6 A PRIMROSE. Tha sunshine bright and soft, warm showers turned the little buds to flowers, *ad, nestling 'mid the tender green, hw primrose once again is seen. t)«« little blossom, fair and pale, free as yet from winter's gale, Etr dainty, sweet simplicity tm full of loveliness for me! An shines a star In azure deep A little primrose oft will peep from mossy bank, or griLSsy ground. And brighten all the world around. S-Mtut say the hot-house plant Is best. And lovelier than all the rest; But oh. more beautiful, by far, **» me the little wild flowers axe! A primrose needs no care, nor heat. But blooms unaided, fresh and sweat; And scarce has dreary winter fled Before it lifts Its yellow head! Titus naught It knows of human car*, B®. when I pluck a primrose fair, X know this pretty flower must be JTuat Nature's own sweet gift to me! M. Lowe, in Casgell's Little Folks. HARR^ LL^& W> RD* -Copyright, 1599, by J. B. Llpplncott Com pany. All rights reserved. CHAPTER II.—CONTINUED. Dr. Brodnar was rescueu from a 'fcad complication by his especial treas ure, Joe, the driver. "Go and bring your mother," he said, ■quickly, as he lifted the unconscious Comers from the carriage in front of fcta office. "Don't los« one second! -®>ep your mouth shut." Joe was out •112 bearing before the doctor reached •fcls operating-room. The doctor's as -Alctant, half dressed, appeared quick 'tjr. Somers was stretched upon a tabic, and his wound critically exam toed. The bullet had entered over and behind the right ear, and the side of fcte head was clotted with blood. A «econd wound an inch farther back twarne visible as the blood was washed «way, but a probe carefully inserted tn the forward wound came out of the other, touching the skull in pass teg. There was no particle of brain ■matter in the blood. "Syncope from concussion," said <Brodnar. "Watch him carefully until I return and do not permit him to •apeak." The sound of wheels approach ing caused him to descend the steps •three at a time. He pressed back the ■Aged negro woman who was dismount ing. "To the same place, Joe! Hurry!" •he said, and the door closed. The woman so hastily secured was •aone other than the "mammy" who had looked after the welfare of Frances -since infancy. She had been encour aged to absent herself for the night. 'Trained under the old regime, wiith a sense of proprietorship in her old mis tress and daughter, with a deep and Impregnable pride in the family, she needed no cautioning. Nevertheless Dr. Brodnar said as they emtered si lently the deserted yard: "There has been an accident, mam my. Ask no questions and answei oone. Permit nobody to see your young mistress. Do you understand?" "De chile ain't liu't, young marster?" "No. A friend was. Her mind has "been affected deeply by her father's -condition and this shock has upset her. You must know nothing more of it." Frances sat as he had left her, in 'the armchair. She offered no resistance •when they laid her upon the bed and ad ministered an opiate. The stains of blood were carefully removed from her hands, and her wrapper changed, sad Dr. Brodnar prepared to depart, tor the day was now breaking. He re membered the pistol, and was search ing the floor for it, when the reaction •■set in and Frances began to cry bit terly. Obeying his silent motion, mam my passed into the dressing-room and hft took the girl's hand. "The whole blame rests upon me," said, gently. "Keep quiet; I will you through." And then a cry burst •from him: "What a fool! whatafool! And to think that Dick Somers—!" At «ound of this name the girl's grief be came almost uncontrollable. "He loved me," she said, brokenly. •And it has cost him his life!" "Loved you! Never! If he had aimed better, I could forgive him." She was silent. "If he had aimed better!"