V‘
ESTABLISHED 1800
Volume LXXXIX.
NORWALK, CONN.,WEDNESDA_L-Y, APRIL 3, [889.
TWO DOLLARS A YEAR
Number 14.
GEO.W.A.RD IELLECK ,
Hannsnanoox's BLOCK. WALL smear,
FAMILY GROCERIES.
ATENTS I
G. R. BYINGTON,
Washington, D. C. .
‘° "”5 "r U- =- Bottle to Inventors Mallet Iree.
PATENT OFFICE.
R. B. CltAUFUllD,
nrestnients, Real Estate and insurance,
ROOM 2, MASONIC BUILDING.
LL-
W'nn. Lo claw .2: o (I ,
0
Real Estate, Insurance and. luvestmen.
Securities.
MONEY 'I'O LOAN.
Insurance Placed In First-Class Companies
, NORWALK
umcc—Cor. MAlN .li \\'.-\i.l. S’l's.
iy l3
r. BELIIEN tilillhtill'l‘T,
interior 3110 tonnselor at Law,
Room No. 4, Up Stairs,
NOitWALK, CONN.
GAZETTE BUILDXNG,
ALEX. S. GIBSON,
ongregai tonal Church, Waterbury,
Teacher of
Organist of let C
Pianofor c, Organ and Musical
Composition,
Lock Box 39 P 0., NOll\Vi\l.li,COl\'N.
M. L. llyington,
Pension anti Patent Attorney,
No. 241 EIGHTH STREET, N. E.,
wasnrxurox, n. c. lilo
‘T A INSUIIA N14: 0., of HARTFORD.
J Incorporated 1812. Charter Perpetual.
CAl'l'l‘Al. AND ASSETS, $8,902,27ifil.
insures against loss and damage by Fire, on
erms adopted to the hazard and covsrstent with
tie laws ot’ compensation. COWhlys dc M hltlllLL,
Sole Agents for Noi‘walk and Vicinity.
’l'll ll.
Norwalk Fire Insurance Co.
llas now completed its
l8lll SUCCESSFUL BUSINESS YEAR
And has not outstanding a dollar of unpaid losses
or claims for-losses. No sound cuntpruru insures
for less. ‘ ' ‘
W. C. STREET, Pres. GEO. B. Sr. .10an, lreas.,
GEO. R. Cowms Secretary.
Express.
Patronlze the old reliable
mans EXPRESS COMPANY.
LOW RATES AND PROMPT DELIVERY.
Branch omce, Norwalk. at S. K. Stanley’s
slain Game at Depot, South Norwalk. tile
L. HUNT, Agent.
G. A. Fauna,
THE HAIRGUTTER,
No. l Gazette Building.
HOT AND COLD BATHS.
PENSIONS
And GOVERNMENT CLAIMS my sole busi-
ness. Rejected null increase ciuiinsaapeclality.
Jon’t delay. Address or i'isit-
GEN. WM. NOBLE,
do. 91 Srnarronn Avs , Bruno your, 01*
H E N R I! H l! s s ,
Restaurant, Cafe aniSnoltinnltootn,
Grand Central Station,
Sruan'r nun 4TH Avenue, New YORK
r
Entrance from waiting room, New York, New
laveu and Hartford railroad. ”32
O. E. WILSON,
lenerel Insurance It Real Estate Agent
Money to Loan.
ocks, Bonds, &c., Bought and Sold
at (l Loans Negotiated at Lowest
Rates of Interest.
{00“ NO. 3 GAZETTE BUILDING
Nonwsnx. Conn.
W. 11. MEEKER,
neutrino, Steam and Gas Fittino,
SOUTll NORWALK, CONN.
unitary Plumbing, and Ventilation, and
3w Pressure Steam Heating, a Specialty.
PLUMBERS’ SUPPLIES.
Pipe and Fitting for Steam and (Ins.
igcut forthe Florida Low Pressure Boiler.
Facilities for Cutting and Threading all Sizes of
ipe. 50tf
Geo. 11. Raymond.
Furniture Dealer.
AT THE OLD STAND,
36 MAIN STREET.
Large Stock of all. kinds of Furniture
for Cash. also
FURNISHING UNDERTAKili.
i am prepared to take charge day or night and
irnish everything necessary (or the inteiiieut of
to dead. Telephone Connection With residence
0. 3 Berkie y l’lace. iy
F. w. slain. in,
DEALER IN
lionesl’nrtltBnri-Set Barnes
Furnaces and Steam Heaters, ‘
‘in. Sheet Iron, Copper, Wooden, Glass
and Crockery Wnrv.
Cheap
Refrigerators and House Furnishing Goods.
