I ’ SOLITUDE. mm" Laugh. and the world laughs with ybu: Weep. and you weep alone. ' For the sad old earth must borrOw its mirth. But has trouble enough of its own. Sing. and the bills will answer: Sigh. it is lost on the air. The echoes bound to a. joyful sound. But shrink from voicing care. Rejoice. and men will Seek you; Grieve. and they turn and go. They want full measure of all your pleasure. But they do not need your woe. ' Be glad. and your friends are many; Be sad, and you lose them all — " There are none to decline your nectr’d wine. But alone you must drink life’s gall. *5 Feast, and your halls are crowded: ' Fast, and the world goes by. Succeed and give. and it helps you to live. But no man can help you to die. There is no room in the halls of pleasure For a large and lordly train. But one by one we must all file on Through the narrow aisles of pain. -—Ella Wheeler Wilcox. THE REDEEMING ACT. Dave was a coward and he had al.- ways borne the reputation of arrant cowardice ever since he had crawled over the‘ side-of his dugout cradle to wallow alOng with the underfoot world on ‘the white sandbefore his- parents’ cabin door. Though country born'and bred, a passing thunderstorm struck him with terror, and the sight of the black waters of the “crick” caused a remarkable agitation of his knees. He wasa coward, pure and simple. The bristling of a coon routed him uncondis tionslly, and ‘a determined ’possum couldT rob the he roost before his very face. Indeed, D vs was a coward, and his cousin, Sue Spivey, laughed up- roariously when the poor fellow per- petrated his initial and only act of boasting. He had said to her one day very solemnly, and no doubt sin~ cerely: “Toe pertec yo’ honah an’ happiness I ’ud throw away my wuthless life.” Ordinarily Dave’ 5 speech was unpol- , ished and provincial, but on this occa- sionit rose to the dignity of what he felt the occasion demanded. Sue knew full well his timorous dis- position, and would have. thought it safe to cOunt on his poltroonery in any event. But a day was sadly near which proved to her the full worth of the poor fellow’s grandiloquent assertion. Long before the late unpleasantness, and until this day, Honeypath was only a siding where occasional trains took water and passed each other. Two or three log shanties, without special pre- tensions to any architectural dissimi- larity, marked the site of the town, distinguishing it from the vast area of impenetrable swamp that backed it and the arid waste of sandy bottom through ' nwhich the glistening polished rails of the grand trunk line writhed and sinuated. Along that glowing metal highway troops of both armies passed and re- passed, gazed at curiously by. the few old women and senile males left in the village, but exciting no other emotion than a blank curiosity that died out even before the white mist of the fine sand stirred by the soldiers’ feet had settled behind the retreating bands. Dave was a native of Honeypath and lived with an aged father in one of the shanties. Sue dwelt with her mother in another nearby. Dave’s father was a hot blooded Southerner, whose pa- triotism answered to the first call to arms. But Dave was timid, fearful of the smell of powder, and refrained from act-ibn, preferring 'to suffer the opprobrious epithets which were liber- ally bestowed upon him and the con- tempt of the .county generally to fac- ing he knew~not what horror on the ,..battlefield. He was not a, philosopher and could not plead in extenuation of his neutrality that the martial slaughter of his brother man was a crime, and that the wholesale sacrifice of human life was immoral. Before the strife ended Sue’s: mother was gathered to her final rest, being put out of sight in the little Ksandy grave- yard, with only the comment of the two remammg’ neighbors. And then Dave and Sue toiled early and late in order to wring from the starving acres an un'varying livelihood of yams, corn bread and bacon, more often the corn bread without the embellishments of potatoes and bacon, particularly during the few weeks after a hungry foraging party had passed that way. ’ One day Dave was working among the young potato vines in an open arid field behind the cabin,'when ’Sue ran out to him in troubled haste. “Oh, Dave, I’m pow’ful skeeredl” she panted. . “Skeered 0’ what?” he asked, without