—then she •sat up with almost frantic energy. "Yes. The wound is not fatal. Frances, Frances —back, my- child—" Take me to him —I must, I must go to him —" "You are simply mad!" "He is my husband —I love him! I lore him!" Brodnar groaned and turned away Itls head. Suddenly the girl shivered end drew back, her gaze set fearfully <*n something behind him. "Close the window," she whispered to a changed voice, "they may return." "Why—what—what do you mean?" He was upon his feet, a strange light to his face. "It came from that window," she whispered fearfully; "some one fired through the slats." "God in Heaven!" he cried, "I thank you! Dick! Dick! forgive me!" He plunged out into the gray dawn and l«ft the girl amazed and terrified. CHAPTER 111. Richmond at the time these events "were occurring was in a tumult of ex «itcaient. The quarrel between the oiortlj and south in congress had long «tooe reached the acute stage, and preparations were forming for that titanic struggle which was to shake America for four long years. South Carolina had led off, followed by Ala 'iiina, Mississippi, Florida, Georgia, il/aofsiana and Texas. The capital of ■the confederacy was in the far south, «nd while no one expected that Itich «eud was to become the center of po 1 Htleal intrigue, It had been easily fore seen that Virginia, being a slave state, would join her southern sisters, and that if war followed she would furnish the battle ground by reason of her geo graphical position. Few people be lieved in a serious conflict to come, but there were some who foretold a bloody struggle, and these were among the powerful, who gave time and direction to public sentiment. There was much discussion instate military circles, and a confident pre diction that when the crisis came the south must recall her sons from the service of the union, and enlist them under the banners of the state's rights party, leaving many vacancies dillicult to fiil. Upon his couch in the rooms of Rich mond's popular physician Richard Somers lay, convalescent. Ilis wound proved easy of management and healed rapidly. But in the empty hours given tohim for recovery he reviewed his late experience, and with small comfort for himself. Carried away by sentiment, he had permitted himself to involve seriously a young girl intrusted to his care. He had acted like a sentimental boy, he told himself, rather than as a man coolly transacting a piece of busi ness to which a friend had commis sioned him. Evidently the whole mat ter hinged upon the succession of prop erty. and he was simply an instru ment. But he had suffered himself to be swept along by sentiment, and had declared his love for a girl altogether unknown to him—indeed, unseen. In conclusion, somebody bad put a bullet through his head, the only mistake being in the matter of aim. He had re ceived no explanation from Brodnar other than that an error had cost him the wound. There was a multitude of apologies, the tenderest of care—and silence. But one day he arose and dressed himself, and, barring a slight dizziness of hejjd, found the world about as he hadTeft it. And then Brod nar told him of such facts as he him self had knowledge. "You were shot from a window by some one who saw you strike a match, my dear fellow, and who didn't care whether your eyes were closed or not," he said. "But who was the assailant—and what was the object?" "Under the window I found tracks, the track of a woman's number two shoes, clear cut and sufficiently deep to suggest that the wearer was in all probability a settled woman. And yet a heavy woman's foot would not have been so trim. There you have it all." "Why should she have been there, and why should she have shot me?" "My dear fellow, ask me who wrote Shakespeare and the letters of Junius. Frankly, I know nothing on earth about this shooting beyond the simple fact. Perhaps the shot was not aimed at you." Somers reflected for a moment. "Possibly you are correct in the sug gestion. But if you, with all the in formation you have and knowledge of these people, are at sea, I have no chance to unravel the mystery. Evi dently my best plan is my first plan—to leave at once. Some one lives who saw me in that room. The sooner Igo now the better for the good of all. Only I would have you tell me again—if I may venture that far —if my young friend is well, and understands that my re covery is accomplished." "She is well," said Brodnar. with some constraint, "and understands." "Look here. Francis, the truth is," said Somers, rising, "I ain not. fond of mystery. I proposed to keep my prom ise and shall, but, man, I came near be ing involved in a lifelong affection that night, and I ask you now if I am to leave here with no further informa tion—" "Yes," said Brodnar, "otherwise you would defeat the object of the whole plan. Nothing could be more unfor tunate for the girl than that you should see her again or knowledge of that marriage get abroad." "So be it." said Somers, sadly. "I keep my promise. To-night we say good-by." Brodnar sat. moodily silent, drumming upon his desk, his eyes upon the floor. Suddenly he stood erect. "Somers, I owe you something, owe you more than I may ever be able to repay; I shall tell you this much, and let you decide for the woman—" "A telegram, doctor, for Mr. R. Som ers—your care." A bov had entered hurriedly and stood waiting. Somers took the message from the doctor's hand, and, the messenger vanishing, he read aloud: "Report In person immediately to this of fice. "STANTON, "Secretary of War." Brodnar looked steadily into the glad, bright face of his friend, who was upon his feet in an instant and full of ex citement. "Will you report there?" "Will I? It is the dream of my life, Brodnar!—but—but —you were say ing—" "Nothing." "I don't understand you, Frank." "No member of the family, Dick, you have entered, ever drew sword against Virginia. You must choose between the woman and—" "My country? Is that it? How would you choose, Frank?" Brodnar was silent, looking away. "Take this message to her for me, my friend; it is the last request, perhaps, I shall ever make to you—" "Dick—" "Say to her that Richard Somers passes out of her life to serve his coun try. His duty done, please God, and she needs his arm, he will follow her to the end of the earth. Say that for me; and then, farewell." CHAPTER IV. Themorningsun strikingthrough the eastern window of a hotel room shone full upon the face of a woman who lay sleeping there. She was dressed as for the street, but her hair was loose and fell about her shoulders in gleaming, golden masses. Even in the trying light upon it her face was beautiful. Perfectly oval, it possessed a combi nation of dark shadings rarely found CAMERON" COUNTY PRESS, THURSDAY, MAY 9, 1901. la blonde type*, and the even brows were as delicate as tßough penciled by an artist. Upon hercheekslaylong, dark lashes. Sleeping, she seemed scarcely more than a girl in age, the few lines upon her face fading out of prominence; and yet there was a wom anliness in her trim, settled figure that told of years not otherwise to be sus pected. The bell of a tower clock near at hand rang out loudly the hour. The sleeper stirred uneasily, opened her eyes, and instantly, as full conscious ness returned, bounded from the bed to the floor. In the quick look she gave to her surroundings terror was apparent. A moment later she had pulied the bell-cord and was waiting, her watch in hand, by the door. A ne gro servant knocked and was admitted. She did not notice his old-fashioned and courteous salute. "Why was I n«t called for the six q'clock train?" she began in great agi tation. "We call t'ree times, ma'am—t'ree times; an' you say 'all right' ev'y time, ma'am." "I answered?" "Yes, ma'am. An' we t'inlc, ma'am, mebby you done change yo' min'." Something like despair came to her face. "The time now?" "Nineo'clock.ma'am. Clockdesstruck. ma'am. Gem'maa downstairs sen' dis cyard, ma'am, an' say—" The gen tleman in question passed the speaker, stepping across the threshold. "You may go,"he said, curtly, and waited until the old servant had re tired and closed the door. Then he turned coolly towards the woman. "And now, madam, what does this mean?" "Raj'mond!" "Why have you left London?" The woman did not answer. She had cried the name hysterically and started for ward; then, suddenly, drawing her hair from her face, she shrank away from him, her gray eyes distended in terror or the expectation of violence. In the presence of this pantomime, the man's face lost its cynicism and stern ness. He was unmistakably astonished. "Weil," he said, at length, "what is it?" "You here!" the exclamation was but a whisper. "I thought—" "Why should I not be here? Didn't you write, requesting me to come? I was not in the city yesterday, nor last night, and have but just received 3'our foolish letter. Are you mad, in deed—that you come to this city— that you follow me up in public!