W. G. Skinner is one of the best known men in Wakefield, Mass. He is a war veteran and everybody’s friend. He says: “I had rheumatism and was in poor health a long time. Indications pointed towards the accumulation of impurities in the blood and germs of disease I was constipated and had no appetite. I evi- dently needed a cod blood purifier and dicided to take ood’s Sarsaparilla. It made a change all through my system, gave me an appetite and worked effec- tively on my blood. I am 'now perfectly Well, my bIOud has been put in good order, thanks to Hood’s.” W. G. SKINNRB. Hood’s Sarsaparilla Is the Only True Blood Purifier Prominently in the Public Eye Today. Hood’s Pills “m. OPENED. Prof. George Yoerger has opened his Boxing School for the Winter. Private instructions at the pupils home if desired. Full course, 12 lessons, $10. easy to buy easy to take. easy in effect. 25 cente. ADDRESS Prof. George Yoerger. Norwaik, Conn or anplv at. this office. uoosoowsou oddit‘ A Pure Malt Extract. A Substitute for Solid Food Highest percentage Extract. Low- est percentage Alcohol. An Eti‘ect ive Tonic. An Agreeable Beverage. A mild Stimulant. ' Just What physicians will pre- scribe for Nursing Mothers. Con- valescents and victims of Insomnia or Nervous Disorders resulting from Impaired Digestion and Overwork. Bottled for Sale and Delivered Anywhe r, LONG ISLAND BOITLING 00. : 380-284 Ber-gen Ctr Franklyn FOR SALE BY EDWARD P. WEED LOCKWUUDIg LIGHT PARCEL an 3 PACKAGE DELIVERY Cheap rates, Will also take orders for mes senger service in New York. Goods called or and dehyered to all parts of the town. Orders received at E P. Weed’s Drug Store 38 WallStreet. With telephone connection un- ti 8.30. C E. LOCKWOOD. DAILY FREIGHT LINE BETWEEN NORWALK. SO. NORWALK NEW YORK. _ Propellers tilt y of Norwalk, Vulcan and Eagle. Leave Norwalk at 5 p. to. Leave So. Norwalk at 6 p. m. Leave New York, Pier 23, E. R., Beekman SL, 5 p m, CENTRIL NATIONAL BANK. 30' WALL ST., NOR WALK. NUURPORATED SEPT. l. “576. AI'I’I‘AL. '.»- - - - - - $100.000 nous M. Honmas. President. . LA. Burns, Vice-President. WILLIAM A. Guard. Cashier DIRECTORS : GEORGE M. HOLMES, H . E. DANN, 9 1.. CUNNINGHAM, J. T Pnowrr'r 1:. L. Boynn, S. H. HOLMES J. Cousms. J a. disoount'flay. Saturday. l . . . UNCLE COTTLE’S WOOING “I’m going to get married, Tim.” . Uncle Cottle sat very upright in his chair, and spoke with an air of invinci- ble decision. “What, again?” drawled his nephew, wearily. ’ “Again, sir? When was I married be- fore ?”’ “But this isn’t the first time you’ve been going to do it, uncle; that’s what, I meant,” Tim explained. “Do I know the favored lady?” “It’s Miss Sybil Holt, Tim,” said Uncle Cottle, confidentially. “The most lorrely—the—the—oh-h! I met her the other evening at Mrs. Dynham’s silver wedding party, and she—er— quite seemed to take to me. I’m older than she is,” he sighed, pensively, “but I look a good ten'years younger than I am; don’t you think so ?” Young Tim regarded him critically, without hazarding an opinion. He was past middle age and looked it; a full— bcdied little gentleman, with short, dumpy legs and a bland, moon-like face, whose prevailing expression was of im- perturbable simplicity. “Have you proposed ?” “VI"hy, no, I’ve only seen her once. Be— sides,” Uncle Cottlc sighed again, “I’m so shy, you know, Tim—so infernally shy! The only time I ever managed to propose was when I wrote tO‘ that widow—you remember, you helped me with that letter — and she never an- swered. You didn‘t say,” he added, “whether you know Miss Holt ‘3” “I don’t remember ever to have met her.” “Ah! If you had you couldn’t forget her. She’s an aunt you’ll be proud of, my boy.” “But she may not appreciate the hon- or of obtaining me for a nephew.” “If she refuses me, Tim—if I lose her as I’ve lost all the others,” cried Uncle Cottle, wildly, “I shall think there’s a curse on me, and I’ll give in—I’ll never love again. I’ll live and die single!” Young Tim hoped he would. Uncle Cottle had been his guardian ever since he was quite a boy, but since he came of age, some six years ago, he had rather reversed the position of affairs, and looked upon Uncle Cottle with the jeal- ous eye of a sole proprietor who didn’t want anybody to meddle with his busi- 'ness. “I'm his only relative,” he cofiiplained to his