C n'nnLY - LORwALk -GAznTTL \ " THE ,INHEBITA'NCE. BY EBEN E. REXFORD. There were two Elizabeth Stetsons. One was commonly spoken of as “the old maid,” r “old maid Stetson,” and the other as 0Lizzie. Lizzie was a girl of eighteen, pretty and pleasant, and a niece of Miss Elizabeth’s. Miss Elizabeth owned a little farm on the Outskirts of the village of Still- water,.and her niece lived with her. Now Lizzie, being a very bright, at- tractive girl, had plenty of would- be suitors. But only two of them found - much favor with her One was John Holbrook, the principal of the village school, a young man of unusual ability, who was trying to earn enough to fit himself for a professorship in college. The other was Rodney Dane, a y-oung man lately from the city,who seemed to have taken 11p his abode with some rela- tives in Stillwater. He was a showy, ~brilliant fellow, in a way,‘and 1:11 the advantage over Stillwater young men because he had more familiarity with social life as it eXists in large places. He outshone them at all the village gatherings, and made them feel awk- ward, and lacking sadly in all the graces of politeness and good breeding, for which they hated him most cordial- ly. “I suppose you know all about old maid Stetson’ s streak of luck,” said a friend to Dane, one day. “I presume you heard of it right away, after it hap-' pened, as you’re so intimate there.” “I haven’t heard anything,” answer- ed Dane. “What is it?” “A brother that went to California years ago has died and left her all his money. I haven’t seen anything ab0ut it in the paper, but Joe Reed told me he had.” “How much money had he?” asked Dane. “Twenty thousand dollars, reply. “Not a great deal,” said Dane, care- lessly, “but, then, it’s worth having.” “I should say so,” responded the other. “If the'niece had only been the lucky party—leh, Dane!” and the young man laughed-as he slapped the other on the shoulder. “But it’s all right as it is: one man ought not to have all the good things, and Lizzie Stetson’s a fortune in :herself." -' Dane hunted up Joe Reed. Yes, Reed had read about Miss Elizabeth’s legacy in a Greenbush paper. It seems that her brother had lived in Greenbush. No one in Stillwater knew anything about him. He made other inquiries, and satis- fied himself that the rumor was well founded. Miss Elizabeth had been to visit a city lawyer recently, and several legal-looking documents had come to her through} e post-office lately. “She’s provin-g her claim to the property, doubtless,” thought Dane. “They’re a close-mouthed set, these Stetso'ns, where property is concerned. They'don’t let on to me about it. But . it’s just as well they don’,t for they can’t say it’- s the money I’m after if I’ m not supposed to know anythingabout it. I’ve a good mind to transfer my at- tentions to the old lady. He stopped and thought a moment. “I will!” he declared impulsively. “I haven’t com- mitted myself in any way to the girl. I’d like her and the. money, too, but if I can’t have both I’d prefer the money, even if I have to take the old maid to get it. ” ' , So it came about that Rodney Dane became less attentive to Lizzie, by de- grees, and showed a disposition to cul- tivate the society of her aunt. And ' Miss IE1izabeth, realizing that her matrimonial chances were slim, was disposed-to look with favor upon his advances. If she let the opportunity .slip by without taking advantage of it, she would in all probability never have ’! was the hope of finding a husband. Now it really seemed as if fate had something _ Jonn Homroox's pian was one that seemed to meet with the approval 01' Lizzie, and they sat and talked it over until the clock struck midnight. When i they parted, the robin whose nest was i in the old cherry tree,, close by the! porch, heard a sound that was suspici- ously like a kiss, and I presume she thought to herself that “they had come to an understanding.” Which was the case. The next day Lizzie went to her aunt and said,— “I’m going to marry John Holbrook.” “I’m glad of it,” said her aunt .“John’s a good fellow. Then she tried to blush, and only succeeded in looking foolish, but finally she managed to say, “And I’m going to get married, t-oo. Mr. Dane prgposed to me. last night, and I accepted him.” “I—I’m sure I hope you’ll be happy," said Lizzie. “I am happy,” said Aunt Elizabeth, with a sigh and a simper. “Mr. Dane is —is somewhat younger than I am, but true’ affection overlooks a slight dispar- ity of years.” Lizzie wanted to say “Fiddlesticks!”. but she thought it wise to say nothing, and she got away by herself as soon as she could, to laugh over the idea of “true affection” between her aunt and Rodney Dane. Two or three days after that she called on some friends in the vi-llage, and there she heard for the first time of the Stetson legacy of twenty thou- sand dollars. She went home and told the story to Miss Elizabeth. “Don’t you see that this accounts for Mr. Dane’s sudden discovery of—well, regard, for you?” she said. “I under- stand it all, now. It puzzled me to ac- count for his behavior, but this makes it all plain.” . “That’s as much as to say. that you wondered what he could see about me to fancy,” said Miss Elizabeth, loftily. “But surely you aren’t going to let him think you have fallen heir to twenty thousand dollars!”‘s_aid Lizzie. “That’s nothing to me,” said Miss Elizabeth. “I never told him so. If he has that idea I’m not responsible for it, and if he doesn’t say anything about it to me I certainly shall not to him.” “Yes; but when it’s too late,” said Lizzie. “Too late for what?” demanded Miss Elizabeth, angrily. “Oh, I think I begin to understand. You don’t want me to get married, I suppose. I think that’s very ungrateful, Elizabeth Stetson, af- ter I’ve gone and deeded you that 'house and lot in the village,” and her aunt began to cry. “What I meant was, that I thought it would be better to undeceive Mr. Dane about matters and things before marriage, rather than let him go on with the belief that he understood them, and take the chances of what might happen when he finds out his mistake,” said Lizzie. “I don’t want your property. I wouldn’t accept the house and lot if I didn’t feel that it really belonged to me. You’ve had enough of mother’s property to fully pay you for, it.” Then she walked away and left her aunt to her own sweet meditations, t t 8 1|: . 9 Rodney Dane and Miss Elizabeth were married. So were John Holbrook and Lizzie. They went to housekeep- ing by themselves, at once, and-tho man who had married a womn nearly old enough to be his mother tookup his abode in the home of her who could never again be called “old maid Stet« son.’ “How have you invested your leg~ ; acy?” he asked one day, a week or two after they were-married. “What legacy?” asked his wife. “Why—the twenty thousand dollars your brother in California left you," he . explained. another. She had long ago given up all ; 'nia,” answered she, to do with sending her a suitor—and ; such, an attractive one, too—«and she felt as if it would be flying in the face offlProvidence not to accept the chance I held out to her. t was now, or never. “1 know it isn’t me that he's after so I much as it is lmy property,” she told . herself. “But then, if I marry him I'll have-a husband and I’ll have the prop- erty, too, and I'll/see that I keep it. Ifahe thinks he’s r‘"going to have the management of it, he’s mistaken, but it won’t do any harm to let him think so for .a'time. I’ll explain that to him after I’m sure of him.” When Lizzie saw!I .the turn affairs were taking she was naturally sur- p1 ised, and a good deal indignant. She had cared nothing fer Dane. The young man who imagined she was playing1 him off against Holbrook for the sake of flirtation had been correct in his opinion. But it "roused her resentment to have him. transfer his attentions so coolly to her aunt, because persons would be sure to say that he had been amusing hmseif at her expense. “What’s this I hear about Dane mar- iylng your aunt?” asked Holbrook, one evening. “There isn‘t any truth in the rumor. is there?” “I’m afraid there is,’ answered Liz- . tie, flushing up indignantly. “He comes to :see her every day, and she’sgot so she behaves like a girl of sweet sixteen. l—él’m disgusted! I know what he wants—ii-s her property. But he won't get it. I know Aunt Elizabeth too well to believe that, but she’ll let him think ’ so, and takehim if she can get him. I ' believe I shall try to get a place in some store in the city. Of course I wouldn’t think of staying here after he came here 10 live, as I know he will.” “I don’t think you’d likeworking in a store,” said John. you wouldn’t. one I’ve ban in mind for a long time, but it hasn't» seemed advisable to say anything about it until now. I'll ex- plain; it to you.” ' ' ’ . about it. ‘ any money I haven’t heard of it.” | 1 “I never had any brotherin Califor~ “and no one ever left me twenty thousand dollars.” Rodney Dane’s face was pale as death. He stared at her as if he be- lieved she were trying to deceive him. “Do you mean to say that there' was no truth in that story?" he cried. “I suppose you refer to the rumor that I had had money left me,” she an— swered. “All I ever heard about it is what Lizzie told me. I had a cousin who went to Californian-yeasts-ago,=-from Greenbush,'and ‘he had a; sister Eliza- beth. Possibly he died and left her some money. I don’t-know anything But if any one has leftme Rodney Dane ground out an oath through his set teeth. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you," 51 dd his wife. “It might give people the impression, it they knew of it, that you married me for the sake of the twenty thousand dollars you thought I had fallen heir to.” “I did!” he cried. [ marry you for?” “For a living, perhaps,” responded his wife, “That’s about all you'll be likely to realize from it, as long as I live.” lazy to work, too poor to support him- self, has settled down into a condition of dependence, and lets his wife—whom he hates, but tolerates, since it is a- matter of food and clothing with him—— take care of him. And she—she has the satisfaction of knowing that she is no longer known as “old maid Stet< son.” But Lizzie, happy Lizzie, thinks her aunt paid a'dear price for the privi« lege of being called Mrs. Dane. A Swiss firm has brought out :1. rib- bon-saw worked by electricity which is able to cut logs over a yard thick. “In fact, I know: I’ve a plan—in fact it’s a The electric -motor is of'six horse- power, and the saw runs at a speed c: m01e than 100tt.per second. The saw itself can travel along a track and cm the logs from end to end as it goes. .1 -. 'I .1._‘LL...._ She spoke truly. Rodney Dane, too. .‘ _. evening, when the girl “What else would ' m l panion, and also a young one. A TRUE COMPANION. BY MRS. CORBET-SEYMOU R. Mrs. Clifford said she was miserable. There was some reason for saying so. From her twenty—fifth year she had been a widow, and absolutely devoted to the daughter who was her only child; and now that Nina was-mar- ried and away, the blank in her mot-h- er’s heart and 3~~- -“" "-‘y terrible to bear. Worse than the fact that some one else would now be pretty Nina’s near- est and dearest, was that she had gone with the young husband to India, knewmg that the absence would last several years. Mrs. Clifford’s intimates condoled with her most sincerely. They were forever offering their company to luncheon, or “dropping in” to after- noon tea. It was very kind and thoughtful of them; Mrs. Clifford said so. But she did not feel much better or brighter for their visits. “I don’t know how I am to bear it!” said the solitary woman, speaking her thoughts aloud, as people learn to do when they are much alone. “My pretty home is becoming almost hateful to me. Oh, Nina, Nina! I wish we could go back to the days when you were a little girl and needed no one but me to make you happy.” She said something of the sort one afternoon to one of her most intimate friends. ' “My dear,” responded Mrs. lane, “you cannot live alone. not the person for it.” “But I have no one to live with me,” exclaimed the lady of the house. “So far as I know, I do not possess a living relative—except an old bachelor cousin in Devonshire whom I have only seen occasionally.” “Have a companion,” said Mrs. Mac- farlane. “I know just the person for you." This was a new idea. Ml‘s. Clifford was not opposed to thinking it'over, and the result of these meditations was the arrival of a spinister lady of some five and forty years of age and a very plain exterior. “So much better than a smart, showy girl,” said the adviser. “Charlotte At- kins will be quite a treasure to you. Relieves you of housekeeping, and everything else you do not care for. I am so glad I thought of such a delight- ful place! Mutually delightful, as I may say, for the poor thing needs a home as much as you need a companion.” During the first week, Mrs. Clifford tried to imagine herself happier for the presence of a companion in the house; but before the end of the first month she knew that she detected it. Miss Atkins was eminently trust- worthy and respectable, but she was- lugubrious—and Nina had been so bright and gay! Then too she evidently considered that it entered into her functions to- confer With the cook, ‘direct the house- maid, and stand at the helm in all do- mestic affairs. Probably she was r-ght; but Mrs. Clifford was not yet old enough to en-- joy being managed for and made com- fortable, and she discovered that she liked best‘ to ho mistress in. her own domain. ' So Miss Atkins was discharged with a substantial present and many ex- pressions of regard andesteem. Another familiar friend advised a Macfar- You are “nice, cheerful girl” as- Mrs. Clifford’s companion. The daughter of some respectable middle-class family who had to com-pass self-support; not a Would-be smart and np-to-date young lady who might become troublesome and pretentious. Miss Cellingwood knew the “very girl;” would not Mrs. Clifford see her? An interview could do no harm. So a quiet-speaking,~ rather timid young person presented herself at the appointed hour, and—more because she was an exact contrast to Charlotte At- kins than for any other reason—was engaged on a month’s trial. What a penitential month that was, none but Mrs. Clifford could tell. Jessie Dale had professed herself musical; but her repertoire consisted of airs from Faust, a few polkas, waltzes, and plantation melodies, pounded rat-her than played on the Eraed‘s semi—grand. in a style which made any sensitive listener shudder and look round with nervous apprehen- sion, lest the shadowy spirit. of the composer should appear and protest. She had said she could read aloud, but Mrs. Clifford never ventured to put her powers to the test after the first: had hurried breathlessly through a column of the daily paper, with'less intelligence than the average gray parrot. And then in the matter of conversa- tion it was “Yes, M1's.~ Clifford,” and “No, Mrs. Clifford,” varied by “Oh, Mrs. Clifford,” or “T?- 3 think so, Mrs Clifford?” un ianer of the name took refuge ‘1'. 3311...: anging for the clock to strike incur at which she might reasonably gig-7:; that her c’ompanion must he 1' ~711 would like to retire to bed. “Avery good girl, I .1 ing at all to say against her, Miss Collingwood. But she not suit me and'I really cannot --__~;;-._ .115 her for a second month.” The third suggestion crnu ‘ 61:11 a bl‘ig‘ht girl, ’"u‘ 0::7'113 S f\‘ Kilt .;Z'~’.'1T1- rades. “Oh. you poor, dear, dull ,c- 111-1111;. " she said, coming in one day to did . mistress cf the pretty. dranl-.fi,'-‘.r:11’.1 sitting in Llejection amidst her muse- hold gods. "‘You ought not-to liv ~ 1 all alone. It is too wretched." “I must learn to bear it," rep-2:1 MlS. Clifford with a smile and a st 51 “I have tried a middle-aged paid col-i An 1 1 cl ii . "stowed on him. no... _..--,_~‘ ”‘4‘; 'my conclusipn, Milicent, 1s this—sell. tude is better than uncongeniai socie- ty.” “But have a companion who is con- genial,” cried Milicent. “Have a nice dog! You need not laugh,” she added quickly. “I know by experience that there’s nothing to come near to a dog’s faithfulness and sympathy. And the dear creatures seem to understand your moods, and they are quiet when you want to be quiet, and gay when you are in good spirits’ Mrs. Clifford shook her head. “If Nina were here, it would be quite another matter. I should not like the trouble of a dog.” “But the sort of a dog I mean would be no trouble, only a. pleasure,” per- sisted Milicent. “He would take you out—” “Take me out!” interrupted her friend. “One of my objections when you mentioned the idea was that I should have to take him.” “Quite a mistake. And he wouldn’t bore you with stupid conversation; yet when you liked to talk to him he would enjoy it and understand perfectly.” “My dear Milicent,” and now the melancholy lady was actually laughing. “I shall begin to think that like the friend who recommended Miss Atkins, and the other friend who persuaded me to try Jessie Dale, you are going to say you know just the companion for me.” “Yes, I do!” Milicent laughed too. “I shall bring him round to-morrow morning; would about ten o’clock be too soon? He won’t have to go back and .pack up like an uninteresting biped. If you are pleased with his manners and- appearance, he will be quite ready to enter upon his duties at once.” So, for a third time, Mrs. Clifford suffered herself to be persuaded into a rather half-hearted assent. Next day Milicent Darrell arrived; so did Tony. He was a fine deer hound, with a pensive face and excellent manners; and he—like the bulk of human be- ings—had a story attached to him. For the first four years of his life he had belonged to a young officer; those were the years devoted to his educa- tion, and he had learned a few tricks which he put from him as childish folly when he was older. Tony 'had taken his master’s depart- ure for foreign service greatly to heart, but had become consoled by the care and attention of the maiden aunt to whom Captain Crawford confided his favorite. The dog had slept in her room at night and sat by her side all day, grow- ing dejected if she absented herself even for a half-hour. His distress was pitiable when she died suddenly. For the days that the coffin remained in the house, Tony kept watch beside it; after the funeral he was seeking his lost mistress in every room in the house, and then disappeared. After some hours he was found lying on her grave in silent misery. Miss Crawford had charged her maid to see to Tony, should anything befall her. But the girl was on the point of mar- rying a rising young shopkeeper, and, though she took the dog with her to her new home, hard times began for the poor fellow who had been a pet. He grew to understand that he was not . wanted, and took to rambling in the . street, only turning in at night to-.,the mat on the kitchenfioor which was at his disposal. . His owners left him to get food as he could, and Tony—being a dog of discrimination—had scraped acquaintance with two or three kindly : people who gave him scraps, besides . calling at a butcher’sshop where trim- mings from the meat were often be Still he had come down in the world, and was greatly to be pi’ti‘ed. “I would have bought him myself, only I have four mother won’t let me bring in anc her,” explained Milicent. panion you needed. and I went for him and made a bargain directly I had fin- ished breakfast. Oh, these people were glad" enough to be rid of him—what do they want with him? A yelping cur to run out and meet every one who comes into- the shop is more in their line. I gave a mere- trifle for this dear fellow, and you will ac- cept him, won’t you? and let him make you haDPY” “I can’t refuse you or him either, as he has had such a sad time since his prosperOus youth. 'An‘d I will try and make him happy, though I fail to see exactly what he can do for my benefit, Milicent.” , ' ’ "I will come in again next week,” said the girl, ris’ing.‘ “I shall expect to hear that nothing would induce you to change-your third companion.” Eight days passed away, during which "Tony-and'his mistress became mutually attached. The dog’s very presence was a comfort; the silent thrusting of his nose into her hand when she felt dreary and dispirited, seemed to say, “You are not alone; you have Tony.” He could not respond in words, but he’ listened with an air of intelligence when Mrs. Clifford talked to him; he could not bore her with senseless remarks after the fashion of Jessie Dale. “Milicent,” she exclaimed, as one af— ternoon the maid threw open the draw- ing-room door and announced Miss Darrell, "you were a most sensible ad- viser. Tony is the ideal companion for me and my other experiments new new mistakes.” - Willie-«Pa; was Washington the .I".1.ther ‘of his country? ' 111-. Reed—He‘v’Vas. my son. . Willie—Then he was the stepfather the Constitution, wasn’t he? My his- ‘- "Y says the Constitution was adopt- ed. ~-~l‘~iew York' Journal. dogs already and ' “But as soon as I , saw your mourning face yesterday, 1" i felt sure that Tony was just the com- . a dog like . NEW YORK FASHE ONS A toilet to envy is an afternoon frock of royal purple cloth and nile green silk and chiffon. The entire skirt and part of bodice is of the cloth, whili the remainder of the waist is a Shirred front of chiffon, bordered on either side with bands of green silk. Fine lace forming epaulettes on the shoulder ex- tend down the front to the waist. Pur- ple velvet forms the choker and waist- band. Another gown of gray cashmere is trimmed with white satin, on which is mounted a net pattern in chenille and jet. This forms a deep collar and revers to jacket blouse, which closes in double breasted fashion and is edged by a narrow ruffle of the wool. Accordenn Pleated Chiffon Gown. The full skirt is seen in chiffon for evening dress, and nothing is morn becoming or dainty for a youthful fig- ure than a gown of accordeon pleated chiffon made over a silk lining. A chic evening gown of this description has the bodice also accordeon pleated below awide band of cream guipure insertion, and belted at the waist with a girdle of pale blue velvet. Velvet bows are also worn on the shoulders. The day of embroideries has reached its height and no chic evening gown is without its due allowance of fine insertions and applications. An e'x« ample is a severely simple trained skirt of white satin covered with mous- selaine de sole. Up the left of the skirt extends from waist to edge a bow design of Venice point applications. The low bodice is tight-fitting, except the pouched front which is ornamented with the embroidery. Spring Fancielo Among the early spring costumes for the street or house nothing newer than § the blouse is shown. The latest tali- ored costumes have the fronts lapped diagonally with one large drooping re- ver. A blouse without darts, yet snug [11 fit, and with a. flat basque, is one of the accepted styles for spring gowns of plain or mixed goods. The basque part is often dispensed with, but when there, it is cut in tabs or not, as the wearer elects. One in two shades of cloth has a i yoke, collar and vest of the light goods, with black braid forming Vs; revers, collar, close sleeves, tabbed basque ‘_ and blouse having underarm seamson- 1y of the darker material; stitching on all edges and a black satin belt. A Pretty Home Dre". A neat and becoming home dress of leaf green cashmere is lined through- out with sateen of the same color, and is trimmed with horizontal rows of black mohair braid at regular dis. tances from the foot to the waist; the blouse bodice is made on a lining cut, to the same pattern as the material. and striped with rows of braid. It opens in front with pointed revers 8.1- so braided, and lined with silk. The chemisette is of cream lace. made on a cream si-I'k lining, and gath- ered to a collar band of canvas, cov- ered with green velvet. Belt of oxi- dized silver, mounted on a band of green velvet. A Fruit Diet. A frtit diet has often been known to cure where every other remedy has failed. Thousands of cases, which have been given up as hopeless, have beenlcured through this menus. To fruit feeders such things as rheuma- tism, gout, lumbago, sciatica, gravel. etc., are seldom known. DySpepsla, vorvors irratibility, to say nothing of m-rn'ncrs of other diseases, can, more or less. be traced to a wrong diet, and are removable when a correct, frng - mr o 1: (1.“ .e is adopted. If therefore, a recent-111cc d would be great enough to ins its value. t,'its curative powers is: upon Tine-e is a decided tendency to re- virrn the white cut glass long used on f.:<31"~7!alile tables with the French 1 - ir. and white. This does not. mean . z '1. Mess is banished, creven : .2: r'ro background very seriously; ' that in the desire for a -. 5;,9 sc- .--.-:hir:g else has come to the 4- .. -: was: shades of gray can be launched in gloves and hosiery, and al- '9 me browns, tons and violet tints. A CURIOUS KNO‘T. [his Remarkable Growth Does Not Inter- fere with the Vitality of the Tree. 'An English gardener writes that he ans a tree in his garden'which has tied tsel'f into a knot in its. growth; the illOt is more than 12 inches in circums: ‘erence. No doubt some years ago this. Ranch, at that time a mere twig, got .wisted or knotted in some way, and was never afterwards disturbed, the -esult being that in time it became im‘ aossible to untie this curious knot. l‘his remarkable growth does not in- erfere with the vitality of the tree. TOURING IN A TROLLEY CAR. ’he Sights of Denver Show“ to Travelers by This Memls.’ ; A novel arrangement has been in‘ vperatiou in Denver for some time past rhich might well be adopted in other arge cities which have a compliCated letwork of street railway tracks run- 1ing to every section of the city. The nstitution referred to is nothing more ban a personally conducted tour 0f 1he town in a trolley car. A tourist :0mpany leases a number of open cars From one of the companies, and, by haking arrangement with the other ines for the use of their tracks, aj :omplete circuit of Denver can be nade. The car makes one trip'in the morn- ng and another in the evening, going he rounds of the hotels, where it picks 1p the passengers. Iorty miles, and is made in about two more and a half. A- prettily printed :ouvenir is given to each passenger, vhich illustrates and describes the leveral points of interest, and a guide 1ccompanies each carmnd explains and - mints out these as they are reached. In this way for the nominal sum of 25 :ents, which is the fare charged, a. risitor can see Denver without making ‘ inything and without fatigue. The tar itself is called “Seeing Denver,” 1nd has proved very popular. ——Denver Vews. Blackograph. I Cut out the figure above, or any; )ther figure you choose, from dark pa.- per, the stiffer the better, and paste it 'o a sheet of white paper with one aouch of mucilagefi'n ,the centre, leav- -ng the arms and legs free. Then bend ; the arms and legs ,upqa very little and. ~ you have a. fin. To make it perform, hold it in front of a lighted match or taper where other light is rot too strong and move it about. A- gas jet turned down to a point will do, if the room is not otherwise too light. fry it. A very good way to begin is .0 cut figures (pictures) from tho 1ewspapers and attach them as di- rected. J Shakespeare’s A utograohs. The rarest autographs in the world ire probably Shakespeare’s. Only sev- im are claimed to exist: Three signa- '.ures to his will (two of which are ioubtful), two to conveyances of prop- arty, one in the folio edition of his- glays (doubtful), and one in a transla- tion" of Montaigne. This last is in the British Museum, and cost over 200 guineas.—Cleveland Plain Dealer. Hopeless Case. “Doctor,” said Mr. Spudds, “my in- :Omnia is much worse now than It ever was before.” “Indeed?” replied Dr. Paresis. ,_ “Yes, sir; it is. Why, I can’t Even sleep when it is time to get up.”—-New York World. I A few weeks ago the following notice 1ppeared in a Dublin newspaper: “0w- :ng to pressure on space a number’of deaths are unavoidably postponed.” The first lightning-rod was put up.) 'n 1754 by Prohop Dilwisch, a Bollo- nian monk. ilde - ‘ The trip covers ' The lowest ebb is the turn or tho ' - 1 !
Norwalk Chronicler