lllllll
MANUFACTURERS OF
HIGH-GR ADE
1111.1
AT
The Lowest Possible Price.
’IS.
OVER FORTY YEARS‘PR ACTIGAL EXPERIENCE
THE _ 111111 7 Ton: AND MUST DURIBVLAEVPIANQ
Sold on Easy Terms and Rented.
Old Pianos Taken in Exchange.
1'
' NEW YORK crrv,
MOUNT VERNON, N. Y.,
, FACTORY,
STAMFORD. CONN.
heTHETTRT THE 131131.111
3111101 ILLUSTRATED CATALOGUE Tu 1111100113:
9 WEST FOURTEENTH STREET.
52 WEST FIRST STREET.
HER PICTURE.
Let'us paint her picture! * * "Takeapatch
o’ skies
With cool shadows in’em, 1111' you have her "
'walked home Frank Alcott was as
. thoroughly miserable as a boy who is,
at heart, anxious to do right, can
eyes!
Shadows where the sunshine tangles-but the
blue.
Beautiful and beamin‘ -- gleamin', streamln'
through!
Lel us paint her picture! * * * Take 11. mid-
.night drear—
Deep, an’ black, an’ startles, 211’ you have her
hair!
Yet, there's light about it—something you can
mark— , ‘
Like an April shower twinklin’ through the
dark!
When you slip the ribbons from the or. rls an’-
all.
Down th ey come, a-tumblin' like a water-
fall!
That's the time they dazzle—silky threads 0’
night
Fallin’ all around her—shakiu‘ out the light!
Lips! they're like a sunrise to the night 0’
curls!
Rosy-red. that mingles with a gleam of pearls;
An’ two shiny dimples—playin' hide an’ seek
In among the floWers bloomin’ on her cheek!
Want to paint her picture? * * * Think o’all
tha t’s sweet—
All that hearts can'beat for when'love makes
’em beat!
Then give Love the pencil, dipped in colors
tai
With your heart, an‘ let him paint herkpicture
there!
—-Frank L. Stanton, in Atlanta Constitution;
A TRUE ENDEAVOR.
II. GOODAIIE.
BY D. R.
“I sha’ 11 ’t try any longer;
use, ” said Frank. passionately.
Albert only screwed up his mouth in
his characteristic fashion, as if he were
having a SL1 uogle vith himself not to
speak too quickly; perhaps it was so.
But after a little space of silence on
the part of both boys, he looked keen-
ly at Frank with those beautiful
brown eyes of his and said said, quiet-
ly: “I never can find any chance to
stop trying.”
F1ank laughed, a forced laugh that
sounded as if it would be rather easier
to cry.
‘Well, I can; I’ve got a good chance
now
Albert shook his head, close-cropped
and brown. “’Twon’ t work, _Frank.
Come along and have a game of ball;
you’ll feel better to-morrow.”
The two boys went out together.
They had been lingering in the school
library; but Frank ' Alcott was too
much out of sorts for wholesome sport,
and he started home in a mood half
morose, half reekless.
He was a moody boy, that cannot be
denied. With less self will and more
application he would easilyvhave led
his class; for he was a boy of fine nat-
ural abilities, the first to understand
and the last to forget any new prin-
ciple or important fact brought up in
study. His mother was a widow, only
too anxious for his real good; perhaps
that anxiety did him harm by making
too much of both his faults and his
virtues. She was too openly distressed
when anything went wrong, and on
these occasions Frank was very apt to
go from bad to worse.
Albert Hardy was the oldest of eight
children, and, naturally, when he was
not in charge of one or several of his
brothers or sisters, he was left some-
what to himself. He had, besides, an
even, thoughtful disposition, slow to
take or give offense. Frank Alcott
was high spirited and sometimes over-
bearing, and made few friends among
boys. Vi hile everybody liked Albert,
theref01e, Frank was both feared and
disliked. but between themselves there
was the best possible understanding.
Albert trudged home with his books
over his shoulder, not caring for the
ball game, since Frank wouldn’t play.
“Poor fellow!” he said to himself, "I
must contiive some way to help him
out of these c1 apes ”
You see that the “scrape” was no un-
usual occurrence.
Miss Atwater was the history teach-
er. She was a tall, dignified person, in
gold glasses, with light hair neatly
crimped and parted above a rather
high, straight forehead. Exact and
precise in all her ways, she liked exact
statements and exact knowledge. Now
Frank Alcott had a true love of the
study of history; he had an unusual
knowledge of the subject, too, for a
boy of his age, as he had read a con-
siderable number of important his-
torical works in the fine library left
him by his father. But with vivid
imagination and unusual power of gen-
eralizing, he cared more for the large
effects than for detail. He grasped
firmly the real connections in the story
of the nations and loved to dwell upon
the growth and development of
governments and institutions; but
he was indifferent to the dates
Of battles. or of the birth and death
of any prominent man. Miss Atwater
did not see that this interest made him
her most promising scholar; she
found him lacking, too often, in the
precise information which she 1e~
quired, and she did not hesitate to re-
prove him severely for indolence and
carelessness. Nor was this all. He
had a habit of .asking questions and
bringing up subjects for discussion in
class entirely outside the set lesson.
though connected with it or naturally
suggested by it. Miss Atwater detest-
ed these unexpected questions, which
she was not always prepared to an-
swer, and condemned all discussion of
it’s no
.principles as a “troublesome interrup-
tion.” It happened, therefore, that al-
though history was his favorite study,
and‘ he was conscious of deeper and
more thorough preparation than most
members of the class, Frank was doing
himself no credit in it, but, on the
contrary, was repeatedly marked as
having failed, and marked, as it ap-
peared to him, most unjustly.
There was irr1tation on both sides.
As .1 have said, his temper was by no
means perfect, and his vexation over.
some of the rulings of his teacher was
quite too manifest. Perhaps nothing
makes it harder to do right than feel-
ing that you have done wrong and
that the person whom you offended is
making the very most of the oflense.‘
On The day in question Miss Atwater
had repeated to the principal an im-
pudentcremark of Frank which had
”—fl" , 1 .. ,., .
~ long hairs are pulled out.
.T
a tone of disrespect. and Mr. Bates had" ‘
given him, before the class, a stinging
reproof. .
All this rankled deeply, and as he
well be.
Like most villages, Hillsdale had its'
Christian EndeavOr club. The young
women, among whom Miss Atwater
was almost an’oracle, had planned a
course of lectures, and one of the best
was to come off- that evening. The
two boys usually went together, and
Albert called punctually for Frank. He
found him in a very gloomy humor.
and it required a good deal of persua-
sion to get him out. Mrs. Alc'ott’s face,
too, showed signs of tears.
“I wouldn’t be hired to worry over
things night and day, as you and your
mother do!” Albert exclaimed, as soon
as they were out of doors.
“’Tis beastly!” was the brief re»
spouse. ’
“I’ll tell you, Frank, I’ve been puz-
zling over it all the afternoon myself.
I‘ say, let’s do our history together
after this; you come home with me one
day and I’ll go with you the next; we’ll
take it the first thing after. our grub.
We’ll do it brown! I’ll put you through
on all the dates and ‘what next’
points, and you can enlighten meon
general ideas. I tell you, we’ll beat
the crowd.”
Frank hesitated—half from a proud
sensitiveness which made him quick to
refuse any help, but at that moment
Albert’s hand slipped through his arm
affectionately; the scale tipped.
“All right, Bert; begin to-morrow?”
To be a boy is not to lack feeling,
but often it is his greatest care to
hide it.
The lecture was agood one—on char-
acter building. The two boys were in
an impressible condition and some of
its sentences struck home.
“Keep right with yourself, then no,-
body can rufiie your temper.” And he
quoted from Marcus Aurelius: “What-
ever anyone does or says, I must be
.—
good, just as if the gold or the emer?
ald, or the purple were always saying
this: Whatever anyone does or says, I
must be emerald and keep my color.”
Toward the close of the lecture a
few terse but impressive sentences were
addressed to those in charge of the
young. "‘Never wrong a young person
by taking him on a lower plane than
that of his own intention;” and again:
“An independent view of life, or of
any subject, is far more precious than
mere information. Cherish it as a
sacred possession.”
What was it that roused in Miss At-
water a sudden sense of having fallen
beneath her true standard? Was it
that just then she caught sight of
Frank Alcott, in an attitude of ab-
sorbed attention, with the two bright
spots of red in his checks that some-'
times showed so vividly in class, that
vivid color which she always regarded
(too hastily) as a mark of “temper?”
