Mrs. Kate Berg, Secretary Ladies’ Aux iliary of Knights of Pythias, No. 58, Com mercial Hotel, Minneapolis, Minn., After Five Years Suffering Was Cured by Lydia E. Pinkham’s Vegetable Compound. “Dear Mrs. Pinkham:— Whatever virtue there is in medicine seems to be concentrated in Lydia E. Pinkhain’s Vegetable Compound, I suffered for five years with profuse and painful menstruation until I lost flesh and strength, and life had no charms for me. Only three bottles of your Vegetable Compound cured me, I became regular, without any pains, and hardly know when I am sick. Some of my friends who have used your Compound for uterine and ovarian troubles all have the same good word to say for it, and bless the day they first found it.”—Mrs. Kate Berg. $5000 FORFEIT IF THE ABOVE LETTER IS NOT GENUINE. When women are troubled with irregular, suppressed or painful menstruation, weakness, leueorrhcea, displacement or ulceration of the ■womb, that bearing-down feeling,inflammation of the ovaries, backache, bloating (or flatulence), general debility, indigestion, and nervous pros tration, or are beset with such symptoms as dizziness, faintness, lassitude, excitability, irritability, nervousness, sleeplessness, melancholy, “all gone” and “want-to-be-left-alone ” feelings, blues, and hojtelessness, they should remember there is one tried and true remedy. Lydia E. Pinkham’s Vegetable Compound at once removes such trouble?. Refuse to buy any other medicine, for you need the best. Mrs. Pinkham Invites all siek women to write her for advice. She has guided thousands to health. Address Lynn, Mass. Sozodont Tooth Powder 25° Good for Bad Teeth Not Bad for Good Teeth Soxodonl Liquid 25c. Largo Liquid and Powder 75c* At ail stores or by mail. Sample of the Liquid for the postage, je. HALL, Ob KUCKEL, New York. »©UGLAS UNION MADE 'OUR] !35P SHOES5*?* W *—•^s.^^r.v^v>iwxy/‘Ty> <3A J ORX^teii , i3 "V \JJ: / \ » ~"'t> *or S-»r»!tia» »(Ji< JS "i '• t.tfrSV \ tl»»r**iniUtionof \V. l„ Doiilt - D3iigla5$4G!!tEJg8 lips ,, “*L Equaled at Any Price. irlfrofiOnlur* a»$s.oo ami la.ro [ sS fu'nvi :,r »;yit*.comfort and wear luta ruvlled 1 V/ all other make* Mild at thene pm***. Thin ex-1 A t'f'iieui rt'uubttion ikm heenwoa by ruer.t aloiw-J I mg , W.i . ■ iu*Te to give bet- 1 r rVV. ter -1' i than oilier |a ^ £;.I*o *hnes tu-oaune hierepotat 4/ t!ie l*** *■'0 :tr"l $*•«» shoes imut b t'.no ami pulation for 1 , , . - -iiuit be niain-1 I ‘i• ^i*Uui:i!.H.A3 al\va\ ^ Ik i li {ilaec.il 1 ralneT, ' Arwt* -rl: s money in th- W. 1„ l>»ui{!as &...•*) * ,11 i3. >i eath i oi nm itK elnewhi re \.. i ’ Pout'Ns in i’ es and Hell* more f.1 oard *n/.o shoe* Iliad v\ / 71 ' . k la % »ny *»: "t i wu n;i;uact ar^nt m t .** wori.j. |'nHt i »>I*#r Air r.Vfl^fmwUi W. I.. xor'-* t < n:tn aeirtngthm-f jr til: au'i the best ahoe Je alert erer*/where. j i uutj uc ru Ib':“ npoa an.*or W. F,. I*o«gla- ikftM with ntue •»•<* prir* Nininp* «* on Lmiiomi. &cnt any* w »••«* on r**«M-j|.t of pure ana *>•. na.ii for oarrmw*. fak« r;w*Hvare tnrnt* of fiK»t us shown; state btyie d«»*trw1; nnrt width --- usually worn; pUiaorcap too; hoaw. medium, or litfht sohu*. W. 1*. DourIi.^. Brockton. Maan DRytv Sawyer’s ^Pommel s> Slickers 'N —^Warranted Waterproof. Sawyer's Excelsior Itruud ronuuel MUcitera afford complete protection to both rider and anddif1. Al:i>le * inn long ami wule In theskirt. Insuring u dry seal lor rider. Kusily converted Into a walkingorrnt. Every surineut war. ranted venter proof, look fur i rude mart. If your dealer docs not have 1'xrcU aiur Uraud, writ* for catalogue. N. M. SAWYER A SON, Sols Mtrs., East Cambridge. Mass. limnCABIC AMERICAN LADY. trdrp*n<' n^nL?«JUJtII- eutiy rich, wima food fi->nr«t buftlMUid. AddreMt Mua. L, ttf AUrkei0l.litilcatfu( ill. When Answering Advertisements Kinilj Mention Ibis l*apcr. W. IN. U_OMAHA. No. 43-1901 Croquet is said to be a fine cevel oper of the forearm. t.Adles Can W«‘ar Shoes. One size smaller after using Allen’s Foot Ease, a powder. It makes tight or neve shoes easy, t ores swollen, hot, sweat ing, aching feet, ingrowing nails, corns and bunions. All druggists and shoe stores 25c. Trial package FREE by mail. Address Alleu S. Olmsted, LeRoy, N. Y. We have all met people who look as if they had accidentally been mis placed from a curio cabinet. Pf'TMAM FADELESS DYES are fast tosunlight, washing and rubbing. Sold by druggists, 10c. per package. Virtue means to expose the scan dals that i jint to your neighbor’s immorality. Mrs. V. Inflow's soothing 'jmp. forrhtldrrn testfc'ntt softens tbs gums, reduces !if si my* cam,cures wind colic. z U»t:io. All the great deeds of which we have record have been done by ear nest beliefs and earnest enthusiasm, even though mistaken onr^ INSIST UN GUTTING IT. Some grocers say they don’t keep De fiance Starch because they have a stock Iri hand of 12 oz. brands, which they know cannot be sold to a customer who has once used the 16 oz. pkg. IX-liauce Starch for sumo money. How strange it is that even the most exquisite pleasure palls when it ceases to be a novelty. I do not believe Plso’s Cure for Consumption has an equal for coughs aud colds.—Jons F Boricu, Trinity Springs, Ind., Feb. liext A promise neglected is an untruth told. A promise kept is a debit dis charged. 15he Scovirge ofDa.ma.scus v A Story of the East... By SYLVANUS COBB. JR. Copyrighted 1891 by Robert Bonner'* Son*. CHAPTER XXII—(Continued). Julian stood like one thunderstruck. He raised his manacled hands to his brow, and tried to realize the force of the wonderful thing he had heard. Horani started to his feet, and then sank back, and buried his face in his hands. Hla thoughts had suddenly flown from the story of the present hour to that other story which he had had heard on the night before; and the craah almost took away his senses. Omar, when he saw how matters s.ood. felt called upon to speak; for he believed that he had discovered two things: First, that his old friend and brother was struggling to open his breast to his child; and. second, that Julian might be brought to forgive ness when he knew the whole truth. My friends,” he said, rising to his feet as he spoke, "the story Is not yet complete. It remains for me to fin ish it." Ren Hadad and Ezabel gazed eagerly up Into his face; and Julian leaned toward him. with a beam of hope struggling upon his brow. “I am to blame In this matter; or, at least, I was the innocent cause," continued the King of Aleppo, address ing Ben Hadad and Ezabel. “It was 1 who gave to Horani the evidence upon which he condemned his wife. I supposed the guilt of the lady Helena was positive, as I had the information from officers who would not lie; and I felt it my duty to acquaint the hus band with the circumstances. On my way back to my capital, while stopping in Balbec, I gained information which assured me that the Queen of Damas cus was innocent; and immediately I sent back two of my officers to con vey intelligence thereof to Horam. But those messengers never reached their destination. They must have been robbed and murdered on the way. 3 pursued my course homeward, and amid the duties of my realm, the thing passed from my mind. Yesterday I saw’ Horam for the first time in three and-twenty years; and last evening I revealed to him the fact that his first and best beloved wife, Helena, waa wrongfully accused—that she was pure and true. When this truth burst upon him, his grief overcame him, and I feared that the shock would kill him.” “Aye,” cried Horam, starting up again, “it did almost kill me; for Hel ena was my first love, and her place was never refilled. O, my brother what can I do?” "Do what is right,” replied Omar, taking Horam’s outstretched hand. “Be a man. and let the heart assert its sw’ay. Remember that you did the first great deed of wrong; and that all th« other evil has flowed out from that one unfortunate act.” The king of Damascus stood for a moment with hi3 head bowed upon Omar’s shoulder, and his hand still in Omar’s grasp. Then he started up, ana tus countenance nau cnangea. “By the blood of my heart,” he ex claimed, "the wrong shall not grow deeper against me! What, ho! With out, there! Slaves!—attend me!” The executioners chanced to be nearest, and they answered the call. “Bel-Dara, strike those irons from that man's limbs! Strike off every bond, and set him free! If you harm him as much as the prick of a rose thorn. your life shall answer for it!” The executioner stopped to ask no questions—he did not even stop to wonder at the order; but he proceed ed to the work, and in a very few minutes the prisoner was free. Then the king started down from the throne, and advanced to where the freed man stood. "My son,” he said, extending both his hands, “the truth has come so naked and so plain, that there is no I room for doubt; and I now see that I you bear upon your face the features of your noble mother—God pardon me for the wrong I was led to do her! And. my son,—here, in the presence of these witnesses, I ask you to forget the past—I ask you to be my son— I ask you to let me be your father; — and then, O, then, lluram will be no more childless!" Julian had no power to resist the appeal; and as the old king tottered forward the son supported him upon • his bosom, and sustained him in the embrace of his stout arms. And yet Julian was not content. His face wore still a cloud; and there was trouble in his heart. What could it mean? Horara feared that his son could not quite love him. Omar saw the trouble, and divined its cause; and stepping quickly for ward he whispered into the car of his brother. Horani taught at the words, and the star of hope beamed again. He clapped his hands and cried out: "What, ho! Without! Where is Benoni?” The captain came. "Benoni. bring the lady Ulin!” Pale and trembling the princess en tered the chamber; but when she saw Julian alive and free, with the shack les broken at his feet, the blood leaped again through her veins. But she had not much opportunity for thought, for the king quickly advanced and took her hand, and led her to Julian. "My son. this do I give thee In token of my sincerity! Now wilt thou own me for thy father, and forget all of the past save that which tells that we •re of one flesh? Take this fair hand, and with it my forgiveness to you both- my forgiveness to all who have befriended you. Take It, my son. and Oour leaver us for bis northern realm he shall see Jloram's own son sitting upon the throne of Damascus, while Horam himself withdraws from the world, that his last days may be spent in quiet repose.” No longer rested the cloud upon Ju lian s brow. He caught the small white hand which had been placed within his grasp, and sank down upon his knees—-sank down, he and Ulin. one in love forevermore—and bowed before the king. “My father—I accept the blessing! I am thy son!” TIIT END. The Blind Bride. By Amy Randolph. Bentley Grange was a pretty place at all times of the year, but loveliest of all when the reapers were at work in the harvest fields and the yellow light of the October sun turned the wood land paths to enchanted aisles. A long, low structure of warmly tinted red brick, with mullioned windows, velvet-smooth sweeps of lawn and box borders, which stood up like walls of solid emerald on each side of the path, it had a savor of the antique about it, which one seldom secs in an American house. And old Brande Bentley, walking up and down in the mellow sunshine, be tween the walls of black-green box, with his eyes bent on the ground, and his hands clasped behind his back, corresponded well with the Grange. Suddenly a cheerful footstep rang on the stone terrace steps—the sound of a clear, fiute-like whistle rose above the click of the distant mowing machine, and Harry Wade, the oil man’s neph ew, stood like an incarnation of youth and sunshine before him. "Uncle,” he cried merrily, "you’ve got the prettiest place in the world here.” Mr. Bentley took out his big, old fashioned silver watch. “Two o’clock,” said he, "and the bank don’t close until four. Humph! It appears to me, young man, that you don’t stick very close to business hours!” "Like a limpet, uncle,” said Harry, “and just for today. Will Caryl has come to act as a substitute, for I real ly wanted to see you, uncle.” “Humph!” again commented Mr. Bentley. "You're very fond of me— Just of late!” "I'm always fond of you. Uncle Brande,” said Harry, gravely, “but I’ve something to tell you.” “Some scrape you’ve got into," said Mr. Bentley. “Nothing of the sort, sir!” “Want to borrow money, perhaps!” “Upon my word, no!” “You’ve fallen in love with some girl, then!” “You are right this time, uncle,” “aid Harry, laughing and coloring; “and, of course, I have come directly to you to tell you of my good fortune. It is little Bessie Bird!” “A milliner's apprentice!” snarled the old bachelor. “If she chooses to help her mother along ny trimming hats in her aunt's millinery rooms, I sea nothing derog atory in that,” said Harry, valiantly. “A mere child of se-.-r-nteen!” “But I don't want an old lady of forty-seven!" “Humph!" growled Mr. Bentley. “What do either of yon know of life?” “Not much, to be sure, uncle, as yet,” admitted the young lover, “but we think we can easily learn—together.” “And where do you think the nap kins and tablecloths and bread and butter and rent and water taxes are to come from?” sardonically inquired Brande Bentley. “I have my salary, Uncle Brande,” said Harry, “and Bessie has been edu cated to be very economical." “I’ll have nothing to Bay to such nonsense,” said Mr. Bentlpy. “But, Uncle Brande, all we want Is-” “Nothing, I say—absolutely noth ing!’’ thundered the old man. “It’s folly—trash—sentimental tomfoolery! If you want mv opinion, there it is! Time enough for you to think of mat rimony when you are thirty. There ought to be a law to prevent young people making fools of themselves.’’ And Brande Bentley turned on his heel and strode back into the house. So that Harry had no very Inspir iting news for Bessie Bird when he met her, as usual, on the corner of Broad way, to walk home with her through the pleasant autumn twilight, “Was he very cross?” said Bessie, who was a white-kitteny sort of a girl, with fluffy yellow hair, dimples in her cheeks, and eyes the exact color of the “flowing-blue” china on our grand mother's shelves. "As savage as Bluebeard!” “Did he scold dreadfully?" asked Bessie. “Told me T was a fool!" “But if he won't consent —" "Then we must manage to get along without his consent," said Harry. “Be cause, you know, Bessie, 1 do love you -a very dearly, and you like me a Ut ile, don’t you?” “But your mother has always count ed upon your being hio heir." said Bes [ sle. "And to lose all that money, Just-*' “Juit for love and you,” archly In ! terruptsd Harry, "Darling, there Is nothing In all the world half bo sweet to me, or that I court half bo ardently R8 my little Bessie—so let there be no further argument about it. These Jolly old coves down at the bank are going to raise my salary fifty dollars at Christmas, and so If you can get your frock made we’ll be married then. And set Uncle Brande and the world at de fiance. eh?" The first November snowstorm was drifting its white Hashes through the air when a visitor was shown into Brande Bentley’s snug parlor. “Eh,” said he, “a stranger, Jones? I never see strangers.” “But you will see me!" said a soft voice—and a blender, golden-haired girl stood before him, neatly yet plain, ly dressed, her black cloak powdered over with snow, and a spectacled old lady by her side. “I am Bessie Bird— and this is my aunt. Miss Belton, the milliner.” Miss Belton courtesied. Mr. Bentley stared. "I suppose you have come here to speak to me about my nephew.” "Yes, sir," said Bessie. "It will be of no use,’’ said he, curtly. “My opinions on the subject of hia marriage remain unchanged." ’’But mine do not,” said Bessie. "Please to hear me through, Mr. Bent ley. I have written him a letter to give him up this morning. And I came to tell of it now, so that you will feel kindly towards him once more. I have told him we never could be married.'’ "You’re a sensible girl,” said Mr. Bentley, smiting his hand on the table. "And I have sent him back the little garnet engagement ring that he gave me,” added Bessie, with a sob in her throat. "Better and better!” said Uncle Brande, exultantly. “Not,” bravely added Bessie, “be cause I don’t love him as dearly and truly as I ever did. But because I see now how wrong it would be for me to fetter his whole life. For-” She stopped an instant and a slight shud der ran through her frame. "1 may as well tell you all, Mr. Bentley; 1 am going blind!" “Blind!” echoed the old man. “Blind,” repeated Bessie, gently, but firmly. “I have had such strange blur* and darknesses come across my vision of late, and went to a doctor. And the doctor told me, as kindly as he could, that these are but the precursors of total blindness. So, of course, all is at an end between Hurry and me. Will you please tell him this? I have re ferred him to you for all particulars.” “I will,” said the old man, huskily. Harry Wade came to his uncle that very morning in great perturbation. “W’hat does this mean, sir?” said he. “Have you been endeavoring to per suade her to throw me over?” “No, boy—no,” said the old man, and he told him all. “I am bound to say that the girl has behaved very well,” said he. "Shall you give her up?” “No! Never!” shouted Harry, with pale face and tightly clenched hand. “Never! If she was dear to me before, she shall be doubly treasured and sa cred now—my little smitten lamb—my drooping, white lily-bud! I will never give her up while we both live!” The old man’s eyes glittered, a faint color had risen into his withered cheeks, as he rose and grasped both Ills nephew's hands as in a vise. “You're a trump, Harry Wade!” said he. “I respect you more at this min ute than ever before. Give her up, in deed! If you gave up that little jewel of a girl you would give up the beacon star of your existence. She is a pearl of price, Harry—a true and noble wom an, who wouldn’t have hesitated to sacrifice herself for your benefit. Marry her tomorrow if you will and bring her right here to Bentley Grange. It shall be her home and yours henceforward.” And in this strange and sudden way, old Brande Bentley relented and took his niece-ln-law-elect into his heart. Bessie in all the flush of her rose-bud beauty could never have melted his heart, but Bessie stricken down by God became sacred and precious in his sight. NEW ENGLAND CONSCIENCE. Thu Neruplu That 1’revented a Yoong Widow’d Remarriage. Said a drummer visitor (Miss M. E. Boyd) to a young widow—a seam stress—in a New Hampshire hill town, one day last summer: “You must be lonely here now since your husband died. Perhaps you will feel like mar rying again; you are not so very old." “Oh, Miss Mary,” she answered in a voice full of feeling, “If I only could— if I only dared!" And then came the simple story and a touching example of “tho New England conscience." She had loved in early youth a young man whom her mother disapproved as a suitor. He was a joiner by trade and worthy, but the mother, having higher ambitions, separated the cou ple. Tho girl married a quiet man, her senior, who died a few years later. Then, after a decent interval, the old lover, who had thriven in business, asked her again to-become his wife. That seemed a beautiful and natural ending of the story. But no. “Ah!’, cried the poor thing. “If I had loved my husband I could go to James with a happy heart—oh, how happy! But although things were pleasant enough between my husband and me, I always felt the difference and at heart I was unfaithful to him. I think this is meant for my punishment for think ing of James while I had a husband living. Wo can never marry.”—Buf falo Commercial. In the huge mass of evil, as tt rolls along and swells, there is ever some good working imprisoned; working to wards claliveranc* and triumph.—Car- j lyl*. I BLOCKED NEAR MOUNTAIN TOP. Kxplorer* Drought to » 8ti»nd»tlU N«»i AMlolholne'i Summit. Henry Grier Bryant, traveler and ex plorer. recently returned from a flva weeks’ trip In the Canadian Rockies, says the Philadelphia Public Ledger. With Walter Dwight Wilcox, a fellow of the Royal Geographical Society of tfjondon, who has often traveled and made scientific Investigations there abouts, Mr. Bryant organized an expe dition to explore the region around the headwaters of the Elk and Palltser rivers a district covering about 2,000 aquare miles, which has remained a blank on the government maps, and, if possible, to make an attempt to as cend Mount /ssinibolne, the Matter horn of the Rockies. The party, con sisting of two Swiss guides, three cow boys and fourteen horses, with pro visions and supplies, beside Mr. Bryant and Mr. Wilcox, left Banff, a station on the Canadian Pacific, on July 21. and struck through the woods to the south and up the Spray river in the direction of Mount Assiniboine. No one bad ever succeeded in reaching the summit of this mountain, which is put down in the government survey as being 12,000 feet high. Every at tack on the mountain before had been made from tho north, but Mr. Bryant and his party decided to try it from the south, from which direction the ascent was believed to be easier. One of tho Swiss guides was kicked by a aorse before reaching the foot, and had to be left behind. Picking their way over stretches of snow and rocks and keeping as much as possible un tor the overhanging ridges, so as to be protected from a possible avalanche the party steadily pushed upward, but were brought to a standstill when only 800 feet from the top by a long trav erse of snow, over which it would have been foolhardiness to attempt to „ass. The expedition had reached 11, 125 feet, however, the highest point ever attained. Mr. Bryant says that it is only a question of time before the summit will be reached, but as their time was limited the party wa3 com pelled to give it up. COIN SOUVENIRS OF TRAIN. HcKlnl«)'i Funeral Car Ktin* Over Cold Piece* In l'enn>jrUsnla The desire for souvenirs upon ths part of the large crowds lined along the railroad tracks at every point was a distinctive feature of the McKinley funeral train, says the Pittsburg Post. The most popular of all the methods adopted was the placing of coins on the track so that the train might pass over them, smashing fiat the pieces of money a3 a mark of identification in years to come. This practice was not confined to any particular point or crowd, but was indulged in generally all along the route. The mutilated coins were afterward gathered up by their owners and displayed with much pride. At some stations, according to the train conductors, so many coins were placed on the rails that it caused a slight jar to the cars as they passed over them. Coins of different denomi nations aggregating at least several hundred dollars were strewn along the track at Union station. Even these relic-hnnters seemed to appreciate the occasion and surroundings, and, in stead of making a rush for their prop erty as soon as the train had passed, waited until it was out of sight before picking up the crushed coins, and by common mute consent each was al lowed to have his or her own without the least quibbling among them. At Roup station a prominent and wealthy resident of the Shadyside district placed a $10 gold piece upon the rail. The approach of the train started to shake it off, but it managed to remain long enough to have just a small por tion of it nipped ofT as if done by a knife. The owner is quite a collector of souvenirs and oddities, and when he picked up his coin he stated it would occupy the most prominent and conspicuous place in his large collec tion. Great Until In Hlntotj. Lord George Bentinck, in 1843, in betting on his horse Gaper, for the Derby, stood to win £150,000 ($720, 000), but saved himself upon Cother stone, and netted £30,000 ($144,000). At another time a bet of £90,000 ($432,000) against £30,000 ($144,000) was booked between old Lord Glas gow and Lord George Bentinck. The Marquis of Hastings bet and lost £103 000 ($194,400) on the Hermit’s Derby. Bell & Co. of Wall street, in August, 1900, had $250,000 placed in their hands to bet on President Mc Kinley’s re-election, at odds of 2% to 1. Their offer was absorbed in frac tions. Lord Dudley bet £24,000 to £8,000 on Peter in a race at Ascot with a bookmaker named Morris. Peter was beaten. A syndicate head ed by a man named Lambert won £90,000 on Don Juan in the Cesare witch at Newmarket in 1883.—New York Herald. Klertiiclaus* Gloves. The Electric Laboratory of Paris ha* been carrying out recently a series ot experiments bearing on the insulating qualities of electricians’ gloves. As a result the members having the matter in charge have arrived at the conclu slon that insulating gloves cannot b« considered as affording elBclcnt pro tection ngalnst the dangers connected with high-tension currents, and staU that in their judgment it would even be better to prescribe their use alto gether rather than to rely upon their efficiency In contact with dangaroui connections. It Is prudent, they say to consider them useful only for work ing with those parts already insulate* from the lines, such for example ai the non-inetallie hands of switchts.— Philadelphia Times.