6 THE GRAND ARMY. Iti the morning the Grand Army marches out to tight for bread, There is many u wounded soldier, many a bruised and bleeding head, There is many, many a marcher who would gladly run away To be henceforth free from going, weak and weary, to the fray; There are few that ever hear The sweet accent of a cheer. There are many that lie pulseless, at the closing ol' the day. No flags are waved above It as the Army marches past. There is no clink-elank of sabers and no bugle's .shrilling blast; The soldiers wear no trappings made to dazzle and to thrill And they hear no shout of "Bravo!" for their courage or their skill; As the great Grand Army comes There is no loud roll of drums, No applauding, since the soldiers do not march away to kill. In the morning the Grand Army, with its boy recruits in line, Marches bravely out to duty in the field and mill and mine, Goes to give its country glory, goes to make it great and strong, ■Goes to build the walls and bridges, goes to labor hard and long; Through the snow and through the rain, Torn with woe and racked with pain, Forth the soldiers march to battle, hope less or with hope and song. There will be no honors waiting, there will be no grand review For the soldiers who go trudging where the fields are damp with dew. Nor tiie ones whose feet are wearing tlie hard pavements thin, nor those Who go down I lie shafts through dark ness to meet stealthy, formless foes, For the war will never cease And there never can be peace For the weather-stained battalions till the angel's trumpet blows. In the morning the Grand Army bravely marches forth to fight For the love of little children, for the sake of doing right, For the bridges and the passes so that Progress may push on. And there's many a wounded soldier, many a weary one and wan, Whom a cheer Wtould strengthen so, Hut, uncheered, we let them go, For they merely march to labor and have no tine weapons drawn. —S. K. Riser in Chicago Record-Herald D'ri and I By IRVING BACHELLER Author of ' Ebpn Hoiden." "Darrel of tho Blessed Isles." Elc. (Copyright. 1901.1»y Lothrop l'ubti»liiii£ Company.) CHAPTER X VIII .—Co nTix V En. A thought came flying through my brain with the sting of an arrow. "She mus! not be deceived. 1 have not any noble blood in me. I am only the sou of a soldier-farmer and have my fortune to make," .said I, quickly. "That is only a little folly," she an swered, laughing. "Whether you be rich or poor, prince or peasant, she •cares not a .snap of her finger. Ciel! is she not a republican, has she not money enough?" "Nevertheless. I beg you to say, in your letter, tint I have nothing but my word and m> honor." As we rode along I noted in my book the place and time we were to meet Iln captives. The marquis joined us a' the Hermitage, where a stable-boy valeted our horses. Three servants were there, the others being now in the count's service. if anj place give me a day's happi ness it is dear to me, and the where I find love is forever sacred. I like to stand where I stood thinking of it, and there I see that those dear moments •Tie as much » part of m as of history. So while Therese and the marquis got off their horses lor a little parley with the gardener, I cantered up the north trail to where I sat. awhile that de lightful summer day with Louise. The grotto had now a lattice roofing of bare branches. Heaves, as red as her blush, ns golden as my memories, came rat timg through it, falling with a faint rustle. The big woods were as a gloomy and deserted mansion, with the lonely cry of the wind above and a ghostly rusile within where had been love and song an.l laughter and all de light CHAPTER XIX. D'ri aud I left the chateau that aft ■craoon, putting up in the red tavern jit Moiristown about dusk. My cotnpani m rode away proudly, the medal dangling at his waistcoat lapel. "Jerttsliy June!" said he, presently, lie pulled reta. "Ain't a-goin't' hev tliel. tloppiti' there so—nieks me leel Ink a bird. Don'l -. *» m nohow nal'ral. Wha' d' ye s'pose he gin me thet air thing fer?" He was putting it