Grand Rapids Herald-Review Newspaper, December 15, 1900, Page 6

ee te te a te ao te te ate eee teat HAND # BY AN # ¢ UNSEEN ¢ @ Bo Edward Hughes. A Story of the Secret @> Socicty Known as + “the “Ragged « « © Thirteerr’ « 2 2 @ CHAPTER III, (Continued.) ¥ hardly knew what my predominant feeling was. I think it was the joy that here, at last, I was within reach ef one of these fiends. I seized the stocking-covered legs as thigh up as I could grip them, and with ell the strength that God had given te my young manhood, I jerked them to- wards me, and the suddenness of the attack and the pull inwards with his knees jamming against the side of the ed, brought the man backwards with @ thud. Before he could rise I had grappled with him, and had snouted at the top ef my voice. Twice I thought that 1 ehould have got above him, but he was qnore supple and stronger than I. Even as we struggled I could hear "iugh Travers leap on to the floor from fhis bed in the room above, and could hhear, too, the opening of doors in the eervants’ quarters. We had got to our feet, and I made a desperate effort to held my man; but, with a still greater one, he broke from me, but, measuring my distance, I struck him with all my force smash on the mask that covéred ffs face. That blow saved Mr. Travers’ life. In his mad lust for revenge, the man would have rushed past me and thrown hhimse}]f upon the helpless invalid. As tt w he hesitated for a second, then, feint though he woultl return the blow, he suddenly slipped through the door, dashed down the stairs to the fall, and before any one could inter~ cept him, had made his way out and wanished in the darkness. Our first care was to see to Mr. Travers, and it was well that we did so, for the gag that had been drawn ever his head needed but tighténing in fits upper portion to so constrict the nostrils that the victim would have een slowly suffocated. + When the morrow came Mr. Travers, thad lost his voice. Not a word could he utter, and his right side was paral- yzed. E had been on the threshold of dis- covery. I was now as far off as ever! CHAPTER Iv. Npra Courtney. ‘We sent up to the police station, and ‘whea the inspector came—as come he did mest promptly—he diagnosed the ease as one of attempted burglary, complimented me upon the pluck with which I had tackled my man, gave me valuable hints as to what I should do fm any future engagement of a like na- tare, and, when he had carefully in- @pected the premises, departed to set his men on the track of the house- ®reaker, assuring me that he would thave him by the heels before the day ‘WAS over. We did not enlighten him as fully as we might have done, for I was mindful of my fat ‘s warning, and so, when ‘the account appeared in the local pa- per uo mention was made of the Rag- ged Thirteen. ‘The next day we tele- graphed to London, much to the dis- ust of our inspector, who, however, was so man 2. fellow that\he gave us eli the he could in sécuring the services of one of the best men of the day; and to this man, wh€n he ar- I made a full communication, e, however, to impress upon that we must have no publicity. f retained him for‘our exclusive ser- vice, and we were enabled to make a friend of him, for a quieter ahd more Cemanly man than this John An- it has seldom been my lot to He utterly did away with all my @reconceived notions of a detective. My story does not hinge upon any marvelous discoveries that he made, ‘but his advice was always sound, and the was worth all I ever gave him, if nly for the comfort he brought us in ‘having him by our side in the many difficuit positions in which we after- wards found ourselves. He interested me exceedingly by rea- gon of the clever way in which he mar-~ skatled his facts, and the ingenuity with which he strung together his the- ories: and he soon convinced me of the Startling audacity of my hopes that, ‘%y my own efforts, I should be able to Gring to book men whose tenacity of purpose was so pronounced that they ‘would still have their revenge, in spite ef the years they had waited for it, As a result of the inquiries he made, fhe found that on several occasions late- fy a man hawking goods had called at Mr. Trav house, and that, as he lling useful articles.at fair the vants had dealt with him, and had, indeed, gone so far as to sk him, on more than one occasion, to Join them at their midday meal. He had heard them discussing their mas- ter's illness, and that there was no re- eular nurse in attendance, and no doubt mention ha@ been made of the ‘way in which the invalid turned up his eas. “But I suppc ” said Mr. An- q@uish, “that he never heard that young Mr. Travers sat up with his uncle, and of course he didn’t know you were in the house, and that - was why he made gis attempt when he did.” “But do you think that the hawker and the man I grappled with were one and the same? Why, the fellow I grap- pled with was dressed ——” ; “Something like a doctor,” he inter- rupted. “Yes! he asked his way of a peliceman up by the Town Hall; said he had just come as assistant to Dr. Tyler, and was strange to the place; amd added that he was going to see Mir. Travers, as that gentleman> was very ill. He Jet himself in without euspicion in some way or other, and you just tackled him in time.” “Well, now, Mr. Anguish, how do you suppose he found Mr, Travers?” “Well, I can only guess at that. You and your father didn’t look through the back garden when you found Dr. James. How do you know they weren’t watching you? How do you know you were not followed here?” “But if that is so,” I can give you a theory that fits in with that, but it might not be pleasant hearing for you.” “Go on,” I said. “You see, you told me that the man you tried to arrest made a great point of letting Mr. Travers know that he had come for his revenge. Now, if they found him through your coming here, and have left orders that no one was to meddle with your friend except himself. He might have been away after your father, and if he’d got on his trail he wouldn't leave it until he had run’ him down. That’s one -way of looking at it, though I think it’s very | likely that-they haven’t found Mr. Tre- Manye yet, and that is why they haven’t meddled with you. You see, they are giving you line, in the hopes that you and your father will come to- gether again.” ‘ “Why should they harm me?” T said. “I've never done hurt to any man, so far as I know.” “Maybe not; but we read, sir, that the sins of the father are visited upon the children. I can’t help thinking that, however this trouble started, it began, so to speak, as a private con- cern; but now they've turned it into a political company with power to add to their number, and with the extra help they get in this way they have a better chance of finding out the where- abouts of the men they want to settle up old scores with.” All this, as the detective had sug- gested, was not pleasant hearing for me, for, if he were correct in his sur- mises, and I were ever attacked, it would be proof that my father had perished, and that, being no longer of any use as a decoy-duck, his sins were to be visited upon me. “Can you give me any idea,” I asked, “as to what the expression ‘Ragged Thirteen’ means?” “You don’t play cribbage?” he said. “No, I don’t.” “Because if you did you would know that the five cards you had shown me score thirteen poihts, and the hand is called the Ragged Thirteen, because, I suppose, they total up in such a scratch way. You see, there’s fifteen two, fifteen four, fifteen six, fifteen eight, two's ten, and the run of three thirteen. You don’t, of course, understand me, but perhaps you will agree with me that this trouble seems to have origi- nated in a quarrel over cards.” By the doctor’s advice we sent Mr. Travers to a health resort in the south of Scotland, and there he was tended night,-and day, by his nephew and a trusty man, but little hopes were en- tertained that he would ever recover the power of speech. I did not give up my University career, and during the two years tifat elapsed before. I took my degree I heard from Anguish at intervals, but all hi& efforts to throw light upon the mystery Of the Ragged Thirteen were apparently as unvailing as mine had been. 1 had left with him the parcel con- taining the cards, for they were dan- gerous articles to be in my possession, and when my college career ended I went to Scotland, to see Mr. Travers, and I was pleased to find that, al- though he was only the shadow of the | man he had once been, he yet knew me, through his voice had never re- turned to him and his right hand was powerless. Hugh ‘Travers was with him, and it and it was certain that as long as the poor gentleman lived he} would have at. least one faithful heart to share his sorrows—one kind ffiend to anticipate his wants. I had not spent a quarter of my allow- ance, so that if ever ah occasion arose when money might be needed, money would be forthcoming. The time had now arrived when I might with advantage follow the ad- vice contained in my father’s letter ané go abroad, so from Scotland I went straight to Paris, and there for | some months in its salons, and under the guidance of some of the ablest professors, I gave full play to my artistic bent. Then I wandered from one capital to another until at last I found myself in Tome, and there 1 purposed to tarry for some time, that-I might ayail my- self of examples of the best style and study under the best teachers; and in this. congenial work, learning saintly Regends and drinking in all the beauties of the exquisite finish and colour of | the old masters, the memory of the scenes through which I had passed, terrible as. they had beea, began to | grow fainter, and the wave of youth- ful impetuosity had left me stranded, and, sweeping back, had carried with it the zeal of my younger days. I made Rome my head-quarters for more than two years, visiting other cities of irterest during the sickly sea- son, and sO enamoured did I become of Italian art that I was like to have spent the rest of my life in the Sunny South. But Fate had ordained it oth- erwise, . I had heard a great deal of the doings of Tiburzi and Biagini and other cei- ebrated bandits, and as I haye hinted, when speaking of my father, I was once with him, in the hands of a gatig; 5but I certainly had no desire to have any further dealings with those heavy- handed blackmailers. One evening I had been for a long. ride, and was returning, walking my horse siowly through the streets, when I noticed a fellow in the garb of a countryman keeping just abreast of me on, the pathway, and to test whether I wWas the object of his attention, T pushed on as fast as the crowd would permit, and turned into several streets that I should not otherwise have traversed, The man followed me up as closely as possible, and at tast le ‘me? I 4 “Yes, spain: You are English. Will you read this letter and send me an | answer to it? “It is from one of your countrymen. If the signor would be so kind, I would wait for him or his messenger here, at nine o'clock tomor- Sow evening.” And with that he mirgled with the passers-by and was soon lost to sight.’ The man's speech, like his dress, smacked of the country, and, wonder- ing who my correspondent could be, and why an answer must needs be carried by special messenger, I hurried home and undid the packet. And first I came upon an ill-writtetn scrawl, and it took me some time to make it out, for many of the words were wrongly spelt, and others belonged to a patoit with which I was not very familiar: but I made shift to translate it, and it bade the person into whose hands it might fall to read the accom- panying letter from the Signor Ma- | | guire, and to give the answer as the | bearer had directed. Should there be any attempt at treachery the reaedr’s life would pay for it. T had scarcely any need to peruse the inclosed epistle to tell me that I was dealing with brigands, these pests of countryman’; 's lows:— | Here am I, James Murtagh Maguire, | of Clare County, Ireland, in the hands of Italian brigands, and my company is so highly esteemed that they won't part with me under a hundred pounds. I've enly one relative in the world, an old miser of an uncle, by name Phelim Maguire, of the town of Clonmel, but the deuce a petiny he’d pay for: me, seeing that, he was always prophesying Jetter. It ran as foi- and that, it’s there I’m landed. They’re a pleasant set of scamps that I’m with, drinking your health one, minute— though, by the-same token, the wine's poor stuff—and politely telling you | that they’re going to cut your throat the next, and asking you when it it dene, I believe it’s their intention | to get rid of me piecemeal, for when T I made them understand—and it’s wonderful how poor they are at their own language—that I’d a relative at some Cistance, might take a polite attention if they sent him one of.my ears. Well, they want £100 by this day week, and they’ve made me write this to be taken | to Rome to one of my countrymen. I the penalty you pay for being dis- tinguished-looking. You'll be wondering how I came into this fix, and whether, if you get me out of it, I'm ever likely to ae | you. I’m a poor fellow on tramp, learning the ways of the country—and mighty free and easy they are—doing a/ bit of painting and taking a few notes for a book, and I was sketching when they snapped me up, I don’t know the name of the place where I’m staying, and I’m very hazy as to the date, but some time about now there should be £50 or so. waiting for me in the bank at Naples. If you care to advance the hundred I can hand over the fifty, but when you'd get the other fifty is more than Jim Maguire can tell you. As I said, or meant to say, I’m only writing | this to keep them in good humour for awhile, and my solemn advice is that you don’t give them.a cent. Maybe, as they think so much of me, they might | make me one of themselves, and it is an eleganty dress they have, and myself | weuld look well in it. Anyway, I don’t think that what’s left of me is worth | fifty pounds, and it’s always a good | maxim never to buy a pig in a poke. and elbow-room isn’t plenty, so that I can’t produce as elegant an epistle as I could wish to do. If they're for kill- ing me, I’ve no one to mourn for me, and maybe I'd sleep just. as soundly under the sod here as I would if the | green turf of old Ireland was covering me. It’s been a diversion to write this, and if you could only catch the fellow who brings, it, and crack his skull, you’d have one demon the less in the world, and you would be doing a | service to yours, in haste and the ponds of the brigands (I won't give the beggars a capital “‘b”),, | James Murtagh Maguire | -3t was a curious letter, and there | was a sufficiently strong under-current | of sudness in it to show that the writer fully appreciated the gravity of i his position, and in the advice anent | the ‘messenger there appeared the | typical recklessness of the Irishman. | I had money and to spare, and re- | membering my own feelings when I saw my father playing for his life, and knowing full well that this Maguire would, in all probability, be killed un- less the ransom were forthcoming, I determired to run the risk of losing the hundred pounds, and so sent word that I would pay it. I took the note | myself and gave it to the messenge!, and within three days I was shaking Maguire's hand and looking into his handscme face. He was considerably older than I, | somewhere near forty, but his face | was lincd with the marks of trouble, | which, however, had not yet dimmed | the luster of his blue eyes, nor robbed him of his merry laugh. He was fairly | tall, but of perfect form, and with an upright carriage that bespoke the soldier. He was so grateful for the kindness shown him that for a while he could find no words to express his gratitude, but stcod wringing my hand with the tears dimming his large eyes, until at last, his Irish nature asserting itself, and having, as he put it, swallowed the lump in+his throat, he began to thank me. “Tm yours: now, Mr. .Tremayne,” "said he, “body and soul; and upon my life, I think you’ve made a very bad bargain—my failings aré’so many, and my virtves so few; but we "ll get the money from Naples, and that, with my I 0 U for the rest, is} all I can do by. way of repaying you.” oat “Suppose,” I said, “that we put. off the matter of payment for the present, Mr. Maguire—say, till you've had a few days’ rest? I'ye plenty of room for you in the house I've taken. Come and be my guest for a week or two.” I am afraid that in offering to play the host I was not altogeather actu- ated by generosity pure and simple. 'fhe truth was, I wanted a companion society, I had hastened to read my | that I'd go to the bad, and, by this | would be convenient for you to have | they hinted that he | don’t know whom they mistake me for | —a lord, maybe; but, of course, this is | The ink is little better than water, | who, whilst he could rejoice with me | ¢, poor saa yet pad a dispoe: tion antithetical to mine, for I was getting over-foné of brooding, and was becoming almost too dreamy for this practical workaday world. And I found so much to admire in this middleaged Irishman during the early days of an acquaintance which soon ripened into friendship, that I pro- posed he should stay with me and finish his book, working up his illustrations whilst the memory of the places and | persons they represented was still fresh in his mind. Every day he had some new story to tell, either of his early life or his late wanderings, and it was impossible@to feel downhearted or dull in his *com- pany. And yet, even whilst the edge of his satire was at its keenest, whilst his conversation bristled with epigram and sparkled with wit, whilst the contagion of his laughter and the fun that lurked in his eyes were perfectly irresistible, the man’s heart was bearing a burden of sorrow that, when.I came to know it, made me marvel at the fron will | that would not let it rise to the surface. He was a dashing artist, working very rapidly, and just the man to illus- trate the rollicking book he had written, and I encouraged him to work hard, for I could give it my honest opinion that when the “child of his brain,” as he called it, should go forth to the world, it would be warmly welcomed. ‘Sure, it’s little correction it’s had,” he would say, “and I'm afraid I’m too indulgent a parent. But then, as our old sergeant in the Militia used to tell | us, ‘Arrah! av ye made a mistake, be ; smart wid ut, and stand still, Don’t be thryin to get straight.’ And so I'll let it go as it is, and maybe they'll | think the mistakes are the truest parts ioe it. ¢7% | And so we went on working together, ‘he praising my painting, and finding | beauties in.it that were hidden from | my eyes, and that probably only exist- } | i jed in his fervid imagination; and I lauding his writing to the skies, until | | we came to be the most enthusiastic | Mutual Admire tfon Company, Limited, | on earth. He was almost a child in matters and he would sell little gems | | financial, ‘for a trifle, until I came down upon | him and constituted myself his moddle- | | man, when the “pot-boilers’’ went up | in price, and he was proportionately | ‘happier in the prospect afforded of | | buying himself pack. | I shall never forget the evening on | which he finished his book. I had been away all day, and eame back to find him sitting ae at the pile of MS. | before him. “I'm thinking,” sata he, pointing to | the MS., “that it’ll be a great traveller, | and will well-nigh ruin me in postage. | Faith, I've a mind to inclose a bushel | of money orders, and ask the first publisher I send it to to pass it round, taking them all in alphabetical order, and if it doesn’t wear out by the time it gets to ‘Z’ in London, they might ship it off to New York.” “I don’t think you'll have all that trouble,” I said, and a sudden impulse seizing me I added, ‘‘Suppose we go to London and take it with us? We could travel by boat, and I think the trip would do us good.” And so it came about that Fate once more interfered, and this why I say that I cannot forget the evening, be- cause it was upon it that I made the proposal which led to my coming into touch again with the Ragged Thirteen. It must not be supposed that I had ever forgotten the debt I owed the men who had separated me from my father, | or that my thoughts did not often have him for their subject. He had been too important a factor in my early life | to be forgotten, and whereas time had toned down the recollection of the series | | of events that had been so startling in | their occurrence, ‘it, and absence, had made’ my heart grow fonder for him who had been parent, friend, and com- panion in one. And while I trod the London streets again, the bracing air, and the bustle and stir that obtained, chased away the lethargy that had crept over me in the South, so that the eagerness which at one-time had possessed me to repay with interest the injuries that | had been put upon me began to re- assert itself, and to urge me to pick up the thread of investigation that L had allowed to slip through my fingers. I had not heard from.John Anguish for some time. “Things were at a standstill,” so his last letter informed me, “so far as he was concerned;” but chance, my dear sir,”’ wrote he, ‘often | slips the trump card into our hand, and then, if we've the skill to play it at the right time, we win the game.” He was apparently still waiting for Madame Fortune’s aid, and I proposed paying him a visit as soon as we found ourselves comfortably settled. Avoiding the suburb in which my father and I had previously pitched our tent, I went northward, and was for- tunate enough to find a chaming little villa, out Enfield way, furnished in most approved batchelor style; and having further secured the services of a handy man and his wife, we settled down to pass the’ summer in our newt | quarters—I financing the concern, and Maguire religiously booking against himself so much per week for board and lodging, until the sale of his prec- ious work should bring him in enough to wipe out all obligations, and set him free/ ‘though ’tis in love with my fet- ters, I am,” he would add, when we discussed the matter. He was away one afternoon worrying, or trying to blarney, some publisher Graves, our man, had gone out for supplies; his wife was performing the mysteries of her toilet in her own par- ticular region of the house; and I was lying back in a comfortable chair in the room that we called our den. We had no veary near neighbours to dis- turb us, as the next house was a quarter of a mile away. The day. was simply glorious—a day to make you greatful for the life that stirred ‘“withia, you—a day when’ the hum of insects, the soft sough,of the “almost wearied breeze,” and the songs of birds made up that perfect harmony that can only come from the Hand of God when He sweeps it with gentle \ uch over the chords of Nature—a day » make you put away all feelings of envy, hatred, and malice. There were no sounds within ‘the house to disturb the perfect peace, and the soft air that came through the open window was so cool, and so subtly perfumed with the odor of flowers, that it might have come from the strokes of an-angel’s wings. ) Suddenly, through the stillness, there ell pom my ase the sound of foot- ‘Her breast was heaving and her breathing hurried, her lovely, jet-black heir was tumbled and t mounted it; her dark-blue violet eyes were ablaze with excitement; and even as I took in the beauty of her rich, ripe lips she laid her finger upon them and gave me the sign to be silent. She half turned, and stood in a listen- ing attitude, as though expecting some- one to follow her, so I had a full view of her perfect profile, and whilst I was still gazing at her, admiring her beauty and wondering what good fairy had sent me so charming a visitor, she turned towards me. “Whisht!” said she, in a low tone; and the word fell from her lips as it only can from an Irish girl, “Whisht! He’s after me, and he'd kill me this minute if he found me. Ah! there he goes!” and her quick ear had caught the sound of feet hurrying along the pathway. “Bide where you are,” she went on, as she noticed that I was about to rise. “Bide where you are. He wasn't round the corner—and your door was open, so I rushed in; it looked so—so quiet, and he'll fancy I’ve gone to the woods. Don't make no noise, for it’s little he’d think of killing us both, now the black fit’s‘on him.” And so there we remained, she stand- ing and I staring at her, until, think- ing that the danger, which her conduct proved to be so real, had passed, I got up and made her take a seat. “Rest for awhile,” I said, “and if you eare to tell me why you came, tell me, and if you don’t, wait until you think it safe to go.” “Well, now,” said she, looking me squarely in the eyes, “I like you for that, and you won’t turn me out?” “I'd as soon think of turning an angel away,” I said. “Don't pay compliments until you know me better, and maybe you won’t pay them at all then. There’s no one but an Irishman could do it properly on so short an acquaintance, and he'd have said, ‘Ah! how could I do it?’ or something of the sort, and he’d have flung me a look from the corner of his eye that would have meant more than if he’d called me an angel a hundred times.” And with that she settled her- self in a chair, and accepted with an easy courtesy the glass of iced lemon- ade that I got for her. (Yo Be Continued.) SENDING WEDDING PRESENTS, Dispatch It Promptly After Receiv- ing the Invitation—Hints on Setec- ing. - It is a golden rule: to send your wed- ding gifts in good tjme, the first to ar- rive being much more appreciated than that which is one of the many pouring in from all quarters during the last week, By adhering to this rule you are also saved the annoyance of hearing that the salt cellars are charming, the third set already received, A month before the wedding day is not too early to send the presents, which should be accompanied by a visiting card. The package should be addressed to the bride if you are intimate with both tke happy couple; and to the bride’s house, addressed to the bridegroom, if it is he with whom you are best acquainted. Most people wish to give something novel, useful and pretty. If they are going abroad do not give anything un- suitable to the requirements of the climate or so cumbersome that the packing and conveying to-its destina- tion will amount to half the value of the present. If the recipients will not be partic- ularly well off, it is only kind to select some useful present. In these days when taste is shown in all the necessi- ties of life this should “not be difficult. If the happy couple are likely to re- ceive many presents it is safe to give something which will not be amiss if received in duplicate, such as silver sweetmeat dishes, silver teaspoons, or a bronze or china ornament.—Woman’s Life. LEPERS BURIED ALIVE, Unfortunate Victims Ride Behind Their Own Coffins. The Chinese have a curiously cheer- ful way of disposing of their lepers. The relatives of the afflicted person propose to him that they bury him alive, and such is the fatalism of the Chinese that the victim readily con- sents. An extra elaborate meal is ser- ved to him, in the way of a farewell banquet, and then the funeral proces- sion forms. The man who 1s about to be immured under the sod follows his own coffin, and when he reaches the grave he takes a dose of laudanum, hops into the box and settles down for eternity. Doctor Wittenburg, writing on the subject of leprosy in China, states that the pure nerve form is the least common. In such cases, as is well known, the patients may go on for years. As to the mixed form. it is fair- ly common, but it is a difficult mat- ter to estimate the number if lepers in any siven district. The sufferers lead the common life so long as they remain free from destructive lesions. When these oceur to any marked de- gree the leper is either segrated in a hut or he is allowed to wander about the country sustaining life by begging. Why Yon See Stars, * If you are one of those who frequent the police courts, you have no doubt often heard the victime of assault de- clare that the assailant hit him so hard. that it made him “see stars." And, in- deed, the sensation which you expéri- ence from a violent blow on the head sembles very niuch the sight of stars. The fact is, there is a ‘phosphorescent power in the eye which shows itself when the head is struck violently, and ‘ig often perceived even in the act of. sneezing. The jar to the system caused by the blow produces a pressure of the blood vessels upon the retina, causing either total darkness or a faint, blue light which floats before the eye, and in which the imagination discovers thousands of fantastic figures, the ma. Jos of which: / resemble bodes eect iegh me es Seknyiaccndn Gow got thiol a beck be trouble by trying to hide his light eae a bushel. _ terverp of Many | or “by Using Peruna. rea Isaac ‘Brock, the Oldest Man in the United States, Mr, Isaac Brock, of McLennan coun- ty, Tex., has attained the great age of 111 years, having been born in 1788. He is an ardent friend to Pe- runa and speaks of it in the following terms: “During my long life I have known @ great many remedies for coughs, colds, catarrh and diarrhoea. I had always supposed these affections to be different diseases, but I have learned from Dr, Hartman’s books that these affections are the same and are properly called catarrh. “As for Dr, Hartman’s remedy, Pe- runa, I have found it to be the best, if-not the only reliable remedy for these affections. «“Peruna has been my stand-by for many years, and I attribute my good health and my extreme age to this remedy. It exactly meets all my requirements. “I have come to rely upon it almost entirely for the many little things for which I need medicine. I believe it to be especially valuable to old people.” Isaac Brock. Catarrh is the greatest enemy of old age: <A person entirely free from ca- tarrh is sure to live to a hale an@ hearty old age. A free book on ca- tarrh sent by The Peruna Medicine Co., Columbus, O. An Imitative Rabbit. Dogs and cats have been known to be~ come fast friends, but for a cat and a rabbit to becothe Inseparable companions is out of: the ordinary. R. H. Jones of No. 130 Archer street has a rabbit and a eat which are boon conipanions. The rab- bit belonged to a neighbor of Joncs. One day it strayed into the Jones yard and got acquainted with the cat. The admir- ation was mutual. They became the best of friends, and from the minute the rab- bit met the cat it has not been. to its own home. For more than a year the two have been together, eating from the same dish and sleeping together in a box in the rear of the yard. The cat will not play with other cats, but makes a com- panion cnly of the rabbit. They romp about the yard together, and now and then the cat will climb a tree. When it does the rabbit will run around the iree and attempt to join the cat. Until the cat comes back to the ground the rabbit is nervous. The dogs of the neighborhood have learned to keep out of the Jones yard. For one‘to come into the yard and approach the rabbit is canine suicide. The cat bristles up at once and makes it so interesting for the intruder that he is always glad to scale the fence and get in the street.—Denver Republican. ‘The charm of beauty ts beautiful hair. with Parker's Harm Patsam. MINDERCORNS, the best cure for corns. i5cts. Christmas Jumbles at Small Cost. Old-fashioned Christmas jumbles are expensive; simple ones, when well made, are good. Mix half a cupful of carefully rerdered suet, or any of the Jard substitutes, with two tablespoon- fuls of butter. Dissolve a teaspoonful of soda in two tablespoonfuls of water; stir it into one cupful (half a pint) of New Orleans molasses. When foam- ing, add a-cupful of strong boiling cof- fee; add this to the shortening; mix, and add a teaspoonful of cinnamon, a tablespoonful of ground ginger, and sufficient flour to make a soft dough, about three cupfuls. Roll the dough half an inch in thickness; cut with a round cutter, and bake in a moderately quick oven for fifteen minutes. This receipt, omitting the soda and rolling the dough thin, may be used for snaps. Snaps must be baked in a slow oven. exeretetenexetenenore Tied Up ‘When the muscles feel drawn and tiéd up and the flesh tender, that tension is * Soreness Stiffness from cold or over exercise. It ‘but a short time after St. Jacobs Oil Hevevereehenenetereteenenenekereeveteteet se cod is epuies: The cure e Renenenecerenenenegenenen GR. THE IN 0. GRAIN COFFEE Grain-O is not a stimulant, like peut It is a tonic and its effects oA duccoestul Stistitrite for esites: ® because it has the coffee favor that bis ps Bs coffee substitutes in the cp gta bane one ts drink— \ Secure 18 +