THAT WAS ALL.
'Tv. as written on the prison door:
"I'm lodging here, forget it not,
Because I entertained a thought!"
And as these words I pondered o'er—
The story of a felon's fall
Dependent on a slender thread
Spun from n thought a tulo of dread—
-1 fell to musing; that was all!
'Twas hut a momentary thought
He entertained one Idle day.
That vanished instantly away:
A fleeting vision that was naught.
A passing thought he'd not recall.
Dismissed so quickly from his mind
As one unworthy there to flr.d
A lodging place—and that was all!
A lurking thought that would return,
Rut quickly vanish, and again
A lodgment seek.to And in vain;
Thought of a sin that he would spurn
A lurking thought he would forestall
And entertain a little while,
Then banish as a tempter vile
Come to beguile him—that was all!
A haunting thought that fain would stay
His Idle moments to employ,
Like a deceptive, skilled decoy.
Arid then essay to pass away.
A haunting thought that fain would stay
Despite of efforts to discard;
A guest that often pressed him hard
For his compliance—that was all!
A biding thought that would not go.
Though he reproached himself in vain,
And struggled often and again
Against his weaker self, till-so
To his first thought he traced his fall!
One thought unbidden, entertained,
Had gone and eome and then remained—
He sinned and fell and—that was all!
What powers In a passing thought
That has lodgment eVr so brief!
If every soul that comes to grief
Could trace his acts with evil fraught
Rack to the step tirst toward his fail,
When innocence was put to shame,
'Twos first u thought that went and came,
Then ihe-flrst act—and that was all!
Ouard well the door cf innocence,
And entertain no thought that leads
To devious ways and evil dcid3.
Lest passion, baffling your defense,
INurps the throne and you shall fall!
"I'm lodging here, forget it not.
Meiwuu- I entertained a thought!"
One treacherous thought—and that was all!
—Ohio Farmer.
SUNSHINE TO SPARE.
BY EVERETT MOLRKUOE.
[copyright. 1596.1
In the early days of my struggle in
this biff city I used to suffer a veritable
hunger for music. 1 bad been brought
up on it. My father and mother am!
my sisters are real musicians. As foi
i:u\ I nin singularly destitute of any
capacity for playing upon an instrr.
mont. I couldn't learn even t.he jew's
l.arp in a thousand years, and, though I
can sing a little, my principal use at
home was as u listener who never got
tired. It is hard for a young fellow
who has had a home such.as that to
come out into the world all alone and
hear practically nothing for n year hu;
l lie hand organs under his window. 01
con roe, there is plenty of music in Mn
city, if one can pay to hear it, but i
couldn't, and so I went hungry. That
wasn't the only sort of hunger that 1
suffered, either, for things went badly
with me, and I was at the brink of de
spair. I wouldn't let the people at
home know about it—at least not all of
it. They knew that the brilliant pros
pects which cheered me in llie begin
ning bad faded into nothing, but fhey
supposed that I was making my livfog
As ,i matter of fact, I was getting into
debt. I was even in arrears with the
rent of the room I occupied. It was a
very small parlor at the front of a
ground floor llat, and cost only font
dollars a week. 1 thought that quite
moderate when I engaged tihe room, bin
in the days of my adversity I learned
that one can't pay four dollars with
nothing any easier than lie con pa\
four thotisand.
It was a gloomy room, I suppose.
ven when I was out of it., but my
thoughts in those days cast shadows oi
their own: and so it happened that ir:
the afternoons when ! came hack do
lea led and cat down alone, the dark
i.ess fell earlier around trie than in nn\
oilier s' r>t in the whole city. It wai
then 1 li.it I used to fancy myself at
home where there was almost always
music in the hours cf twilight; and I
longed for it. remembering how m\
favorite slv.t-er could sit down to tie
piano nr.d | lay me into any mond sle
pleased.
