Norwalk gazette, Friday, May 15, 1896 · page 10

 

 

' u

w—x.

’ THE PRICE OF PEACE.

3 BY MRS. HENRY L. PRATT.

 

In all my travels, from Maine to
Rhode Island, I’ve never come across a
couple more unlike than what Mr. and

* Mis’ Nims was.

Mr. Nims was one of these shut-up-
to-himSelf men, and he’d glum ’round
for days over some little matter that a
word would ’a’ set right if he’d only
been plain-hearted.

Mis’ Nims was all the other way—
talk it out and done with it; alittle
hasty and imprudent, maybe, but she
is well-meaning, Mis’ Nims is, and as
good a woman to neighbor with as I
want to see.

I hev thought whether or no being
of different persuasions didn’t work to
keep ’em apart. See, she was brought
up an orthodox. and he favored the
Methodists. She joined with him and
laid out to do her part amongst ’em,
but she never was to home with the
Methodists.

Then. another thing, she hated a
dog, and Mr. N ims must always have a
great clumsy hulk, good for nothing
but to bark and eat and lie around un-
der -foot. while Mis’ Nims, she marn’t
have even a kitten, though she set
everything by a cat. And so it went.

One day I stepped in to borrow Mis’
Nims’ cutting-board, and just as'I got
to the door I heard her say: “You ain’t
going to turn Charley in amongst my
flowers. be ye?”

He didn’t condescend any reply—not
as I could hear.

“N ow, Mr. Nims,” says she, “he’s
stepped on my pansy-bed and broke off
a dalilia a’ready. Ain’t there any
other place on this whole farm where
you can put him? I don’t want him
here,” says she.

Mr. Nims’ countenance didn’t change
more than a wooden Indian.

“I do,” says be. "There’s a good bat-
ing of grass to be fed down, and I cal-
culate to leave Charley here for a spell,”
says he. And he budged off as stiff as
though he’d swallowed a a ramrod.

Mis’ Nims didn’t say a word more,-

but she gave that old dog a push that
sent him out of doors with a yelp; and
I didn’t blame her a mite, nuther.

1 brought the cutting-board back as
they was a-settin’ down to dinner, and
Mis’ Nims asked me to draw up to the
table. She had an excellent dinner—
Mis’ N ims is an elegant cook—but not
one identical word did he speak. only
to ask if I’d have another potato.

She seemed, chipper enough, but I see
a shadow pass over her countenance
when the old horse sneezed right un-
der the window where her piney bed
was, and the dog, that had got back
under the table by that time. yopped
out as though somebody had accident-
ally trod on his tail.

Mr. Nims was a great hand for rais-
ing colts, but she was a terrible scary
creature; and I expect riding after
half-broken colts has given her a fit
of the newralogy many’s the time.

He was dreadful set in his way—
same as the general run of men air—
and it was like fighting the east wind
to try to move him out of it. Them
two used to remind me of a pair of
napajawed scissors that you can’t cut
with. Some might have put the heft
of the blame on to her; and I s’pose
she did nag him some, and flash out
when she'd better have kep’ still.

I run in one day to borrow a sleeve
pattern, when I heard Mr. Nims
speaking out kind 0’ gruff, and I halt-
ed, for I didn’t wish to intrude. (I
never wear squeaky shoes myself). I
didn’t find out what went before, but
the first I heard was this:

“I can’t please you,” says he. (It
beat me if he’d ever tried.) “You
don’t like my hired men, you ain’t sat-
isfied with my breed of cows, the color
of the corn barn don’t‘ suit ye. and I’m
thinking you’ll be happier if we divide
and separate. You’ve always thought
more of your brother Asa than you do
of me, and you can be free to go to
him, so you’ll be Well fixed.”

“Why, Mr. Nims!” I heard her kind
0’ gasp out, and. I surmised by the
sound that she let fall a teacup. I
I looked to hear her burst out in her
quick way, and I’ll warrant ye he
supposed she’d flare up, and that would
be the end on’t. But she seemed dum—
founded. By ’n’ by she said, quite quiet:

“I’m sure Asa would be pleased to
have me there. He misses Sarah Jane,
and so do the children. There has to
be somebody at the head to make
things so. But what would you do,
Elisha?”

P I had to smile, for she scarcely ever
called him Elisha.

“I can look out for myself,” says he,

and stalked off to the-barn.
I 1 went right in, and said I guessed I
could tell what was in his mind. He
was calculating to make ahome for his
mother, and get alcmg they two to-
gether. Old lady Nims never was any
too particular, and now she had the
shaking palsy. 'So I could see Mis’
N ims set right to thinking how things
would go to wrack and ruin under such
no management. She is an awful nice
housekeeper ,herself, and set a great
store by her things. She made an ar-
rant up chamber pretty soon, and was
gone quite a spell. When she came
down her eyes were some red, but she
stuffed it out and went on as matter-
of-fact as the cows coming home.

“I’ve got to flax around,” says she,
“and get Elisha’s new shirt done; and
there’s the pickle-vinegar needs scald-
ing, and the brine, too. And 1 was
laying out to put up a few more
quinces. Elisha is very partial to
quince sauce.”

The next day I went over to offer my
help, and she seemed glad to have me
there. I guess she felt she must let
out a little to somebody, and she
knows I’m nohand to run and tell.
She told me they were going to Squire
Hosley’s to get his help about aadivi-
s’ion of the property. She wanted to
wait till after Monday, so she could
get one more wash done, but Mr. Nims
had laid out to begin cutting corn
Monday; ,and Saturday suited his time
best. Pretty soon she said: “I hope

you’ll look in and do what you can to
see that Elisha is comfortable,” says
she.

 

{WEEKLY}

I had my thoughts, but I kep’ ’em
to myself. and only said I should ad-
mire to do anything I could.

Then she hushed up and said no
more. .

Squire Hosley’s wife is second cousin
to me, and she had been after me to
help about her sewing. So I thought
I might as well go there Saturday as
any day.

The squire’s office is at one side of
the house, with a door opening into
the orchard and another door opening
into a little back room. Mis’ IIosley
uses this for a sewing room. So there I
was. I had set the door into the office
on the jar—the room being so small
and close.

It was still work that I was upon.
mending stockings and the children’s
clothes, and I couldn’t help but hear
all that was said in the office.

Mr. Nims made the explanation of
what they wanted, and said it was un-
derstood between them that he kep’
the house and farm. I’ll warrant ye!
I knew he’d never yield an inch of his
ground. He was a man who wanted
all the land joining his, and to plant
in your garden.

“The bed and table stuff is hers,”
said he.

“Oh, no, Elisha!” says she, “I don’t
consent to that. Sarah Jane had a
good setting-out. and Asa’s house is
full. Besides, if I find I need more
things 1 can make ’em, and your moth-
er’s eyesight plagues her. She can’t
do as she could once,” she says.

“The bed and table furnishings are
hers,” Mr. N ims repeated. “What she
didn’t make she bought with her but-
ter money.”

“No, ’Lisha,” Mis’ Nims began; but
Squire Hosley interrupted her. I see
they was beginning to wear on his
patience.

“Why not put the property in two
piles and draw 'cuts, if you’ve no
choice. That would be fair.” says he.

I knew by the way I heard her snuff
that Mis’ Nims hadn’t give up, though
she said no more—not then; but from
that they went on to wrangle over
every stick of furniture. She should
have no use for this, that and the other
thing. An’ no more wouldn’t he.

I could hear the squire drum on the
table, and I knew he was getting rest-
less. Finally he made an end of the
talk by saying: “Why not let Mr. Nims
keep the downstairs furniture, and she
take what is above? How would that
do?”

Well, they demurred, each one being
afraid the other would be cheated,
but at last, seemingly, let it go. and
worked their way on to the live stock.

“Three cows for her,” says he. “Two
will be full and plenty for me. She
was always more for a dairy than
what I was,” he says.

_ "Why, ’Lisha, you are going to make
beef of old Brindle,” says she, “and
that leaves only four.”

“I’ve concluded not to beef her, she
is such a favorite of yours,” says he. .

That was a great piece of news.
Mrs. Nims had felt awful cut up
about having Brindle fatted and
killed, for she called that cow the best
for butter in the herd. But Mr. Nims
appeared firm.

“And the pigs,” he began. “I don’t
want any pigs! I’ve no use for ’em.
What can I do with pigs down to Baker
street?”

And she burst out crying. She had
set a good deal by that litter of‘ pigs,
bringing ’em up by hand, as you might
say, for the old mother died when they
were eight days old.

After that it was still as death for a
minute, then Squire Hosley spoke up.

“My good friends,” says he, “if you
can’t agree about living apart, my best
advice is that you agree.to go on liv-
ing together.”

For a minute Or two all was still
again. and the old clock ticked up like
the Day of Judgment. By ’n’ by Mr.
N ims spoke rather low:

“What do you say, Louisy?”

“I was thinking whether we hadn’t
oughter drive over to your mother’s
and see how her cough is. I’m some
worried about that cough,” says she.

“I’m agreeable to that.” says he.

As I was leaning forward, I caught
sight through the crack of the door of
him mopping up his face with his old
red handkerchief; so I see he had felt
it some. Squire Hosley, he said noth-
ing. .

Well, I made my way home middling
early, and was keeping a watchout as
they driv into the yard betwixt sun-
down and dark, and 1 see her stop and
pat the yellow dog that was flopping his
tail on the top step of the piazza. Old
Bose was so tickled that he jumped
’round as graceful as a cow; and I
knew by the looks of the back of Mr.
Nims’ neck that he took it in. After
awhile I made an arrant to carry over'
a dish of Dutch cheese, and there they
were, eating their supper as cheerful
as a basket of chips.

"Set up and have a cup 0’ tea,” says
she. “We’ve had quite. a ride this
afternoon,” says she. “We’ve been to
see Mother Nims, and Elisha drove
’round by the bridge. it is all of. a
mile further. but he knows how skit-
tish I be about crossing the ferry in
Uncle Seth’s old seo w. , I’m silly, I
s’pose. Elisha and I, we think mother
is getting too old and feeble to live
alone, and we have about persuaded
her to break up and come to us.”

She run on for a_ spell, but that was
all she said concerning their arrange-
ments. And—would you believe it?—
from that day to this Mis’ Nims has
never opened her mouth to me on the
subject, though she knows I never re-
peat. And now. to see them two jog-
ging ’round together after old Charley,
as content as ducks in a millpond, no-
body mistrusts it took e’ena’most a.
separation to unite them. .

. Nobody knows but me and the old
squire. It won’t get out from him—he
is as close-mouthed as a fish. And I
was never one to talk. —Outlook.

 

 

—-The second war with Great Britain
began June 18, 1812, and ended on Feb-
ruary 17, 1815. It involved the enlist-
ment of 471,622 volunteers and the
service of 85,000 regulars, a . total of
576,622.

 

 

u

/ GRATEFUL’ BEAR} CUBS.

Tale of 9. Potato Field by a Man
from Sinnemahoning Way.-

 

His Uncle’s Power of Remembering, His
Father’s Business Idea, and His
Own Willingness to Take
Homer’s Place.

 

“Honestly,” said the man from Sin-
nemahoning way, “I feel sorry for
this side of the mountain every time I
come over from old‘ Sinnemahone! I
do. really! Honest, I do! Why? Be-
cause, in the first place, this side of the
mountain seems to' feel its littleness,
and its away-down—in-the-depthsness,
as it were, and I can see it wondering
what it’s on earth for. knowing that
Sinnemahone is just over beyond, kick-
ing its heels in the air, so to speak.
like a lamb on the hillside and swelling
up, and looking sassy, as if it might be
a steer in the oats! And. in the second
place, because I have noticed a prepon-
derance of yaller dog on this side of
the mountain. and then this side of the
mountain’s bears ain’t up to snuff. ‘Ill
fares the land, to hastening ills a prey,
where yaller dogs accumulate and
bears ain’t gay!’ Sorry? Why, I’m so
sorry for this side of the mountain that
if I had a besom of destruction with
me'I’d sweep every one of your yaller
dogs into the Allegheny river yander,
and then go and drive a herd of Sinne-
mahoning bears over here and give you
a new start in life! Sinnemahoning
bears! Why, say, Homer made the
mistake of his life in not waitinga few
thousand years and being born on the
old Sinnemahone! Then he’d have had
something to 'twang his lyre about!
He wouldn’t have had to tramp bare-
foot over the hills of Greece and adja-
cent bailiwicks, making heroes and
heroines out of more or less disrep-
utable folks, but he could have stamped
and sloshed along the storied Sinnema-
honing, in a pair of cowhide boots, and
sung of bear till the cows come home!
I often lie awake nights regretting
that Homer made that mistake. Those
Sinnemahoning bears ought to have a
Homer to put ’em on record as they
should be put. But all is not lost.
Homer gave old Sinnemahoning the go-
by, and preferred ancient Greece to
bear’s grease, but all is not lost. Old
Sinnemahone may not have a Homer,
but she has Me! And if her bears don’t
go down to posterity with bells on my
name ain’t Praxiteles Pettibone!

“The trouble with me is, my memory

isn’t long enough to do the Sinnema-
hone bear full justice. I have to deal
with him as a contemporary, and con-
temporaneous history is a trifle dan-
gerous to handle, for there are other
people who are contemporaneous, and
they may insist on proofs. It is _ much
nicer to deal with history that was
contemporaneous with your grand-
father, for then the burden of proof is
on him, and all you have to do is to
cite authorities. Now, if I had a mem-
ory like an uncle of mine once had, I
could go way back beyond this ques-
tion with ease, and show up the Sinne-
mahone bear in a shape that would be
much more amusing than any he has
put on within my recollection, amazing
as that shape has frequently been.
That uncle of mine quit working his
memory, though, quite suddenly, and
the reaction hastened his death. He
was letting it have full sway once, and
after he had at last called it in, the
new school-teacher, who had never
heard my uncle remember before, said
to him:
., “ ‘If I had your memory and fearless-
ness in exercising it, I would write a
book and call it “Recollections of the
Deluge, by a Survivor.” ’

“Somehow after that my uncle quit
remembering and 'Went into a decline,
and never stopped this side of Jordan.

“When I was a boy, ten years or so
old, my father, Reuben Pettibone, said
to me one day: .

“ ‘Praxiteles,’ said he, ‘I s’pose you
know them ’taters is to be planted to-
day. I guess we’d better get at ’em.’

“I knew it well enough, but I had
just dug a lot of worms and had every-
thing ready to go down to the creek
and try for trout. So I said:

“ ‘Yes, father. But the trout are
biting tremendous, so they say.’

“ ‘Is that so?’ said father. ‘Well, my
son, I s’pose, then, you’ve been digging
fishworms?’

“ ‘Yes, father,’ said I, feeling good,
for father was an indulgent parent.

“ ‘And got your pole and line all
fixed ready, too, I s’pose?’ said he.

“ ‘Yes, father,’ I said. and felt just
as if I was as good as on the creek.

‘ “ ‘Well,’ said he, ‘1 s’pose it wouldn’t
make much difference if only one of
us planted ’taters to~day?’

“ ‘Not a bit,’ said I, ‘if it don’t make
any difference to you.’

“ ‘N o, it don’t,’ says he. ‘You’re sure
you got fishworms enough?

“ ‘Plenty,’ I said, starting to get my
pole.

“ ‘And you’re sure the trout are bit-
ing good?’ said he. ~

“ ‘They were never biting better,’
said I.

“ ‘All right,’ said he. ‘I guess I’ll
take the pole, then, and go down to
the creek and see what luck I’ll have.
You go 'on planting ’taters as if I
wasn’there, and get in as many as you
can, for it’s a good day for planting. If
you get that field all in to-day you can
go fishing yourself all next week.’

“1 was a trifle set back, but I couldn’t
help admire the preponderance of the
business idea in my father. It wasn’t
fishing that he cared so much about.
It was the getting in of the ’taters, and
you’ll notice that he didn’t make up
his mind to go a fishing until he found
I could get along with the planting all
right. My father was a remarkable
man in a good many respects, and it is
with feelings of great thankfulness
that I look back now and know that he
let business overpower indulgence that

_ day.

“Along back in March that year I
was out trying the maple trees. with
an eye to see how sap was running.
when out of the brush, off to one side
of me, an old she bear came rushing.
She hugged a cub to her breast in each
arm, and terror actually rolled out of

Mmmuurr; :. .~.;; I. .-.~ 1117"“

 

 

 

 

I

NORWALKeGAZETTE.

her eyes. She saw me and came almost
to my feet, where she crouched down
and turned her eyes up at me with an
appealing look'wthat' almost made me
sob. I soon knew what was the mat-
ter with her, for out of the brush
sprang a tremendous big panther. He
stopped when he saw me, and glared
at, me and the bear family. The old
bear trembled and moaned, and the
baby bears cried painfully human-like.
I grasped the situation at once. There
was nothing in the woods that panthers
doted on as they did on fat, ji’iicy
spring bear cubs, and they never hesi-
tated to snatch ’em right out of their
mother’s arms, if they couldn’t get ’em
any other way. This panther had got
on the train of this particular bear
mother and her little ones, and had
made up his mind to havea meal or
two on the cubs. She had fled from
him, and seeing me, had thrown her-
self and family on my mercy, and was
there appealing to me to save her chil-
dren, just as plain as plain could be.

“I don’t suppose it is necessary for
me to tell you that she brought her
cubs to the right market for safety. I
stepped between that glaring panther
and that trembling, wailing family of
bears. I had my ax with me. The
bears crouched at my heels and moaned
and whined. The panther lashed his

tail and glared. He knew what I was .

there for. and made up his mind to
show me how little he th'mght I knew
about it. He lifted up 11'. ; voice and
yelled. Then he lifted up himself and
leaped straight at me. I swung my ax.
The ax and the panther met in midair.
The pauther’s blood flew around and
mussed me up considerably, but I
couldn’t help but feel pleased over the
way that ax had slid through him,
from his nose clear to the very tip of
his tail. One-half of the pantherifell
on one side of me and the other half on
the opposite side. A butcher with his
knife and cleaver couldn’t have carved
him in two any prettier. I was pleased.
I was, indeed. And the old bear tried
to lick my hands and feet, she was so
grateful; but I stood her away, and she
took herself off with her young ones,
her eyes beaming with gratitude as far
as I could see her.

“ ‘That’s all right,’ I said to myself.
‘I’ve saved them cubs, now, but they’ll
grow up. I’ll have some fun with ’em
one 0’ these days.’ '

“So I went hdme and thought no
more about it. -

“The field we were planting to ’ta-
ters had three acres in it.

“ ‘If I get it all planted to-day I can
go fishing myself, all next week, can
I?’ I said to myself after father had
gone. ‘It’ll take two men two days to
plant this field, so I guess I won’t go
fishing next week.’

“Wonderful head for business my fa-
ther had! Wonderful! I went _ to
dropping and covering ’taters and had
planted about half of one row, when a
bear about as big as a shepherd dog
appeared suddenly before me. It
scooped out a hole in the' ground with
its paws, then went on three feet and
scooped out another one, straight
ahead, and right in the ’tater row.
While I was wondering yet what the
sassy young cub was trying to get
through him, I felt myself pushed
from behind. The push sent me pretty
near stumbling to the ground and past
the first hole the cub had dug. I had
some seed ’taters in my hand and some
of it dropped out and fell in the hole.
I looked behind me to see who was
pushing me, and there I saw another
bear, the same size of thg first one.
This one had come forwafift} and was
covering dirt over the ’tatqc'r” seed I had
dropped in the hole. I looked ahead
at the other bear, and he was working
away, digging holes, regular . and
straight along that row. Well, I
wasn’t quite a fool, and so I said:

“ ‘Ho, ho! I see! These are the two
cubs I saved from the panther when
they were babes in _ arms, so to speak.
And they have come to give me a lift
in my ’tat‘er planting, to show their
gratitude.” I “

“And I went to dropping ’taters in
the hole the one bear dug, and the
other bear came along after me and
covered ’em as slick and proper as I
would have done it with a hoe! There
wasn’t a word said. .I followed the
hole-digging bear right on his heels
and dropped ’taters, and the other bear
followed close on my heels and covered
’em, and the combination worked so
amazing well'that by three o’clock in the
afternoon that whole field was planted,
and planted better than it had ever
been planted before! When the last
hole was dug and the last’tater dropped
and covered, the two bears' trotted
back to the woods, and I don’t know
that I ever saw them again. I hadn’t
been home long when father came 'in
from fishing. His luck had been poor
and he felt a little testy.

“‘Never mind, father,’ said I. ‘I’m
going fishing for a week, and I’ll fetch
in some.’

“ ‘Fishing for a week!’ said father.

“ ‘Yes,’ said I. ‘1 finished planting
the three-acre ’tater field to—day.’

“Father looked so scared that I told
him the whole story. After he heard it
he said:

“ ‘Praxiteles, they may tie the old
Sinnemahone one. of these days, but
they’ll never beat her!’

“And so 1 say, honestly, that I feel
sorry for this side of the mountain
every time I come over from Sinnema-
honing way! I do, really! I do, in-
deed!”

“Sinnemahone!” said the man in the
red, blue, green, pink, purple and yel-
low Mackinaw jacket, “if you felt half
as sorry as this Side 0’ the mountain
does you’d go and shed tears with more
salt in ’em than there is in a bar’l o’
brine!”-—Ed Mott, in N. Y. Sun.

——Every real master of speaking or
writing uses his personality as he
would any other serviceable material;
the very moment a speaker or writer
begins to use it, not for his main pur-
pose, .but for vanity’s sake, as all weak
people are sure to do, hearers and read-
ers feel the difference in a moment.—
Holmes.

—New York, the greatest of our
commercial cities and the leading sea-
port, is also the greatest ‘manufactur-
ing state. ‘

 

 

 

 

 

will

 

FADS OF THE COMING SEASON.

Buttons are a summer craze.

Every tone of violet is favored in
Parisan millinery.

All violet bonnets with white satin
Alsatian bows are lovely.

Beware of the limp hand shake; it in-
dicates a catty nature.

Tailor bicycle costumes are well
worth the cost of their making.

A correct veil is part of the well-
gowned woman’s essential attire.

Fur will be used in conjunction with
chiffon on the dressy summer capes.

Silk petticoats are as wide as the
dress skirt and generally much prettier.

Tapestry panels for the nursery i1~
lustrate rhymes that are favorites of
the juveniles.

Horse-hair lace is used largely in
millinery. No dampness can destroy
its fluffy beauty.

For a plain orgnndie gown a certain
society leader has boughta sash costing
seven dollars a yard.

Delft gowns, which are in reality
tailor combinations of cadet blue and
white, are being ordered largely.

Artificial violets at two dollars a
bunch cannot be told from the real
thing and last ever so much longer.

The up-to-date woman carries a sil-
ver flask in the recesses of her muff or
pocket. She doesn’t depend on her
vinaigrette to revive her when she feels
faint.

 

 

PUNNY POINTS PUNGENTLY PUT

Valuable Aid.—“Gobbs, do you help
your wife clean house?” “Well, some
times I knock the soot out of my stove-
pipe hat."—Chicago Record.

Hunter—“Strange good luck! The
story I have so often told in the tavern
has now actually happened to me.”—
Fliegende Blaetter. ,

Firs-t Foreigner—“What do those peo-
ple in the gallery mean by yelling
‘rats?’ ” Second Foreigner — “Those
must be the catcalls of which we read.”
——Detroit Tribune. I ' I

“I hear,” said the fond mother, ex-
citedly, “that Willie is learning to play
poker at college.” “Well,” said the old
man, “it is a good thing. He’ll also learn
econon1y.”—Indianapolis Journal.

Guest—“How is this? My bill this
time is 12 shillings a. day, and last De-
cember I had the same room and it was
only, ten shillings a day.” Clerk—“Yes,
I know; but the days are much longer
.now.”—-Tit-bits.

Nearly Correct—“Mr. Perkins, what
is your idea of culture?” “Well, Mrs.
Perkins, it is letting new neighbors
move in without looking to see what
kind of furniture they have.”——Chicago
Record.

HAVE EARS BUT THEY HEAR NOT

' Accdrding to late statistics there are
in the United States 40,000 deaf mutes.
In 1815 the first asylum for deaf and
dumb children was founded in London.
The first deaf mute school in Great-
Britain was established at Edinburgh
in 1773.

 

Deafness does not decrease the chance .

for life.
others.

In 1874 a church mission was estab-
lished for the benefit of the deaf mutes
of the United States.

Deaf and dumb people received sys-
tematic instruction at Oxford, in Eng-
land, by Dr. J. Wallis in 1650. ,

In 1793 Dr. Thornton, of Philadelphia,
published an essay on “Methods of
Teaching the Deaf and Dumb.”

In 1876 the first deaf mute clergyman
was ordained. He was an Episcopalian,
and the ordination took place in Phila-r
delphia.

Deaf people live as long as

600

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

O
1 It curesfrom Izma’ tofoot. .
0 OOOOQOOOOOOOOOOOOO

,-
r."
44‘

Puritana

 

Improper digestion causes over
92 a of all suffering and diseases
of the Blood, Liver, Sto’mach, Kid-
neys, Lungs, Nerves, Brain or Skin.
Puritana renews and strengthens ’

Power
Producer

of the human system, the Stomach.
It makes the health right, because
it makes the. Stomach right.

It brings New Blood, New Nerve

Force, New Strength, New Life.

If on are a sufferer, et of~your dru at thi
eatydisease-conquerlngeiisco ery (the pr cc is I\
grthecompletetreatment,con lstin rstone bott o
pu°l°b°tal°na§mrm
r tana a e a n
) or write to the iind rsl ed and you
est the day when on has of r .
.n'itana Compound 1., Qqncord.N.E. .

of ta
bottle of
poo

 

b
when

run SALE‘BY

BUILDER, 9e WALL srnnzr.

' One 8-room cottage Baton Point ‘*
1 lot Myrtle avenve arid 1 lot Howard
avenue, 37x300 feet. East Norwnlk - 1
lot, 129x180 feet,'Broad River; 1 Cabin
Steam Launch, 30x7 feet; 1 two-sen ted-
Sleigh; 1 two-seated Business Wagon;
ggood Stoves; House and Lot on easy
erms.

 

Wm. LOckwood,

Securities.
-—-l\IONEY T0 Loam-

Insurance Placed in First-Class Companies.
Office—Corner Main 62. Wall Sh... Norwal

 

ETER L. QUIGUE.Blonst and Nursery
‘ man Uuion Avenue. north of Union
Lemtery Norwalk. Conn. Dealer in Green
House Hot House and Bedding and Vega.
.ahle Plants. .Fruit and Ornamental Trees
Egggbercyi. l'Yinest. CF21 Flowers, always on
an a sor so e31 ns' .
rangGe'd go order;i 1111 g m flowers 111'
mi ing on re‘ in ~
tended to. g cemetery lots at-

HENRY TIL-LY,

CARRIAGE lVIAKEFi.

 

so UTE NOR WALK, 001m-

 

-—)Iau uiacturerof—~

Family Carriage.Victnrlasfinnrv *5
ALL KINDS OF REPAIRING.

 

WTNA INSRUANCE 00.. of Hartford

4 Incorporated 1912. ('hurh r Perpetual
Capital and Assets. $8,902,272.64.

Insures against loss and damage by FlhE on

terms adapted to the hazard and consistent

With the laws of compensation
CO. LES It MERRILL.
Sole agents for Norwalk and vicinitvf

 

J. Bclden liurlbutt,
Altar-nay and Counselor at Law

Room 4, up stairs, .
GAZETTE BUILDING.

 

Low Rates. Prompt Delivery
Eracnh Office, Norwalk. at Morris Benedic 1:
Main Office. depot-South Norwalk.
Tl. IIUNT..Agent.

 

 

 

 
 

Scientific American;

 
 

 
 
 

 
 
 
 

ll ‘ >
if“??? ”1115'”!
..' lease, lill it'llllllm
”WILL! ’(fifi
i‘ _. 9 I own".
,- 7 TRADE anus.
' * oeslcu PATEITS- .

COPYRIOH'I'Q. etc
For information and free Handbook write to

MUNN a CO. 361 BROADWAY. NEW YORK. ”’
Oldest bureau for securing patents in America.
Every patent taken out by us is brought before
the pu lie by a notice given free of charge

in. the
55:12 until: gamma
La est circulation of any scientific paper in the
war (1. fipleudidly illustrated. No intelli ent
man 8110 d be without it. Week] 33. a

yeast; 81.50 six months. Address, MU N a: 00.,
BUSEEBS, 361 Broadway, New York City.

RIILIZEHS!

BRADLEY’S,
ill-PBS, -
unions

 

And all other standard goods
always in stock. Sold at

A Manufacturers’ Prices.

 

Raymond Bros.

scorn mavens.

 

WYOBK.NEW HAVEN &,HARTFOI‘.D
RAILROAD.
—NEW YORK DIVISION.
May 2, 1895.

Trainslea've South Norwalk (is/allows:
Fen New YORK—Accommodation trains at
9.36 a.m., 1.11, 2.54. 4.07, 5.30, 6.50. 8.11. 10.20
p. m. Express trains at 4.55.5.45. 6.15 (local)
6.55. (local). 7.05. (local), 7.55. (local). 8.21,
9.03 (local) 9.58.1045. 11.37. (local) a, m. 12.52
2.25.4.20.5.g5.6.20 7.57 p.m. For Washington Via
Harlem River 12.53 a..m.(d_a11y ) '
anxious—Accommodation 9 15 a. m.. 6.14.

' (local),7.23,(local) 9.28 p.m Express 4.55 5.45

a. m. .

Fon New HAVEN AND ran Ewan—Accommo-
dation trains at 0.39.. 7.38. 8.46 and 11 44 a. m..
1.37. 2.42. (to B’p’t). 4.20 5.27. 6.27. 2.28 (to B’p’t).
8.41.9.41 and 11.15p.m. Express trams at 1.11.1.2!)
9.11 10.05. 11.08 a. m. 12.05, 3.03, 5.07 (hanga-
tuck Express) 7.10 p. m.

7.15 p.m. Ex ress 1.11 and 1.
a. r. in?

 

f

s. B. WILSON.

Real Estate. Insurance and Investment

ADAMS EXPRESS COMPANY'

SUNnArs.—Accomm odationgéas. 9.12 a.m. and .
a. m.
MPS'I‘EAD, Gen. pug. Agent."