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