It was at such n time that I first
heard the sound of a piano in the room
over my Imnd. 1 remembered ha vine
mmmi some furniture vans before tie
house o'i the previou - day. Evidently
a fatni'v hail nmved into the second
flat, which ha:! been vacant many
months If I had I nown that a piano
was he'ng brought into the house, I
might have had more fear than hope,
for there is always the danger of nr
eternal medley of popular songs; but 1
was spared Hi*? period of uncertainty
Without warning came the gentle
chords that in n moment grew into an
old. far.;iliar strain, suteh as might have
been a part of my day dream. It was
n mvturnr of Chopin's, tinged with Mie
despair:! g sadness which characterizes
much of that composer's greatest work.
It was p,laved correctly and with feel
ing. and my soul responded to it.
At heme I u>ed to hear endless dis
missions of the power of music over the
emotions; and I observed that the most
thorough musicians denied any legiti
mate connection between music and
septimcnt. They declared r. us.ic to be
an intellectual exercise, and its proper
enjoyment a matter of the mind and
not of the heart. They always seemed
to me to have the best of the argument,
and I niM willing to admit even now
that to speak of n composition as grave
or gay, hopeful or (Impairing, is to he
lie low the level of t.he subject. Vet !
think one should have the privilege of
confessing frankly that he is below thai
level: that he Is the child of his ances
tors. who have fancied themselves sad
dened or cheered or exalted by music;
and that it is to hi me a direct appeal,
stronger than words and accurately in
telligible. I had never been subjected
io an influence more powerful than
frtat whiCH was e.xbrted upon mo:-by my
•neighbor in the room above dhrlng lhe
succeeding days. What manner of per
son that neighbor might be, I did not
.know, and I studiously avoided finding
out. The touch seemed to be that of a
woman. I preferred to think of her as
young and beautiful.
Rut whether my neighbor was the
fair young creature whom 1 pictured,
or a Herman professor weighing 200
pounds aud sitting at the piano with
a glass of beer on each of the lamp
rests* the effect upon me was in the
highest degree sentimental. She—or
he—very nearly played me off the face
of the earth. The soul of that, mysteri
ous individual was evidently in perfect
accord with mine. Every afternoon
we began together about four o'clock
—rebellious against destiny, protesting
vainly, yielding despairingly. Then
followed personal regret, self-pity, hit
ter tears; next, a longing for the end
of all, and a foretaste of the blessing
of rest.
I think some ancestor of mine must
have blown his brains out about six
o'clock in the afternoon, it is said that
morning is the favorite time, for sui
cides; hut I could almost always begin
a day fairly well. The fatal time for
me is when the day is dying, and I lay
the blame upon some cowardly fellow,
far back in my line per ha pa, who, at a
certain crisis, did not dare to see the
night come on. Under his malign influ
ence, I more than once seriously medi
tated accomplishing my own destruc
tion—even prepared to do so. And that
music, always sad, always reminis
cent- of some boyish despair, never hope
ful nor courageous, utterly infidel and
earthly, accompanied the steps by
which my soul went down to darkness.
It must be admitted that the ordinary
events of life were powerfully assisting
tiie lady or gentleman above my head
to bring me to my end. 1 was as much
the victim of conspiring circumstances
as e\er was the bad little hoy in a
Sunday-school book. It all looks trivial
now, though I haven't g.rown much
older, nor much wiser since then. It
was only a question of earning my
daily bread, of paying my small debts,
and of proving to those who cared for
me that I was worthy of their regard.
It was in the afternoon of a peculiar
ly unfortunate and humUJating day
that I returned to my room, in peril of
my life. If I had just robbed a robber
I MERELY SAW HER FACE AND FELT MY OWN GROW COLD.
of his spoil, I would have been safer in
his company than I was alone. Mingled
with the genuine, deep feeling of des
perate rebellion, was undoubtedly a
petty, theatrical appreciation of the
scene of my death. I pictured my beau
tiful neighbor—no frowsy professor this
time—playingdirges for un unfortunate
boy whom, afterwards, she would think
of with tender pity. And so 1 sat in j
my accustomed place with the darken- j
ing wails staring at me; and I um
ashamed to say that there was a re
volver on a table within my reach.