—■ Name of Heaven, woman, what is the matter with you?" "Not in the city last night! Not in the city! Then—then—" She caught a chair. "Oh, I am ill—ill!" She seemed about to fall, but her companion made no movement to assist her. "There is some —mistake!"she whispered. "Some awful—mistake!" "What are you talking about?" He stood looking curiously upon her. She turned suddenly, ran to him, and, falling upon her knees, clasped her arms about him, giving way at the same time to a paroxysm of hysteria that swayed them both with its vio lence. He stooped impatiently, broke her clasp with a violent effort, and half pushed, half lifted her into the FURIOUS HE SNATCHED THE LET TER FROM HER. chair. Burying her face in her hands, she gave way to violent weeping while he stood by. The man was of medium height and fine figure, his faultless dress and his every motion revealing the fashiona ble world. His face might have been handsome at one time, but something had fled from it, and something had come to it since then. That which had come men usually call the marks of dissipation; that which had fled they had no name for. He might have been genuinely in dignant or playing a part, but he gazed sternly a few moments only upon the agitated woman, his black eyes gleaming wickedly; then, with a sneer and slight gesture of dismissal, turned away. Taking from his pocket a case, he proceeded calmly to select and light a cigarette, and walking un concernedly to the fireplace, tossed his match into it. Standing with his back towards her, he busied himself with a hunting scene above the mantel. And thus, presently, the woman, ceasing to cry, found him. She clasped her hands upon her chair-arm convulsive ly and lifted her head. With a few rapid motions she twist ed the fallen hair into position and arose to her feet. "When 3'ou have finished with the picture," she said, "listen to me." Startled, he whirled and faced her. Her figure was now erect and head lifted. The tenderness was gone from her eyes. Wide open, they seemed to measure and threaten him. He cams slowlyforward.tliesneerunpon his face. "You gave me your promise to re main in Loudon until I returned," he said, "and you have broken it." "And you! you told me that you were here to wind up some estate matters and would return immediate ly- You had no idea of returning. You intended to deaert me. You lietfl Where Is my child, sir?" The nvaa'a face flushed and grew deathly pale. He took two quick steps forward and hesitated. "It is useless, Raymond, to try to frighten me. You were born a coward—and I was not. Look to your self!" She drew from her bo«om a letter and extended it towards him. "I found this after your departure; it is from your mother." His assumed indifference vanished. Furious, he snatched the letter from ner and raised his arm. "Wretch!" "Take care," she snid, coldly, slowly withdrawing her hand. "You are deal ing with a desperate woman. You are welcome to your letter. I know it by heart. In it I am called by a vile name—and you are told that a bride and fortune await you at home. You came." He was silent. "You do not deny it," she added. With a slight gesture he turned away and seated himself. "There is no need to deny it now," he said. "Sit down, Louise." She waited a moment, and. moving a chair a few feet away, seated herself, facing him. "We have both made mistakes," he said, coolly, preparing to light an other cigarette, "and I am willing to admit that in all the matters between us I have been equally to blame, but," he added between puffs, as he smoked, "you have a full share to settle for yourself. It is, however, too late to discuss the beginning of this associa tion. We must consider its end; for, as you evidently surmised, the time to end it has come." She made no re ply, but waited for him to continue, her clear gray eyes riveted upon his. "You have not believed me, but it is true, nevertheless, that I am entirely dependent upon my mother. My lit tle property has long since disap peared with yours; she holds the whip hand. Ever since her second mar riage she has intended me for a young girl, her stepdaughter, in fact —" "You have known this all along—?" "Yes; and while the child was grow ing up she has tolerated this life of mine. Now she proposes to end it. The question is, How may you and I settle it?" "I see!" "You are practical enough to under stand that I am helpless. If I should refuse the old lady, I could not live 24 hours without work; nor could you. If I yield, as I must, you will be provided for —with little—Nanon." [To Be Continued.] HUMORS OF ADVERTISING. A Comparison Showing the Differ enue Detwecn Knvllah and American Style. It is in their intimate tone, their confidential