiled nun, the flower
lived on.
Its fragrance sealed, Its beauteous petals
furled,
Retiring for a season from the world.
But all the while the body 'round It draped.
Was by God's law of beauty deftly shaped.
And all the rosy-cheeked, prosaic whole
Was thus perfected by a flower-like soul;
Bealed In its casket, of its life a part.
Printing a blossom on Its Inmost heart.
•Thus sleeps the music in the silent lute,
.Thus lives the blossom in the ripened fruit.
Thus may the human thought and human
tongue.
Take beauteous form from thoughts for
ever young;
Cray hairs and furrowed face Its outward
part,
But blooms of childhood in Its Inmost heart.
I. EDOAIt JONES.
| A CLEW BY WIRE I
> 5
Or, An Interrupted Current. 5:
' BY HOWARD M. YOST. §:
Copyright, 1896, by J. B. Llpplncott Co. 2;
CHAPTER VII.—CONTINUED.
"Have these mysteries any relation
to, or any connection with, the sealed
cellar?" Sonntag tinaly said.
"The woman said nothing about the
strange cvents'being located in any par
ticular place, and I did not think to ask
her," I replied. The old lawyer's ques
tion opened up a new train of thought.
Could it be possible that the strange
voice 1 had heard proceeded from the
sealed cellar?
"Ah! I suppose the women are su
perstitious and think the place is
haunted. Such ideas generally get
abroad about old, long vacated houses.
But you do not mind their talk?
You are not afraid of ghosts, are you?"
The old fellow's eyes twinkled merrily.
"Well I have never come across any
of those shadowy beings. I could tell
better after I met one. I hardly think
talk alone could frighten me," I replied,
somewhat shamefacedly, remembering
ihow nearly I had been unnerved the
.night before by my own reflection.
"I will be over some time to-morrow,
iand will see if anything can be done re
iffarding the mysterious cellar," Mr.
[fionntag said, as I rose to leave. "And
—pardon me for referring to the unfor
tunate affair —have you heard of any
Inew developments in the robbery case?"
"What!" I exclaimed, "you know of it
too ?"
"Certainly. I lived near Philadelphia
at the time and I read the papers," he
xeplied, smilingly.
"It seems I cannot escape hearing of
that terrible affair," I said, bitterly.
"At: bho loves you then."
•"And I acted the part of a fool, too, in
the matter. Instead of putting forth
every effort to find the perpetrators I
let the thing go; let others, who could
not possibly have had the interest in
the cuse that I had, undertake investi
gations. I am rightly served for my
supineness, for I have heard nothing
about it at all. I know what I knew
the morning of its occurrence, not a bit
more. Others have failed; I intend to
pee now what I can do."
"You intend going into the affair,
then?" he said, dryly.
"I do, with all the energy and re
source I am possessed of."
"Do you know how near you came
to being arrested for the crime?"
Bonntag asked.
"Why, yes. I know, of course, that
would have happened could anything
have been found against me."
"Well, there was enough to hold you,
on suspicion at least."
"Then why did you not arrest me?
I am sure 1 was willing. I courted a
trial."
"It was very seriously talked of
among the trustees. But the president
opposed it, for one," Sonntag said.
"Yes. I know he rea]ly believed me
innocent."
"But liis objection was not the strong
est influence which arose in your be
half," continued my agent. "The
strongest, most powerful opposition to
your arrest came from one whose influ
ence outweighs even the president's."
"One of the trustees?" 1 asked, eager
ly-
"Yes."
"You cannot mean —"
"Sylvester Morley," interrupted the
lawyer.
"Mr. Morley!" I exclaimed, joyfully.
For 1 knew, great as Sylvester Morley'*
influence was, there was one who wield
ed a greater, since she could influence
her father. Was it her sweet self that
had come to my aid through her
father? It would be happiness to know
this; but. then—why had she passed
me without a greeting?
My face must have told a whole story
to the shrewd old lawyer. When I
turned toward him again there was a
very grave expression on his face, and a
contemplative look about his sharp
eyes as he regarded me.
"You seem highly elated by this,"he
said.
"Oh, I am. What young man would
not feel highly honored in knowing
that a man of Mr. Morley's standing
had defended him?" I exclaimed.