urony, Ted Merrows, as he sat at breakfast next morning in the cham- bers they tenanted in common. “What’s his is mine. He’s said so lots of times. If he gets married, though, his wife will expect at least half; and if he has chil- dren,—there’ll be no meat left on the bone for me!” They were both reading for the bar, but Ted Merrows put aside his paper for the moment, and placed all his in— tellect at the service of his friend. “What’s the use of looking black about it? He’s been going to marry often enough before—” - “But he’s never seemed so determined as he is now. He’s dyeing his hair and cultivating a figure.” “Gone so far as that!” exclaimed Ted. "Then I’m afraid nothing will stop him,” “I shall try, anyhow,” growled Tim. “If I can’t hit on anything better, I shall tell him I’ve found out she’s en- gaged. I’ve stopped him twice like that; he’s so nervous and afraid of seeming presumptuous. That widow was the most. dangerous—three months ago. I really thought I’d lost him that time. He was so bewitched he was going to call at her house, only I per- suaded him it wasn’t ediquette, and that I he ought to write first and disclose his sentiments, and ask permission to call. I undertook to post the letter on .my way home here to the Temple, and I put it in the fire. When he got no an- swer he wished he hadn’t written—felt he had been impertinent and she was of— fended.” “Suppose he meets her and mentions it?” “He daren’t; I know him too well. IIe’d be so ashamed and panic-stricken he’d run away at the sight of her.” “Well, you have been lucky so far, but it can’t go on like this forever,” ob~ served Ted Merrows. “Take my tip, and make hay while the sun shines.” “How do you mean?” “You are old enough to marry, and, as your uncle’s sole heir, you’d be aval- uable article in the matrimonial mar— ket; but if he marries, you’ll find your- self on‘the shelf among the damaged goods and remnants. Dispose of your- self while you are still heir and the fit- ting lord for an heiress. You can’t stop the old man marrying, but you can take care he doesn’t spoil you by marry- ing first." “But I don’t know anybody!” remon- strated Tim. “How am I to find an heiress, get introduced and engaged, and marry her out of hand in—” “You might find one thrOugh the mat— rimonial journals.” “Nonsense! Heiresses don’t adver- tise.” “Don’t they? All heiresses are not in society; some of them want to go there, and they ddvertise. They wouldn’t marry a gentleman with noth- ing, perhaps, unless they happened to be old and ugly, but they would be glad to snap up a man like you, moving in good society, with a liberal allowance 4 from your uncle and hopeful prospects. Then, if your uncle deserts you after— ward. her money will keep the wolf from the door and save you from work- ing yourself to death.” Young Tim had a morbid horrow of poverty and overwork, and that story haunted him all day. It shone through his- dismal forebodings like the moon through a mist; it seemed almost too good to be. true. He dined alone that evening at a restaurant in the Strand; and, passing a news agent’s .on his way back into the Temple, he noticed some matrimonial journals in the window, and went in and bought one. He was somewhat relieved on entering his chambers to find that Ted Morrows l was not yet at home. He opened the‘ journal, and studied the crowded col- umns in private, and lighted at length on a business-like advertisement that impressed him favorably: AUD, young. dark and good-looking, with private income, wishes to corre- spond with middle-aged gentleman of means and position, with View to 'matri- mony. References exchanged. Replies were to be sent to a. letter of the alphabet'at the office of the paper. “There’s no harm in writing,” he argued. “If I change my mind or it doesn’t seem good enough I can drop it.” - . And while the impulse was upon him. he wrote. He Wrote vaguely of his income and said nothing of his age, but craved an interview. If he explained his precise position, he feared she might fancy it was too insecure to render him eligible; but if he could see her, he flattered himself that the charm of his conversation and personal presence would dazzle her and divert her atten- tion from his less pronounced monetary qualifications. He signed his. own name: “T. Cot-tie,” because, if the nego- tiations came to anything, it might; shake her confidence when he had to acknowledge that he had approached her under a false name; at the same time, as she had withheld her surname and address, he felt justified in request- ing her to direct her reply, in the first instance, to the post office in Bayswater Road, to be left till called for. *- “I can look in for it the next time I go to see uricle," he reflectd. “If it turns out a frost, I needn’t tell Merrows anything; hc’d only grin about it.. I’ll get the letter off before he gets in.” And he ran out and posted it at once.- ll‘Ie half regretted his impetuosity when he contemplated what he had done in the cold light of the next morning. Nevertheless, a couple of evenings 13 ter he journeyed to Bayswater and in— q uircd at the post office for his letter, 1:. at it hadn’t arrived, so he walked on to see Uncle Cottle, but as his uncle was not at home, he told them to say that he had called, and wouldn’t wait. His interest in his rash matrimonial project had cooled considerably; but going to see his uncle on the following Saturday afternoon, he inquired cas— ually at the post office again, and was not altogether displeased that there was still no letter for him. He decided that his epistle had not created a satis- factory impression, and that he should hear no more of it. Turning the corner a little beYOnd the post office, he was surprised to run into Uncle Cottle, gorgeous in a new white waistcoat and with a flower in his but- tonhole. “Tim, my boy,” he ejaculated, “I’ve been expecting you daily. Sorry I was out when you called last—I was out on particular business.” “Oh!” Tim had dim premonitions of disas- tcr; he upbraided himself for neglect- ing the affairs of Miss Holt. “Ye‘S-’, Uncle Cottle winked his left eye and smacked his nephew on the shoulder e‘xuberantly. “I was arranging to get married.” “To. Miss Holt?” faltered Tim. “No,” laughed Uncle Cottle. “You’ll never guess. It’s the widow—Mrs. Net- ley. You remember, we wrote to her? She answered my letter that evening, an hour before you called.” Tim was too confused to grasp what he heard. “But you said,” he stammcred, “that if Miss Holt rejected you you’d know there was a curse on you, and—” “I haven’t asked Miss Holt—besides, it’s three months since I wrote to the widow, so, in any case, she has a sort of prior claim over the—" “The other curse,” suggested Tim, bitterly. “Here‘s her letter,” said Uncle Cottle, disregarding his interpolation. “Read it for yourself.” “DEAR Sin: If you care to call or; me I shall be pleased to see you. I regret you did not give me your own address, as I should have thought it implied either a want of confidence in me or candor in your- self, had it not been that we are almost neighbors, and I had the pleasure of meet— ing you a few months ago, and I know you by reputation. Under the circumstances you will appreciate my preferring to send this to your private address, which I have taken from the directory. Yours truly, “MAUD NETLEY." “That’s all right, Tim, ain’t it?” chuckled Uncle Cottle. Tim realized in a flash that this was his “Maud,” and it was his letter she was answering, not his uncle’s; but he could not see his way to saying so. “What does she mean about your ad- dress ?” he saidu “Why, I was nervous when I wrote that letter, and I must have forgotten to put my address in; that’s why she didn’t answer before; She couldn't. And it’s just occurred to her to look in the directory. See? I meant to have asked her about it, but she was so nice and amiable and smiling, and I was so —so——well, I hardly know how I was— but there didn’t seem any need to apolo- gize, and, in fact, I never thought about it till I was coming away.” “Is she young?” asked Tim, for the sake of saying something. “I thought at first she was nearly 40, but she’s only 29—she. told me so her- self. I showed her my bank book and a list of my securities. “ ‘Oh, that’§ all right,’ she says laugh- ing. " ‘Then when’s it to be?’ says I. “And it’s going to be next month.” fi‘NeXt—7, “Month. I’m going around to the vicar’s now to put up the banns—you come with me. And, I say! she’s an orphan, so we want you, my boy—age don’t matter; it’s only a matter of form ——to be a father to her at the wedding, and give her away.” Tim was gloomy and reckless, and said he would. Why shouldn’t he ? He had given away his prospects; he had given away his uncle; he might just as well do the thing thoroughly and give away the widow as well; then he would have nothing and nobody left to keep— but himself.—Tit—Bits. b MONEY IN PEARLS. Some Valuable Ge‘ms Found in the Streams of Kentucky. Quite an Extensive Business Done by the Pearl Hunters—The Late Dry Soa- son Productive of Great Success. The continued dry weather of the past summer and fall, which has caused many of the creeks and rivers in Ken- tucky'to go nearly dry, has been very favorable to the pearl hunters in the Cumberland and other rivers, and quite a number of fine specimens have been found, especially in the Cumberland river, which seems-to be the most pro- ductive of pearl-bearing mussels. One of the well-known pearl hunters told the writer that he had found several pearls during the past summer that were worth $75 to $100 each, and alarg‘e lot of smaller and cheaper ones. The leading pearl hunters, who pros~ pect up and down the Cumberland, send their pearls to Chicago, Philadelphia and New York, Tiffany getting the best of them. Several years ago an old man picked up a mussel from a. sandbar in the Cumberland river near Point Burn- side, a station on the Cincinnati South- ern railroad, and upon opening the oyster-like bivalve found a magnificent pearl of fine size and color. A pearl hunter who ran across the old man shortly afterward, and to whom he showed the gem, at once recognized the value of it, and bought it for a trifling sum, afterward selling it for $500. Such finds as this, however, are few and 'far between. The pearl hunters work whenever the water is not too. cold for them to wade in it. They find the mussels lying on the sandbars, pick them up, and prying them open, “feel” for the pearl, and if there is no pearl drop the mussel back into its place in the river. The pearl is found clinging to the wall of the mus- sel’s shell, and close to the mouth of it. The large majority of the pearls, as a matter of course, are oddly shaped and irregular in form, and for that reason are worthless. Now and then pearls of beautiful color are found, but useless because of a lack of desirable form. The round pearls, usually found and put upon the market by these wander- ing pearl hunters, vary in size from the dimensions of the head of a pin to the size of a pea, and bring from 50 cents to $50 apiece. Few of them resch the $50 mark, however. The pearl hunter who searches the Kentucky streams is usually a shift- less, easy-going fellow, who is at home most any place, and makes his bed upon the banks of the stream as readily as he would in the most elaborately furnished mansion. When he has good luck on a trip he waits until all of his money is gone before he strikes out upon another journey. Now and then a more businesslike operator is found, who will carry a camping outfit, good tent, etc., and live in true sportsman- like style while at work. The pearl hunters say that one rea- son why the streams of Kentucky are more productive of pearls than the rivers in Some other states is because of the limestone bedrock, which seems more adapted to the purposes of the pearl-bearing mussels than the forma— tions underlying many streams in other sections of the country. Pea-r1 mussels are, therefore, found in near]; every waterway in the blue grass state, but for some reason only a compara- tively small number of men are en- gaged in the hunting of them, which frequently pays a great deal better than most any other form of common labor. The excitement and anticipa- tion attendant upon the industry, too, has something of the effect of the fas- cination of the diamond fields, for the “next one” is always expected to be a $500 beauty. One of the most valuable pearls ever found in the United States, the pearl hunters say, came from the Miami river, in Ohio—St. Louis Globe- Democrat. ' Has Done with Plgeonholes. An Inquirer man called on the head of a big business house and found him- self seated at a roll-top desk which was absolutely clear of papers. “I’m glad to find your desk clear," the newspaper man remarked; “you will have plenty of time to talk to me.” “Yes, I’ve cleared up everything for the day,” was the reply, “and have determined to do away altogether with this desk. I haven’t time for details or pigeonholes, and have ordered a glass~top flat desk, on which I will handle the mail as I al- ways here. But every matter is event- ually to be attended to by some one in the establishment, and as I read I turn the communications to the man who will look after them. By this means I am almost at liberty to give my attention to the 101 questions which arise in a day’s business, and which are submitted tr; me for final settlement. That glass- topped desk without pigeonholes ought to be worth five years of life to me.""—— Philadelphia Inquirer. Particular as to Their Partis. The leading newspaper in Vienna prints at length the amazing last will and testament of a wealthy old eccen- tric who died lately at Hadersdorf-am- Kamp. property, movable and immovable,” says he, “to my six nephews and six nieces, but under the sole condition that every one of my nephews marries a woman named Antonie, and to at every one of my nieces marries a man named Anton.” The twelve are further re- quired to give the Christian name An- tonie or Anton to each first—born child, according as it turns out to be girl or boy. The marriage of each nephew and niece is also to be celebrated on one of the St. Anthony’s days, either J armary 17, May 10 or June 13. Each is further repuired to be married before the end of July, 189.6. Any nephew or niece re- maining unmarried to an Antonie or an Anton after that date forfeits half of his or her share of the property—Chicago Times-Herald. ,‘PUNGENT PARAGRAPHS... —-Well Named—“Why do you refer to the trees as acrobats?” “Because their limbs are always in the air.”—De- . i‘roit Free Press. » . ———Bob——“Ah, Jack, did your rich uncle remember you in his will?” Jack— “Yes. He inserted a clause requesting his executors to collect at once all the loans he had made me.” ‘ . ——Where He Drew the Line.-—“Your friend, Van Dooze, is a great practical joker,.I believe?" “Yes; but he' isn’t my friend any more.” “What’s the matter?” “I played a joke on him the other day.”—-Chicago Record. —Pastor———Do you ever play with bad little boys, Johnny?” Johnny—“Yes, sir.” Pastor—“I’m surprised, Johnny! Why don’t you play with good little boys ?” Johnny — “Their mammas won’t let ’em! ”-——Chicago Record. ——It was a very cold morning, and Bobby came rushing into the house very much excited. “Mommer,” he cried, “there’s something the matter with me. Please send for the doctor. I’m breathing fog!”-—-Harper’s Round Table. ‘ —The locksmith came out, looking knobby, with a big rose in his but-ton- hole. His countenance was screwed into a smile, but none knew the key to his happiness. Just then a creditor appeared, and the locksmith, making a spring, bolted down the street, where, after securing shelter, he barred him- self in. —A certain precocious baby had been keenly watched by his fond mother, who wanted to discover the first signs of future genius. If he scratched the furniture with a pencil, he was to be an author; if he opened a book and made a- noise with his month, he was to be a preacher; if he imitated some action of an older person, he was to be an actor. One day he had been forcibly emptying the pockets of his “big brother,” who, struck with an idea, ran to his mother and cried: “Oh, mamma, I know what the baby’s going to be—a pickpocket! ” TOASTED TO A TURN. Sister Caroline Got Even with the Man Who Had Despised Her Love. There was a scene and a sensation at the Calvary Baptist church (colored) on a recent Sunday. A “covenant” or experience meeting was in progress, and Sister Caroline, of some 50 sum- “I bequeath the whole of my’ mers, had the floor. She began in the usual orthodox form of telling her ex- perience, but shifted to a recital of her personal grievance against Brother ,Jackson, whose arrival with his bride upon his arm had turned the course of her remarks. The way she roasted him was highly entertaining, if not edify— ing. Rev. Mr. Parish attempted to call her down, but she insisted upon having her say out. Unable to control her, he sought to overcome her harangue with a song, and so gave out. a hymn. For awhile the sister’s voice could be heard above the united tones of the congrega- tion. She continued to talk against the overwhelming odds until her voice gave way under the strain and she fell ex- hausted in the seat. Here is the way she began her ex- perience recital: “I praise de Lawd dat he has ’lowed me to lib to see disrday. De great Al- mighty is er merciful God. lie is a just Lawd, an’ will not stand round an’ sec cny ob his poor creeters suffer wrong. De Lawd has been berry hc’pful to me. He has fed mewhen I wuz hungry, an’ I have been naked an’ he clothed me. He hab put money in my purse.” Just 'then Brother Jackson appeared with his bride and the sister ch. nged the key of her discourse. “Oh, Lawd. I thank thee that thou has been so good to me. I thank thee, oh, Lawd,-that thou hast- ’nabled me to feed Brother Jackson, who done got. married to another in violation of his promise to marry me. I thank thee that thou hast ’nabled me to give him six shirts and has helped me to raise de eight dollars for him to buy a pair of new shoes. Oh, Lawd, I thank thee that he hab libed 111 my house a whole year without payin’ board. 'I thank thee, oh, Lawd, that I raised, by thy help, the money to send Brother J ack- son ter Chicago. And now, oh, Lawd, he hab come back an’ school have be- gun, he has not kept his promise to marry me. But, oh, Lawd, how grate— ful I am dat I can say dis bright day in de language of de pharisee, that ‘I am not as other men am.’ No, Lawd, your own Caroline am still libing in hopes ob an eternal salvation, an’ if it is pos- sible, Lawd, I pray thee to save Brother Jackson, for .berrily, I say unto him, ‘ye know not what ye do.’ ” Naturally the congregation was con- vulsed, and Rev. Mr. Parish, after in— effectual efforts to quiethis sister, thus addressed the congregation: “Brethren, we cannot permit our mis- guided sister to go on. Sing the long- metcr doxology and keep singing it un- til she takes her sea .”—Louisville Times. I Feud Settled by Marriage. A feud lasting over ten years, in which blood was twice spilled, once on a church step, has ended by the marriage of William Hyland and Jessie Potter at Maidstone, Ont. A decade. ago William began to court Jessie, and her parents seriously objected, even to the point of kicking Hyland from the house, setting the dog at him, blazing away at him with a shotgun, and later attacking Kim on the church steps. The church, even, was divided on the affair; families were set against each other, and two or three court cases grew out of it. Hyland had perseverance and Jessie was constant,- and, despite the combinations of clubs, shotguns and fierce dogs, they succeed- ed in ending their ten years' courtship. When Jessie’s father and brother heard of the ending they decided that Hy- 18 nd had fairly won. his bride, and sent word to him to come over to the house, that all was forgiven. Maidstone peo- ple are singing psalms of rejoicing over the happy culmination of the long fight. —-Chicago Chronicle. I EVERYBODY snoUrs roe HALE’S ‘ LUNG. n, BALSAM. : . 4 250. at 7 :EIAchufia' oroour lNPlth-E— MEAT. terhouse Steaks, Sausge, Pot and Rib Roasts Reduced 20. :1 Pound. All First Quality Meat. J. “I. BOGARDUS, 6 WATER sr., NORWALK IIRIIIII IIAIIIIIIIN SPRING wrrrr FOR THE Stomach, Bo wels, Liver and Kidneys. FOR SALE BY The 'llolmos, Keolor third: to FALL Ado wrrrrro somsos. Having rocured a large line of handsome. Fall and . int-er suitings, I am ready to make them up In the latest styles. ' F.Kocoun. I? North Main St, South Norwallr. NEW LOT IN BLUE AND BLACK. 0 ‘ Tailor-made latest style,sati 8b ‘0 $ l 09 ,waists andtleeve linings. ‘DIAGomL wonern SUITS. IN BLUE AND BLACK. . . $8.50 a Sui I Fine Custom Work. All greatbargains. Call and examine. H. GOODWIN, 170 \VASHINGTON STREET BRIDGE. Herace E. Darin, ' EXCELSIUL Li 5731:; and §a1es Stable. —— ....w.\ . Opposite Danbury and Nor-walk Ram cad nepor Norwalk, Conn Stylish Single or Double Team with or without drivers _ Safe horses for women andcmlnlreu. . . tar“ DULY. HORSE: A '7 c'r' \ If-E TV To Cure all kinds of Coughs or» k' Colds, either Bronchial or Pulmonary, also Hoarse- ness‘ and Soreness use ' WILLIAMS’ ooddir‘iiiiror Made from a recipe of one of the most famous doctors in New England. It contains no opium of any form and there’s no danger as . with some preparations of forming- the Morphine Habit. Children like it, as it cures them Without upsetting their stomachs. wruroMs & cursor on. Hammad. or. i it i , t i L .fl‘
Norwalk Chronicler