away carefully in ?jis wallet. "As a token of respect for your (bravery," said I His laughter roared in the still w >ods, making my horse lit'i and snort a little. It wis never an easy job to break an horse [•> D'ri's laughter. "H s reedie'lous," ,aid he, thought* fully, in a moment. "Why?" Cause fer the reason why they <lori'' tinman deserve nuthin' fer doin' what he ii orter," tie answered, with a serious and determined look. "You did well." said I, "and deserve anything you can get." ' Done my damdest!" said he. "But 1 did n't dn nuthin" but git. licked. Got shot an' tore an slammed all over <lioi tir deck, an' onld n't do no harm t." nobody. Jes Ink a hoss tied 'n the .stall, an' a lot o' men whalin' 'im, an' -i lot more tryur 112 scare 'im t' death." "Wha' d' ye s'pose thet air thing's •.made li*/?" 1.-j lr. j'.::red, afier a little ■stten.'e, "Silver," said I. "Pure silver?" "Undoubtedly," was my answer. "Judas Priest!" said he, taking out his wallet again, to look at the trophy. "Thet air mus' be wutb suthin,." "More than a year's salary," said I. He looked up at me with a sharp whistle of surprise. "Ain' no great hand fer sech flummy diddles," said he, as he put the medal away. "It's a badge of honor," said I. "It shows you 're a brave man." "Got 'nough on 'em," said D'ri. "This 'ere rip 'n the forehead's 'bout all the badge I need." "It's from the emperor —the great Napoleon," I said. "It's a mark of his pleasure." "Wall, by Judas Priest!" said D'ri, "I would n't jump over a stump or a stun wall t' please no emp'ror, an' I would n't cut off my leetle finger fer a hull bushel basket o' them air. 1 hain't a-flghtin' fer no honor." "What then?" said I. His face turned very sober. He pursed his lijps, and spat across the ditch; then gave his mouth a wipe, and glanced thoughtfully at the sky. "Fer liberty," said he, with decision. "Same thing my father died fer." Not to this day have I forgotten it, the answer of old D'ri, or the look of him as he spoke. I was only a reckless youth fighting for the love of peril and adventure, and with too little thought of the high purposes of iny country. The causes of the war were familiar to me; that proclamation of Mr. Madi son had been discussed freely in our home, and I had felt some share in the indignation of D'ri and my father. This feeling had not been allayed by the bloody scenes in which I bad had a part. Now 1 began to feel the great passion of the people, and was put to shame for a moment. "Liberty—that, is a grand thing to fight for," said I, after a brief pause. "Swap my blood any time fer thet air," said D'ri. "I can fight sassy, but not fer no king but God A'mighty. Don't pay t' git all tore up less it 's fer suthin' purty middlin' vallyble. My life ain't wuth much, but, ye see, I hain't nuthin' else." We rode awhile in sober thought, hearing only a sough of the wind above and the rustling hoof-beat of our horses in the rich harvest of the au tumn woods. We were walking slow ly over a stretch of bare moss when, at. a sharp turn, we came suddenly in sight of a huge bear that sat facing us. I drew my pistol as we pulled rein, firing quickly. The bear ran away into the brush as I fired another shot. "He 's hit," said D'ri, leaping off and bidding me hold the bit. Then, with a long stride, he ran after the fleeing bear. I had been waiting near half an hour when D'ri came back slowly, with a downhearted look. "'Tain' no use," said he. "Can't never git thet bear. He 's got a flesh wound high up in his bin' quarters, an' he 's travellin' fast." He took a fresh chew of tobacco and mounted his horse. "Terrible pity!" he exclaimed .shak ing his head with some trace of linger ing sorrow. "Kay," said he, soberly, after a little silence, "when ye see a bear lookin' your way, ef ye want 'im, always shute at the end thet's toward ye." There was no better bear-hunter in the north woods than D'ri, and to lose a bear was, for him, no light affliction. "Can't never break a bear's neck by shutin' 'im in the bin' quarters," he remarked. I made no answer. "Might jest es well spit 'n 'is face," fie added presently; "jest eggzae'ly." This apt. and forceful advice calmed a lingering sense of duty, and he rode on awhile in silence. The woods were glooming in the early dusk when he spoke again. Something revived his contempt of my education. He had been trailing after me, and suddenly 1 felt his knee. "Tell ye this, Hay," said he, in a kindly tone. "Ef ye wan' t' git a bear, got. t' mux 'im up a leetle for'ard — right up n* the neighborhood uv 'is fo'c's'le. Don't dew no good t' shute 'is hams. Might es well try t' choke 'im t' death by pinchin' 'is tail." We were out in the open. Roofs and smoking chimneys were silhouet ted on the sky, and, halfway up a hill, we could see the candle-lights of the red tavern. There, in the bar, before blazing logs in a great fireplace, for the evening had come chilly, a table was laid for us, and we sat down with hearty happiness to tankards of old ale and a smoking haunch. I have never drunk or eaten with a better relish. There were half a dozen or so sitiins about the bar. and all ears were for news of the army and all hands for our help. If we asked for more potatoes or ale. half of them rose to proclaim it. Between pipes of Vir ginia tobacco, and old sledge, and songs of love and daring, wo had a memorable night. When we went to our room, near 12 o'clock, I told D'ri of our dear friends, who. all day, had been much in my thought. "Wus the letter writ by her?" he in quired. "Not a doubt of it." "Then it 's all right," said he. "A likely pair o' gals them air—no mis take." "But I think they made me miss the bear." I answered. "Kay," said D'ri, soberly, "when yer shutin' a bear, ef ye want 'im, don't never think o" nuthin' but the bear." Then, after a moment's pause, he add ed: "Won't never hev no luck killin' a bear ef ye don' quit dwellin' so on them air gals." I thanked him, with a smile, and asked if be. knew Eagle island. "I!e'n all over it half a dozen times," soul he. "'Tain' no more 'n 20 rod from the Yankee shore, thet air island ain't. We c'u'd paddle there in a day from out cove." CAMERON COUNTY PRESS, THURSDAY, APRIL 13, 1905. And that was Ihp way we planned ' to go—by canoe from our landing— j and wait for the hour at Paleyviile, a i Yankee village opposite the island, j We would hire a team there, and con- j vey the party by wagon to Leraysville. We were off at daybreak, and going over the hills at a lively gallop. Cross ing to Caraway pilce. in the Cedar meadows, an hour later, we stampeded a lot of moose. One of them, a great bull, ran ahead of us, roaring with fright, his antlers rattling upon bush and bough, his black bell hanging to tho fern-tops. "Don' never wan't' liev no argyment with one o' them air chaps 'less ye know purty nij?h how't's comin' out," said D'ri. "Aiwus want a gun es well es a purty middlin' ea-a-areful aim on your side. Then ye 're apt t.' need a tree, tew, 'fore ye git through with it." After a moment's pause he added: "Got t' be a stout tree, er he Mi shake ye out uv it ink a ripe ap ple." "They always have tlie negative side of the question," I said. "Don't be lieve they'd ever chase a man if lie 'd let 'ein alone." "Yis, siree, they would," was D'ri's answer. "I've hed 'em come right efter me 'fore ever I c'u'd lift a gun. Ve see, they 're jest es cur'us 'bout a manes a man is 'bout them. Ef they can't smell 'im they 're terrible cur'us. Jes' wan' t' see what 's inside uv 'im an' what kind uv a smeilin' critter he is. Dunno es they wan't' dew 'im any pertie'lar harm. Jes' wan' t' mux 'im over a leetle; but they dew it. awful careless, an' he ain't never flit' be seen no more." He snickered faintly as he spoke. "An' they don't nobody see much uv 'im efter thet, nuther," he added, with a smile. "I 'member once a big bull tried t' find out the kind o' works I hed in me. 