.l
‘ Fred Scribner.A. A. Avison. Hu hD
It’s Soap, «
a} All Soap.
Welcome Soap is abSo-:-
lutely free from excess of
alkali, corrosive, and other
adulterations: that 15 Why it
is superior to any other soap.
If by special inducements
they are led ‘to try some
Other kind, they always re-
turn to Welcome.
NEW CAFE
WITH.
REST-AURAN T
ATTAOHE D.
[VIIKE fiATCHFORD,
44 {Main Street,
The Best Wines, Liquors and Cigars.
FBIG BUT IN PBNTE-
MEAT.
Round, Sirloin and Por-
terhouse Steaks, Sausge,
Pot and Rib Roasts
Reduced 21:. 11 P011111
All First Quality Meat.
J. w. Boeaunus,
'16 WATER ST... NORWALK
IMHS’
B la 2 on
Soap Powder,
‘ F or Kitchen Use
Excells all others.
.Ask Your Grocer For It.
The following Grocers have it on sale: E. J.
Finnegan, Main street; . ’Brien. Gha
stret; M Abraham. Plattsville avenue; r3.
Harriet A. Nort throp, Unionville A. St all
East Norwalk; D. Rosen, South Norwal l;k
L June. Winnipauk: N. Driscoll. Westpclrt.
onne y
George Pomeroy, Chapel street. H. ore-
house Wesn avenue. D. Gormley, Spring Hill.
Schach hat, Harbor avenue. D Schachat,
Franklin avenue. F. Bailwitz &Brns., 30Main
street; Buttery Bros . Belden Avenue; Anna
Lubrous. 20 Ward street; AnnaB Qurke, East
Norvvalk; William Flynn. 25 Day street; O.K .
.Scofield, 170 Main street.
.. SPECIAL 'SALE’
_OF._.
Sailor Hats
Now READY,
llnlrimmed, lilo and Upwards,
Trimmed, 50c and Ilpwards,
FAWCETTS.
3 Water Street, Norwalk
MEEKER COAL co,
0011., 110011, 1311101,
LIME, GEMENT,ITILE PIPE.
OFFICE WITH :1. WARD SELLEGK
WALL STREET. nonwi 1.x.
Horace E.Dann,
‘ axonnsroa
Livery and Sales Stable
Muuwuvuuvfi
Opposite Danbury and
Norwaik Railroad depot
Norwalk." Oonn. Stylish
Single or Double Team
with or without drivers:
Safe horses for women
andchildren. . '
SADDLE Houses A SPECIALTY
' a.
HIS SWEETHE ART.
I wondered why Barry should be sit«
ling alone in the garden at 10 o’clock
on a fine midwinter night. As 'I re-
membered him, he had been a sociable
sort of, fellow, fond of gayety and
pretty girls; and there was a. cotillon
going on indoors in the ballroom. I
wondered, too, where his wife was, for
he had told me he was married. It
was six years since I had last seen
him. We had been boys together, just
out of college, and I had visited him
for a summer in the southern part of
the State,_whcre his home had always
been, and where his family was one of
the few “old” ones which could rightly
lay claim to gentility of other than
mushroom growth. After that visit I
" had-gone back to San Francisco, and
to a truly San Francisco system of
work with the result that my health.
and spirits had steadily decreased,
and 1at the end of these half dozen
years I was obliged to come South for
iecreation.
I had Chosen this delightful and quiet
hotel in the hope that I might not have
my peace disturbed by any of my
numerous acquaintances; but here, the
first thing, came down upon us in our
”retreat a crowd of worldings from
town, bent on dancing 3. cotillon.
Barry, had‘come with them; why then,
~ I repeated, was he not in the hop room,
and where was his wife? Perhaps she
did not dance. But in that case, why
was either of them with the frivolous
party that was turning our secluded
spot into Bedlam?
For a moment longer I let my gaze
follow a girl in white satin, who had
fascinated me. She was very young,
and brilliant and erect, with the face a
painter would have chosen for Olym-
pia’s, wreathed in vines and serpents.
A‘ high, unnaturally white forhead,
with very black and very straight,
thin blows, eyes long and flashing and
cruel, a large nose, suggestive of the
Hebrew, thin, red lips, continually
parted in a wild sort of smile over
wonderful teeth; a brilliant color, a
long face, black hair, parted and
twisted low on one of the most colum-
nar necks I had ever seen. It was not
a. beautiful face; in repose it was far
from beautiful, but it was rarely in re
pose, and her laugh was the most. be-
wildering thing imaginable. If she
had been the heroine of a romance, 1
men would have loved Iand hated her
to the extent of the shedding of a
great deal of blood, but in life today it
is hard cash, not women’s faces,- that
accomplishes that. I :took one last
look at the demoniacal young face,
and then went to hunt up Barry.
We had already met in the oflice, but
had not had time to exchange a dozen
words. I wanted to talk over old
times and new times, so, when I drew
near.Ihim, I scraped my feet and
coughed, as being the approved method
of "breaking in upon" tete-a—tetes and
meditations; and when he started, I
said: I
“Hullo! That you, Barry ‘2” and
took a seat beside him on the bench.
He offered me a cigar and gave me a
light, from which I inferred I was not
unwelcome.
“What are you doing, mooning under
a pepper tree? It seems to me danc-
ing’s more in your line; or, does the
madam dance?”
“Yes, she dances.”-
“Ohl”- I said, and seeing slippery
ground proceeded to avoid' it. “Came
down from town to-night with the
party, didn’t you?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Heaps of pretty women.”
“Do you think so? I admire your
Northern women more; they have more
distinction, too. Ours fade early, be-
sides. ”
“Well, there’s one girl there, 'by
Jove,l that makes up for a country of
mediocrity—that witch of a flirt with
the black hair and the very b'are shoul-
ders who is dancing with Thornton. If
I didn’t happen to have some one I like
better in the city, I think I’d go in for
her”
“But she’s married, my friend. ”
“No? Who’ s the proud possessor?”
‘51 am 9!
“You don’ t say? Since when?”
“Since five years ago, nearly.”
“Well, it’s a little late, but permit
me to congratulate you; she’s super .”
“Thanks.” And then we lapsed into
silence, and I reflected upon the fa-
cility with which a well-meaning man
may put his foot in it.
“You wonder at my not dancing,
don’t you?” he said, abruptly. “Well,
I used to like it; I like it now; but I
found Mrs. Barry was already en-
gaged, so there was nothing for me
to do but to order flowers gracefully
and step here—to reflect and recall.
“Do you know,” he'went on, “I had a
romantic meeting and parting on this
spot once. Right under this very
tree. It was just after I left you, six
years ago—the meeting. I had ridden
I out here from town on Nocturne—you
remember her, the little black mare?
I was walking her along the road which
ran. about six feet from here, just
about where that Bon Silene bush is
(it was before the days of the hotel),
when all of a sudden she shied at what
looked like a bundle of old clothes
under this tree. No—no, I wasn’t
thrown, and I wasn’t rescued by the
heroine. It was not much of a shy,
just enough to make me look again at
the bundle and wonder what it was-—
it. was dusk, you know-and then to
notice that the bundle moved. I
“Wherefore. IconcludedI it‘ was a
woman, probably a Mexican. It was a
woman, or avery young girl, rather,
and deuced pretty one—a Mexican,
too. I could see that, even in the twi-
light, for her eyes gleamed in the dark
as onlyfia pair of: Mexican eyes can
gleam; and and there was an added
brightness, for the eyes were Wet with
, tears.- How do I know? I dismounted
and found out, of course. It isn’t
likely I Was going to see a woman
‘child, I honestly thought. The lie was
- he were to find us together he would
"Clark—you remember her? She was
woman one happens to meet,
Iished story. I want to see the heroine
prone on the ground, a long way from {
the nearest habitation, at nightfall
and yet; not oifer her any assistance in
my power.
"‘Well; as I said, she was crying
stormily, and I set about finding om
why. She told a most blood-curdling
tale of parental cruelty. It wasn‘
true. I’ve found that out since. Sh.
was only 16, but she could tell an ex
traordinarily good lie. As Is. matter 01
fact, she had found that a particular
flame of hers was going to take another
girl to some shindy. But the cruel
treatment story'did nicely, and I com-
forted herebshe was such a mere
innocent encugh'. They aren’t taught
to think a. falsehood anything serious.
She was just a. trifle shy, and shrink-
ing, like a little girl who puts her
hands behind her, and lowers her
lashes at the advances of a stranger.
In fact, that is exactly what she did.
You should have seen those lashes!
You’d have been just as big a fool as
I was, and have stayed until the moon
rose, and made an appointment for
another meeting, and eventually you’d
have fallen as badly in loveas I did.
"We always met under this tree. It
was on her father’s land, but quite out
of sight of the house. She said that if
redouble his brutality; but I assured
her that if we were discovered, we
would run off at once and get married.
The child was in onc'o‘f her acquies-
cent moods, and loweredher eyes and
agreed. Of course, I could only man-
age to get away on Saturday even-
ings or Sundays (this is the anniver-
sary of our meeting, by the by. You
see I cling to old memories), but we
made the most of 0111' time. I never
had been so infatuated as I was with
that Spanish child, with her tawdy,
bright frocks, her shy ways, her gore
geous eyes, and her broken English.
She really was Spanish, and not Mexi-
can, I learned.”
“They all are,” I ventured.
“I know, but your sarcasm is
wasted; in this case it was beyond
questidn, and there was American
blood in her veins, too—a little of it.
“I insisted upon running away with
her and getting married at sea; and,
after no end of refusals, she finally
consented. Oh, I was far too smitten,
too ensnared, to have it occur to me
then how a match of the sort would
hamper my career; how an ignorant!
country giil would prove a thorn inT
w‘
-my flesh in the ciitical town clique; I
what a social drag she would be upon
me. I knew the family would raise ,
particular Cain; but when a man
wants to marry in spite of his family,
he is apt to look upon it as 1a- small
stone, to be kicked out of his path, and
it takes him some time to discover that
his pebble is a goo l-slzed bowlder.
“But we quarrelled.” A long pause,
while Barry lit another cigar from-the
old one and puffed it into glowing. I
kept silence, and. after a while he went
on: “You may think most women are
fiery, but you should try a. Spaniard.
She got the cruel father—a harmless,
shrivelledup old fellow—to take her
into town behind one of his trotters
one day. She wanted to buy a gown,
which she told him was for some kind
of a baile out here, but it was really to
get married in. I had brought her a
sample of the stuif I wanted her to
get, otherwise she’d have appeared in
pink and green and white lace, beyond
a doubt. Her taste was simply nul, .
“Well, she saw me on the street with
a city girl. I believe it was. Nora
the merest acquaintance, as you know,
and I treated her as one does any
We
passed a confectioner’s, and I, natur-
ally enough, asked her to have some
soda water. I don't suppose I’d have
done it if I’d known that Ysadora was
around, simply because I was aware
that she wouldn’t take it as an Amer-
ican fiancee would have done. But
she was around, and she thought I
was doing the deadly devoted; so, the
next Saturday, when we were to have
run away, she met me with re-
proaches and tears, and deviltry gen-
erally. She wouldn’t listen to reason.
She tore up the new gown, and refused
ever to marry me or any other man,
and she used some strong but musical
Spanish. I fancy she was worse jeal-
ous than hurt, but I—well, I was com-
pletely done up. To say that she
looked more beautiful than ever would
be to put it weakly. When I saw her
disappear for good over behind that
clump of eucalyptus, I was on the
verge of suicide. Pity I stopped at the
verge.
“The fellow who has since built the
hotel bought this spot, that saw our
meeting and our p'arting, when her old ,
father died, a year or so later. .
“‘Yofi' came along just as I was going
over old memories and wishing—I sup-
pose I- should not say it—wishing that
it were six years ago and that I was
still blindly infatuated with my'Span-
ish sweetheart of 16.”
I am not fond of the modern unfin-
laid in her grave by a host of weeping
grandchildren, and the hero fohowing
her contentedly soon after, So I asked:
“But what became of the girl?”
“Nothing ever ‘becomes’ in real life,”
he answered. .
“Where is she now?” I persisted.
“In-the ball room, dancing with the
cotillon with Thornton.”
itThen—H
“Yes. We made it up after her
father’s death, and were married—on
dry land—and have lived happily ever
after,” he added, shrugging his shoul-
ders and throwing away his cigar.—
San Francisco Argonaut. .
Favored.
Uncle- Bob—I hope, Tommy. you are
a favorite with your teacher.
Tommy—I think I must be; she can’t
seem to get enough of me, or she wanld
not keep me in so much. —Topekn Ga-
zett- 1
a
l .
Lide of the hoof.
even t—o —d:1y sh 2e their horses cold, and -
A PICTURE OF DEATH.
NOVELTST HAWTHORNE DESCRIBESV
THE ATLANTIC CITY HORROR.
The Eminent Author Visited the Scene of
Disaster a Few flours After it Happened
and Writes of His Sensations for a. New
York Newspaper.
The terrible collision of trains at
Atlantic City, N. J., July 31, which re-
sulted. in the death of fifty excursion-
ists and the'maiming of as many
more. was one of the worst horrors in ~
years.
’ Julian Hawthorne thus graphically
wrote of the scene for the New, York
Journal:
Either the signal man blundered, or
one“ or other of the engineers mistook
the signal. ' Both thought they bad
right of way, and the westbound train
dashed into the other, loaded with re-
turning excursionists. In an instant a
slaughter had taken place scarcely
paralleled: in railroad history.
A few stars had begun to appear as
the thickening of the crowd showed
that we were nearly upon the ground.
of disaster. Looking forward, a smoke
was visible, rising sluggishly from an
indistinguishable mass of wreckage,
and drifting northward.
The crowd was, in a sense, silent,
and yet theair was full of voices and ’
cries. The sounds were detached and
incongruous; they did not melt togeth-
er like the ordinary hum, of a mass of
people. Each' one of us was isolated
in the stress and tension of his own
emotion. No one was precisely aware
of what he spoke or did. Yet a com-
mon horror bound us together.
As yet I had seen nothing but an in-
describable and violent confusion of
things and people; and even that I
had scarcely seen; I had co‘nfusedly ap-
prehended it, A reddish, flickering
flame; a rising smoke; a huddling,
shifting, calling, lamenting crowd; a
heap of something black’ and broken,
and amorphous arrangements of I
knew not what scattered widely round
the heaped 11p centre. I caught the
gleam of railroad tracks in the fading
twilight, and the sheen of water in the
ditches. But as yet I had not recog-
nized any actual form of death.
I recognized its presence, first, in the
countenances of the living, who had be-
held it, and upon whom it had left its
stampin a strange expression of the
eyes and a drawing of the face. Yes,
death was here, filling the air, as well
as covering the ground. I breathed it,
I felt it, and at last I saw it.
At such times one sees things with a
hideous distinctness and particularity,
and yet in‘a bewilderment, so that the
memory of them is disjointed; nothing
is grouped; each is apart in-its ovvn
dreadfulness. I cannot compose a pro-
portioned picture of this spectacle. I
cannot repeat the words I heard utter-
ed, or convey the tones in which they
struck my ear; such tones as are never
heard save in times like this. Anguish,
despair, terror, insanity, deadly pain—-
all these found voice, and in .all that
was'said and done there was a new and
appalling sincerity; instinct, passion,
nature, in short, usurping the place of
all shows and artificialities. Our race
does not easily express emotion; but it
declares itself, when it does burst
forth, with a force and directness all
the more harrowing. I think, in look-
ing back, that I was more impressed
by the cries and gestures of the living
than by the sight of the dead—of the
awful pile and shreds of butchery that
were strewn and mounded there, im-
paled, gashed, crushed, torn and
twisted. These fragments of mortal-
ity hardly seemed real; but the cries,
the moans, the desperate earnings, the
wringing hands and stumbling feet and
waving arms—they expressed the very
marrow of reality.
The most fearful sight of all, per-
haps, was a little child, not more than
eighteen months or two years old, sit-
ting beside ‘a mass of bloody ruin,
wholly unharmed, playing with the
fingers of a dead hand protruding from
the Wreck. It was a. woman’s hand;
was it the mother’s? The child seem-
ed to be crooning. to itself, and gazed
up contendedly in my face as I stared
down at it. .
There were many men hard at work
all this while, sweating and grimy,
tugging and hacking at beams and
pieces of iron, heaving them up and
aside, and revealing at every moment
new forms of death. Some cars stood
beyond the confusion, resting upright
and motionless after that fatal crash,
Something that was said to have been-
an engine, though one could hardly be-
lieve it, was the centre of eifort of
several toilers, and as piece after piece
was removed the body of a' man came
into view, grasping in his right hand
a handle of machinery. His face was
scorched and blackened, but still it
wore a look of frowning sternness. It
was the face of a hero, as that hand
Showed—the engineer who had died at
his post. I
Man's pity and tenderness to his fel-
low gave a touch of beauty to the
scene. But oh! the fathers, the moth-
ers, the'little children !'
11ch 61mm
The oarll'est form of the horseshoe
was a leather boot, says DIE/J. S. Har-
.ger, of the University of Pennsylvania
Veterinary School, But this boot was
only worn by heavy war horses. The
ordinary horses of the Greeks, Ro-
mans, Arabians and other natives were
unshod, t ough methods of‘hardening
the hoofs Were occasionally used. The '
earliest written record‘of‘ metal shoes
is found in a book by the Emperor Leo
VI, who died 911 A. D, but .Ihorseshoes
have been found in tombs that date
back to the sixth century. The ear
liest Oriental form of shoes was nearly
circular, and was fastened 111:. not by
nails. but by flanges driven“ into the
~The Arabian farriers
legard the 111111 wean method as in
urious
«cl.
./
THE EVENING _ GAZETTE
NEXT suMMEa’s GARDEN-
suggestions for Those Who Have Ideas of
What They Want.
Eben E. Rexford, in the Ladies"
’World, says; A modern seed or plant
catalogue is a veritable embarrassment
of riches. If there was less in it, it
would be easier to make a selection. As
it is, one wants everything, while she
knows that she can only have a limited
quantity of the beauty it describes so
charmingly. How shall she decide
what that little shall be?
Let me help you?
Do you want a showy bed for the
front yard? One that will require but
little care, that will be brilliant with
color all the season? Then I would ad-
vise you to get one or the other of these
two plants—Petunia and Phlox. Or,
what would be more satisfactoryfls some
of both. I know of no two plants that
will give better satisfaction for an all-
summer bed.
Do you want a plant to cover a low
fence, or a trellis? Then you should
get the Sweet Pea. It will give you
hundreds of flowers, and very beautiful
and fragrant ones. They will be
charming on the vines, and more
charming when you. cut them for use
in the house.
Do you want a low bed for a sunny
spot where the ground is so dry that you
fear nothing will do well in it? Then
the 'very plant you are looking for is the
Portulaca. It is a vegetable salaman-
der. It luxuriates in sunshine that re-
minds one of the tropics, and doesn’t
seem to mind in the- least whether it
rains or doesn’t rain. And its flowers
are vivid bits of color, of many shades,
and all hues, and they will be sure to
give you great delight when you see.
them flourishing in a time of_ drought
that tries the souls of more delicate
flowers.
Do you want a hedge? Or some-
thing that 1s strong enough of habit I to
take the place of a hedge, or a sort of
division fence between the flower and
the vegetable garden? Then plant the
Zinnia. It is a. great bloomer, is showy
in color, and is as easy to cultivate as a
cabbage.
Are you fond of rich shades of yellow
and maroon? Then be sure to have a.
bed of Nasturtiums. We have no other
flower that combines these colors in
such richness. You will find them ex-
cellent for vases. One or two flowers
among three or four pale green leaves
will make the breakfast table attrac-
tive, and throw about it a. refining in- I
fluence that will convince you of the
pawn of flowers in teaching sermons of
taste and beauty.
Of course you will want some migno-
nette.
it. It isn’t showy, but it is beautiful,
and so sweet.
And of course you will want a pansy-
bed. Every garden should have one.
You will want it to give beauty to the
garden, and to supply you with flowers
for the house, for personal use, and for
little gifts to your flower-loving friends.
Who isn’t delighted with a bunch of
purple and gold, of blue, of white, or
yellow pansies?
If you are fond of yellow—and right
here let me say that this is one of the
most pleasing colors in the garden, for
it seems to heighten and intensify all
other colors—you will do well to have a
bed of Coreopsis. It will give you a
mass of richest color all summer long,
and you can cut from it every day dur-
ing the season Without missing a single
flower.
For late flowering you will find noth-
ing superior to the Aster. It is the
rival, among the annuals, of the Chrys-
anthemum. It has not yet given us the
rich and glowing yellows which char-
acterize that popular flower, but it fur-
nishes us with crimsons and blues, and
pale delicate rosy tints that the Chrys-
anthemum cannot lay claim to.
Another fine, late- flowering plant, is
the old Gillyflower of grandmother’s
garden—the Ten Weeks’ Stock of the
catalogues. It does not come into bloom
much before September, but it con-
tinues to the coming of cold weather.
It has a wide range of colors, and is de-
lightfully sweet. It is excellent for
cutting. .
If you care for more plants than I
have named above, you will find
Whitlavius, Scabiosas, Balsams, Lu-
pines, Larkspurs and Lobelias among
the best for the amateur who has but
a limited amount of time and labor at
her disposal.
You should have a bed of Gladiolus
by all means. We have no flower that
gives finer results with next'to no care.
Plant the bulbs in a rich, light soil in
May, and that is about all you need do
to them. They will take care of them-
selves after that, if you will pull the
weeds that start about them. Of course
they will appreciateit if you give them
some sort of support, but this is not ab-
solutely necessary. Last year, I had'
over six hundred, in one long bed, and
such a brilliant display of rich col-
oring I have never had from any other
flower. For two months that bed was
a blaze of color, and scores of persons
came to see it every day. And the la-
bor expended on it was really less than
that given to a. small bed of annuals!
I would advise the woman who has'but
a. small amount of time ‘ to devote to
floriculture to concentrate her eiforts in
this line on a bed of Gladiolus. The
cost will be small, but the returns will
be great, and in the fall she can take up
bulbs enough to fill at least three times
as large a bed next season.
For training up about the window,
there 1s nothing better than the dear
old Morning Glory.
Marigolds ought to have been men-
tioned in the list given above, and I
hasten to speak of them before I reach
the end of my paper, with an apology
for the oversight. The African sorts,
with their dark, crimsonomaroon petals,
that s’eem cut from thick pile velvet,
are deserving a place in any garden,-
and the old , deuble yellow sorts are not
v_ to be despised.
:3
hey
Itching Piles there ever was.
No garden is complete without .
KEEPS ADDING TO IT
The List of Cures win Soon Wino»
Out the List of Sufferers I
in N'orwallc.
First one, then two, ‘then four, then
eight.
Rapid progress, isn’t it?
Well, it should be, it takes them all.
Beginning with backache—they cure.
. Excess of urine—they cure. '
Burning in passage—they cure.
Sediment or brick dust—they cure.
High color and mucus—they cure.
' cuDiabetes and Bright’s disease—they "
f cuAlII the same to them—they’ re made
or 1
They are Doan‘ s Kidney Pills.
They add to the list all who take
And Norwalk’s list is long.
- Because the cure misses none.
No matter of how long standing. .
How complicated and stubborn.
Norwalk people know it now.
Mr. Daniel S. Osterbank, N o. 21
Belden avenue. says:
seven years old and a mill wright by
trade. In my younger davs I worked
very hard and for years I have been
troubled with kidney and bladder com-
plaint. My back ached so sevérely at
times I could not move and I was com-
. pelled to get up often at night to uri-
nate and lost a great deal of sleep. I
to -k medicines and wore plasters but .
they would not cure me. I saw Doan’s
Kidney Pills advert1sed and I got ‘a
box at Hale’s drug store. They were
just the thing for my trouble. 1 I have
every reason "to think that they are just
what the manufacturers claim for them.
They have made me sound and well.”
This is only one statement among the
many we are daily receiving about the
working of Doan’ s Kidney Pills. We
will continue them. If your back is
weal}? Iiime or aching, try Doan’ 5 Kid-
1 s
You can get them at your druggists at
50 cents a box, or they will be sent
posipaid on receipt of erice, by Foster-
Milburn 00., Bufi‘alo,N .
One to five applications of Doan’ s
Ointment will cure the worst case of
Can you
afford to sufi'er tortures when 11 simple,
never- -failing remedv Is at hand? Doan’ a
Ointment never fails.
QELS/o
OWNER" ’P
SARATU GA
SARATOC-A. '
Genuine Saratoga Water in
block-tin lined barrels direct
from the celebrated 'Spring, is
for sale on draught at Had-
‘ . den’s, cbrner Wall and River
Street.
THE WATER
Is brought direct from Sara-
- toga, and is dispensed in pre-
cisely the same condition in
which it flows from the spring
at Saratoga, and is sold at
5 Genie per Glass.
111111111 .
HATHllllN
SPRING
WATER
FOR THE
Stomach, , ,
Bo wels,
Liver and
Kidneys.
FOR SALE BY
Tho Holmes, Koolor 818111111 Co.
11011011 11011311
,' GREGORY’S POINT.
11111 011.11 FOR 1111 SEASDNUP 1896.
——
Shore Dinners.
I llhode Island Glam Bake.
Bathing. IBoIaiing. Fishing." .
Electric cars to Hotel, every twenty
minutes.
JOHN E. O’S SULLIVAN,
«-
“I am seventy»
Manager, I
Norwalk Chronicler