Grand Rapids Herald-Review Newspaper, April 14, 1900, Page 8

—1 Sinasameenenaicane! w a 0 <RED 9 <EBD ( Or, UND ( ! a ee ee CHAPTER VII. A “Disinterested” Friend. Herbert Clive had been restless all | the evening after his interview witn Sybil at Sunset Hill. He had devoted himself to Miss Mari- an escorted her home, and laughed, ed and chatted) with a nervous gayety which the young lady— who, from her pinafore days had re- “d Herbert as the epitome of all ne perfections—found exceed- tful. awn” was the adjoining estate , and the young people of both places had grown up on the frienCliest terms, though there had nev- en much intimacy between their parents. Mr. Grey. senior, was a dried-up old limb of th w, too grim and taciturn to form social ties, and Robert Clive was not the man to press frienly rela~ tions on one. The la of the family had visited > late Mrs. Clive’s life time; since her death the heads of the two houses rarely exchanged more than al bow. urence and Herbert had been chums, still fast . While F: rian were sted” in thi y, ephermal way X, patronized the r and modiste. nd were nl as to ffures, cos- and all the pretty arts pertain- femi rinations. ship went no deeper. are strange affinities between and these two had glided on so le, could never be acceptance of the e and Sybil might have metics ething dark and se an which nie Clive , uncenseously he sun- cloud— mething which ind annoyed her far more cknowledged erve. n’s intuition, she felt neere, though she could when; by the same ic she knew Sybil despite the shadows her heart and soul kened re not gifted with this deli- and Herbert found Miss frank, charming and 11 companion, as they walked ther oyer the moonlit hills to her house. . Laurence and Fenton Forest loitered behind, to indulge in a smoke, so our hero had the field to himself, had he been disposed to take advantage of it. But Miss Marian perceived, with ication of spirit, that Mr. Clive had ne mind for sentiment that even- r the moon-lit waves nor groves could awaken any and the jests and h were so sparkling in wing room at Clive Towers i to lose their spirit and brillian- 1 tete-a-tete walk through the seen ey in M Marian disappointed. She had quoted a Verse from Byron, and | Herbert had made an absurd parody of | it; she had stopped at a sequestered | glade, to admire the mist-robed ‘river, | tleman had given her | warning about damp ; she had made some al- to their childhood romance, and Herbert liad frankly called himself “a and the young g a@ matter-o} ry provoking, and naturally H 2n grew a little spiteful, and | tifie’ wor “What as geems to lady—} e fancy dear Fannie | ken for that young! her name? Oh, ; el Herbert, lightly. | Wraye y at stive friend | f her own age to choose.” { “Oh, no doubt,” answered the young * lady, in a tone which was slightly east “There is no doubt of her at-' tractiens; but she seems so very, very | different from dear Fannie herself—so silent, and quiet, and reserved. Where did Fan pick her up, anyhowg’ ~ “They were schooimates at Madam Fleury’s, I believe,” was the rather cold reply. Mr. Clive found the young lady’s questions exceedingly harsh. “Ah, at Madam Fleury’s?” repeated Miss Grey, thoughtfully. “Then, of course, it is all right. But—” Ww “In what manner has 2 ach other, but I confess that M Sybil seemed quiet and in- offensive enough to diarm even a—sis- ter-woman.” “I’m sure I meant no offense,” said the lady, apologetically. “I really had no idea you were so—so interested in the ycung lady, Mr. Clive. I dught not to have spoken at all, perhaps; but dear Fennie and I have grown up al- most like—like sisters,” added Miss Ma- rian, with charming hesitation, “and, knowing her frank, impulsive disposi- tion, 2s I do, I was naturally a little anxious to learn when and where she had formed so close and tender a tie as jJhat which seems to exist between her -s Wraye. I may have been BY JEAN WARNER. | ny thrusts! should it not be all right?’ he | <a a yee enppp | HER HEART'S SECRET; ER A SPELL. | 000 a 0 a | sway; friendship shares its privileges willingly. seekin gonly to know that it has worthy partners in its high es- tate.’ “Perhaps,” said the young lady, dub!- ously; “but women cannot argue about their feelings as cleverly as men. We get notions without knowing why; and | though, of course, it is an absurd idea, | I could not help fancying from the first | that this Miss Wraye was not the | friend that—that your mother would | have chosen for her child.” | “And pray, why not?” asked Herbert. ‘ “Surely you have some reason for 2 conclusion so very injurious to a young lady?” “Do you ever arrive at a conclusion ; without reasoning, Mr. Clive?” was her ' meaning reply. “But, since you force me to be explicit, I wil lsay that, from all I have seen and heard of Miss Wraye, I should be very loth to admit | her to an intimate companionship. I | prefer friends whose present and past are less shrouded in mystery. I am too frank, perhaps; but, surely, our old friendship giv me the privilege of speaking the truth. I only say honest- ly wkat others say less kindly, though more cautiously. There, you are biting your lips! I have offended you. For- give me if I have presumed too far. I promise that this subject shall never again be broached between us.” They had reached the gate at Grey- lawn while she spoke, and as she patsed and held out her band, with an expression of wistful anxiety in her beautiful eyes, Herbert felt almost re- merseful at the indignation her words had awakened. girl was a true friend. She spoke frankly and fearlessly, and did she not speak the truth? What did she know of Sybil, save that she was} and sweet, and gentle¢ Had not dam Flenry warned him that there as an impenetrable cloud around her pupil? y. bad not Sybil, that very evening ,told him jvith her own lips that there was 4 shadow upon her path- way, 2 curse upon her life? And yet he had suffered ler to be a sister to his sister. He hed osked ber to be the wife of bis bos s better, dearer self. He loved h ved her! Miss Grey might well scoff at the log ie that could condense itself into such brief words. Ue loved her, and would believe nothing, hear nothing, think nothing against her. He loved her, and that was proof, reason, argument—all! Very coldly he took the little jeweled hand Miss Marian extended to him. Very grave and courteous was his brief response: “I could not take offense at such dis- interested friendship, Marian, even were I disposed to do so. Still, I think you judge her tco has ily and too harsh- ly. ’Tis generally the purest and most delicate nature that veils itself in wo- manly reserve. Good-night!” he added, with forced playfulness, “and don’t be jealous, Marian.” She shook her heed, laughingly, but a dark change came over her face, as he disappeared from her sight. The soft, beautiful eyes grew hard. and fierce, and a bitter sriile curled her full, red lips. « “Is he mocking me, I wonder? Can he know what he sa Not be jealous? Ah, he little guesses the demon this night has wakened in my heart! He loves her—loves this sly, white-facea, silent girl—this cirl of whose past and present he knows nothing. Ah, Mr. Clive, I have heard of this mysterious pupil of Madam Fleury’s before! You forget that I, too, have other friends than your foolih, light-headed sister, Aye, I have learned something of Miss ; Sybil Wraye, and I will learn more. How his face hed, how his eye flashed, at my words! Ah, it was joy, fie oy for me to see him wince at Yes, yes! If I know not how to win his heart, I know how to wound it. Aye, and I will wound— sherply, relentlessly, with a deadly aim —weund it to the core!” She entered the house. It was nearly midnight. and her father was very reg- ular in his hours; but to-night a light burned in his study, and the sound of voices told her he was not alone. As she passed up to her own room he stopped for a moment in the little passage that connected the office with the main house wondering, with fem- inine curiosity, what important client was honored with an audience at this untimely hour, for Mr. Grey was a rigid adherent to sys'em, and it was of his rules to transact no legal business after 4 o'clock. As she paused in the shadow, the study door opened ,and the light within revealed one of .he noblest specimens of. manhood she had ever seen. A tall, ye invited your criticism, | sun-browned man, with crisp, iron-gray I know ladies are apt to be} curls shading a massive brow, and whose herculean frame was not distig- ured by his easy, careless garb, stood upon the threshold, evidently taking leave of her father. “And you can do nothing for me? Well, I expected as much,” he was say- ing, bitterly; “though they told me you were no toady of that purse-proud hyp- ocrite on the hill. I could make it worth your while to take the case in hand.” “I doubt it,” was the wary old law- yer’s reply. “You have no case at all, sir, as I understand—no proof, no wit- nesses, nothing but your owp unsup- ported word.” ‘ \ “Do you call me a liarg” was the fierce rejoinder. she continued, gently, “but I “By no means,” was the cool reply. assure you, Mr. Clive, it was only as a | “On the contrary, I am personally in- friend would cviticise, with perhaps toe clined to credit your story, wild and Jealous an eye, the stranger who seems ' improbable as it would seem if I at- to have stepped between her and her} tempied to prove it in a court of just- childhood’s friend.” ice. For you heve no proof, I repeat it, “I am sure you wrong Fannie,” said sir—no proof! It would be simply mad, Herbert, warmly. She can never change ness in me, or any other lawyer, to at- toward you, Marian, any more than I! tempt a contest on such grounds with «on toward Laurence. The ties of! a man who has the power, influence scars are not to be so easily severed. | and position of Robert Clive.” Stut friendship need not be a monopoly. } “Power, influence and position! Aye, B.ove alone rujes with such jealous, curse him—curse him!” was the pas- kt t | siofate reply. “He has all—all that of which he has robbed me, increased a thousand-fold! And I—I have not even the right to bear my father’s name!” “Be calm, my dear sir—be calm,” said the old lawyer, who was growing rath- er nervous at the visitors passionate demonstrations. “There are thousands of cases such as yours met with in our profession every day. You can do noth- ing but submit—nothing but submit.” “Submit!” There was something ter- rible in the man’s hoarse, suppressed tone. “You know not the fierce blood that flows in my veirs, or you would never speak to me of submission! Sub- mit to the foul, cruel injustice that takes from me my name, my birthright —the name and birthright I should hand down in honor to my children? Submit to living as I do, a nameless outcast, while he, the liar, the spoiler, fattens on his ill-gotten gains. Submit to be driven from his threshold like a dog by his upstart son? I tell you, sir, there are wrongs to which no one can submit who calls himself a man! Sub- mit? Never! May my right arm with- er and my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth when I abandon my right- eous cause--when I cease to struggle against Robert Clive!” And, with a fierce gesture of his up- lifted arm, the man flung himself from the room, just as the flowing garments of Miss Marian swept up the stairway. “I wonder—I do wonder what it all means?” said that young lady, a lam- bent gleam of triumph in her dark eyes. “Some dreadfull family secret of the Clives. And they have always been so high and mighty, and honorable. Ha, ha! Mr. Herbert, perhaps you are not so grand a catch as you think you are. There is a skeleton in your closet ,eh? and my name is not Marian Grey un less I drag it to the light yet!” CHAPTER VIII. Beside the River. In no very pleasant frame of mind, Herbert walk.. He was vexed with himself, vexed with Miss Marian, and, such is love’s inconsistency, vexed with un- conscious Sybil. Why did she choose to set herself apart from her sex? Why did she make enemies and critics of, those sharp-eyed, sharp-tongued beings, who can forgive all things but superiority? What was this veil of mystery sur- rounding her that could make one so sweet, and pure, and gentle, the object of so much distrust? . Ah, Love—immortal! Love itself—is not invulnerable to the shafts of mal- ice! and Herbert, who, only a few hours before, had vowed to Sybil that no shadow could ever darken the sun- shine in which her image dwelt, even found himself questioning, fearing, nay, even doubting, the woman who ruled his heart! Truly, Miss Marian kndw hew and when to wound. In his present uncomfortable mood, Herbert felt no wish to return home, He had no mind for Fannie’s gay bad- inage, or his father’s more earnest con- verse; he did not care to meet Lau- rence or Fenton, who had asked him to stop in the former’s bachelor sanctum until their arrival, when Fenton was to econccet some remarkable beverage, whose proportions were solemn myster- ies to the civilian world. So, striking into a by-path that led through the grove, the heir of Clive Towers proceeded to indulge his gloomy meditations by a walk to the river. The road wound close to the shore, and the quiet waters seemed to mur- mur their peaceful music at his very feet. The veiling mists, now illumined by the light of a queenly moon, floated around him like transparent clouds, and gave a strange, unreal, dream-like aspect to the familiar landscape. He was in a world of vague, fleeting shad- ows; all about him was vapory and un- certain. He could grasp, he could hold nothing; and, like a weird echo from some far-off shore he seemed again to hear the melody of Sybil’s sunset song: “Thou in the sunlight And I in the shade; Yet, ah, by the sunlight The shadow is made! Thine be the gladness And mine be the gloom; _ For love, though thy triumph, Is only my doom.” The memory of the sweet, sad face, upturned to the rose-tinted sky—of the | wistful glance in the soft gray eyes— the tremulous pleading of the beautiful ips—came back to Herbert with a force that swept away all other feel- ings by a gush of noble tenderness. “My love, my love—my own sweet, sorrowful love—though the whole world should turn against her, my heart shall be faithful and true! my love shall be her refuge, her safeguard, her shelter! One gleam from her pure, sweet eyes—one faint smile from her lovely lips—is more eloquent than the voices of a thousand such frivolous, worldly-minded critics as Marian Grey! Sybil, my darling—my own sweet Sybil!” It Was only the unconscious cry of a heart stirred into renewed tenderness; but, as if his words had magic power over her, a white form glided through the mists, and Sybil herself, or her dis- embodied spirit, stood before him. For a moment Herbert Clive, sound- minded and practical as he was, thought he looked upon some unearthly vision; for, veiled and shrouded in garments of clinging white, with her pure face wearing a look of dread des- pair, and her eyes fixed in a gaze’ of stony unconsciousness, she passed him, like the wraith of her living, breathing self, and glided on, with outstretched arms, to the silent, sleeping river. Then suddenly, as if aroused by a lightning-flash from a dream, Her- bert’s sober senses awoke, and, with a low, startled ery of “Sybil!” he caught the girl’s arm even as she poised her- self for a spring into the waves. “Sybil! Sybil are you mad or dream- ing? God in heaven, what is it you would do?” She gave one wild, terrified glance into his face, and then sank, cowering and trembling on the sands at his feet. | feet. “You here?” she whispered, brokenly; “you—you? Then there must, indeed, be a God who watches all!” . “What is it you would do?” he re- peated. sternly, for the mighty love swelling in ie heart made him her censor now, ‘ere you seeking dea’ Sybil?” * ae : Ad commenced his homeward | strange, unnatural voice. “Death and safety. Safety for you and for me! Oh, why did you stop me—why did you stop me? It would have been only a brief pang, and then all would have been over!” Herbert Clive, gay and thoughtless as his young life had been, shuddered at the girl’s words. He had knelt at a Christian mother’s knee, had learned from her loving lips those lessons that are far more enduring than all the the- ological teachings of after years. Was it possible that this fair young being lived in the darkness of utter disbeliefs “All would have been over?” he re- peated. “Sybil, Sybil, you know not what you say! Have you no faith, no hope, that you would so madly brave a dreadful Hereafter?” “No, no! No faith, no hope!” she an- swered, despairingly. “I have nothing, nothing, either in this world or the next. Life has given me naught but struggle and suffering. Only in death ean I sek peace and rest!” “Do you spea kto me thus, Sybil—to me—to the man who loves you better than his: own life?’ was Herbert’s re- proachful question. “Oh, my darling, my darling!” he continued, his tone changing into one of infinite tender- ness; “what is this dark sorrow, this dark mystery, that is blighting, cursing your sweet young life? What is it that stands between us, Sybil? Show me the barrier that my lov eis power- less to level! Show me the wound my love is powerless to heal!” “Love? love?’ she echoed the word as if it stung her. “Do not speak to me of love! Look at m ehere, poised on the ver ybrink of a self-sought death, hopeless, wretched, desperate; and you talk to me of love! Go seek happier women for your honeyed phrases. They fall upon my heart like dew upon a parched desert, whose sands can never flower or fruit.” “T will not believe it,” he answered. “Your heart is no desert, Sybil. Btight- ed and seared it may be, but love can make it bloom anew. You can not frighten me, darling. You can not set m ylove aside. It has risen upon your life like the sun rises cver the sheltered valleys. Its course is unalterable. It must shine until the day is done. “There is no day for me!” was the passicnate answer; “no light, no sun! It is all darkness and night—eternal night!” “The sun has risen,” he repeated, tak- ing her by the hand, and lifting her, with gentle force, from her shrinking posture. “Darling, the sun has risen, and there can be no more night. Let the past be past forever, with its dark- ness, its sorrows; I sek not to unveil them, whatever they may be. The fu- ture shall he all sunshine, gladness and peace. Only trust me, Sybil—trust your wounded heart to me. Let me love you, and teach you bow to love me a little in return.” : “Tf you knew—if you only knew—how you torture me!” she murmured, in a broken whisper. “My life ‘is dark enough, dreary enough, barren enough, already. You only mock its bitterness by pointing to the smiling Eden that lies far, far beyond its reach. Why will you not believe me when I tell you love for me is hopeless# We can never love; or if, alas, it is our cruel, cruel ‘fate, that love must be our curse in- stead of a blessing—our cross instead of our crown.” “One word!” cried Herbert, detaining her, as she would. have fled away—‘“one word, Sybil, shall silence my pleading voice forever. Are you free? Has any one the right to stand between us? Are you pledged to another?” “T am not free.” was the low reply. “There is one who stands between us, and who will stand between us forever. I am pledged to another—one whom J love and honor, and must obey.” (TO be Continued.) WHAT A JOURNALIST Is. How He Differs From a Plain, Ordi nary Newspsiper Man. After his lecture before the journal- istic class at Corwall university, a sophomore class asked Eli P s when he became a journalist. “Never,” said Eli, “but I do hope, af- ter twenty years’ more experience, to become a newspaper man.” “Well, what is the difference?” asked the sophomore. “Just this, my son,” said Bli., “A callow reporter calls himself a journal- ist. As George Welshons says, ‘in his first tadpole stage, when his head is swelled,’ he is a journalist. If he final- ly shows great brain and industry, and escapes the fool-killer, he may become a reporter. After years of study and toil, and when his brains are stuffed with wisdom, wit and discretion enough to kill his own editorials and ‘make up’ a sixteen-page Sunday edi- tion, then I say he’s a newspaper man.” “Then he is as high up in the pro- fession as he can get?” “Yes; he is now at the pinnacle. By and by, when he gets lazy and stiff and old and stupid, they reduce him to the position of editor.” “An editor is a decayed newspaper man, with bunions on his brain, chil- blains on his heart, corns on his ears and warts and dyspepsia on his liver. The business of the editor is to sleep up-town all day and at night he prowls around a newspaper office, and at mid- night he takes a blue pencil and assas- sinates every bright and readable idea that the smart reporters have brought in during thie day. “The editor is all epithet, while the reporter is all proof. The editor calls a man a chicken-thief, and gets sned for libel, while the reporter, kodak in hand, interviews him while picking off the feathers in his back yard, and the next day the thief takes a whole adver- tisement to shut up the newspaper. “No,” continued Eli; “I hope I am a newspaper man, and I dread the time when I ghall get old and stupid, and have to kill my own bright things which made the people glad, sold news- papers and made Americans know me.” : : *s'death:; the Skirt. “ah? exclaimed the great detective, “here is the tell-tale shirt.” “Retrayed!’ groaned the criminal. “I might have known that such a loud garment would blow on me.”—Phila- lelphia “-~’h American. . x Not Without Ability. . Uncle 1.v—weil, Johnny, are you at th sea. of your class? J npy—No, but I can lick the fellow | thst is!—Hartford Courant. : “Aye, death!” she answered, in a | Requisites of a Good Shepherd. C. F. Curtiss: A flock of sheep can aot be handled or fattened successfully without a close observance of their habits and peculiarities. There are a Great many little things that enter into the attention and management by a successful shepherd that may seem trivial, yet they have much to do with the comfort, thrift, and profit of the flock. The axiom that “The eye of the master fattens” is nowhere more applicable than in the sheepfold. The competent feeder acquires a trained eye, that detects at a glance any eVl- dence of disorder that will be mani- fest if a single animal is off of feed or out of condition. To the unobserv- ing or inexperienced feeder sheep all look alike, but when rightly studied zo class of stock presents more marked individual peculiarities or so clearly manifests evidence of thrift and well- doing or the reverse. Attention to these little details, accompanied by regular habits and a quiet manner, constitutes the keynote of successful sheep feeding. Nothing contributes more to good results than contentment anc quiet surroundings. The feeder who disturbs the quiet and comfort of the flock every time he gces about it should quit the sheep business at once. Rough manners and harsh treatment absolutely disqualify any man for suc- cess in this work. The natural timid- ity and nervous temperament of the sheep necessitate gentle treatment. Their dainty habits about eating and drinking must also be indulged as fully as practicable. No animal nat- urally selects a wider variety of feed, particularly of rough forage and veg- etation; but two essentials are always exacted, viz., cleanliness and palatabil- ity. Never give a sheep any stale or undesirable feed, nor expect it to eat any feed left over from a previous meal. The ration should be always wholesome and tempting to the ap- petite. The barn or stabling quarters should never be without a fresh, pure atmosphere and an amyle supply of dry bedding. Sheep rarely suffer from cold if kept dry and protected from direct drafts. The open air is better than a poorly kept shed or barn. Proportions of Straw and Gralo. There is’ no fixed relation between the proportions of straw and grain in the cereals. In some years the pro- portion of straw is greater than others; the weather has something to do with this condition. In wet years and with not enough sunshine to fully ripen the grain early, or, rather, to stop the de- velopment of the straw, the proportion of the latter is great. Various efforts have been made to ascertain what ef- fect different kinds of manure and fertilizers would have on the propor- tions of straw and grain. The results have not been definite enough to make it advisable to attempt to control the proportions by different methods of enriching the soil. Nitrogenous ma- nures seem to stimulate the straw de- velopment, but not excessively. The largest yields of grain are generally accompanied by large yields of straw. It is probably impossible to get a good grain without a good stalk. In the years when grain “heads out low” the yield of grain is generally short. The aim should be to develop both grain and straw in the same propor- tion. This is done the most certainly by following a rotation. The grain should come after corn, or roots or potatoes, and these crops should re- ceive the fertilizers rather than the cereals. , As to Fertilizers. In general it is best to try to grow nitrogen gathering crops in rotation wit cereals when cereals are gyown at all. -The roots of the clover crop remaining in the ground enrich the soil with nitrogen in such a form that it can be used by the succeeding crop of cereals. Experiments seem to show that all this nitrogen produced from a single crop of clover, the roots only being left in the ground, but the plant not turned under, is sufiicient only to supply the needs of the first grain crop coming after it. Potash and phos- phoric acid should be in the soil in good quantities to ensure the proper and economical use of the nitrogen in the soil. It does not pay to attempt to use any one class of fertility with- out the presence of the others. Thus, it is found ‘that what is called a com- plete fertilizer—nitrogen, potash, and phosphoric acid combined—gives the best results in all cases. If, however, a single grain is to be grown on the land for an indefinite period and without rotation the appli- cation of fertilizers to the land should be governed as far as possible by the constituents of the whole grain plant. This can be found easily from any book giving a list of grains and their analyses. In the case of barnyard manure this rule‘cannot be followed unless the farmer be ultra scientific, for it will require a good deal of fine figuring to determine about what are the constituents of a manure pile, the problem being based on the foods that have been fed out in the making of the said manure pile, > Russian Thistle as Fodder—A Ne- braska friend of mine whose stock wintered last year largely on Russian thistle, thinks that it isn’t a ‘bad kind of a weed, after all. And many in the west are coming to the same opinion. ing instead of.a curse to the. drouth tion, as was predicted a few years ago, The various laws enacted against it are practically dead now, because there is no need to enforce them. ‘ Hracodiey 18 Nrpadion Tainies 30 eee, The Russian thistle is proving a bless- |. ‘stricken or desert lands. Moreover, it | _is not “taking the country” in any sec- Another Department. Agent (of philanthropic society\—My dear young woman, the proprietors of this store assured us they had provid- ed seats for their clerks. I don’t see any. Sales Girl—They’r eall in the furni- pe department, ma’am.—Chicago Tri- une, England@’s Armored Trains. The. magnificent armored trains used by England in her war with the Boers will protect her troops in about the —_ same way that Hostetter’s Stomach ™ Bitters drives dyspepsia from the hu- man stomach, and,then mounts guard that it does not return. The Bitters have won in every case of indigestion, constipation, liver and kidney trouble for fifty years. Kept Awake Listening. “What makes Mrs. Henpeck look so worried these days, I wonder?” “Her husband has developed a habit of talking in his sleep, and it’s driving her crazy.”—Philadelphia Press. Gleanse Your Blood The thing most desired of a Spring Medicine is thorough purification of the blood, With this work of cleansing going on there is com- plete renovation of every part of your system. Not only is the cor- rupt blood made fresh, bright and lively, but the stomach also re- sponds in better digestion, its readiness for food at proper times gives sharp appetite, the kidneys and liver properly perform their allotted functions, and there is, in short, new brain, nerve, mental and digestive strength. HOCB’S Sarsapariiila Possesses the peculiar qualities— Peculiar to Itself—which accom- plish these good things for all who take it. An unlimited list of wonderful cures prove its merit, WERERE JEFF DAVIS COURTED. A Large Stone That Figured In His Youthfcl Romance Preserved. When Gen. Zachary Taylor was in command at Fort Knox, near Vincen- nes, Ind., Jefferson Davis, afterwards president of the Southern Confederacy, was a lieutenant in the army, and was with his command at the fort. Tradi- tion has it that Davis and Miss Taylor, whom he afterwads married, took stroHs upon the prairie near the fort, and that they often seated themselves upon a large stone which lay on a knoll some distance away. It is stated that while seated thus one day Davis pro- posed marriage to Miss Taylor and was accepted. Davis and Miss Taylor were married at Vincennes, and them- selves told of the courtship on the stone. To commemorate the romantic incident, Mrs. Dr. J. H. Rabb of Vin- cennes, has caused the stone to be re- moved to the house where it is now to be seen.—New York Sun. PATENTS. List of Patents Issued Last Wee to Northwestern Inventors. Jenes O. Bane, Waseca, Minn., spring attachment for pump rods; Mi- chael Beck and E. Ferrant, Minneapo- lis, Minn., automatic magazine gun; Harvey L. Marlett, Warner, S. Cc. Marlett, Fargo, N. D., self-heating dinner pail; Will S. Metcalf, Fandreau, S. D., plow coulter; William Newton, Minneapclis, Minn., starching machine; Caesar Wilson, Litchfield, Minn., plow attachment. Merwin, Lothrop & Johnson, Patent Attor- neys, 911 & 912 Pioneer Press Bldg., St. Paul Why He Was Afraid to Bid. At an auction sale of miscellaneous goods at a country store the auctioneer put up a buggy rebe of fairly-good quality. An old farmer inspected it closely, seemed to think there was a bargain in it, and yet he hesitated to bid. “Yhink it cheap?” asked the auction- err, crying a 10-cent bid. “Yes, kinder,” was the reply. “Then why don’t you bid and get it?” “Wall. I've bought heaps o’ things in dary goods an’ so on,” slowly rejoined the old man, “and I never took home anything yet that the old woman thought was worth the price. If I got that ’ere robe for even 15 cents she'd grab it up, pull at one end and chaw on a corner and call out, ‘cheated again —more’n half cotton! That’s th’ rea- son I dasn’t bid.”—Arizona Graphic. A Book of Choice Recipes Sent free by Walter Baker & Co. Ltd., Dorchester, ‘Mass. Mention this paper. Human Nature. Mr. Tigg—I don’t see how that Mont- real girl could sleep sixty days. Mrs. Tigg (speaking from observa- tion)—Probably some one kept calling her to breakfast right along—New York Press. 3 The latest hiding place for microbes is in moustaches. . A boy never realizes how good his mother is until he gets sick.