If she was somewhat rigid, she was
a woman who strove to live in obedi-
ence to conscience. “Have 1 wronged
that boy?” The question filled her with
dismay.
The audience poured out. The side
walks were slippery with ice, and, as
it happened, the two boys were just
behind Miss Atwater, who walked on,
rather gingerly, by herself. They all
turned off the main street at the same
corner. But a few steps further on
she suddenly slipped, caught herself,
hesitated for a moment, evidently in
pain, and after a few halting steps,
looked about for some resting place.
“What is it, Miss Atwater?” said Al-
bert, at her elbow.
“It’s a sprain—that’s 2111;” but her
face was very pale; and the boys, half-
frightened, yet brave and manly, one
on each side, supported and almost
cauied her along to her own door, for-
tuna tely not fai away.
Once' in her own armchair, she still
held F rank“ 5 arm; she was not one to
lose time when she saw her way.
“Wait a minute," she insisted. Then,
after a few moments’ struggle with
the pain: “Frank, I think that lecture
was meant for me. I haven’t done you
justice.”
“I haven’t done myself justice, Miss
Atwater; I’m going to take a new
start.” said Frank, bravely.
And so he did—not alone, for perhaps
it was Albert who was the true en-
deavorer.
Albert was a bit of a philosopher.
“You can’t make people over; take’ em
as they are,” was a favorite reflection
with him.
Miss Atwater was confined with her
sprained ankle for three weeks. But
it was a turning point with Frank A1-
cott. Not only his standing and influ-
ence in school, but his happiness
at home and his growth in self-
respect and personal weight as a pow—
er for good dated naturally from “the
time when Miss Atwater sprained her
ankle.”——-N. Y. Independent.
Ben Butler's Wit.
As a lawyer Ben Butler was always
ready with a witticism, even at the ex-
pense of the presiding judge. Once he
was retained as counsel for the plaintiff
in o libel suit against a certain Boston
newspaper, and during the cross ques-
tioning of the publisher, the general
sought to bring out that the paper was '
not a strictly first-class sheet. To prove
this he began reading advertisements
of, a somewhat shady character and
asked the witness if he was acquainted
with the person who inserted it. To
each of these questions the opposing
counsel would object, and, of course,
be sustained by the court.‘ Still, But-
ler persisted in similar questions, his -
intention being to force the idea upon
the jury. Finally the judge turned to
the famous lawyer and said, sternly:
“Mr. Butler, won’t you please ask a
proper question?” ‘I‘That’s precisely
what I’m trying to do, your honor.” was
the prompt reply. “Won’t‘your honor
suggest one?”—Bosto'n Budget.
—__.
ARabbit fur, when used for hats,’ 1s
first carefully “plucked. ” that is, the'
Formerly
this process was done by hand, now a
machine accomplishes the same re-
sult.
. land St.
one wennIN T1111;
Is Better Than‘Two Afterwards.—
A Chance to Profit by a Boston
' Man’s Experience.
(From the Boston Herald )1
It’s a strange thing how people will
dut away an opportunity until too late;
it’s only little things that go to makeup
our every day existence; the trouble is
we don’ I: pay sufficient attention to
them. “A wink to the wise may be
sufficient, ” but sometimes we don’t get
that wink, and we are not all Wise.
how, for instance: Backache IS a. little
thing. Sometimes it comes after a hard
day ’,swork or a slight cold. It will
pass off, you say; it’ s onlv the result of
overtaxing my back. This is where
you are wrong. It isn’t the fault of
your back, but your kidneys. The
exertion or straining has interfered
with their delicate mechanism. You
call it backache, but 1t really is kidney
ache. If the kidneys are not relieved,
chronic disorders set in, and this is
where the ”little thing” should not be
passed over.
A Boston man has learner] to appre-
ciate what delay means. We refer to J.
H. Mathews, who resides at No. 4 Gar-
This is how he speaks about
it: “ Some eight yea1s ago I hada had
fall which rendered my back lame and
sore.
my accident was a bad one, but as time
went on my back did not appear to 1m-
prove, and I wondered at it. I never
seemed to get perfectly well. It would
hurt me to stoop over or lift anything
heavy. I suffered with dull headaches;
colds, d1 sits and even dampness had
immediate effect on my back. I was
always looklng for a remedy for my ills.
At last I found it, I got a box of
Doan’ s Kidney Pills at Bradbury’ 8
Drug Store. on Washington St. They
were highly recommended, and I be-
gan their use at. once. 'I‘heir action
was ‘like unto magic,” and day by day
the pain began to lessen in my back
am glad to give the public the benefit
of my experience. Donn’ sKidney Pills
are excellent medicine, and strike right
at the point of the kidney troubles.”
Doan’ s Kidney Pills are for sale by
all dealers, price 50 cents. mailed by
Foster-Milburn Co. ., Buffalo, N. Y.,
sole agents for the United States.
Raymond. fl: Son.
Successors to George H.3aymcnd.
Furniture Dealers and General Funeral
, Directors.
46 and 48 Main Street Norwalk Ct. '
Residence, Beikeley Place.
Telephone No. 77-4.
DAVID . w.
RAYMOND
Funeral Director and EmbalmTT.
3!} Washington Street {8011thle walk
Residence. Mahackomo Hotel.
I was not surprised at this, as.
1111121111
51111;
Department.
-__.-. -. -.-‘.~_-..._ ._
‘f
wean
in
THE
WISE.
Merchants, .Manufactur
ers, Lodges and Societies
will consult their own inter-
ests by giving us a call.
REMEMBER—Ifyo'n have
work to do, write to us.
Brisk Business in February.
is only possible by selling at prices below competition.
we intend to .keep busy, and this 1s how we’ll accomplish
it—-by continuing our 'lgreat sale of shoes during the
month.
We have pm chased of Lounsbury, Mathewson & 00., all their Ia-'
dies Fine Shoes, made for the insolvent firm of Harding &. 00., of Brook-
lyn. and will close them out at about 9; their Actual Value.
120 pair Ladies’ 20th Century Enamel Shoes, worth $6 00, at - $3 7 9
150 pair Ladies’ Razor Toe Kid Shoes, worth $5.00, at ' - 2 98
150 pair Ladies’ Razor Toe Cloth Top Shoes, worth $5.00, at - 2 98
90 pair Ladies’ Calf Opera and Razor Toe Shoes, worth $5. 00, at 2 98
60 pair Ladies’ 20th Century Russia, I. ace, worth $5. 00, at - 2 98
All of Harding & 00’ s S4 00 Shoes, at - . — ~ - 2 50
All of Harding & 00’ 5 S3. 00 Shoes, at — - - - - 1 98
All of Harding & 00’ 8 S2. 50 Shoes, at — - ~ 1 ’74
200 pair Ladies’ Opera Toe, Pat. Tip, Shoes, worth $1. 50, at 890 all sizes
150 pair Ladies’ fine C. S. Shoes, worth $1.50, at - - .
890 all sizes
Men’s First Quaiiiv HiT Rubber Bouts,
“$2
90 pair Men’s $3.00 Patent Lace Shoes, at . .
WFMen’s $2.00 Invisible Cork Sole Ba]. and Congress,
140 pair Men’s Lace and Congress Shoes at _
120 pair Men’s Invisible Cork Sole Shoes, worth $3.50 at
5 Cases of. Men’s Tap Sole Split Boots, worth $2.00, at
Boys Shoes, .
We want you to come and see this lot of goods.
7 5 .
, $1 95 a pair
l 48 “
$2 29 a. pair
1 48 a. pair
' 980, worth $1.25
1 880, 980, and $1 23 a pair .
This is positively the best chance ever offered to buy a
HIGH—CLASS SHOE at less than the cost of manufacture.
, They
are worthy your inspection. These shoes can only be found at
OLSEN BROS!
WHITE SHOE STORE“
3' GAZETTE BUILDING. NORWALK
STORE OPENED E YEN I N GS
YOUR SHOES SHINED FREE
THIS, IS WORTH nunma
Hood’s Sarsaparilla; .
Greene’s Nervura,| . ‘ .
William’s Pink Pills, -. ' .
Castoria, . . . . ,
Allcock’s Plasters,
Pears' Unseented Soap, . . .
100 two grain Quinine Pills,
R. [1. Plaisted, 43 Washington Street, So.
a
I . . . 65 Cents.
. . . ' . 75‘ \ f‘
. . . . .40 “
\ - -. . . 25,- “ '
. ' . 10 i‘. .
. _ .0 . 110 . u . .
V.“ , " . _ . 25'1“
Norwalk.»
.9':
Norwalk Chronicler