The old fellow saw the blush which
spread over my face, however, and he
smiled as he replied: "I do not court
your confidence, but it is plain there is
some power behind Mr. Morley which
led that gentleman to defend you. Now.
believe me, Mr. Conway, I do not ask
for curiosity; there is a grave purpose
in the question I am about to ask you,"
he went on, as the smile died from his
face and what seemed to me to be deep
concern appeared instead. "The ques
tion is this: Are you nn especial friend
of Miss Morley's? Are you engaged to
marry her?"
"No. But, had the suspicion of the
robbery not fallen upon me, I probably
would have asked her to be my wife
long before now," I replied, rather won
dering at myself for telling this to the
old fellow 011 so short an acquaintance.
"Ah, she loves you, then?"
"That I cannot say. I believe she did
think very highly of me at one time;
but I promised not to hold any com
munication with her until my inno
cence was known. It is a year since
then. Whether her feeling for me has
changed or not I do not know."
"You hava kept your promise, then?"
"Why, certainly!" I answered, with
some indignation at the implied doubt
of me.
"Now about the investigation you de
sire to engage in," Sonntag said,
changing the subject rather abruptly.
"What do you propose to do? How go
about it?"
"Oh, hire some smart detective," I
replied. "I suppose that will be the
only way. What else can I do?"
"Do you think the bank officials have
done nothing? Do you think you could
find any shrewder detectives than have
undoubtedly been working on the case?
If the bank with all its tremendous re
sources has not succeeded in running
the robbers down, how can you expect
to succeed when your limited means
would make your search merely a
superficial one?"
"But, heavens, man! what am I to do?
Carry this load to the grave? Why, Mr.
Sonntag, this suspicion of me, you can
not imagine what a horrible thing it is,
how it darkens my life!" I exclaimed,
in bitterness of spirit, as I realized how
hopeless my case seemed.
"You have been patient so long\inder
your trouble, a little more endurance
will not hurt you," Sonntag said, in
answer to my despairing words.
"You'll come out of it all with fly
ing colors some day. Now it may not
look so to you, but to me it appears
that you have done a great deal your
self, in the investigations which no
doubt are still in progress."
"How can that loe? I have done noth
ing."
"And that is exactly what I mean.
That very course seems to me to be a
great feature in the search, though
you cannot see it in that light." Sonn
tag smiled in a knowing way.
"In what respect lias my supineness
aided the case?" I asked, curiously.
"By allowing the real perpetrators of
the crime to feel secure in their posi
tion, knowing as they probably do that
you are still the only suspected party."
I was much impressed by the old fel
low's words.
"You ought to have been a detective,"
I remarked, at which he turned his
sharp glance toward me and answered:
"Yes, I might have done something
in that line. But I prefer a quiet life."
Sonntag followed me out to the bug
gy. 1 took up the lines, but a thought
occurred to me, and I delayed my de
parture to voice it.
"Do you know Mr. Morley?" I asked.
"No, I do not," was Sonntag's answer.
"Then where did you get your in
formation about that gentleman's de
fense of me?"
"Oh, such news gets out sometimes.
Still, I don't mind telling you. It was
from Horace Jackson I received the in
formation."
"From Jackson!" I exclaimed, in sur
prise. "You know Jackson, then?"
"Yes; merely a speaking acquain
tance, though. He comes here quite
frequently."
"llow can he get away from the
bank?" I asked.
"He is not employed there now.
Jackson has become quite wealthy, at
least so he himself says. He has made
some big strikes speculating in coal
lands. He said he could not afford to
devote his time to the bank for a paltry
salary when his interests outside had
grown so important. So he left about
live or six months ago."
"Then he did finally fulfill his threat
of leaving," I remarked. "He was al
ways talking about leaving," 7. con
tinued, in explanation. "As he still
held onto his position notwithstand
ing, it got to be a standing joke in the
office about Jackson quitting the job."
| "Ah, indeed? He seemed, then, to
I desire that every one of his associates
CAMERON COUNTY PRESS, THURSDAY, APRIL 14. 1898.
might expect his leaving nt any time?"
remarked the lawyer, with a signifi
cance I could not then account for.
"I suppose so, or he would not have
reiterated his intention so frequently.
And he's become rich? No wonder.
He told me once he was interested with
Mr. Morley in a few business ventures.
Well, he's lucky. You'll foe over, then,
to-morrow ?"
"Yes. Good-day."
CHAPTER Yin.
When I again passed the depot at
Sidington on my way home, there was
a lady on horseback talking to the
agent.
It needed no second glance to tell me
it was Florence Morley. Her face was
turned toward the fellow, and so she
did not see me. I drove along slowly,
keeping my eyes upon her, and debat
ing in my mind whether I should stop
and address her or not
It was a strong temptation, and only
fear held me back, a cowardly fear too.
I doubted how my overtures might be
received. I had chosen my course of
my own accord and I would follow it.
If it was contrary to her wish she
would find a way to tell me.
After passing the station I
my horse to continue at a walk, so that
"Ai d what did you auiwerP"
Florence must catch up with me if she
intended to ride to her home from Sid
ington.
The resolve to stick to my promise
was growing weaker since Sarah's com
ment upon it. A word from Florence, I
knew, would cause me to break it, and
I really was impatient for that word.
Soon the sound of approaching hoofs
beating the hard road reached me.
Nearer it came and nearer, until finally
I caught a glimpse, out of the corner
of my eye, of a swaying petticoat.
She pulled in her horse to a walk,
and then I turned my head and glanced
at her. My heart was in my throat
when I looked, but the smile that greet
ed me dispelled my fears like mist be
fore the morning sun.
But the smile was not all that told
me of her emotion at again meeting me.
The deep brown eyes were suffused
with tears. With my own heart leaping
for joy, I reinea my horse to a stand
still. In an instant I was at her side.
She extended her hand, and with my
assistance sprang lightly to the ground.
I took her horse's bridle over my arm
and, with the disengaged hand, helped
her climb into the buggy.
"Tie the horse to the back axle, then
come here beside me," were the first
words she said. 1 lost no time in obev
ing.
Imagine, if you please, the over
whelming joy to be seated once more
beside her who held my whole heart in
her keeping.
I could not trust myself to speak, and
it was she who (began.
"Are you not pleased to see me once
more, Mr. Conway? Because if you are
r.ot, I certainly will not tell you how
happy I am in again meeting an old
friend."
The soft, sweet tones of her voice,
which I loved so to hear,- now a
tremble to them. 1 glanced at her, and
—well, Florence was still my true heart,
as she had been throughout, notwith
standing my doubt and fear.
"The past year has been an eternity
to me," I finally said.
"And who is to blame for that, I won
der? And, too, when was the mystery
cleared up, since you are now speaking
to me?" she said, with a joyous laugh,
which told me as plainly as words
could how she had missed me.
"It is not cleared up; sometimes I
think it never will be. I could not have
found fault with you had 3 - ou forgotten
me. Will you forgive me when I con
fess I was fearful you had?"
"No. Ido not think I can quite for
give that. What reason had you for
mistrusting me?" she earnestly asked.
"You passed me this morning, you
know, without bowing."
"I was so startled, and we had gone
by before I realized that it was you
who were standing there. That was
a slight cause for mistrusting me, sir."
"It was and I am very sorry. Indeed,
I have been a fool right through the
whole affair. I see it now. I had no
right to make such a promise."
"Well, I do not think you were a
fool. But, forgive me, that promise was
a foolish one, and —and just a trifle un
kind." The tears again started in her
eyes, and her voice took on the tremble
which went so appealingly to my heart.
"Never again will I be so foolish!" I
exclaimed. "I will see your father and
tell him I have broken my promise, that
it was impossible to keep it, and that it
its simply absurd to subject us to the
misery of a longer separation. Ma - I
tell him that? May I speak for both of
us?"
She hung her head, while the red
flush spread over her face. Then she
murmured: "Yes, speak for Ibotli of
us. Why not, since it is true? Perhaps
you'll find father has changed his views
a trifle."
"Not in hie opinion of my innocence,
I hope," I said. "I have been told he
strongly objected to rny arrest. And
I know whose influence caused him to
do so."
"Not mine, really," Florence earnest
ly replied. "Father believed you were
innocent, and took the stand he did
for that reason. I did not know about
the robbery until after the first meet
ing of the trustees. It was at that
meeting' that he opposed your arrest.
I remember he felt quite triumphant
afterward, for most of the trustees in
sisted upon your immediate arrest, and
it was only after father said that he
won Id never consent to it that they gave
up the point."
"Now that is pleasant to hear," 1
cried, joyfully. "What reason have you
to think he has changed his views re
garding the promise?"
"This morning, after we had passed
you, I said: 'That looked like Nelson
Conway.' Father laughed at me, and
answered that it must have been an
hallucination produced by constantly
keeping my thoughts upon you."
It is impossible to describe the fasci
nation of Florence's manner when she
told me this—how maidenly basliful
ness blended with love's boldness, how
the blushes dyed her smooth cheek,
while her eyes shone with a confident,
happy light.
"Then at lunch this noon father
asked me if I —l liked you as much as
ever. 'Liked' was not the word he
used, but never mind, we'll use it now."
"And what did you answer?" I asked,
eagerly and expectantly.
"That not a day went by that I did
not think of you. And oh. Nelson," she
continued, her voice deep and full in its
earnestness, "that was not half the
truth. Why should I hesitate to con
fess it to you, my dear friend?"
Here I made use of my disengaged
arm. I could not help it. I drew her
closely to me and kissed'her blooming
cheek.
"I certainly shell not goon if I am in
terrupted," Florence said, in gentle re
monstrance.
"What did you* father say in an
swer?" 1 finally asked.
"lie said he thought perhaps it was
unjust to both of us> to insist on your
keeping the promise/'
"Did he say that?" 1 exclaimed. "Then
Florence—" but really It is enough tosay
that the dear girl promised to be my
wife, even though the ttuspicion should
not be removed from me, providing Mr.
Morley's consent could be gained; and
she moreover promised to do all she
could to help me gain his consent.
[TO BE CONTINUED.]
ACQUITTED BY THE CROWD.
How ft Leadville Juilftf Dodged to
Mnkr Voted.
Twenty years ago Powers was an. en
gine wiper In the shops at Burnham.
Hut, losing an arm in a railroad wreck,
he was obliged to use his head more anil
his limbs less in the business of mak
ing a living for himself and little, fam
ily. Drifting into Leadville with th<»
first tide of fortune hunters. Powers re
mained there as long as he could con
sistently and until the sheriff took him
down to Canyon City to live perma
nently, that being considered a health
ier climate for a. man of his tempera
ment (he had shot and killed his son-in
law, Pat Kennedy, in a friendly go-as
you-please with Colt's revolvers). But
Powers was not nearly so vicious as he
looked, and during all of the years that
I knew him he had never once killed a
man-—a pretty good record for that
vicinity. He was always a potent po
litical factor, and filled various posi
tions of honor and responsibility, from
justice of the peace up to policeman
and janitor of the courthouse and super
intendent of the chain gang. While
dealing out justice in tiie old citfy jail,
a Missourian was brought before him
for a preliminary hearing upon the
charge of horse stealing. That was
ranked as a capital offense in Leadville
in those days, punishable with death.
Hut the cuinrit was from Joplin, and
had many friends in the camp, albeit
the court was crowded with them, all
determined, as every fiue Missourian
is, to see justice dome. In the midst of
the proceedings a stentorian voice was
heard in the rear of the room, shouting:
"I move, your honor, that the pris
oner be discharged!"
That was all Powers wanted. Tocon
viet the Missourian would have been
fatal to his hopes of a reelection, and
without waiting for a second to the
proposition he put the motion to the:
house and declared it carried unani
mously, which it was. The court then
adjourned to Johnny Shea's, where the
friends of tlio vindicated man did the
hand-some thing by the judge, the clerk
and all of the bystanders.—Denver
Times.
Gentlemen IA Court.
At an assize court the late Justice
Maule was engaged in passing sen
tence on a prisoner, when one of the
officers of the court annoyed him by
crossing the gangway beneath him
with papers for members of the bar.
"Don't you know," cried the judge, se
verely addressing the official culprit,
"that you ought never to pass between
two gentlemen when one of them is
addressing the other?" Having thus
relieved his mind, the judge proceeded
to pass sentence of seven year's' penal
servitude on the other gentleman.—
Household Words.
Hnrd to Plonne.
The Mm x people are very plain
spoken. Hall Caine, who ia their ac
knowledged historian, tells a good story
of a grumpy old Methodist woman in
the Isle of Man who could never be sat
isfied with her preachers. of them,
being about to Wave, called to say good
by. "Well, good-by," she said, "and
God bless ye, and may the Lord send a
better man in your place." Next day
his successor came to see her. "Well,
I hope the Lord has sent a good man,"
she said, "but there's none so good that
comes as them that goes."—Troy Times,
-—Every time a woman cleans hotis>"
she finds a lot of things she had forgot
tern about.—Washington Democrat.
FASHION FAVORITES.
Varloti* >!«»«!♦•* for tlie l.ittll*** Tliul
lluvc* 4 uuulit tin* Popu
lar Fancy.
Parisians have not yet tired of the
combination of red and gray and a
biuck skirt. In the autumn it was a
hat of red straw, adorned with red
tulle, poppies and a few black plumes
or wings, and the boa of gray "ostrich
feathers was a necessary finish to the
costume worn with it. Now there is a
cape or eoat of gray astrakhan, or gray
faeed cloth, elaborately braided and
tiimmed with gray fur, a black skirt
and red felt hat, with black plumes.
Light-weight white woolen dress fab
r'es in fancy weaves are used for
debutantes' afternoon and evening
g"V\ lis.
Russian fronts of pearl and white
satin are seen in many blouse jackets
.:nd evening gowns.
Sailor suits for boys grow 110 less in
popular favor, and the only changes are
in the modes of decoration and acces
sories. An acceptable change can be
made by having two vests, one cheviot
and one of white pique. The wide collar
is cut in sailor fashion in the back,
while the front forms re vers, edged
and held together by a silken cord.
Sets of collar and revers can be bought
in many different styles of silk, wash
materials or fancy cloths trimmed with
braid or embroidery. If a little lad's
knickerbockers are not out at the knees
nor his jacket worn through at the el
bows such a "set" will make his suit
appear dressy and fresh.
Skirts and blouses of Maderia work
are being mounted on colored silk foun
dations and are to be worn with silk
skirts. The effect is smart, and the
fa .hion will probably extend through
tl.e warm season.
Foreign fashion leaders are wearing
large c| uantities of expensive passemen
teries, consequently it is a foregone con
clusion that the women of this country
will adorn their spring con feet ions wi: h
j< is. beads and sequins.
Overskirts. or the effect of overskirts,
are one of the leading skirt modes for
the spring. The simulated polonaise
formed of trimming looks well in black
velvet ribbon. A black grosgrain,
garnitured in this way, has three rows
of black velvet upon each side of the
front breadth, in graduated stripes, the
first ending about six inches from the
waistline with a rosette; the third
still shorter, finished in a similar man
ner.
A rose-pink cashmere gown for after
noon shows a traced design in gilt
threads, and is finished with a mink
edging on skirt, revers, cuffs and collar.
—St. Louis Republic.
A RARE WOMAN.
Tilt* One (.rent Iti'imnn Why Maurice
Loved the l-'nlr Clnrliulu
Devotedly.
"Clorinda," said Maurice Fitzpatriek,
the proud young patrician from Peoria,
"I love you."
Miss Bull winkle, the beautiful daugh
ter of the millionaire butterscotch mak
er, staggered back as if she had been
struck."
"No, no!" s'he cried, "surely you don't
mean it!"
"Yes," Maurice replied, "it is, alas, too
true!"
Clorinda Bullwinkle sat down and
looked at the flames that were flicker
ing up from the gas log. She was in
deep thought. For awhile it seemed as
if the shock would be t(;&mueh for her;
but little by little she recovered her
composure, ajid, turning to the hand
some young man, at last she asked:
"When did you find it out?"
He looked at his watch and replied:
"Just a little while ago. I have felt
symptoms of it for some time, but it
didn't break out until this evening.