intermissionof the bent labor. the road, an’ they spoke to rue—sassy like,” Shebesitated, and Dave looked up to see her pretty face scarlet, and her brows bent tOgether 1n angry mes. “Well, what did they all say?" he do- manded, in his accustomed slow drawl, after waiting in vain for her to pro- ceed. “They ’lowed they in was a comin’ back.” “Who was they, ennyhow?” he asked uneasily. his face blanching in antici- pation of the martial visit. “They was Mosby’s men, I ’lowed, on they was five of ’em.” ' “Our fellers?” a little surprised and straightening his back. “Come on back to' the house, . Sue,” and shouldering his hoe, he trudged stolidly on before. “Don 1: you be skeered, ” he continued, as they reached the yard. “I reckon they won’t do nothin’.”- Of the two, itwould have been man- ifest to the most casual observer that he was the worst “skeered, ” but he walked on until they reached the house and Sue cried out; “Yonder they come now—all five.” Dave’s face blanched to a sallow whiteness, and he pulled; her quickly ,inside the door. ' “What you gwine to (10‘2”. She asked, nervously, keeping near her cousin, but he a )pulcn: y 111.1 not hear. He had l" ,la“Some-—some soldiers just went down , his life on the altar of the cause leaving; this. “What you gwine to do, Dave?” the girl persisted, Coming closer and lay- ing her hand on his arm Dave shook several catridges into the cylinder of the rifle, and waiting in silence, appar- . ently not aware that Sue had touched monplace little tragedy. A loud pounding at the rickety cabin door, and a de’risive imperative voice demanded ': “Hi, in there, open up, or we’ll make splinters of yer ol’ door 1” the threat was garnished by several strong expletives and accompanied with more vicious pounding. Then for answer went the spiteful snap of the rifle followed by a surprised howl of pain, more volubl‘e profanity and footsteps in rapid retreat. Dave went to the window, and through a knot hole in the shutter re- viewed the situation of the enemy. Then through the aperture the rifle again spoke with decisive, , leaden emphasis, and when the smoke cleared hoed potato rows, while anOther limped painfully 1n the rear of the retreating trio. In the short-silence that followed the last shot the arid topography of Honey- path seemed to float before Dave’ 5 str‘bng and clear. The fine, white sand covered everywhere with fat .leaved prickly pears and cactus that bloomed perpetually'in big butter colored flow- ers; the bright, blazing sky, the heat that rose up and hung heavily over man and beast, the many insects that sat out in the furnace-like sun, rattling shrilly with every joy. Then the dense shade of the murky shadowed swamp and the big scaly black scorpions and dainty multi-colored lizards that played an eternal game of hide and seek among the rotting rails of the Old snake fence. The trio had disappeared into the swamp and Dave calmly refilled his rifle, waiting as though lost in thought. Presently from the rear of the cabin came the harsh command: ‘ ‘You cowardly bushwhacker 1n there, come out and fight like amanl If ye don’t, we’ll burn ye an’ yer shanty an’ the gal with ye.” ' There was no Opening in the rear of the cabin, the logs were thick and the Dave could not return a leaden answer to this brutal challenge. He fingered the rifle nervously and looked at Sue. “Oh, Dave, don’t opeu the door,” she pleaded, meeting the earnest look bent on her face from beneath the brim of Dave’s frouzy slouch hat; "I ain’t afeered toe burn.” wobbly with fear, but he had not for- gotten the one boast of his poor, pinched life, uttered so long ago, “To purtec yo’ honah an’ happinness, I ’ud throw away my wuthless life.” He uttered the words again monotonously, finger- his shaking hands. Poor Sue, there was no answering laughter in her soul now for those gro- tesquely sententious words which broke in husky monotone on her hearing like a last prayer. In that moment Dave, who had al- ways been a coward, who had all his life long borne meekly the scorn and opprebrium attached to the character, he whom heretofore nothing could arose to a sense of degradation, calmly arose to the very pinnacle of heroism. “I’m coming out,” he called and shooting back the bolt he stood on the cabin step before them; “Fall back and give him a show; he’s coming out, boys!” Sue clung to him, pleading, “Dave, don’;t there’s four to one“. Don’ t go. 1” but he pushed her gently backward into the room. and passed out. Sue stood motionless in the centre of the room waiting for it to begin. Dave pulled the trigger of his gun and turn- ed the corner and instantly four weap- ons barked with one voice. Sue. heard something heavy fall against the side of the cabin; then in- stantly the sharp, clear utterance of a rifle answered the carbines again and still again. ' One carbine only answered and then all was still; only the fretful warbling of a wren in the nearby Cher- okee rose hedge breaking the tense si- lence of the drowsy afternoon hush. - Anxiety canuering terror, Sue drew whack the bolt, threwing the door wide open. A broad stream of yellow light and a rush of heat that her, passing over » a figure on 11:15 knees that always trem. bled at the sight of deep water. Dave was gasping his last breath. Bleeding and shattered, he crept to her feet, after the manner of a faithful dog to die. In the grave, gray eyes that were raised 1 to hers there was the light of the exalt- ation of a passing spirit, triumphant over the shadow of death which already darkened them. His' lips moved in the contortion of a smile that broke into an articulate murmur. “I done said that too purte'c’ yo’ honah and happiness I would th’ow away my wuthless life—and I done .hit.” And Dave with the crimson glory of his “wuthless life’s ” blood streaming from many wounds, passed to the judg- ment reserved for him from the begin- ning of all things. The wren shivered out her fragmen tary song to heaven, the perfume of the Cherokee rose filled the air of the fad- ing day, and the setting sun, streaming through the cabin door touched the still figure of Dave. wrapping him in molten splendor as though with the face of a dying god. Poor Dave, though a coward all his life long, he had earned the reward oi heroism at the very end. “Greater love hath no man than this, that he lay down his life for his fr1end.”-—Det1 on «takes 1...; ..1 .. 5.116 that had beiOnged to 11.. Journal Sue’ s brother, who had also oflered up ' his weapon to his sister as 'a means of 3 him. Only a few more moments to. wait and then the last act in the com-. away the man inside beheld one of the, besiegers lying prone across the freshly vision, each peculiarity standing out“ chinks well stopped ,with clay, so that, His lips blanched, his knees were, ing the rifle that was held limping in, “Bolt the door behind me!” he said- I l defence in just such emergencies as , over the head when it is cold. LOST IN A CAN OF TOMATOES. ‘When the Can was Opened the Watch Be gun to Tick. The finding of a gold watch and chai ’ in a can of tomatoes by an Indianapol wOman brings out a remarkable story. The find was reported and the circum stances noted in the Indianapolis News and the next day a young woman who woman who is employed in a cannery appeared at the ofice and identified the watch and chain. She lost them two years ago she said, and while employed at the factory. She did not know she lost them, and adver- tised at the time for several days. She says this would have discovered the property if it had not been sealed in a can in a storehouse. She had long ago bought a new one. , - The lost-one was dearer to her, how- ever, both because it was prettier and because it was given to her. Her theo ry is that the watch and pendant chain dropped from her belt into one of the elevator buckets of tomatoes, was car- ried to the filler and Went through the” filler to'the can. The bow, or ring. which connects the watch and chain was not found, and it is believed that this part was not solid gold, and was, therefore, eaten by the acid ofthe tomatoes. The main spring was broken, but everything else was in- tact during the two years’ handling of the can, and the watch is again as good as‘new and is keeping good time. HOW TO ACQUIRE GRACEFULLNESS. Hints to Women" Who Want to Look Pretty on their Wheels. Of the multitude of women who are now cycling, there are only a few who have acquired a really graceful style of riding. Whether it. is because the greater proportion are still in their no- vitiate, or that the majority strive after speed before all else, can scarcely be decided; it ’is certain, however, that there is a great deal of room for im- provementin this respect. The oft repeated statement that a woman cannot look graceful on a bicy- cycle is a fallacy, the only thing that is needed is a sense of fitness on the part of the rider, and a proper adjustment of the machine. Some woman have an idea that any costume will do, so that the skirt is very short. This is a great mistake. One must have a special costume for cycling, just as for equestrianism. Feathers, flowing skirts, capes. and a hundred and one other articles of drees look just as out of place on a bicycle as on a horse. A plain narrow skirt, not too short, held in place by a pair of dress holders, a smart Norfolk jacket, a neat hat, untrimmed, save for a nar- row band, and, perhaps, a quill, plain, black shoes and stockings, a well prac- ticed ankle action, a straight back. and you will look equally graceful as when indulging in any other recreation. The Pretty Burmese \Vomen. N o M.1ngolian can be beautiful ac- cording to the European standard, but apart from this standard there is much to admire in the Burmese girl. A round face with olive skin and dark bright eyes, is surmounted by coils of smooth black hair, in which is jauntily stuck a flower or two. The upper part of the body is modestly covered with a white cotton jacket. Bound closely; round her slender hips and falling to the ground is worn the tamein, or skirt, which is generally of silk, woven into a brilliant and harmonious combination of colors. A gray colored silk wrap is thrown across the shoulders and brought Sandals held by a strap between the big and second toe protect the feet. All women young and old, smoke immense green cheroots. It is not at all unusual to see a bevy of women and children dressed as bril liantly as a bed of tulips on a spring day, engaged in pufling great clouds of smoke out of che’roots twice as long as their smiling, pretty faces. The child- ren of the poor go absolutely naked till about ten years of age. They do not even wear the necklace of beads or the piece of string and a rupee which pass for costume in Bengal. The men are as brilliantly dressed as the women. Their long black hair' 15 gathered into a knot beneath the folds of a pink silk turban. A white jacket and paSoh make up the costume. The pasoh is a shirt made of a single width 'of silk about five yards . long. Brought close around the hips. it hangs in full folds in front. The ia- vorite color is rose pink, woven int: plaids, stripes and checks. It curesfrom lzcaa’ to fool. Putitana Trade Mark. Registered. To make tin cure of any disease com- plete' and pernnnent, t'nc purifying, cor- . resting and building-up process must begin and end in the Stomach. o (If all sickness is caused by a wrong Stomach. Puritans 0 makes the Heart right, the Lungs right, the Liver right, the Blood right, the Kidneys right, the Nerves right, the Health right, because it makes the Stomach right. The Puritana treatment consists of one bottle of Puritans. one bottle of Puritans Pills. and one bottle of Puritans Tablets,sllinone package. Price$1., All druggi at s. . l .. blue. than his life? J ACK’S CONFESSION. At the foot of a gently rising hill in the midst of an undulating Iowa plain there stood, thirty years ago, a herds- man’s shanty. This shanty was very small and low; it was built of the roughest timber; the boards lapped in such a way as to shed rain from the roof; numerous single panes of glass fastened over as many holes cut in the boards servedvfor windows. A stove- pipe protruding through" the roof per- formed the duties of a chimney; the door was made of undressed boards nailed to heavy cleats, and held in place by strong leather hinges. Wild morn- ing glories were trained on strings up each! side and over it. There was a small garden but idly sated far. The path beginning at the door ended at the gate ofua large cattle coral a hundred yards or so distant; Running from north to south, and east of the shanty, was a streaui’: and lining its banks were dwarf cottonwood and box-elder trees. The restof‘ the scene consisted of'hills and valleys covered with- tall prairie grass and flowers—— nothing more so far as the eye could reach, not a roof, not a fence, not a grove, nor man’s handiwork in ‘any form; the primitive prairie bounded by the horizon was as. fresh from the ‘ finger touches of the Creator as if made yesterday. A few gray streaks in the eastern sky heralded the approach of dawn; they, resemb.ed a daub of ”grayish paint on the eastern edge of a. canopy of dark A warm breeze ruflied the tops of the tall blue joint-grass. ' There was no moon, but the stars sent down their flickering light. From the corral came the sounds of lowing cattle, and from the rushes on the stream’s edge the bark of the prairie wolf. Inside the shanty, seated at a table, was a man of thirty or thereabouts. He was clothed in buckskin trousers and jacket; by his side, in a long leath- er sheath, was a hunting knife; on a corner of the table rested a wide- brimmed, heavily banded sombrero hat, while near by were a pair of boots with wicked looking spurs at the heels. This man was a “cowboy” in attire, if the West ever saw one. Yet when one looked 'at his face he found it kind, comely, and intelligent, and realized in some mysterious way that he had been born and bred a gentleman. “It’s time for poor Ned to take another powder,” he muttered. Noiselessly be bent his steps in°the direction Of a shadowy corner in which stood a bed- stead of rough pine. 0n the rude frame there was a straw tick, some pillows and quilts and under the latter the re- cumbent figure of a man who breathed fitfully, moaning with pain. The watcher looked long and intently at the face of the sufferer. “He’s asleep—fast asleep. The doc- tor said I wasn’t to arouse him, not even for medicine. Heshall have the powder as soon as he awakes.” He commenced to walk from side to side of the cramped little room. “Sinking, sinking—hardly the ghost of his former self. It’s eleven days since I wrote. telling them of poor Ned’s attack of typhoid. They must have received my letter six days ago; yet no answer—nobody comes. Must he meet his end in the midst of this mysterious, monotonous prairie, with no one to comfort him but me— without the presence of some one fit to kneel by his bedside and offer up a prayer for his soul? If his mother had only lived—ah, curse it! when a man’s mother dies the world turns black! There’s the rumble of wheels; it’s the doctor, no doubt. The watcher opened the door and stood looking into the gray dawn at an approaching buggy, with a solitary oc- cupant on its seat. “That you, doctor?” "‘Yes. How’s Ned?” “Sinking; been in a comatose con- dition most of the night. Any let- ters?’ “N one.” ’ “No one arrived at the station in- quiring for us?” " 'No one. The doctor stepped within. Removing his hat and gloves he slowly approached the bed. He gently forced his hand beneath the covers, and as gently clasped first the hand, then the wrist of the sleeper. He turned away with a sigh.- “The fever‘s higher, doctor?” “It’s no lower?” ~“He’s worse then?” “Yes.” Pebr Ned!” The two stood by the bedside for some moments, conversing in whispers. Then the doctor seated himself at the table and prepared half a dozen pow- ders. Having done this, be grasped the hand of the watcher in silence.- .“Those little gray powders are all that stand between Ned and the ?” av “All, " said the doctor, as he started - for the door. Day was now breaking. For a long time the watcher stood gazing vacantly from the window, like one unconscious of his surroundings. At last he moved. and as he did so the sunlight shot past him into the dingy room; it fell on, the man’s pillow in a shape not unlike a crown; it touched the dark brown hair and fevered brow, leaving the lower part of the wasted face in shadow. .. The watcher behold the sight, and stared as one might who saw an appari- tion. bedside. “I’ll do it!” he exclaimed. "It is my duty, and now’ 8 the time—now, not the hereafter. It’s the only strength I can add to' the gray powders. Perhaps God sent that me vn of gold through the window to force me to a decision—to ' show me away to save Neda-the only way. What do I sacrifice, after all? What have I been .hoardin'g as dearer Simply the visionary hope that a woman may yet love me who never has loved me, and who now never 'shall. ” ' 4.. Then he fell on his knees by the , Rising, he ‘went to atrunk, opened it, ‘ ‘ " 1.1}: N10RW AL- K- GAZE T T E. I and drew from the bottom a case of photographs. From the many he so» lected one—a card which bore a girl’s face. There was a laugh on each feat- ure, a double laugh in the roguish eyes, and the hair so light and fluffy that it seemed capable of tumbling and tossing on the card. Yet the face contained a hidden seriousness which showed that it was possible for the woman to step . forth from behind the mask of smiles-1 ' ’a woman of sober thought and depth of feeling—one to love and be loved. The figure on the bed moved. There came a sound as of covers being thrown back, and of an arm rising slowly an d falling heavily. This was followed by a low moan. The watcher was at the bedside in a moment. “Awake at last, Ned! You have had a long sloop—o refreshing sleep. I hope. You are better; there is a brighter-look in your face.” “I shall never be better, Jack—- never! I’m ofi for another world be- fore long What time of night is it‘l’ “Time of night! It’s morning, Ned; the sun’s half an hour or more high. There’s sunlight on your pillow—just above your head. Let me raise you so that you can catch the rays; there’s medicine in it--more than there is in gray powders. N ow I’ll poke up the fire a. bit and bring your gruel. As for your being off for another world, that’s nonsense. I’ve got a cure for you— something‘that will make you want to get up and walk. Cheer up, boy! The world’s before you yet.” “Your words are kind, Jack; I know you’d save me if you could, my faithful friend, but you cannot. Never mind the gruel—I want to make my will. Just write on a little piece of paper that I leave my share in the ranch and stock to you, then guide my hand so that I can write my name. Be as quick as you can—I feel faint—I am sinking.” “Nonsense, boy! I tell you, you’ll recover; you are better even now, and I’ve got the medicine that’s to make you well. But first try to swallow a little gruel—it’s all ready.” “I can’t, Jack—it’s no use.” / “Then let me sit here by your bedside and confess—confess something that will set life to flowing in your veins afresh, and at the same time teach you to hate me. For I have been a hypo— crite. a liar, a thief; I have stolen from you in the past the hope of gaining something more precious than gold. Yes, I see you understand me—I am re- ferring to Wanda. You were the fav- ored we at first. tried to show you sheloved you, but you were bashful—given to dreaming rather than to action. Love for the girl put the devil in me. I resorted to every subterfuge to gain her fancy, and by degrees worked myself into . her favor. Mind, I don’t say into her af- fections—to say that would be to lie. and this I intend shall be a tale of truth. Your hesitancy made my course possible—nothing else would have done so. Do you remember the day that we boarded the train together. The day on which I told you that ’Wanda and I were engaged? I could see at the time that the declaration cut you like a knife. Well, it was a lie, comrade; as base a lie as ever was told. She never cared for me; never cared for any one but you. In the days that followed you taught me to love you, Ned. Men may laugh at the idea of one man lov-, ing another, but I say again, you taught me to love you; to love you so much that the light in two blue eyes. faded— the features which had haunted my waking and sleeping hours grew less clear in outline. I felt that I could sac- rifice even my love to my friendship. Yet, with all my devotion to you, I was too much a coward to tell you all. In some way a confession seemed like thrusting an assassin’sknife into your kindness; and so the days have come and gone until now. Now that you lie before me prostrated by illness, a some- thing undeflnable makes me braver, and with gladness born of truth I bid you take new life. Wanda is yours from this hour. You’ve but to get well and take her. She 10 ed you once— she loves you now. omen don’t change as men do. Hemart’s the same as it was then, depend upon it. See, I have brought you her picture. ” “I cannot see it. Jack. It is getting dark. ” “A cloud has obscured the sun. ” “Ah, Jack, the darkness that 15 set- tling over me is not cloud darkness; it’s the darkness that comes when a man steps from one world into the other. I’m ofl, I tell you! You’ll have to round up the cattle yourself, or get other aid, from this on. And as for 'Wanda—comrade, give me your hand— there—she is yours—Jack—yours 1” “No, Ned, I will never look' on her face again. I’m for the distant West as soon as you are better—for the West and the mountains. You must get well and take your wife, boy. 1'9, rally! Here’s your gruel. and I’l pare a powder. I’ll ask the doctor 1to telegraph for her. When she comes For months the girl ' .' Iron SALEEr . s. B. WILSON. BUILDER, 92 WALL STREET. One S-room cottage Roton P l lot Myrtle avenve an’d 1 lot 1102:1111?! ayenne, 37x300 feet, East Norw;alk 1 1151, 129x1801eet, Broad Rivrr: 1 Cabin team Launch, 30x7 fee;1 1 two seated eigh; 1 two-seated Business Wagon; 2 good Stoves: House and Lot ‘on easy erms. Wm. . Lockwood, Real Estate. Insurance and Investment Securities. ——‘MONEY 'ro LOAN.— Insursnce Placed in First-Class Companies. Oflice— Corner Main Jr. ’Wsll Sts.. Norwal - 1~ ETER 1.. GUIGUE.1'lorlst andNurs man Union Avenue. north of 1111553 Cemtery Norwalk, Conn. Dealer in Green House Hot House and Bedding and Vega. table Plants. Fruit and Ornamental Trees Shubbe1y. Vines. Cut Flowers. always on hand. and all sorts of designs in flowers ar- rgugyed tic orderd fill ra mg an re 1n - tendedt to g cemetery lots at HENRY TILLY, CARRIAGE MAKER. 180 UTE NOR WALK, CONN. ‘3 —Manufacturerof— Family 081113283.Vl0l0P1381BlmllflS 33 ALL KINDS OF REPAIRING. ETNA INSRUANCE 00., of Hartford Incorporated 1812. Charter Perpetu a Capital and Assets, .8, 902. 272. 04. Insures against lossand damage by rum on terms adapted to the hazaord and consistent with the laws of com ensat1 OWL LES & MERRILL. Sole agents for Norwalk and vicinity. J. Belden Hurlbutt, Attorney and Counselor at Law Room 4, up stairs, . GAZETTE BUILDING. ADAMS EXPRESS COMPANY Low Rules. 0 Prompt Deliver) h‘racnh 1) ize. ‘lorwalkfat Morris Benedic 1: Main Oflice, depot. South Norwalk. 7.. HUNT. Agent. Scientific American 3 Agency for _ ' GAVIA‘I'O. TRADE MARK.- ' DESION PATENTS: " COPY RIGHTS. etc. For information and tree Handbook wrl teto MUN N12 00. 361 Bnomwar.n New Yo ORR. Oldest bureau for secu pate tsin America. Every atent taken out by us is brought before the pu lic by a notice given free of charge 111th worgest circulation of any scientific paper in the d. S l endidl illustrated. No intelli ent - man shou d be th out it. Weekly 33, To”; $1.50 six months. Address UNN £00.. antennas, 361 Broadway, NewM York City. notation CROSS CREEK (20.1.1.3, ’ FUR RANGE Antonino-1'. \ These Goals are Free From Ill" and Slate. Vlill be Delivered-Mllareful Drivers. Send Order for Sample Load and Satisfy Your self that our claim is correct. you will forgive me for what I have 1, done?” The voice was husky and broken. The dying man looked at his friend with a. divine light in his eyes. “Here in the wilderness you have been everything to me, Jack. I have nOthing to forgive. the better man of the two-"tell her I told you so. In claiming her you but claim your own. God—bless—you! ’ He gasped for breath; his eyes clOsed, then Opened; a tremor shook his frame. Jack threw his arm around his dying 51.11 irades neck, and so Ned passed to me hey end. “There s another gray powder to add olne doctor' 3 six,” said Jack at last. He arose from the bedside, and tak- 111;, r powders and picture in his hand, cast them into the fire. Then he sat 11.1.11: 111 the sunlight outside the door, 1.11 buried his face in his hands.— v9.1, Magazine. '11 11 a. splendid thing to’ get an '11- :rzrxday, tut is mighty hard to 69p“ .- ‘. 1: 1.5101 the Week You were always ' Raymond Bros.- SOUTH NOBWLLZ. N'EWA YOR§.§)EW HAVEN d; HARTFORD ° —-Nsw YoaxDrvrsros June 14. 1896.. Trainsleave South Norwalk asjollowv: . Fon New Your—Accommodation trains at 9.36 a. m.. 1.11. 2.64. 4.07. 5.40. 650. 8.11.10.20 p.m. Express trains at 4.55.5.45". 6.15 (local) 6,55. (local). 7. 05. (101: ). 7. 55. ooal). 8. 21. 9 .03 (local) 958.10.40.1L37Jlocalla m. 12.52 2.25.4. 20.5. 35.6. 20 7.35 p. m.d- For Washington via Harlem River 12. 53 a. m. ( daily.) Sn spars—Accommodation 9 15 a.m 5.48. (1031) 7. 23.docal) 9. 28 p. m Express 4. 55 5. 45 “"9011 New Havsn AND run Essa—Accommo- dation trains at 6. 32. 7. 38. 8. 46 and 11 44 £1.11: 1 3’7. 2142. (to B' D’t). 4 20. 5 2?. 6 27.” a 28 (to B’ 11’”, 8%.!) .41 and 11.15:). m. Express trains at 12. so. 1- Q 9011 10.129 11. 08 ‘0 ms 12.051 3- 05’ 5- 04 (NMIZ'. tb‘ckExpress) 7.10 p.m . Suimsrs.—Accommodation7.38.9. 12 a. m. and ) 7.15 p.m. Express 12. 40 and 1.11 a. m. .07' T. HEMPBTEAI}. Gen: Pass. Aren‘t}? dammit): genital? .
Norwalk Chronicler