The History of Our Flag:. One of the moat interesting pieces of history connected with the American flag remains to be told. For eighty nine years after the Stars and Stripes ■were adopted, they were made of for eign goods. All through the War of 1812 and Civil War, no American sol dier or sailor ever fought under a yard of American bunting. No bunting was made in this country for two rea sons; first, because nobody knew how to make it, and second, because no body could make it and compete with England. General Butler induced Congress in 18G5 to put a tariff of forty per cent, on bunting, and a man was sent to England to learn how to make it, and when he returned twelve looms were put in operation, and then on February 24, 1860, a notable event oc curred in Washingtou. The first American flag, made of American bunting, was hoisted over the National Capitol. The flag was twenty-one feet by twelve feet, and was the gift of General Ben Butler. We said there were twelve looms en gaged in making bunting in 18G5; well, that was a good many then, but in twelve years nfterward there were 13,000 looms making the same article. Under free trade in bunting we paid from $25 to $35 a bale for the goods, and under a protective tariff the price fell to $lB for a iirst-class article.— Fond du Lac (Wis.) Commonwealth. This Is the singer whom Antonio Ter ry, the wealthy Cuban, has frequently announced his intention to marry as soon as the divorce court released liini from Mrs. Terry. As tills event has | come to pass in the shape of a decree I issued by the French courts uo legal barrier now stands in the way. Miss Sanderson has won distinction on the , operatic stage, and is at present sing ing in St. Petersburg, where rumor j says she is receiving much attention j from the Czar. When she becomes > Mrs. Terry she will not need to sing, as her husband to be is reputed to l>e j worth between $-1,000,000 and $5,000,- 900. Sliake Into Your Shoes Allen's Foot-Ease, a powder for the feet. It cures painful, swollen, smarting feet, aud in stantly takes the sting out of corns and bun- i ions. It's the greatest comfort discovery of \ the age. Allen's Foot-Ease makes tight-fit- j ting or new shoes feel easy. It is a certain ; cure for sweating, callous and hot, tired, ach- i lug feet. Try it to-day. Sold by all druggists and shoe stores. By mail for 35c. in stuntps. , Trial package FREE. Address, Allen S. Olm sted, Lo Roy, N. Y. Few people are aware of the variety j of goods shipped from the South to all j parts of the world. The steamer Geor- i gia. of the Old Hay Line, plying on the ; Chesapeake Hay between Baltimore | and Norfolk, recently brought into ! Baltimore for shipment consignments ! of Southern goods to Cape Town Africa ! Kingston. Jamaica. Shanghai. China, and London. England. A part of the Chinese consignment was cigarettes ; made ln North Carolina. Fits permanently curod. No fits or nervous ness after first day's use of Dr. Kline's Greut i Nerve Restorer, %'i trial bottle and treatise free : Du. R. 11. KLINE, Ltd.. Ull Arch St.,Phila.,Pa. Albert Burch, West Toledo. Ohio, says: i "Hall's Catarrh Cure saved my life." Write him for particulars. Sold by Druggists, Toe. There la a Claaa of People Who are In lured by the use of coffee. Re cently there has been placed in all the grocery stores a new preparation called Gruin-O.niads of pure grains, that takes the place of coffee. The most delicate stomach receives it without distress, aud but few can tell it from coffee. It does not cost over one-quarter as much. Children may drink it with great benefit. 16 cts. aud 25 els. per package. Try It. Ask for Qrala-O. DULL ACHING PAINS Palpitation of the Heart-All Cared by Hood's Narßuparllla. "I was troubled with a dull aching pain ln my right kidney, and I also had palpita tion of the heart. I began taking Hood's Sarsaparilla and since then I have never been troubled with either of these com plaints. Hood's Sarsaparilla is also help ing my wife very much." H. B. SCOTT, Marlboro, New York. Remember Hood's Sarsaparilla Is the best—ln fact the One True Blood Hood's Pills cure indigestion. 25 cents. f*\ The Rocker Washer hu provtd th most astiaf acfory any Waahar avar plocod upon th msrkot. It i* warranted to MafiiSfiSKHM Tf M i oop ie£ es' iVox E HO IT R. aa clean aa can U war hod on the wuhheard Wnto for prieei and full deacription. V ROCKER WASHER CO. FT. WIY.II, llfU Liberal inducements to liva acnn'>- SHREWD INVENTORS! w Patent Agencies advertising pri7.es, medals,"No patent no pay." etc. We do a regular patent bus iness. Low fee*. No charge tor ltd vice. Highest references. Write us. WATSON K. COLESIAN, Solicitor of Patents, yoa F. St.. Washington, D.C. Wanted-An Idea £53 W EC U™R ldens ; thoy may bring you wealth. Write JOHN WEDDERBURN & CO.. Patent Attor- I neya. Waahlnrton. L. c., for their SI.BUO prize offor aud now list or one thousand inventions wanted. AT TWILIGHT. Out of the dusk, wind-blown and thin, The shadowy wood-bouts gather in. And twilight hushes the harbor's din- Sleep, little head, on my shoulder! The gold lights wako through the evening gray In the little village beside the bay. And u few cold stars gleam far away— Sleep, little head, on my shoulder! The sailor turns his face once more Where his sweetheart waits at the ooened door; The lone light washes the wave-swept shore- Sleep, little head, on my shoulder! Here where the dancing shadows swarm Our driftwood lire is bright and warm; Beyond our window wakes the storm- Then sleep, little head, on my shoulder! —William Carman Roberts, in Century. | A DAUGHTER I OF THE GODS. | ft G 1~3 . fej HY is it a law of I ./ nature that tall Mi womeu iu us t m ar ry a ho r^t c ~ ' feet nine? I refuse to marry anything under six feet, so I shall have to die an old maid. It's very hard." "You will scarcely be measuring the man's inches when you fall iu love Auun," said her friend. Perhaps the heavy-figured, plain featured woman of nine-and-twenty would not have been averse to chang ing places with the tall, supple-limbed young Amazon who bemoaned her ill luck from the long deck chair on the sunny vicarage lawn, and would have taken Fate's ttno of a possibly short husband kindly enough. "I shall measure his inches before, and so I shall not fall iu love, wise Lu —don't you see?" "And you would rather marry a man like Charlie Langley, six feet of well built stupidity, than, we will say, Mr. Boyce, who is clever and—" "Handsome, aud almost a pygmy. I allow Mr. Royee to be the miniature model of what a man should be—but I do not wish to marry a model, I want the man. Some big men are hand some and clever as well; but big men like little wives, and so I must go lius bandless. Charlie Langley worships little Flossie Cressold. Heigh ho! What am Ito do? I must be off, Lu, or I shall be late for dinner." On the other side of the thick quick set hedge stood Owen Koyce, the clev er little artist, of whose future great things were predicted. Walking care lessly beside the overhanging haw thorn and wild-rose, he had been caught and held by a straggling thorn; while impatiently unfastening the de taining bramble the words spoken in the garden had fallen on his ear. He was clear of the thorns at last; he was standing erect and still in the meadow, his eyes on the low summer sun, and with a thorn in his heart piercing and hurting as no mere physical pain could do. He had walked carelessly through the summer, as he had walked through the brambles—to find himself sudden ly caught. Two months of tennis, riding aud boating with Anna Way moor had not left him heart whole. Heart whole! He bit his lip, and put a hand across his eyes; he could see her mentally, tall oven among the tall women of the day, beautiful in her strong grace. Like many small men, the artist was wonderfully active and wiry; neat-handed, and quick of eye, lie was an expert in all he did; during his two mouths' stay at Greyland Manor he had good-naturedly coached Miss Waymoor in her drawing, at tenuis, and had taught her to ride with some of the knowledge which he himself possessed. 'J(hat teaching had been a dangerous pastime; particu larly dangerous were their loug read ings and talks together; perhaps it was then that the artist had fallen headlong in love with his beautiful pupil, when the "Amazon" had been laid aside, when the gracious, gentle woinau had sat beside him with her tender, deep gray eyes, and with color coming and going had learned to love Beatrice and Juliet, and to know, through him, her Hkakespenre and Dante by heart. And all the time she had thought of him merely as what he was—"almost a pygmy." He saw himself suddenly as little more than a dwarf—a laughable atom! He envied the dull booby Langley his broad shoulders and great frame; what beau tiful woman—such a woman as Anna Waymoor—could care for such a scrap of humanity as himself? Yet ho had dared to love her, to love her as in tensely as any six-foot Hercules could do, though he learned to know it only when he learned that he—the Pygmy —scarcely ranked iu her eyes as a man at all. Anna stood armed with her golf clubs on the Manor terrace; Louisa stood beside her, a study in drabs, a foil to the fresh, brilliant coloring of her friend. "Now, Mr. Maxwell is what I call a man, Lu," the girl was sayiug. "He is big aud well-made. Icannot speak as to his head-piece. And he appears to have no dislike to a tall woman, my dear;" said Louisa drily. Anna twirled her club. "No, I do not think ho dislikes me. Jack has asked him to stay on for the cub-hunting." "Has your brother persuaded Mr. Royce to remain as well?" "Yes; his picture will give him quite another mouth's work. He has grown very stupid lately. I cannot think what has come to him; he paints cud paints, and is as dull as an owl," and she moved off to join the stalwart yu-mg Maxwell, who was patiently awaiting her pleasure at the park gate. Louisa went back to the house to speak with Mrs. Waymoor, the window lady of the Manor. At the door she came on the artist, who stood watching Anna and her companion crossing the park, watching so intently that he was unaware of her neighborhood until she spoke. He turned with an apology. "I was watching the golfers; they make a handsome pair, do they not, Miss Blackston?" She followed his gaze; when she looked back at the inau, two queer lit tle upright furrows marked her fore head. "You admire her?" "I am an artist. I must admire her." Her eyelids were lowered as she weut by him into the hall; she was shivering, though the September after noon was warm and bright. That evening, after the choir prac tice, she said abruptly to Anna: "My dear, I think why Mr. Royce has grown stupid is because he loves you." The girl leant against the garden gate, and laughed till the tears ran down her cheeks—the notion was so funny. Louisa's notions often were. "Love me! Mr. Royce! Why, if he wore elevators in his boots he would barely reach to my shoulder. It never occurred to me that the little manikin cojild fall in love. How absurd!" Louisa turned, almost angrily. "Though it has not occurred to you it might to him. And you are such a fool that you cannot see the man in him! You make me impatient, Anna. Flirt with Gerald Maxwell by all means; it is all you are fit for." "Why are you cross, Lu? Mr. Royce is clever and I like him; he i 3 very kind. Poor little scrap! I like him very much. But he is in love with his Academy picture, uot with me." So, through the glorious September days Anna golfed, hunted and cycled with Gerald, and the artist painted, trying to forget the pain which held him in its grasp. He sought in his bruised soul to rejoice that the man on whom her choice would probably fall was at least a healthy-minded, honest country gentleman; he only asked humbly that she might bo hap py. He stuck doggedly to his picture —he said he was too busy to play— and be kept Lis pain, lie believed, locked in his own breast; but the queer, upright furrows were on his forehead as on Louisa's, and they deepened as the days went by. He had been painting hard down by the wood until, the afternoon suu was low. At last he put up his brushes and started on his two-mile walk back to the Manor. Gerald Maxwell over took him and the two men went on together. The stopped at the foot of the railway embankment, lounging against the rail, to watch the express pass. They could hear her thunder ing in the distance and waited to see her sweep round the bond to the left, dash across the straight piece of line before them and then take the curve to the right. Gerald was in high spir its, whistling carelessly in the pauses cf his talk. The artist stood silent, content to listen. Then, to their right, along the lino, came the beat of flying hoofs; both men turned to see and both gave a simultaneous ex clamation of horror, as round the bend, out of all control, galloped headlong beside the metals Anna's bay mare, tearing furiously on toward the rush ing train, then rounding the opposite curve. Anna sat back in her saddle, white as death, trying to stay the run away, but powerless against the crea ture's mad fright. "She may pass safely on one side," gasped Gerald. Even as he spoke the mad brute plunged into the centre of the iron road. She seemed for the first time to sight the train whistling and soreani ing out its warning, but powerless to check iu time. She reared straight up, and then stood planted and im movable in the centre of the metals, staring, paralyzed with terror, at the advancing monster. It had all hap pened in a second or so, leaving but I scant time for thought or action. Both ! men shouted to the girl to fling herself 1 off, but she, too, seemed turned to stone. She sat dumb, looking before her with agonized eyes, though her trembling hands yet mechanically strove to turn the horse. In hall a minute it would be too late. Gerald flung up his arms, shouting his warn ing. He stood there alone, the artist was gone; he had scaled the steep em bankment, bis small, lithe figure springing up it like a cat; one hand, strong as steel with dumb-bell exer cise, was on the horse's bridle, back ing her a step to the side, the other was on the girl, pressing her from the saddle, telling her to fall—to trust him and fall. Thank heaven! She under stood and obeyed. Amid the thunder and crash of the train he knew that she had swung clear of the metals. There was a blow and be was down, and all was dark. It was a miraculous escape. Max well wiped the moisture from his brow as he told the story; Royce had rushed iu with the train almost on him, when it seemed that horse, man and girl must all be cut to pieces; nothing but his wonderful quickness had saved Anna, who, bruised aud shaken, had yet fallen clear of worse harm. Poor "Black Bess" was cut to bits. Royce's face was terribly cut by the blow which had felled him, yet, mercifully, he had fallen, stunned, in the hollow between the rails, and so had escaped with his life; but he would never paint more, his right arm had been frightfully crushed; amputa tion had had to follow as his only hope of life. The Manor people nursed him de votedly through his illness; nothing they could do could, tliey felt, repay what they owed to him. He was very grateful for tlieir care and intention. j He made no allusion to liis ruined j career, though his eye sometimes rest- j ed on the half-finished picture which , stood in his room. He looked reso lutely at the reflection of his scarred face, at the empty right sleeve. He f had all his life looked at trouble be tween the eyes; he had never shirked or quailed before it. The man's spirit, at least, was no small one. But as Christmas neared and he grew fairly convalescent he began to grow restless. In spite of protest, he declared him- j self well enough to return to his rooms in town. He had stayed at the Manor to paint, now he must trespass no longer. "Dear old chap, why go?" said Jack. "The mater worships you. Can we not amuse you here? Anna will try to; she will read to you, sing to you. Surely you might stay for Christmas ! with us?" He smiled, but repeated that he must go. He lay very still when Jack left him. looking out at the red winter sun and the wheeling rooks in the Park elms. , Yes, Anna would be good to him; he knew that. She had been kind—so kind, that to stay on would be worse torture that the loss of his arm! When Maxwell returned, as of course he would, his suffering would become un- ■ i bearable. He was not so strong as he , had been, and things cut deeper; he ; would be better away in town. Then Anna learned their guest , meant to quit them. Anna had changed of late; she professed to be : tired of dancing, she said she 110 long- 1 er cared to hunt, that she liked best to be quiet at home. She had grown very gentle, very womanly, and her ! gray eyes would become wonderfully soft and tender when they rested on ; Owen Itoyce's disfigured face and poor maimed body. They became strangely wistful now as she said softly: : 1 "Put we would rather you stayed." j 1 "Still I must go," he answered,pick- i ing up his book with unsteady fingers. 1 She was behind his couch, and stood : looking at him in silence with an oddly 1 frightened expression; then she blushed i hotly over cheek and brow as she said < inconsequently, j 1 "I did not want Gerald Maxwell to come for Christmas. I told Jack not 1 to ask him; but—l did want you here." i There was a pause. The man on the ] sofa drew his breath quickly, and from ' : somewhere far above his head a tear j 1 splashed down. It lay on the scarlet silk cushion, a round, dark stain. He 1 raised himself quickly and looked at • her. Yes, the tears were raining down her face. With his left hand he caught I her dress. 1 "Anna," he said, hoarsely, "did you j < guess then, that I loved you?" I 1 "Yes," she said in a whisper. "I read it in your eyes when you caught I my horse's head on that awful day. t Louisa had guessed it before, and told i me, but I had not believed." 1 lie was lying back again on the I cushions, watching her with quiet, I hopeless eyes. t "Yes, heaven knows I loved you," , he answered. Then he told her what I on that summer's day he had over- 1 heard in the vicarage garden. "You did not love me then, Anna. Now, I £ am disfigured and a cripple. You are t kind and good—l understand—but it t is only pity you can have for me. You c would not marry me, save in pity." I She was on her knees beside him, c half laughing, half crying. 1 "In pity! In pride and joy. Did I c not say, 'a tall woman must marry a 5 small man'? Are you too proud to take i a tall wife, Owen? Must I die an old } maid because lam overgrown. Don't i you know that to me you stand high I among men; that your scarred face is 1 your V. C., that your empty sleeve is \ your badge of glory? Don't you know \ that had you died under the train, I f should have had no wish to live? I t knew whom I loved then. If you are f too proud to marry me because of your . poor arm, because of my heedless, [ stupid speech—then lam not too proud I to say that your pride will make one c wretched woman. And, Owen, lam I not too proud to accept your pity— ( but the pity is yours, not mine, to i give."—Household Words. 3 New York's Pinnacled Sky-Line. t The sky-line of New York is chang- 1 ing so rapidly that the American trav- 1 eller who goes abroad can recognize fc with more certainty the profiles cf the ! foreign cities he approaches than that 1 of his own metropolis as he sees it I from the deck of the steamer on his f return. It may be his first visit to 1 Europe; he may know Loudon, Rome, and Paris only from views of them in old prints. But, if he has an eye for ( such things, his first glimse of St. , Paul's, St. Peter's, or Notre Dame will tell him to what place he is coming, for all the world knows these pinna cles, has known them for centuries. They are as conspicuous and charac- ] teristic in the silhouettes of their cities \ as they were when they were built. , One of the Dutoh Governors of New Amsterdam, seeking in spirit some j familiar earthly habitation, might find , old Amsterdam, for it cuts the same , figure in the sky to-day that it did when he left it, but the last dead boss ] of New York, if by any chance be j should get away from where he ought ] to be, would search the horizon in vain ] for the face of his city. The features ] his eye would seek are there: Old \ Trinity still stands, its steeple, like the spires of the old cathedrals, up lifted high above the earth; but its solitary prominence is gone. The modern office building has risen higher than the head of the cross, and the church has lost its distinction. The j enterprise of business has surpassed tlie aspiration of religion.—From "The Modern Business Building," by J. Lin coln Steffens, in Scribner's. i'•<'::■ *■i' . \i• ■" ! •••!' |h! .' ... ! , tho acre in France is 102 bushels; in Ger many, 121; in Italy, 104; in Holland, 177; in the United States. 75. A BAG OF BIG GAME. ; Iloyal Sport Enjoyed by the Guests of an Indian Prince. 1 In the Century there is an article entitled "After Big Game in Africa and India," written by H. W. Setou- I Karr. Mr. Karr was a guest of the Maharaja of Kuch Behar in the latter country, and he describes an exciting i hunt from elephant back. He says: The Maharaja of Kuch Behar ever Since his youth has always had a large stud of elephants, and hunted in this ! way; and since big game is now com paratively scarce even in Assam, we should not have made any bag worth speaking of if we had not had the ben efit of his experience. Not more than three or four beats could be accom plished in one day. Considerable dis tances had often to be traversed from one jungle to another, and tho inter vals were often long and tedious un der an Indian sun; but most of us car ried books and papers to read while the elephants were getting infc> posi tion. When the beat had once begun, however, all one's senses were 011 the alert. By the men's turbans, or the white sunshade of one of the aides-de camp bobbing up and down, one could generally distinguish over the tops of the reeds the position of the beatiug line in the far distance, and hear an occasional shout and the shrill trumpet of an elephant. 111 the midday stillness, broken only by the constant flapping and fanning of the elephant's huge ears, oue can distinguish the approach and mark the path of most of the wild animals by the rustling in the grass and reeds. But the approach of the panther and the tiger is heralded by 110 such sign. By experience one's eye becomes trained to discriminate between the swaying of the reeds caused by tho wind and that due to the cautious ad vanco of an unseen beast., whether deer, boar, bear, or something bigger still. When tiger or "rhino" are known to be at home, such small fry as these are allowed to pass unharmed, for fear of turning the object of pur suit; but when the larger game are advancing at full speed, it needs no expert to distinguish their appalling crashes from the whispering of a breeze. Will be break cover in front, or will the next gun get the shot? Standing in expectation, with guns loaded and heart beating, this is the most exciting moment of the day. The howdali elephants being thus placed at inter vals, and usually out of sight of one another, one was not always able to judge by tlie shots fired as to what was going on; but I was unusually for tunate in the number of animals breaking cover at a point immediately opposite to me, and consequently in the chances I obtained. I took leave of the Maharaja shortly before the breaking up of the second shooting camp, which took place about a month later, in his own country; but the total bag included seventeen tigers, seven rhinoceroses, and nearly forty buffaloes, besides bison, bear and panther. How to Prolong Life. "Intemperance anticipates age," bo said the late Sir Benjamin Ward Rich ardson. The more the social causes of mental and physieial orgauic diseases are investigated, the more closely the origin of degenerative organic changes leading to premature degeneration and decay are questioned, the more closely does it come out that intemperanoe, often not expected by the person him self who is implicated in it, so subtle is its influence, is at the root of tho evil. When old age lias really commenced, its march toward final decay is best de layed by attention to those rules of conservation by which life is sustained with the least friction uud the least waste. The prime rules for this pur pose are—to subsist on light but nutri tious diet, with milk as the standard Food, but varied according to season. To take food in moderate quantities four times in the day, including a light meal before going to bed; to Dlothe warmly, but lightly, so that the body may in all seasons maintain its equat to keep the body in fair exercise, and the mind active and oheerful; to maintain an interest in what is going on in the world, and to take part in reasonable labors and pleasures, as though old age were not present; to take plenty of sleep during sleeping hours; to spend nine hours in bed at the least, and to take care dur ing the cold weather that the tem perature of the bedroom is maintained at sixty degrees Fahrenheit; to avoid passion, excitement and luxury. Two Uses for Money. Money is what it will do. A piece of money was seen "doing" what it was never made for, in front of the Mail and Express office this morning. A smoker had a cigar and a match, but no convenient place to strike a light. The sole of his shoe was damp, and he may have had an esthetio reluc tance to join that ignoble army that marks buildings with saltpetre scars. He fumbled iu his change pocket, found a half dollar, struck his match upon it, and walked away serenely puffing the cigar of the Havana. Not every wearer of eyeglasses knows that a piece of paper money is the best thing with which to polish dull lenses. Sometimes the clean, soft handkerchief carried for the purpose fails to remove that blur on the glass that so vexes the wearer. A bill of any denomination, but not too new, will, if used in place of the linen, make the lens like crystal iu a moment. The action may look like vulgar os tentation of wealth, but it costs noth iug after all.—New York Mail and Ex press. Two liljj Garden Parties. Sheffield's Mayor is the Duke of Norfolk. On occasion of Queen Vic toria's visit he gave a feast to 50,0)0 sohool children and their 1800 teach ers at his country house near by, where he subjoqur ntly gave a tef "jc 8000 persons over sixty yews of age. ANT HOUSES IN AUSTRALIA. : Mounds in Which Millions of the In sects Live in Perfect Amity. One mound in particular, a groined columnar structure, was eighteen feet high. This was not far from Port j Darwin. The discoverer believes that originally the mound was conical in I shape. The sides were smooth. It has I evidently been in use for many years j and the columnar effect noticeable, he j believes, is due to the fact that the j ants incessantly traveling the path i ways up and down the mound produc- 1 ! ed the grooves that are seen and re- j | suited in giving the effect of a colum- j j uar formation. The entrance to the ! ; mound, examination showed, had var ■ ied in location, for there was distinct I evidence that apertures of this sort j had been walled up in several in- I 1 stances. ' The interior of the mound referred ! to showed as much as anything the re markable instinct of the nuts. It was divided up very much after the fash ion of the tall buildings which are now | becoming so common, with an immense ! court within the structure itself—that is, there were hundreds of tiny cells built in from galleries which were ter raced one above the other. The gal leries were connected by paths or stair ways, each of these being constructed with architectural exactness. The cells were almost uniform in size, and | reminded one, the explorer said, of the cell of a monk. The earth in each in- j stance was as hard and smooth as marble and bore evidence of long-eon- j tinned usage. A portion of the grouml lioor, or basement, of the mound had j been divided up into storerooms, and | here it was evident the ants had care- i fully packed away the provender which they had secured from various i points about. While naturalists and st udents of the j intelligence of insects and animals j have long been inclined to believe that j the ant exceeded in at least keenness | of instinct ail other creaturea of its | kind, it has never been conclusively shown until demonstrated by tl>e just- j made announcement of Mr. Saville* I Kent.—San Francisco Call. Historic. "I hear Miss Evan gate's new play is j a historic one." "Why not? She's getting somewhat ! historic herself."—Cincinnati Enquirer, j The Philadelphia Inquirer cites an | instance of a man who "was struck by lightniug and rendered unconscious in Pennsylvania over twenty years ago." Wei), he'll probably stay in that State forever. After six rears' suffering I was cured by Pl so's Cure. 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HALL & Co., Proprietor., Nniliua, N. 11. Sold by all Druggists. rtKT RICH quickly: Mnrt for "30d luvenilong ! V* Wanted.' £DUAII TATS & Co., 246 D'wity, N. Y. n n B ■ ABB# AItDH can hs aaved with ll P I I U U °An.i^ r . k uS 0 S 2 I n I I |HC H% cure for the drink habit. I U IB BJB IV 11 Write Itenuvu Chemical rT. Co.. 6 Broadway. N. Y. I I ull information (in plain wrapper) mulled free. EVERYMAN HfSOWN DOCTOR By J. Hamilton Ayers, A. M., If. D. H/Tr This is a most Valuable Book for P the Household, teaching as it does NVH w fjllf j/f the easily-distinguished Symptoms , &©nffi| oC ( liffrenfc Diseases, the Causes, ! \'lAs- \T<_ an<l anß Preventing such Dis- jT/lT eases, and the Simplest Reinodiej """ *W&T~- will alleviate or cure. 598 PACES, fft- PROFUSELY ILLUSTRATED. . Book is written in pldn every \ JfWyji *f d*y English, and is free from the ranfQr Doctor Books so valueless to tbo pTjWJi gX/'i Tfig generality of readers. 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Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers