Grand Rapids Herald-Review Newspaper, August 8, 1903, Page 2

| cs CHAPTER XV—Continued. “What mother bereft of her young,” @he continued, “will not fight to re- gain possession of them? So I deter- «mined to struggle for my rights. Mad- dened and outraged, my love and in- fured pride at war with each other, I ame hither, scarce knowing my pur- pose. To my horror I found the cere- mony already begun, and recognized among the group gathered before the clergyman the hated features of the aman’ who tore me from your arms. This sight gave me strength; even my | Jove was forgotten in that moment of | thousand bitter memories. You know the rest. Travis, my husband, Get me restore to you the happiness | amy hand has slain!” Then for the first time he impatient- @y shook off her clinging touch. “Three years ago,” he said sternly, “had you thus come to me, in my boy- tsh trust and confidence, I would prob- | bly have restored you to the place -you once held in my heart, in spite of the foul deception, the base treachery ®y which I now know you allured me. ®or two years I bore in silence the yoke you had placed upon my neck, when one night, alone in my room, turning over the printed pages of a mewspaper, my eye fell upon the name which was to me so fraught with mis- ‘ery. 1 read on down the columns the false story of your death, and, when had finished, fell on my knees in thanksgiving to God. “Free! free!” his was the sobbing word which | wscaped me. Already I had learned to | fove the girl from whose side to-day | you have torn me. In that moment I maw the barrier which so long had sep- | ‘arated us destroyed. My heart leaped over the now bridged chasm, and joy entered where it had so long been a forbidden guest. I had learned to bear my torture, to grow so accustomed to fits daily, hourly pangs, that. like the Spartan boy, I made no outward sign while the wolf was gnawing at my ‘breast. But how can the man freed from misery, after once learning the extremest limit of the word, once again See its ghastly gates open to him?” “Not so, Travis,” she gently an- swered. “I offer you no misery. Give me once again the shelter of your heart and I will steal from it every shadow, every thought of gloom. I deceived you, it is true; but remem- ber how, in that early time, I, too, had Been deceived. As God is my judge, I ‘thought myself that man’s wife until, from the cruel words his hands penned cand sent me, I learned the fatal truth. "Then I met you, and in your young manhood you loved and trusted me. ‘Was I again to dash the cup of happi- ymess from my lips? I could not! I could not! Travis, it is not for you to hurl at me the first stone.” The subtle eloquence of her plead- ing was worthy a nobler cause. In -gpite of his armor, the low, musical ~words fteached his heart, and once ‘more his face softened. Her swift sglance was quick to note it. Once more her hands clung to his arm, and the beautiful head bent low- er and lower until her lips’ passionate *touch burned his hand, when a faint, ‘dow moan seemed to sound somewhere :mear him, perhaps the only echo of his ymemory. So had he heard Florence ‘moan in the first moment of her awak- ening. Was this woman’s marvelous Jbeauty again to work his destruction? i Ah, had it not already done so, as it «doomed him forever? “Madam,” he said, again shaking off vher touch, “you have accomplished ‘your purpose. Let-us waste no more ‘time in the useless recital of the past; 4t is the future with which we have to .deal, What are your demands?” She rose slowly to her feet now; she would make one more appeal, in spite of a something in his tone which warned her that the three years had done their work, that she no longer “had to deal with a boy who wore his “heart upon his sleeve, but with a man «whom she had pitilessly wronged. “Ah, your love has been weaned “from me!” she said, sadly. “I cannot win it back. But Travis, will you not »gome time see me? May I not at Mleast try to teach you the lesson?” “The lesson you have already “taught, madam, is one I can never for- get. Its teachings will go with me all my future life. Perhaps, if I were to ‘take my story to the courts, they mmight restore to each our freedom—" “And on what ground?” she inter- rupted. I have done you no wrong. ‘No, fo, Travis, you are too generous for this.” ‘ “You have doubtless arranged your plans, madam. It remains only for me to meet them.” “No. [had thought of nothing,” she meplied; “but it seems to me only one rthing is to be done. The fact of our early marriage must be acknowledged, ut my maiden name had better be concealed; also the circumstance of “my reported death be made known, your subsequent love for the young “iady, whose wedding my presence s0 eunfortunately prévented, will also pre- -went the renewal of the conjugal rela- tionship between us. Therefore, since I see fit to take up my present abode ‘in Paris, you give me such a home as -your means entitle me to, and let the ‘Parisian world konw me as Mrs. “Travis Meredith. These are my terms. Do you accede to them?” “Considering how entirely they were born of the moment, their clearness and conciseness is worthy of all + ypraise,” he retorted, “Yes, I see no other way,” he continued, sadly and bitterly, “save to renew @ scandal which can only drag us all under. Is there anything more, madam?” “No,” she replied, her eyes now rest- ing yearningly on his face. “Except that in that home your generosity pro- vides, in spite of all that cruel tongues may say, should the day ever come, my husband (and each of my prayers to God shall be to hasten its coming), that you should care to cross its por- tals, Barbara—your wife—awaits you. Until then—perhaps forever—good- bye, and God be with you!” As she turned to leave him, a small portrait, set in velvet met her eyes. It was the pictured face of Avice. An expression of malignant hate swept across her countenance as she recog- nized its young and smiling loveliness. Travis was still standing with bowed head and lost in thought. With a quick movement of her hand she grasped and concealed the portrait in the folds of her dress, then swept on and out to where her carriage stood in waiting. Leaning for back in its farthest shadow, so that no passerby could pos- sibly detect its presence, sat a man who welcomed her eagerly as she sank on the seat beside him. “What news, dear?” he asked ten- derly. “You are pale. You haye un- dertaken too much. Why will you not give it all up?” “T humbled myself to him,” she re- plied, “as I had thought never to hiim- ble myself to any man. I pleaded for his love anew, as though it were some priceless gift instead of the worthless bauble which I hold it. The other one was there, too—the man who has worked me all this harm. It is well the stakes I play are high enough to make it worth the part I must act out to the end.” “Curse him!” said the man, bitter- ly. “Curse them both! My darling, when will you end it all and give me the reward for which I have waited so long?” “When you have given me my re- yenge,” she answered. “I have only one thing more, Richard, to ask at ySur hands—one last way in which you can help me to my purpose. Look well at this face,” drawing the portrait she had stolen from the concealment in which she had placed it. “Why do you start?” “Ts it yours?” he asked. “It looks as though it must have been your beautiful girlhood’s elf.” “Nonsense,” she replied. “It is fhe girl Milton Lennox loves—the girl whose fair fame you are to destroy in his eyes and in the eyes of the world —the girl whose heart you are to make suffer as he has made suffer mine. Ah, what do I say?? My heart? No; that is yours—all yours. Of course you know that, but neverthe- less I will strike at his; and this,”— holding the picture aloft as though registering a vow—‘is the weapon I shall use!” CHAPTER XVI. “I saw an old friend on the street to-day,” said Lennox, entering his friend’s room one bright afternoon some -weeks later. The man addressed looked up indif- ferently. The suffering of the past month had plainly left its impress, and as Milton continued, “Guess who it was? It seems as though all New York were coming over in serach of us, to put it egotistically,” he betrayed no interest in either questioner or question. < “Well, if you won’t guess or show the slightest curiosity, I must tell you. Dick Hayes. You remember him?” A spasm of pain crossed Meredith’s face, and, as his eyes noted it, Lennox remembered how and when the two men had met before, as they together had entered his box at the theater, on that memorable evening of the wager, yud found already seated there the young surgeon, remembered and si- lently cursed his thoughtfulness at again recalling such a scene. “T forgot you knew him so slightly,” he went on. “Of course you would not be apt to think of him, but he and 1 were famous friends at one time. Poor Dick! He didn’t look as if the world had used him quite well, al- though I imagine he could attain any end in his profession; but he is more silent, more reserved than ever. He did, however, rouse himself to congrat- ulate me upon my engagement, and asked to be presented to Avice. Of course I told him nothing would give me greater pleasure, and he is to call, I believe, this evening. “As your friend, Milton, he will of course be welcome; but personally I do net like the man, and if I am not mistaken the dislike is mutual. I do not trust him, but as our paths will probably never cross, it matters lit- tle.” “Oh, he is a good fellow enough. ‘You do’ him an injustice. He appears to me a man the victim of some grand passion—whose heart is hopelessly involved and feeding on its own mis- ery. Travis, my boy,” he continued, crossing over to where his friend sat and laying his hand upon his shoulder very tenderly, “don’t wear that dull look of misery all the time! It makes me feel as though in very trath [ were your murderer!” by any s¢ ch. — the best, the truest friend man had; but can you wonder that a smile has forgotten me? Am I not ever haunted by the mute, reproachful Iook on Florence’s white face, as she opened her eyes with that questioning look of anguish in their depths, and I could only bow my head in silent agony? Had I but been a man to have confessed to her the boy’s mad folly, I could have better borne it; but she trusted in me so fully, and I de- ceived her! It seems to me as though her dead mother’s spirit must rise from its unquiet grave to haunt the despoiler of her happiness!” Bitter, heartrending though the tones were, they were spoken in a tone so calm, so impassive, that the man uttering them seemed too hopeless for even such suffering to arouse him from his. very torpor of despair. “Avice has at last promised to shorten the term of my porbation Travis,” Milton, continued, hoping to || change the current of his thoughts. Next month we are to be quietly mar- ried in the little English chapel; then we are to have a few weeks’ travel in Switzerland. She says only one thing is necessary to make her as happy as she can be, knowing of your unhappi- ness, and that is that you shall join us.” “It is impossible,” Travis answered, Roarsely. “I must be near Florence, though the world forbids that I shall see her. Were it not for this, I would not remain in Paris one single hour, nor breathe the same air with Bar- bara. I saw her to-day. She rode past my windows in her carriage, my crest painted upon its doors. You have seen the house in which she has in- stalled herself?” “Yes. It is superb, and with its ac- cessories would, I think, drain even your princely income.” “Let it do so. I care not, I would pour it all at my feet to buy back one hour of my freedom. Let her, like tne leech, cry more, more, until she*drains my life-blood! My income is placed at my banker’s. She may draw what she will.” “Come, youngster,” the old, familiar | term of endearment unconsciously | falling from his lips, “you are growing morbid here alone. Get your hat—I want your advice upon a purchase I am about to make. Travis arosé, and, arm linked in arm, the two men gained the street, when, from behind a massive pillar where she had lain in concealment, a woman’s figure darted after them. « It was Marie, though the thick veil she wore concealed her features. “He is not alone!” she muttered. “] will wait another time! Ah, Fe- line!” she exclaimed, as her fellow- servant came quickly toward her. “You, too, are on the watch? By madam’s order, I presume?” A shade of embarrassment crossed the man’s face, which the woman's eyes were quick to note. “Ah!” she added, mercilessly; “then on your own. You were your own spy this time, and of me? Jealous again, my friend? Fie on you! Fie on you!” “It is your own fault,” he answered, doggedly. “You promise to marry me, but you give to others your smiles, to me your frowns. I grow mad, wretch- ed, despairing. Madame’s generosity will enable me to open the little tav- ern, where we might be as bappy as birds, yet will you drudge on in her service, though I know you do not love her.” “Perhaps not,” answered the Frenchweman, “but that is our secrct, my Feline. We both adore her! Is it not so? Have yet a little longer pa- tience, and Marie will be your wife. ; Meantime I must hasten to madame and leave you to dream of the little inn where we shall be happy as birds, billing and-cooing. Is not that what all good birds do? Adieu! Au re- voir!” And, with a kiss of her hand and a light laugh, she darted ahead of him into the house, which they had reached, and up the stairs into her own room. “Fool!” she muttered. “Birds in- deed! I can barely tolerate him, but that I must use him. My heart,” clasp- ing her hands across her breast, “is in my Pierre’s grave. But let him dream on his dream yet a little longer, until I wrench from him the secret which } know he holds with such dogged obsti- nacy.” A tinkling bell aroused her, It was her summons to madame. Again that swift look of hate crossed her features as she hastily obeyed it, though, as she reached the threshold of the boudoir, the specious air of servility which she assumed hid it as by a mask. Barbara sat before her dressing ta- ble, laden with every elegant and cost- ly article for the toilet. “You saw him, Marie?” she inquired, languidly. “Yes, madame. He visited Mr. Mer- edith in his rooms and they went out together.” “Ah! My head aches slightly. Brush out my hair—it may relieve it.” Silently the maid obeyed. Unfas- tening the comb, the superb hair fell lo the floor, enveloping its possessor as with a veil. Silently, untiringly, the ivory-han- dled brush in the maid’s skillful firc- gers threaded its way through its way through its mazes, while ever and anon her eyes gave an instant’s scru- tinizing glance into the beautiful face reflected in the mirror. “Marie, I can trust you fully, can I not?” Quickly, imperiously, broke the silence. “Marie will let her years of faithful service answer,” replied the maid. “That is true,” assented madanie. “Then listen—I have something for you to do. For a little while I must the question dispense with your services, only that you may further aid me. Next month Pe “What can I do?” questioned the maid, lowering her eyes to conceal the look of triumph in their depths. “You must enter her service. Make such change in your appearance as is necessary to insure the impossibility of recognition;. then ,with such certifi- cates of good character as I shall pro- vide you with, you can without doubt secure the position of her maid—of which I happen to know she is in need. You will then be her companion every- where, in her daily walks. This ac complished, you shall learn the rest. Do you consent?” “Willingly, madame!” “I will name that hereafter. Now, it is but my pleasure to serve mad- ame.” “My hair, then, quickly, Marie. I expect a friend to dinner, with whom I must talk over my plans. That will do,” she added, as the rich hait seemed to mass itself under the maid’s skill into waving puffs and braids. “Now my black velvet, Marie, and my emeralds—a little lace, to veil the neck. ‘And Marie,” stopping at the door—her toitet completed—as though a sudden thought had seized her, “the inn shall become a hotel ,if all goes well. You understand?” Then, with a smile, she swept across the threshold. Marie was alone. For a full minute she stood silent, regarding the spot where her mistr¢ss had been. “Are they all fools?” she muttered, at last—‘“all cards to be played into my hands? Madame, madame, you little know the sword suspended by but a thread over your head! You weave well your net, but the spider spends many hours of patient toil on what a moment may undo. Will I help her to her revenge? Does it not give me mine, though she dreams not of it? It was this girl’s picture she brought home. I caught but a glimpse of it. I must see it now.” Swiftly she crossed the room to the daintily inlaid desk, and, drawing a key from her pocket and fitting it to the lock ,laid it open . A moment’s search among the pa- pers revealed the portrait. The light fell full Upon the exquisite, happy, girlish face. . The Frenchwoman started back and her face blancied. “Is it indeed so plainly written? Can they not all read? Are they all, all blind, that this face does not tell them the secret only my breast holds? Yes, madam, yes! At any cost I will work out your revenge on this, its poor, un- conscious instrument. Then, and only | then, will I claim my full reward.” CHAPTER XVII. Barbara Plans. The small, daintily served and ex- quisitely appointed table was set but for two, as Barbara ushered her un- expected guest into the dining room, where Feline stood waiting in attend- ance. “You say you met Milton Lennox. Did he express no surprise at seeing you-in Paris?” she questioned, as they sat over their dessert. “Some little,” the guest replied; “but he seemed glad to meet me again, and I am to call this evening to be presented to his betrothed.’ “Richard!” Very low, very sweet, was the utter ance of his name, and the man’s face flushed as he listened. They were alone now; Feline, at a signal from his misrtess, had withdrawn out of sight at least, though he had thought it best for his own purpose to be somewhere within hearing. “Richard, you are anxious for the reward I have promised you?” “Anxious?” he passionately retorted, “what other lesson do all these years of patient endurance teach? For what else have I flung ambition, the ambi- tion which was once te ruling pur- | Pose of my life, to the winds? For | what else have I become as the pot- ter’s clay, to be molded for anything, | whether for weal or woe, in your hands? For what other purpose did I give to the world that printed lie of your death? Am I not yours, body, soul, aye—honor—and all for the one great reward you have sworn shall at last be mine?” To those who had known the young surgeon in earlier days it would seem impossible that that calm, dark face had hid this slumbering volcano. His eyes glowed, his breast heaved, as, leaning forward, he gained possession of the white, jewel-gleaming fingers, and held them unresistingly in his. Barbara drew a little closer to him; the flawers she wore upon her bosom wafted their fragance toward him; the hand he touched trembled in his hold. : “You have been very patient,” she said, softly. “I have much to be grate- ful for; but I told you from the first— how long ago it seems!—that until 1 reached the goal no temptation could alure me from the path so clearly marked that it seemed imprinted in fire. I can almost see the end now. It is for you, Richard, whose strong arm has thus upheld me, to help me reach it.” “My darling,” he murmured, “how glad I shall be when you are ready to give it up! It is telling on you, Bar bara. it is sapping your life strength. Will you not let the physician’s ver- dict speak through the lover's lips? Your heart will not suffer all this ex- citement which is feeding on itself. Take care lest, at the moment of your triumph, it does mot escape you through—death! Oh, my darling, that anything fashioned in such efquisite mold should turn back to the clay from which the heavenly sculptor’s hand has modeled it!” “Hush!” she exclaimed, turning | theirs receives “Forgive me, Barbara! warn you. Tell me, then, what it is now I am to do for you?” “You may, perchance, find it an over-easy task,” she answered, rally- ing. “It is to make love to another woman; to force her heart into love or fear for you—I care not which, so the feeling be dominant—” “Barbara!” “Yes! You. need not exclaim! it must be done. The task must be be- gun even to-night, when you’ are, to meet the original of the picture I showed you on that day. It is impos- sible that Milton Lennox should have taught her to love him. It will be an easy mattér to outrun him in the race. She marries him only in obedience to her father’s wish. The three years sincé his death have been spent in a convent school; she knows nothing of men; therefore she has fallen, as the unripe rose, into his grasp. It is for you to foster the bud, to water, to tend it; to watch each developing leaf—to teach it to realize its own beauty, its own potency; then—to leave it to wither and to perish.’ “Barbara, this is a cruel task—un- like you. Do not condemn me to it.” “As you will, then,” she replied, coldly, drawing her hand from his with haughty grace. “You see me within reach of the goal, and, planting your foot across my path, say, ‘You shall go no further!’ You,-who have offered me life itself!” “Aye! and I do repeat the vow. Command me as you will, my own, and Tobey. But will you not tell me your purpose?” “When I am your wife, Richard, you shall know all the secrets of my life. I sWall know rest then—rest—s¥ter this long, this weary struggle. Oh, do you wonder that I long to reach’it?” (To Be Continued.) A GREEK THEATER. An Exact Copy of One Recently Buil in San Francisco. The new open-air theater of the Uni- versity of California, in which Presi- dent Rosevelt spoke on May 12 to a large audience of scholars, students and distinguished citizens of Califor- nia, is the only structure of the kind in America. It is an interesting fact that the theater is almost exactly siimi- lar in proportions to the famous Thea- ter of Dionysius. As was the custom among the old Greeks, the guilding stands in a grove of fine trees. Its ex- treme dimensions are, exclusive of the colonnade, 255 feet in breadth by 194 feet in depth, the stage being 35 by 154 feet in size. The material is con- create and 1,000 persons can be seat- ed comfortably on the benches. The roof will be of tiles, and the stage will be colored in accordance with classic tradition—Harper’s Weekly. Liked Railroads. The energy, daring and resourceful- ness of the Western More crowd are now so well impressed upon the ex- changes of Chicago and New York that any rumor of a_ new stroke of respectful considera- tion. Their remarkable facility of movement is well understood. When they suddenly left the industrial field, in whicvh they had such tremendous winnings, and turned to the railroad field, the “judge” casually explained to a friend: “Why, we looked over this railroad Qusiness and decided we'd like it, so we went into it.” Men who incidentally decide that they want a great railroad system. and forthwith buy it out of hand, are to be reckoned with—Everybody’s Magazine. It Cheered Him. “My poor friend,” said the reformer, who had stopped Mr. Rusty Ragsonn, I would speak a few words of encour- agement to you. No doubt there are moments in your sad life when ail seems dark and drear; but I wish to assure you that, no matter how gloomy our existence may be, if we but look we may discover signs of the utmost encouragement, and—” “You're dead right, boss,” answered Rusty hurriedly. “I see an encour- agin’ sign right now.” And he hastened across the street, where a large banner proclaimed that free hinch was served at all hours.— Judge. Worth Trying. The ambitious librettist rubs his brow in deep thought. “I do wish,” he muses, “that I could think up some absolute novelty for my next comic opera.” “A yaluable plan,” we comment. “] want something that none of the rest have; something that the public is not looking for; something that will take the audtence completely by -sur- prise.” Here a little man that we have often seen in the back seats of the theafer speaks up, “Why don’t you put in o joke?”—Judge. With Reason. “I think,” said the old rooster, “ycu are making a most tremendous racket over one egg.” “Perhaps you don’t know,” cluckea} the old hen, “that eggs are worth 24% cents apiece these days.” “That’s exactly what I’m_ kicking about,” said the rooster. “It takes @ whole dozen of such eggs as the one you are cackling over, madam, to look like 30 cents.Now stop your noise.— Chicago Tribune. The cannibal king (his teeth chat. tering)—What was it you served with the last meal? I’ve had a prolonged chill ever since. Royal Cook—That, sire, was a fe male missionary from Boston.—Smar Set. zi Se ‘ Ps WER ‘is says thet they have Jest nobscot river. “What's a saurin?” - “I dunno. Guess mebby it’s one 0” them misprints for a sardine.” “There ain’t no twenty-foot sar- dines.” “well, there might be the rec-mains of one.” “T dont "believe it. Do you suppose anybody’d want to buy a box of sich sardines? I guess not.” “You're too dern critical. Ef there is th’ ree-mains o ‘any twenty-foot sar- dines on th’ Penobscot river, don’t you suppose there might also be th’ ree- mains of men big enuff to buy ’em by the box? You're a atheeist, that’s what you are.”—Cleveland Plain Dealer. eS $100 REWARD $100. .¢ readers of this paper will be pleased to learn tae there is at least one dreaded disease that seit thas been able to cure in all its stages, an that is Catarrh. Hall's Catarrh Cure is the only positive cure now known to the medical fraternity. Catarrh being a constitutional disease, requires a constitutional treatment. Hall's Catarrh Cure taken internally, acting directly upon the blood and mucous surfaces of the system, thereby destroying: the foundation of the disease, and giving the patient strength by building up the constitution and assisting nature in doing its work. | ‘The pro- prietors have so nftch faith in its curative powers that they offer One Hundred Dollars for ane case that it fails to cure. Send for list of Testimonials, ‘Address F. J. CHENEY & CO., Toledo, Ohio. Sold by druggists. 75¢. Hall’s Family Pills are the best. ee Usages of Adversity. Long before they can possibly com- prehend their meaning, the small East siders are familiar with the form of words which stand for adversity. Just before the school season closed @ bright little fellow brought into his class room a number of mud pies and two diminuitive figures which he had modeled. “Here’s a man and a wom- an,” he said, “made out of dirt, just like Adam and Eve.” Asked why he had made them so tiny, the little fel- low explained soberly: “Oh, I couldn’t make ’em no bigger, ’cause times is hard.”—Everybedy’s Magazine. Sallie and Willie. “It will astonish the victims of the grip, Sallie, to learn that the bacillus of that infernal disease is only one sixteen-thousandth of an inch in length and about one-eighty-thou- sandth of an inch in width.” “What is there so astonishing about that, Willie?” “Because, Sallie, the general impres- sion has been that the bacillus must be at least the size of a sea serpent.” —Canton Roller Monthly. PATENTS. List of Patents Issued Last Week to Northwestern Inventors. Thomas Arneson, Garretson, S. D., acytelene gas generator; Alvin Butler, Clifford, N. D., horse collar; Peter W- Ekstrand, Cokato, Minn., seed drill; Timothy Hurley, Butte, Mont., crush- er; Francis Inden, St. Paul, Minn., bar- rel filler; Andrew Lifquist, Wadena, Minn., cream cooler and aerator; Har- vey Smith, Missoula, Mont., fire es- cape. Lothrop & Johnson, patent lawyers, 91} and 912 Pioneer Press Bldg., St. Paul. As Instructed. “Why do you watch the therinome- ter on the wall so closely?” queried the invalid. “Because,” replied the untrained nurse, “the doctor said if the temper- ature got any higher to give you an- other dcsa of quinine.” — Checago News. FITS permanent caret: No tsor nervousness afte FITS free dayrejuzs Of Dr. Kline's Gront Nerve Restor or. Send tor FREE ®2.00 trial bottle and treatin Oh. RH. Keane, Ltd . 991 Arch Street, Philadelpaia, Pa Not for Him. Teacher—Willie, if one horse can run a mile in two minutes and another horse can do it in three minutes, how far apart will they be at the end of eight miles? Willie—Madam, I was brought up strictly. Above all things, my parents have warned me to avoid horse racing. Consequently I cannot answer your question.—Toledo Blade. Stops tne Lough and Works Off the Cold Laxative Bromo Quinine Tablets. Price25e. ‘ | Of Course. “What’s the difference between ob- stinacy and firmaess?” “Why, obstinacy in one’s self is firm- ness, and firmness in another is obsti- uacy.”—Chicago Post. After the Wedding. Ethel—How did you think the bride | looked? Grace—Oh, remarkably well groom- ed—Harvard Lampoon. Mrs. Winslow's Soothing Syrap eh a eee ng ekg Had Noticed It. ‘ Professor—Your daughter is a wiz- ard on the piano. Mr. Plunk—I thought there was | something kinder weird an’ unnatural about her playin’—Chicago News. Many a man who is born to rule takes unto himself a wife and surren ders his job. MAS SERS 1am sure Piso’s Cure for Consumption saved Mmy life three years ago.—Mrr. THos. RopBuys, Maple Street, Norwich. N. ¥., Feb. 17. 1900. It is easy to forget a slight—when it is the other fellow that is slighted. SOZODORT TOOTH POWDER “The Only Dentifrice of International Reputation."—S4RA BERNHARDT { the ree-mains of a twen- rin in th’ bank sof th’ Pe- a << ee 5 { aor