~ many of whom were older than her- ~ city specialist, telegraphed for, came © Miss Devereux’s sight is gone. ~ the express back to town, ~ and to realize all rebellion against her cruel fate—crossed “are,” she said, with sobbing breath. posts!” : * a LiL lio The Making of Nolly, wh. NET ry 0. OLLY DEVEREUX was pretty and she knew it, At M fifteen she was tall and » slender, carrying her head with a daintiness her schoolfellows envied, but could not copy, and distributing her favors with a charming grace of manner, the in- heritance of a long line of refined an- cestors, Her face, though not her only for- tune, was a good half of it, with its soft pink-and-white complexion, its glorious azure blue eyes, its frame of silky, golden hair. The only thing that marred the otherwise perfect face was the look of conscious superiority, al- most of conceit, that Molly habitually wore. She was the only child of her parents, a preity, spoiled darling, petted and worshiped from her cradle, She was Miss Devereux, of Laburnam fPerrace, and Molly's blue eyes shone, and her crimson lips pursed themselves into lines of proud content as she thought of her position, her beauty, and all that went to make up the sum of her existence. The past had been bountiful—the present was cloudless— the future lay before her, an unopened book; what might it not hold for her—? And yet: “Alas! that spring should vanisn with the rose! That youth's sweet-scented should close!” It was upon her nineteenth birthday that the shadow begun to fall. Molly, who, all the summer, had been work- ing hard with the pleasing result of coming out ahead of 200 girls at school, manuscript self, suddenly showed signs of droop- ing. The lovely blue eyes lost their lustrous look, the pristine glint of her golden hair faded, lines appeared round her pretty mouth. Molly's mother looked frightened. “Darling,” she said, caressingly, “you are tired—you are feeling the hot weather—" “I think I am, mother, dear,” re- sponded Molly, in a voice she strove hard to brighten. “I shall be all right when the cooler days come » The next moment she was lying in a huddled heap on the floor! That was the beginning of many sim- jlar attacks. Molly's heart had given out under the heat and strain, and she lay, week after week, helpless and panting, in her little white bed, her head in a whirl, her lips babbling over childish things long since consigned to the past. But there came a day when the wan- derings ceased—a day when there was silence in the sick room, when, after rambling for weeks the voice was no more heard, and Molly lay still and quiet, a shadow of her former self, with two big, lack lustre eyes staring up at the white ceiling. “Molly!” cried Mrs. Devereux. It was early morning, and she had slipped into the pretty room, as was her wont every ‘lay on rising. The girl turned her bead in the di- rection of the voice. “Mother!” she said, wonderingly, “why have you come in the middle of the night? I am all right, darling—"’ “It is morning, Molly!” answered Mrs. Devereux, stooping to kiss the pale cheek on the pillow. “Darling, the sun is shining—" “Morning? The sun shining?” echoed Molly, springing up in bed, a dawning horror on her face. “Mother—mother, where are you? It is quite, quite dark! I can’t see you Light the gas, let me look—mother—strikea match quick- ly; I can see nothing but dense black- ness—-" : Mrs. Devereux fell upon her knees by the bedside. With trembling hands she lighted a candle, held it to Molly's lovely blue eyes—they never flinched. Oh, heavens! was it true? Was Molly In utter darkness—Dblind? Her cries brought the nurse and her husband—and they sent for the doctor. Alas! naught was of any avail, The and went, giving no ray of hope. It was a phase of the illness—the sight sometimes went in a single night— gometimes—but not often—no, thank God—not often—. “I can do nothing,” he said, pocket- ing his fee and wringing Mr. Dever- eux’s hand as he stepped into the wait- ing carriage. “It is no use sending for me again, although, of course, I will come at any time if you want me. There 1s no hope—she will never see again.” Then he was driven away to catch and Molly was left to battle with her trouble, that his Verdict meant, both now and hereafter. But never a word of protestatjon—of Molly's pale lips. Day after day, week after week, she lay on her bed of dark- ness, with a smile for everyone; with a cheerful, encouraging word that hid an almost breaking heart—patient, un- complaining. “If she would only cry out once and get it over, it would be more natural, and such a relief,” the distracted mother said to her husband in piteous tones. ‘It is so awful to think of Molly, our pretty, clever Molly, lying behind that impenetrable mask, all day ~forever—"' “Cheer up, wife! Whatever is is best. We must try to believe that, or else how can we ever hope to teach it to Molly—to help her to bear it?” Mrs. Devereux’s lips quivered as she turned away. “You are right, John—as you always it swe must help Molly, whatever » * * * * - more, and summer slipped Into autumn, Molly's health distinctly improved; her heart grew stronger, the color came again into her pretty cheeks, and at the end of two years she was once more able to take her old place in the house. Deprived of one sense, the oth. ers that were left her grew keener, What ‘she had once sven with her azure eyes, she saw with her slim, white fingers now; the ips that had curved with scornful pride wore a pa- tient, tender look, as the blind girl grew in a beauty which was far love- lier than that she had possessed in the old days. And the good that crept into her character, and transformed it, shone in her face; strong, self-reliant, capable, utterly unselfish in her thoughts for others. When she reached her twentieth year, a more lov. able, sweet-natured girl it would have been hard to find. “Of course, no one will ever want to marry a blind girl!” she remarked, al- most merrily, to her mother apropos of something that Mrs. Devereux had said on the subject. “Don’t beat about the bush, mother, dear, in that half- frightened way, as though you were afraid of hurting my feelings. I am no coward—I am not afraid of facing whatever is in store for me.” “My brave Molly!” eried her mother, pressing the tall, slim figure to her heart. “My heroine!” But time went to prove that Molly was wrong. Somebody did want a blind girl for a wife—at ledst he showed pretty plainly that he wanted a certain blind girl—and that girl was pretty Molly Devereux! Young Jim Tremayne came down from the hospitals full of energy and ambition, to take a partnership with old Robeson, the practitioner who had attended Molly from babyhood. He was ugly—passing ugly—but strong, upright, tender-hearted and clever: and, from the moment his eyes rested on Molly, there was no other woman in the world for him. Just at first he pretended to be interested in her case, as a case, but afterward he let himself be interested in her as a woman—the one woman—and hardly a day passed but he found some excuse to visit her home, and Molly's mother began to hope that, after all, Molly's blindness might not have marred all her chances in life! “I am ugly, of course,” he said, the day he confessed all to Mrs. Devereux, and received her permission to woo Molly, “but Molly's eyes will never be marred by a sight of me—and I am glad she is blind!” He said something of the same kind to Molly, whom he managed to track down in the old rese garden a few minutes ‘later, wearing a soft white gown, emblem of the simple purity of her white soul. For the past few days she had tried to avoid him; her heart having whis- pered to her, she knew. She had grown to look for his coming, to wait upon his opinions expressed in such well-chosen, decided words; she felt that he was a man whom she could honor and re- spect, and even—in her room at night she had confessed it to herself—love! But that he should be attracted by her—poor, blind Molly—had not oc- curred to her. “You love me, blind as IT am?’ she stammered, the color flushing into her face as she stood in front of him in the pathway, putting out her hands a little uncertainly, “I think I love you because you are blind!” he said, happily. She had not repulsed him, and that was a point in his favor. “Ah!”—she drew ‘you pity me ls “Pity you! Nonsense!" he exclaimed, laughing, possessing himself of her two hands. “Molly, I am not hand- some: put up your fingers and feel my face; but I love you very, very dearly, and I want you to be my wife, my dearest, most honored possession. Will you, darling? Just tell me you don’t quite hate me, and I will teach you to love me, ugly as I am—" But Molly was simple and straight. forward; no idea of playing with him and keeping him in unnecessary sus- pense entered her pretty head. “It you are sure—it isn’t—pity!” she began, her cheeks flushing again, “for I could not bear to think that » He bent down and prevented her from saying more by kissing her again and again passionately upon the lips. “Does this feel like pity?’ he asked, tenderly. Then, unrepulsed, he folded her in his strong young arms. “Darl- ing, my own darling Molly—please God, I will deserve you and make you happy always.” And they wandered awhile in the lovers’ Elysium after that; earth only contained each other for those two, and they were content to believe it for the nonce! * * * a long breath— * “I shall never regret Molly's blind- ness again,” Mrs. Devereux said to her husband, as together they stood and looked down on Molly sleeping peace- fully, late that same night. “Don’t you think it aitered her for the better, John?” hesitatingly. John Devereux stooped down and pressed his lips to his wife's worn cheek. “I think it has been the making of Molly!” was all he said. But she understood.—New York Weekly, * » * Identified by Tattoo Marks. A deserter from the British army was identified recently by the follow- ing tattoo marks upon him: A cross on the left forearm, with the words “In loving memory”; a jockey with two flags, Buffalo Bill, a heart on the back of the left hand, a horseshoe with crossed whips, a cross with the figure of a soldier leaning on it, a pierced heart, a heart on the right forearm, a heart with clasped hands, a soldier and a girl The droughts in Australia made the Pluck and Adventure. rR, MEETS MJN HE SAVED. HIPWRECKED thirty. three years ago, two of the eleven survivors of the steamship Missouri, which was burned and sunk at sea with more than a hun- dred of her passengers and crew, met at Ocean Grove, N, J., accidentally and under singular circumstances, for the first time since that disaster. One survivor is W. F. Tunnelle, a banker of Georgetown, Del,, the other is a negro member of the Missouri's crew, who came near furnishing a meal for the other ten starving men in the steamship’s open boat, It had been discussed which one should die to save the others, and several of the crew decided it should be Charles H. Glascow, the only negro in the party. Through the pleading of Mr. 'Tun- nelle and other passengers the negro's life was spared, When Mr. Tunnelle walked into the dining room of the United States Hotel, where he has been spending his summers for several years, there was a new head waiter, an aged negro, who showed him to his seat and then lingered a moment. Gazing intently at Mr. Tunnelle he said: “I know you; you saved my once, sir.” Mr. Tunnelle looked puzzled and the negro continued: “Don’t you know me, sir? I am Glascow, who was wrecked with you on the steamship Missouri.” In November, 1872, the Missouri sailed from New York for Nassau, Bahama Islands, carrying many pas- sengers and a full crew. Three days out from New York and while in a rough sea off Cape Hatteras, a ery of fire was raised. In a few moments there was a panic. A rush was made for the boats, and in lowering them several were smashed. In a gale of wind the ship was quickly enveloped in flames. Scores perished on board, while others jumped into the sea and were drowned. Among the latter was L. F. Cleveland, a brother of former President Cleveland. Driven by the flames to the stern of the sirip, Mr: Tunnelle eagerly scanned the water for a boat, and seeing one pulling away plunged overboard. It was the ship's smallest boat, and the ten men aboard were all it could com- fortably hold. Mr. Tunnelle, how- ever, swam to its side, and Captain Culmer, in charge, insisted that his friend Mr. Tunnelle be allowed to climb aboard. lowing away from the burning ship the men in the boat started off in the direction in which they believed land would be found. They had n> com- pass, food or water. For six days they struggled without seeing a sail or glimpse of land, and the ugly mut- terings of the crew that one must sacrifice his life that the others be saved grew until it was only by the display of lus revolver that Captain Culmer kept them in check. ? Open threats were made to kill the negro, as his life was not valued as highly as the others. When Glascow heard these threats he became terror stricken. and begged for his lite. Cap- tain Culmer had just decided they would all die together before he would allow any one to be slain when land was sighted. ¥ life WOUNDED LION KILLED HIM. The Indian mail to hand brings us vivid and pathetic details of the death of Major Carnegy during the lion shooting exploit in the Gir forest dis- trict. The Major, of course, was the political officer of the Viceroy, says the London Pall Mall Gazette, and the ex- pedition had been arranged by Lord Lamington on the site of the lion hunt prepared for Lord Curzon five years ago, but never fulfilled. It is believed there are sixty or seventy lions in the Gir, and the Major, having spent the last couple of years in the vicinity, knew the Junagadh better than any one. On March 9 a tracker arrived who had been attacked by a lion while rid- ing into camp, and while he dropped his weapons and escaped it was only by abandoning his pony and seeing the animal carried off. The “shoot” was divided into three parties, with the Major in the second, and it entered the jungle to a depth of about ten miles. The Major and his two friends, Mr. du Boulay and Captain Foljambe, selected a tree, each ranging along a nullah, and the two latter fired at a fine lion, wounding him high in the right shoulder. The Major also hit a lioness. The natives also fired their old-fashioned guns, and it was thought safe to descend from the trees for a consultation and search for the wounded quarry. a The lioness appeared and ran for a shikari, but the Major fired and she dropped for dead. "Then there was a pause for drinks, and the party com- menced to follow the lion’s trail down the nullah for a mile or so. Now and then the men ascended trees to keep a lookout, and at last the party came into a clearing, with waist-high grass instead of trees. Suddenly there was a roar and the lion dashed out. making straight for the Major, who fired one shot, just grazing the beast. Simultaneously there was a struggling cloud of dust, in which the natives say they saw the lion beat the Major down with a blow of his paw. Captain Foljambe fired, Mr. du Boulay ran up and fired point- blank at the lion's heart, a native fired into its hindquarters, while others crop of wool shrink to 400,000,000 As the spring wore into summer once pounds in 1903. shatedtatutatatatitatity ‘fhe Major was found to be dead, Me must have died Instantaneously, The body was carried on a charpoy by torchlight and conveyed back to Raj. kote by special train, and the shock caused by the news throughout the Junagadh district was intensely felt, It is added that the lion measured eleven feet from tip to tail. The othe ers. shot were two lions rather less, and a lioness (the Major's) of nine feet. ON A RHINO HUNT, A sportsman gives an account In English Country Life of his adven- tures in German East Africa where he found a great deal of game. He says: “It is by no means as easy as one would think to see rhinos at any dis- tance, as they are general,y the color of the earth of that locality, as a re- sult of the matutinal mud bath. Near Baringo, most of them were a brilliant red, whilst in the German Masai plains they were mostly of a light gray khaki, which made them almost in- visible, and, indeed, I got within forty yards of two rhinos on one occasion in the open without being able to dis- tinguish them from the ant-heaps around, Many writers consider that when a rhino charges, in many cases Lie is merely rushing blindly in the di- rection which he imagines to be the least dangerous, 1 feel sure this is not the case, as I have invariably found them make an exceedingly good shot for the shooter, and I believe that their first impulse is to attack, but, losing their heads, they rush madly along, and so give the sportsman every opportun- ity of escaping them. We also noticed that, whereas in the open a rhino is more likely to make off, in bush he is almost certain to charge if sur- prised, and we attribute this to the facet that he is unable to determine the distance he is from the danger, and so takes the offensive. A lion, I believe, will nearly always charge if one surprises him at close quarters. On one occasion I had to dress a na- tive’s shoulder, from which a large scoop of flesh had been taken by a lion which he had come upon on the grass, and which had sprung at him, given him a smack, and then rushed off. In this connection it is worthy of notice the lion seldom, if ever, uses his claws when wounded, relying entirely on its teeth; but when attacking a man, either for food or in an impulse of self- defense, he invariably uses his claws, after which, as in this case, he often leaves his victim after knocking him down with a blow of his paw.” WIIAT GRIT DID, The industry and econgmy of the young man mentioned, by the South- ern Agriculturist, if backed by good heaith and sound judgment will bring success almost anywhere: It is fully demomstrated that where there is a will there is a way. A newly married man went to Nebraska several years since, and he exhibited what a determined man can accom- plish. We give his experience as a lesson to the thousands of readers of the Agriculturist. He says: “The first winter I taught school seven miles from home, walking fourteen miles each day for four months. We saved all our money to buy land and pay for breaking until we Lad cight acres ready for cultivation. We now have 320 acres of land worth $60 per acre, with sixty head of fine cattle, six good horses, and a fine herd of thoroughbred hogs, with plenty of ma- chinery to carry on the farm. We grew grain almost exclusively until past five or six years, when I put in a large acreage of alfalfa for stock. Alfalfa yields four to six tons per acre. Am worth now about $25,000.” This is the road that Mr. M. Hal- lock, of Merrick County, Kan., traveled to reach the comforts and luxuries of farm life. Young man, get up to- morrow morning with the determina- tion to be somebody and climb up the cliffs of honor. BOY PREVENTS TRAIN WRECK. Only for the intelligence and bravery of a boy eight years old a northbound passenger train on the Tyrone division of the Pennsylvania Railroad would have plunged into an open switch be- tween Sand Ridge and Osceola, and scores of the 128 passengers probably would have been killed or injured. The little hero was Wallace Moore, whose home is near the railroad. The boy was playing beside the tracks when he noticed that the switch was open. Long familiarity with the movement of trains over the line caused him to realize that the passen- ger train soon would arrive and that it would plunge into the short siding at full speed. After vainly trying to close the switch the little fellow ran up the track in the direction whence the train was approaching. Regard- less of his own safety and bent only upon preventing the tragedy, he stood in the middle of the track waving his cap frantically and gesticulating wildly. The engineer sighted the youngster when the train was far enough away to stop it in time to prevent running him down. In boyish phrase young Moore told about the danger ahead, and was lionized by the passengers and train crew for his bravery. MAN ESCAPED, HORSES KILLED. Milford Harten, a driver for a livery firm in Humboldt, was rendered un- conscious and his team instantly killed by a stroke of lightning during a heavy thunder shower. He was en route to the town of Thor when out of the downpour came a deafening crash. When he came to he was lying beside the road and both horses were dead. He recovered suf- ficiently to arrive at Thor. Singed hair near the horses’ ears KINDNESS TO INSECTS, Children, if you meet a cricket, Please remember not to kick it; Not a youth whose nature's sweet'll Strike a ladybug or beetle. If a daddy longlegs passes, Do not slay it (as alas! is Often done by wicked urchins, Who deserve the soundest birchin’s). When a gnat—that lively hummer, Which you'll hear when it is summer, Comes a-buzzing round your hat, it Is wrong to throw a pebble at it, Do not think me sentimental When [ ask you to be gentle With the insect population Of our free and glorious nation. If you're kind in this partic’lar, They will buzz in your auric’lar; Every child, of course, can see What a pleasure that will be, —London Globe. A CURIOUS PERCH. A pigeon roosting on the minute hand of the town clock in the Cass County Court House tower stopped ihe clock at precisely 6.20, and caused many people in Logansport to be an hour late, says the Chicago Chronicle. The electrie light was turned on in the tower, and, although the dial was suddenly illuminated, the pigeon was not in the least disturbed, and refused to move. A janitor was obliged to climb the dizzy height and “shoo” the bird away. It was 7.15 o'clock when the mechanism was again in motion. HOW SWALLOWS DRINK. Of course we know that swallows Arink as they skim over the surface of water. We have seen how here and there the water ripples on a pond when swallows are gracefully skim- ming to and fro. One day I sat down beside a smail pond where, every eve- ning, many barn swallows came to bathe and drink on the surface of the glassy water. With sketch book and peneil in hand, I closely watched the birds: and you may igamine my de- light to see just how they managed to touch and dip up the water as they came within a few steps of me. You see, the swallow takes up water in its lower bill, just as you would dip up a little water in a spoon or in the hol- low of your hand while you glided over the surface in a boat. Only the under half of the open bill touches the water; if the upper half were also to touch, the water would be forced out on either side instead of being scooped up into the bill.—St. Nicholas. BEEHIVE IN HER PARLOR. In the heart of London over half a hundred-weight of honeycomb has just been gathered, says the Montreal Her- ald. The bees responsible for this rich harvest belong to Miss Baden-Powell, sister of the hero of Mafeking. These wonderful bees are the sub- jects of an interesting experiments. They had been removed from an old residence in Piccadilly to Miss Baden- Powell's new home at Prince's Gate. During their fifteen yea in their old quarters the bees never failed to store up large quantities of honey, and were quite content to live in the drawing- room where their specially constructed hive, invented by Miss 3Baden-Powell, stood on a table near the window. “The mystery is where they fed in order to make honey so exceilent and in such quantiti id Miss Baden- Powell, “for there was no garden at- tached to the hot In their new home at Prince’s Gate the bees come and go through a passage in the wall as before, and Miss Baden-Powell is watching anxiously for signs ef dis- content, which she hopes will not be shown. ESKIMO FOLK-LORE. The most striking feature of Eskimo folk-lore is its thoroughly human char- acter, says a writer in the Interna- tional Quarterly. In a strict sense of the term the bulk of Eskimo tradition is not mythology, but hero-tales, which reflect with remarkable faithfulness the social condition and religious be- liefs of the people. They treat of visits of fabulous tribes, of murder and re- venge, of mercy and recompense, of feats of shamanism and of witcheraft, The supernatural enters into them. but only as it enters into the every- day life of the people to whom witches, guardian spirits of shamans, giants and dwarfs are existing realities. In this sense most of the Iskimo tales are true tales taken from life, and show a great lack of imaginative power. Seting aside this group of hero-tales there remain only a few entirely dis- connectéd myths. One of them tells how a woman was mutilated by her father, who cut off her finger joints one after the other. From these joints originated the sea-mammals, and the woman became their mistress. An- other myth tells of the origin of sun and moon, who in the beginning were human beings, a brother and a sister, and who were taken up to the sky. WHEN THEY QUARRELED. Alice and Bertha played in the same garden, because they were little sisters, relates St. Nicholas. They were always playing in the gar- showed where the bolt had struck.— elubbed it with rifle butts and swords. Fort Dodge Correspondence Des! Moines Register and reader, { den, and everybody who passed by would say, “Hello, Alice!” and “Hello, Bertha!” and the little sisters would Rt AND BOTS] run to the fence and say: “Good morg- ing! Good morning!” But one day a very sad thing hap- pened. Alice and Bertha had a quar- rel. Alice wanted to play that her house was under the pink rose bush by the fountain. But Bertha wanted to play that her house was under the pink rose bush by the fountain. So Alice said that she wouldn't play at all. And Bertha said neither would she. They each walked around the garden alone. It was sad. They thought the sun did not seem bright, and they thought the flowers were not pretty, and they did not like the little fountain, and they were very miserable, and did not know what to do. So Alice walked back to see what Bertha was doing. And what do you suppose that was? Why, Bertha was walking back to see what Alice was doing. Just then a little bird flew down and took a bath in the fountain. He splashed and splashed and splashed. Alice clapped her hands and laughed. And Bertha did, too. Alice and Bertha looked at each other and kept right on laughing and laugh- ing. “You may have your house by the pink rose bush, Bertha,” said Alice. “Oh, no! You have yours there,” said Bertha. “I tell you what,” Aiice said. “We will have our house tlfere together.” The dreadful quarrel was over at last, and the two little sisters were happy again. CANDLE CURIOSITIES. Jet for your experiments a large tal- low candle with a thick wick; this will give better results than the ordinary candle with a slender wick. You know that in the dark spot in the middle of a candle flame there is no fire; that the spot consists of unburning gases. Here is a way for you to look right down into that space, an empty space with the flame surrounding it. Take a piece of wire netting, such as is used for window screens or for mak- ing strainers, and hold it down over the flame. It might be supposed that the flame would rise through the meshes of the wire, but instead of doing that BURNING THE CANDLE SMOKE. it will spread out beneath it, allowing you to look down the space in the mid- dle. The reason is that the wire car- ries the heat away so rapidly that the flame is put out. This principle is used in the miner's safety lamp. For your second experiment let the candle burn until the wick is quite long, having placed it where there is no draught. Now blow the candle out, and a stream of smoke will rise from it. This smoke is the gas, the burning of which makes the flame. To show that it is gas put a lighted match to it immediately after blowing out the can- dle, and it will ignite and run dowm and relight the candle. The match should be held about half an inch above the wick, Again letting the candle burn until the wick is long, and quickly blowing out the flame as before, hold the wire gauze down over the wick so that the smoke will rise through the meshes. Apply a lighted match to the smoke half an inch above the gauze, and the gas of which the smoke is composed will at once ignite, but the flame will not go below the gauze, for the reason that has already been given. Still experimenting with that dark spot in the middle of the candle flame, take a good match and thrust the head of it into the spot. If you do it quickly enough the match will not ignite as it enters the flame, and when it gets into the dark spot the head will melt. It will not light because there is no air in the spot to make combustion. Now get a plate and bring it quickly down into the flame of the candle, and then raise it again, being very careful to keep it in a straight line, up and down. You will find on the bottom of the plate a ring of spot, the centre be- ing clear, because that part of the flame leaves no deposit of soot. By using a lame plate and a small candle you may make the outlines of a gro- ‘tesque face with rings of soot, one for each eye, and for nose and mouth, with ‘a number of them crossed and entagled at the top for the hair over The cost of the French Army is $135,- 000,000 per annum. the forehead.—New York Evening Mail, PI make constr tells n sent f1 Dea the sa tus w PILQ ~it is liable ACETY 157 Mi AVRAAN/ Sa———— | Don't during ‘It gives of repo smoothi FITSper ness afte Nervele: Dr.R. H. Coal } ovkva in wr The 1 phone 1 a source germs ( cently b transmi telephor _ points, tests. daily us doctor germs, prised, single © that so and he second The tes of a w phones the sati an advi transmt washed 2 week. ¥ / La When be laun the bow 2 crowded Just as sides of | the ves with he garland [ through 1 i spirit of Perhaps Bread ’ «~A cha © can lift Welden, “Last severe S$ gick hes until I | retain a every k ly disco and tho death, t to find home sg “To m me, dige tress. once, Im; grew fil every w few WwW eight. that for and alw eating a panquet “I hay sick stor 1 used t Iam no own wo worth Ii “Grap to my f and my it wond tum Co. There’ Get tl MWellvill
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers