Itching
‘If there is one thing more than
another which gratifies us, it is the
great volume of hearty thanks which
come from grateful parents for the
cures Hood’s Sarsaparilla has effected
upon their children. The agony of
despair turns to unspeakable joy as
mothers and fathers see dreadful sores
and eruptions gradually yield to the
Spotent purifying power of this great
medicine, and bright boys and girls
given perfect health. Read this:
“When my baby was four weeks old,
scrofulous eczema broke out on his body.
He became literally covered with
When six months old the breaking out
healed on ‘his body, but his head, face and
arms were a terrible sight. I passed many
sleepless nights holding his little hands
to keep him from scratching his face. _I
teannot tellwhat he suffered with the sores.
'One doctor attended him a year without
9avail. No one thought he would ever get
lwell. He was almost a year old when I
commenced to give him Hood’s Sarsapa-
rilla. He soon grew so much better that
Eu red
A
I was able to rest at night. Gradually the
sores on his head and arms healed, the
burning and itching ceaSed, and he slept
better. In 2 months he looked like an-
other child, gained strength, was cured.
‘I recommend all persons afflicted with
eczema or any skin disease to take Hood’s
Sarsaparilla. I feel assured that it will
do wonders for others. I cannot praise
it too highly for what it has done for my
~¢
331. ..
.\I.”w' '1
Quits... .
poor little sufferer. It is hard to believe
he is the same child, he is now .such a
big, hearty, fat boy, a very picture of
health. If more people would give Hood’s
Sarsaparilla to their children, there would
not be so many poor, delicate little ones.”
MRS. A'GNES C. BAILEY, BOx 91, McVey-
town, Pennsylvania.
This and other similar cures prove that
.SarSaparilla '
Is the One True Blood Purifier. All druggists. $1.
Be sure to get Hood’s and only I-Iood’s. It is
prepared only by C. 1. Hood 8; Co., Lowell, Mass.
ure all Liver Ills and
H00d"S Pills gick Headache. 25 cents.
DAILY FREIGHT LINE
BETWEEN
N ORWALK.
SO. NORWALK
AND
NEW YORK.
. Propellers
titty of ‘Norwalk,
vulcan and Eagle.
heave Norwalk at 5 pfm,
Leave So. N orwalk at 6 p. m.
Leave New York, Pier 23,
E. R., Beekman St., 5p m,
[UBKWOOD’S titEXGEPANNEtVE’N‘i'
Cheap rates, Will also take orders for mes
Manger service in New York. Goods called
0. and delivered to all arts of the town,
urders received atE P. Veed’s Dru{ Store.
ELWali Street. With telephone connection un-
it 8.30.
(‘- E. LOCKWOOD.
SPECIAL OPENING
M ILLINERY
Consisting of Trimmed Hats and every-
thing in the Millinery Line.
Latins will Please accept this Invitation
FAWCE TT’S
3 WATER STREET, JVUR WA. LB
J. D. Jennings.
- UN DERTAKER
4 Knight-street. opposite
Street Railway Depot
NIGHT BE DE AT OFFICE.
4—
THE SENTRY’S SHOT. >~
BY AIMBROSE 'I’IERCE.
One sunny afternoon in the autumr
of the year 1861 a soldier lay in a
clump of laurel by the side of a road
in western Virginia. He lay ’at full
upon the toes, his head upon the left
forearm. His extended right hand
loosely grasped his rifle. But for the
somewhat methodical disposition of
his limbs and a. slight rhythmic move
ment of the cartridge-box at the back
of his belt, he might have been thought
to be dead. He was asleep at his post
of duty. But, if detected, he would be
dead shortly afterward, that being the
penalty of his crime.
The clump of laurel in which the
criminal lay was in the angle of a road
which, after ascending southward a.
steep acclivity to that point, turned
sharply to the west, running along the
summit for perhaps one hundred yards.
There it turned southward again and
went zigzagging downward through
the forest. At the salient of that sec-
ond angle was a large flat rock, jut-
ting from the ridge to the northward,
overlooking the deep valley from
which the road ascended. The rock
capped a high cliff; a stone dropped
from its outer edge would have fallen
sheer downward one thousand feet to
the tops of the pines. The angle where
the soldier lay was on another spur of
the same cliff. Had he been awake he
would have commanded a view, not
only of the short arm of the road and
the jutting rock, but of the entire pro-
file of the cliff below it. ‘
No country is ‘50 wild and difficult
but men Will make it a. theater of war;
concealed in the forest at' the bottom
of that military rat-trap, in which half
a hundred men in possession of the
exits might have starved an army to
submission, lay five regiments of fed-
eral infantry. They had marched all
the previous day and night and were
resting. At nightfall they would take
to the road again, climb to the place
where their unfaithful sentinel now
slept. and, descending the other slope
of the ridge, fall upon a camp of the
enemy at about midnight. Their hope
was to surprise it, for the road led to
the rear of it. In case of failure, their
position would be perilous in the ex.
treme.
The sleeping sentinel in the clump
of laurel was a. young Virginian named
Carter Druse. He was the son of
wealthy parents, an only child, and
had known such ease and cultivatiOn
and high living as wealth and taste
were able to command in the moun-
tain country of western Virginia. His
home was but a few miles from where
he now lay. One morning he had risen
from the breakfast table and 'said,
quietly: “Father, a. union regiment
has arrived at Grafton. I am going to
join it.”
The father lifted his leonine head,
looked at the son a moment in silence.
and replied: “Go, Carter, and, what-
ever may occur, do what you conceive
to be your duty. Virginia, to which
you are a. traitor, must get on without
you. Should we both live to the end
of the war, we will speak further of
the matter. Your mother, as the phy-
sician has informed you, is in a. most
critical condition; at the best she can-
not be with us much longer than a few
weeks, but that time is precious. It
would be better not to disturb her.”
So Carter Druse, bowing reverently
to his father, who returned the salute
with a stately courtesy which masked
a breaking heart, left the home of his
childhood to go soldiering. By con-
science and courage, by deeds of devo-
tion and daring, he soon commended
himself to his fellows and his officers;
and it was to these qualities and to
some knowledge of the country that
perilous duty at the extreme outpost.
Nevertheless,fatigue had been stronger
than resolution, and he had fallen
asleep. What good or bad angel came
in a dream to rouse him from his state
of crime who shall say? Without a.
movement. without a sound, in the
profound silence and the languor of
the late afternoon, some invisible mes-
senger of fate touched with unsealing
finger the eyes of his consciousness—
. whispered into the ear of his spirit the
mysterious awakening word which no
human lips have ever spoken, no hu-
man memory has ever recalled. He
quietly raised his forehead from his
arm and looked between the masking
stems of the laurels, instinctively closi
ing his right hand about the stock of
his rifle.
His first feeling was a. keen artistic
delight. On a colossal pedestal, the
cliff, motionless at the extreme edge
of the capping rock and sharply out-
lined against the sky, was an eques-
trian statue o impressive dignity.
The figure of the man sat the figure of
the horse, straight and soldierly, but
with the repose of the Grecian god
carved in the marble which limits the
suggestion of activity. The gray cos-
tume harmonized with its aerial back-
ground; the metal of accoutrement
and caparison was softened and sub-
dued by the shadow; the animal’s skin
had no points of high light. A carbine,
strikingly foreshor tened, lay across the
pommel of the saddle, kept in place by
the right hand“ grasping it at the
“grip;” the left hand, holding the
bridle rein, was invisible. In sil-
houette against the sky, the profile of
the horse was cut with the sharpness
of a cameo; it looked across the heights
of air to the confronting cliffs beyond.
The face of the rider, turned slightly
to the left, showed only an outline of
temple, and beard; he was looking
downward to the bottom of the valley.
Magnified by its lift against the sky
and by the soldier’s testifying sense of
the formidableness of a. near enemy,
.the group appeared of heroic, almost
colossal. size.
