6
THE DAILY GRIND.
My son, when you speak of the work you
do, there's something to keep lu
mind;
No matter how llttlu it pleases you, don't
call it"the dally grind."
Don't tell of the tasks that you dislike,
nor grumble at sorry fate —
There never was work set to our hands
that we had a right to liat•*;
It Isn't the work; it isn't the hire; nor
lolling from sun to sun
That counts in the eyes of them who see—
It's "how is the labor done?"
As soon as you say It's a daily grind, that
moment you hate your work,
That moment the Itnp of indolence shows
you how you well may shirk;
That moment you lose all your good in
tent; that moment you ought to quit,
for the work that you do is a friend to
you while you are a friend to it,
And once you have called It a slavish task
and named it"the daily grind."
Your work is a snare that will eatch your
feet and cause you to fall behind.
My son. when you work you must finish
your task: you must finish that task
alone.
And work that is done with a friendly
band will change to a stepping stone.
Will carry you over the barring stream
or out of the clinging slough
And lift you to where you may put your
hand on the work that you want
to do.
It will help you along to the heights you
seek, will bring you unto your goal—
23ut when you declare it's "the daily
grind," it will grind you both heart
and soul.
—W. D. N , in Chicago Daily Tribune.
D'ri and I
By IRVING BACHELLER
Author of " Eben Holden." "Darrel of
the Blessed Isles," Etc.
{Oopyrlfrht, 1901. by Lothrop Publishing Company.)
CHAPTER XV.
D'ri's narrative was the talk of the
garrison. Those who heard the tell
ing, as I did not, were fond of quoting
Its odd phrases, and of describing how
D'ri would thrust and parry with his
jack-knife in the story of the bouts.
The mystery of that plunge into
darkness and invisible water was a
trial to my nerves the like of which
I had never suffered. After they had
pulled his lordship out of the grave,
and I knew there would be no more
fighting, I began to feel the strain he
had put upon me. He was not so
strong as D'ri, but I had never stood
before a quicker man. His blade was
as full of life and cunning as a cat's
paw, and he tired me. When I went
under the water I felt sure it was all
over, for I was sick and faint. I had
been thinking of D'ri in that quick de
scent. I wondered if he was the man
vho had got away and gone down the
slide. I was not the less amazed, how
ever, to feel his strong hand upon me
as 1 came up. I knew nothing for a
time. D'ri has told me often how he
bore me up in rapid water until he
•came into an eddy where he could
touch bottom. There, presently, I got
back my senses and stood leaning on
bis broad shoulder awhile. A wind
was blowing, and we could hear a boat
jumping in the ripples near by. We
•could see nothing, it was so dark, but
D'ri left me, feeling his way slowly,
and soon found the boat. He whistled
to me, and I made my way to him.
There were oars in the bottom of the
boat. D'ri helped me in, where I lay
back with a mighty sense of relief.
Then lie hauled in a rope and anchor,
and shoved off. The boat, overrunning
the How in a moment, shot away rapid
ly. I could feel it take headway as we
clove the murmuring waters. D'ri set
the oars and helped it on. I lay awhile
thinking of all the blood and horror
In that black night—like a dream of
evil that leads through dim regions
■of silence into the shadow of death.
I thought of the hinted peril of the
slide that was to be the punishment of
poor courage.
D'ri had a plausible theory of the
slide. He said that if we had clung
to the sides of it to break our speed
we'd have gone down like a plummet
and shattered our bones on a rocky
shore. Coming fast, our bodies leaped
far into the air and fell to deep water.
How long I lay there thinking, as I
rested, I have no satisfactory notion.
l,ouise and Louison came into my
thoughts, and a plan of rescue. A rush
of cavalry and reeking swords, a dash
for the boats, with a flying horse under
each fair lady, were in that moving
vision. But where should we find
them? for I knew not the name of that
(wintry out of which we had come by
ivays ot darkness and peril. The old
query came to me: If I had to choose
between them, which should I take?
There was as much of the old doubt
in me as ever. For a verity, I loved
them both, and would die for either.
1 opened my eyes at last, and, rising,
my hands upon the gunwales, could
dimly see the great shoulders of D'ri
swaying back and forth as ho rowed.
The coming dawn had shot an arrow
into the great, black sphere of night,
■■cracking it from circumference to core,
and floods of light shortly came pour
ing in, sweeping down bridges of dark
ness, gales of gloom, and massy walls
of shadow. We were in the middle of
a broad river—the St. Lawrence, we
hnew, albeil the shores were unfa
miliar to either of us. The sunlight
stuck in the ripples, and the breeze
fanned them into flowing fire. The
morning lighted the green hills of my
native land with a mighty splendor.
A new life and a great joy came to me
hk I filled my I'ttigs with the sweet air.
D'ri pulled into a cove, and neither
could speak for a little. He turned,
looking out upen the river, and
'brushed a tear oft his brown cheek.
' No use i ilkin'," said li ?, in a low
itaii'j, ay '.lu bow bit the shore, oia'
no country luk this 'un, don' care where
ye go."
As the oars lay still, we could hear
in the far timber a call of fife and
drum. Listening, we heard the faint j
familiar strains of "Yankee Doodle." |
We came ashore irf silence, and I
hugged the nearest tree, and was not !
able to say the "Thank God!" that fell
from my lips only half spoken.
CHAPTER XVI.
We got our bearings, a pair of boots
for D'ri, and a hearty meal in the cabin
of a settler. The good man was unfa
miliar with the upper shore, and we
got uo help in our mystery. Starting
west, in the woods, on our way to the
harbor, we stopped here and there to
listen, but heard only wood-thrush and
partridge—the fife and drum of nature.
That other music had gone out o 1
hearing. We had no compass, but D'ri
knew the forest as a crow knows the
air. He knew the language of the
trees and the brooks. The feel of the
bark and what he called "the lean of
the timber" told liim which way was
south. River and stream had a way
of telling him whence they had come
and where they were going, but he had
no understanding of a map. I remem
ber, after we had come to the harbor
at dusk and told our story, the gen
eral asked him to indicate our landing
place and our journey home on a big
map at headquarters. D'ri studied the
map a brief while. There was a look
of embarrassment on his sober face.
"Seems so we come ashore 'bout
here," said he, dropping the middle
finger of his right hand in the vicin
ity of Quebec. "Then we traveled
aw-a-a-ay hellwards over 'n this 'ere
direction." With that illuminating re
mark he had slid his finger over some
200 leagues of country from Quebec to
Michigan.
They met us with honest joy and no
little surprise that evening as we came
Into camp. Ten of our comrades had
returned, but as for ourselves, they
thought us in for a long stay. We
said little of what we had gone
through, outside the small office at
AT LUNCHEON WE TALKED OF THE
WAR.
headquarters, but somehow it began to
travel, passing quickly from mouth to
mouth, until it got to the newspapers
and began to stir the tongue of each
raw recruit. Gen. Brown was there
that evening, and had for me, as al
ways, the warm heart of a father. He
heard our report with a kindly sym
pathy.
Next morning I rode away to see
the Comte de Chaumont at Leraysville.
I had my life, and a great reason to
be thankful, but there were lives dearer
than my own to me, and they were yet
in peril. Those dear faces haunted
me and filled my sleep with trouble.
I rode fast, reaching the chateau at
luncheon time. The count was reading
in a rustic chair at the big gate. He
came running to me, his face red with
excitement.
"M'sieur le Capitaine!" he cried, my
hand in both of his, "I thought you
were dead."
"And so I have been—dead as a
cat drowned in a well, that turns up
again as lively as ever. Any news of
the baroness and the young ladies?"
"A letter," said he. "Come, get off
your horse. I shall read to you the let
ter."
"Tell me—how were they taken?"
I was leading my horse and we were
walking through a deep grove.
"Eh bien, I am not able to tell," said
he, shaking his head soberly. "You re
member that morning—well, I have
20 men there for two days. They are
armed, they surround the Hermitage,
they keep a good watch. The wasp he
is very troublesome, but they see no
soldier. They stay, they burn the
smudge. By and by I think there is
nothing to fear, and I bring them
home, but I leave three men. The
baroness and the two girls and their
servants they stay awhile to pack the
trunk. They are coming to the cha
teau. It is in the evening; the coach
is at the door; the servants have start
ed. Suddenly—the British! I do not
know how many. They come out of
the woods like a lightning, and bang!
bang! bang! they have killed my men.
They take the baroness and the Misses
de Lambert, and they drive away with
them. The servants they hear the
shots, they return, they come, and they
tell us. We follow. We find the
coach; it. is in the road, by the north
trail. Dieu! they are all gone! We
travel to the river, but —" here he
lilted his shoulders and shook his head
dolefully—"we could do nothing."
"The general may let me go after
them with a force of cavalry," I said.
"I want you to come with me and talk
to him."
"No, no, my capitaine!" said he; "it
would not be wise. We must wait.
We do not know where they are 1
have trlends in Canada; they are doing
their best, and when we hear from
CAMERON COUNTY PRESS, THURSDAY, MARCH 23, 1905.
them —eh bien, we shall know what Is
necessary."
I told him how I had met them that
night in Canada and what came of it.
"They are a cruel people, the Eng
lish," said he."l am afraid to find
them will be a matter of great diffi
culty."
The former called to me as I passed. I
"But the letter —"
"Ah, the letter," he interrupted, feel
ing in his pocket. "The letter is not
much. It is from Tiptoes from
Louison. It was mailed this side of
the river at Morristown. You shall
see; they do not know where they are."
He handed me the letter. I read it
with an eagerness I could not conceal.
It went as follows:
"My Dear Count: If thi3 letter reaches
you. It will, I hope, relieve your anx
iety. We are alive and well, but where?
I am sure I have no better Idea than If
1 were a baby just born. We came here
with our eyes covered after a long ride
from the river, which we crossed in the
night. I think It must have taken us
three days to come here. We are shut
up In a big house with high walls and
trees and gardens around It—a beautiful
place. We have line beds and everything
to eat, only we miss the boull-labaisse,
and the jokes of M. Pidgeon, and the tine
old claret. A fat Englishwoman who
waddles around like a big goose and who
calls me Mumm (as if 1 were a wine
maker!) waits upon us. We do not know
the name of our host. He Is a tall man
who says little and has hair on his neck
and on the back of his hands. Dieu! he
Is a lord who talks as if he were too lazy
to breathe. It is 'Your Lordship this'
and 'Your Lordship that.' Hut I must
speak well of him, because he Is going to
read this letter: it is on that condition
I am permitted to write. Therefore I
say he Is a great and good man, a beau
tiful man. The baroness and Louise send
love to all. Madame says do not worry;
we shall come out all right: but I say
worry! and, good man, do not cease to
worry until we are safe home. Tell the
cure he has something to do now. I
have worn out my rosary, and am losing
faith. Tell him to try his. Your affec
tionate, LOUISON."
"She is an odd girl," said the count,
as I gave back the letter, "so full of
fun, so happy, so bright, so quick—al
ways on her tiptoes. Come, you are
tired; you have ridden far in the dust.
I shall make you glad to be here."
A groom took my horse,and the count
led me down a wooded slope to the
lakeside. Octagonal water-houses,
painted white, lay floating at anchor
near us. He rowed me to one of them
for a bath. Inside was a rug and a
table and soap and linen. A broad
panel on a side of the floor came up as
I pulled a cord, showing water clear
and luminous to the sandy lake-bot
tom. The glow of the noonday filled
the lake to its shores, and in a mo
ment I clove the sunlit depths—a rare
delight after my long, hot ride.
At luncheon we talked of the war,
and he made much complaint of the
northern army, as did everybody those
days.
"My boy," said he, "you should join
Perry on the second lake. It is your
only chance to fight, to win glory."
He told me then of the impending
battle and of Perry's great need of
men. I had read of the sea-fighting
and longed for a part in it. To climb
on hostile decks and fight hand to
hand was a thing to my fancy. Ah,
well! I was young then. At the count's
table that day I determined togo, if I
could get leave.
Therese and a young Parisienne, her
friend, were at luncheon with us. They
bade us adieu and went away for a gal
lop as we took cigars. We had no
sooner left the dining room than I
called for my horse. Due at the Har
bor that evening, I could give myself no
longer to the fine hospitality of the
count. In a few moments I was bound
ing over the road, now cool in deep
forest shadows. A little way on I
overtook Therese and the Parisienne.
drew rein, coming back and stopping
beside her. The other went on at a
walk.
"M'sieur le Capitaine, have you any
news of them—of Louise and Louison?"
she inquired. "You and my father
were so busy talking I could not ask
you before."
"I know this only; they are in cap
tivity somewhere, I cannot tell where."
"You look worried, M'sieur le Cap
itaine; you have not the happy face,
the merry look, any longer. In June
you were a boy, in August—voila! it
is a man! Perhaps you are preparing
for the ministry."
She assumed a solemn look, glanc
ing up at me as if in mockery of my
sober face. She was a slim, fine bru
nette, who, as I knew, had long been
a confidante of Louison.
"Alas! ma'm'selle, I am worried. I
have no longer any peace."
"Do you miss them?" she inquired,
a knowing look in her handsome eye::.
"Do not think me impertinent."
"More than I miss my mother," I
said.
"I have a letter," said she, smiling.
"I do not know—l thought I should
show it to you, but —but not to-day."
"Is it from them?"
"It is from Louison—from Tiptoes."
"And—and it speaks of nie?"
"Ah, m'sieur," said she, arching h?r
brows, "it has indeed much to say of
you."
"And —and may I not see it?' I
asked eagerly. "Ma'm'selle, I tell >ou
I—l must see it."
"Why?" She stirred the mane of
her horse with a red riding-whip.
"Why not?" I inquired, my heart
beating fast.
"If 1 knew—if I were justified—you
know I am her friend. I know all her
secrets."
. "Will you not be my friend also?" I
interrupted.
"A friend of Louison, he is mine,"
said she.
"Ah, ma'm'selle, then I confess to
you—it is because I love her."
"I knew it; I am no fool," was her
answer. "But I had to hear it from
you. It is a remarkable thing to do,
but they are in such peril. I think you
ought to know."
She took the letter from her bosom,
passing it to my hand. A faint odor
of violets came with it. It read:
"My Dear Therese: X wish ) could see
you, if only for tin hour. I have so much
to say. 1 have wiUteu your father of our
prison home. I arn going to write you of
my troubles. You know what wo wore
talking about the last lime I saw you—
myself and that handsome fellow. Mon
Dieu! I shall not name him. It is not
necessary. Well, you were right, my
dear. I was a fool; I laughed at your
warning; 1 did not know the meaning of
that delicious pain, liut oh, my friend,
it lias become a terrible thing since I
know I may never see him again. My
heart is breaking with it. Mere do Dieu!
1 can no longer laugh or jest or pretend
to be happy. What shall 1 say? That I
had rather die than live without him?
No; that is not enough. I had rather be
an old maid and live only with the
thought of him than marry another, if
lie were a king. I remember those words
of yours. '1 know he loves you.' Oh, my
dear Therese, what a comfort they are
to me now! I repeat them often. If I
could only say, 'I know'! Alas! I can but
say, "I do not know,' nay, even, 'I do
not believe.' If I had not been a fool I
should have made him tell me, for I had
him over his ears in love with me one
day, or 1 am no judge of a man. liut,
you know, they are so tickle! And then
the Yankee girls are pretty and so clever.
Well, they shall not have him if I can
help it. When I return there shall be
war. If necessary, between France and
America. Arid, Therese, you know I have
the weapons, ami you have done me the
honor to say 1 know how to use them.
I have told Louise, and—what do you
think?—the poor thing cried an hour—
for pity of me! As ever, she makes my
trouble her own. I have been selfish al
ways, but I know the cure. It is love—
toujours l'amour. Now I think only of
him, and he recalls you and your sweet
words. God make you a true prophet!
With love to you and the marquis, I kiss
each line, praying for happiness for you
and for him. Believe me as ever. Your
affectionate, LOUISON."
"P.S. I feel better now I have told you.
I wonder what his lordship will say.
Poor thing! he will read this; he will
think me a fool. Eh bien, I have no bet
ter thought of him He can put me under
lock and key, but he shall not imprison
my gecrets; and, if they bore him, he
should not read my letters. L."
I read it thrice, and held it for a mo
ment to my lips. Every word stung me
wfth the sweet pain that afflicted its
author. I could feel my cheeks burn
ing.
"Ma'mselle, pardon me; it is not I
she refers to. She does not say whom."
"Surely," said Therese, flirting her
whip and lifting her shoulders.
"M'sieur le Capitaine is never a stupid
man. You—you should say something
very nice now."
"If it is I —thank God— Her misery
is my delight, her liberation my one
purpose."
"And my congratulations," said she,
giving me her hand. "She has wit and
beauty, a true heart, a great fortune,
and —good luck in having your love."
I raised my hat, blushing to the roots
of my hair.
"It is a pretty compliment," I said.
"And —and I have no gift of speech to
thank you. I am not a match for you
except in my love of kindness and —
and of Louison. You have made me
happier than I have been before."
"If I have made you alert, ingenious,
determined, I am content," was her
answer. "I know you have courage."
"And will to use it."
"Good luck and adieu!" said she,
with a fine flourish of her whip; those
people had always a pretty politeness
of manner.
"Adieu," I said, lifting my hat as I
rode off, with a prick of the spur, for
the road was long and I had lost quite
hall an hour.
My elation gave way to sober thought
presently. 1 began to think of Louise
—that quiet, frank, noble, beautiful,
great-hearted girl, who might be
suffering what trouble I knew not, and
all silently, there in her prison home.
A sadness grew in me. and then I sud
denly saw the shadow of great trouble.
I loved them both; I knew not which I
loved the better. Yet this interview
had almost committed me to Louison.
[To Be Continued.]
LORD BRAMPTON'S SPEECH.
Sated 111 M Client's Xeck, but Ita l)E
--acrlption Wua Not Faith
ful to tlic Facta.
A story with pathetic interest is
told by Lord Brampton in connection
with a man whom he defended. The
luan was charged with wife murder,
and his two children were in court,
dressed in black and sobbing violently.
A verdict was given in the prisoner's
favor. But the interest in the case
did not end there, says the Loudon
Daily Mail.
"On the same evening," writes Lord
Brampton, "I was dining at the coun
try house of a Mr. Hardcastle, and
near me sat an old inhabitant of the
village where the tragedy had been
committed.
" 'You made a touching speech, Mr,
Hawkins,' said the old inhabitant.
"'Well,' I answered 'it was the best
I could do under the circumstances.'
"'Yes,' he said, 'but I don't think
you would have painted the little home
in such glowing colors if you had seen
what I saw last week when I was
driving past the cottage. No, no; I
think you would have toned down a
bit.'
"'What was it?' I asked.
" 'Why,' said the old inhabitant, 'the
little children who sobbed so violently
in court this morning and to whom
you made such a pathetic reference
were playing on an ash heap near their
cottage, and they had a poor cat with
a string around its neck, swinging
backward and forward, and as they did
so they sang;
" 'This is the way poor daddy will go.
" 'This is the way poor daddy will
go.'"
'"Such, Mr. Hawkins, was their ex
cessive grief.' "
lie Couldn't Forvet !*•
At school, little Charlie, being ont
of the geography class, was deeply in
(crested in learning the points of the
compass. Said the teachtr: "You
have in front of you the north; on
your right, the east; on your left, tht
west. What have you behind you?"
After a moment's reflection, Cfiarlli
exclaimed; "A patch on my pants.'
And to make the information mor<
binding, Charley continued in a sham'
faced manner: "I knew you'd seefl:
I told mamma you would." —Argooau,'
THE MYSTERY EXPLAINED.
What It Was That Made the Welsh
Babbit Taste So Very
Queer.
A lady walked into a grocer's shop one
day with her sleeves turned up to her el
bows and a lighting light in her eyes,
says the Kansas City Independent.
"This here," she observed with a sniff,
as she banged a piece of yellow substance
on the counter, 'is the soap that makes
ev'ry washin' day a kind of glorified bean
feast; the soap that gets all the linen as
white as snow and as sweet as a hazel
nut by dinner time, and lets the happy
housewife spend the rest of the day play
in' with the children, and here am I,
been scrubbin' three mortal hours with
that lump, and ain't got as much lather
out of it as 1 could get from a brickbat."
"I beg your pardon," remarked the
grocer, courteously, "but it isn't the soap.
Your little boy came in here yesterday
for half a pound of both soap and cheese;
that's the cheese."
"The cheese!" gasped the lady. "That
accounts for the other thing, then."
"The other thing?"
"Yes, the other tiling," came the reply.
"I was layin' awake half the won
derin' what it was made the Welsh rab
bit we had for supper taste so lunny."
You think that an opportunity must
necessarily be something great and un
usual; but the fact is, the stepping stone
to the place above you is in the very
thing you are doing, in the way you do it :
it does not matter what it is. Success
Magazine.
The Mayflower was a very small ship.
In selecting her the pilgrims are now
thought to have had in mind their num
bers as pilgrims, merely, rather than their
numbers as ancestors.—Puck.
Sawdust is now used by some Paris
restaurants as a dressing for cutlets, in
stead of breadcrumbs. It costs only 30
cents a sack—and the cutlets must taste
like 30 cents.—Boston Globe.
■ •
SCREAMED AT NIGHT.
llnb) Scratched I ntil Face Wan Itavr
and Bleeding—Eczema Cared
by Catlcura,
"For over two years mv little baby girl
suffered with a raw, itching and painful
eczema on her head and face, the pain
causing her to scream day and night, and
my wile could get no rest. We tried sev
eral doctors, but without success. Unless
we kept her hands tied she would scratch
until her face was like raw beef. One cake
of Cuticura Soap and two boxes of Cuti
cura Ointment completely cured her,
healing her face without mark or blem
ish. (Signed) W. J. Morgan, Orchard
Town, New Lamb ton, New South Wales,
Australia."
When a girl acts is if she were tied to
the end of a comet and tries to look as
if she were only buttoning her gloves,
most likely she is just become engaged.—
N. Y . Press.
Special Excursions to Southwest, Feb.
7 and 21, March 7 and 21, 1905,
via Kansas City Southern
Railway,
To Port Arthur, Beaumont, Tex.; Lake
Charles, Galveston, Houston, San Antonio,
lex., and all other points on K. C. S. Ry.
for tickets with 21 days limit and priv
ilege of stopping off en route on both go
ing and return trip.
For literature describing "The Land of
Fulfillment" the country along the K. C.
S. Ry. or for further information re
garding these excursions, write to S. G.
Warner, 0. P. & X. A., K. C. S. Ry.,
Kansas City, Mo.
"A rub with alcohol is a great beauti
fier," says a physician. In Maine the rub
comes when you try to get the alcohol.—
Portland Advertiser.
Help Yourself with Pusheck's-Kuro.
This wonderful new remedy is proving
a blessing to many thousands. A few
hundred of the testimonials received have
been reproduced in book form, and the
illustrated booklet will gladly be sent for
the asking. All of the many complaints
that come from nervous disorders, poor
digestion, overwork, excitement, malaria
or unhealthy occupation are quickly and
permanently cured by Pusheck's-Kuro.
This remedy can be had at most drug
fists' for .SI.OO or direct from Dr. C.
'usheck. Chicago, 111. I)r. Pusheck offers
all medical advice free, and your whole
life may be made happy by corresponding
with him.
There should be no objection to a man
smoking cigarettes if he is alone and hap
pens to have a grudge against himself.—
Chicago Sun.
It Cures While You Walk.
Allen's Foot-Ease is a certain cure for
hot, sweating, callous, and swollen, aching
feet. Sold by all Druggists. Price 25c. Don't
accept any substitute. Trial package FRKE.
Address Allen S. Olmsted, Le Roy, N. Y.
The oyster famine at Baltimore is offset
by the storv that a beer famine is prevail
ing at Milwaukee.—Cincinnati Commer
cial-Tribune.
A Guaranteed Cure for Piles.
Itching, Blind, Bleeding or Protruding Piles.
Your druggist will refund money if PAZO
OINTMENT tails to cure in oto 14 days. 50c.
And now it has been suggested that the
spot on the sun is simply a freckle.- Chi
cago Chronicle.
For Infants and Children
Signalur Yiarj
' 4 The Kind You Have Always Bought
THK CENTAUR COMPAfn, TT MURRAY STRICT. NEW VORH CITV.
P PAA P^ O |JE|ftTB
1 i ctj JDUUK PMlte
will be sent free, postpaH, upon request. This book is of a hun<lrc<l paces, handsomely ;iltu»
traced throughout and lells of an experience of over thirty years in the treatment of Croo?' '.!
Feet, Spinal Deformities, Infantile Paralysis, hip Disease, Deformed Limbs and Joints, >
It tells of the only thoroughly equipped Sanitarium in this country Unvoted exclusively to the ti
ment of these Conditions avid how they may he cured without surgical operations, pla-ter paris or •>i . r
severe treatment, Send for ftii hook, tirnl if dlreetly interested, moutlnn character of the allllctlon ...
subject will Ou ssut with ih* book. Tti6 LiGi McLain Orthopedic osnitdriuni; 31Q2 Pino St• i^oui.
ITS MERITJS PROVED
RECORD OF A CREST MEDICINE
A Prominent Cincinnati Woman Tells
How Lydia E. Plnkham's Vegetable
Compound Completely Cured Her.
The pro at pood Lydia E. Pinkham's
Vegetable Compound is doing among
the women of America is attracting
the attention of many of our leading
scientists, and thinking people gener
ally.
The following letter is only one of
many thousands which are on file in
the Pinkham oflice, and goto prove
beyond question that Lydia E. Pink
ham's Vegetable Compound must be a
remedy of great merit, otherwise it
could not produce such marvelous re
sults among sick and ailing women.
Dear Mrs. Pinkham:—
" About nine months nf*o I was a great suf
ferer with womb trouble, which caused me
severe pain extreme nervousness and fre
quent headaches, from which the doctor
failed to relieve m«. I tried Lj-dia E. Pink
ham's Vegetable Compound, and within a
short time felt better and after taking flva
bottles of it I was en tlMy cured. 1 therefore
heartily recommend 3 >ur Compound as a
splendid uterine tonic. 11 makes the monthly
periods regular and without pain ; and what
a blessing it is to find such a remedy after so
inany doctors fail to help you. lam pleased
to recommend it to all suffering women."—•
Mrs. Sara Wilson, 31 East SI Street, Cincin
nati, Ohio. J
If you have suppressed or painful
menstruation, weakness off the stom
ach, indigestion, bloating, leucorrhoea,
flooding, nervous prostration, dizzi
ness, faintness, "don't-care" and
" want-to-be-left-alone " feeling, ex
citability, backache or the blues, the.so
are sure indications of female weak
ness, some derangement of the uterus
or ovarian trouble. In such cases there
is one tried and true remedy—Lydia
E. Pinkham's Vegetable Compound.
SOUTHERN CONDITIONS ANQ
POSSIBILITY.
In no part of the United Stated has there been
such wonderful Commercial, Industrial an.i
Agricultural development as along the liues of
the Illinois Central and the Yazoo & Mississippi
Valley Railroads in the Stales of Tennessee,
Mississippi nnd Louisiana, within the past ten
years. Cities and towns have doubled their pop
ulation. Splendid business blocks have been
erected. Farm lands have more than doubled
in value. Hundreds of industries have been
established and as a result there is ail unprece
dented demand for
Day Laborers, Skilled Workmen,'
and especially Farm Tenants.
Parties with small capital, seeking an oppor
tunity to purchase a farm home; farmers who
would prefer to rent for a couple of years before
purchasing; and day laborers in fields or facto
ries should address a postal card to Mr. J. F.
Merry, Asst. General Passenger Agent, Dubuque,
lowa, who will promptly mail printed matter
concerning the territory above described, and
give specific replies to all inquiries.
MISCELLANEOUS ELECTROTYPES!
In pr.-ftt vurifty for Kale at tho lowest prioes by
A. N.KKLLOtiU NKWSI'APhK CO., 73 W. Adam* St., I'lilctuco