attitude, that the Eng lish advertisements differ most wide ly from our own, says Agnes Repplier, in the New Lippincott. The brief an nouncements, so familiar to us, of "well furnished rooms," "pleasant apartments at the seaside," "board for two single gentlemen in a private family," have a cold, almost repellant aspect, when compared to the genial hospitality with which strangers are invited to enter "the fair, free homes of England." Miss Sophia Deale, of Devonshire, for example, offers to re ceive a few "sketching boarders, or other students requiring peace and quiet. View of pines and harbor from windows." One sees the "sketching boarders" every Engishwoman sketches as a matter of course— washing in the sky line on their lit tle pads, and grateful occasionally for the shelter of Miss Deale's windows in a land of perpetual showers. Still more personal is the following seduc tive advertisement which appeared once only in a well-known magazine: "Home for lady in charming old de tached cottage near River Thames. Convenient to station. Seventeen miles from Londdh. Would suit liter ary lady requiring quiet yet cheerful home. For companionship and tui tion to a young wife of neglected edu cation, would arrange easy terms." There is the material for a novel in these suggestive lines. The lonely, ignorant young wife in her "de tached" cottage; the husband, older, of course, with just enough of learn ing to feel his sense of superiority; the stranger introduced to play com placently the part of guide, philos opher and friend. What complica tions might not arise from such a sit uation; though, in point of comfort and luxury, it falls far short of a com panion advertisement in the same pa per. "A gentleman residing alone in his distinctly superior summer home (one hour from London) desires a perma nent guest of congenial and refined tastes (lady or gentleman), who would have the run of his delightful, secluded gardens, and of the entire premises equally with himself, and who would appreciate the retirement of a quiet home. Write fully, stating age, habits and profession." A Greater Need. The Young People's Weekly prints a pathetic story of a poor, half-starved child, living in a city alley. Someone had given her a ticket to a free tea and entertainment. She was wild with delight, and was running to tell her mother of her good fortune when she stumbled over a child crouched on the stairs, crying. She asked what was the matter. The child said her mother had beaten her because she asked for some breakfast, and she was so hungry she could not help crying. "Well," said tha other child, placing the ticket in her hand, "take this and get a good tea. I've had no breakfast, either, but my mother never beats me." And she passed on, leaving the ticket in the hand of the astonished child. Crime lleereailng, In 1869 there were 10,314 juvenile offenders in England. Now there are 4,500 only ia various reformatories. POINTS ON PLOWING. Tllllnfc the Soil to Ihe (irratmt Ad vantace In an Art liidrritovil by Very Ktw Fariurrai, A farmer should bo quite a me chanic in his nature to succeed in tilling 1 the soil to the greatest advan tage. So many farm operations are more or Jess mechanical in their na ture that the man without a mechan ical turn is sure to do many things far from well. This is especially true in the matter of plowing. Thousands of acres are plowed each season, the best results of which are not expe rienced simply because the furrows were not turned properly. Take Fig. 1, for instance. Much plowing is to be seen where, as in this case, the furrows are standing on edge, lit tie Inclined beyond the perpendicular. Ftq- J r-/ 9 .2. f. sr DIFFERENCE IN FURROWS. In this position the upper part of the sod will not decay, but will keep on growing, sending up shoots between the furrows, to the annoyance of the cultivator. With furrows set like those in Fig. 1, there is a constant falling back into the furrow after the plow has passed, which makes ex ceedingly bad work. The furrows in Figs. 2 and 3 are well turned and the sod will be en tirely covered when the harrow has passed over the land. Fig. :i shows how shallower plowing permits a more complete turning of the sod. But shallow plowing of sod is not generally desirable, especially if witch grass is in it. A good deal depends upon the plow, as well as upon the