THE EVENING" GAZETTE
O
ELEGANT BUTTON FREE
\AIITH EACH PACKAGE
. OF
SWeet I
:Caporai‘
' Cigarettes
‘ AN OPPORTUNITY T
MAKE A UGLLESTIW’
0F BUTTMS
I ! LIGHT PARCEL and
LULKWUUU 3 PACKAGE DELIVERY
Cheap rates. Will also take orders for mes
manger service in New York. Goods called
.orand delivered to all parts of the town.
Orders received at E.P. Weed’s Drug Store.
Wall Street. With telephone connectlon un-
'3°' a E. LOCKWOOD.
P. w. BATES?
42 WATER STREET,
"you can find as fine an assortment of
tinnonontolntlonoiorrwori
As can be found in any Yard in the
State. Look it over and get prices
before going elsewhere. {pg
-w. H. HAYWARD & CO.
Pontoon Attorneys and Solicitors,
109 East capitol Street,
WASHINGTON, ‘D. c;
All classes of claims prosecuted
before the Interior Department.
Rejected pension claims a specialty.
Correspondence solicited.
nnonsonrrnronn
ithjliE‘
A PURE MALT EXTRACT.
A SUBSTITUTE FOB SOLID FOOD.
Highest percentage Extract. . Lowest
percentage Alcohol. ' An efiectiveTonic.
An agreeable Beverage."‘ A mild_Stimu-
lant. Just what physicians Will pre-
scribe for Nursing Mothers. . Convales—
cents and victims of Insomnia or Nerv-
ous Disorders resulting from Impaired
Digestion and Overwork.:
For Sale and Delivered An‘ywhere
Lone Island Bottling! 00.,
280-284 Bergen St, Brooxlyn,
FOR SALE BY
EDWARD P. WEED.
PRIVATE
Instructions given in
BOXING
at the pupil’s homefg
CLASS
Now/fo.ming, and ap-
plicants desiring to
join should apply at
‘3' once to
Prof. ”Geo. Yoerger,
South“, Norwalk,
or at this office.
” 00 YOU KNOW
That you. can save money
by buying your Meats
and Fish at
F. W. SHITH’S,
55 Main Street
Everything First'Class.
OPEN evizumcs
THE HAPPIEST FELLOW.
The happiest of the happy folks
That walk the world’s old way. €53
Is the fellow who can whistle
On arainy day. -
Who thinks not of the sunshine
And never heeds the tr 3‘.
But whistles, whistles, whistles
On a. rainy day.
The same to him is winter
As meadows of the May.
He summons up his troubles
And whistles ’emLaway.
He’s t‘ ankful for a sky of blue,
But when it fades away
He’s thankful still, and whistles
0n arainy day.
—F. L. Stanton in Atlanta Constitution.
AN UN BIDDEN GUEST.
I felt the want of exercise one June
evening. The lake was still covered
by cakes of rotten ice;~vhence rowing
was quite out of the question; walk<
ing even was unpleasant, and riding,
also, was undesirable, for my horse
was a short stepper and born mud-
vslinger. Exercise I must have, but
how to get it was the question.
The local “boss” suggested my tak-
ing the road-master’s velocipedc, and
run a few miles up the line. ‘
I had never ridden a railway veloc—
ipede, but was quite willing to make
the experiment; so soon the funnily
shaped contrivance was pulled out of
its shed, and being bolted together on
the track. .. One had to sit straddle-
lcggcd on a contrivancc that was set
above two ordinary, but light, car
wheels. There was a handle-bar to
pull, while one shoved forward with
one’s feet, and underneath was the
machinery by which the velocipede
could be geared up so that greater
speed might be attained. This motor
portion was kept on the tracks by a
balance-wheel that was attached by a
bar to the main body. Once seated,
and with the concern in motion, it
would be almost impossible to dis-
mount, for the swinging handle-bar
would be bound to strike no inconsid-
erable blows on one’s chest, the left
bar would be mixed among the cross
bars, and a sort of seat behind effect-
ually prevented one’s slipping off
backwards. It was a trap, no doubt
of it.
After listening to sundry warnings
and directions regarding themachine,
somebody gave me a starting push
and I was off, pulling and pushing
with feet and hands up the steep
grade of the outward track.
I roll on with steady strokes, cov-
ering at least twelve miles an hour,
between fields at: first, and later by
the lakeside, with cliffs rising sheer
overhead on the one hand, and the
surging roll of the blue water, glis-
tening with ice cakes, on the other.
The rhythmic, regular sound lends
one to thought, and a white face that
has haunted me through several days
rises unbidden in my mind’s eyes; the
face of the broken—hearted woman
that I had seen, staring with tcarless
eyes on the (lead face of the husband
she had lost by a murderer’s hand,
whilst he had been discharging his
duty as a constable. Strange, it
seemed that the guilty man should
have eluded his pursuers for so long
a time! The whole countryside had
been roused in pursuit for two weeks
past. yet no trace of the fugitive
could be found. He must have left
the country, people said; for how
could man elude so diligent a search?
And so they had returned to their
homes, and the wonder of nine days
was nearly forgotten.
I had traversed a dozen miles of
track, and now the bridge over Ben-
bridge creek is ahead, with the first
station yet beyond it.
But a mile or two from the station
is a level, straight stretch of nearly a
mile in length. Half of it is passed,
when I observe a man sitting by the
track’s side, and signalling to meto
stop. “A train ahead!” is my immedi-
ate thought, and this man has been
sent to warn me of its ”approach. An
unlyikely thing in this wilderness, to
be sure, but what else could one sup-
pose?
The machine had barely stopped as
I came abreast of the man, a by no
means prepossessing specimen of hu-
manity, that even the dying'lightren-
abled me to see. But What had I to
fear? I was not of the kind that is
easily terrified by a villainous face
and burly frame.
“There’s a train coming down, mis-
ter,” said he; “I heard it whistling as
you came in sight, and thought I’d
better stop you.”
As he spoke he stepped towards me,
then, quick as thought, he gave the
’pede a violent push and vaulted on
the seat behind me, hissing in my
startled ear:
“Pump her, hang you; pump! Pump
as if all the demons abroad were af-
ter you, or they will soon be, ,for I’ll
let daylight through you—like I did
i that cussed fool that thought he could
’rest me—if you don’t run me to ‘the
portage’ this night. I’m not going to
be hunted like a dog no longer; so
' pump, hang you, pump!”
Something round and cold, I could
feel, was being pressed into the-small
of my back. Poor Pelly had been shot
to death, and the murderer escaped
with his weapon; so it did not need
much prescience to divine that it was
a pistol I felt. Nor could there be
any doubt that this was the life-tak-
ing wretch himself who was seated
behind me.
The shock of surprise numbed my
senses for some instants, but not suf-
ficiently to prevent my obeying the
orders of my unwelcome passenger.
Soon the horrors of the Situation
dawned upon me, and the blood ran
cold in my veins. This miscreant
must have been in hiding so close to
the scene of his crime that suspicion
of his presence had been diner-med.
NOW he had decided it was time to
break away, and was it likely
the witness to the direction of his
1‘ -.J~ T
ultu A,
(light. would be alive when the mor-
row dawned to set pursuers on his
track? Scarcely!
His life was forfeited now, and that
he knew to a certainty; what would
the sacrifice of another life be to him,
if by a second murder his wretched
neck could be saved a stretching?
Nothing! I was to be driven at his
pistol’s mouth to carry him through-
out the night, until the point nearest
the river had been reached, where he
could cross into another province, and,
mixing with the hordes 0f semi-civil-
ized river-men, elude pursuit forever.
Then, or when exhaustion overcame
my usefulness as a machine, he would
shoot me.
“Pump ner, hang you, pump!”
There was no escape for me that I
could see. In front was the swaying
bar, that was now plunging with force
sufficient to break ene’s ribs, for as a
relief to my pent-up feelings I worked
with desperate strokes. Behind was
my master, close against me, his guil-
ty weapon in hand. I could not
throw, myself to the right, for the
stringers of the balance-wheel Would
hamper and catch my left leg. The
same bars would make it impossible
for me to get clear by falling between
the rails. What could I do?
“You’re doing pretty well, mister,”
said a voice at my back, “and I don’t
mean to be too hard on you. ' Take it
a bit easier now, for you’ve got to
pump her fifty miles tonight, and I
don’t want to over-drive you at the
start.”
Fifty miles! Merciful God! Al-
ready the perspiration was rolling
from every pore, and I could feel that
my strength was being spent. Surely
there must be some way out of this
horrible mess! Had it come to this,
that I was so completely entrapped
by an ignorant, slow—witted scoundrel
~—I, who had so prided myself on my
readiness and subtlety? It seemed so.
“Pump her, hang you! No monkey
tricks now, or I’ll shoot. Mind that.”
W'epfly past a gloomy station, and
from an upper window a faint light
glimmers through the curtain.
“Don’t you halloa now, mister, or
I’ll shoot. Don’t let a squeak out 0’
you if you want to be healthy.”
The pistol’s muzzle is pushed yet
nearer into my back as the tormentor
utters the warning. IVe roll past some
cars on the siding, and on again on
the main track. They are early
bed—goers, these people, and there is
no help to hope for.
“Stop her!” said my passenger,
sharply. “Stay quiet where you are
while I have a drink. You move and
I shoot. Mind that, now!”
He seemed to pull a bottle from
some part of his clothing, and I could
hear the gurgle of the liquor as it
trickled from the bottle’s neck and
down his threat. The fumes of the
worst and rankest “forty-rod” whisky
poisoned the air as he pushed the
bottle under my nose and said: “Take
a drink, you'll want it ’fore you’re
through.
I refused. ,
“Take it. blow you! Do you think
I’ll take any talk from you? Drink,
or I’ll fix you right here.”
“I’ll not drink with a murderer.
Shoot!” -
“It’s time enough to fix you when I
get through with you, and if you
won‘t drink, why I’ll drink for both.”
Then we went on. \Ycarincss was
asserting itself, and I could scarce
force the doubly weighted ’pedc up
the grade of the hill.
Over the brow of the hill was a
steep down—grade, into a valley where
another station was. It had grown
a little lighter now, and there seemed
to be cars on both track and siding.
Did my tormentor notice this? He
Sat behind, so it was possible that he
did not. Herc, then, was a possibil-
ity of escape. I could but die once;
was it not better. then, to meet death
of my own volition now, than when,
his slave being utterly exhausted and,
therefore useless to him, the wretch
behind me should please to take my
life. Summoning all my remaining
strength,~I forced the velocipede down
the grade until it fairly flew over the
rails, and the clink and Clank 0f the
wheels was merged into a roar as we
swept along.
Now my tormentor saw the danger,
and, with a scream of fear, called to
me to stop. But I was desperate, and
noticed him not.
“Stop her. or I’ll
screamed.
“Shoot’” I replied, and forced the
machine along at a fearsome speed.
The station was built by the side of
a small river that flowed far below
over its stony bed. A bridge crossed,
shoot!” he
and the station was at its farther
end. We are on the bridge now, and
it is but a choice of, deaths——to be
(lashed to pieces against the cars that
block both tracks, or to fall on the
rocks a hundred feet below.
“Stop hcr! Stop her!” screamed my
passenger, but I only set my teeth and
work the handles harder in reply. He
was a coward at heart. for he
screamed with fear and begged and
implored of me to stop the speed. But
I could not, and I would not. My
mind was made up to meet death
there and then.
The ’pede roars on, devouring space
Twenty feet, fifteen, ten, five
C-r-a-s-h!
When I recovered my senses it was
to find myself tenderly cared for in a
city hospital. How I escaped instant
death nobody has ever been able to
tell, for I waspfound in the water at
the foot of the cliff. My unwelcome
passenger was dead, his skull crushed
in where he had struck against a
rock. My injuries were very serious
ones, but a cheque for $1,000, the re-
ward for the delivery 0f the mur-
derer dead or alive, helped to heal
them.