For an instant Druse had a strange,
to the end of the war and was looking
upon a noble work of art, reared upon
that commanding. eminence to com-
memorate the deeds of an heroic past,
of which he had been an inglorious
‘part. The feeling was dispelled by a
l
length on his stomach. his feet resting ,
he owed his selection for his present '
half-defined feeling that he. had slept.
Slight movement of the group; the
- horse, without ,moving its feet, . had
drawn its . body slightly backward
from the verge; the man remained im-
mobile as before. Broad awake and
keenly alive to. the significance of the
situatiOn, Druse now brought the butt
of his rifle against his check by cau-
tiously pushing the barrel forward
through the bushes, cocked the piece,
and, glancing through the sights, cov-
ered a vital spot of the horseman’s
breast. A touch upon the trigger, and
all would have been well with Carter
Druse. At that instant the horseman
turned his head and looked in the di-
rection of his concealed foeman—
seemed'to look into his very face,'into
his eyes, into his brave, compassionate
heart. .
Is it, then, so terrible to kill an
enemy in war—an enemy who has sur-
prisedasecret vital to the safety of
one’s self and comrades—an enemy
more formidable . for his knowledge
than all his army for- its numbers?
Carter Druse grew deathly pale; he
shook in every limb, he turned faint,
and saw the statuesque group before
him as black figures, rising, falling,
moving unsteadily in arcs of circles in
a fiery sky. His hand fell away from
his weapon, his head slowly dropped
until his face rested on the leaves in
which he lay. This courageous ,gen-
tleman and hardy soldier was nearly
swooning from intensity of emotion.
It was not for long; in another mo-
ment his face was raised from the
earth, his hands resumed their places
on the rifle, his forefinger sought the
trigger; mind, heart and eyes were
clear, conscience and reason sound.
He could not hope to capture that
enemy; to alarm him would be to send
him dashing into his camp with his
fatal news. The duty of the soldier
was plain: the man must be shot dead
from ambush—without warning, with-
out a moment's spiritual preparation,
with never so much as an unspoken
prayer he must be sent to his account.
But, no—there is a. hope; he may have
discovered nothing—perhaps he is but
admiring the sublimity of the land-
scape. If permitted, he may turn and
ride carelessly away in the direction
whence he came. Surely it will be
possible to judge at the instant of liis
withdrawing whether he knows. It
may well be that his fixity of atten-
tion—Druse turned his head and
looked below, through the deeps of
air downward, as from the surface to
the bottom of atranslucent sea. He
saw creeping across the green meadow
asinuous line of figures of men and
horses—some foolish commander was
permitting the soldiers to water their
,beasts in plain view from a hundred
summits! *
Druse withdrew his eyes from the
valley and fixed them again upon the
group of man and horse in the sky,
and again it was through the sight of
his rifle. But this time the aim was at
the horse. In his memory, as if they
were a divine mandate, rang the words
of his father at parting: “Whatever
may occur, do what you conceive to
be your duty.” He was calm now.
His teeth were firmly but not rigidly
closed; his nerves were as tranquil as
a sleeping babc’s—not a tremor af~
fected any muscle of 'his body; his
breathing, until suspended in the act
of taking aim, was regular and slow.
Duty had conquered; spirit had said to
body: “Peace, be still.” He fired.
At that moment an officer of the
federal force, who, in a. spirit of ad-
venture or in quest of knowledge, had
left the hidden bivouac in the valley,
and, with aimless feet, had made his
way to the lower edge of a small open
space near the foot of the cliff, was
considering what he had to gain by
pushing his exploration further. At a
distance of a quarter-mile before him, '
but apparently at a stone's throw, rose
from its fringe of pines the gigantic.
face of rock, towering to so great a
height above him that it made him
giddy to lock up to where its edge cut
a sharp, rugged line against the sky.