Rut the music upon this occasion
failed to exhibit that perfect harmony
with my emotions which had been so
notable before, it began with that
song without words which 1 have always
called "The Prayer." At first I thought
that some other person was playing,
but I soon recognized the touch. It
was not a different performer, but dif
ferent music. Strains succeeded which
were strong and hopeful. There wus no
joy in the music except that which
comes from the triumph of courage. I
waited in vain for a return to the old
mournful melodies, and tlie harmony of
weariness with despair. Certainly a
change had come over my musician; and
very soon a change came over me. At
six o'clock I put away that revolver
with little more feeling than 1 usually
have in handling firearms; and 1 went
out and had a remarkably good dinner
on ilie last half dollar that remained
to me.
The next day, so far as results were
concerned, was nearly as bad as any
that had preceded it; but I stooil it bet
ter. 1 had a new interest, the curiosity
to know what my friend overhead
would do that afternoon.
She did just what she had done on
the previous day, though, it seemed to
ine, with n better spirit. There was no
jingle in the music; it was all serious
in tone, but brave and true. So it con
tinued to he for a month after that—a
month during which I had a ghastly
struggle with poverty. There was a
way in which 1 could make a few dol
lars, occasionally; not much more than
enough to pay my rent; but I paid it
and stuck to that room, and ate some
thing once in awhile. Many a day I
came home discouraged, but my neigh
bor never failed to conquer my de
spair. In these last days the music
was often of a higher sort, not trivial,
but bright and sunny. I began to pic
ture the qverhpad .gs a very
pleasant place.
Suddenly jny good fortune came to
me. The change was all in a day. I had
work to do; work that suited me; n set
.led income and a fair future. Remem
bering the depth to which I had one
descended, and the means by which I
had been raised up again, it appealed
to me as a duty that I should go and
thank my neighbor for her helpfulness.
I had almost forgotten that she had
eveir contributed to my sadness; I
thought of her as the most cheerful and
happy of created beings.
About the time when she usually he
pan to play, I ascended the stairs and
knocked at the door of the parlor. A
voice said: "Come in.** I was sur
prised, and yet I knew at once from the
tone that .some one was expected, and
that the invitation was not for me.
Nevertheless I con Id not do otherwise
than enter.
The room was considerably larger
than mine, and it was remarkably
bright and cheerful. Already mine had
begun to darken, yet even so little dis
tance higher, the sunlight streamed in
at the window, and seemed to touch
every object in tlve place. The pianist
was directly opposite the door, with her
face turned to me. . She was exactly
the girl that I had imagined heir to he.
only more beautiful, brighter, cheerier
j than 1 had pictured her.
I told her who T was, and to do that
rightly it was necessary to tell my
, story. This I did a.s briefly and plainly
mul simply as T could. T had thought il
would be hard, but it seemed to be
easier then to say just what I meant
than it hod ever been before. Tier won
derfully kind face helped me with every
word. She scarcely spoke till I had fin
-1 ished: then she said that she was veiry
glad to have been of help to me.
"I used to play the dreariest music
tiiat ever was written," she confessed.
"1 couldn't be satisfied with anything
else. Rut at the time when yon noticed
Hie change, 1 made up my mind that it
was wrong to he always gloomy, ami
that I would put a little sunshine inlo
my music—and info everything else, for
that matter."
"I should think It would he easy up
here," said I; "it's so bright. My room
is ever so much darker. Rut you have
sunshine to spare."
As T ceased speaking T moved toward
the window, where the lightest of cur
tains seemed to brighten rather than
obscure the room. Then I turned to
ward her. She was addressing* some re
ply to me, but I did not hear the words.
I merely saw her face and felt my own
girow cold as the blood rushed to my
heart. She was looking* toward tin*
spot I had just left. She had not heard
me move; she had notseen me; for she
was blind!
My breath come in a sob. She turned
toward me, and then she told me of her
affliction, simply, gently, without ap
peal for sympathy. Sunshine to spare!
And she in utter darkness for more than
a year.
"f learned to play when I was very
young," she said, "and it. Isa great com
fort to me now that I can do it, though
T cannot see. Of course it is dreadfully
hard for me to learn anything new. I
don't doubt that I have wearied you In
playing the same things over and over
again,"
"If you wish to know what you have
done for me," said I, "you have saved
my life. You, who so much need help,
have been the helper. But, if the roles
can be changed, and iii this world or
the next there is anything that I can
do for you, command me to the end of
eternity."
I didn't know what T was saying, hut
I meant it, whatever it- might be. She
smiled gently at my fervor, and just
then her elder sister entered the room.
The sister and her husband were the
other occupants of the apartments. I
was presented and I told my story
again. Both were very kind; I count
them now the best friends that I have.
I go up there and rend to Alice and she
seems pleased to have me. Thank
heaven, I hove been taught to do it well.
But- I enjoy that too much myself. 1
wish there was something involving a
sacrifice that I might do for her. ft
would seem more like paying the debt
I owe. I try to learn of everything
that is good and cheerful out in the
world, that I may bring it back to her.
But. that is little enough. If I could
give her my life! And if I offer it, will
she take it for what I wish it were,
not for what it is.
An English Patrlarrh.
Merry Jenkins, a Yorkshire fisher
man, died in 1070 at the age of 100 years,
lie was dissected by the famous Harvey
who found no appearance of decay,.iu .
any organ.
Salvation Army FundV '
By the recent self-denial week £15,-
000 was raised in the United Kingdom
alone toward the funds of the Salvation
Army, being £5,C00 in advance of las I
year.
LiATTLE IN A THEE.
j; r .ow Bold Rooin Rodbroast Van
quished His Enemy.
[Copyright, 1897.]
They were a very devoted couple just
lit this time, though I have reason to
believe that at other seasons of the
year they nagged at one another a good
bit, like other husbands and wives. He
was a handsome fellow, and as for
her she was as fotid and affectionate
as a lovesick little robin redbreast can
be. They had built and furnished their
house in the topmost branches of the
only tree in our street, close to my
study window—a poplar—and I enjoyed
a splendid view of their honeymooning,
und of his kindnesses and courtesy to
her—behavior which made nie smile
us coming from him, because it was so
very unlike him as he wus for 11
months or so of the year. Well, they
built what appeared to be a satisfac
tory home from their own point of
view, and chirped and congratulated
one another endlessly over the accom
plishment. Soon lifter it was finished
she laid an egg therein, and presently
another; then a third and a fourth, and
1 think a fifth.
Then there came n time of compara
tive quiet; there was less chirping and
Idle conversation. She sat and dozed
on her eggs as he did much tlie same
upon the garden paling, or on an adja
cent branch of the poplar, or anywnere
that came, looking deeply dejected. Oc
casionally when she left the house in
oilier to get a bit of dinner or break
fast, he would go and sit on the edge
of the nest, and sometimes hopped in |
and fussed around, and kept jinking the j
eggs with lids beak, turning them over
and over and gloating over them in a |
way which disjileased the missus,seem- !
ingly; for he was always turned out
with personalities on her return, and
would then sail away to the fence and j
Kit there more dejected than ever.
At last the eggs hatched and a busy
time began; a time of innumerable ex
peditious on the part of both parents,
foraging expeditions to every point of
the eomjiass; a time of funny noises
from tiny, unseen personalities among
the straws which formed their home; a j
had time for the worms and such like |
game, for the youngsters were vora
cious and insatiable and kept their
parents on the move all day and every
day.
About a week after the hatching of
the eggs, Thomas, the cat from No. 13. j
down this row. began to take an in- |
terest in the family. He had, appar- j
ently, made his calculations as to the I
hatching of those eggs, having watched |
the parent birds at their honeymoon
ing, and, probably, taken a r.oto of the
date of the laying. When the young
sters were a week or so old, Thomas
gave up all his other engagements in
order to conic and lie in my garden and
gaze uj) into the poplar tree, and blink,
licking his lips at intervals. During
this time nothing could seduce Thomas
from this fascinating occupation. His
Iricnds would come over the wall and
speak to him, and try to wean him
from the contemplation of the robin's
nest, but he took no notice of them, lie
hadn't time; liis calculations were too
alisorbing. It was so difficult, you see.
to decide as to tlie exact age at which
a young robin has attained his high
water mark of suceuleney.
So Thomas' frieuds would come CIIHI
shake their heads\ver him and go and
talk to t heir other acquaintances about
the deplorable falling 1 away of dear
Thomas and the hope t.liey entertained
that he might still recover his lost
ground when he should have got over
that unfortunate craze of his. Some of
the eommuinity laughed consurccdly
over this phase of Thomas'career; they
said they could not help recalling what
happened to Eliza —another member of
the society—a couple of years ago, when
she took to bird hunting. She had
made a bid for the season's brood of
this very couple of robins and had
faired badly at their hands—or heads;
it had been a Willing^sight, they said—
killing! It might be there would be a
parallel spectacle on this occasion, if
Thomas really intended to make a bid
for the youngsters up aloft.
Mr. and Mrs. Robin took no notiee
whatever of Thomas —indeed, they
never once betrayed the fact that they
knew he was there, though Thomas la v
and blinked up at Jlieir happy domestic
home and calculated and licked his
Hps all day long. I thought it odd that
these devoted parents should feel no
anxiety as to the proceedings of
Thomas. To me it seemed clear tluit
his intentions were far from being
honorable; yet those optimistic people
either disregarded him altogether, or—
if they observed his presence at all
desired to show their contempt for his
machinations by pretending to be una
ware of his existence.
lint presently the little speckle
breasted hoys and girls had nearly
grown out of the parental mansion;
they would take to flying soon; their
fat little bodies were as succulent and
delicious as they would ever be, and
Thomas knew that the time had come
for his climb. Thomas knew very well
what had befallen Eliza. She had been
foolhardy. Eliza had rushed the thing,
and had been detected and ignomiiii
ously sent home by a combined attack
of the enemy. Thomas intended to act
with discretion and intelligence.
One morning Mr. Ilobin had left the
premises upon a foraging expedition.
rtfrs. Tl had absented herself upon a
similar enterprise; the time had conic.
Thomas crept, snakelike, along the
grass of the lawn, looked up the pop
lar, blinked, opened his mouth without
speaking, and jumped four or fire feet
lip.the long bare trunk of the tree. At
the same instant Mr. Robin pore ar
rived on the scene. lie darted quickly
In-from the opposite side, so that the
trunk was between Thomas and liini
s: !f, and settled himself quietly upon a
branch,- whence he could see all that
passed.
The cat Thomas, ignorant of tho
proximity of danger, clung on to tlie
trunk like grim death and hauled him
t>elf up a few feet* Mr. Robin, su
premely ignorant of the circumstance,
interested himself in a feather far
away under his wing; he worked hard
to find the feather, pulling it out at
last, and letting it float away out of his
beak.
Thomas elung on to the tree trunk,
all the elawsof uJI his feet being requi
sitioned for the exertion, and staired
up at the nest, gathering strength for a
rush. Mr. Robin yawned and pretend
ed to be deeply interested in the fo
liage of the poplar, which, of course,
formed no portion of his real diet,
though lie picked at it now and nibbled
a little, for effect. He did this in case
Thomas should have caught sight of
him, in order that Thomas might, in
that ease, suppose that his own move
ments had not been observed. The
bare trunk of the poplar was a long
one, you see. and Mr. Robin was anx
ious that Thomas should not be alarmed
before he had if ached an elevation
which would suit the plans he had laid
out. As a mutter of fact Thomas had
not seen hiui at all, up to now.
At length the assassin—the would-be'
assassin—took a long breath, blinked
twice or thrice, and scrambled about
20 feet higher up the tree. Then In
stopped to rest. Mr. Robin yawned
again, spat out the leaf he was pretend
ing to eat, chucked concealment to
the winds and his own round body into
the nir, arid flopped down upon the
branch nearest to Thomas' bead: tc
the-unutteirable disgust of that dishon
est individual, who thus found himseii
suddenly in an extremely awkward po
sit ion between the devil and the dee;
sea—Mr. Hobin representing the devil,
whom he rather resembled just now
and the drop of nearly .'lO feet the decj
sea.
Thomas looked upwards and per
ceived a climb of 1 3 feet, at least, to
the nearest hough; he looked down
wards—and it made lrm quite giddy,
so high had he climbed. Also Irs paws
and muscles generally were, strained
and weary, and the devil, in the shape
of Mr. Robin, sat and vnwued and
watched him, as though with indif
ference, though with a very nasty look
about the eye, up above. Thomas
blinked and his ears lay back on hi*
CLOSE TO MY WINDOW,
head with rage and fear, and his back
tried to arch, but failed by reason o*
his uncomfortable attitude, which die
not lay itself out for arching; and
Thomas opened his mouth to swear o:
say his prayers, and I cannot say for
certain which, because no sound came
Mr. Robin allowed Thomas thor
oughly enjoy his position for a minute
or two; then he called up his wife.
"Come on, missus," he cried, "and you
shall see some fun; I have Thomas, the
eat, on toast; no hurry!" or words to
that effect. Mrs. Robin arrived at
once and sat down to watch, and I
verily believe the five little ones popped
their heads out of the nest and watched
also.
Mr. Robin now took the field. lie
quietly left liis bough and poised him
self in air close to Thomas' distracted
person. Thomas rudely spat at him
and viciously struck at him with one
of his front paws, which he unfastened
from the bark of the tree for the pur
pose. This nearly lost him his hold
and he quickly grabbed the trunk
again and spot freely. Then Mr. Robin
delivered his main attack. He swooped
at Thomas and dug his businessl k<
beak into his head and his body; once,
twice and a third time lie repeated hi
blow, and Thomas found his voice and
rummaged his vocabulary for all the
worst things it contained.
Hut hard swearing did not save
Thomas. He could not hit Mr. Ro'oin
back, because he knew that if he did
he must let go his hold and fall to the
earth. Nevertheless lie did strike at
Mr. Robin, for that hero had aimed n
fourth and a fifth shot at hint, and the
at tnek was pain fill, as well as da ngcrous
to the eyesight. Thomas, flashed his
wicked green orbs at the enemy—swore,
spat and struck out at him. The inev
itable happened, of course. Thomas
fell.
A baffled, beaten, dejected cat was
Thomas as lie crept across the lawn,
accompanied by Air. Robin, who was
now joined by his lady: and Over the
paling into No. 4 he went, and across
No. 4 garden and into No. it, still jeered
at and insulted by his escort, and there
1 lost sight of the party. What sanc
tuary the defeated one sought I do not
know; but this T know—that T saw no
•more of Thomas for many days, an.l
t.lien he diil return his countenance
wore that chastened expression which
Is assumed by those who have seen the
error of their wicked ways and have
made good resolutions for the future.
As for the little Robins, they grew
up in peace, and in peace they took
their ultimate departure, whither I
know not.
Tt. was after the departure of these
birds and their heroic parents that
Thomas reappeared in society.
—A Philadelphia husband forb. do his
wife to cat pie. and she has sued for di
vorce on this ground. ' -
I Tin in BxWctm I
?!? DESIGNED AND WRITTEN ESPECIALIY ECR V)
j _. (MIS PAPER. ... i
•®eee66€ssess#
i This seven-room house can be creeled
for SI,GOO. The elevation is nicely de
j signed, tind the upper structure is niee
j ly built upon a stone foundation,
j The size of rooms is as follows: Par
| lor, 12x32 feet G inches; sitting-room,
i 12x13 feet G inches; dining-room. 12
feet G inches by 13 feet G inches; hitch
j en, 12x13 feet; pantry, 4xß feet; bath.
, f.xO feet; chambers, 12 feet 0 inches by
i 17 feet, 12x13 feet G inches and 12x11
j feet.
! Special features are; Shelves and
j drawers in chamber closets; bevel
! plate glass in front door; art glass in
. j
1 Ly " \
! v
i •'
FRONT PERSPECTIVE.
transom cf parlor window: cased open
ing between reception hall and parlor:
sliding doors between parlor and sit
ling room; cased opening between sit
ting-room and dining-room; fireplact
in sitting-room; china closet in dining- ,
room; double swing door between din
ing-room and kitchen; sink; boiler foi
hot water; ease for tinware in kitchen;
I rear stairway leading to second tlooi
; from kitchen; stairway leading to base
| ment from kitchen; pantry with flout
bin and shelves off from kitchen; large
gfgj
fat 1
Nlli 11 6 ''° I
fljl rf' r,l ? n (~T|
Mj /- " /j \\ '
flbmnj/lkom |
/J it'St ;! # 'i' J
T
izrl ii
| |
PLAN OP FIRST FLOOR.
rear porch,GxlO feet; outside alley way; j
stairway to attic; modern bathroom
fixtures; modern hardware through- i
out; attic floored; double floors; two !
coats plaster; hard-oil finish on in- j
terior wood work; pilaster 1 rim; hard
wood red oak floors in reception hall, j
parlor and dining-room; maple floods in !
kitchen, pantry and bathroom; front .
stairway red oak; doors, 2 feet fli
inches by 7 feet 1% inches; joist, 2xl
inches; studs, 2x4 inches; plates, 2xlo
inches; stone wall, 18 inches thick.
jj fhtmhrr I
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~7 \i
PLAN OF SECOND FLOOR.
with footing; brick chimney; beams.
SxlO Inches; posts, SxlO inches; red
wood round-butt shingles in gables; tin
I gutters, hips, volleys, plastering, etc;
galvanized iron downspouts; paneling
in apex of front gabling; exterior paint
ed three coats, best linseed oil and white
i lead, linishing coat a terra eotta color
with white trimmings; sash traced wit!,
bottle-green color; veranda floor and
| porch floor gray color; sheathing of
I fence flooring; A No. I building paper:
siding, 4-ineh o. g.; veranda step treads.
12 inches; piping for gas and furnace:
I basement divided off into furnace, oca!.
fruit and vegetable rooms,-laundry and
j store room.
j The height of the basement is 7 feet: j
first and second storie, 'J feet G inches;
and Eczema cured. These two com
plaints are so tenacious that the readers
of the TiMitr.vK should l now of the suc
cess obtained by using Dr. David Ken
nedy's Favorite Remedy. Where all
j other treatments have failed, it has made
; a complete cure.
No more horril.de case of salt rheum
was ever reported than that of Wilbur
L. Hale, ipiarterinaster, Pratt Post, (i.
A. K.. J'ondout. X. Y. Several physi
cians utterly failul to render him any
relief: finallv
BR. OfSViD KENNEDY'S
was tried and steady improvement fol
k wed its use, and a permanent cure re
sulted.
It is used with a similar success in
i cases of scrofula, nervousness, kidney
j and liver complaints, and in all diseases
| brought about by bad and shattered
nerves.
Risll
Po not ho dopotvofl bv alluring advertisements and
think you can get the beat mode, finest finish ami
MOST POPULAR SEV.'IMC MACHINE
for a mero song. Buy from reliable manufacturers
that have ruined a reputation by honest, ami square
dealing. There is none in the world that can equal
in uieehanieul construction, durability of working
parts, fineness of finish, beauty in appearance, or baa
aa many improvements as the NEW HOME.
WRITE FOR CIRCULARS.
The New Home Sewing Machine Co.
OKAN OK, MASS. BOSTON. MASS. 88 UNIONBQVAKB.N.Y;
CHICAGO, ILL. ST, LOUIS, MO. DALLAS. TEXAS.
BAN FRANCISCO, CAL. ATLANTA, <JA.
FOR SALE BY
D. S. Ewing, general agent,
1 127 Chestnut street. lMiila., Pa.
East Stroudsburg, Pa.
A Famous School
j In a Famous T.oeatioii.
Among the mountains of the? noted resort,
Iho Ib hiwnic Wiitt i (iu|. \ school el thrco
! or lour hundred pupils, with no over-crowded
] classes, but where lonelier.-: can become m>
<|ii:iiutcd with their pupils end help them iudi
j vidunlly in their work.
.Modern improvement. A line new gynuia-
I -iuin. in charge of expert trainers.
We tench Sewing. I >ressiniiking, Clay Model
ing, I- reeluind and .Mechaiucttl Drawing with
out o\tra cliarge.
\\ rite to us at once for our eatalogue and
other information. Van gain more in a small
school than in the overcrowded schools.
Address
GEO. P. BIBLE, Principal.
Are You a Roman Catholic
Then you should.enjoy ;e ding the literary
productions of the best talent in tb" t'atho
lic priesthood and laity tan.l you know what
I they CAN do), as they appear weekly in
The Catholic Standard and Times
OF PHILADELPHIA,
i The ablest and most vigorous defender of
• 'atliolieisio. Ml the lev,- strong edito
rials— r. children's depart uu nt, which is ele
vating and edueotional. I'ri/e-: olicrcd
month l v to the little ones, t oily 82.00 per
| year. The<i ramies t Prcininin cyT issuod by
i any paper given u subscribers for is l .>7. Send
: for sample copies and premium circular.
The Catholic Stanford and Times Pub'g Co
503-507) Chestnut St. I'liiln.
Anyone sending n .ket.-)i and description may
quickly ascertain, free, whether an Invention is
probably patentable. Communications strictly
confidential. Oldest agency f"rsecuring patents
ill America. Wo have a Washington office.
Patents taken through Munu X Co. receive
special notice in tlio
SCIENTIFIC AMERICAN,
beautifully illustrated, largest circulation of
any scientific Journal, weekly, termslS.flO a year;
Bl.aO six months. Specimen copies and if AMI
BOOK ON PATENTS sent free. Address
MUNN & CO.,
301 Broadway, New York.
| Caveats, and Trade-Mnrks obtained, and all Pat-J
#cnt business conducted for MODERATE FEES. $
'OUR OFFICE IS OPPOSITE U S. PATENT OFFICE'
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Jcost of same in the U. S. aud foreign countries J
#sent free. Address, 2
iC.A.S&IOW&CO
OPP. PATENT OFFICE, WASHINGTON, D. C.
(•pilar shingles on roof; roof boards
of fencing, laiil 2 inches apart for ven
tilation; lattice work beneath veranda,
The cornice projects IN inches; top
saslr divided with wood nnmtins a.i
tliown in front elevation. Balusters oi
veranda square, l'/ a xl '/ H inches. All
material used is the best of its respec
tive kind. When the house is finished
| the rooms must be left clean ready for
occupancy.
1 GEORGE A. \V. KINTZ.