'T wa'n' no moose—jest a common or d'nary three-year-ol' bull." "Hurt you?" I queried. "No; 't hurt 'im," said he, soberly. "Sp'ilt 'im, es ye might say. Could n't never bear the sight uv a man efter thet. Seem so he did n't think he wus fit t' be seen. Nobody c'u'd ever git 'n a mild o' th' poor cuss, Hed t' be shot." "What happened?" "Hed a stout club 'n my hand," said he. "Got holt uv 'is tail, an' begun a-whalin' uv 'im. Run 'im down a steep hill, an' passin' a tree, I tuk one side an' he t' other. We parted there fer the las' time." He looked off at the sky a moment Then came his inevitable addendum, which was:"l lied a dam sight more tail 'an he did, thet 's sartin." About ten o'clock we came in sight of our old home. Then we hurried our horses, and came up to the door with a rush. A stranger met us there. "Are you Capt. Bell?" said he, as I got. off my horse. I nodded. "I am one of your father's tenants," lie went on. "Ride over the ridge yon der about half a mile, and you will see his house." I looked at D'ri and he at me. He had grown pale suddenly, and I felt my own surprise turning into alarm. "Are they well?" I queried. "Very well, and looking for you," said lie, smiling. We were up in our saddle, dashing out. of the yard in a jiffy. Beyond the ridge a wide mile of smooth country sloped to the river margin. Just off the road a great house lay long and low in fair acres. Its gables were red roofed, its walls of graystone half hid den by lofty hedges of cedar. We stopped our horses, looking off to the distant woods on each side of us. "Can't be," said D'ri, soberly, his eyes squinting in the sunlight. "Wonder where they live?" I re marked. "Ail looks mighty cur'us," said he. " 'Tain' no way nat'ral." "Let's go in there and ask," I sug gested. We turned in at the big gate and rode silently over a driveway of smooth gravel to the door. In a moment 1 heard my father's hearty hello, and then my mother came out in a better gown than ever I had seen her wear. I was out of the saddle and she in my arms before a word was spoken. My lather, hardy old Yankee, scolded the stamping horse, while I knew well he was only upbraiding his own weak ness. "Come, Hay: come, Darius," said my mother, as she wiped her eyes; "I will show you the new house." A man took the horses, and we all followed her into the splendid hall, while I was filled with wonder and 3 mighty longing for the old home. CHAPTER XX. It was a fine house —that in which I spent many happy years back in my young manhood. Not, indeed, so ele gant and so large as this where I am now writing, but comfortable. To me, then, it had an atmosphere of romance and some look of grandeur. Well, in those days I had neither a sated eye, nor gout, nor judgment of good wine. It was I who gave it the name of Fair acres that day when, coming out of the war, we felt its peace and comfort for the first time, and, dumfounded with surprise, heard my mother tell the story of it. "My grandfather," said she, "was the Chevalier Ramon Ducet de Trou ville, a brave and gallant man who, for no good reason, disinherited my father. The property went to my uncle, the only other child of the chevalier, and he, as I have told you, wrote many kind letters to me. and sent each year a small gift of money. Well, he died before the war—it was in March —and, having no children, left half his fortune to me. You, Ramon, will remember that long before you went away to the war a stranger came to see me one day—a stout man, with while hair and dark eyes. Do you uot remember? Weil, i did not tell you ! then, because I was unable to believe, I that he came to bring the good news, i But be came again after you left us, I and brought me inuaey—a draft on ac -1 count. FOl us it was a very large sum. indeed. You know we have always been so poor, and we knew that when the war was over there would be more and a-plenty coming. what were we to do? 'We will build a home,' said I; 'We will enjoy life as much as possible. We will surprise Ramon. When he returns from the war he shall see it, and be very happy.' The architect came with the builders, and, voila! (lie house is ready, and you are here, and after so long it is better than a for tune to see you. I thought you would never come." < She covered her face a moment, while my father lose abruptly anil left the 100 m. I kissed the dear hands that long since had given to heavy toil their beauty and shapeliness. But enough of this, for, .after all, it is neither here nor there. Quick and unexpected fortune came to many a pioneer, as it came to my mother, by inheritance, as one may see if he look only at the records of one court of claims —that of the British. "Before long you may wish to marry," said my mother, as she looked up at me proudly, "and you will not be ashamed to bring your wife here." I vowed, then and there, I should make my own fortune —I had Yankee enough in me for that—but, as will be seen, the wealth of heart and purse my mother had, helped in the shaping of my destiny. In spite of my feeling, I know it began quickly to hasten the life-currents that bore me on. And I say, in tender remembrance of those very dear to me, I had never a more delightful time than when 1 sat by the new fireside with all my elan —its num ber as yet undiminished—or went roistering in wood or field with the younger children. The day came when D'ri and I were to meet the ladies. We started early that morning of the 12th. Long before daylight we were moving rapidly down-river in our canoes. I remember seeing a light flash up and die away in the moonlit mist of the river soon after starting. "The boogy light!" D'ri whispered. "There't goes ag'in!" I had heard the river folk tell often of this weird thing—one of the odd phenomena of the St. Lawrence. "Comes aiwus where folks hev been drewnded," said D'ri. "Thet air 's what I've liearn teli." It was, indeed, the accepted theory of tlie fishermen, albeit many saw in the boogy light a warning to mark tho place of forgotten murder, and bore away. The sun came up in a clear sky, and soon, far and wide, its light was toss ing in the ripple-tops. We could see them glowing miles away. We were both armed with saber and pistols, for that river was the very highway of ad venture in those days of the war. "Don' jes' like this kind uv a boss," said D'ri. "Got t' keep whalin' 'im all the while, an' he 's apt t' slobber 'n rough goin'." He looked thoughtfully at the sun a breath, and then trimmed his remark with these words: "Ain't eggzac'ly sure-footed, nuther." "Don't require much feed, though," I suggested. "No; ye hev t' dew all the eatin', but ye can aiwus eat 'nough fer both." [To Be Continued. 1 \ <.«9HI tvifiwer. "The late Mayor McLane," said * Baltimorean, "told me last year of an occurrence that had befallen a .veil known railroad man. "A humble employe of the road called on this man and asked for a pass to a certain distant point. The official said, with a severe air: " 'You have been working for us for some time, haven't you?' " 'Yes,' said the employe. " 'You have always been paid reg ularly?' " 'Y'es, sir.' " 'Well, now, suppose you were work ing for a farmer. Would you have the nerve to ask this farmer to harness up his horses and drive you a long distance into the country?' " 'No,' said the employe, 'I wouldn't. But if the farmer had his horses al ready harnessed and was going my way, I'd call him a pretty mean fellow if he refused to give me a lift.' " —N, Y. Tribune. Suh«titut« for the Stick. A story is told of the four-year-old Prince Knut, son of Prince Christian of Denmark. V'cenUy a dispute arose between his nurse and himself, the cause of the dispute being whether lie should or should not take a bath. The arguments terminated in a sponge being thrown in the nurse's face and I lie royal mama being sent for in hot haste. She decided that Knut was in th? wrong, and Sent him himself to letch the cane with which she must beat him. He departed, and after some time he came back again. "I can't find the stick," he said politely, "but here are two stones that you can throw at me."—St. James Gazette. W roust Indeed! "Really, now," said the diner to the waiter, "right down in your heart don't you believe this tipping system is all wrong." "Indeed 1 do!" replied the waiter with feeling; "that fellow at the next table to mine has made $2 to-day, and I've only made 20 cents."