plowman, if a furrow is to be well turned. It takes skill to fashion a mold board that will do the best kind of work, and. Unfortunate it is, many plows have not had skill expended upon them. Don't buy a plow until you know from the work of the same make of plows that the "share" will turn the furrow neatly and deftly, and that, too, without the necessity of a con stant "coaxing" on the part of the one holding the handles. Under good average conditions, a first-class plow will almost run itself, relieving the workman of much hard labor. Fig. 4 shows a common and poor result of using haste in plowing "old ground," that is, ground thai »as planted the season before. In his haste to get over the ground rapidly the plowman often tries to carry too wide a furrow, with a result that a portion of the soil in each furrow is not moved at all. This is shown in the dotted portion. This cannot well happen in plowing sod, since the whole furrow is held together by the grass roots, and must all rise to gether. But in old land the earth is crumbly and rolls up over a pArl that is not moved at all. As the ob ject of plowing old land is to lighten the soil and expose it to the action of the air, there is no small loss in curred by stirring for too wide a fur row.—N. Y. Tribune. Maklnit 1111 AnitnrnKun lied. To prepare a bed for asparagus, take the warmest, mellowest land you have, spade it deep in September and work in lots of horse manure. Also use salt freely, say, half a bushel to a square rod. You can raise the young plants from seed, or get rootf from a gardener or some neighbor. Set out early in spring after a deep and thorough spading. Keep clean and let grow two years if plants are little, so as to get strong roots. Then in the spring of the third year you can begin to cut for your table. Use a sharp knife r.nd cut slanting. Afte* the middle of June let grow. Cover well with coarse horse manure in winter, and loosen between roots with a fork early in the spring.—Ella M. Hess, in Agricultural Epitomist. IJvor Trouble In Fowls. Recently a poultryman talked in public of liver trouble in fowls and expressed the opinion that it is to be met with almost entirely in turkeys. We are certain that it exists to a con siderable extent among chickens, but is often not recognized as such. When apparently healthy fowls drop over dead it is sometimes, if not fre quently, due to this trouble. The writer had this trouble in his tlock at one time, and ascertained the facta in the case by an autopsy on the fowls, which autopsy showed the liv ers enorirously dilated with the blood ths. had been drawn from tha heart and all other parts of the body. It is probably a gerui disease.—Farm ers' Review. There la a Claaa of People VVia are injured by the use of coffee. Re. cntly there has been placed in ail the gro el'y stores a new preparation called ■RAIN-O, made of pure grains, that take* lie place of coffee. Ihe most delicate stom tch receives it without distress, and but few •an tell it from coffee. It does not cost over } as much. Children may drink it with sreat benefit. 15 cts. and 25 cts. per pack age. Try it. Ask for GRAIN-O. An Error of Jaditmenl. A colored citizen gave a justice of the peace a big fat possum as a wedding fee. Meeting the groom a year alter, the justice said: "Well, Jim, how do you like married life''" "Well, Bah," was the reply, "all I kin ■ay is—l wish I'd eat that possum."—At lanta Constitution. Are You <*ol»K Abroadt If you are going abroad be sure to select the Lackawanna Railroad as your routa East. The terminus of that line is withiu two blocks of the docks of the ocean liners operated by the Cunard, Hamburg-Ameri can, White Star, North German Lloyd, Netherlands American, American, Red Star and French Lines. To the traveler, often encumbered with luggage and accompanied by his family, the advantage of landing ao near his point ot embarkation Js at once ap parent. Not only is the Lackawanna Rail road the most convenient line to the piers of the great Trans-Atlantic Steamers, but the comfort of its patrons is the special care of a Steamship Agent who will bo Found on the docks of all the principal lines. From Chicago three through trains are run daily in connection with the Nickel Plate offering a service unsurpassed in lux ury and convenience. From St. Louis there is also a through daily service in connection with the Wabash Railroad. 