CHANSON
Ey H. E. SCOTT.
ICopyright, 18S3, by American Press Associa
tion.]
CHAPTER I.
Tho death of my father occurred in
1837, at which time I was but 19 years
of age. I was left with several thou
sand dollars, and being utterly alone in
the world determined to travel for u
year or two.
It was on the 27th day of August,
1838, that I arrived, after a year’s wan
dering, in tho old fashioned Chilian
town of Coquombo on tho Pacific coast,
and it was tho evening of that day, as I
strolled from the hostelry of Don Miguel
de Salzuc, that I met my fate.
I was standing down on the rude
pier, watching a Chilian man-of-war
that lay anchored off the coast and a
small sailing yacht that was chained
to tho pier, when I heard a silvery
laugh, and glancing around beheld a
ray of sunshine approaching in tho form
of a young Chilian beauty of perhaps
17 years of age. She had the form of
a sylph, and her dark, lustrous eyes
could belong to none hut a daughter of
Chili. She was tripping along by the
side of an elderly don, who was contin
ually saying:
“Not so fast. Coreta; not so fast. My
old steps are getting feeble.”
“Well, grandpa, wo are ’most there
now. ”
“An American, I do believe,” con
tinued the old man. “Ain I correct?”
And ho extended Ills hand.
“You are.” I replied. “And have I
the pleasure of meeting a fellow coun
tryman?”
4 4 Not by birth, ’ ’ he answered. “Iam
a native of Chili, hut have spent the
greater part of my life in America, as
“Have I the pleasure of meeting a fellow
countrymanf”
has also my granddaughter, who cannot
even speak the Chilian tongue. For
many years I represented the govern
ment of Chili diplomatically at Wash
ington. Allow me to introduce myself,
Don Ignaee de Floreme.”
‘ ‘ And I, ” said I, ‘ ‘ am Claud Preston,
at your service.”
“Coreta, Mr. Preston, an American.
You will be pleased.”
“I am indeed,” said the charming
Coreta, extending her hand, which I
grasped with pleasure.
“What part of America is your
home?” asked the don.
“Washington, the capital of the re
public,” I replied. “ My father, Har
old Preston, died there but a year ago,
and now I am without relatives.”
‘ ‘ Harold Preston!” exclaimed the don
excitedly. “Is it possible! My old
friend of a quarter of a century ago!”
So it proved, and after that discovery
the old don insisted that I accompany
them home, and of course when Coreta
seconded his invitation I could but
acquiesce, and to my surprise I was
conducted by the don and his grand
daughter to the yacht I have mentioned
as lying at the wharf.
“Senor Claud,” said the don, “this
yacht will convey us to our residence.
Our home is an island one. True, the
island is hut small and hut two miles
from the mainland. It is the old an
cestral home of my race. It is there I
was born, there many of my kindred
lie buried and there I shall one day lie.
But here comes Pedro. Well, Pedro,
we are ready.”
We were soon seated in the yacht,
and when Pedro had unfurled the white
sails we were soon gliding rapidly
through the waters.
We sailed down the coast for a mile
or so, when Coreta suddenly exclaimed,
“See, Senor Claud, our island home!”
And- sure enough as we turned a point
of the coast there, scarcely two miles
sway, lay the dearest little gem of an
/island imaginable.
Pedro handled the yacht with the
skill of an old tar. and we were soon at
the pier. I assisted the fair Coreta to
the wharf, while Pedro gave his help to
the don, and we proceeded to the resi
lience, house, castle—what was it ? A
giant pile of stone and wood and yel
low brick, with angles and additions
and curves.
There was certainly room enough for
the ancestry of any man. I thought, for
many hundred years hack, even should
they all return from shadowland to
claim it.
We passed up a gravel walk in the
gathering twilight between the rows of
flowers and ferns, occasionally passing
a huge rocky bowlder that reared its
head aloft—a landmark of old Father
fTirne. They seemed quite numerous,
and I remember the don remarked:
‘ ’ These rude bowlders are unquestion
ably the security, the prop, the stay, of
our home. But for them our island
-would be fathoms beneath the sea.”
Once in and seated by the glowing
fire, Pedro, who had now become the
bouse servant instead of the sailor,
brought ns a bottle of wine. He un -
corked the bottle and departed. Coreta
turned three glasses, and the don pro
posed the toast, “America.”
We drank the wine—finer I have
never tasted. I remarked it.
“It should he fine,” remarked the
don—“that is, if age has improved it,
for it may be older than am I.”
“Now, grandpa, Senor Claud,” re-j
marked Coreta, “I will meet yon at the ;
tea table.'' And she was gone.
“Senor Claud.” said the don, “you1
scarce believe that this wine can be so
old as I arn. Yon wonder that this
huge structure on this little isle should
be our home. It descended to me from
a race who, up to 50 years ago, were buc
caneers—what are nowadays termed pi
rates. This was their stronghold. With
the death cf my father, the last one to
follow that life disappeared. There are
in the vaults of Chanson wines and liq
uors, placed there when he was yet a
hoy, and jewels that would ransom a
republic. To whom they once belonged
I know not, and not knowing I have
left them there. My mother was an
American, captured by my father in a
merchant ship, which, after being plun
dered of its valuables, was sent to the
bottom with all on board save her. He
loved her, and in time she loved him
and wooed him from a pirate’s life. He
gave his interests to his former lieuten
ants aud their crews and died h in
peace. Ho only stipulated that iliey
should find another refuge, and I know
nothing of them. But they are all dead
long since. One only, old Martell, a
Frenchman, who was father’s body serv
ant, remained with him from his for
mer life, and he long since passed away,
and his remains lie in the vault be
neath. It was his last wish that he
might sleep forever by the jewels, the
money and the merchandise that in his
younger days, under the leadership of
my father, had been plundered from
merchantmen of every nationality. A
strange wish, was it not?”
“It was indeed,” I replied, “but do
you intend to make no use of all this
wealth?”
“No. It was my dying mother’s last
wish that I should not touch it. I have
seen it but twice—once when old Mar
tell showed me the place where he wish
ed his remains to repose after death—
he was then bowed with age—again 40
years ago, when I placed his dead body
on the casket of jewels in the vault.
‘ ‘ My father had never told me the
story of his early life. It was only aft
er his death that I learned it, and then
from old Martell. Even then mother
grieved greatly that he had told me of
the hidden treasure and bade me never
touch it. She said that in father’s lat
ter years he had considered it a curse.
But come, there's the tea bell. I have
told you more than any soul on earth.
It must have been my early friendship
for your father that impelled me. Co
reta knows nothing of all this, and in
her presence do not refer to it. Poor
dear! Her father, mother and my own
dear wife died when she was but a
child.”
At the tea table Coreta joined us. If
I had thought her bewitching before,
when I saw her now in her evening
dress, a string of pearls around her snow
white neck, a golden bracelet clasped
round each tapering wrist, a diamond
cluster sparkling mid the golden ring
lets of her hair, I thought her beauti
ful. Her maid, Aralda, attended us at
the table, and, oh, what a pleasant hour
there passed to me! And after tea,
when the good don and I adjourned to
a neighboring room to test cigars that
came from he knew not where, neither
their age, with a “Good night, senor,”
she vanished from my sight. I felt that
I had seen a lovely dream, and when I
had followed Pedro to a room above,
furnished with the elegance of other
climes than Chili—elegant mahogany,
rare lace curtains, carpets of a value
rarely seen at home, each article of fur
niture denoting a bygone age—and laid
my head upon the pillow it was not to
sleep, but to think of Coreta, of the don,
of the jewels beneath, of dead Martell,
keeping his silent vigil on the casket,
of piracies, and then wonder from what
clime came each and every article, and
when I slept it was the same.
Pedro awoke me in the morning, and
after breakfast Coreta and I took a
stroll on the island. There were sur
rounding the house perhaps 10 acres of
ground that showed a luxuriant growth
of flowers, shrubbery and vegetables
of all descriptions. An old gardener was
working there as we passed. To our
“Good morning” he muttered some na
tive words that I could not understand,
and his face lit up with pleasure as he
gazed at Coreta.
* ‘ Poor old Juan, ” said she. ‘ ‘ As old
as he is, he goes to every dance in Co
quombo among his class.” And she
gave him a coin.
‘ ‘ How many people have you on the
island?” I asked.
“Seven,” she answered, “besides
grandpa and I—our servants.”
I found the island for the greater
part barren and rocky, with here and
there, all over it, an occasional huge
bowlder, such as I have before men
tioned.
Its greatest length could not have ex
ceeded two miles, and its width not
more than half as much. Nor was it
much elevated above the ocean’s level,
but yet Coreta said the angriest waves
never more than dashed their spray
half way to the house. “But, senor,”
she added, “sometimes the roar of the
waves and the shrieking of the wind
cause me to think that our island is
trembling. ”
We visited the stables, where two
sleek mules and Coreta's pony were
quartered. “Then you do ride here?’’
said I.
“Oh, yes!’’ she replied, “and I often
take Jook to Ccquombo for a day or
two.”
“But what do the mules do,” I asked.
“Oh,” she replied, “plow in the gar
den, and old Manuel rubs them and
feeds them.”
“Lucky mules,” I thought.
Wo went back to the house and found
the don sitting ont on the veranda.
“What think yon of Chanson?” be
asked.
“Chanson?” said I.
“Oh, I forgot,” he said; “you do not
yet know! Yes. Chanson is the name
of on* island. The word is a French
one and signifies a song. You know we
have always the song of the waves.”
“Avery appropriate name,” I re-'
plied.
Wo visited the parlor, and if other
parts of the old mansion were furnish
ed in old time elegance here was splen
dor. Many nations must have contrib
uted of their best, and tho ships that
were one day conveying all this ele
gance across the ocean that never reach
ed port—where are they now'! Rocking
back and forth where they have been
for perhaps a century—deep down in
tho bosom of the restless sea. Coreta
played for 11s on a magnificent harp,
but her sweet voice had more charm for
me than a thousand harps.
That day passed. Another and an
other. Still the days went by. and I
lingered at Chanson. Two weeks had
passed, and in that timo I had learned
what it was to love. Each day I would
say, “Tomorrow I will go,” hut when
tomorrow came I would say again, ‘ ‘ To
morrow.” At last one morning Don
Ignace said: “This is a good day for a
sail. We will go to Coquombo.” I
know that I grew pale and trembled.
Pedro was sent to get the yacht ready.
Coreta was informed and hastened away
to dress for the occasion. I took a short
stroll up the beach, picked up a few
shells, then a few flowers from the gar
den, went up to my room and got my
valise, which Pedro had brought from
Coquombo 10 days before, and descend
ed to tho library.
Don Ignace was there; so also was
Coreta. “Why that valise?” said he.
“Because—because,” said I, “I have
staid too long. I cannot return.”
“Not return!” exclaimed both the
don and Coreta. And could it he pos
sible—did sho also tremble and turn
pale? Certain it is that she clutched
the good don’s arm.
“You have nothing to go for,” said
he. “You must not go.”
“No, no,” said Coreta.
“Yes, Don Ignace, yes. Coreta, I
muet go, and forever. And as dearly
as I lovo you both, would God that I
had never seen you, for, oh, Coreta, I
love you! You will bo the one dream
of my life, but I can never return.”
She had hidden her face on her
grandfather’s shoulder. Could it be
possible—were sobs shaking her form ?
Don Ignace had placed his arm around
her.
“So, Senor Claud, you love my fair
flower and cannot return?”
“Not unless,—unless it be to return
forever,” I exclaimed.
‘ ‘ Oh, ho! ” said the don. ■ ‘ Then return
forever, Sir Claud.”
“But—hut, Coreta,” said I. “she
must bid me return.”
She raised her tear stained face, took
a step toward me, and with tho word
“Return!” fell fainting in my arms.
*‘ Senor Claud, ’ ’ said Don Ignace, ‘ ‘ we
will go to Coquombo tomorrow, not to
day—no, not today,” and from a book
She fell fainting in my arms.
case he procured a vial of salts, and we
soon restored Coreta. Her face, so white
a moment before, was now suffused
with blushes, and I—well, I held her in
my arms. I was happy.
“Coreta,” said the don, “take off
your wraps when you get time, my
child. God bless you both! I’ll go and
tell Pedro to kill a turkey.”
I glanced up. There were tears in the
old man’s eyes. He started out the
door; then turned to a center table on
which stood a decanter of wine. He
turned three glasses. We each took a
glass.
“My children,” said the don, “I am
well pleased and drink to the future
master and mistress of Chanson.”
I could only say: “God bless you.
Don Ignace! I will love and cherish her
always. ’ ’
“I know you will, my boy; I know
you will. I knew your fathei.” And
he walked out.
CHAPTER II.
Three months from that day we
were married, and, oh, how happily
on our island home passed the next five
years. There onr little Ignace was
bom, the joy and pride of the good
don's heart, and as he approached the
age of 5 I could see that Don Ignace
was failing rapidly. In fact, he had
not been to Coqnombo for a year or
more, and now his steps were very fee
ble. One evening after tea, when we
were seated by the library fire, he said:
“Claud, do not retire early tonight. I
wish to see you. ’’
After Coreta and our hoy had with
drawn he said: “My son, my days are
near numbered. I shall soon be gathered
to my fathers. I have pondered long and
well. You and Coreta and onr darling
boy are all that I have on earth. This
is a dismal home at best, and without
the wealth that is within reach, and
which I might not handle, yon will not
be left as I would have you. I shall
tonight show you the treasure guarded
by old Martell. and when I am gone.
Claud, it belongs to you. Coreta and
little Ignace. You need feel no com
punctions of conscience at making use
of it. for tlie once owner of each and
every article died when they fell into
the hands of the buccaneer^. Who they
were even, or what nationality, none
can tell. When I am dead and gone, I
do not desire you to remain here in this
isolated life. Lay me at rest by the
side of my ancestors. Secure the tr?as
ure and leave thi islan 1. Sometimes, I
you know, you can return to Chanson.
Leave Pedro and the other servant here.
Provide for them, and when in time
they die do not leave the old home teu
antless.”
“Oh, Don Ignace, you will not die!”
“Husli, Claud, it is very near.”
It was midnight, and all were at rest,
even faithful Pedro, when, with two
largo lanterns, we passed through a
great, unused room some 40 feet in
length and half as wide in the very cen
ter of the castle. I had never entered
it before, and when from a l.ig bunch
of keys the don selected a large one
I inserted it in the lock. It was
“The pirates’ armory,” said he.
many minutes before, with all power at
my command, I could turn it, hut I suc
ceeded at last and pushed the heavy
iron door hack.
“Wait a few moments."’ said the
don, ‘ ‘ until fresh air be admitted. Re
member, half a century has passed
since a foot has crossed this threshold. ”
The air that we encountered at the
door was flat and dead. I pushed again
at the door till I had it wide open.
Then wo sat for 10 minutes on a bench
in tho great hall, after which wo en
tered the room. At the don’s request
I closed the door.
"The pirates’ armory,” said he.
Hanging from the wall on either side
from end to end were weapons of all
descriptions—the old fashioned broad
sword of Great Britain, the rapier of
France, tho cutlass of Morocco and In
dia, tho saber of America.
“All nations,” said the don, “con
tributed to this armory.”
Stacked against the wall were mus
kets, rifles, shotguns and pikes innu
merable. A long oaken table extended
the length of the room, with benches
at each side for seats.
“The festive board and council ta
ble,” said the don.
I gazed in wonder at the contents of
this room. Midway of the room on one
side was an immense sideboard, on
which stood decanters without number,
also goblets and glasses. At the lower
end a table and a rack were filled with
short arms, pistols, dirks and knives.
All were moldy and showed evidence
of great age, and in places the straps
that had held muskets and sabers in
their positions had given way, and they
had fallen to the floor. Even as we
walked along a heavy cutlass and an
enormous breastplate fell from their po
sition of perhaps a century and gtrnck
the stono floor with a clang that star
tled me. I glanced at them. The re
verberation of our footfall had caused
the moldy straps to part. At the end
of this large room a door stood open.
Wo stepped to it and glanced in.
“The culinary department,” said the
don.
Huge fireplaces were on either side,
and large kettles still hung on the old
fashioned cranes. Bake ovens and pots
all ranged on either side, while piled
on shelves and tables were tin plates
and china plates, immense platters and
knives and forks, but when 1 picked up
a huge carver the wooden handle crum
bled into dust.
‘ ‘ Why, ” said I, “ your ancestors must
have had many followers.”
“Ignace, my father, I believe,” re
plied tho don, “had 20 pirate crafts
afloat and manned by many hundred
men. though rarely more than two or
three crews would be here at one time.
But come. ” And we retraced onr steps
to the council room.
Arrived near the center of the room,
I noticed two large black flags hanging
from either side of the door we had en
tered, while above them one largo flag
was snspended by two corners and hung
straight down. The flag was black. I
could just discern in its center the let
ters I. D. F. “The pirate's flags—I. D.
Floremo, ” said Don Ignace.
I placed my hand on tho folds of one
of them. It fell to dust.
“Now for the vaults,” said the don.
and at the sideboard ho baited, reached
one hand behind it, seized a lever and
pulled, hut without any result.
' Pull with your younger arms,
Claud. Here; stand here. ”
I seized the lever ami pulled and
pulled again, and right in front of the
sideboard an iron plato of some G by b
feet sank gradually down until it hung
suspended by straps, which were se
cured to the plato from the under side.
Holding my lantern. I could see an
iron ladder, which leaned against the
Stone on which we stood.
"Let ns descend." said the don.
"But the air!" I exclaimed; "the
atmosphere!"
"Plenty of ventilation there,” he re
plied, "from the outside.”
We were soon at the foot of the lad
der. some 12 feet below. The vault was
a large one, solidly walled up with
stone. The floor was solid stone, and
ranged along the walls were barrels,
casks, boxes and moldy packages with
out number. Most of them, at a kick,
would drop to pieces. In a number of
the boxes were bottled goods, old wines
and brandies.
"Here." said I, “is where onr wine
comes from.' ’ i
"Here is where it originally came
from.” said tho don. "Old Martell
moved it up above before lie died, but
ho must have left a great quantity here.
These boxes and bales contain all man
ner of goods, now surely worthless.”
We had reached one end of the vault.
"Do you care to see the resting place
of my ancestors? You must, as 1 de
sire to be laid byside them.”
He grasped a lever sunk in the wall
and pulled, and a sh"<>t iron plate some
13 feet in length sank slowly into tile
ground and revealed three stone steps, j
which wo mounted and stood in a room !
of, I judge, 15 feet square. I nearly
fainted. The don drew from his pocket '
a flask of brandy. Wo took a swallow I
each, and it revived us.
There, extended on two sides of this '
room were marble slabs, some (i
feet wide and elevated on a stone j
foundation about four feet from the
floor. On these slabs and side by side
lay long objects. I held my lantern
close. They were evidently bundles of
some kind. Cloth or canvas was wrap
ped around them, and they had been
wrapped with care. Of some of them
there was evidently little substance left,
as tho packages were almost flat.
•'My ancestors,” said tho don. “No
coflin even confined their limbs. Each,
wrapped in oiled silk and canvas, has
there been laid at rest, father and son, J
for generations back, except such as
lie beneath tho ocean waves. This one, j
tho last in this row, was my father. 1
Each of these frames was once master i
of Chanson and a pirate chief. The !
women of the race all lie in the ceme
tery at Coqnombo, as does my own son.
I desire to bo tho last of my race to be
laid here. When I die, place me here,
next my father. Pedro will assist you.
Ho knows where tho oiled silk and can
vas can bo found. Now for tho treas
ures. ’ ’
He stepped to the end of the room, and
from underneath the marble slab pulled
out another lever. A slab sank from
the side of the wall and disclosed a
small space of 0 feet in length and per
haps 3 deep. There on the floor stood
a brass or iron bound box, and on it lay
a form similar to those on tho marble
slabs.
“Old Martell,” said the don. “Let
ns remove him.”
We each seized ono end of the bun
dle. A handful of rotten canvas; noth
ing more. I set down my lantern and
took hold with both hands. Tho can
vas and silk came away, and the dry
bones of old Martell rolled from the cas
ket, rattling as they struck the stone
floor. Tho vertebra snapped asunder,
and the grinning head of the silent sen
tinel rolled down the three stone steps.
* ’ Poor old Martell! ’' said the don. • ‘ 1
will soon keen you company.”
Ho fitted a key to tho casket, and we
soon had it open. The don removed
what, I judge, was once a pirate flag
from the top, and I saw before me un
told wealth—diamonds, rubies, pearls,
gold coin of every nation. I raised a
handful of the jewels. How they spar
kled!
“When - am dead,” said tho don.
“remove them. They are yours. No
crowned head of Europe possesses their
value. Stay! Put these in your pocket,
that after yon have slept this may not
seem a dream. And now bring back
the head of old Martell. It was ever
a true one, and, old friend, we will
leave it with you.”
I did so, and he closed the casket.
Wo placed the skeleton again on its lid.
“Now mark my movements well,”
said the don, as he shoved back the lev
er. The slab arose to its place. We
passed out of the tomb, he pushed back
the lever, and naught but a wall con
fronted us. Back through the vault,
another pushing back of a lever, end
the entrance was closed. We were soon
out of the council room, the door lock
ed, and back in the library.
The clock struck 2. The don was
very pale.
“Here, Claud, are tho keys. I never
desire to see them again. You have ob
served all.”
“I have observed all and can scarcely
believe what I have seen, but God grant
that it may be yet many years before
you are laid with your ancestors be
low.”
“Promise me, Claud, to fulfill my
wishes.”
“I promise,” I replied.
“Well, a glass of brandy and good
night, or rather good morning, and
don’t forget your promise. ”
I went to the floor above to my sleep
ing wife and boy.
CHAPTER III.
I awoke in the morning with a Ftait.
Some one was knocking wildly. I leap
ed ont of bed and rushed to the door.
It was Pedro. Tho old mau was trem
bling violently, and his features were
pallid.
“Don Igna 'e! Don Ignace!'’he ex
claimed.
I rushed past him, down the stairs
and to the don’s room. It was tenant
less, nor had his couch been occupied.
I hastened to the library. Sitting in
his armchair near his desk was Don Ig
nace. His head lay hack against the
cushion of the chair. His eyes were
wide open.
“Don Ignaoe! Don Ignace!”
He moved not. I raised his hand.
It was warm, hut fell helpless when I
let it go. Ho was breathing heavily,
but could not speak. I poured a glass
of brandy and with great difficulty got
a portion down his throat. I was chaf
ing his hands and trying to arouse him ;
when—“Grandpa! grandpa!” and my
dear wife was on her knees beside him. j
Those hands that ever had for her a !
caress did not move, though the eyes !
rested lovingly upon her. She kissed
his pale lips, but he for a time uttered
no sound, but glanced from Coreta to
me, then back to her. Finally his
breast heaved, great drops of sweat
stood ont on his brow and from between
his lips came the words.'* Boy, my boy!”
I flew up the stairs and snatched little
Ignace from his slumbers, back again
and laid him across the old man’s knees.
His eyes seem;d to devour him.
(Continued on page 3 )
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some aulmals, on hip an4
sides of some, or aa^
irhere on the animal.
CANCER
Pnbjcctsnoed fear no longer from this King of
Terrors, for by a most wonderful discovery in
medicine, cancer on any part of the body can bo
permanently cured without the use of
the knife.
MRS. 11. I). Colby, 2307 Indiana Avo., Chicago,
■•ays 14 Was cured of cancer of the breast in six
weeks by your method of treatment.’’ Bend for
treatise. Dr. II. C. Dale, ikla 34th St., Chicago
A FULLTCCTU ON . . . for
SET OF I EE I n RUBBER$5(00
Work Guaranteed. Teeth extracted in the
morning, new ones inserted evening of
same day. Teeth filled without pain, latest
method. Finest parlors in the west. Faxton
Bid., elevator M laa Mai. ...
tranVc r*iet eu* DR. R. W. BAILEY,
trance. OMAHA,
:&$!
i CHASE fcSANBORN ! &j
I JAPAN. \m
C. M. NOBLE,
LEADING GROCER,
McCOOK, - NEB.
SOLE AGENT.
all PHOTOGRAPHS oh a <
Rfl&EE SILK HANDKERCHIEF. }
Hall DA a good Photo, a white < new or old; Silk HaadH
kerehlef, with a P. O. or Kxpreaa Money Order for |1,^
and we will Photograph the p let are on t he al Ik. Beast I-j
fol effect. PERMANENT picture. WILL SOT FADE or}
. / WASH ont, laid foreaer, e»*r/bodj
delighted.
1 Hefereace,Omaha <>ank«.4
_ _ 'sTUDio_3n-5i_-i7S.i51*,QMAHAj
WE TELL YOU
nothing new when we state that it pay3 to engage
in a permanent, most healthy and pleasant busi
ness, that returns a profit for every day’s work.
Such is the business we offer the working class.
We teach them how to make money rapidly, and
guarantee every one who follows our instructions
faithfully the making of 8300.00 a month.
Every one who takes hold now and works will
surely and speedily increase their earnings; there
can be no Question about i*; others now at work
are doing it, and you. reader, can do the same.
This is the best paying business that you have
ever had the chance to secure. You will make a
grave mistake if you fail to give it a trial at once.
If you gra-p the* situation, and act quickly, you
will directly find yourself in a most prosperous
business, at which you can surely make and save
large sums of money. The results of only a few
hours* work will o'ften equal a week’s uage3.
Whether you are old or voung, xnan or woman, it
makes no difference,— ao as we tell you, and suc
cess will meet you at the very start. Neither
experience or capital necessary. Those who work
for us are rewarded. Why not write to-day for
full particulars, free ? E. C. AIJLEN & CO.,
Eox No. 430, Augusta, Me.
ook’s Cotton Root
COMPOUND.
A recent discovery by an o’.d
physician, tiucceasfuuy used
monthly by thousands of La
>die*. is theonly perlect.y safe
and reliable medicine discov
ered. Beware of unprincipled
_ ' druggist? who offer inferior
..oot C<|MP _ . ietter. and we will &• nd. feai. d,
tr^VrVman? Full".tiled particular, la plain
tnrelope. to latllesoaly. ^ .i.|J1P9“ •
idJai Pond Lily Company.
•* So. 3 Fibber Flock. Detroit, -lch.
For sale by L. W. McConnell & Co., G. M.
Chenery, Albert McMillen in McCook and
by druggists everywhere.
