THE JOURNAL.
WEDNESDAY. SEPT. 13. 1SS2.
Iz.xti. at tbt Petteflci, Col-ntu, Set., is neoai
clus si'.ter.
sonnnw.
I would not weep becuusu the rose die,
1 do not murmur when the red leaves fall;
But when blue bodf jfOes mounting to the sky,
1 weep above my soup, and that is all.
I have uot wept, when wintry blasU have
reared.
Because the summer flowers wore la the
snow;
But when wood sella nine dollars for a cord,
I wept for that; I would not have it su.
I would not weep, because the birds of spring.
With autumn's leaves and summer's flower's
are Hod;
I onlv ob because I played a knur.
After the other man an ace had led.
For bird, and leaves, and buds, I do not weep.
Foolish the heart that for such tritles "hol
lers;" I do not mourn for 'hlujf supremely cheap.
My Uuuian grief mounts up ward into dollars.
UuriuMjOm Huwk-Eyc
BITTER-SWEET.
i.
A symphony of sound and light and
scent. A voice of many birds twittering
delicately to each other f rora newly-built
ucstd, amid bougltt that swayed to and
fro in the wind, and shook their latest
buds into leaf and blossom. Into the
woodland from far below came a mur
mur of waves trailing on a shingly beach,
and mingling with this murmur, the talk
and laughter of the fishermen mellowed
by distance. Right down through the
sfoping woodland a brooklet leaped tink
ling and gurgling to the sex
The ilim fragrance and dappled lights
and pleasant sounds of the day made a
three-fold joy to a young girl who stood
beneath the trees in the April noon. She
stood on a part of the slope whence the
trees had drawn back a little, and the
light fell about her just beyond the verge
of the shadow. Round her feet were
dead leaves aud living flowers, and soft
green niostivs full of the sweet rain that
Bad fallen all the previous night. With
one hand she shaded her eyes, the other
was uplifted to tend back a branch which
had barred the open space. Her hair
waft blown in a brown cloud about her
face, and her hazel eyes shone with a
6erious joy beneath the shading hand.
For the first time in her life she was
tasting that singular gladness which
comes to mind and body, when aione
with nature in spring, after a long ill
ness. To this full content of hers, all
the long hours of fevered tossing to and
fro, followed by tedious weeks of conva
lescence, were but a background.
And now into her loneliness there
came another human presence a young
man. carelessly whistling, treadinggayly
ver moss ami flowers till he reached the
rivulet, and paused on the further side,
looking at the tall, slim figure in the soft
gray gown, crowned by the brown hair
and' wistful face. Justone moment, and
he turned off a little higher up and
sprang across the stream. Only one
look, and there might have been no sec
ond: their lives might have glided apart
forever, but for an accident or what we
eall an :iocident; which is really a strong
link in many a chain of life. As his
foot touched the bank he slipped on the
damp earth, spraining his ankle in the
fall. He drew 'himself into a sitting
pasture and leaued against a tree, faint
with pain. The young girl came quickly
toward him. "I will run and get help,"
she said, and meeting his grateful look
for a moment, went quickly along the
jmth that let! toward Cloverleigh. the
village where she and her father were
staging At a turning she met a tall
scholarly looking man.
"1 w:is locking for you, Margaret.
Are you wise to go bareheaded, niy
child?" he said, anxiously.
"My hat fell into the brook, and it is
so mild. But. oh! papa, there is a gen
tleman hurt down there. He ha
sprained his ankle and cannot walk."
And she waved her hand toward the
woods below. They found him faint and
white; but he made light of his suffering
as they helped him through the fringe ot
apple and pear trees to his lodging in
Cloverleigh.
"
Most of our lives are Bitter-Sweet; but
if there is one period iu it when the bit
ter aud sweet are superlatives, it is when
love takes possession of soul and bod
us instruments whereon to play his
mighty preludes.
Margaret Towuscnd had lived alone
almost all her life, with her father, a
quiet student, loving b'lt his daughter
and his luniks, und so her life was full ol
assiK-iutiiius, but not of friends. None
of the lilo-mi Itad been worn oil" her sou'
In that plaving at love called flirtation.
She had read, with a certain solemuitv.
some old books wherein mention was
made of men who had died and done
other thiugs for love; and she may have
hit I dreams on the subject, but filiiiv anil
shitting as dreams generally aro.
Her father had taught her Greek, and
po "she chanced upon the poets," and
their thoughts had given llavor to he.
own. Some time before this had come
illness; it had seemed at one moment as
if she must cros the narrow iound or
time into Hie wide spaces of eternitv: but
slowly death had let go his hold, and she
was well enough now to enjoy the
change to the quaint Devonshire lihing
village, perched in the rift of a headland
nniiing ancestral trees and bower of ash
mid apple aud pear.
It is uni'jue. this vHlage. with its hun
dred step leadngdown to the quay and
the hinglv shore. . The houses rise one
niMive me inner, ana me quaint rooms m
tl.em are h-t in s-iinmer to visitors with
good walking p.iwers. Its only inn is a
temple of brie a-brao, and. in 'summer,
i- erowd"d with pilgrims visiiiug one of
the shrines of nature. In this seques
tcred solitude the father and daughter
and Dr. .John Kuderby were at present
the only strangers, and the voting doe
tor. after two or three days, limped into
Margaret's sunlit sitting-room, into
which the ljglit tillered through a net
work of budding apple boughs. Hen'
he would sit and watch Margaret at
work, or listen to her as she read some
Old World book to her father, hr fresh
young voice contnitiiig with the oft
times crabbed style, and as he thu
watched her she grew iueprcssiblv
pleasant to him. Pleasant, aud that was
all.
But to Margaret? Without on- word
of warning, had come the frowning
flkeeti u of her life. "Heaven lies a'out
us in our infan-y." then fades away.
But once more it lies aliout the man and
woman in the mellow time of youth with
a lieauty that baby eyes never" vet beheld
and earth borrows nf'this heavenly lio-ht.
Did ever such s mlight pas- througlfth-'
roy film of the apple blossom" that
n.-s-'led against the wall and mads a
bowrr before Margaret's window? And
us for the blue bay gleaming below -was
it really so cruel after all? Did so
many husbands anil fathers and sons lie
tossing in its depths. It loikedso caress
ing. washing the feet of the red dill's
trlicre the greenery crept down to meet
it
John was free to come and go as he
liked in the blossom-sereeued room, hold
ing learned converse with Mr. Town
send, meeting hisdaughterin the woods,
uow fully leafed, sometimes helpin" her
over the rocks in search of anemones.
Un fine evenings the three would sit on
the little semi-circular pier that inclosed
the ".quay pule" and watch the sunset
fading and the darkness nestling down
among the wooded headlands, and the
gre-it evening star suddenly appearing
in the blue above the paling primrose
that touched the water. After that the
iky would swiftly fill with stars, and the
moon would spring into the airy silence,
tod her light would penetrate sky and
and cliff-hung village, the lights
would appear one by one in the windows
above, and they would climb homeward.
AH this fed the warm friendliness Up
!2t for her, which is often mistaken for
love. The fragrance of ner life filled
his imagination, and he determined to
make her his wife. But of that delicious
agony, that glorious fear that makes
pallid the face of the lover, the void in
the life that must be filled by the pres
ence of a beloved woman what did he
know? Nothing.
His nature was as yet cold, hers wa:
all aglow. She was one of those women,
passionate, yet sweet and pure, with
sensitive bodies that quiver with pain a!
any strong emotion. If she- had never
seen him again, it is improbable that she
would ever have cared for another; per
haps she would have waited in eternity
for the sequence of that first glance of
hi.
They lingered on till the honeysuckle
woed the meadow-sweet in the deep lanei"
above the village, and the young summer
was in its beauty. Then there came a
moment when, the two being alone in
the woodland path overhanging the sea.
John asked Margaret to be his wife. It
was the sweetest time of the afternoon,
just before sunset, when tfie day has lost
its weakness and the sky is calm, and
the suu.:fiue is dimmed by a soft haze.
Mr. Townseud had left them iu order
to write a letter which he had forgotten,
and the others had sauntered toward the
village in dreamy silence. Then she be
came aware that he was asking her to
lie his wife, telling her that she was the
sweetest woman he had ever seen.
Whence then her sudden shrinking from
him. as in fear?
"I am not good enough," she cried.
She was afraid of her joy, for she was a
timid woman, but in the midst of his
wooing he was vexed at her humility,
not understanding it, for he was only
offering her a scanty armful of first
fruits, and she was returning him the full
harvest of her soul, though she did not
know its value. He drew her to him
and kissed the brown head and laid it
on his breast. She began to cry she
had been so greedy of joy lately, and
here was its perfection!
And he? well, it was the sweetest
hour he had ever passed in his life.
This jrirl. with her simple dress and
manner, and her serious brown eyes aud
undertone of joyf ulness about her, satis
tied the more spiritual side of his nature.
And yet she was not the idal of his
past, which ideal had been compounded
of soft-voiced Cordelia, passionate Ju
liet, bright Rosalind, witty Beatrice, and
dear Desdemona in fact, of all the
sweets of many natures compacted into
one.
She was not his heroine, but he was
her hero, and her gladness inclined to
ward sadness; for a true woman sees
herself valueless at the moment she be
lieves that the "man of man" sees in her
a precious jewel.
"Are you sorry?" he asked, half jest
ingly. "Sorry!" she said, and, with a frank
yet coy gesture, she nestled close to his
heart."
in.
Windborongh is a country town, seat
ed in the midst of a smiling plain which
stretches to a line of low wooded hills on
the north, and loses itself in the far
horizon in every other direction. It is a
sleepy town, full of old houses and old
traditions, and prides itself rather on its
ruins than on its famous woolen manufac
ture. It is built in the form of a cross
indeed, its main street is called Cross
gate. In one of the arms of the cross
the one toward Woodleigh. with its fa
mous old castle arc the best houses, in
which the smaller gentry and the profes
sional men live.
At the end of the Woodleigh road was
Dr. Enderby's house, large and old-fashioned;
and hither he brought his wife
Margaret not long after their first meet
ing in the Cloverleigh woods. It was a
elumge from the intense quiet of her girl
hood to a large circle of friends, and a
few secret enemies. But shewas John's
wife, and her sweet gayety tilled his
house with sunshine; and she shaped
herself a home in all gladness. The old
red-brick house han pleasant rooms,
tilled with comfortable furniture, softly
cushioned chairs, and low tables, and
plenty of flowers; there were no dingy
looking dados, no sad-looking disclored
blossoms worked on kitchen towels. As
Margaret was not ajsthetic, she preferred
cheerful chintz and soft velvet.
Her own sanctum was a small room
overlooking the garden, and furnished
with soft sliades of green. There were
oak shelves filled with her favorite books,
a writing-table, aud a few low chairs.
At the window were white lace curtains,
and on the mantelpiece a jar of Venetian
glass that looked like a fragment of sun
set. Near the window was a stand of
(lowers that varied according to the sea
sons. In spring there were primroses
and violets even a few tulips; in sum
mer roses and mignonette; in autumn
and winter ferns and mosses, with per
haps a red geranium to light them up.
Outside in the garden, was a great elm
overhanging the lawn, and the flower
beds were as old-fashioned as the house.
In this room of Margaret's, John En
derby loved to rest in his intervals of
leisure, watching his wife with an inter
est and a strange timidity that grew
deeper day by day. Poor Margaret felt
him further from her. and a shadow fell
across her life that the birth of her little
son could not wholly chase away. When
the child was about" nine mouths old it
happened that she was often alone, for it
was an unhealthy autumn, and Dr. En
derby's.sirvices werein great requisition,
not only among the rich, but alsoanvu g
the poor for ne was gentle as well ::i
skillful. Now aud then he would come
in and resume his old habit of silently
watching and listening to her talk about
little Jack. How she' loved that child!
What sweet music his tiny lingers dis
coursed on that mother's heart-strino-s!
One afternoon her husband came in as
she was sitting with the child on hei
knee a bright, fair-haired, brown-eved
boy. very like his father. The baby
stretched out his dimpled arms to his
father, then with a child's mischief with
drew them, and hid his face on his moth
er's bosom with a cooing laugh. She
bent her head down on the fluffy curls,
and caught his little bare feet "in her
hand (he had pulled o!T his shoes and
socks, the tiny rogue!) and she kissed the
rosy toes with lovely mother worship.
" Look, John." she said; " isn't he the
most wonderfully sweet child, this prec
ious baity' ? What should we do without
him?
She was flushed and laughing, arm?
and heart full too; but a sharp pang
flasheiLthrough him.
He answered, quietly
"Yes. he is a
fine boy for his aire' and. bendinv
down, kissed him; but he went away
after that without further speech, it
of ten t.njfiseueif so now, and Margaret
could not divine the cause; so she was
hurt, aud turned more and more to the
baby for comfort.
On this occasion the doctor went to his
study, locked the door and sat down to
wrestle with himself, also to take stock
of his forces for that wrestling.
Terrible aud sweet revelation to the
man! He had. as the phrase goes, fall
en in love fortunately with his wife.
This, then, was the meaning of his si
lence, his jealousy, of the tearing away
of his old pleasant friendliness toward
her. This love of his was no flame that
would Hash and die out. but the strong
white he.it, the very soul of the heavenly
fire.
He remembere'd now how she had said,
"I am not worthy." Now lie understood
she had loved him at that time how
far away itseemed with the whole force
of her being; and he well, with self
depreciation and some well-deserved
self-blame, he saw his blindness and the
terrible risk he had ruu. He wanted
only his wife; his Margaret; but what if
he, Margaret's husband, had never felt
this dclijrht in her? Mijrht he not have.
met some otucr woman lor tne saice oi
whom he would possibly have been
tempted to repent his marriage?
He was a good mail, upright and true;
but he had often played at love before
his marriage, "ere life-time and love
time were one," aud he was being
E ushed now, for he doubted whether her
ove had not declined into that friendli
ness which he had given her before, and
she was absorbed in the child.
Was she, then, one of those women in
whom the iustinct of motherhood is
stronger than all other? He worshiped
her now with the full sacred passion of
his manhood, and was his own child to
come between, aud shut him away from
her? She would be always sweetly du
tiful, he knew that but duty, wifelv
duty! A man is nothing if he" does not
want more than that: and what was his
life to be if she and the child dwelt
apart in a little paradise of their own?
lie was jealous of his own child. At
this point the man threw himself on his
knees and finished his conflict there, and
it was well for him that he did so.
IV.
The ver names of Eliphaz thj Tema
nite, and Bildad theShuhite, audZophar
the Naamathitc, carry us back in thir.ight
to the world's dawn; but their modern
.. . . .
antitypes are to be found everywhere;
j in the fullest perfection among women.
sad to say, and more perceptible in a
cou ntry town than in a city.
And wheu poor Job feminine Job es
pecially is sitting in the ashes of deso
lotion, then tlo they, softly seated on the
cushion of self-righteousness, proceed to
comment disparagingly on the sulierer's
past behavior.
No Eliphaz & Co. were not want
ing iu Win lborough society, and in the
cas. of John and Margaret soon per
ceived "the rift in the lute;" and being
low, mean souls, they set to work to find
a low, mean cause for it, having no idea
of the higher love between man and
woman.
They were three middle-aged spin
sters, who had failed to euter the holy
estate of matrimony in spite of an earn
est desire to do so. When the roses of
youth and riches were no longer for
them they would fain have culled the
chrysanthemums of life's autumn; but,
alas! even those sad and scentless flow
ers were denied them. So these three
had been soured, or rather were un
loved through a certain sourness
of nature which the masculine !
portion of mankind had sagaci
ty enough to perceive and to avoid.
Miss Moss. Miss Brown and Miss Jones
were friends, and much of the mischief
iu Windborongh might be traced to
them. For instance had they not dis
covered Mr. Blight the curate's shame
ful flirtation with little Miss Wilson? and
here was Dr. Euderbv taking to his old
flirtinj' ways again! If he had married a
sensible, intellectual person, she might
have cured him by carefully looking
after him; but now his attending the
meetings of the Book Club without his
wife, and walking home with little Miss
Fry and her lju:iker mother, boded no
good. So said they, shaking their heads.
This was after morning service on Sun
da, and thy resolved that on Monday
morning, while the Doctor was away on
his rounds, they would call and enlight
en his wfs. wIt will do her good, poor
thing," they remarked.
So the three canst on Monday morn
ing, and after a few commonplaces.
Miss Moss, who was a faded beaut', and
therefore the bitterest, began.
"Now, my dear Mrs. Enderby, we can
see that you are suffering, poor dear,
aud no wonder!"
Margaret looked at them bewildered.
"I am quite well, she said.
"But about the Doctor, my dear; we
have kuown him so long aud understand
his ways. If you had been a little more
experienced you would have looked bet
ter after your husband."
"But he is not ill," answered the wife,
still more bewildered.
"Not in body," remarked Miss Brown,
with a significant smile; "but in mind,
we mean; he pays great attention to the
Frys next door, you know."
' And Miss Fry is very pretty," added
Miss Jones.
If she had not been so angry Margaret
would have laughed; John had walked
home with their neighbors twice, aud
she was very fond of them. John might
not love her; that she had found out. she
thought; but she knew him to be the
very soul of honor. She was generally
so quiet that wheu her anger blazed out
they were startled.
" Will you be so good as to leave my
husband's affairs alone!" she said. " If
you wish to be wicked there is no need
to show such bad taste as to come here
and endeavor to do harm."
And then they, feeling that for once
they had liecn vanquished, quickly took
their departure. But their words hud
left a sting behind them.
Was it so visible, then, even to these
gossips, the f.ict she had foutid out some
time ago, namely, that she was not to
him all that he was to her? When she
had discovered it she had determined to
take thankfully what he could give; but,
alas! beloved, who will be grateful for a
fow crumbs, seeing a full meal beyond?
The hunger of the soul cannot be -stilled;
it cries out for food. Well, she tried not
to blauc him; he had mistaken his feel
ing for her, and was tired of her; but
there was her baby.
She never told her husband of that
visit, though she believed he regretted
his marriage: she only clung to the child
such a frail little reetl to lean upon.
And one davit broke.
It was a San lay one of those sweet
days in the late autumn which nature
saves out of the summer. The trees
had lost their leaves, aud the sunshine
showed all their delicate irregularity
t!:eir beauty of mere form, which had
beeu hid len by the foliage. The golden
asters and red gjrauiuuisstill brightened
the sheltered garden. A ball was lying
on the frosty grass, but the tiny fingers
that had played with it would never
touch it more, for Baby Jack was going
fast to a land in which, let us not say,
there are no toys for the angel children.
You remember Martin Luther's letter to
his Ikiv Hans, in which he tells him of a
lovely" Paradise, with golden toys, whips,
and drums aud childish delights.
This little child was dying of croup.
His mother could only "hold the little
form on her knee, while John knelt be
side her trying useless remedies to com
fort her. At last he stood still, looking
down sorrowfully at the signs of ebbinjr
... J n rt
life.
Suddenly he knelt and touched the
little clenched hand with his lips, and
I......... .. ..!.. .I...I .1 ... I
in-;iv v mars i;iieu uow n upon it ins
dear little boy; it was hard!
Margaret bent forward. "You do love
him. John!" She was jealous foi r.im
that, he should have his full share of love
before he went. John understood, and
his look answered her. What instinct
had made her ask?
The fluttering breath grew shorter and
shorter; it vas near the end now. and
little Jack opened his eyes and said, for
the first and last time, quite clearly:
"Mamma." That was all she was to
have the one word, and the angels
would have the rest. Terrible, awfully
mysterious death hail borne away the
spirit of the babe, left only the little body
cold and white as a snow-wreath; but a
smile hovered on the tiny face.
At that moment the bells rang out for
morning service, tillingthe clear air with
their solemn merriment.
'And the bells of th" city rang again,"
said John, softly. Margaret could weep
then, aud the nurse took the dead child
from her arms and went softly out,
shutting the door.
v.
, So John comforted his wife, but
grief grew silent. She was gentli
him, but her thoughts were with
her
! tO
the
J dead child. She told herself that it was
I better that he should be with the angels.
. . -.
ami he would sit:2 hvmns, ami neruaos
juay in me gouieu streets; uuistie had a
hurt feeling, for he wo.ild never be her
own baby again. Mothers hearts are
hungry things, and she felt tiiatslij had
nothing left. Her husband divined this
mixed feeling, but in the shyness of his
new love could not penetrate her silence.
After a while her strength failed; and,
in great anxiety, he brought her back to
Cloverleigh, to" the old rooms that had
been Lowered by the apple blossoms;
-but blossoms and birds were all gone
now. Here Margaret grew restless; her
thoughts turned from little Jack for the
first time, and the afternoon after they
came she watidcred out by herself to tho
woods above the house. The sun was
shining and there were one or two hits
daisies in the grass. She stooped aud
gathered them. Her baby had been
fond of them, and she had made him so
many chains of them in the past summer,
and he had broken them, with his little
coo just like a bird.
She went on, dry-eyed and desolate.
She started. Here was the place
where John had asked her to be his wife,
and with a pang she remembered the in
tensity of her joy. Ah! how the petals
had fallen from the flower. It had been
unjust of John to take her without lov
ing her. He had sought her aud wooed
her, and now she was so lonely.
She heard his step and turned to hide
from hm, but the trees were bare now.
Half curiously she looked at him. He
had not seen her yet, for his eyes were
bent on the ground. Unconscious of her
presence, he took no pains to hide his
despondency, and she could see how
grief-worn "was the handsome, kindly
face. Contemplating him thus she for
got herself, and the old strong love
shone in her eyes. He looked up aud
saw her pale and slim iu her black dress,
but there was that in those eyes which
drew him to her to murmur in her ear
how much he loved her. and she turned
to him as she had never done before. "I
am not worthy, dear," he said, having
also learned the divine humility.
So the bitter changed entirely to sweet;
not suddenly, for it took some time for
Margaret to lose her jealousy of the an
gels. And that tim was chronicled in
her soul as "the winter our baby died,
and I first knew how dear I "was to
Johu." 'The Argo.ii.
m
A Dos in i Well.
On the North road, about four miles
from the city, lives a highly respected
family named Stetson, consisting of a
young man and his wife and the aged
and infirm sire of the lady. The old
gentleman is crippled with the rheuma
tism to such ah extent that he canuot
leave his chair, but is wheeled about the
room by his daughter. The Stetsons
are the owners of a large powerful dog.
half mastiff and half Newfoundland,
noted for his intelligence and sagacity
throughout the whole neighborhood,
while a near neighbor possesses a little
shaggy Scotch terrier. Between this ill
sorted pair the strongest friendship has
grown up, the dogs being almost insep
arable. Mr. Stetson has been digging a
well, aud had reached a depth of twenty
feet, but had not yet walled it up, when
about a week ago he and his wife found
it necessary to visit Eimira on business.
The wife drew her father's chair up to
the window in the sunshine, aud other
wise rendered him comfortable, aud left
him watching the gambols of the frisky,
strangely-matched friends.
Mr. Stetson had not more than driven
out ofsightwhun the little terrier fell into
the well, which contained about two feet
of water at the time. The old dog was
almost frantic and lost his canine pres
ence of mine in a wonderfully undigni
fied manner. He would look down into
the well at the yelping, paddling terrier
aud then howl and run to the window,
scratching on the casement and other
wise exhibiting all the evidences of al
most frantic grief to attract the old man's
attention. Suddenly he paused a mo
ment and looked grave, as if collecting
his scattered senses. Mrs. Stetson, be
fore leaving for town, had taken in the
washing hanging on the clothes-line, coil
ing up the line and laying it on a bench.
The mastiff had seen the workmen draw
up pails of water by means of the rope,
and an idea seemed to strike him. Seiz
ing one end of the rope in his teeth he
rati to the well with it aud commenced
slowly drawing it up to him and lower
ing it into the well. The helpless old
man at the window who was watching
the proceedings with breathless interest,
then saw the old dog commence pulling
up the rope by walking slowly away from
the well. Slowly and carefully the sa
gacious old mastiff' drew up the cord,
when up over the side of the crumblin"
Walls earn the muddy, dripping form of
the almost exhausted terrier clinging to
the roue with his teeth. Whe? Mr. Stet
STm and his wife came home the old man
attempted to toll his story, but it was so
incredible that they could hardly lielieve
it, but upon Mr. Stetson's going out to
the well he found the mud-bedaubed
rope lying where the old dog had left it,
and the prints where it had cut into the
soft earth sides of the well were plainly
discernible. Eliniri ( V. Y.) Advertiser.
Sanitary Condition of Summer Resorts
Within the last few years the demand
of the public in regard to health resorts
and watering places of this country have
increased, not only as to quantity, but
as to quality. Quite a number of peo
ple now require uot only bathing, boat
ing, and amusements of various kinds
at their summer resort, but also that they
shall have some assurance that they shall
have pure water to drink, and that the
air which they are to breathe shall nol
be rendered offensive or dangerous by
imperfect systems of house drainage.
At the present time the dangers from
fouled water supply, especially if this
be derived from wells, are in most places
much greater in boarding houses than in
the hotels proper, and this is due to the
f:iet that the hotel proprietor is usually
not only sufficiently a man of business to
understand the importance of keeping up
the reputation of his house for health
fulness, but his attention has been called
to the close connection which is now
generally believed to exist between such
diseases as typhoid fever, diarrluca,
diptheria, etc.," and methods of sewage
disposal, aud he therefore pays more at
tention to sanitary engineering details
about his premises than does the keeper
of the average boarding-house. The
tendency of all popular health resorts is
to become unhealthy, because they de
part more anil more from their original
type, which is that ot a temporarily
occupied camp, and tend to become vil
lages, with village methods of water
supply .ind disposal of excreta. This
3ipearsiii foreign health resorts as well
as in this country, and the insanitary con
dition of some of the most famous water
ing places is h conmon topic of discus
sion in European medical and sanitary
journals. It would certainly be wise on
the part of those selecting asummer re
treat to give as much attention to the
water supply and drainage as they usually
do to the table in making their selection,
but it inust be confessed that at present
it is difficult to obtain satisfactory infor
mation as to the sanitary condition of
such places without a personal visit to
the locality. We advise our readers to
look before they leap, for to leave one's,
comfortable city home in pursuit of
health and pleasure, and contract ty
phoid as the result, is too much like
going out to look for wool and coining
back shorn. Sanitary Engineer,
Miss Daisv Faralee (of Boston) O,
Mr. Cheviot, f hear you have just re
turned from the West! Now do sit down
and tell me all about Chicago and ranch
life!
Man's KalAt'o i 1 1 t'" L-i ; v Auiaia's.
Since many wri..... oppo d to the
practice of .x,.,'-;m'it-- on .iiiiiia!s have
based their b eetiosis er.t'.ivlvnu moral
I grounds, an I thus j t h th q'i.s:!on of
; vivisection an ethical one. 1 hivobeen
anxious to know what laws they have
discovered for ourguidance on this vexed
j subject. They d.scoursu m cruelty, on
I immorality, aud on the rights of" ani-
mats; but these expressions are so vague
tuat tney ran to atlom any hasis tor legal
or public action, or. if there be any at
tempt at definition, it is with the object
of makingthese terms conform to a fore
gone conclusion on the very point undei
discussion. Thus it .is constantly as
serted that physiologists feel at libert)
to torture animals at their pleasure
without regard to the "higher dictates
of humanity" or to the "laws of moral
ity." It is thusimplied that there existi
among the public some principle of con
duct toward the lower animals which ha
no place among experimenters. The
speak as if, standing on a higher plat
form and beholding all creatures from i
superior position, they could frame a
code of laws which should have due re
gard to the rights of animals, and gov
ern our own conduct in all our relations
to them. This position is altogethci
fallacious; man can uot disconnect him
self from the animal world, and can not
define its rights. It must, therefore, b
ahandoned :is altogether untenable, and
the subject discussed from a totally dif
ferent standpoint. Our relation to the
animal world can only iu a very quali
fied sense bo regarded from an ethical
point of view; much in the same way :
eating and drinking may bespoken of a?
questions of morality when moral con
siderations exert their influence over the
amount and kind of food which we con
sume; this, however, can not hide ffoic
us the fact that the .subject of tligestion
is fundamentally a physiological one.
The duty of man toward animals as an
abstract question is from its very nature
insoluble; it cau only be partially an
swered on the grounds of expediency,
and these will vary according to age and
uation. We should, rather, ask what is
our relation to the lower animal world,
and in what place in that relationship
ean moral considerations come intc
force? In endeavoring to form a judg
ment ot this relationship we must take
facts as we find them, for the attempt at
au explanation is trying to solve the rid
dle of our existence, and leaves as still
with "the burden of the mystery of all
this unintelligible world." Popular
Science Monthly.
The Dog and the Cat.
A gentleman in this city owns a fine
large dog named Major. Major's hatred
of a eat appears to be deep seated, and
he will kill all that comes in his way,
and will often go out of his way to vent
his spite on his enemies. His master's
wife had a cat which she determined
Major should not harm, and she took
great pains to impress the big brute with
this idea. She would take puss in her
arms, carry her up to the dog. and while
stroking and petting her. would talk tc
her enemy reprovingly. The intelligent
dog seemed to understand every word
she said, but for all that he would keer.
his eyes fastened upon puss with a long
ing aud hungry look, as though anxious
to bnug the pressure of his ponderous
jaws to bear upon her spinal column.
Bui his mistress conquered, aud made
him understand that he must live on
friendly terms with puss. More than
once he had been seen watching the cat
with a look of evil intent, but out of
respect to his mistress he conquered his
nature, and would throw himself upon
the ground with a sigh expressive ol
deep disgust at the situation. The cat
was disposed to be on friendly terms
with her enemy, but Major would not
tolerate the slightest familiarity. When
ever puss approached him he would get
up and go away with a melancholy look,
which seemed to say: "I am dying to
kill you. and its dog-gone hard luck that
I can't do it." Thus matters went on
for some months, and puss began to
incur the displeasure of her mistress by
sneaking up-stairs at every opportunity
and making trouble by curling herself
up and taking naps on the snowy coun
terpanes, and doing such other untidy
acts as would naturally arouse the ire ol
a neat houekeeper. One morning the
lady told her husband that the cat was
so troublesome that she guessed it would
have to be killed. A few minutes later
a rush and a struggling noise was heard,
and as the lady of the house hastened to
the door to see what had happened.
Major walked up to his mistress and laid
at her feet the dead body of puss, then
looked up with an air of triumph, and
wagged his tail with intense satisfaction.
He had heard his mistress express the
wish that puss might be killed, and this
was so in consonance with his own feel
ings that he went right out and finished
the cat. Major resides on Temple Street.
Hartford Times.
m
"Tompiii" and Chic
A word used by some of the ultra
delicates of the end of the Second Empire,
the word " tompin" is beginning to come
into vogue again. One of the smart
young men of aleading boulevard journal
has written two columns on the subject.
I Ifeard the word used in the divan of the
Cirque d'Ete on Saturday. It is being
adopted in the clubs; ill short, it is a word
coming into fashion. What does "tom
pin'' mean? In general terms "tompin"
is an imperfect "chic," of a kind between
"chic" and sham "chic." Sham "chic"
is loud, parvenu: real "chic" is discreet,
natural, distinguished, but unobtrusive;
" tompin" is a "chic" that betrays ef
fort, preoccupation, excess of accentua
tion; a "chic"' where the task is not irre
proachable and the initiative notdiscreet.
The smart young man of the boulevard
journal spoils the study of " tompin" by
his instances. The word "tompin" ap
plies to shades, to nuances of elegance,
and elegance is never absolute; it is al
ways relative to the person who displays
it. The question is at bottom oue of
sentiment, of tact, of feeling. The,
truly "chic person will give, in his
manners and exterior, an interpretation
of the sentiment of "chic" that he con
ceives within him with ce'rtitude, but
which he could not, perhaps, explain.
The man who is "tompin" will be so
from the want of this sentiment, orfrom
the uncertainty of it. Matthew Arnold
is "tompin" in his eternal war against
Philistinism. The Prince of Wales is
never "tompin." London World.
The Sentimental Editor.
A few evenings ago we saw a lovel
illustration of the adage, "Every cloud
has a silver lining." The entire sky
was a dull gray, almost leaden, save in
the northwest, where there was an ob
long bank of billowy clouds intensely
black, each having an edge of bright
silver that deepened into gold. Around
existence and grasp at its beautiful fan-!
cies. the scene wL typical of life and !
lUI. Ills. 1liftVblUitlll.lVy s ;
death. Ihe sky was life, the clouds
were the enormous sorrows that some
times darken it, the silver was the radi
ant peace that God alone can give, and
the gold represented that happiness
merged into the perfect bliss of heaven,
while the sun but faintly pictured the
glorious brightness of the "Sun of right
eousness" that turneth the light into day
and the shadows into light. Gumming
(Go.) Clarion.
The New York Mail says-. "We pay
Brazil $50,000,000 a year for coffee,
30.000,000 of it in cask" We didn't
suppose that the Mail was such a profita
Dle concern. We don't believe there is
i paper in Norristnwn that could afford
o pay ".0.000,000 a year for coffee.
Norrintown Herald.
the clouds the last rays of the sun rested f""L u ",c - - "- "-j
in indescribable beauty. To our mind. V of tI,c ,ro0,ra Wlth th aurance that
......... .o.i.. t f..rt tiio, nr.,..;n..i;ti. ,. i at the word of command the horses will
v i it.au) .KT A IS
FAR3I -VXD FIRESIDE.
The best tomato for pickling is the
size of a la '-go walnut. It should be of
a good heal liy g.-evjn. with one side just
begin niii'r to Su v a tinge of red.
O
Silver Maple: This is one of the
prettiest and mist delicate leaved trees
which go to niaKe up a picturesque lawn.
It is light m color, and appears well
against a dark background. X. Y.
hernia.
A correspondent of the Country
Ueniii iiuiit g;'ves the following as his
method of destroying sprouts from roots
of trees: Bo e a three -fourth inch hole
in the center of the stump, ten inches
deep: put iu one ounce of the oil of
vitrol, and plug it up tight.
A pretty way to ornament a pen
holder winch is made of wood is to bore
a tiny lime iu the end and insert' a short
peacock's feather. It should be secured
with a little glue, a I this must lie done
with neatucs. 'Ibis makes a pretty and
inexpensive gift, and is better adapted
for use than tne painted feather holders.
Stuffed peppers: Tho large bell pep
pers are beat for this purpose. Cut
around the stem, remove aim take .out
seeds. For the stuffing use tine chopped
cabbage, adding grated horse-radish,
white mustaril seeit, ceiery seed and salt
to suit the taatc. Fill the peppers with
this mixture, putting in each a small
ouiou ami a little cucumber. Tie the
stem on and put into cold vinegar.
liur.tl New Yorker.
Other crops may be more profitable
than corn, but corn is cash to the farmer,
and may be relied upon every year il
properly managed. It can usually be
groun at a less cost than it can be bought
specially when tlue allowance is made
for the feeding alue of the stover), and
when you have it you cau change it into
milk, "butter or beef, mutton or wool,
eoos or chickens, pork or turkey, just as
you please, and in either of these changed
it will contribute to the future, as itgoe
to tiie manure heap upon which you will
depend for the next year's crop. Chi
cago Journal.
A rich citron cake is made of the
whites of twelve ca. two cups of but
ter, four cups of sugar, four and a hall
cups of flour, halt a cup of sweet milk,
three teaspoonful.s of baking powder,
aud one pound of citron cut in thin and
small slices. This makes one very large
cake or two medium sized ones, and, un
less you have an excellent oven in which
ou can regulate the heat perfectly, it is
better to bake in two tins than one. If
one tin is used, choose one with a funnel
or spout in tho center. This does away
with the danger of burnt edges and a
raw center to the cake. N. Y. J'ost.
Business, Crops aud Prices.
Out of 8UD.O0O persons engaged in
business in the countri. tf.597 failed dur
ing the last si mouths, with aggregate
liabilities of about fifty millions of dol
lars. The liabilities amounted to about
.ten millions more than iu the first hall
of 18sl, but the iii'-rease was not euOih
to indicate any unsound condition ol
business.
i'he proportion of failures, indeed,
was very small, and the loss by bad debts
was .so sligut m compur..siii with the
volume of uitsiness transacted and the
number of firms engage 1 in it, that the
last si months were really n-markable
for business health. Iu 187i the number
of failures was one to every 7'2 trailers.
In 1SS2 it was one to every l'2S.
These figures, which we take from the
semi-annual circular of Messrs. U. (J.
Dun & Co., show that the gloomy appre
hensions in regard to business which
have been so widely entertained of late
were not justified by the actual condi
tion of trade during the year.. Those
statistics rather suggest mercantile
soundness, aud lead us to hope that after
the comparative inaction of the summer,
and with the coming of greatly reduced
prices for food, business will be both
vast in volume and satisfactory so far as
concerns profits.
Already a vet,. i'jii-.denible share ol
the wheat crop has been harvested, and
it is settled that it will be a very rich
one, probably even greater than those ol
the two years preceding 1881. All the
other grains are promising well. The
weather has favored them, and as yet
few reports of set backs to their pros
perity have come in. A harvest which
will be as a whole of extraordinary
abundance begins to be confidently ex
pected. That promises well for business. It
also Indicates the speedy coming of
prices for food as low as any to which
we have been accustomed in the most
plentiful years. Even butcher's meat
lias already declined somewhat from the
prices of a short time ago, and when
fall brings in the recently matured stock
it must come down to still lower figures.
t.'attlc have bee.i and arestill selling for
more per pound, live weight, than the
dressed meat could formerly be bought
for at a family market.
Hut pasturage is unusually rich this
year. The cattle of the West have not
been decimated by a harsh winter, and
the rejKirted losses of them by flood
have probably been exaggerated. Prices
much lower than those now prevailing
need not be expected for three months.
Hut in the fall, when flour is cheap, po
tatoes are plenty, and articles of food
generally are a'tainable at reduced
prices, the cattle yards will contain ex
ceptionally fine stock, numerous enough
to bring their cost down to moderate
iigures. -v
r. Mm.
Horse Sense.
The three horses connected with en
gine company No. 12. Boston Highlands,
:ire handsome animals and as noted tor
their remarkable intelligence as for their
fine appearance. Under the care of the
members the horses have become very
tractable, and are obedient to the slight
est word or gesture. A few mornings
ago some evidences of their understand
ing were witnessed, and are well worth
detailing. One horse, " Charlie," had
receivcilno food since the night previ
ous, and, when he was given his morn
ing's supply of oats, he began eating
with greatze3t, but the words "Charley,
come liere," snokeu in a low tone from
the rear of the stable, caused him in
stantly to stop eating his tempting break
fast, and to back from his stall and walk
to the person calling him. Each of the
horses did the same thing without hesi
tancy, and at the command, "Co back,"
ieh trotted to his stall. The harnesses
were removed from the horses, and oach
one was told in succession to go and put
on his collar. The collars were placed
on end, so that the heads could go
through, and each horse walked delib
erately across the floor and wriggled his
head into the collar without the slightest
aid. After this they poked their heads
into their bridles, which were held for
them, each horse opening his mouth and
taking his bit voluntarily. The main
.
"K l? U,R xact sVl :i"" l' .
selves m such a position that the harnesses
can be readilv dronued into place. The
endeavors of "the animals to secure a po
sition favorable to the easy adjustment
of the collars almost compel on to be
lieve that they are endowed with reason.
Boston Herald.
Governor Stone, of Mississippi, has
pardoned one Thomas H. Cook, who was
under a ten-years sentence for man
slaughter, upon his written promise to
abstain from the use of intoxicating
liquors, and from the carrying of con
cealed deadly weapons for the term of
ten years from the ii8th day of January,
1880. The pardon is to be void if Cook
shall, within the time specified, use as a
beverage intoxicating drinks, or cany
upon liis person concealed deadly weap
ons. Chicago Journal.
. .... ,if ttiA hrtinacAD .or itk itiffirr in inir
i
I
i
I
!
:
I
KENDALL'S
KEMDALy)
THE MOST
SUO ESKUL
REMEDY
EVE!! DISi OV
EKED; AS IT IS
CERTAIN IN
ITS EFFECTS,
AND DOES
NOT P.LISTEIJ.
&&j
From COL.
JxLJXZr w5K$&:.iy-,W-JCri5A
:., V' K,!.',.,:s.n, f ?" it-:- 1 hail a try va'.ual.Ir Hambh tunian roll which!
prize. .-i-y ni-hlv. li- h.ul a lanre lione spavin on one joint ami a small one oil the
Other. -!mli mi,!.- i, m very lame; I hail him unih-r the chart:., of two veterinirv
stirir... i Hl.or.ilMi ! i-uro him. I was ,.,,e tl.iy re-.sli.i- the advertisement orKen
ilall - span:. Cur- in tl. C hieao hx;ress. I detmiiiiird at ome to try it. ami -ot our
dn WfiM. ie to .i ,' f. j it, they oriiered thr.-e bottle-. I took themall anil tboimht
Tim -; i " ' . -mi Un- lumps hail ilisapp.-arvil. I usoU but one bottle
. mi tle.;.lt limb an-a r. ,. :rom lumps and is smiu th as anv horse in ihe -tate
He i- i-niir-h .-iinil. Ibe cu .- was o rem .rkablo that I let two of mv n.-i-'ibors"
have ihe I, niaimnt; I wo imttb- who are now umii:; it. " oJJU
cry respectfully,"" ' L.T. KOSTKK.
FROM THE ONEONTA PRESS, N. Y.
Ktrly .i-t MiHKii.-r
coi l fact uiili the ijh
,
' r- !-J-
-h.-rs ol the
Vi
-etti
fr. : . n.e .,-,:. a .ruantit. .f bo,,'. . ..niiM..
' until iiiein ru.-
hi- n .v.: ..i. :.. ..".," '. " v1-"' me it ,re a tui
- - . . . :; i- iu;iui;uive
premium
tVb-iit lb t iiii0 th.. -h'i
provided hecoiild mt ' .iin another
...,iii. nine in-ii:. ti.Miunt tirst ipprarviliu thi piper Mr. 1. O Seher
nierhoii. who re-i. e- rear . m,., ,I!M, ., .,,;;,.,, ,,..,. j c. nail the ulvert ,e
nicnt anil ,-, ,.:.!,.. i t.-t t e ellie,,-y or the r.-medv. ..Ithou-l, .1,1, trie ,,N I- ud
ftolJthT'h'r ftV "' ,M,,!:,,I ""'', K-U-- 1 ". Cm- and cnn.n.e, JaVhiJ
ton the hi.r.,- .n ..,.-... il . with the uirvrtioiis, and he inform.,.! u thU week tint
It .fleeted , i.. 1, a . ...ph t. etire that an expert horman. who eximined Yhe ai.i. ul
recently cot. ,1 :.m! no trace ol the spavin or the pl.u-e where it h.,d been loeat'-d " r
uermerli. y ,:.- -in,;.- -eeim-d a .-op, of hV,,'. Treali-e on the IIr,e ami his
llea.fi. n.l,.. he niiis v.-rv hii?hlv -mrl .,..,! .... ...,i. , .-....'' ',lu,.'"s
ropy
KENDALL'S
1 .1. Kendall A-Co (;ents:-You
,. V rtf Komlall's Spa in
y send Us more advertising
it.
1 ou uiav
on them.
It .1. Kendall & To
Gents: I am
(boiiKut of Conley .t Kin-.-. Driiiririst.
"'"' -l"""- " ' -.. i ,," ''.'
iuuiv iui mi- iuiiiji in icnr. un- uin- uuiiir na worinloine tell till!,-
lollls
KENDALL'S
- Q"KendalSilV
...... ...... .;, jiat iac. j ...,c , ii iis,; vuii riavni I lire no .. ..i ..... i. ,
hone spavin. One bottle e.mr.li cured th, lameness ( ' , - "
bunch. Your., n speetfuli;. I.KKii.y " VllTll 1 "
B. J. Kendall A Co., Cents;-! have the ,,e-! oKm'oY Kern- S" " ?:
I find it equally ,-ood for man other trouble- named b y ?., ,, ' eu "V .".or
removing enlargements. J ' '" l" " lor
Yours ver truly. I . T. IIIIADI.KV.
KENDALL'S SPAVIN CURE.
Kendall's Spavin Cure is slm- in its eitt-.s. m:bl h, ,ts .,,-u,.,, t j, ,i.., ,.
Mister, yet it is peiietratim: ami p.'werfu! to :ie, am de -o s.. .1...1 ..? ! l
...ovm .mv l.nv Jr.iu.-t I. ..r ..v .., ...r ....I..- , : .- .... ' "' "' ' P"1" "r tt re-
M,..-... ...... i... i. i i. ....... ,.:
...- "...- -" ........ ,.
.s.;inis, spjnii.s. i-aiious, .sprain, sweilllli'. jiy l.im-m-s- .,,,,( ,..,)
,ni- ji.iui? ui iniiiis, ui tii-uiii ti is.,, ii, un
14 lisi.il Tor niMii iir !i.?st It i t.i.-.v f- ti ...
acting mild et certain in it , ; .;.. Jt
it all seasons of the vear.
Send address for Ill'istrated circular. wt ' wt-think uive
virtues. No remedy h is nn-t. wiih sin-!, t: .i?-itii .1 su,-,.,.,. t,
beast as well as man. I'riee $1 in-,-tiottle. nr b .i t l.-s i",,r s .
-, , , , , , ALL BRTOISTS have it or can get it for vou
or it will be sent to any addre-s. n rei-eipt oprn-i. b tne piopnrtofs J
13 Dr. H. .1. KEXDALLfc CO. iviodmrg RillsVertuont
SOLD BY ALLDKUGGISTS.
WHEN YOU TRAVEL
ALWAYS TAKK THE
B. & M. R. R.
Examine map and time tabb-s e.trefiill
It u ill be seen that this line connects
with C. li. S.q. 1. U.; in fart they
are under one management,"
and taken together form
what is railed
Shortest nnd Quickest Line to
ST.
n
DES 3I0IXES, KOI K ISLAND,
And Espocinlly to all Point
i.n
IOWA, WISCONSIN, INDIA',
ILLINOIS, MICHIGAN, OHIO
PRINCIPAL ADVANTAGES ARK
riiroiiL'li coaches from destination '.
15. .v O. It. II. No transfers; chan
f.oin C. IL .v (L It. 1J. to connee
ing lilies ail made ill
Union Depots.
THROUGH TICK1-3
LOWEST BA33
CAN 1IK HAD
I'noii amplication at anv statin the
.oad. Airt-ut are nl-n prepared 'heck
jaiffiajre through; trive all iiiforn1" a
-o rates, routes, time comicctb etc .
mil to Hectire slccnimr car aioda-
f.ions.
This company it enjrajred on-xten-tion
which will open
NEW LINE TO WM
. ., .ii - .. . :.. ,.ni. .i'Iiis ..-
inti an Junius in uiurain"- - :
teutiou will be completed ai'u'y f,,r '
iiisiiH-ss in a, lew months, a piui
ie can then Piijo all the ait:,,es of
i through line between 'er and
Chicago, -ill under one matiaj.'1-
Urn'l 'I'Vs't,
43y o. Skh. j
i
LAND, FAMS,
AND
CITY PROPERTY SALE,
AT THr
Union Pacflc Ii Office,
On Long Time t rate
of Intei
All wlshim; to buv Ro:l(1 I-aniN
or Improved Farms wu II J Jheii
advantage to call at V "'
Office heroic lookin -'Where as I
make a "pecialtv of1" an" Bellini:
lands on ooniinissionP30", "'''
ing to sell farms or,'")roved land
will tiiiii it to their ta'e to leave
Frank
S),
their lands with mea,e' Aa mi' '' I
cilities for affecting are, u:"r
passed. I am prep1.0 make ""-'
proof for all partie1" t0 tiut i
patent for their hoin ,
Thret
5r-n..tirv i-nri!..... w rues aim
speaks ('ermaii.
SAMI--SMITH,
t IT l I'epartment.
' ' LUMIUJS. XEB
t;-2I-r
BUMiM
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quired. V,1,.-,,,rn's. rUf"lolutM!,rini'ra,ldlli-- family Wl. .i
Ladies, & . nd. " .I
.t.t.. i... waniHs; iiinune.s -'-"-
and glrli make. i'--. "c'"";r' "I,
ci.uw.inta blia " "i"1-" J"
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you work.
uiactio"i f
write for partii10 "
Co., Portland, 1
JI-iLLKTT it
4jan-y
-to-tr
SPAVIN CURE I
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l.X I-LLENT
FOK
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F L E S li '. J
PROOF
BELOW 5J
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T. POSTER.
Vouii'tiwn, Ohio. May lOtli, 180.
, Oneonta. New oik. .I.iu. tith. Hist.
K'"d.ill X- Co., of Kno.bursjh KalN. Vt., nn.l,. a
7Vii for a hiilf eotiniiii .-.ilx ...-iU. ..... ..i r..-
i' r, - k "".,:: V" ...: ""' " 'J "T urei
p i in0' subscribers to the iVeas as a
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T,r,..
-JU....I. ii ,..r .mi ertisim; reliable tirtiflui.
SPAVIN CURE.
'ohlliil,iaii!i. Ohio Ilee ITt !. Iss.i
will tin,! !,!,.,. ., reeommV ,dai, , fr 2 our
Cure :! ,!:, l, u ,lo .:; it a. "U' wilh
matter, ami a b-w i.iec eanU MI, ,Ir ,,.,,,""
COXI.EY A- KIM:
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SPAVIN CURE.
IJ.n h,-ster.
I. Kenda'I ,v r
Ind.. N,v. .'.nth. lso
i'.. (it-iits: pi,.-.... .,,,,,1
r.
llilll- il!"
.l.ii j c i- . .-i im neri-
doll s .. i .e. It has i good sale here &
bieri-joit. ,. r,sp.-,-tf,ilv,
i. , ,V'll,1tI,1rcP. , Nov.-.' ,1. ism)
It. J h.-ndall .t Co.. Lentsj-K ,Jo-,-,!
idea-i- tin,: ....,. i. r..- ,u "
"I -i Ivertisin - . .,,..- .- i- ...
. " .'"'" iii-iiiMMiiiiie
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1870.
1882.
TIIK
'"lHiHbtts journal
Is conducted as a
FAMILY NEWSPAPER,
Devoted to the best mutual inter
ests of its readers and it publish,
ers. Published at Co!uiiibu.,.IM:,tte
county, the centre ,,f the agricul
tural portion of Xcbraska.it i read
by hundreds of people east vvhoaru
lookiii-,' towards Nebraska as their
future horn,. Its subscribers in"
Nebraska are the staunch, solid
portion of the community, as is
evidenced by the fact that the
T... i
'uuii.n.n. uas never contained
a
"Hun" a-amst them, and
by
the
other fact that
ADVERTISING
In its columns always brinjs its
reward. Hushics is business, and
those who wish to reach the solid
people of Central Nebraska will
tiiid the columns of the Journal a
splendid mud iu m.
JOB WORK
Of all kinds neatly and nuickly
done, at fair prices. This specie's
of printing is nearly always want
ed in a hurry, and, knowinjc this
fact, we have so provided for it
that we cai furnish envelopes, let
ter heads, bill head-, circular!.,
posters, etc., etc., on very short
notice, and promptly on time uh
we promise.
SUBSCRIPTION.
copy per annum
44 Six months
44 Three months.
$2 00
. 1 00
. hO
inS-!hn,r',frn,:?Pef'nt l0 anv aUre,8
m .he United States for 5 cts.
M.K. TURffER & CO.,
ColumhuH, Nebraska.
EVERYBODY
Can now afford
A CHICAGO DAILY.
THE
CHICAGO HERALD,
W ,,lntsr Postmaster 'o' 'S'
Kilitor-.n-Chief. A KepublS
$5 per Year,
mouths, $1.50. 0ne
trial ;"() cents.
month on
CHTCACJO
"WEEKLY HERALD'
ever published, at the low pScf ,,a,w
SI PER YEAR,
a if :;' ijkk
i.
...... .uirha reports. I1
u aenis m ..,..,..- -i -...
AddrcL., """"
Sample
..CHICAGO HERALD COMP'Y
VH nn.l l'J.l Li.-iui
1
X
-
" """ -- riiui-av.,
CU1CAG0.1LL