112 onaelentlona by Ilrnrro. It is well to be thankful for small mer cies. Such is the opinion of a man from whose pocket was stolen a purse containing £25. Some months later he received this letter: "I>?ar Sir: I stold your money. Remorse naws my and I have sent you £5. When remorse naws again I'll send you some more."—Tit-13its. Wonderful, Yes, and more than wonderful; one might say "most wonderful" when speaking of Palmer's Vegetable Cosmetic Lotion, which, for over fifty years, has been the standard preparation for the skin. Mr. Joseph Ink rat, of Cincinnati, Ohio, wrote: "Your Lo tion has cured me of a very annoying faco eruption, with which I have been troubled for a long time. It is a wonderful medi cine." This testimony is echoed by all who have used this great healer and beautifier and none fail to praise it and recommend its use. If your druggist hasn't it, send to Solon Palmer, 374 Pearl Street, New York, for samplesof Palmer's Lotion and Lotion Soap. A Sew Wrinkle. "The idea! What's this?" exclaimed the man who was idly skimming the fashion page. "What's what?" inquired the other. "It says here 'Leghorns will be much used this summer.' I've heard of a shoe horn, but a leg horn's new to me. I suppose tight trousers are responsible for it."—Philadel phia Press. Carver and Character of Abraham Lincoln. An address by Joseph C'hoate, Ambassa dor to Great Britain, on the career and character of Abraham Lincoln—his early life —his early struggles with the world—■ his character as developed in the later years of his life and his administration, which placed his name so high on the world's roll of honor and fame, has been published by the Chicago, Milwaukee &. St. Paul Railway and may be had by sendmg six (61 cents in postage to F. A. Miller, Gen eral Passenger Agent, Chicago, 111. The llnrd Part. "No," said the society reporter, "it is not so hard to get descriptions of the cos tumes. The hard part is to write the de scriptions so that eacli lady will consider herself the best dressed woman present."— Baltimore American. Yon Can Get Allen's Foot-Eaae FREE. Write to-da.v to Allen S. Olmsted, Leroy, N. \ ~ for a FREE sample of Allen's Foot- Ease, a powder to shake into your shoes. Il cures chilblains, sweating, damp, swollen, aching feet. It makes New or tight shoes easy. A certain cure for Corns and Bun ions. All druggists and shoe stores sell it. 25c. Mr. Mann—-"You talk about fashionable trimming for a bonnet! Why, anything you can stick onto a bonnet is the style. Mrs. Mann—"Anything, dear, but what you have on hand."—Boston Transcript. Lane's Family Medicine. Moves the bowels each day. In order to be healthy this is necessary. Acts gently on the liver and kidneys. Cures sick head ache. Price 25 and 50c. Mr. Newly wed—"Come, won't you break bread with us to-day?" Jack Jester—"No. thanks, old man; you see I can't stand manual labor; by the way, is it her lira! attempt?"— Ohio State -Journal. To Cure a Cold In One Day Take Laxative Bromo Quinine Tablets. All druggists refund money if itfailstocure. 25c. If you would be happy you must learn to live a day at a time.—Chicago Daily News. The stomach has to work hard, grinding the food we crowd into it. Make its work easy by chewing Beeman's Pepsin Gum. It is no use praying for peace w'hile you take cream on your pickles.—Ram's Horn. The man who boasts that he never speaks ill of an enemy must have been whioped about every other day when he wa3 a school boy.—lndianapolis News. We face a great many of our troubles bravely, because the real fact is that we are so situated that we can't run away.—Atchi son Globe. lii solve! for you when you fit your wheel I with Gtc J Tires. Full of life and speed— | easy to repair when punctured—durable and * always satisfactory. Just the kind to stand hard service on country roads. Ask your local agent or write us for catalogue. ij Q& J TIRE COMPANY, Indianapolis, Inil. mini MATISM £;? LU D IS» UUkl'l the only positive cure. Pu'.tex- H> IT ■ B P»rlence speaks for Itself :>epo> |L|j MS> e». California Ave.. Chicago. A. N. iCTfTfP ma " ky largfl Manufacturing House; Av is 1 M HUO.OO In cash paid for 12days trial; pro motion and permanent position If satisfactory, ad dress U. B. I*. CO., 72a Chestnut St., Philadelphia
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers