Grand Rapids Herald-Review Newspaper, May 20, 1899, Page 6

PR FLEAO IEA CHAPTER VI.—(Continued.) He closed the outer door, through which she passed behind. A dull rain was beginning to fall; the wind was: rising, and) in it was something of the coming winter's chill; the darkness, black and impenetrable, ce she staggered on— the lodge gates. were nk forward on her wet. ground, be en, give me re- had she lain there, ted her and bore iting without on A moment oni. when strong he aca the read. Ve will drive into Paris,” said her er to the man upon the box. is lady is ill, and must be taken im- mediately to her home. Are your hors- es equal to it? If so, I will pay you a hundred francs to make the trip.” “They're fresh as may be, sir. to Vil have you there within four hours.” Abundant time Arkwright for meditation had during that long, although he, held lovely form in his embrace, and the beautiful head was pillowed upon his breast, for she nei- ther knew who held her, nor what com- posed her pillow; long, because he sometimes feared that, as one sorrow succeeded another, some one might lengthen into etern He thought not of his own love or passionate longing. In this moment all selfishness was purified in his one great Harry fear for her. Instantly, when Marie, on his return that afternoon to the house, had told him of her mistress’ strange conduct, he had divined her and as instantly determined if she stood in 1 been her fel- he Greamt bot He knew it would rseless then ‘to attempt to dissuade her from her rash purpose. He had caught it of her face in the station, F: he had read, there a resolve too im- le to be easily thwarted. had alighted on the other side of s. had followed her to the chat- eau on foot, stopping in the little town and follow and carriage to liness at his com- ed outside in the iarkness while she was within; he had seen her again come forth, and had been on the point of approaching and ordering hor nd be in He had wa addressing her, ng how he should account for his own boldness, and ¢ 7 alarm. When, witb those few murmured words (holding such import, could they be termed a yer?) she had fallen prostrate and uncons' upen the 2in-soaked ground, what would have become of he he not been there He shuddered to think of the expos- to that delicate frame, strained al- ady to a pitch beyond endurance. thought of the sacrifice she had ma of home, and friends the man who feasted in the light, and and ancther’s smiles, more beautiful— nd unconscious in the ¥ de, he held her close! ter tenderness her head ne v bis heart. But she did not hear it beat beneath her touc knew noth ing of the long, miles traversed knew not when the stepped before her own ne clock in a neighboring ng out a single stroke. tle household had not retired. that something had gone drew w ‘The All knew y wrong, and Florence was too kind tress not to have awakened their M vectful love. », listening, had ard the carriage op, and, hastily calling Jean to follow, ran down the stairs and stood upon the pavement al- most as soon as the driver had thrown epen the carriage door. ¥. Arkwright saw her with intense re- lief. “Your mistress is very ill,” he said. “She must be carried to her room and at once put to bed. Ah! Jean is here. No, I can cafty her alone. Her weight is nothing; ” and, clasping her more firmly in his arms, he lifted her like a baby up the stairs and laid her on her | own couch. For the first time it occurred to him to thank God for the young strength, not that it had given him the athlete’s reputation—which once the had regard- ed with some pride—but that it enabled him’ to withhold from her any touch which he would have considered dese- eration. “Undress her quickly!’ he said to her maid, who, pale and tearful, had fol- lowed him. “In half an hour I will have a physician.” Within the time he kept his word, but the doctor could give him little hope or comfort. “There must be an immediate con- sultation,” he said. And, in the early light of the morn- ing, three grave, earnest men bent over Florence Gervase’s bed, and each, in his own mind, gave her up to death. But, for their reputation’s sake, they must give death battle, and unequal as were the forces and little confidence as they possessed in their own powers, they routed the grim spectre and them. selves gained an unlooked-for victory. But the fight was no skirmish. It was a contest requiring strategy and skill. For four weeks she for whose pos- session they battled knew naught of it. She either lay, white as her pillow, with closed eyes and immobile lips, or with crimson flush upon her cheeks and dilated pupils, and tossed to and fro her head upon her pillows—the fhead from which the iovely hair was shorn quite close—and murmured inar- ticulate, incoherent words. It Louis Gervase knew of his wife’s rtent than any spoken tongue, He name!” nd country, for ! while I and | i Frozen Heart, A THRILLING LOWE STORY. ° BY FRANCES WARNER WALKER. illness he sent no message, made no at- tempt to see her. The Countess d’Aubigny had re- turned to Paris now, and by day, by night, he was seen in her train—by day, by night, exerting the old fascination, with the nameless grace and charm of manner enhanced, not lessened—throw- ing into bis handsome eyes the same old elequence of a language more po- smiling and winning smiles in return, while his , dying frem the heart- nd had struck. weeks, which to one waicher, st, appeared endless! Gray threads ened here and there in Harry Arkwright’s brown hair, as they drew their slow length along, and al! of the happy laughter had died laughter-loving eyes. But Florence ng to life, as though its reses ,not its thorns. were and, so slinging, she turned to- rard herself the tide ofvictory. Once, when cousciousness had fully returned, she asked how she had reached home, and Arkwright, taking the small, white hand in his, made his confession. 8 ing like moisture glistened in the viclet eyes when he had finished, and her sole reply was to lift the hand up which lay her own to her lips. The action thrilled the man’s soul. But it was the only sign of softness Florence Gervase gave—the only allu- sion to the past she ever made. She sometimes thought that, in very truth, she had died and been born again, so different did she appear from the gentle, loving girl who had stolen his heart more than two years before. Two months had passed before the kindly doctors resigned their charge, and Florence was able to face a stern- er battle than that which they had fought for her—the battle not for, but of life. Poor child! Unprotected, unshielded even by her husband's name, beautiful and but nineteen, who should guard her from the pitfalls into which her feet must slip. One arm, at least, was out of his once § tting beside her, cne evening, with the lamp burning but dimly, and only the ight from the blazing logs reflect- ed on her face, Harry Arkwright broke tke silence so long imposed upon him- self. “LT must speak, Flerence,” he said, and her name fell easily and naturally from his lips....““Some action must be taken to relieve you from the position in which that dastard has placed you. If he has deceived and duped you, even in France, there must be some ade- | quate punishment for such a crime. If you are his wife, spite of his protesta- tions to the contrary, he must be com- pelled to acknowledge you as such. I have waited for your authority to put the matter into the hands of the Eng- lish consul and ask him to see justice done you. But, Florence, I have been mad enough to hope it indeed was true —that no tie not already severed e: ed between you, that I might offer you that which he had taken from you— home, protection, Warningly, Florence extended her | hand. “Hush!” she said. “Not that! You and I would be mad 2ht of God, I am Gervase’s wife. ‘Then God, not ap, shall right me! Of wh: 0d would be an application to the consul? I could not establish his fraud. you I blindly signed the papers he handed me. They absolve him, inas- much as they make me a party to his 3 Oh, he worked sklifully—as k ‘ully as though he already foresaw that he should weary of the child whose love made her such an easy vic. tim. Then, since the law cannot re- yenge me, I must revenge myself! Ah! you think it is not a woman's province, that of Nemesis. So would I, too, once have reasoned; but not now, not now! But what you have, in your generous madness, spoken, forget, as I sholl scon forget it. My blood has turned to ice in my veins. My heart is a stone with- in my breast. cast among women, One day he shall meet and answer to me for it. Only for the dawning of that day I live. My love for hith was my all. The current, strong, masterful, powerful, still exists im its mighty strength. If he has changed the liquid transparency of its waters, the responsibility is his. If their drink means death, not life, it is he who has mingled the poison in their depths. If they bear onward to de- struction, rather than safe harboring, it is he who has turned their course. As he has sown, so he must reap; but no other man must gather the deadly harvest of a woman’s love converted into a woman’s hate!” She spoke with strange, concentrated | fierveness, Her eyes were brilliant, but they looked off and beyond him whom she addressed. Her whole attitude was repellant. He dared say no more. For the mo- ment he must accept her decree, leay- ing it to time and his own unfailing ef- fort to soften her, and, perhaps, to let her feel her need of him! She had spoken truly. Love had made shipwreck of her life; yet would her skip toss rudderless, until once more love made safe anchorage. Perchance then she would moor it on his heart! CHAPTER VIII. Florence had grown quite well and strong again.~Her figure was, per- haps, a shade more fragile, her cheek a shade whiter, but her beauty was the greater for the slight and almost im- perceptible change. She never smiled. She rarely spoke. Sometimes Harry Arkwright feayed she would go mad. Almost three months had gone by. Louis Gervase had made no effort to see her. She still lived in his house, love and an honest | I tell | He has made me an out- | still drew on his banker as she would, If it was distasteful to her to accept his means, she gave no evidence of it, except that one day she said, suddenly, to Arkwright: “Did my father leave any proper- ty?” “I do not know,” he answered, “Will you find out for me?—ah@ will you also discover if I am one of his heirs? My mother had some property. I think it came to us at her death.” Glad to aid her in any way, he lost no time in investigating the facts, and soon brought her the welcome news that she was mistress in her own right to some eight thousand pounds, but that she must return to her old home, to go through some necessary legal pre- liminaries to make good her claim. She drew a long breath of relief when he told her this, as though it | lifted some great weight from her mind.. The next week she went to England. | It was early winter when she returned to Pa but there was about her an atmosphere of cold keener than the cold winter winds which betokened the advent of merry Christmas. The a ety, the bustling p y for their holiday the happy laughter ringing out frosty air, made her own loneli- lation the greater. fear might yet be re: and brain, if not heart, give way be- neath the strain. Ove morning, sitting over her coffee, she idly picked up a paper, laid, as usu . beside the tray. A short column, relating to events in fashionable life, met her view, and her eye ran indiffer- ‘ently down it, until, suddenly, it was arrested by thse few lines: “It is authoritatively stated that the young Countess d’Aubigny has decided to renounce her cherished freedom in lonor of Mons. Louis Gervase. The marriage is to take place at Notre Dame, on Thursday, the twenty-first of December.” Thursday, and this was Tuesday! The paper dropped from her nerveless fingers. One low moan of agony es- caped from her white, quivering lips. ‘Then an awful look—a look of absolute niadness— crept into her violet eyes. She rose and carefully locked and bolted the doors of her apartment. Returning to the place where she had dropped the paper, she picked it up, and read and re-read the announce- ment. The she closed her eyes, to live again the scene of the opera; to see again that beautiful woman, leaning on her husband’s arm, and turning from her, in scorn and derision, to hear her husband’s denial of her law- ful claim. rom there her imagination led her rd to that second scene. It nted for her the exquisite room, with its two occupants; the table filled with fruits and flowers; the an- te-room, with its fountain of illumined ers; the atmosphere of luxury and grant warmth; and herself thrust from it all into the rain and darkness without. She saw again her husband’s arm | stretched forth to touch the bell, to | summon the servant to add the last | insult possible. And this woman, who ; Sat there in all her pride and glory, |called him Louis, in her presence— uttered his name with every accent jof endearing tenderness. Doubtless | but a moment before her entrance her lips had been pressed to his. .Yet her | triumph was to be still more com. | plete; she was to be his wife. His wife! Could a man have two wives? Bewildered, she pressed both hands to her burning temples. She opened ; wide her eyes now, but only stars of | fire radiated before them. Her room |For a little’ time she lost conscious: | ness, When she recovered, she thought she j had dreamed; but there lay the paper, | with its fatal evidence of reality. | Slowly the long hours ed. Again | and again Marie knocked, but she re- fused to wer. She was wrapped {in her thoughts. How old was she? | What mockery it seemed to answer |by time’s actual measure! Not nine- | teen but ninety years appeared to have | passed o’er her head. Once she stopped in her ceaseless walk to stand before the mirror, won- ‘dering if she should find her haia ' growing white, but, instead, she start- jed at the imperious vision which con- | fronted her, Her eyes were like two black dia- monds, her face perfectly colorless, and only her hair unchanged, as it mockingly caught the brilliance of the sunbeams which fell upon it. The night fell. She had not tasted food. She admitted Marie, then, and bade her bring her food and drink. She had no purpose, but that she dared not lose her strength. Some secret impulse told her to garner it, at any cost. “Monsieur Arkwright called twice, madame. He said that he would re- turn this evening,” she said timidly. “I cannot see him. Say that I have left town for a few days, Marie, or that I am ill, and can see no one. You understand me?—no one.” But when Marie repeated the latter tnessage a cloud gathered on Harry Arkwright’s face. “She has seen the paper. She knows all,” he murmured to himself.. “And I, who would lay down my life to help her, can do nothing but stand without and be an. unwilling witness to her, pain.” He would have given much to have penetrated within the temple from which she debarred him; to have known what was passing in those rooms where she had made herself a prisoner. But the gratification of his wish could have brought him but sorry comfort. . By night or day she took no sleep. She lay down and tried to sleep, but her eyes refused to close and always out of the darkness Adlee d’Aubigny’s beautiful, brilliant face shaped itself in a frame of luminous light. And she was to be Louis’ wife! Once, the dear old English home painted itself before her fancy. She saw the dear old garden, she smelt the roses, she heard the whisper of the leaves upon the trees, her head was on her lover’s breast. He murmured, “Vous m’aimez,” and she’ answered, “Ah, je t'aime!” ‘The dawn was breaking on the sec- ond day when this fair vision came to her, but its momentary softening i but made her the more bitter seemed suddenly to have grown dark. | It was the Countess d’Aubigny’s wedding day, and the man she was to marry was her husband. It could not, should not be! She would call upon God and man to interpose in‘the pre- vention of so foul a wrong. > But man refused to listen, and God was deaf. What then remained to her? A curious light gleamed on her face. She looked about her with a certain cunning look—such a look as the mad have when they mean m‘s- chief. ‘Then she rose softly, softly and gen- tly drew back the bolts and turned the key in her door. What did she mean? She was mis- tress in her own house.. Of what, then, was she afraid? Something, strely; for, opening it so quietly as to make no sound, she listened with keen intentness, All -was_ still. As yet, with the exception of herself, the lit- tle household all were wrapped in slumber. Her long, trailing wrapper of white cashmere made no rustle; her } fur-lined slippers no noise, She crossed the hall and paused out- side a door whose threshold she had not crossed in many months. It led into the apartments which had be- longed exclus to her busband. What could have brought her there at such a time? As cautiously as if she had been a burglar effecting an entrance, she giid- ed in and shut the door behind her. Passing through an ante-chamber and a sitting room she entered a somewhat larger apartment beyond, at the far- ther end of which was a table of cur’ ous workmanship. In this table she touched a secret spring, and instantly. a drawer flew out—a drawer filled with curious and costly weapons. It was a collection of rare arms Louis Gervase had at one time made. Once he had opened this drawer to show them to his wife, and laughed and kissed her, because, with a shudiler, she bade him close it quickly and shut them out. Now her eyes fairly gloated over them. A moment she surveyed them, then she chose from among them a tiny pistol. She remembered Louis had said that though it looked a toy, it might kill an ox. This pistol she lifted with almost tender care. A hasty ex- amination showed her that its four chambers were fully loaded. Seeing this, a smile lighted her face, the first which had dawned there in many a day. She thrust the pistol within the besom cf her dress, closed the drawer and furtively and swiftly hurried back to her own reoms. There she dresed unaided, smiling again, as with quick, nervous finger she attired herself in the same dr she had worn to the chateau. “It is natural I should wish to see my husband's bride,” she repeated, softly, to herself; and instinctively as she spoke she put her hand within her dress to feél the handle of the w' eapon resting there. It was safe, quite firm. She glanced next at the clock upon the mantel. Its hands pointed to a little before six. At six the church doors would be opened. Putting on a simple hat and throwing over it a heavy veil, which she drew down over her face, she once more cautiously opened the door and stol> down the stairs and out into the street. A light snow was falling and the air was very cold; but, drawing her heavy mantle more closely about her, she walked rapidly on for some blocks; then calling an empty carriage, she en- tered it, but, still some distance from her destination, alighted, and pursued her way on foot. At last the grand old pile of Notre Dame uprose before her. A few Ss glers, mostly of the humbler walks in life, were pouring in through its open portals on their way to early mass. Some beggars had already gathered there. In each of their outstretched palms she put a piece of gold, and the; thought some saint in disguise had passed them, and called upon the Holy Mother herself to bless her. In heaven would their prayer be heard? At cne of the smaller altars mass was being intoned. She made no ps 2 however, but, moving swiftly on, knelt in one of the confessionals but a few feet distant from the main altar where flowers already mingled their fra- grance with burning incense. The spot which she had selected was in shadow.. Her dark dress seemed to mingle with the darkness about her. Only close scrutiny would have re- yealed her presence. If a priest hap- pened to enter the confessional she might say that she awaited him. But no priest came. Hours passed and she had neither moved nor stirred. Presently, at the grand altar, an altar boy lighted all the candles, even those that were never lighted except on fete days. In the dis- tance the organ swelled into majestic music. People of a different class swept up the broad aisles, and outside could be heard the roll of the many carriages.. It was then that a woman’s form, cowering in the shadow of the con- fessional, crept cautiously forth, and, drawing nearer, half-concealed herself behind a mighty pillar. No one no- ticed her. All were absorbed in their gaze toward one particular entrance. A few minutes elapse and the hush of expectation intensied. Then, through the wide-open portals swept a radiant vision. The countess wore no yeil, but her dress was composed of al- most priceless lace, through which shimmered the folds 6f heavy satin on which it was artistically draped. Her neck and arms were bare, and were encircled with single stones, dia- monds of the purest water. Her head was held erect. On her curved lips al- ready was a smile of triumph and con- scious beauty. Her eyes had in them a gleam of softness as she lifted them to the face of the man on whose arm she leaned—the arm which henceforth was to be her protection and defense—the arn: of her future husband, Louis ‘Ger- vase. One instant the woman behind the pillar threw back her veil and disclosed a white—white face, with eyes that had grown suddenly black in their burning, as they peered into the faces of those advancing, but on one noticed her.. There were some comments on the bridegroom’s pallor. Singularly hand- some he looked—handsome enough to account for any woman’s infatuation; ' but there was a strange nervousness about his movements and his paleness was unnatural. (To be Continued.) A STIFF BLUFF. A Long Sitting of Mining as a an io Virginia City. “One night in 1866, when 1 was aha ing in Crittenden & Gentry’s in Vir- ginia City, I made the two greatest bluffs I ever made. It was a royal game. Several very rich Ophir and Belcher mining magnates sat at the big round table. We had played for hours and it was getting along about dawn. I. grew pretty gay at my luck, for I was some $900 ahead at that stage of the game. One of the mining kings looked at his watch and said he must soon quit. Another miner proposed that we double the jack pot we were engaged in and that we close the game with that. We all agreed. We doubled the jack pot, and with the six players about the table we had a jack pot of $800. A man third from my right opened the pot for $900. The next two men stayed in. I was never more ner- vous. I evidently showed my nervous- ness. A few seconds of deliberation and I stayed with the jack pot. Two men on my left dropped out. An Ophir mining king raised $600 as quick as a flash. Then the active work began. There was $2,100 in the pot at that stage. The opener got out a stack of golden eagles and saw the raise.. The two men between him and me dropped out. I was all perspiration. I re- solved to risk it. So I dug down in my inner pockets and stood the raise. There were three players left in the game, and there was $3,200 in the pot. We all drew cards in breathless si- lence. The opener on my left drew two cards. I started to draw one, but while I bit my lips and tried to be calm I drew three cards. The dealer dealt himself one card, and then slowly dealt himself another. The air grew thick and heavy. I felt it a dizzy whirl. I knew the moment was to be a memorable one in my life. I never skinned my cards so anxiously as I did that night. I knew instinctively my two opponents each believed I had drawn a pair of aces. I had $750 in the pot and I meant to stay by it until | the show-down. After deliberation that seemed an age the opener bet $500. I deliberated and called. The dealer saw the $500 and went back $1,000 over and above that. The open- er saw the $1,000 and went it $1,000 better. I thought again and acted art- fully. Then I just called. The dealer saw the opener’s $1,000 and raised it to $1,500. The opener called the $1,500. They were so excited at each other’s playing that they had for a moment forgotten all about me. I sat between them, you know. They were just going to show up their hands when I ex- claimed: Then I called the $1,500 myself. You ought to have seen the mining kings look at me. Well, the opener had three tens, the dealer had three jacks, and I had but a pair of kings.”—New ! York Sun. SOME FISH. flow the Middy Managed to Fool the Sub-Lieutenant. The followers of Izaak Walton on board a man-of-war are wont to ply the gentle art (with a line alone) from over the ship’s side during the even- ° ing, says the Cornhill. ant, who was not particularily liked by his junior messmates, was one day , so engaged, when a midshipman, see- ing the line depending from the “chains” above, reached out of one of the main deck ports and gave it a couple of violent tugs, in imitation of a fish biting. Up the line was hauled with alacrity, but, of course, with no result. Once again the “sub” essayed to catch this big fish that had given him so heavy a bite. This time the middy’s plan was more elaborate, for, getting a companion to keep the nec- essary strain upon the upper portion, he hauled up the lower part of the fishing line and attached to the hooks an old shoe, an empty bottle, a holy- stone and a sardine tin. Having care- fully lowered these to the full extent of the line; he gave it a more power- ful pull than ever, and the expectant he could, hand over hand. But his language when he discovered the na- ture of his “catch” is too much to ask even an unfortunate compositor to set up in cold type, Petrolism in New York. The time-worn vices of morpho- mania and alcoholism have been to some degree superseded by “petrol- ism,” which is described by physicians who have treated patients for it as “a grim novelty, almost without paral- lel.” The taste for petroleum, it is said, grows upon the tippler until it develops into an irresistible passion. Physicians who devote themselves to the various forms of dipsomania have not yet had an opportunity to study the full effects of petroleum, and their views as to its cure and future are somewhat divergent. But the con- sensus of opinion is that the victim of this new habit is sad and melancholy. The mineral oil does not temporarily stimulate and encourage like alcohol or morphine. To Cook New Peas. Cover fresh peas with cold water, season with salt and boil till tender. Drain off the water, add three or four little pats of butter, and let the butter melt through the peas. Put them in a vegetable dish and serve very hot. If the peas are not sweet enough sweetep ! them with a very little sugar. Her Idea. “A woman,” read Mr. Meekton from the newspaper, “may argue, but she won’t reason.” “Yes,” answered his wife. “And a-man as a rule doesn’t do either,"—Washington Star, = ~ ‘Here, I’m playing here, too.’ | Gordon’s Garden of Eden. The Strand Magazine publishes an ar- ticle by the late Gen. Gordon of Khar. toum on “The Site of the Garden of Eden.” He was so sure of having lo- cated it correctly that he puk‘tished a map of it. As near as can be made out, he thinks it was near the Persian gf Gulf. The tree of life he believes i the bread fruit, but of the tree of knowledge he is not certain. France's New President. ‘The new president of France is calm, sane and a trifle bourgeois. He looks like a man who would infuse imto French politics as much vigor as Hos- tetter’s Stomach Bitters will do into the run-down system of anyone who uses it. | It is an absolute cure for all stom- ach disorders. Tattooing and Snake Bites. It really begins to look as if th While scientific minds are discussins the ahti-toxin serum treatment of dis- ease f it were a new thing, the peo- ple of ancient Burmah are calling at- tention to the fact that for centuries they hay used in the common custom g has been an efficient anti- ake-bites. The tattoed Bur- rd the bites of poisonous s as harmless. This, at least, is atement of a gentleman from h, who brings testimony to bear oboration of his singular s' ‘ientists might well give ment. the matter their attention.—Leslie’s Week- ly. The appointment of W. C. Hayes as Locomotive superintendent of the Bal- timore and Ohio Rail Read will be fol- lowed, by a distinct change in the plan of overseeing locomotives in service. ‘The road has been divided into the fol- lowing subdivisions, and a traveling engineer appointed for each: Philadel- phia to Washington; Baltimore to Brunswick; Brunswick to Cumberland; Cumberland to Grafton; Grafton to Benwood and Parkersburg; Pittsburg to Cumberland and Wheeling; Wheel- ing to Sandusky and branches; Chica- go to Akron. Lacked the Needful. Marfa—Dar’s a parsop moved ober ter Pine Holler, Rastus. Dey say he’s w'ful reasonable "bout charges. He’s ist j’ined a couple fo, a basket ob ’tat- er Cyarn’t yer devise sumpfin ~ Rastus—Ah would, Marfa, o ain’t got no ’taters.-—Life. The World's Kecord for Output. Adding together the actual number of the different kinds of harvesting ma- chines made in a single day during 1898 ‘at the works of the Deering Har- vester Company of Chicago gives the enormous total of 1,319, or more than 2 complete machines for each working minute. ab Classified, “Here’s an, item about the establish- ment of a summer boarding house for dogs,” said the editor's assistant. “Put it among the cur-rent events,” snapped the editor—Philadelphia North American. Read the Advertisements. You will enjoy, this publication much better if you will get into the habit of reading the advertisements; they will afford a most amusing study, and will put you in the way of getting some excellent bargains. Our advertisers are reliable, they send what they ad- vertise. He Must Be the One. “IT read to-day, ys Mrs. McBride, : “or a judge who rec ently granted twen- ; ty divorccs in a day.” A sub-lieuten- | “He must be one of those twenty- knot destroyers we read about some- times,” added Mr. McBride.—Life. Are You Using Aliea’s Foot-Wase? It is the only cure for Swollen, Smarting, Burning, Sweating Feet, Corns and Bunions. Ask for Allen’s Foot-Ease, a powder to pe shaken into the shoes. At all Druggists and Shoe Stores, 25c. Sample sent FREE. Ad- dress, Allen S. Olmsted. LeRoy, N. ¥. Crowded Out. “We will have to leave our flat.” “What for?” “Our baby has got too big to sleep in the cheffonier.”—Chicago Record. s $15.00 Per Week. We will pay a salary of $15 per week and ex- penses for a man with rig to introduce Perfec- tion Poultry Mixture and Insect Destroyer in the country. Address with stamp. Perfection Mfg. Co., Parsons, Kansas. Most men have a peculiar way of | forgetting the things they should be fisherman above hauled in af fast as; than = * 3 thankful for. Hall's Catarrh Cure Is taken internally. Price, 75c. There is nothing stuck up about the hen. She is willing to remain a lay figure. Piso’s Cure for Consum: Hox: is our onl medicine for coughs an —Mrs. C. Beltz, 439 oe Ave., Denver, Col. ‘Nov. 8,°95. Farming pays, but often it only helps to pay the interest on the mort- gage. irs. Winslow's chi 8; Forchitiven teething” Ip ey geo head flammation, allay eaenes aCe Sc abottie, The secret of success is constancy to purpose.—Disraeli. «Keep to Your Place Your Place will Keep Y. Without good health we cannot keep situations or en- Joy life. Most troubles origi nate in impure blood. Food’ s Sarsaparilla makes the blood rich and healthy, and will help ela son ** keep your place.” —‘Was tired out, had no appa until I took Hood’s Sarsaparilla. lt me right up and I can eat heartily.” hy M, Hacer, Atha}, Mass. Never Disappoints Hood's Pills cure liver ills; the non-irritating and ¥@ take with Hood's Sarsaparilla, '