Now I can doubt no longer. Clorinda, I
repeat in stentorian tones that 1 love
you."
"And," she returned, after another
thoughtful pause, "can 3011 explain
win-? You know lam a materialist. 1
do not accept facts as such. I must first
know the underly ing causes. It is not
sufficient for me that a bird flies. I
must know WII3- it flies. Am I too swift
for 3011, Maurice?"
"No, darling," he cried, falling upon
his knees in front of her, "the clip is
none too fast for me. I am in some
sense a bird tn3'self. I love you because
you are unlike all other women that I
have ever known."
"It glads 1113' heart," she said, "to hear
3"ou sa3" this; but still there is the old
proposition. You sa3' I am uniike all
the other women that 3-011 have ever
known; 3-et 3-011 do not tell me how or
why. Co 011."
"The explanation is eas3'," he said.
"You have not once explained what 3'ou
would do to the Spaniards now if 3011
were a man. Therein 3'ou.are unlike all
others of your sex."
"Maurice!" she cried, flinging herself
into his arms, "it is enough. Where
shall we goon our wedding trip?"—
Cleveland Leader.
Typhoid l'ntlent*.
As the result of long-continued and
careful experimenting, an eminent phy
sician prescribes as n food for typhoid
patients bananas hi their perfectly ripe
state. 111 severe cases of t3'phoid the
lining membrane of the small intestines
becomes irritated and inflamed, and
finally develops ulcers of various sorts,
which throw off coating after coating,
leaving the walls of the intestines dan
gerously thin. Solid food coming in
contact with these delicate spots pro
duce a rupture, with the most serious
results. The banana, which is almost
all nutrition, dissolves, and is largely
absorbed before it reaches the inflamed
part. The trifling residuum is so fine
and pulp-like that no harm comes from
it. For this reason, and because the
banana has but about five per cent, of
•-vaste, it is considered the very best
possible food for peaple suffering from
this t'ui'ui of disease. —N. • Ledger.
How'i TbiaT
(Ve offer One Hundred Dollar* Reward
for any rase of Catarrh that can not k*
cured by Hall's Catarrh Cure.
K. J. Cheney & Co., Prop*., Toledo, O.
We, the undersigned, hrve known F. J.
Cheney for the last 15 years, and believe
him perfectly honorable in all busineaa
transactions and financially able to carry
out any obligations made by their firm.
Y> est &, Truax, Wholesale Druggists, To
ledo, O.
\\ aiding, Kinnan & Marvin, Wholesale
Druggists, Toledo, Ohio.
llall s ( atarrh Cure is taken internally,
Ac'ing directly upon the blood and mucous
surfaces of the system. Price 75c. per bot
tle. Sold by all Druggist*. Testimonial
free.
Hall's Family Pills are the b*>st.
No Room for Donht,
Brown—ls he absent-minded?
Jones—Well, I should suv so! Why, I've
known him to lend his wheel! —Puck.
Slinke Into Your Slioei
Allen's Foot-Ease, a powder for the feet.
It cures painful, swollen, nervous, smarting
feet and instantly takes the sting out of
corns and bunions. It's the greatest comfort
discovery of the age. Allen'sFoot-Easemakea
tipht or new shoes feel easy. It is a certain
cure for sweating, callous and hot. tired, P.eh-
Ing feet. Try It to-day. Bold by all druecista
and shoe stores, 25c. Trial package THREE.
Address Allen S. Olmsted, Le Roy, N. Y.
Man was made to mourn, but he alwayt
thinks he can got out of it by marrying
again.—Chicago liecord.
Piso's Cure for Consumption is an A No.
1 Asthma medicine. —W. R. Williams, An.
tioch, 111., April 11, 1594.
Why shouldn't beer drinkers be arrested
for blowing the tops off schooners?— Chicago
Daily News.
The Grip of Pneumonia may be warded oil
with Hale's Honev of Ilorehound and Tar.
Pike's Toothache Drops Cure in one minute.
Put a pain to sleep? St. Jacobs Oil doea
This with Sciatica. Torment cured.
Sudden weather changes bring rheuma
tism. St. Jacobs Oil makes prompt cure.