A black bottle is the bait noir of the
fisherman—Washington Critic. '
Many a free man,
who is sick would
willingly change
places With a
healthy convict. A
man might as well
be shut out of en-
joyment one we:
as another. If he
is shut up in a cell,
he cannot engage
in active pleasures.
He cannot see the
beauties of nature
and art, but he can
imagine them, and
, so get some benefit
from them. _ A
' ‘ “ man who is Sick
has these things before him, but he doesn’t
see them as they exist. He cannot look on
anything with appreciative eyes. His phy-
.. ‘
v») p
. sical condition warps his vision and his men-
tality. He cannot enjoy anything, no matter
how enjoyable it may be in the abstract. A
man with afoul taste in his mouth, With a
bilious headache, and with poisonous refuse
matter circulating all through his body can.
not enjoy anything. He honestly believes
that the world is all wrong, and that it is a
mighty poor place to be in. He is blue,
despondent, cynical. Life isn’t.worth liv-
ing to him. Such a simple thing causes
this condition that it is absurd and ridicu-
lous to think of a sensible man remaining
in it. Symptoms like these come from con-
stipation. It is the most prevalent of all
causes of sickness. It makes a man worth-
less for work or pleasure. It 15.8. stubborn
trouble when you do not treat it properly,
and a simple one when you do. It is cured
by Dr. Pierce’s Pleasant Pellets. They were
made for this purpose, and no other. They
accomplish this purpose as no other prep-
aration ever did. An unscrupulous druggist
may try to sell you something else. Look
out ! It is your health that is at stake. It
is your-health against an extra profit on the
thing he says is “ just as good.” Doctor
Pierce’s Pleasant Pellets—don’t forget—
don’t take anything else.
’ '1 .. ‘ The People’s Common Sense
' Medical Adviser, in plain En-
glish, or Medicine Simplified by
‘ . R.V. Pierce, M. D.,Cluef Consult-
" ing Physician to the Invalids‘ Ho-
tel and Surgical Institute, Buffalo,
" N.. Y., 1008 pages, illustrated.
680.000 copies sold at $1.50. Now
sent, papervbound, ABSOLUTELY
FREE on receipt of 2; one-cent
/, stamps to pay for marlin only.
Address the Author. as 1 ve.
CENTRAL NATIONAL BANK,
.26 WALL ST... lVOR WALK.
CORPORATED SEPT. I, 1.876.
CAPITAL. - - - - - - 5100.006
GEORGE M. HOLMES. President.
E. L. BOYEB, Vice-President.
WILLIAM A. CURTIS, Cashier:
DIR—E—CTBRS :
GEORGE M. HOLMES, H. E. DANN.
P. L. CUNNINGHAM, J. T. Pnowrr'r
E. L. Bornn, ' S. H. HOLMES,
J . Cousms. J R.
Bissaunt Day, Saturdav-
DAVID . w. RAYMOND
Funeral Director and Embalrnor
39 Washington Street 'South Norwalk
Residence. Manackemo Hotel.
The GAZETTE
r
V
W
T0.
THE
WlSE ‘_
Merchants, Manutam r:
ers, Lodges and Somatic [-
will consult their own inter
ests by giving us a call.
REMEMBER- -If you hay-n~
work to do, write to us.
tlor ~‘
Reputation
Is
Pitt
to
tlur
instruments.
Just one mis-
1
take and we are
hurt.
That is the Reason
why
SOHLEICHER & SON
ARE WHAT THEY ARE.
HONEST wonn AT AN .HONESTPRICE
Let Lus build you a piano to match you
Iurniture.
Come and see our factory.
Exchange.
(17'
J’ianos Sold an Easy Terms and Old lines Taken in
. Factory: Pacific St... Stamford.
!‘
r
WA}; A ItiAKER’ S hiSE.
THE MERCHANT PRINCE BEGAN LIFE
AS A LABORER IN A BRICK YARD.
He “’m-kcd for Most Meager “’agc-s 'and
Began His Mercantile Career on Credit—
He is Devontly Religious, and Teaches a
Sunday School of 1,000 Members.
T. Stewart, away back in the early
sixties, “has got it into him to be one
of the most successful merchants in
this or any other country.”
dition to owning a store in Philadel-
phia which .does $25,000,000 worth of
business a year, bought for $2.000,000
the bankrupt remnants of the gigantic
business fabric which Stewart himself
reared. Which proves that Mr. Stew-
art could diagnose symptoms of com-
mercial genius as unei'rii'.~,_;l_v as ho
could estimate the value of silks and
muslins. -
The history of John Wanamaker’s
rise in the commercial world is an in»
tercsting one. It is a good lesson, clean
and healthy "and strong. Ho bcgan’
with nothing, a laborer in his father's
brickyard. Then he earned a wretched
salary as a clerk. Then he earned a
better one, and conducted one or two
boyish Tittle commercial adventures
which brought him in money. He
saved his money until he and Nathan
Brown had enough between them to
lease\and lit up a store in Philadel-
phia.‘ All that was in the way of scll-
ing goods was the lack of goods to sell.-
Thcy had the store room, and they
had the shelves and counters, but they
had no stock. They counted on get-
ting thcir stock on credit, and they
went to New York to do it. For two
days they tramped the streets in vain.
It 'as in 1801, and war talk with
wild cxcitcment and fear of national
ruin and chaos was at its highest. Mr.
Wanamaker was but a boy then—
barely tui'ucd twenty, bcardless, as
he ever since has remained, with long
hair and the stamp of the clergyman
on his face. He had thought he would
be a clergyman at one time. and the
religious fervor which has never left
him was then burning brightly within
him. '
There is a story told in this connec-
tion. It is that on the evening of the
second day‘s tramping and disheart-
enmeut, Nathan, who was worldly,
left John in the little cheap room
they
went to console himself with a drink
of whiskey. \l'hcn he returned he
found John kneeling on the floor.
“What are you doing therc?” asked
Nathan.
“Praying.” said John.
“What are you praying for?" asked
Nathan.
“Credit,” said John.
And the next. day they got credit.
Devlin trusted them, and they went
back to Philadelphia and started the
business which now has swallowed
up even the great house of Stewart,
which must have loomed in such co-
lossal proportions before the footsore.
anal hoar'tsore young Philadelphians
in their weary journeyings among the
great business concerns of the metrop-
olis.
Mr. I‘l‘anamaker was one of those
who did not believe the war would
soon be over. He believed that it
would last a long time and that prices
would double and quadruple and quin-
tuple, and they (lid. So he sowed ac-
cordingly and reaped accordingly. He
was a rich man at the-end of the war,
but he worked all the harder. He had
not a single expensive habit. From
his boyhood to the present day he has
never drank, never smoked, never at-
tended a theatre.
directed in two fields only—~liis busi-
ness and his religious work. When a
mere boy he was a sort of open-air
preacher in one of Philadelphia’s evil
quarters. He led the work of the
Young Men’s Christian Association—-
was its secretary, its president and
one of the most prominent in giving
and raising money towards the crec-
tion of the fine association building in
Philadelphia.
He founded the Bethany Chapel, and
it is there that he still teaches and su-
perintends the Sunday school with its
thousand scholars. It was as a Sun-
day school teacher that he met the
much-esteemed woman who is his
wife. Mary Brown was her name, a
sister of Nathan Brown, the old part-
ner in the first firm of W'anamaker &
Brown. They both were teachers in
the Sunday school, and through all the
many years of their married life have
continued with unabated zeal in their-
religious work.
JUST CAUSE FOR A KICK.
.-“‘ “—a—s 'gb— ')
Office Boy—Pleale, sir, I’ve a. com-
plaint to make. The bookkeeper kicked
me, sir. I don’t want no bookkeeper to
kick me. .
Boss—Of course, he kicked you. You
don’t expect me to attend to everything,
do you? I can’t look after every little
detail in the business myself.
There are forty-seven Chinese‘tgm-
plea in America ~Philadelphia Press.
“That young fellow,” once said A. a
The young fellow in question, in ad- ~
verc occupying together, and.
His energies were .
Norwalk Chronicler