At some distance'away to his right it
presented a clean, vertical profile
against a background of blue sky to a
point half of the way down, and of dis-
tant hills, hardly less blue, thence to
the tops of the trees at its base. Lift-
ing his eyes to the dizzy attitude of its
summit, the officer saw an astonishing
sight—a man on horseback riding
down into the valley through the air!
Straight upright sat the rider, in
military fashion, with afirm seat in
the saddle, a. strong clutch upon the
rein to hold his charger from too im-
petuous a plunge. From his bare head
his long hair streamed upward, wav-
ing like a. plume. _ His right hand was
concealed in the cloud of the horse’s
lifted mane. The animal’s body was
as level as if. every hoof-stroke en-
countered the resistant earth. '1ts mo-
tions were those of a wild gallop, but
even as the officer looked they ceased,
with all the legs thrown sharply for-
ward as in the act of alighting from a.
leap. But this was a flight!
Filled with amazement and terror
by this apparition of a horseman in
the sky—half believing himself the
chosen scribe of some new apocalypse,
the officer was overcome by the in-
tensity of his emotions;' his legs failed
him and he fell. Almost at the same
instant he heard a crashing sound in
the trees—a sound that dies without
an echo, and all was still.
After firing his shot, Private Carter
Druse reloaded his rifle and. resumed
his watch. Ten minutes had hardly
passed when a federal sergeant crept
cautiously to him.
“Did you fire?” the sergeant whis-
pered.
‘ “Yes.”
“At what?”
“A horse. 'It was standing on y0n-
der rock—pretty far out. It is no long-
er there. It went Over the clifi.”
“See here, Druse,” the. sergeant said,
after a silence, “it’s no .use making a
mystery. I order you to report. Was
there anybody on the horse?”
“Yes. 3,
“Who?”
“My. father.”
The sergeant rose_ to his feet and
walked away. “Good ngl” he said.—
Tales of Soldiers and Civilians.
Mu um..-
_....- .._... .....—.. . 1-1
'r n E n'v mm G G 14.2 ET TL
Hearts on THE OCEAN.
Interesting Experiments with the
Visibility of Different Colors-
.—.———
The Governments of Several
Deeply Interested in Ascertalning
Which Are the Best Lights
for Signals.
I 0
Some interesting and valuable in-
formation regarding the color and visi-
bility of the lights at sea has been pub-
lished by the naval liydrographic office
as a result of special investigations
undertaken by officers of this govern-
ment, Germany and the Netherlands.
A marine observatory in Germany in
this connection tested some three thou-
sand running lights actually in use on
board ships ' and found that two-thirds
scribed by the international maritime
conference held in \Vashington in 1889.
It was then stipulated, says 3. Wash-
ington letter to the Baltimore Sun, that
the word “visible” should mean visible
on a. dark night with a. clear atmos—
phere. The Germans have further
pursued the inquiry by a systematic
series of experiments. A light was set
up on shore and observers embarked
on board a steamer which ran over a
well-buoyed course. The point at
which the light ceased to be visible
was noted' by each observer independ-
ently, as well as the point at which it
first appeared on the return trip. The
mean of the several observations was
taken as the limit of visibility of the
light under observation. The naval
liydrographic office sends out the fol-
lowing:
The American experiments under-
taken at Long Beach_light statiOn gave
the following results in very clear
weather. A light of 1-candle power
was plainly visible at 1 nautical mile,
and one of 3-candle power at 2nmiles. A
10-candlc power light was visible with
a binocular at 4miles, one’of 29 can-
dles faintly at 5 and one of 33 candles
without difficulty at the same distance.
On a 'second evening, exceptionally
clear, a. white light of 3.2-candle power
could readily be distinguished at 3.
one of 5.6 at 4 and one of 17.2 at5 miles.
The governmental experiment con-
ducted at Amsterdam gave the follow-
ing results: A light of 1-candle power
and 16 at 5 miles.
The German observations represent
gmore varied conditions and a large
number of experiments with lights of
widely-different character and inten-
sity. .
In experiments with colored lights it
is only necessaryto use the green, as
it has been conclusively proved that if
a light of that color fulfills the required
tests, a red one of the same intensity
will more than do so. Comparisons of
the observed and computed values of
the visibilities of‘ green lights disclose
the fact that the calculated are smaller
than the observed for short distances
and greater for long ones; in other
words, the green rays are subject to
greater absorption by the atmosphere,
even when perfectly clear, than rays of
white light. Hence it is that instead of
being proportional to the square of root
candle power, as in the case of white
lights, the intensity of green lights is
proportional to the cube root of the
same, and the factor for multiplying
this quantity is, as determined by Ger-
man experiments, 0.80, the distance in
miles at which a green light or a single
candle power is just visible.
From this rule the candle power re-
quired for a green light to be visible at
one, two, three and four nautical miles
is two, fifteen, fifty-one and one hun-
dred and six respectively. The experi-
ments at Long Beach cited above gave
for green light 3.2 candle power fairly
visible at one .mile, and 28.5 clearly at
two miles, these results, however, be-
ing from a limited number of experi-
ments. The German trials were much
more numerous.
The extraordinary rapid diminution
of the visibility of the green light with
the distance, even in good observing
weather, and the still more rapid de-
crease in rainy weather of a character
which will but slightly diminish the in-
tensity of a white light, show that it is
of the utmost importance to select for
the glass a shade of color which will
interfere with the intensity of the light
as little as possible. The shade recom-
mended is pale blue-green. Yellow-
green and grass-green should not be
employed, .as they become indistin-
guishable from white at a very short
distance. For the red a considerably
wider range is allowable, but a. cop-
pery red is probably the best.
W'ith regard to the loss which the
light suffers in being transmitted by
the glass, tests made show that this va-
ries from fourteen per cent. in the case
ofa perfectly clean glass to fifty-one
per cent. in the case 'of one in the
smoky condition due to a night’s burn-
ing.
An Ancient Mortgage.
“Speaking about mortgages,” said a
well-known Minneapolis banker the
other day in the midst of a conversa-
tion on the eating-up powers of inter-
est, “1 was shown a mortgage some
time ago down in New York by a
banker friend that had a. history. It
had been in existence just two hundred
years, having been given in the year
1695. It was on a. piece of property
lying in the farming region outside of
New York. I don’t remember just
where. The amount was not large,
some six or eight hundred dollars, but
it had beén kept precisely as it was
given in the old Dutch days. The in—
terest had been at 6 per cent. from the
very beginning, and it had always
been kept up. The document had been
in the same family, too, all these many
years, and for some reason or other it
had never been thought worth while
to pay it off. Oddly enough, the pres-
ent mortgageor had the very same
name of the original grantor of the
mortgage. The original document was
very odd as to form and makeup. but it
was sound and staple. and would hold
water in the courts today as well as
Ethe most approved document of .. the
ltimes." '
Nations _
- of them failed to meet conditions pre-~
was visible at 1 nautical mile, 3.5 at ‘2.
\ NEGRO MORTALITY KN CiTiES.
7 Colored Populatio-iY—ii-l_'l‘owns Only Kept
Up by Recruits from the Country.
Dr. Dc Saussene,-of Charleston, S. C.,
has been collecting statistics to deter-
mine the mortality among the southern
city negroes. It is well known, says
the New Orleans Times-Democrat, that
the statistics of 'births are deficient it
yet whether the negro population can
could not and that the negro population
ing from the rural districts. This Dr.
De Saussene now shows beyond ques-
tion. '
and 1894 the deaths among the negroes
in Charleston exceeded the births by
5,426, that is, there were three
deaths for every two births. The
Charleston negroes are decreasing at
the rate of 388 a year, 'and the
negro population of the city would
completely disappear in a couple of
generations if it were not recruited
elsewhere. The Charleston mortality
is a little less than that of New Orleans,
larger number of negroes here, in order
to keep up its colored population New
Orleans must draw 1,554 negroes every
year, or 15,540 every decade, to prevent
an'actual decrease.
The heaviest mortality among .the
negroes Dr. De Saussene finds among
the children. Out of every 1,000 white
children born in Charleston, 297 die be-
fore they are one year old; out of every
1,000 negro children, 564, or nearly
twice as many, are killed off. In Sa-
vannah the mortality among negro
children is nearly three times as great
as among the whites. Dr. De Saussene
explains these figures by the negro ten-
dency toward immorality and vice, and
the disposition to consumption, which
is carrying them off by the thousands.
These facts will explain what puzzled
the statisticians a. short time ago, why
the negroes increased so rapidly in pop-
ulation during one decade and so slowly
thenext. The growth of the southern
towns and the large immigration of the
negroes into them have scarcely affected
the increase of 'the colored population.
In the country districts their death rate
is much nearer that of the whites, be-
ing only 20 per cent. higher, whereas
in the cities it is from 05 to 115 per
cent. more. '
BICYCLES ARE UNROMANTIC.
._._.._
Love Making Is Out of the Question When
Riding on a ‘Vheel.
If the virtuous lady who fears that
bicycling is demoralizing to young
couples knew how hard it is to con-
verse even with one’s companion on a
bicycle, to say nothing of gazing into
his eyes, and if she were aware that
one squeeze of the hand might result
in a. dangerous somersault over a rear-
ing bicycle, and that only experts can
ride near enough together to ‘be very
confidential, and then only when both
wheels are geared exactly alike, and
that the attention of both tete-a-teters
is even then concentrated on keeping
pedals from clashing, she would real-
ize that a bicycle trip discounts walk-
ing, driving, horseback riding, or even
sitting in a room, for difficulties in the
way of spooning. The only way to in-
dulge in a desperate flirtation when
bicyling, says the Philadelphia. Times,
is to get off your wheel, and even a.
lady of great religious ferocity, com-
bined with suspicious intelligence, does
not have to be told that it is not neces-
sary to buy a bicycle nor, indeed, hire
one for the sake of sitting on a bench
by the lake with a loved one or wan-
dering through secluded paths of the
park. It is a great deal easier to flirt
at tennis or abadminton or golf or cro-
quet. And far easier to keep one’s
temper. . .
.._.—_._
New Eyebrows.
We learn from French sources that a.
London perfumer has found a new way
of fixing up eyelashes and eyebrows. In-
stead of painting them in the usual vul-
gar old style he puts the genuine old arti-
cle there, and professional and amateur,
beauties of the great city are flocking to
him tobe made just too lovely for any-
thing. The operation is said to be ex-
tremely delicate, though by no means
painful. He takes a hair from the head of
the beauty, or, if she does not like pre-
one of any other color that she likes,
threads an extremely fine needle with
the hair, runs it alongside the skin of
the eyelid, sewing sailmaker’s fashion,
but leaving the loops sufficiently long
to enable him to cut them afterward,
so that they will form a range of beau-
tiful fringe and look perfectly natural.
For evebrows he does the same thing;
less delicate. Arched eyebrows, bushy
eyebrows, straight eyebrows, crooked
eyebrows, all sorts of eyebrows, in any
color or shade or form, this wonderful
perfumer makes for the ladies of Lon-
don; and it is said that his success is
something astonishing. .
‘W Cooked Breakfast While Asleep.
Somnambulism has in all ages fur-
nished many curious illustrations, and
among them may be noted one that oc-
curred in a West Utica (.N. Y.) resi-
dence a few days ago. The husband
and wife were aroused by the breaks
fast bell ringing in the middle of the
night. They arose and discovered that
it was two o’clock, but on hastily
dressing and going down to the dining-
room they found breakfast ready and
waiting for them. They were greatly
alarmed at the condition of things, for
they at first. imagined that the hired
girl had suddenly gone insane.- After
a. few minutes, however, they discov-
ered she was asleep. She had got up,
started the fire, prepared the morning
meal and had it ready for serving, but
was sound asleep all the time. The
only unusual thing was her failure to
put on her shoes. ' . ‘
Clip the Lashes.
In the cast. it is customary to cut the
lashes of 'female children while they
are sleeping, so that art,-as well as na-
ture, has something to do with the
drooping eyelashes of oriental beauty. -
their death rate is very large, but as-
has not been possible to determine as ;
maintain ~itself in the towns, although .
there has been a strong belief that it'
of the cities waskept up only‘ by draw~-
I
In the fourteen years between 1880 ‘
and allowing for this difference and the ,
., .
WWW
W
Salt Rheum Case.
. THOMAs W’vAisr, 36;; Mon-
rOe Street, Brooklyn, N. Y.,
writes: , '
“ November 27, 1895'.
“Suva-cm is the best friend I
have had for six years. Having been
with Salt Rheum, and after trying
aimost every remedy known,‘witho'ui
SALVA-CEA, and can honestly say I.
was cured before using the entire
box."‘
In advertising SALVA-CEA
we mention nothing but facts.
We do not say it will do
,things that it will not do, and
the public appreciate this.
It is the best remedy for
piles, ulcerations, old sores,
skin irritation, c h ilbl a i n s ,
colds, and nasal catarrh.
Two sizes, 25 and 5° cents per box.
At druggists, or by mail.
For deep-ceated/az'n and rheumatism-of
t/zejaints use Saliva-62a, “ Extra Strong.”
Sold in tins, at 75 cent: (ac/s.
'l'i-in annnrn Co., 274 Canal St., N. Y.
'mnnms
cisely the color of her own hair, he takes -
but t e eyebrow operation is, of course,_
OPENED.
Prof. Georgie ~Yoerger has
opened his boxing School
for the Winter.
Private instructions at the
Duuils home if desired.
Full course, 12 lessons,
$10. '
, ADDRESS
Prof. George Ycerger.
NorWaik. Conn
or apply at this office.
CENTRAL NATIONAL BANK,
740' IVALL $12, NORIVALK.
URPOBATED SEPT. 1. ‘876.
urlTAL. .- - '$100.000
' nun M . HOLMES. President:
. L. Bursa, Vice-President.
. - o 5
\ViLmeA. Gnarls. Cashier.
DIBECTORS :
ones M. HOLMES,
1.. Lunmnenam,
a. 1,. BUYER.
H. E. DANN.
'5. H. Bonn:
J . Consms.'Jn.
ciscounl Bay, Saturday. .
Having purchased
the Market ofE J.
VVADHAMS, I have
restocked the same
Meats, Fish
HAS
SOLD
our.
with
Vegetaoes and Can-
ned goods. and so-
licit a snare of your
patronage.
sOHARLES E. SOHEUBERG-
2| wan Street.
WILLIAM s. KEMP,
Carpenter -:- and -:- Builder,
34-.West Main St.. Norwalk. ‘
Mr Kemp has been a. carpenter and buildei
in Norwala for the past 25 years. and refers to
own rs of buildings erected under his super-
vtsian as to workmanship.
Chilton Paint.
Every gallon of paint made by the
Chilton Mfg. Company is mixed and
ground in pure Linseed Oil. All shades
are mixed and ground by machinery
seven times, making them uniform and
even. Compare the .size of cans and
weight with the cheaper makes. You
get an honest gallon. Give it a trial and
you will be convinced.
n. n. WILLIAMS
1? Main St.‘
thCE -:- CURTAlNS
Cleaned and Grass Bleached.
No .Acids Used.
Nottingham, - - 65 Cents
Brussels, net and lace, 75c
Irish Point Applique, s I .00
Send postal card to
TOCQUE’S
Dyeing and cleaning Works.
Broad River, Norwalk.
I
i
1'
getting any relief, I tried a box en.-
‘a sufferer for that length of time i
J. '1‘. Pnowr'r'r .
k
\
\
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Norwalk Chronicler