Some people's sole aim seems to be to
have things to lock up.—Washington Dem
ocrat.
Blacker the spot surer the cure. Use St.
Jacobs Oil for bruises.
Spring Medicine
A Good Blood Purifier a Neces
sity Now
Hood's Sarsaparllla Unoquallod for
Making Rich, Rod Blood.
The necessity for taking a g-ood Spring
Medicine to purify the blood and build up
the system is based upon natural and un
avoidable caus! s. In cold weather there
has been less perspiration and impurities
have not passed out of the system as they
should. Food has consisted largely of
rich, fatty substances, and there has been
less opportunity for outdoor exercise.
The result is, the blood is loaded with im
purities and these must be promptly ex
pelled or health will be endangered.
Hood's Sarsaparilla is the best Spring
Medicine because it Is the best blood
purifier and tonic. It thoroughly pnrliiee
the blood and gives vigor and vitality.
Hood , S S pa B r ma
Is America's Greatest Medicine. $1; six for I&.
W'c Dillc are the favorite ratbar-
MOOU S Vllls tin. ah druggists.
It Cures Colds Coughs, Sore Throat, Cronp. Infln
ansa. Whooping Courh, Bronchitis and Asthma.
A certain cure for Consumption in first stags*,
and a sure relief in advanced stages. Use at ono*.
You will see the excellent effect after taking th*
trst dos•. Sold by dealers everywhere. Pries,
84 and SO cents per bottle,
© WONDERFUL CANDY *
S HEDICINE. PEPSIN nARSH- J5
A MALLOWS. FOR THAT S
g FULL FEELINU AFTER *
* (lEALS. DELICIOUS X)
A MARSH MALLOWS—SOCIETY'S 2
# FAVORITE CANDY-WITH
2 PEPSIN IN IT. OOOD TO THE jg
A TASTE AND GOOD FOR THE 2
© STOMACH. DON'T SUFFER; <s}
X SWEETEN UP YOUR STOMACH S
A AND YOUR DISPOSITION y
$ WITH THESE MEDICATED *
2 n\LLOWS. BY MAIL ONLY 2
A ao CENTS (TWO SILVER ©
$? DIMES). ADDRESS *
A THE PEPSO CANDY CO.. Z
A li; WEST 3»nd STREET, W
$ NEW YORK CITY. X
IE YOUR 11
Aid do II 112 ©uraalf, without aaalataaof. publicity ar M
.(Bit Scad ua 91.00. and wa will mail you uadar se
■mrkud rovars directioua and
a PI.AIY, STIiAIUHTKOfIWABU 'J a«.«t*.
aici with the Isw§ .112 thij slate. ""J" VUA
•I# Kuclld Ave.* Ro«ui M. Cleveland. Obi*.
Allen** Uleorlne Salve Is the only sure our# la
Iba world for Chronic 112 leers. Bone
Scrofulous Uleera, > nrlcoae lloera, White
Swelling. Fever Norei. arid all Old Horea. It
ueror talis. Draws out all poison Bavesexpense arm
nutTerinc. Cures permanent. Best salvo for ■oils.
Carliunclna. J* I lea, Nail Rlifiini, Burns. CuM
and all Freeh Wounds. Hv mail, small, 83c: large.
Si" Uixik fre.v J. r. A 1.1.EN MKIIKIKI
CO.* St. Paul, Minn. Mold by Drumrlats*
[K9|sfa£fe STOPPED FREE.
H ■ Vk PERMANENTLY CURKD
Ete Bsj Insanity Prevented by
H R BIU DR. KLINE'S CRSAT
| fi w NERVE RESTORER
Pojlilre «ur« fcr all IHafaai'n.rtta,
Spasm* rvntl St. Dune*. No Klta or N'-rroowMAi
sfcr «r.i rls.'. .... Treatise and iS trial bottle fra*
"> PUpallen.>. Ihev n.Tioj «xpr-~ .h.r»«.«lf *"• '*
oetrM. S.M to DR. SUNK. 1.H.. K<-ll'»u- . .
MMiaine, 033 Area Birc«t, PHIF.ADKI.* HIA. PA.
GET RICH n iffi : aa*u i .i. k iv., <;»t'nitll.