Grand Rapids Herald-Review Newspaper, July 5, 1902, Page 2

By Fred M. THAPTER XVIII. (Continued.) “A man who is highly respected. A wan who stands wonderfully high in public estimation. There are thousands ‘and thousanés of people who look upon ‘him as a great and estimable creature. He gives largely in charities, he devotes a good deal of his time to the poor. My unele, who is a good man,, if you like, declares that Reginald Henson is abso- lutely indispensable to him. At the next -election that man is certain to be re- turned to parliament to represent an ‘important Northern constituency. If you told my uncle anything about it he would laugh at you.” “fT ‘have not the siightest intention of eppreacting your uncle on this matter et present.’ “Because you could prove nothins- Nobody could prove anythirg.” “But Christiania Heusen may time.” Once more Ruth flashed a startled \fook at her companion. “So you have discovered something *about that?” she whispered. “I have discovered everything about ‘ft. Legally speaking, the young lady is ead. She died last night, as Dr. Walk- -er will testify. She passed away in the ‘formula presented by me the night that E met her in the darkness at 218, Bruns- wick Square. Now, will you be so good as to tell me how those girls got hold of my synopsis?” “That came about quite naturally. “Wear synopsis and proof, in an open en- ‘welope were accidentally slipped into a farge circular envelope used by a firm of seed merchants and addressed to Longdean Grange, sent out, no doubt, among thousands of others. Chris saw tt and, prompted by curiosity, read it. Out of that our little plot was gradually evolved. You see, I was at school with those two girls, and they have few se- crets from me. Naturally, I suggested the scheme, because I saw a great deal of Reginald Henson. He comes here; he also comes frequently to our house in Prince’s Gate. And yet I am sorry, from the bottom of my heart, that I .ever touched the thing, for your sake.” ‘The last words were spoken with a glance that set David’s pulses beating. He took Ruth’s half-extended hand in his, and it was not withdrawn. “Don't worry about me,” he said. “I shall come out all right in the end. Still, E shall look eagerly forward to any assistance that you can afford me. For fmstance, what hold has Henson got on bis relatives?” “That I cannot tell you,” Ruth cried. “You must not ask me. But we are act- tng for the best; our great object was \to keep you out of danger.” “There is no danger to me if I can -srily clear myself,” Steel replied. “If you could only tell me where those bank motes came from! When I think of that part of the business I am filled with shame. And yet, if you only knew how fond Iamof my home. ... . At the same time, when I found I was called pon to help ladies in distress I should have refused all offers ofgreward. If I fhad done so I should have had no need -of your pity. And yet—and yet it is wwery sweet to me.” : He pressed the hand in his, and the pressure was returned. David forgot all about his troubles for the time; and | ft was very cool and pleasant and quiet there. “J am afraid that those notes were Yorced upon us,” she said. “Though I frankly believe that the enemy does not know what we have learned to do for you. And as to the cigar case; would # not be easy to settle that matter by esking a few questions?” “My dear young lady, I have done so. And the more questions I ask the worse ft is for me. The cigar case, I claimed, came from Walen’s, beyond all ques- tion, and was purchased by the myste- rious individual now in the hospital. I anderstood that the cigar case was the very one I admired at Lockhart’s some time ago, and—” “yf you inquire at Lockharts, you will find such to be the case.” in me Crims QOhite Blind plied. “She's queerer than ever, is mis- tress. She don’t say much, but Miss Christiania’s death is a great shock to her. She ordered the bell to be tolled, and carried on awful when Miss Enid tried to stop it.” Walker murmured, vaguely, some- thing doubtless representing sympathy. “And my other patient, Williams?” he asked. “How is he getting along? Really, you ought to keep those dogs under better control. It’s a dreadful business, altogether. Fancy a man of Mr. Henson’s high character and gen- tle disposition being attacked by a sav~ age dog{in the very house! I hope the hound is securely kennelled?” at his post up stairs, and therefore—” “Therefore,~you have not’ seen the body of my poor, dear cousin?” “Otherwise I could have given no cer- tificate,” Walker said, with dignity. ‘If I have satisfied myself, sir, and the re- quirements of the law, why, then, ev- erybody is satisfied. I have seen the body.” Technically, the little doctor spoke the truth. Henson muttered something that sounded like an apology. Walker,smiled graciously, and suggested that rest and a plain diet were all that the patient needed. Rest was the great thing. The bandages need not be removed for a day or two, at the expiration of which time he would look in again. Once the road was reached in safety Walker took off his hat and wiped the beads from his forehead, “What a house,” he muttered. “What a life to lead. Thank goodness I need not go there again before Saturday. If anybody were to offer me a small glass of brandy with a little soda now, I should feel tempted to break through my rule and drink it.” Meanwhile the long terror of the day dragged on inside the house. The ser- vants crept about the place on tip-toe, the hideous bell clanged out, Mrs. Hen- son paced wearily up and down the drawing room, singing and muttering to herself, until Enid was fain to fly or break down and yell, hysterically. It “Well, he isn’t, sir,’ Williams said, with just the glint of a grin on hid dry features. “And it wasn’t altogether Rollo’s fault. The dog was so devoted to Miss Christiana as you never see. And he zot to know as the poor lady was dying. So he creeps into the house and lies before her bed room door, and when Mr. Henson comes along the dog takes it in his ’ead as he wants to go in there. And now Rollo’s got inside, and ncbody except Miss Enid dare go near. I pity that there undertaker when he comes. | Walker shuddered slightly. Longdean Grange Was a fearful place for the nerves. Nothing of the routine of the decorous ever happened there. The fees were high and the remuneration prompt —or Walker would have handed over his patient cheerfully to somebody else. Not for a moment did he imagine that Williams was laughing at him. Well, he need not see the body, which was a comfort. With a perfectly easy con- science, he could give a certificate of death. And if only somebody would stop that hideous bell! Someone was sing- ing quietly in the drawing room, and the music seemed. to be strangely bi- zarre and out of place. Inside it seemed like a veritable house of the dead—the shadow of tragedy loomed everywhere. The dust rose in clouds from the floor as the servants passed to and fro. They were all clad in black and shuffled uneasily, as if conscious that their clothes did not be- | long to them. Enid came into the hall to meet the doctor. Her face seemed ter- ribly white and drawn; there was something in her eyes that suggested anxiety more than grief. “I suppose you have come principally to see Mr. Henson?” she said. “But my sister—” “No occasion to intrude upon your grief for a moment, Miss Henson,” Dr. Walker said, quietly. “As I have told you before, there was very little hope cf your sister from the first. It was a melancholy satisfaction to find my diag- nosis confirmed in every detail by so eminent an authority as Dr. Hatherly Bell. I will give you a certificate, with pleasure, at once.” “You would like to see my sister?” Enid suggested. The quivering anxiety was in her eves again, the strained look in her face. Walker was discreetly silent as to what he had heard about the bloodhound, but | he had by no means forgotten it. “Not the least occasion, I assure you,” he said, fervently. “Your sister had practically passed away when I last saw her. There are times when—er— you see—but, really, there is no neces- sity.” “Mr. Henson about these thing: “Then. he shall be satisfied. I shall tell rim that I have—er—seen the body. And I nave, you know. In these mat- ters a medical man can not be too care- ful. If you will provide me with pen and ink—” “Thank you, very much. Will you come this way, please?” Walker followed into the drawing room. Mrs. Henson, wearing something faded and dishevelled in the way of a mourning dress, was crooning some dirge at the piano. Her white hair was streaming loosely over her shoulders; there was a vacant stare in her eyes. The intruders might have been statues is terribly fastid ious David looked up with a puzzled ex- mpression. Ruth spoke so seriously and “with such an air of firm conviction that ‘he was absolutely staggered. “So I did,” he said, “and was in- «formed In the most positive way by the funior partner that the case I admired had been purchased by an American called Smith, and sent to the Metropole @fter he had forwarded dollar notes for {t. Surely, you don’t suppose that a firm like Lockhart’s would be guilty of -anything— xf Ruth rose to her feet, her face pale ~and resolute. “THis must be looked to,” she said. ““The cigar case sent to you on that particular night was purchased at ~“Lockhart’s by myself and paid for with xmy own money.’ CHAPTER XIX. Rollo Shows His Teeth. ‘The blinds were all down at Long- ean Grange, a new desolation seemed to be added to the gloom of the plade. Out in the village it had, by some means become known that there was a#omebody dead in the house, either ma- ‘dam herself or one of those beautiful young ladies whom nobody had ever eeen. Children loitering about the lodge gates regarded Williams with respect- ful_awe and Dr. Walker with curiosity. Whe doctor was the link connecting the Grange with the outside world. To add to the gloom of it all, the bell ever the stables clanged mournfully. ‘The noise made Walker quite nervous ws he walked up the drive by Williams’ side. Not for a pension would he have dared approach the house alone, Will- dams, in the seediest and most dilapi- dated rusty black, had a face of deepest trelancholy, “But why that confound—. Why do they ring that bell?” Walker asked, ir- writably. : “Madam ordered it, sir,” Williams re- for all the heed she took of them. Pres- enfly the discordant music ceased and she began to pace noiselessly up and down the room. “Another one gone,” she murmured; “the best-beloved. It is always the best-beloved that dies, and the one we hate that is left, Take all those coaches away and send the guests back home. Why do they come chattering and feast- ing here? She shall be drawn by four black horses to churchfield in the dead of night, and there laid in the family vault.” “Mrs, Henson’s residence,” Enid ex- plained, in a whisper, “is some fifteen miles away. She has made up her mind that my sister shall be taken away, as she says—to-morrow night. Is this pa- per all that is necessary for the—you understand? I have telephoned to the undertaker in Brighton.” Walker hastened to assure her that what little further formality was re- quired he would see to himself. All he desired now was to visit Henson and get out of the house as soon as possible. As he hurried from the drawing room he heard Mrs. Henson crooning and muttering, he saw the vacant glare in her eyes, and vaguely wondered how soon he would have another patient here. Reginald Henson sat propped up in his bed, white and exhausted. Beyond doubt h2 had had a terrible shock and fright, and the droop of his eyelids told of shattered nerves. There was a thick, white bandage around his throat, his left shoulder was strapped tightly. He spoke with difficulty. “Do we feel any better this morning?” Walker asked, cheerfully. “No, we don’t,” said Henson, with a total absence of his usual graciousness was one of Margaret Henson's worst days. The death of Christiana seemed to affect her terribly. Enid had watched her in terror. More than once she was fearful that the frail thread might spap—the last faint glimmer of reason go out forever. And yet it would be madness to tell Margaret Henson the truth. In the first place she would not have understood, and on the other hand, she might have comprehended enough to betray to Reginald Henson. As it was, her grief was obvious and sincere enough. The whole thing was refinedly cruel, but, really, there was no help for it. And things had gone on splendidly. Henson was powerless to interfere and the doctor was satisfied. Once she had put her hand to the plow, Enid's quick brain saw her through. But she would have been hard put to it to de- ceive Henson under his very nose without the help of the bloodhound. Now he could see her way still farther. She waited nervously for a ring from the lodge gates to the house, and about 4 o'clock it came. The undertaker was at the gates waiting for an escort to the Grange. ¢ Enid passed her tongue over a pair of dry lips. The critical moment was at hand. If she could get through the next hour she was safe. It not—but there must be no “if not,” she told her- self. The undertaker came, suave, quiet, respectful, but he dropped back from , the bedroom door as he saw two gleam- ing, amber eyes regarding him menac- ingly. “The dog loved my sister,” Enid ex- plained, quietly. ‘But he has found his way to ker room, and refuses to move. He fancies that we have done something with her. . . . Oh, no, I couldn’t poison him! And it would be a dread- ful thing if there were to be anything like a struggle here. Come, Rollo.” Evidently the dog had learned his les- son well. He wagged his great tail, but refused to move. The undertaker took a couple of steps forward and Rollo’s crest rose. There was a flash of white teeth and a growl. At the end of half an hour no progress had been made. “There’s only one thing for it,” Will- iams suggested, in his rusty voice. “We can get the dog away for ten minutes at midnight. He likes a run then, and I'll bring the other dogs to fetch him, like.” “My time is very valuable just now,” the undertaker suggested, humbly. “Then you had better measure me,” said Enid, turning a face absolutely flaming red and deadly white, to the speaker. “It is a dreadfully ghastly business altogether, but I cannot possi- ply think of any other way. The idea of anything like a struggle here is ab- horrent. . . . And the dog's fidelity is so touching. My sister and I were exactly alike, except that she was fair- er than me.” The undertaker was understood to de- mur slightly on professional grounds. It was very irregular, and not in the least likely to give satisfaction. “What does !t matter?” Enid cried, passionately. She was acting none the less magnificently because her nerves were quivering like harpstrings. ‘When I am dead you can fling me in a ditch, for all I care. We are a strange fam- ily and do strange things. The ques- tion of satisfaction need not bother you. Take my measure, and send the coffin home to-morrow, and we will manage to do the rest. Then to-morrow night you will have a four-horse hearse here at 11 o’clock, and drive the coffin to Churchfield Church, where you will be expected. After that your work will be finished.” ‘The bewildered young man responded that things should be exactly as the young lady required. He had seen many strange and wild things ‘in his time, but none so strange and weird as this. It was utterly irregular, of course; but people, after all, had a right to demand what they paid for. Enid watched the demure young man in black down the corridos, and then everything seemed to be enveloped in a dense, purple mist, the world was spinning under her feet, there was a great noise, like the rush of mighty waters in her brain. With a great effort she threw off the weakness and came to herself, trembling from head to foot. ¥ “Courage!” she murmured, “courage. ‘This life has told on me more than I thought. With Chris’ example before me I must not break down now.” CHAPTER XX! Frank Littimer. The lamps gleamed under the dusty statuary and pictures. and faded flow- ers in the hall; they glinted on a long polished oak casket there reposing upon trestles. Ever and anon™a servant would peep in and vanish again, as if ashamed of something. The house was deadly quiet now, for Mrs. Henson had fallen asleep, worn out with exhaustion, and Enid had instantly stopped the dreadful clamor of the bell. The silence that followed was almost as painful as of manner. “We feel confoundedly weak, and sick and dizzy. Every time I drop off to sleep I wake with a start, and I feel that that infernal dog is smothering me. Has the brute been shot, yet?” ¢ “T\gon’t fancy so; in fact, he is stitl the noise had been. On the coffin were wreaths of flowers. Enid sat in the drawing room, with the door open, where she could see every- thing, but'was herself unseen. Sh¢ was getting ly anxious and nervous the hour was nearly 11, and the hearse might arrive at any time. She would know no kind of peace until she could get that hideous mockery out of the house, E She sat listening thus. straining her ears to catch the slightest sound. Sud- denly there came a loud clamor at the front door, an imperative knocking thar caused Enid’s heart to come into her mouth. Who could it be? What strang- er had passed the dogs in that way? She heard crabbed, sour, but cour- ageous old Williams go to the door. She heard the clang of bolts and the rattle of chains, and then a weird cry from Williams. A voice responded that brought Enid, trembling .and livid, into the hall. A young man with a dark, ex- ceedingly handsome face and somewhat effeminate mouth, stood there, with eyes for nothing but the shining, flower- decked casket on the trestles. He seemed beside himself with grief and rage. He might have been a falsely- imprisoned convict face to face with the real culprit. “Why didn’t you let me know?” he cried. ‘‘Why didn’t you let me know?” His voice rang to the roof. Enid flew to his side and placed her hand upon his lips. “Your mother is asleep, Frank,” she said. “She has had no sleep for three nights. A long rest may be the means of preserving her sanity. Why did you come here?” The young man, laughed silently. It was ghastly mirth to see, and it brought the tears into Enid’s eyes. She had forgotten the danger of the young man’s presence. “T heard that Chris was ill,” he said. “They told me that she was dying. And I could not keep away. And now I have ccme too late! Oh, Chris, Chris!” He fell on his knees by the side of the coffin, his frame shaken by tearless sobs., Enid bit her lips to keep back the words that rose to them. She would have given much to have spoken the truth. But, at any hazard, she must remain silent. She waited until the par- exysm of grief had passed away, then she touched the intruder gently on the shoulder. “There is great danger for you in this house,” she said. “What do I care for danger when Chris lies yonder?” “But, dear Frank, there are others to consider besides yourself. There is your mother, for instance. Oh, you ought not to have come here to-night. If your father knew!” “My father? He would be tite Iast person in the world to know. And what cares he about anything, so long as he has his prints and his paintings? He has no feelings, no heart, no soul, I may say!” “Frank, you must go at once. Do you know that Reginald Hanson is here? He has ears like a hare; it will be noth- ing less than a- miracle unless he hears your voice. And then—” — ‘The young man was touched at last. The look of grief died out of his. eyes and a certain terror filled them. ‘I think that I should have come in any case,” he whispered. “I don’t want to bring any further trouble upon you, Enid, but I wanted to see the last of her. . I came here, and some of the dogs remembered me. If not I might have had no occasion to trouble you. ‘And I won't stay, seeing that Henson is here. Let me have something to re- member her by; let me look into her room for a moment. If you only knew how I loved her! And you look as if you had no erief at all!” Enid started, guiltily. She had quite forgotten her role for the time. Indeed, there was something unmistakably like relief on her face as she heard the por- ter’s bell ring from the lodge to the house. Williams shuffled away, mut- tering that he would be more useful in the house than out of it just now, but a glance from Enid subdued him. Pres- rently there came the sound of wheels on the grave outsidel “They have come for the—the coffin,” Enid murmured. Frank, it would be best for you to go. Go up stairs, if you like; you know the way. Only, don’t stay here.” The young man went off, dreamily. A heavy grief dulled and blinded his senses; he walked along like one who wanders in his sleep. Christiana’s door was open and a lamp was there. There were dainty knick-knacks on the dress- ing table, a vase or two of faded flow- ers—everything that denotes the pres- ence of refined and gracious woman- hood. Frank Littimer stood there, looking around him for some little time. On the table by the bedside stoed a photo- graph of a girl in a silver frame. Lit- timer pounced upon it hungrily. It was a good picture—the best of Christiana’s that he had ever seen. He slipped out into the corridor and gently closed the door behind him. Then he passed along with his whole gaze fixed on the por- trait. The girl seemed to be smiling out of the frame at him. He had Toved Christiana since she was a child; he felt that he had never Ioved her so much as at this moment. Well, he had some- thing to remember her by—he had not come in vain. It seemed impossible yet to realize that Christiana was dead, and he would never look into her sunny, tender facé again. No; he would wake up presently and find it had all been @ dream. And how different to the last time he was here. He had been smug- gled into the house, and he had occupied the room with the oak door. He—" The room with the oak door opened, and a big man with a white bandage around his throat stood there with tot- tering limbs and an ugly smile on his loose mouth. Littimer started back. “Reginald!” he exclaimed, “I didn’t expect to see you here, or—"” “Or you would never have dared to come?” Herison said, hoarsely. “I heard your voice and I was bound to give you a welcome, even at considerable per- sonal inconvenience. Help me back to ped again. And now, you insolent young dog, how dare you show your face here? ?" “T came to see Chris,” Lattimer said, doggedly. “And I came too late. Even if I had known that I was going to meet ycu, I should have been here, all. the same. Oh, ,I know what you are going to say; I know what you think. And some day I shall break out and defy you to your worst.” Henson smiled as one might do at the outbreak of an angry child. His eyes flashed and his tongue spoke words that Littimer fairly cowed before. And yet he did not show it. He was like a boy who has found a stone for the man who stands over him with the whip.” With quick intuition, Henson, saw this, and “You will cay next that you are not afraid of me,” he suggested. _ “Well,” Littimer replied slowly, “I jot as much afraid of you as I was.” “Ah! So you imagine that you have discovered something?” Littimer apparently struggled between a prudent desire for silence and a dis- position to speak. The sneer on the face of his enemy fairly maddened him, “Yes,” he said, with a note of elation inhis voice, “I have made a discovery, but I am not going to tell you haw or where my discovery is. But I found Van Sneck.” A shade of white pallor crept over Henson's face. Then his eyes took on a murderous. purple-black gleam. All the same, his voice was quite steady as he replied: “I’m afraid that is not likely, to bene- fit you much,” -he said. “Would you mind handing me that oblong black book from the dressing table? I want you to do something for me. What's that?” There was just the faintest sugges- tion of a sound outside. It was Enid, listening with all her ears. She had not been long in discovering what had had rappéned. Once the ghastly, farcical incubus was off her shoulders she had followed Littimer up stairs. As she passed Henson’s room the drone of voices struck her ears. She stood there and listened. She would have given much for this not to have happened, but everything happened for the worse In that accursed house. But Henson’s last words were enough for her. She gathered, her skirts to- gether and flew down the stairs, In the hall Williams stood with a grin on his face, pensively scraping his chin with a dry forefinger. “Now, what’s the matter, miss?” he asked. “Don’t ask. questions,” Enid cried. “Go and get me the champagne nippers. If you can’t find them, then bring me a pair of pliers. Then come to me on the leads outside the bath room. It’s a mat- ter of life and death. (To be Continued.) The Ornament Was Loaded. The residence of Hiram Fulton, of Hartranft, Montgomery county, sented a scene of consternation and dis- may several days ago, when a swarm of hornets took possession of the entire house unexpectedly. Last fall Mr. Fulton found an excel- Tent species of hornet’s nest, and find- ing it perfect and intact, he thought it wceuld make an excellent ornament for his home. Acting on the impulse, he took the nest home and hung it in the parlor. That portion of the house is used very little during: the winter, and, several days ago, when his wife was preparing the house for visitors, a fire was started in the parlor. The room soon became warm, and their attention was shortly attracted by a loud buz- zing, and the next instant the room was filled with hornets that came from the ornamental nest. The heat caused them to come out, and resulted fm a rush to escape from the room. Several of the family suffered from coming in contact with the tusiness end of the in- sects, and over an hour’s time was con- sumed driving them from the house.— Philadelphia Evening Telegraph. In the Da of George IV. Much gossip of an entertaining sort is just coming to light concerning the days of the later Georges. An amusing picture of this period is drawn by Chat- eaubriand, who was ambassador to London in the days of George IV. “All the English are mad by nature or fash- ion,” he avers. Here is his picture of an English dandy of the epoch which flowered in the person of Count d’Or- say: “The dandy mus_ have a thoughtless, conquering, insolent air; he must at- tend to his dress, wear mustachios, or a beard cut round like Queen Elizabeth's ruff or the radiant disk of the sun; he reveals the lofty independence of his character by keeping his hat on his head, by lolling on the sofa, by stretch- ing out his boots before the noses of the ladies seated in admiration on chairs hefore him; he rides with a cane, which he carries like a wax taper, indifferent to the horse which chances to be be- tween his legs. . . . A few radical dandies, those most advanced toward the future, possess a pipe.”—Exchange. An American Engineer in Egypt. Downey had taken out the boxed varts of twelve locomotives to Alexan- dria, shipped them up to Luxor on @ broad-gage road, from there to Shallal on the narrow-gauge, and thence to Wadi Halfa by felucca up the Nile. There he picked up workmen—chained gangs of convicts, most of them mur- derers, of whom his Egyptian guards stood fn momentary terror—who, by main strength, hauled up the Iocomo- tive parts to the top of the bank. Then, by the same kind of muscular effort, each part was successfully handled un- til the engines stood completed. Ameri- can brains had guided every action. And when the first train ran out to 2 little desert station, and one of the Greeks, with whom the Soudan towns are beginning to swarm, and poked his head into the train and asked: “Is this the Yankee express?” Downey, leaning out of the cab to hear what he said, caught the strains of a discordant Arab band across the desert playing Sousa’s “Stars and Stripes.”—World’s Work. Must Set Himself Right. “It was an hour after midnight when there came a furious ringing at my door bell,” said Abe Gruber, delivering his “latest” to a number of friends. “The next minute I poked my head out of an upper window and inquired as to what the visitor wanted. “«This is where Mr, Gruber lives?’ “‘Yes; I am Mr. Gruber. What is in A meenauce his manner changed. ___ | taire with himself—Ohio it?’ “You delivered a speech this even- ing, in which you mentioned Corliss Mc- Gibney?” yt did.’ “Was he a Protestant or a Roman Catholic?” “‘He was a Protestant. But what—’ »“*Thanks; that’s all I wanted to know. I’m the shorthand reporter that took down the speech, and I couldn’t tell from my notes whether you said he] entered the ministry or the monastery, G night.” ’"—New York Times. 2 » Lacks Self-Confidence, 7 Bizzer—What Graspit lacks is self- confidence. = ‘ i Buzzer—Is that it? ‘ Bizzer—Y why, he won't play soll- State Journals pre- | / remedies, for m: MISS VIRGINIA GRANES Tells How Hospital Physicians Use and Rely upon Lydia E. Pinkham’s Vegetable Com- ‘pound. ‘ : “Dean Mrs. PINKHAM: — Twelve ars continuous service at the sick d in some of our prominent hospi- tals, as well as at private homes, has iven me varied experiences with the asesof women. I have nursed some President of Nurses’ Asseciation, Watertown,N.Y. most distressing cases of inflammation and ulceration of the ovariesand womb. T have known that doctors used Lydia E. Pinkham’s Vegetable Com- pound when everything else failed with their patients. I haveadvised my patients and friends to use it and have yet to hear of its first failure to cure. womb from straining in lifting a heavy patient, and knowing of the value of your Compound I began to use it at once, and in six weeks I was well once more, and have had no trouble since. Iam most pleased to have had am oppor- tunity to say a few words im praise of your Vegetable Compound, and shall take every occasion to recommend it.”— Miss Virginia GRANES.—$5000 forfeit if above testimonial Is not genuine. Lydia E. Pinkham’s Vegetable Compound has stood the test of time, and has cured thousands. Mrs. Pinkham advises sick wo- men free. Address, Lynn, Mass, PATENTS. List of Patents Issued Last Week to Northwestern Inventors. Peter A. Aurness, Minneapolis, Minn., bicycle mirror; Edward Hand, Orient, S. D., wire stretcher; Benamin Kien- holz, Hallock, Minn., grain spout; Cari Otis, Lindstrom, Minn., concrete mixing machine; Joseph Price, New Roekford, N. D., shoe protector; Roelf Weiland, Canistota, S. D., floor jack. Lothrop & Johnscn. patent attorneys, O11 @ Hoosier Meroes. “Some of those self-made men,” re- marked Jinks, “deserve much praise.” “Yes, indeed,” replied Jenks, “some of them act truly Christian parts in being willing to take all the blame themselves.""—Indianapolis Sun. Mother Gray's Sweet Powders for Children Successfuly used by Mother Gray, nurse in the Children’s Home in New York. Cures Feverishness, Bad Stom- ach, Teething Disorders, move and reg- ulate the Bowels and Destroy Worms. Over 30,000 testimonials. At all drug- gists, 25c. Sample FREE. Address Allen S. Olmsted, LeRoy, N. L. The Field of Danger. Greene—Some folks imagine that golt is a dangerous game. Do you think there is amy danger in it? Gage—I had two friends who got en- gaged om the golf links last season— COLE’S COUGH CURE CURES CROUP. Mrs. C. Mason, Black River Falls, Wis., says: “I know of no remedy for croup that compares with Cole's Cough Cure and I have used many rmy children are subject to severe attacks of this disease. The children like it, it gives immediate relief and it cures. It is most valu: cough remedy.” Every hott guaranteed. 2 and 50 cents, by all druggists. A college training is wasted on the boy who emerges with any doubt con- cerning his own ability . Hall's Catarrh Cure. Is taken internally. Price, 75c. Many a man uses his religiom as a sort of lightning rod. people. DYSPEPSIA 23232 snd. do not masticate the food properly. The Eeceeesisen mora season indness ital heart This in turn Lag dep =e cases. Read the f is the curse of the American in You can buy of us at whole- sale prices and save money. Our 1,000-page catalogue tells the story. We will send it upon receipt of 15 cents. Yourneighbors trade with us— why not you ? = i da pap Ce OEE “Four years ago I had fallimg of the * ° ° = * aa 4