—Yonkers Statesman. I alike Her. She—He had tho impertinence to say I was just like a phonograph because I tell everything that's told to me. He—Ridiculous. "Of course it. is." "Yes, because a phonograph always tells it straight"—Philadelphia Preaa. I Truths that Strike Home | Your grocer is honest and—if lio cares to do so—nan tell ■ you that ho knows very littlo about tho bulk coffee he 9 bolls you. llow can he know, where it originally enmo from, how it was blended— Of With What P —or when roasted? If you buy your I'Vi 11 Wi"<l1 1 ti'll y° uex pect purity and uniform quality? I LION COFFEE ,the LEADER OF Jtl I ALL PACKAGE COFFEES, IS ol ■ 'i 1 necessity uniform In quality, i 1 strength and flavor. For OVER A I Vl 2 QUARTER OF A CEVTL'RY, LION COFFEE B I Mr" 'J 1 bas been tbe standard coffee fn I I B mi " lons °* homes. I 1 L,ON COFFEE I* carelully packed I • o a t our lactoriPM. and until opened la ** your home, has no chance ol belno adul ,t trrated, or ol coming In contact with dunt, dirt, grrms, or unclean hands. In each package of LION COFFEE you get one full 9 pound of Pure Coffee. Insist upon getting the genuine. I fLiou head on every package.) (Save tho Lion-heads for valuable premiums.) SOLD BY GROCERS EVERYWHERE VOOLKON SI'ICE CO., Toledo, Ohio. Professionally Expressed, j "How high can that soprano sing?" I "As high as 15.000 a night," answered the manager, absent-mindedly.—Wash- J iugton Star. Who Owns the Railroads? H. T. Newcomb, of the District of ' Columbia Bar, has compiled statistics | showing that 5,174,718 depositors in savings banks of six eastern states are directly interested in the joint owner ship of $442,354,086 of steain railroad securities, that insurance companies doing business in Massachusetts hold $845,889,038 of steam railroad stocks and bonds, and 74 educational institu tions depend on $47,468,327 invested j in similar securities for a portion of their income. Other fiduciary institu tions own enough railroad securities to bring such holdings up to more than a billion and a half dollars, about one i sixth of the entire capital invested in I railroad propeiiy. These investments I represent the savings of the masses, I there being twenty million holders of | life insurrnce policies in the country, as many more of fire insurance poll j cles, and an even greater number of | depositors in banking and trust instl | tut.ions, where investments are large ly in railroad securities. It's an ill-wind that blows anybody good, but you. X. Y. Times. Kdelstein. 111. Pusheek's Kuro helped me and I am ! better now than 1 have been for a long time. Mrs. K. Hekel. Paris, Logan Co., Ark. We arc very well pleased with Push i eck's Kuro, and together with others I who were cured by it, join in praising I its merits. We only regret all the money j we spent without results until we used I this remedy. Mrs. Mare Klager. A vegetarian ought to be well pleased ; with cigars made of cabbage leaves. A Guaranteed Cure for Piles. Itching, Blind, Bleeding or Protruding Piles. ! Your drupglst will refund money if PAZO OINTMENT fails to euro iu t> to 14 days. 00c. Too many people blame heredity lor ' their personal acquisitions. Piso's Cure for Consumption is an Infalli ble medicine for eoug!i« and colds.— N \V. Samuel. Ocean Grove, N. J., Feb. 17, 1900. The .Japanese may l>e heathens, but they Ifi b Ist like Christians. Washington Post. THE STRAIN OF WORK. Best of Back* Give Out Under the Burden of Daily Toil. Lieutenant George G. Warren, of Xo. 3 Chemical, Washington, D. C., says: I "It's an honest l'uol that Doun's Kid- Jney Pillsdid me a great lot of good, and if it were not true I would not SjSSC recommend them it was the strain trouble and weak- F ened my back, but ™ since using Doan's I Kidney Pills I have lifted 000 pounds j and felt no bad effects. 1 have not felt the trouble come back since, although I had sulTered l'or live or six years, and other remedies hud not helped me at all." For sale by all dealers. Price 50 cents. Foster-Mil burn Co., Buffalo, X. Y. I The thousands of people who write to me, saying that Sfciloh's Consumptions Cure S° ic Lune cured them of chronic coughs, cannot all be mistaken. There must be some truth iu it. Try a bottle tor that cough ol yours. Prices: S. C. WtlM & Co. 10 25c. 50c. sl. Loßoy, N.Y., Toronto, Can. ! MEN, WOMEN, BOYS AND GIRLS | DO YOU WANT TO MAKE A LITTLE M fiend four dollars to William K. Nyo. the old ■ I oil manufacturer oi Now lied- R B Ine Machine Oil, whtcli >ell- like hot enkrti tX ■ In any household, nt five cent* per hottle*- B , 4 proilt on a ant** Write to ii* B : Una. WM. h. H YE. New Bedford, Mat#. 1 —b mamKsaanmmufhßuaasam The Substitute. Mrs. Fluffy—My husband writes th« lovoliest verses for me; floes yours? Mrs. Duffy No, but he writes me tha most beautiful checks Detroit Free Press. Stop Suffering Like That! Why don't you use Pusheok's Kun» and be well. It positively cures Rheu matism, Pain, Weakness, Misuse. Indi gestion, Catarrh and all Itlood ami Nerve Diseases. This is the best Remedy ever offered to the public; no other like it; it cures when everything else hm failed. Most Druggists keep ft, price, sl, or sent for that price to any address by Dr. Pusheck, Chicago. De principle on which dis day en tirr» goes is ter take dis worl' ez you find* it, en take de whole business at oai» swipe e£ you ever gits a lick at it! At lanta Constitution. iff! Lady oi#j n The "Celery King com- plexion" is what ono V'" Brooklyn lady calls the beautiful skin that comes from the uso of Celery | S King, the tonic-laxative. I Q I tfy This great nerve tonic is I jfg ' made In both Herb ana ™ *** ■■ » Tablet form. 25c. SOUTHERN CONDITIONS AND POSSIBILITIES. Tn no part of the United States has there been such wonderful Commercial, Industrial an<t Agricultural development as along the lines of the Illinois Central auil the Yazoo A Mississippi Valley Railroads in the States of Tennessee, Mississippi and Louisiana, within the past tea years. Citi«*s and towns have doubled their pop ulation. Splendid business blocks have erected. Farm lands have more than doubled in value. Hundreds of industries have been established and as a result there is an unpteco ! dented demand for Gay Laborers, Skilled Workmen, and especially Farm Tenants. Parties with small capital, seeking an oppor tunity to purchase a tarra 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. 1 Merry, Asst. General Passenger Agent, Dubuque, lov a, who will promptly mail printed matter concerning the territory above describe emS give specific replies to all inquiries. — IN THE PANHANDLE OF TEXAS Mild climate, pood soil. $3.50 to $5.00 per acre, liberal terms. Great est eattle country on earth. Five railroads running into it. CHEAP i EXCURSIONS to LA XOSEE K E lis. Crowds are coming. Best chance for I a HOME. Write to : THE AMERICAN PASTORAL COMPANY, Ld., P. 0. Box 1547, DENVER, COLO. t cessful. TbcrougUy cleanses, killsdiseaso germs, stops discharges, heals inflammation and local soreness, cucci l-'V-'orrlicca and nasal catarrh. Paxtinc is in pov.'Jcr form to be dissolved in puro water, and is far more cleansing, healing, germicidal and economical than liquid antiseptics for all TOILBT t\ NO WOMEN'S SPECIAL USES For >n'.t at druggists, BO cents a bo*. Trial Box cn.l Book of Instructions Fr*c. TMI R. P*r.7Kl» COMPANY •«ston, Maio.i ti MOTHER GRAY'S S WEST t*Q WD EIRS FORI CHILDREN, A Cortaln Cure for FcTcrlahiteae, sc > nut ii TrunbN'p,, Torthlnir IM «u rdei'B, and Destroy uorHKit «iur. Uipak up t<oUI« Nuns in < hll > ln hours. At all Druggists, 35 els. dron'u lloin-i <Bi»-iplO uaail©«l KKhJK. Address, Now York Lit;.!}*<•• «>• OLIVISTEDt Ld Roy, N.Y« AGEMS W.i*TUl> to sell tho Kit* KtllnziiUlior, tho ©s:tl!itful*hi»rut>«ti in all cwrs ol'tbo New York Kl»> Titcdl'&iiv.iiy. Good ▼t rite for letrnijii Hw Mil<2Kulih«rtc.« , .Middle town, ;i. PATE MTS te* liIIZUhI<ALU CO.. Ikon: E*!, Washington, 1,. j. A.N. 2008 11 ■m ~ VJRiS Wlltßt Ait. \Tii fAiIS. i <M Dcs - -nwh crri'.p. Tsouu <»,«.,!. IV.C 112 ■ _UI in Unto. Sold by druggists. n
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers