Evening Star Newspaper, April 24, 1880, Page 3

> A RARE CASE. ‘There was a sea fog that day. It surrounded on all sides the lonely-looking house on the cliff’s edge. The house was not really lonely; but a turn In the road hid it from the coast rd station, a short mile beyond which lay a sy, ous, seaside town. From the back of the building the town swept upwant in gentic undulations; here and there, where the hill-side fields had been turned up by the plow, the clay showed reddish brown when the fog lifted; every where else a tender green hue was spread. from the thin ears of spring wheat, or the 355 Cor nagar land. The spot was so little lonely in reality that noises from the town mingled with the murmur of the waves upon the beach below. You might have fancied it a place from whenee no cry for help could be heard; a place for a misanthrope to live alone tn: Spot to be the scene of a wayside robbery. 1 olate it certainly was, without any fancy fa the Matter. Nothing like a tree sheltered if; there Were only the ficlds, the sky, and the waste of Waters beyond the clif’s edge. ‘The plaster had fallen from the wails and jeft brown patches on them here and e. The garden was over- Is, and one or two outbuildings nsutered to fall altogether “twas the house was no house to the farm to let, if any one me If was in scarcely past girl ning against the top baro ¢ out Into the foz. « watehing for the tenan very sound upon the id turned her head f follow with her eyes the different vehicies that from time to time came out of the fog on her tight hand to vanish into the fog on her left, like phaatom visitors from a world beyond. Th this idea of phantom visitors had itself to the girl, for her eyes looked <i her restless glance betrayed a maind itl at Her lips moved, too, a3 though from living much alone she had contracted a habit of talking to herself. Indtfferent pass- ers-by, chancing to notice the figure at the gate, Saw only just the sort of person one would expect to see in such a place. Others who locked more attentively might have seen an un- happy. territied givl, not yet accustomed to the ewes she filled jnst now: one for whom it might ave been better to have a friend at hand; one for whom It might not be weil to live alone. “She be there agai men, walking at the head of a team of horses drawing a wagon-load or coais. ne be always there,” replied his companion. ve come along day nights: and in storms as threatened to send the wa over the cliff; ana days or nights, fair weather or foul, I've seen her on the wateh.” sugges frightened, “On! the lookout for a tenant for Master | Drew,” said the first. sp cart-whip in his hand. ye: So tt would appe the house doe let other, looking back over his passed the gate. “Nor it won’ Wh in their senses. least wise? “Along of it being that much out of repair, you meal “I don't mean no such thin: Work or so about a place lik because it's an unlucky house. lucky man, and always was. upon the house. Who but. Dre 1a mad woman in for to take charge of it? aspell upon if, T say.” oth men looked back, but the house was no longer visible; the fog hid ir. m to pass along the road wa; and ft must be allowed that if iy an unlucky man, he f. a look the part. ‘There was about him cheertulness of aspect that might e de the worst ill-! wuld do him. It was in cheerfulest of voices, too, that, half check the horse in the shafts of the light ea drove, he called out a greeting to his as he went by, or woul! have gone by, nad not an oe gesture of her hand ingueed him to pull up altogether. he gate at which she stood opened upon a farm track leading tothe crest of the Dowas. ‘The door of the house was at -the stde of the track, and just within the gate whieh the young woman now threw open. “Must I turn in, ma’am?" said the farmer, in his hearty voice. ‘Well, if there's no help for it, I suppose I must, though time presses with me this afternoon. “Dol trouble you so often that you grudge me a few minutes?’ When I asked you to leave Mme here I promised to give no trouble; I have kept my word,” she said. “You have—to be sure you have; the more reason I should turn in now, or at any time when you make a point of it. Maybe, it isin my interest you make a point of it to-day; you think I should see to the place a bit; there's more plaster fallen. No chance of a tenant with @ house in this state.” “ It is an unlucky house, or so they say,” she — glancing carelessiy round upon the fallen plaster iying where it fell, and the tangled weeds in the garden. “Idon't hold with ill-nck. Law bless you, : I've seen too much of life for that. man makes his own luck—and a woman, too. ‘The gir! shook her head impatiently. “T tell you they call it an unlucky hons¢ What has it been to me? and rou—did you d> so well here that you can afford to laugh at th netien?” « Times were hard.” he sid; “luck had naigh to do with tt; and times have mended with m- since. But it you don't like the house, why no jeave It?” ker, cracking the long * remarked the houlder as they . Who'd take it? Who, ig. What's aday’s hat? It t he my living,” nul be bet she _returaed, er pleased I should han tn theold way. “If the house let began the farmer; but she cut short his speech. “If it lets I will come back you; Coes some one must be here, and why not I as well as another? ‘There was a gentleman came to look over it only the other da: “You told him What a lonesome-seeming pl: it was, for ail it stan: near the town,” sai the farmer, with a somewhat rueful look’ upon his round and cheery countenance. “T did,” she ‘d, eager], wind sweeps across the Dow or when it blows trom the sea on stormy da is so strony and Merce you can scarce Keep your feet out- side the doo! And how warm it Is In summer,” Dres ed. “and how the Sertainly: T told him that as y there is no Speck of shude anywhere w sight, except the shadow thrown by the hous’ Jtself—an unlueky house, Mr. Drew.” “Aye; I've no doubt you told him it, and ‘that he went away fully satis! with bo notion of coming to me or of any further information,” said Drew, “That's about all the i! Nick there ts, I fak: that I get no tenant.” He knew very well that he shontd get none as long as this woman was here; this wo: among ailthe: count it the gt should she during which her ain to Watch the road before the gate. re and tell meif you was to you he said—what. did he si the words again.” She drew a step or two nearer, and laid her hand upoa the side of thecart a3 she spoke. “It was on the Downs—," he began, but she interrupted him again,and took up the tale ber- se! “Yes, with the sh two were alone—b bells were ringing in the churches ot the town —I hear them now; it was on the Downs, and he said” feeding all round. You 2 back. ‘rhe ked a bit together.” Drew wen as though by lengtheting the narrativ sought to calm her, and yet_knew tt wo end as it had ended many times before. was asummer afternoon and everyth Very still and peaceful, and when ‘It ¢a: good-bye Detweea us, hé just wrung my hand, and said, “ are of lay Wife, Drew, UillI coms back.’ ” “Till he comes bac! Ob, listen to the waves upon the shore:” she cried, “Till he comes back!” and with that fell to bitter weeping. Her distress, which he had seen growinz. and which he knew of old would overcome tier at the repetition of the words, he would have spared her if he could, but which she forced from his lips each time they spoke together, had an edd effect upon Drew. ‘The respecttul tone inwhich he had hitherto addressed her changed at once to one more familiar; he leant —— the cart and patted her upon the shoulder “Mattie! why, Mattie! thts wilt never do. I've told you before that it looks as though you did not trust him after all. “I do trust bim,” she sobbed. “Of course you do; who should If we did not, you and I, wlio know him for a good mau “That's what I say!” she exclaimed. “but I like to hear you say it too. I called you in to- day to hear it, Mr. Drew.” . “Come over to the farm and hear it there,” i. But she stepped back from the eart rying that others did not pe t on, be iaaenense — somewhat bent. then cheered uw: in, and bid the young girl take heart and Temem: a that she had one friend to stand by her YS,” she said at last, ite Manner tn which as it were, to motion him back ‘again nag ¥ distance appeared to separ: then. “Living alone, I aoe ine hearted at Umes—never doubting derstand; never for one instant doubting him: only f¢ he may be dead. What else could keep him from me? And if it ts death. why that is ‘the will of God, and I shall be reconciled to it in time—only, it is weary waiting.’ «Wait and while loi rights of It all some day. I've said so again and in, api I es ‘This tog hides the may! but the sky's there the same. Don’t you remarked one of two | and I've come aiong | “ve passed by Stonedene in fair weather, | a T, ma’am;” said | | did mention he | servant kept—Drew’s sister exclaimed in de- | | One does not know her right hand from her left. He gathered up the reins as he spoke, and with one more cheerful ‘* good-by” ‘the track leading st tO} of the Downs, in which directi and the house he now occup! delayed so long, he chan; his proceeding to the town, and went toward home , at once. “What will be the end of It? I can see n further ahead in my mind than through this fog to-day." he muttered to him. | self, a3 the wheels jolt ‘ road, and the mist crept round him. “It has been a queer business, and just my luck that it should happen to Mattie or all people in tne world.” = Mattle’s story was simple enough. Any one Would bave told you it has been repeated often and often In the world’s history; a common tale, and not surprising in the it. If Drew Was surprised al Uke wrong In It, that was only because Wrong was apt to surprise him. He tound it easier to believe in right, and to creait men with good intentions. The orphan child of a former servant in a Wealthy family, Mattie had shared the lessons and the play of the young daughter of the house until a time came when It was convenient to turn the humble companion adrift to work for herself. It may have been a pleze of the il-luck his neighbors ascribed to Drew that it should have been to his farm the girl came as help to his sister, or it may have na piece of bis constituuonal good-nature that made him agree to take under his roof this pretty lass, untrained for service and educated far above her station. He heard of her quite acci- dentally through the steward of the people who had hitherto befriended her. As for them, they were relieved to hear of a good home for her, and one far away from the park-like, heathy land, with its pines and chestnuts, {n which Pleasant place Mattle’s lines bad hitherto fallen. Mattie had been given an education that a have satistied a school board inspector of to-day, and had moreover caught up little re- Mnements of speech and manner that. made her quite a superior young woman. She might lave gone out as a nursery governess, but ex- ES herself more satisfied with a country ife tn a farm-house where there was a young child to took after and light work required of her. The awakening was rude when her patronssatd carelessly that the time was come for her to do scipetbing for herself, and that a suitable situ- ation should be found for her. Mattie had a spirit of her own; she did not wait to see what would be done for her, but sought the steward, always a good friend of hers, and through him fourd a situation tor herseii; glad that it took her Into quite another part G1 Sussex, and tar trem ail old lations. Drew's widowed sister, Mrs. Bankes, who lived with hit, and whose emid it was Mattie had come to nurse, among other duties too numerous to mention, for there was but one & ir, when the farmer brought home the young, lady-like, delicate-looktng girl: “We want a strong, hurd-working lass! This She isas good as a lady—or as bad, and has never milked a cow in her life! What were you thinking of to bring her hei “She came in my way. 1 suppose you can teach her, She has not a friend tn the world to 100k to.” “She will not be worth her wages.” } “Ah, that’s just my luck. Well, we must do | the Lest we can with her. If th never mentioned her to me, now nd here she 13." There she was, and there she statd, Apt to learn, willing to be taugut, grateful for the real Kindniesses she met with.” Mattie was soon the best hand at milking for miles round, soon de- voted to the baby. ‘Three years passed quietly, and then came t ‘omanes of Mati She was twenty that summer, and Adam Ar- mitage, agrave Tan, was fully ten years ho . A aveler, member of a worl jentifie society, a student and dis- he was, between two scientisie expedl- | Uns, refreshing heart and brain by a walkin: aa tour through the home count! He had wau- | dered over the level marsh lands, losing his | way among the water courses; sauntered through lanes whose hedges were one tangle ot wild flowers; past villages embosomed in trees, | old manos ‘with s aks and leaty beeches, a p in ferns, Then away ovet 8. Walking for mile along the breezy crest of them, a wide paoo- | rama On € id, and beneath the foot a | grassy 1: rdly visible at times, but reap- pearing: nd if faithfully followed lead- | ing straight to the sea-side town near to watch was Drew's farm, and Mattie milking her ec playing with the child among the h: sing at her work, and all unconscious of coming fate. Adam's walking tour ended atthe farm Drew | had taken only a year before, and the dwelling- | house it had been found more conventent to in- habit than the smaller building on the old land close to the road. Mr. Armitage found the pure alr of the Downs good for him. He hired a little upper chamber, from the window of which one could inhale the strong sea breeze that yet came to It, subtly scented from the blossoming clover across which it blew. He made friends with all the family, To Mattle it was delightful to meet once tnore some one with all the tricks of speech and manner of the more retined society among which her youth had been passed. Little Harry fol- lowed this new friend wherever he went; Harry's mother called him a right-down pleasant gentle- | man; the farmer called him a good man. Drew took this idea from the long talks th> men had together, and to which Mattte would listen, humbly feeling that, pite of her own superior education, the farmer had more in com- nonwith Mr. Armitage, and understood hiva better than she could. Living in a practical Work-a-day world himself. the world of sclence had a wonderful fascination for Drew. He | liked few things better tan to hear of recent discoveries, and the light thrown by them upon revealed religion. For to the farmer it was light, and not darkness. He was not afrald of new ideas; not afraid of growth, even In religion, or | that in growing it should not adapt itself to te Cas of knowledge. Drew fouud Christian ity quite elastic enough for that, and said that the one Truth could be made to embrace ali truths. Adam Armitage was a man after the farmer's own heart. He did not kaow much about his guest; Indeed, no one questioned him as to who he was or whence he came; it was from what he knew of him personally—ot his , and words; and ways, that Drew called him a good man. They all missed him when he went away. Mattle most of all; but the following summi aw him there agai, a welcome old friend this Ume, and no stran Drew, a keen observer of all that went on around him, was not so much taken by surprise as his sister was, when one day, toward the end of this second visit, Adam and Mattie were both mysteriously missing. A strong-armed. | country lass made her appearance betore night. She was the bearer of a note from Matte, lessing that she and Mr. Armitage were mar- ned, and hoping the little servant sent might | ly her place so that uo one would be incon- enced. Drew might shake his head thoughtrul, but Mr. Armitage was his own wid iL WaS not the first Ume a genth married a country lass. Besides, the | done, and pastrecall. They had gore | own irom | oad Of bells floated up to the been married by special Iiceas en alodging for nis bride, and passed one briet, bright week then one morning walked quietly wuck ‘her, Mattie blushing and smiling, | and lcoking so lovely and ladylike in a simple | dress such as she used to wear before she came to the farm, that they hardly knew her. Adam explained that he meant to leave his Wife for two days—no more—in the care of her old friends; at the end of that time he would return to fetch ber. ‘There were arrangements to make with regard to the scientitic expedition about to start immediately. It would sal with- out bim now, but it behooved him to do his best that his place should be as well tilled as might be. There was also his mother to see, and to plepare for receiving Matule. In a day or two at farthest he would be back. Mattie walked a little way with her husband and the farmer along the breezy uplands, and then Adsm sent her back and hastened ils own Steps in the direction of the little station at the toot of the bowns. When he came again he sald, laughing, that it would be from B— sta- Uon, snd that he would drive ina Ny through the Stonedene Gate and along the track, the only approach to a carriage road leading to the farm. “I shall have a box of fine things to bring for my little wife,” he cried, casting a loving glance | atthe lovely face at his side. Mattie abswered that she wanted no fine thiogs, bul went away smiling as he meant she should do, and only paused now and then to look after the two men as long as they re- mained tn sight. | It was natural that she should feel a litle afratd of this unknown lady, Adam's mother, but that fear was the only shadow on | Mattie’s path. She had given her heart frankly away, and an instinct seemed to assure her that she bad given it into safe keeping. It was an idyll, a poem, as true a love story as the world has seen, that had written itseif here in this out-of-the-way spot on the lonely Susse< Downs; and for two days 1ouger Mattie was 11 | Enaire-* fool's Paradise, Kuza Bankes sail | ter. On thé third day they might look for Adim to return, but that day ed, and many an- other, until the days were Weeks, and the weeks were months, and he neither cam¢ nor wrdle. Mattie remembered how, when she hai s his figure distinct | against the sky for one instant, and in the next | lost it entirely as Pek out of sight over | the swelling line of bill | to have lost him in one " And yet she never lost faith and trust in him; | never ceased to watch for his coming again. | it was not long before Mrs. Bankes, who had | once believed in him as much as any of them, began to shrug her shoulders, and remark that it was a Wr tale, but a common one enough. had had her way and made Mr. Arml- | tage marry her, but he had regretted it as soon | more of him;'she mig! | a to maxe Mattie an allowance, OF an wi irs. Bankes did not clearly hat—to make it up to her, since It was at wasa true a Ae ie or gone off in that sly way Was Dot by any means con: I can see the | pain: | up the horse and gone In to tea, Mrs. Bankes, as | Sir,” he concluded, duct they had a right to ex) from_her- . “abe one and Mattie a if the was @ a wife ‘at all, what was she but a deserted wife for the rest of her days? Drew after a time, either goaded to the step by _his sister’s loud-voiced arguments, or promp- ted to it by his own sense of what was dus to Mattie, aot only took pains to ascertain that the marrtage was real enough, but the further 8 of searching for and finding the address of Adam Armitage in London. By that time Mattie had fully made up her mind that her husband had, after all, salled with the expedi- Uon, and that his letters to herself had elther miscarried or been intercepted. She was to make up her mind to anything rather than to admit the faintest suggestion that he was false to her and to himself—to the high standard that. she knew, and that the farmer knew, was the one by which Adam measured men and things, and bis own life amd conduct. It was strange how this girl and her former master both trust- ed Adam in the face of his inexplicable stteuce; in the face of even a more ominous discovery made by Drew when in town—the discovery that he had never mentioned Mattie’s name to his mother, or alluded to Mattie atall. As for Adam, Mrs. Armitage had dectared he was not with her then, and that she could not give an ad- dress that would find him; an assertion that confirmed Mattie in the idea that he had started eto far-away travels he had so often spoken of to her. As autumn passed and the evenings grew chill with the breath of the comin winter Mattie’s health seemed to fai), Tne deep melancholy that oppressed her threatened to break the springs of life. In order to from Mrs. Bankes, 2upe the girl took to lonely ; Wander: 5 UNtHL, Wit stinct of a wounded animal that seeks to end its pain alone, or from the everpresent recol- lection of the last words of Adam, when he had said it was by the way of Stonedene that ha would return, she besought the farmer to send away the woman In charge of the house and al- low her to take her place.’ From the day of her mai , mel at first, and as though hait amu: at her rise in life, but lateria the hope of giving her such comfort as might come from showing his own trustin Adam, Drew had been particular in addressing her by her new title. Mattie was as much soothed by this behavior as she was ruffied by the opposite con- duct of Mrs. Bankes. A certain little dizuity of demeanor grew upon young Mrs. Armitage, who yet insisted upon earning her own bread, Since Adam's Wife must not be dependent upon ue charity of even so good a friend as the farmer. Drew yielded to the wish of the wife, whose heart was breaking with the pain of absence, and the mystery of silence, and Mattie, on this foggy day had already lived months at S:one- Ce onthe watch always for the comlag ot lam. The fog increased instead of diminishing with the approach of evening. Drew could not see his own house until he was Close to it; as he had remarked, the mystery of Mattie’s affairs was not more impenetrable than the vell hiding all natural objects just then. When he had put she bustled about, preparing the meal that Mat- Ue’s deft little fingers had been wong to set out With so much quietness as well as celerity, did not fail to greet him with the question, ‘Well, how is she?” “She” had to come mean Matte In the vocab- ulary of the farmer and his stste: “About as usual in healt rew replied, lifting the now five-year-old Harry to his knee; “but troubled in miad; though, to be sure, that '§ a5 usual, too.” “She is outof her mind,” exclaimed Mrs. ankes, trrital She had been fond of Mat- tle, and not indifferent to the value of so tine a subject for gossip asthe stolen marriage and the aise arance of the bridegroom; but Mrs. sankes wg azo wearled of the state of affairs, and wished for som? change in them; for something new to talk about.” “Mattie ts out of her mind,” she repeated. “Every one but yourself knows that; and it you do not know it, {is only because you are as mad as she ts— r aby Ohe might think so from tie way you go “Nay, nay,” said Drew, ter-dish'was Set upon mence that made the F are no Signs of madness about Mattle—unless y ul her trust in her husband by so hard a “ Husband! a pretty husband, indeed! patience with him, nor with you either, As if it Was not a common tale enough! It would be better to persuade the girl to come home aud get to work again, than to encourage her in her fancies, while you pay another servant here— and times so hard as they are. “Oh, that ig just my luck,” observed Drew, laughing. “Luck! don’t talk to me of ill-luck, when is Is, and always has been, nothing but the weak- mindedness of helping other folks, that ought to stand alone.” Mrs. Bankes did not allude, although she might have done so, to how muci her brother had helped er. “If you minded j; only your own concerns, you'd be a lucky man enough. You are not fool enough to suppose Stonedene will let as long as Mattie’s there, I hope. Fetch her home, and don’t go calling her ‘Ma’um,’ and making believe to see things as she sees them. “IUs D0 make-believe on my part. I can’t bring myself to think ill of a man who showed me so much of his mindas Mr. Armitage did. I don't say I can understand or can even give a guess at what has happened, but I do say I am T've no | Certain it can beexplained. ‘To be sure. tt may be as Ue fears, and he may be dead; and if all never have the explanation. SUuli Wife does, by what I know und that is a good man, if ever there was oni “ Stuff!” cried Eliza, fairly losing her temper. “T judge people by their actions. What el go by? Handsome 1s as haudsome doe y was thinking to day,” the farmer we it on. softly passing his broad’ palm over t head of the child upon his Knee: “1 wa Ing as I came along of how it stands written: ‘He that loveth not his brother whom he hath Ww can he love God whom he hath not And it may be true also that we can Not properly trust {n heaven if we have no trust at all in man—in good men, I mean.” “Tt ts to be hoped you know what you mean. for I don’t,” snapped Eliza, who, not in the habit of bringing heaven into her own conversation, Was uncomfortable when her brother did so. Her Bible lay upon the window-ledge, and | duping the week gathered no more dust upon its | red cover than the Bibies of most busy people do. When she had that book in her hand and | her best bonnet on her head on a Sunday after- neon, Eliza Bankes considered herselt a3 re Ugious a woman as need be. She had small tence with her brother's trick of dragging Ugion into all the affairs of dally life. Mr. Armitage used to do the same, and iniy ad proved himself not better, but much worse, than the generaiity of men.” “You should beetir yourself,” Mrs. Bankes continued. rou should do something, instead of sitting down to trust In the goodness of a Whose actions prove him a villali What can [ do?” said the farmer, recapitu- ing, more for his own momentary satistac- lion than in answer to his sister, the littie he had already done, that little being all that ap- eares to him feasible. “I went to Lona irs. Armitage was on the eve of a journey: went a second time, to find her gone and the establishment broken up. A proud woman she seemed; a woman who always held her head | Ingh, 1 should say; no Wonder my errand uis- pitased' ker.” ae Stuck up, fine Madame!” cried Eliza, reach- ing down a pile of old deif plates from the dresser. “A tine time Mattte would have had | of it among them—not that it makes the case | any the better for the man who played ler ee.” At that instant the shadowy form of some one | golng round to the front door passed the win- low, against which the fog pressed closely. Drew set ttle Harry on his feet and rose slowly, listening with intentness and a sur- paced look that made his sister ask what atled iD. * Rover—the dog does not bark: who—by the mercy of heaven, it is the man himself!” cried Drew, as the room door opened with a sudden- ness that caused Mrs. Bankes to drop the plates on the brick floor. For Adam Armitage stood upon the threshold—Adam, pale and worn, a shadow of his former self, but himself un- mistakably. For an instant a pin might have been heard to fallin the dead silence that fell upon the group. Outside, like a thick curtain hung the white fog; within, the lifting of the veil was at hand. Yet it was hardly curiosity, certainly not doubt, that might have been read in the eyes of the farmer, as, the first shock of sur- pos over, the two men faced each other. Adam ad looked round the room as though seeking some one, had smiled in his old fashion ai. Har- Ty.given a half curious, half indifrerent glance to | Eliza Pankes, and then turned to the farmer. * Drew,” he sald simply, ‘where is my wife? ” “Mrs. Armitage 1s wafting for you at Stone- Gene, sir; there Was some taik of your coming back that way.” Drew spoke almost as though nomore than the two days agreed upon had passed since they met last, and Mrs. Bankes stooped to gather up the fallen Peces Of crock :ry. his hands * Walling!” Adam’ threw up Wlih a passionate gesture; “what can she have Pi though:?”” “Sne had thought you were gone after all upon that voyage, and that your letters had H miscarried. gery she has thought that r r. but bao le knew you covld expiain what has happengd. Adam drew his own hand across his eyes, in the way en mie do who has lately been roused from & dream and has some trouble to fn thoughts. * be cua ete had not befatlen me myself and become # part mn experience, I should find it difficult | Some Pi | called at the house in Gro: | ton was fnally and suc | so desirable a result. ‘ to de left of my ow! to believe possible. A strange thing has hap- peped, and yet”—here the old smiie re- membered s0 well broke slowly like light over his face—“‘and yet a thing not more as the world goes, than that you—I gay no! ot Mattie—but that you should have me Ubroughout. I detected no our Yoice, no doubt in your eyes, not even when Walk with me there, and hear my tale as we 0. gs “ This evening, and in this mist, and you, Sir, looking far from well.” Eliza Bankes, the color in her cheeks, of course attributable only to her having stooped over the broken plates, *Mattle has waited so ae that one night more will make but little differ uk * One night, one hour more than I can help will make all the difference between wilful Wrong and a misfortune that has fallen on both alike,” said Adam. He would not be dissuaded from setting out at once, and in another minute the two men were pushing their way through the driving mist, Adam talking as they went. ‘That which had befallen him had caused huge rejoicings among certain of his friends; men whose names stood high fn the medical world of ‘science, and who were grateful to him beyond measure for affording them so fine an oppor- tunity of studying a rare case. After parting from Mattie, he had taken train to London, where arriving in _ due course, he drove in a cab toward his mother’s house in Grosvenor-street, within a few yards of which his cab overturned and Adam was thrown out, a heavily upon his head. They said his skull was fractured. Altera long interval, however, he opeaed hts eyes and recovered consciousness, and, as he did so, slowly at lirst, aftera time more fully, the astounding discovery was made that mem: ory was entirely gone. It took not days, but weeks to make sure of this. The symptom was attributed to brain fever, to the effects of shock; to one thing, then to another, but as time went on, and the mind struggicd ta vain toremember, just as the body might vainly | have tried to tisea crushed or paralyzed limb, the doctors all arrived at the - ime coachision. portion of the injared skull, pressiu upon the brain, had paralyzed the nerve o: memory. The one or two other authentic cases 1 | ofalike condition were eagerly citei, ani a babble of learned talk arose over poor Ad im, who could nottell whence he came or whither he had been going when the accident nap- pened. To be sure, he relearned by oS from others. his mothar, ¢8; eclally, the past which was mysteriously blotted out trom his own experience; but that which no one but him- self had known no one could now recall to him. His Sussex walking tour, the lonely farm upon the Downs, Mattie, his marriage and briet honeymoon were to his paralysed mind as though they had Lever been, but2for a sense of irrepaiale? loss that seemed to weigh upon him and made the misery of his life. However, this state was one from which, so sald his friends, science could at will recall him, and the operation necessary to restore Adam to himseif was deferred only until his health admitted of its being attended by a mint- mum of risk. It was while Adam was in the state above described that Drew had seen Mrs. Armitage. A proud woman, often as she had wished that | her son wouldsettie in Itfe, she was ill-pleased to hear that he had married a farm servant, for that was the one fact that, stripped of Drew's panegyrics upon Maitte’s superior education ong refined manners, alone siared her in the ace. Hastily resolving that there was no need to embitter her own life by any attempt to recall to her son this, ill-rated marriage, and that, therefore, the experiment of allowing him to see the farmer or to hear Mattte’s name should not be made, she did not hesitate to decetve her unwelcome vis Change of seene had been ordered for he patient, and before Drew Ss¥enorestreet for the second time, Adam and his mother were gone. It was ia Paris, 2months and then, the fi name. The fir powers was to relate to his mother the history Of his marriage and to write to his wife. “God grant the suspense has neither killed her nor driven her mad” he exclaimed. 's hand the letter was <clamation of his ringir e Stood bestde the brazier, tiled oat ind burning in the ante-room of their apartment in the champs Elysees. She was not a bad woman, but the temptation was too strong to ailow this affair to unravel Itself, and see what would turn up. Ifthe girl were dead, why no harm had been done, and this terrible mistak of her son was rectitled at once. If the othe alternative were to prove true, and Mattle had Jost her senses, Adar would be equally free from her, or measures could be taken to insure Mrs. Armitage tore the letter Into pieces, and waited by the brazler until the fragments werecharred. Adam asked no awkward questions, and was not even sur- prised at receiving no answer to his epistle, since In it he had announced his coming. Tie first day his health admitted of it, he set out alone for England. Such was the story; one that Adam himself knew only in part, being ignorant of his mo- ther’s share in it, When Drew had told of his efforts to seek Adam, and had mentioned that no letter had reached Mattie, Adam was at no Joss to understand at once the part his mother had played. But he never spoke of it, then or at any future time. 3 ‘The house-door at Stonedene stood ajar: even- ing had closed in now and the chilly fog was sullabroad, but the figure at the gate was dimly discernible. Adam hastened his steps. “Vor heaven's sake, SU denness of it might turn her brat be careful! the sud- cried Drew, laying a detaining hand upon tl vm of his companion. Adam gently shook him off. “Suddenness,” he repeated. “Aye, it 1 den to you—and to Mrs. Banke Twas by the way, that the delf plates were broken— but for me and for Mattie whose thoughts are day and night, night and day full of each other, how can it be sudden?” Drew stood still, and Adam went on alone, unul his footsteps become audible and Mattie turned her head to see him standing at her side. Adam had been right; no fear wa3 there for Matue’s bretn, All excitement, all surprise and wonder came afterward, at that first su- preme moment, and with a satisfied sigh, as of a child who has got all it wants. Mattle held out ber arms to him, with one word— “Husband!” As Adam drew her to him, it was not only the mist or the darkening evening that blinded Drew so that for a moment or two he saw nel- ther of them. Pecple say Drew’s luck has turned from the day Stonedene found a tenant. It is newly done up and prettily furnished now. Mr. and Mrs. Armitage came down there once or twice a year, with their children, for a breath of sea air and to visit old friend: Argos REDUCING THE AVERAGE. Some of the Cou Stock The Virginta City uerprise Saysi— An excitabie litle Frenchman was last eveniug complaining about his bad luck ulator, aS a Stock spec- sight into zee business. on Worries of “T can not at all get zee remotest in- Long time ago one ood Speci T buy feefty shares of zee Lady ror $i he go down to feefty cent. I say to ‘ow What shallI do? You see zee anced backward—like zee what sh.” friend say to me zat Lady Bryan 1s lation. zat zing about reduce zee average.’ say ] to him, for I no understand what be meaa b zee average.’ esay: “You see, to reduce your average you must go buy feefty schares move at feet’y cent, then your stock not staud in you so iauch money.’ “Igo buy feefty share more—I reduce zee av- erage, you see. “My friend say to me: ‘Now you all right to take advantage of zee market; you have your average reduce. ‘Weil, prey soon, what do you sink? d—Lady she crawfish to twenty-five cent. I go to my Iriend and I say to him: *You zee how it is wiz zee Lady? She have tumble.” “I see,’ said my friend; ‘itis bad, bat zee only way toget even 1s to again reduce zee av- erage. en you will be in one fine position to take advantage of zee market.” “*Diable! says I; ‘but you see, my friend, zee d— market all time take advantage of me. But I go get 200 shares more of zee Lady at 23 cent. Zee I nt. “ Pretty soon bang she go down to zee 10 cent. zee share. I go tq my iriend. ‘What shall I now do?’ say [. “« Zee only sing to get. you even zat 13 poasi- ble to do is to again reduce zee average.’ “* D— zee average!’ I remark, tor you see 1 am to become inflame against zee aver- age. But my friend persuade me it is zee only way to get into zee position to take advantage of zee market wiz zee Lady. I buy me 400 more share at 10 per cent,and say now I am ready for zee rise of zee market. “Just Low, what you sink? One assessment of fifty centis level. I rush away to my friend and say: * What now mus’ I do?” “It is bad,’ he say, ‘I am afraid we have pay too much attention to zee plan of reducing zee average. We have leave the assessment out of zee account.’ “T can not pay him, so I let him go. Lose all zee Lady what I have produce to reauce zee Pretty soon the mine is salt and zee Lady ym to four dollar. Zen I say, ‘ have I not pay zee assessment? Zee diable take zee stock speCuimtion! Between ze Tedilce, ze average, and zee assessment zere is one contlic zat no man can have zee foresight to reconcile Is It not so?” A Really Sensible Committee. [Detroit Free Press, Lime Kiln Clab Procee lings. ored man doif meeting a policeman at a late hour at night?” reported as follows: "We hela tex an’ we find dat we cant “actly agree. San: , an’ We E - nel of de opingun dat 1 Sin i a Guia try to dodge him, au" tele says we Tones finks he ences it frew all rig! ‘After lookin’ at de case In all its b’arins de com- may be takin’ home ” §2The Highiapd Fall le are afraid to tet, test they shail never” collect tuelt cx ds again.—Pr 1 Bulletin, Sof the influence of DIMPLE CULTURE, A Cosmetic Industry Which is Des- tined to a Great Success. (New York World.) A handsome woman, el: itiy_dressel, en- tered a Broadway car in which a reporter was. riding yesterday and immediately bat unco1- sciously diverted the attention of adipper liit!> man who sat next the reporter and wno had been staring out of countenence all the other ladies in the car. The little man, who tooked lke something between a huair-dresser aud a middle-aged beau, drew a note-book {rom his eee and after Cogs | a slight sketch of the face Of the lady who had jusi entered the car, said to the reporter: “Fine woman, that.” ‘The reporter could not bat agree with him. “What do you think ts her special charm?” asked the litle m ‘he repurter Ux might be a sort of * a eymbination of ce “T don't know whatn bearing, her good and dignity, her graces clothes. ‘as Speaking of her face purely and sim- ply,” interrupted the litle man. “Do you no- Uce how completely her face is ta repose?” ‘The reporter answered that he thought tae lady looked as if sne di take much interest in any of the other women tn the car. “Now, I will make her smile,” continued the dapper man, and rising, he turned bis back to the occupants of the car and blew his nose Violenuy. This grotesque exhibit‘on of polite- bess caused the “fine woman” to smile. The dimptes chased each other over her cheeks and then slowly disappeared. ‘The little man_re- ‘sumed his seat in Ume to catch a glimpse of the Meeting dimples. “What do you think now?” he asked. The reporter thought that the lady was vel pretty when she smmtled, and nat her face was as dimpled as that of a baby or a Watteau shep- se Berdess, “Those dimples are her particular charm,” said the little man. “She ts hagdsome without them, beautiful with them. In tive years from to-day—perhaps before tnat—when my method becomes known, w® York City will be filled with women who Ing been platn become pa. having been preity become handsome, aving been handsome become beautiful.” “Oh, then, you are a sort of a”—began the re- rer, The little man handed hima card. It re simply the words, “Professor A. Verront, No. 12 Daffodil oes ‘That is my name a: address,” said he. refession I am a 81 pow graduate of the School of Medicine, Paris. am a specialist, however. like many of the em- inent—I would say like many phystclans and surgeons of the present time, and my specialty 4s to place dimples in the faces of those to whom nature has denied this charm. Now some wo- men can get up a six-inch smile without dolag anything further than put their mouths tn a parenthesis, and others laugh as if they had dimples in thelr upper gums; but those delicate, expressive little holiows that you see in the checks are called up by the slightest ovement of the lips of these who possess them and sp2ak volumes—whole libraries.” The reporter suggested that he already knew allabout the poetical aspects of dimples; he wouid be obliged to the professor if he would tell him what a dimple was. “Well, sir,” said Professot i ple—a natural dimple that is—ts simply a slight hollow beiween two muscles, or over a muscle and the sxin ts more firmly attached to the sub- jacent tissues at this point than at other points. Hence when the muscles contract as in the act of smiling, the skin is drawn drown into the hollow, forming a dimple, that beautiful adim- the reporter, “bat how do you ¥ ke Tmake a puncture in the skin at the point where the dimple is required,” answered the Professor, “a puncture taat cannot be noticed when it has healed, and with a very delicate in- trurent I remove ‘a sinail portion of the mus- ‘le, Then I excite a slight iuflammation which attaches the skin to the subcutaneous hollow I have formed. In a few days the wound—if wound It can be called —has healed and acharm- ing dimple ts the resuit. ‘The reporter suggested that there ought to be good deal of money in the uew operation. “There 1s,” said the Professor. ‘omen will ‘be made lovely and 1 will be made rich.” “How many Umes have you performed this operation?” asked the reporter. any times tn France,” answered the Pro- fessor; “never yet in America. ‘To-morrow I begin operating on several actresses who wish aimples on their faces, shoulders; arms and— yes, shoulders and arms.” uu speak English very well fora French- man, Protessor,” said the reporter. ‘* Maybe you think I aint a Frenchman,” said the Professor savagely. “Oh, not at all,” sald the reporter in a no committal way; “here's my street, Profe3so: Good day.” Moving Books. The breaking up of a library is the taking to pieces of an organized er It is dissection, almost vivisection. The library as library for the tme being ceases to exist, and in place of it we have nothing but heaps, bundles, or boxes full of books. The ordered and disciplined ar- ray of a well-bound literary army has been ex- changed for confusion, disorder and almost mu- Uny. The picked corps tn russia and morocco, the inferior forces tn_calf, have all been broken up; their compact and serried ranks, regalar and imposing as the spears of a Macedonian phalanx, are Cissolvcd into a demoralized and crestfallen mob of scattered volumes—a rout, a sauve qui peut of the biblical host. Tneowner of the host sits amid ruins more pensive than Marius amid the ruins of Carthage, tor he has two reflections which the great cousul had not; he 1s most likely the Cause of the ruin himselt, having brougat it about by change of residence; secondiy he kno’ vhat he wilt have to re edify the building which has been destroyed, to evol of the chaos belore him, buoyant or very tpexperienved if he fs not de- pressed. But, before we come to the reconstrue- Uon of a library, its packtug and transport de- cervea few words. We never get a fair idea of ihe physical bulk of books Ullwe take them from their shelves and begin to pack them up; We then also realize their enormous weight. Hew are they to be transterred when thelr num- ber and the distance they have to go are both cofisiderable? Carpenters can, no doubt, make packing cases; but this is not only somewhat costly, but the article supplied ts generally need lessly bulky and heavy, aud the cases afier the removal are at once useless and intolerable lum- ber. The trade, which very likely knows the best eee) to be done, uses discharged tea- chests, and perhaps there is nothing better at- ltainable. © tea chest has much to recom- mend {it as a means tor carrying books. It 1s made of very thin but very tough wood, suchas no native carpenter could turn out. On the other hand, it is apt to present vicious nails, which lacerate backs and bindings and inilict ghastly wcunds on margins and leaves, and It generally lacks a cover, which has to ve sup- piled of britue and tltmsy deal. Still, the de- Mand for old tea chests proves that up to the present time they have no rival in the transperi of books, and sometimes it is difficult to pro- eure ther. But, painful as may be the dismantling of a libsary, it is nothing to its reconstruction. When books in large numbers have arrived at their new home, we realize the task before us of putting them up, We may have brought book- sircm the old house; but ten to one they y rooms. And, if by a miracle dinired disorder” are our ‘treasures presented to us folios and pocket- editions side by side, quarios and octavos in adultcrous and forbidden conjunction. How- ever, they must be got out and up somehow, or the house is not habitable, and then you are made aware of the tyranny of possession which beoks can display, That Plautus, which you put on shelf B merely because he was an. octave and you happened to have come upon a Tun of octavos, and you must tind a lodging for him somewhere, has no right to be there where he is. He is cheek by jowl with Kant and Hegel, and you vow he must find another place among the Latin classics or the drama- Usts, if you classify by subjects. Yet, unless you are one of those overpoweringly ener- Getic people who never put off anything, the chances are he will maintain his position against you fora long while. You can easily pull him out, doubtless; but where is he to Your classical shelf is choke-full, and as for the dra- matte shelf, Dyce’s Shakespeare and recent curiosity about the Spanish drama have made it hopeless to seek a refuge there. Another trial awaits the bibliophile who has yielded to the too tempting attractions of small Pickerings, Dicots, or even of the Bibliotheque Elzevirienne. These gems of typography are the vermin of ltbraries. The tiny, ee tomes easily escape the discipline which their heavier coi- leagues submit to, On an ordinary shelf they are lost. And then where is one to put them? The natural impulse is to send them up to the upper shelves, to the attics of the book iD. ‘We cannot have them on the convenient level where books tn use are lodged. And yet up aloft there they are out of sight, and their minute beauties are wasted and ured by dust and cobwebs. Perhaps the best plan is to have them, like any other curiosities, in a cabi- net or on the table, if the latter can be kept free from new publications. —Pill Mail Gazette, That Boy’s Hair. A Mi doctor has written a book upon the man hal, in which he presents these views: ‘Hairs do not, as a rule, penetrate the scalp perpen , Dut at anangle. When the angle of the different hairs is the same, It is possible to give to it the easy eye tas curves which we generally see it take, but if they are Roellious frie tops’ that are not susceptible zz) 7 Sen Se ot wate rey rr er Wo! fe out try- tng to train her Jonnny's rebelious locks Into a manners that induced suen dita looking head pear, when it was really ttre in misplacing the radiatlag ‘centers : 5 rains Eis ([SE MILD FOWER CURES. ONE PRICE HUMPHREYS’ HOMEOPATHIC SPECIFICS. ——_ ~ BOSTON PRY Goons HOUSE, Eimpie, prompt efcicut aud reabie, trey ares only adapted to popular use. ATTRACTIVE BARGAINS THIS WEEK. | ALL New Goons Orertye Dariy rm tae Fore LOWING SreciaLTixs . ALL SILK SUITS AT 820.00, Former price $25, guaranteed the same garments. DESIRABLE NOVELTIES IN LAQES, AT 12}ge., B5e., STWC., Blc., T5c., Bl, UP To $50 EacH. REAL LACES A SPECIALTY. ‘We invite the Ladies of Washington and vicinity to en uD! — it. Pies Blind ih Staaten # fie ee : ieee 9 a ee : Soe Wen wat a 32. Disease of the Heart, Palyitation *s FOR SALE BY ALL DRUGGISTS, Or sent by the case, er sinkle vial, free of charze, ig... orchronic Tnfluenza. violent Coughs. hysical Wi en receipt ef price. ‘Humphrey® Specific } on Disease and Tte SECOND OPENING Cure (44 pees), sent free. aps-eoly or FINE MILLINERY. OUR OWN BONNETS JUST RECEIVED FROM PARIS. SWALLOWING CHE LARGEST STOCK PARASOL NOVELTIES IN WASHINGTON. POISON SEURTS OF DISGUSTING "MUCOUS from the Dm is Orupon the TONSILS, Watery Eyes, dsuzzing in the Kare. DEAF: NESS, Crackling Sensations in the He in- termittent Pains over the Eyes, ‘TID BREATH, Nasal Twang, Scabs in the Nostrile and Tickling in the Throat are WOODWARD, LOTHROP & OOCHRANB, 705 and 709 MARKET SPACE. SIGNS OF CATARRH. ONE PRICE. a7 THE HUB PUNCH. NO OTHER SUCH LOATHSOME, treacherous and undermining malady curees mankind. Oune-fifth of our CHILDREN DIE of diseases generated by its INFECTIOUS POISON, and one-fourth of living men and women drag out Witter asceee Tae TM atts lt | ee semcar awe te bona ¥ .E ASLEEP, J PU: in the - nostrils are ‘necessarily SWALLOWED INTO sgnn Mae a oo THE STOMACH and INHALED INTO THE oes wet LUNGS to POISON every part of the aystem. as MARKED. Pope LAR FAVOR AS A HEATHFOL AND DY aunottied he paruient Girae ana RELATE | ye ae eneranpn men absorbed the purulent virns and KILU E a 7 SLED of poleon iu the EURTHEST PARTS of | THe UERT MATERIALSS ASO EEE Oe ne eye net ONL . bt ¥ . CUTAN a CURE Gaugrrh tn ANY STAGE N AGREEABLE ADDITION TO TH ti nN EDY which, in our jude: NGB OF i ment, has ever yet REALLY CURED a caso of | {AUFNUABLY ENLARGE TIE PLL CHEONIC CATAREH. AND GOOD NATURE, IF TRE NAME AND TITLE CURED: CURED! CURED CMUB PUNCH,” IS ADOPIED AS A TRADE MARK TO SECURE THE PUBLIC AND PROPRIETORS AGAINST IMPOSITION BY THE INTRODUCTION OF SPURIOUS ARTICLES. ALOLPH TAYLOR, with Wade’ & Co., 52 Beek- mun street, N.¥.: “Qured ny child,’ 10 years old, of Catarrh. All unauthorized use of this Trade Mark will be Rev, CHARLES J. JONES, New Brighton, 8. 1.. | Promptly prosecuted. oe oe fl. GRAVES & SONS, Lostom, Mass. W. A. PHELAN, merchant, 47 Naeean stree ¥.: **Cured of Outarrhal Influenza.” MESEROLE, 64 Lafay« m cured ot Curonic Catarrl THE HUB PUNCH y. Is SOLD In WASHINGTON BY ELL, A332 F st. Place, 2 D. D. McKELVEY, U S revenue officer, 6 CE eas street, NY, “Cured of a severecase of Chron- | RILLIAM ORME & SON! BROWSING © MID NION, with the Nassau Fire Insur- : auce Qo., 30 Court street, Brooklyn: “Tha a expericueed «reat relief since using your Cul OLMER ¥. Toy Store, 16 Fourteenth “‘Cured of Catarrh of several pepe 1B Y & CO. er 3d and E sts. BRYAN, B48 C street ne. RTH, $29 7th street nw. ARRISON, cor. Corcoran and 2éth sts. D.w., and by leading Wine Merchants, Grocers, 3. H, TIMMERMAN, secretary, 998 Third ave., ahs ON eUee Med ana tht ich KO0d Before CSMETEORS Gis boonnow 7 Ou oO, for sale, G.O. "8 ¢ IN W Retina a and OD BOURBON ROCK—best in the world for tarrh.”" general use and medicinal purposes. Rev, ALEX. FREESE, Cairo, N-¥.: “Tt, has J. H. CRAN worked wonders in six cases fn my parish." WHOLntALe AGENT, key. ©. H. TAYLOR, 140 Noble street, Brooklyn, apl4-lm 460 PENNSYLVANIA AVE. N.W ¥.: ‘Tam radically cured of Cafarrh.” —————— EEE Qrecas TAXES: SPECIAL TAXES! IMFORTANT TO PROPERTY OWNERS! J. HENDERSON, 155 Newark ave., Jersey City “*T lost my voice by Catarrh, and have beep Ete., Ete., Ete, Ete. In accordance with existing iaw the esion- _ ers of the District are enforcing the collection of ida corticates Gate beck loeted. wad we oy ‘EI DE MEYER'S CATARRH QURE is the | ion ii ‘all a most IMPORTANT medical DISCOVERY, cinne | and will issue tax liens against all assessments On FACCINATION. " It'in sold by all ed a the revision and adjustment hag beep DELIVERED (by DB. DEWEY & 00-, 46 Dey ee. oarce’, N. F-, tor ei er DE MEL ; | _ It is important that all who are delinquent showld package for 81 oi De Net DE, EMEXER'S | gic srtticment without delays abd tieleoy SAVE INTEREST, PENALTIES AND COSTS. A liberal discount can be saved in settling Special ‘Taxes by calling on WILLIAM DICKSON, 222 45 Street. | Specter OF PRICES. fel THE PUBLIC WILL TAKE NOTICE, Ast. That the Postmaster General has DED his order against the de- ap22-Im livery of Mails to this Company. con Thi eg is the ene aneeacen ‘company which h. " ever been declare legal by a United States Court. en ee 3rd. That United States Circuit Court “FAMOUS,” Judge Brown has declared its drawings not fraudulent. No. 400 Seventh Street Northwest, henceforth be datiired aaa Peso CORNERED Orders paid as formerly. AUTHERIZED BY THE COMMONWEALTH OF KY iat AND FAIREST IN THE WORLD. Goop —— WORKING 19TH POPULAB MONTHLY DrawinG OF THE Commonwealth Distribution Co., AT MACAULEY'S THEATER, In the City of Louisyilie, on THURSDAY, APRIL 29, 1880. These drawings, authorized by act of the legisla- ture of 1869, and sustained by al! the courts of Ken- SUITS, 6, 87, $7.50, 88, B9. EXCELLENT BUSINESS SUITS, $10, €11, 812, 813, B14, B15, $16, 817, $18. SUPERB DRESS SUITS, $16, 15, $20, $22, $24, €28, 830, £32, 835. BOYS’ DRESS SUITS IN GREAT VARIETY, ‘$4, G4.50, 85, 86, BT, BH, $9, B10. CHILDREN’S SUITS in elegant assortment tucky, occur rly on the las. dsy of every moni : ae te are supervised by 82.50, 82.75, $3, 83.50, 4, rominent ns of thestate. Pipe man attention to the grand oppor- 4-08, 85, 96, ST, 68, 82, $10. PANTS in all the latest tunity presented of obtaning, for only $2, any of stylen, fr0m $1 to THE FOLLOWING PRIZES 830,000 | 100 prizes, 100ea819, 00, $10, at the i tel ee one ees 10. '1, 660 each 10, 000 | 1,000 do.’, 10 each 14,000 “FAMOUS.” 7) rites, 8908 eet apatite tion prizes. .B2, 70: 3 Prison, “sop cack: PPPOgg ton Prine. 8) No. 400 Seventh st. n.w., 9 prizes, 100 each, ao. do CORNER D. eal apnextions for club rates should be’ made at e home office. hist of lished in Louisville Cou- rede Sar a a as wpemait money by mall or express 01 5 Address RM.” BOARDMAN. Courier-Journal building, Broad: ONE PRICE. aplt MEX ANP Boxs’ CLOTHING. OVER ONE THOUSAND SUITS FOR YoU TO PICK FROM. Ky., or at No. 307 and 309 or to J. W. CLARK, 1703 Pa. mar3é-w&s ‘New Yor! LUMBER! LUMBER! 5 Inever before sold Clothing as low as at the pre= sent time, and never before have I offered one-half a8 many different styles as I now offer the Washings ton public. I am almost sure to sell to every one who comes in, LUMBER! WILLET & LIBBEY, Because I Enjoy Confidence. ‘Time has shown that square dealing !; guarantee of success, and the patronage I have enjoyed since 1859 is the best evidence of my capability of cater> OR. 6TH ST. AND NEW YORK AVE. 5. W ing to the wants of the community, = A. STRAUS, i OLOTHIEB, 100 FEET ROLL Pennsylvania Avenue, apls Between 10th and 11th streets. OF THE BEST BOARDS J.™- @ B- COMER, . FOR $1.25. DIAMOND BROKERS AND APPRAISEES OF DIAMONDS AND PRECIOUG STORES THESE ABE THE VERY BEST BOARDS MANUFACTURED, CommMON BoatDs, wistat. ft? Uae of AMERICAN and SWIBR 100 FEET FOR $1.00, of no REARONABLE OFFER REFUSED for any, ) MONEY TO LOAN at 5 per cent. marl3 WILLET & LIBBEY. eps No. 1007 Seventh st. nw. Wornet RDA | 5 Oo aan pe Tam now, to. ; ; tes i Sen ecceeag oe SSR | Pony sronar ron oll 900 Re. ave. upstairs. | ypoitfi}olsterormand Bem