Generally. A Full line of
CHILDREN’S CARRIAGES.
umbing. Gas and Steam Fitting, and Hot Air
Engineering. Agent for the ltichurdson
3: lloynton (Jo’s.
Furnaces and, Ranges,
Also agent for the Economy
uni & Warm Au: Coxmxa'rion Hanan
kinds of Ornamental and l’luiu Slateing, 'l‘ln
Shingle Rooting.
rtepairnu Done by Experienced Workman
Short Notice.
’33 WlflLL STREET,
V03“ ALK. CONN
FURNITURE
I. B. ELLS
ppositc llorse Railway Depot. A good ne now
in stock or
onion, Chamber. Dining and Kitchen
FURNITURE
ivered at your home without extra expense.
FAITHFU LNESS.
“Do today thy nearest duty. “
And throughout thy lifelong way
Thou shalt find no greater beauty
Than the well done task each day.
Small thy work may be, and lowly,
Hidden from the public gaze,
Faith and works may make it holy,
Reaping sheaves of golden days.
Then if thou art prone to ponder
Cm thy lot, and fain would ask
Why ‘tis so, once more remember
[low was given to us life’s task.
licmtil the words a Saviour brings
From Olivc‘s mount to each one's soul,
That. “if faithful o‘er a few things,
Over many thou shalt rule.“
—Good Housekeeping.
nllSS‘ Chili?"
By mm L 2001..
As I handed back her pistol after load-
ing it she said in a. subdued voice:
“Do you know, it seems as if I were
infatuated with this shooting? I have
come more day after day—I did not. ex-
actly like it, but somehow I could not
help it. I believe I am superstitious. It
seems, lilr. Perrom, that some demon
has impelled me to perfect myself in this
unwomanly pastime. I have shuddered
as I think of some horrible obicct to
which it: may lead. Am I talking
strangely?” She paused a moment, an
then continued with flushed cheeks and
wild eyes: “Ah! to what will not my un-
governable temper lead me if I am
tempted too much! I try to control it,
but sometimes I am not mistress of my-
self. It is very humiliating to thinkof
it.”
She put; the pistol in her cloak pocket
with a gesture of disgust and looked up
at me with eyes in which there was a.
strange, unconscious, beaeeching look
that thrilled to my soul.
“Miss Clare,” I said, in a low, steady
voice, “the unaccustomed solitude of
your life has made you morbid. The un-
healthy impulse you mention is common
to sensitive minds, particularly when the
surroundings favor it. Pray, has your
demon presented himself in tangible
form? Has he an eye of coal and a
tongue of flame?"
She turned away her face with a look
of relief.
“I know I am childish sometimes. I
did not; use to be so,” in a faltering
voice. “Do trouble and persecution
make one grow imbecile " she asked sud-
denly, looking at me.
“They do sometimes,” I answered.
“But they never would have that effect
upon you—it would be a worse efiect, I
am afraid."
“Worse! How is that?” she asked,
coming a step nearer me in her interest.
“Make you cynical and unbelieving—
make you doubt the existence of faith,
love and purity in the world. God de-
liver you from such a. fate, for there is
none worse!” '
I uttered the last words with all the
fervency I felt. I took the hand that
hung by her side. She did not withdraw
it immediately. She looked down and
said with unutterable sadness:
“I have distrust everybody, every-
thing; I have almost lost faith in God
himself. Such treachery, such vile, in-
human wretches as I have known—and
to think that I once blindly behaved and
trusted in them! Can you, Mr.__Perrom,
after your years of battle with the world,
can you still tell one to believe in human
nature—to believe in trustworthiness once
more?”
Her voice changed from the cadence of
sadness to the clear, impetuous question-
ing that will be answered. -
I hesitated for a. moment. The power-
ful, fiery love within me pleaded hard for
utterance. I broke out with rapid words:
“Miss Clare, I offer you my life to show
that to you, of all women in the world.
' to you, one man will be true.”
All my soul was in my words. I could
have died, gladly and worthily for an
assurance of love from Viviana Clare.
She averted her face, but I saw the
drooping lid, the quivering mouth. For
a moment she did not speak—at last she
said:
“My last words were not said to ex-
tract that expression from you, Mr. Per-
rom; you do not know what fate you
seek.”
She walked away a. little distance.
When she came back, her face was quiet
-lier manner that indescribable min-
gling of the utmost cordialit'y with the
utmost reserve. '
“I trust to you, Mr. Perrom, to point
out my faults of position and aim; for
in this shooting I must rival a friend of
mine who has declared theta woman’s
nerves are not steady enough to hit a
target.”
Could I give up thus easily my happi-
ness for life? I could, at least, control
my face and tone. The voice‘ in which
I replied to Miss Clare was the same in
which I might have spoken to Mrs. Jer-
(lan. .
She raised her pistol for another trial,
when her hand was stayed by the sound
of rapid footsteps on the frozen ground,
and the appearance of a man walking
toward us from a. few yards behind the
target. The hand fell to her side with
her finger still on the trigger. Instead
of looking toward the man, I instinctive-
ly, and with a. feeling of dread, looked
at Miss Clare. All the color that the
sharp air had called to her face gradually
left it. Her very lips paled and seemed
to grow moveless.
“ugh-..” — . . ---
She raised her pistol for another trial.
The man stopped and leaned against
the target tree.
“I beg) a thousand pardons, Viviana,”
he said, “but; really this is very fortunate
for me.” i '
At the first word his voice seemed
familiar, and when I looked at him, I
recognized the lecturer whose name had
called the thunder gust to Miss Clara’s
face at my first: interview with her.
“Why is it fortunate, Mr. Gilroy?”
It was Miss Clare who spoke. I had
not expected speech from her any more
than one would listen for the voice of the
marble Niobe. She had not changed her
attitude; it: did not seem herself that
spoke; only the stony lips unclosed, and
from them dropped like icicles thewords
addressed to the stranger.
He laughed a little as he replied:
“Why fortunate? A strange question,
Viviane, for you to ask me. I am fortu-
nate because I have been seeking you
without rest for the lastsix months, and
was just on my way to the village near
to follow up the clew I thought I had ob-
tained, when, behold! here you are! It
is very evident why I consider myself
fortunate, is it not, Viviane?”
I watched Miss Clare while he spoke.
Every time he uttered her name an ex-
pression of intense loathing writhed
across her face; the remainder of the time
she was quiet, like the quietness of the
volcano when the lava. is boiling in Its
bosom, but; is still held down by the earth
armor which presses it so heavily. There
was silence for a few moments. For the
first time I looked earnestly at the man.
He had not moved from his first position,
a. graceful leaning against the tree. He
was tall, elegant, with an appearance of
perfect satisfaction with himself; hand-
some, blue eyed, with fair hair and
brand- ..I_n.his.smmne.dmlt_tlis.sntik -
a
' [if the ind—grail}, Edition. filer-m and face
was the shrine of that evil which ismore
hideous when beautiful than when ugly.
His was the penetrating, evading sin
which one can feel, but never
dissect and prove. Your heart might
recoil, but your brain could give no rea-
son why it did so. His was not the
tangible wickedness that defeats itself—
it was the subtle power that absorbs,
conquers and destroys, and gives no
sign of deformity. ‘
“What do you propose doing?” Miss
Clare asked. A slight flush colored the
delicate skin of Mr. Gilroy’s face.
“I propose making you my wife, as
you have so long been mine by contract.
Ah, Viviana, I have so wished for you!
I have waited long for the touch of those
fair hands, for the caress of those royal
lips! Is it strange that I am impatient ”
He spoke like an epicure, a. sensitive,
refined one, and his eyes glowed with
anticipation. Could mortal woman en-
dure it? But Miss Clare did endure it—
heroically and with rigid resolve. I
though": I detected in Gilroy’s face the
intention to repay himself with taunts
for his long search and anxiety.
“I shall be happy to escort you to Bos~
ton, Viviana,” he continued. “Your
uncle is waiting very. anxiously for you.
The fact is, we have both been al-
most distracted since your flight. Your
uncle desponded directly, but I—I would
have moved the universe to find you!"
Ho spoke with almost savage earnest-
ness, but still with calm accent and ele~
gant gesture. He went on more indif-
ferently: “But you know he had only a
fortune, whereas I had a wife to lose. A
vast difference, you will perceive, when
the wife in question is Viviana Clare."
“That is sufiicient,". suddenly said
Miss Clare. “The future to which you
look forward is impossible. You may
go back to Boston as soon as you like;
at least, leave here directly."
“Perhaps you have fallen in love dur-
ing your retirement," he said, without
moving, and looking at; me, apparently
for the first: time. Happily for me, I re-
turned his glance with a nonchalance
worthy of himself. Miss Clare did not
reply—indeed, he hardly gave her the
opportunity, for he proceeded immedi-
ately:
“If you would be willing to let a friend
advise you, don’t shock the proprieties
by cherishing the grand passion as uno
fortunately as your mother did.”
The flame had at last reached the
powder. Not till long after did I know
why the mention of the mother’s name
in such terms thus affected the daughter.
When I did know, I wondered no more
at the effect of those words. A fiery
flame shot into Miss Clara’s hitherto con-
trolled face.
“Do not dare to mention her name
again!” she cried in the tones of an in-
sulted queen.
“Really!” exclaimed Gilroy; “have I
reached you at last, my empress? Your
mother never could have been so hand-
some as you are at this moment. If she
had been, I hardly blame that man for
receiving all she offered him.”
The fury of unspeakable agony and de-
spair raged in Miss Clare’a eyes; her
mouth turned white‘ again, and from it
there broke the words:
“My mother! Oh, my God! I cannot
bear that!”
Swift as death she raised the pistol
which had never left her hand—the finger
had not left the trigger. She did not re-
quire time to take aim; if she had, I might
have restrained her. The flash that
streamed from the pistol was not half so
terrible as the fire I knew was burning
in her soul, but its mission was more in-
stantaneous. Gilroy dropped without a
sigh, with the last taunting smile still on
his lips.
I sprang to Miss Clare. The instant
she had discharged her weapon she had
thrown it from her, and stood cowering
with her face in herhands. Horrified as
I was by the deed I felt most vividly the
temptation that had urged it. I realized
too plainly that I might have done it
myself, had my own pistol been ready
loaded as hers had been. I tried to re-
move her hands from her face, a. fear
taking possession of me that her reason
might leave her in this dreadful time.
After a moment; she allowed me to with-
draw her hands and look‘into her face.
For an instant she met my gaze. I
should not have recognized her eyes as
the same I had seen one minute ago.
Soft, sweet, as the midnight sky of sum-
mer, they looked into mine with Inex-
tinguishable regret sighing in their
depths.
“Oh, Vivianel" I cried, thinking for
one ecstatic moment that my love was
returned. A deeper shadow fell like a
veil over her face. She moved away.
“Attend to him,” she said in a. voice
of anguish, and turned and fled toward
the house.
All this had not occupied a moment
since the shot was fired. I bent over the
fallen man with despair in my heart.
Prostrate, senseless as he was, I almost
hated him, for I felt that my future was
impenetrably darkened, and I thought;
it was to him I owed it. He was hit in
the side, whether mortally or not I did
not know, but I was sure that he was
badly wounded. Stanching the flow of
blood as well as I could, I ran to the
house and sent the child for the nearest
neighbor to help me get Gilroyto the
shelter of Mrs. Jerdan’s roof.
Answering all inquiries by saying that
he had been accidentally hit while we
were firing, I finally quieted the volley
of questions that were leveled at me and
succeeded, with the help of the man
who came, in getting him on toone of
Mrs. Jerdan’s spare beds. - - .
Then I galloped in furious haste after-
a surgeon. At nightfall of that day
it was decided that “Gilroy was verv
severely, but, it was to be hoped, not
dangerously wounded.” The manner,
more than the words of the surgeon,
soothed my spirit. Not till then did I
know how I had dreaded tohear a. worse
sentence.
Miss Clare had kept her room. Mrs.
Jerdan said she was so much disturbed
b y the accident that she would not come
down. I begged Mrs. Jerdan to go up
and inform her of the hopeful opinion of
the surgeon; then Iretired to my own
room, almost ill from sheer excitement.
My sympathies were so acutely interested
in Miss Clare, that it; might as well have
been myself who had done the deed. It
was in vain that I tried to sleep; I walked
back and forth in my little room with
the unmeaning fury of an imprisoned
tiger. In the gloomy blackness of that
winter night, I seemed fighting with a
future that brooded over my present like
the wings of a vulture over the strug-
gling deer. In the midnight; there shone
no glimmer of hope to quiet me; there
seemed not even the peaceful light of
passiveness for me; for, to my tempera-
meat, I thought it; must be happiness or
misery; I could take no refugein glacial
calm.
Sleep at last came, but I' only panted
through terrific nightmares; I drank no
draught of sweet repose. It had been
daylight for an hour when I awoke. I
hurried down stairs with a resolve to see,
Miss Clare—to let herknow that, loved"
or unloved, I could be to her a. friend in
this her hour of trouble.
“Has Miss Clare come down yet?” I
asked, standing before the kitchen fire
and waiting the answer with vague
anxiety.
“Come down! Bless you, Mr. Perrom,
she’s been gone these three hours.”
The words fell like doom upon me.
“Gone!” I echoed, withimbecile blank-
ness. “Where?”
“She did not say where, but she hired
a man to carry her to the station some
time before light. She took her trunks
with her.”
Mrs. J erdan looked at me curiously.
She thought I was getting entangled
somehow.
I asked: “Did she leave no message?”
“Message for whom?" she inquired, a
little maliciously.
“For me,” I answered boldly, but feel-
ing very much like uttering a cry of
despair.
“No.”
211121319111ch lihizesv merit on ‘
to my horsTa‘afia“épEa ‘to‘ the ‘Pfé‘pa.
My horse did not run—he flew.
tcred the little depot breathless, but
cold. .
“\Vliat trains have stopped here this
morning?” was my first question.
“Two—the up and down.”
“The terminus of the down train is
Boston, is it not?” I asked. I had an
impression that Miss Clare had gone to
Boston.
itYes."
“When did
the clock.
“Two hours and twenty minutes ago.”
“And the up train—where does that
go?!)
“That goes through to Montreal, and
has been gone from here just thirty-five
minutes.”
“Did a young lady take passage in the
cars for Boston?” I knew there were but
few passengers from this town at this
season, and I felt confident the man
would remember if he had seen her. He
reflected a moment.
“No; there was no lady, old or young;
only a man went in the Boston train.”
“You are sure—you would have seen
her "
that go?” He consulted
“Yes, sir; Iseo the passengers.” The»
man began to look inquisitive himself.
“And the up train?” I said. Now he
looked wise.
"N ow you come to something,” he
said. “A young lady took passage
through to Montreal.”
“Ah!" That exclamation came from
me with such a mingling of emotions
that the man stared. Clearly, if no lady
had gone from here toward Boston, and
one had gone north, it was natural to
think that lady must be Miss Clare. -
“Did you notice her face?” I inquired,
though I felt already sure.
“Dark—dark hair and eyes." .
What visions of happiness I ' had
dreamed of that face about whom: the
man said carelessly, “Dark—dark hair
and eyes." A. feeling of ,inexpressible
tenderness throbbed In my heart at
those few words. I turned and looked
from the window; my softened eyes it
seemed to me would betray me. -
“When is the next train for the north
due?” - .
“To-night, at 6 o‘cloc .”
I walked out and mounted my horse.
There was nothing for it but to wait—a
torment which the inquisition would
have exulted in.
N o unfavorable symptoms appeared in
Mr. Gilroy’s case during that day. Tell-
ing Mrs. Jordan that I should send her.
my address, that she might communi-
cate the state of her patient, a little after
nightfall I started again for the station.
Meantime I had formed no definite
plans. But one ideahad entire possession
of me—to find Miss Clard'What I-
should do then-I did not know. I looked
not beyond that. I could not endure the
thought that Miss Clare was alone and”
pursued by the remembrance of that
scene with Gilroy. Only to find her; to
ofier again, the love which she only
could inspire—then I left to an unknown
future all that might follow.
As I was whirled along in the cars I
tried to assure myself that I might not _
find her; that the city of Montreal would
engulf and hide her from me as entirely
as though she had never existed. But
all such contingencies melted like Snow
in my burning heart. For love like mine
impossibilities were possible. ,
The faint light of the late dawn was
fast losing its grayness when the train
reached the St. Lawrence.
1 did not believe she would conceal
her name. I began my search by going
to the hotels and examininthhe books.
Patiently, unweariedly I went from
hotel to hotel. I looked carefully down
the long list of names. I was unsuccess
ful. Meanwhile I looked with half
acknowledged hope at the face of every
woman I met. At nightfall I at last felt
my fatigue. urea. _exhausrc_d-_-evcn
more from disappom' out than physical
exertion—I went to sleep, my last con-
nected thought being:
“I was a fool to expect to find her ,the
first day.”
Without dreams, without waking. I
slept on till the dawn of my second
day's search. The days that followed
seemed tobe sapping at the citadel of
my life, with their harassing vexations;
their false, fluttering hopes; their con-
tinual miserable defeats. There was
this moment the eager, absorbing hope,
almost a belief; then the instanta-
neous sinking. Could she be there
and I not find her—I, in whom the de-
sire, the longing had now become well
nigh ungovemable? It is Victor Hugo
who says that love, while it consumes,
illuminates. At this period, I felt only
the devouring; I was not conscious of the
light.
When I had been in Montreal a. fort.
night, I received a letter from Mrs. Jer-
dan, saying that Gilroy was getting on
slowly, but safely. That comforted me
greatly.
Four weeks of this life. 1 determined
on going to Boston and seeing Miss
Clara’s uncle. It wasin the afternoon
that I resolved to go by the evening
train. It happened to be the day conse-
crated to a patron saint of the city.
crowds of people were mo in the
streets that led to the cathe . Since
my stay in Montreal, I had made one of
every gathering. So, countering from
my hotel, I joined the stream of human
beings. The instantI was fairly with
them I became alert, my glances falling
rapidly on each lady that was near, and
prying with persistent search over the
heads to those at a distance.
,Borne unresistingly by this living tide,
I entered the cathedral and leaned
against a pillar.‘ Becoming insensibly
affected by the organ and the chanting,
I closed my eyes and gave myself for the
moment into the arms of that ineifable
ecstasy which music only can invoke.
Still with my eyes closed, still with my
soul infused by the harmony, gradually
upon my senses there stole a. faint per-
fume, peculiar and rare—a fragrance
which I knew only by its being insepa-
rable from Miss Clare. Thrilled with
unspeakable happiness I remained an in-
stant longer with shut eyes, transported
by that music and that vision.
The last melodious flute in the organ
died away insweetness. I lookedaround.
In all that crowd I saw only a woman
who knelt two seats in front of where I
stood. Her backwas toward me. She
was dressedin black. A long veil fell
down and almost encircled her. In her
form, in her position, there seemed that
indescribable air, that high bred grace
which is innate, and never acquired.
My temples throbbed, my whole frame
quivered with suppressed ex tion.
Miss Clare was in out-real; must be
Miss Clare. This was the only woman
I had ever- seen who resembled her. As
Iwatched her she raised her handker—
chief to her face. Again that exquisite
perfume.
the slightest outline of it—but her figure
was the same; there seemed the same
supple elasticity.
Patiently I waited, hardly conscious of
the pushing, vibrating crowd around me.
At last the mass was said, the procession
formed and winding out from the gothic
entrance. The unknown lady rose; she
leaned with careless elegance over the
railing, one hand by her side, holding a
shining, purple bound prayer book. At
sight of that book a. shadow darkened
mo. Miss Clare might come to high
mass, but would she have a prayer book?
She slowly turned her head; my fingers
tightened over my walking stick. I saw
the profile of a handsome face, with
beautiful eyes, but it was not the face of
Viviana Clare. I turned and fled. I can
use no other word for the headlong speed
with which I left the church. I wan-
dered with blind rapidity; I thought I
was trying to find my hotel, but when I
roused myself I was in a different part
of the city. My hurried walk became a
slow plodding with downcast eyes. '
I only reached the hotel in time . to
start for the depot. I stopped at the
town where Mrs. J erdan lived. Mr.
Gilroy was still confined to his room;
he had been severely wounded. I
did not venture upon an interview 35%,
I en-‘
looking out on to the street.
I could not see her face—not -
bifuffifit posted Wfisfinl ' I was’fi'gli't
in feeling sure that Gilroy would never
mention how he became hurt. Ho imag-
ined a. revenge sweeter than that.
In Boston Ifound Mr. Clarb, by the--
aid of the directory. ' He lived a chand-
somo house, in a fashionable f locality,
and I instinctively hated him for it; as I
mounted the broad steps.
My powers of observation and penetra-
tion all rallied to my help when Mr.
Clare at last came into the parlor to see
me. “I must be mistaken in my idea. of
this man," I said to myself anvil looked
at him when he returned my bow.
A man somewhat past middle age, his
dark hair whitened, his mild eyes lighted
only by an expression of courteous in-
quiry. “This man has been duped by
Gilroy,” I thought.
He looked at my card and said:
“Mr. Perrom, pray be sea '.'
I sat down again. I did nofi‘like his
voice; it was not in accordance with his
face. I was going to surprise him, for I
thought I should then discover more. I
should thus disarm him for a. moment.
“You Will, I hope, excuse me, but will
you tell me what is the last néwa from
your niece, Miss Clam?"
He looked at me with the, sudden,
quick bristling of a cat. ‘
- “Viviane?” he cried, inatone soharsh,
and . at the same time so treacherous,
that I could hardly refrain from umotion
of repulsion. It was that man’s voice,
not his face, that betrayed the tiger.
“Yes, I believe her name is Viviane,”
I answered, carelessly. '
“Do you bring any news from her?”
he inquired, with an anxiety that I saw
was intense, notwithstanding his effort
to conceal it. In those words and that
namner he had revealed to me that
which I came to discover, unlesd, indeed,
he was a more consummate actor than I
thought him. ,
His'searcli, too, had been fruitless; he
did not know, any more than I, where
Viviana Clare had gone.
“0n the contrary, I came to near from
her,” I said. ‘
He looked at me scrutinizingly, but he
did notaak me any questions, as seemed
natural. He resumed his polite air and
said:
“ nfortunately, I can give you no in-
formation.” -
“In that case, I will not intrude
longer,” I responded, rising.
At the door he said, with a peculiar
Mr.
4' .9'
long};
“ e do not learn much, do we,
Perrom?”
“It appears so,” I replied, and went
down the steps. I no lbnger wondered
that Miss Clare had left her uncle’s
house.
One day, about six months after my
return, I was standing by the window in
abook store on Washington street. I
turned the leaves of a book, but I was
Suddenly
I drew back, for Mr. Clare was passing,
and on his arm leaned Gilroy—emaciated,
haggard, but still graceful, striking as
ever. He walked slowly and evidently
with some difficulty. I shivered; it
seemed to me that I felt a cold wind like
that which the legend tells announces
the coming of the dreadful Luminous
Shadow. I went back to my lodgings in
an unnaturally depressed mood. Not
once since Miss Clare had gone had I felt
more miserably desponding. I attributed
it in part to the temperature. It was a
day in the latter part of August—almost
at; sunset. A white film was over the
sky, the sun was a. red ball that hung
like an evil eye in the horizon. .
Idid not take the horse car—I pre-
ferred walking over the bridge, for I
hoped to get a breath of salt sea air. I
had lived for a few weeks in Charlestown,
in a quiet street, whence I could see the
mouth of Mystic river and a. glimpse of
the bay. I reached the door of my lodg-
ings, loitered there a moment, then
sauntered on. I thought it; would be
more hot and stifled in my l'oolfl than to
was under the sky.
I walked slowly to the end of the
street, down to the water. There was
not the faintest scent of saltness in the
air—no more than if I had stood by the
shores of an inland lake. It was a dead
calm. The water lay almost black,
tinged with a faint dark purple, the gift
of the sun, which had just disappeared.
I listened for the ripple of the sea among
the stones. It was low tide—I heard
nothing; the ripples were asleep, or per-
haps dead.
A few Irish children sat flat on the
sand. with their feet in the water. They
did not talk loudly; tho atmosphero was
such as subdued even their garrulity.
Far off, low down in the northern sky,
there were flashes of pale lightning, but
therewas no thunder. It Was silence
that reigned now—more awful, more op-
pressive than the crashes of tempest.
It; seemed to me that I breathed with
difficulty; the pulses. of my heart were
weakened; this great, brooding stillness
was suffocating. I stretched out my
hands toward the silent sea. I implored
it for one breath of its saltness. It gave
me nothing save a sense of infinite
weariness—almost of stagnation.
Unable to endure this longer, I turned
and walked back. I had reached the
house next to the one where I lived, sep«
arated from it by a little garden. As I
passed slowly along I inhaled the per-
fume of heliotrope. Quickly, with
memory acute and painful, I glanced
at the window I was passing. It was
open, and on its ledge stood a pot of
heliotrope. My heart no longer beat
languidly—it bounded- At that moment
I thought I recognized the plant. it: was
larger, it had grown, but: it appeared fa-
miliar to me. ‘
Had I reasoned upon that belief I
should have laughed at myself, but I did
not reason; I felt inspired. ,
I mounted the steps of that house and
rang the bell, and with the fragrance
still floating about me I asked if “Miss
Clare was in?”
I knew that I had but to apologize if
she was not-there. ‘
The servant did not hesitate. She re-
plied: .
“Yes, sir; come in.” She opened the
door, and saying, “Miss Clare, a. gentle-
man to see you,” she closed the door and
left me alone with a. lady who sat near
where I stood.
That lady was Viviane Clare.
Her face was paler, her eyes were
larger, her hands were thinner. I saw
that while the servant announced me;
I saw it with a pang of sorrow for her
suffering.
I watched the expressions chase each
other over her face—of surprise that
any one should come to see her—of
frightened inquiry -—of relief uuutter-
able.
The hand I took was cold. but not
colder than mine. Though I watched
her so closely it did not seem to me that
I was self possessed in the least. It was
all I could do to bring my rebelling
frame into subjection.
I looked into her eyes. How famishcd,
starved I had been for the glances of
those eyes! How bad I lived when I
could not see them? I wondered at that
more than ever, now that I saw them
again-
I thought first of relieving any anxiety
she might feel about Gilroy. I said:
“Mr. Gilroy is nearly well.”
“Yes, I know it." with a. sigh of thank-
fulness.
“How long have you been here?" I
asked.
“Ever since I came from R.," mention-
ing the place where we had stopped.
“You came directly to Boston?" I in-
quired incredulously.
“Yes; directly." A momentary silence.
“Will you sit down, Mr. Peri-om?”
We had been standing, our hands joined
as we had met.
“But the man at; the R. station said
that no lady took passage that day for
Boston," I said.
“I believe he did not see me. I was
barely in time, and didn‘t go into the
depot; I paid my passage in the cars."
She looked at me inquiringly.
“Because, Miss Clare, I went to Mon-
Ireal and searched a month there for
u. I had reason to believe that you
girl gone that wa .”
She flashed a g co at me, then low-
ered her eyes. .
\
1 continued, speaking rapidly:
"I never was so utterly unhappy as
when I was forced to believe that I could
not find you in Montreal. It was obso.
lute torture to me to think that you had
gone; that you might still think Gilroy
fatally injured; that you were alone with
no friend to soften that dreadful soli-
rude."
Miss Clare’s head drooped to her hand
—hcr eyes were shaded.
“You are very kind”—with an intona-
tion that expressed how grateful she was.
“Kind!" I cried. “But you are not
kind, Miss Clare. You have made me
suffer. You only can repay me for that
misery.“
Silence that seemed dreadful to me,
for she sat turned from me, her face
hidden. Did not. then, this girl care
for me?
Irosc. I had reached that pitch of
excitement; when I appeared cold, be-
cause if I did not I should fall into the
other extreme. I spoke, and my voice
congealed on the air as it left my lips.
“Miss Clare, once I offered you my
life, which, since I have seen you, is. only
another name for love. You (lid not no-
cept it; it may be that Iought to have
believed that that meant only rejection,
but for the sake of my future I have
tried not to think so”—
Miss Clare looked up and interrupted:
“Mr. Perrom, you may call to-morrow
night; now I beg that: you will leave me."
Her face was calm, her eyes deep and
steady; only her voice had an almost im-
' perceptible tremor in it.
In the afternoon of the next day a let-
ter was left at the door for me. When I
asked who had brought it, the landlady
said it was the servant who lived the
next; door below.
I was from Miss Clare. As I read I
felt that the mystery of her past life was
melting before me. 'It commenced:
It is my desire that Mr. Perrom know
something of the life of her to whom he
has shown himself every way noble. I
am a Cuban by birth. My mother was
descended from an old Andalusian fam-
ily whose pride is only exceeded by their
love. To me my mother has always been
the handsomest and best woman I have
ever seen. No scorn, no jeers could ever
prevent me from reverencing her as we
reverence embattled truth and purity.
Cf Archibald Clare, I only know that he
was a villain and my father. That hand-
some Louisianian came to Cuba. to the
plantation of my grandfather, on a. visit
to my mother’s brother. It was only
necessary for him to see my mother in
order to love her. I do not mean to
love; call it what you will. We never in-
jure those we love. My mother loved
with the strength, the purity, the as-
sion of a life time. She was marrie to
Archibald Clare. ,
During his stay in Cuba, my father
made frequent visits to his home in Lou-
isiana. There is no need of relating to
you the details of that; time. It was dis-
covered that Clare had been married to
a lady in New Orleans, two years before
he ever saw my mother. After that dis-
covery he came no more to our planta-
tion in Cuba.
To tell you what my mother suffered
would be to reveal that which can never
be told——the utter anguish of a human
heart.
She had loved a. traitor; she was a De
Gama, and she was dishonored. In those
words are death and blackness. Yet she
lived till I was 17. Then I was alone,
for the family had died impoverished;
all but my mother’s brother who was in
am.
It appeared that my father had not
forgotten me, for he sent for me to come
to New Orleans, but I refused. After
two years there came a. family from the
northern states, Boston, to spend the
winter near where I lived. Before they
returned they gave me a letter from my
uncle in Boston. I liked the tone of the
letter. I liked their descri tion of Mr.
Clare, and I returned with t em. About
a year after, I discovered that it had
been a. concerted plan to get me to my
uncle's. Mr. Gilroy is a. nephew of Mr.
Clare; he was a. constant visitor at the.
house. I did not: like Mr. Clare; I hated
Mr. Gilroy; nevertheless, in appearance,
every body was good in nm. The nephew
offered himself to me. I was vehemently
urged to marry him, but I as vehemently
refused. There swept over me furious
gusts of rage, of fury and despair. At
times there seemed to be a tempest
within me. At such times those about
me trembled. Such savage moods were
the inheritance left me by my volcanic
natured father, my fiery but sweet souled
mother. It was a. temperament nurtured
by a residence among servants who were
entirely subject to my childish control.
At last I discovered why Mr. Clare
was so urgent forms to ma. his ne how.
My uncle in Spain had died and eft a.
large fortune to me, of which I had thus
far been ignorant. Privately I secured
the services of a lawyer, but I only re-
covered about a. third of my fortune.
Then I fled from Mr. Clara’s.
I dreaded Mr. Gilroy more than any—
thing upon earth, but he found me, you
will remember when.
My destiny is in gloom; I have no right
to the name I bear; I have no righttoan
ancestral pride in my mother’s family.
Here the letter ended abruptly. Hardly
had my eyes devoru'ed the last word be-
fore I was in the street seeking admis-
sion at the next house.
There was no one in the parlor when I
entered. In a moment the door opened.
It seemed that Miss Clare hesitated an
instant, then she came in. I advanced;
I seized her hands; I cried eagerly:
“Now—at last—Viviana!”
”Now—at last—- Viviana!"
She raised her eyes—that; glance was
glorious; it was ineffable; it was wom-
an's love—the love of Viviana Clare.
THE END.
French" tiiid Aim-ricui."Liniluntr'y.
I was remarking not long ago to un Ameri-
can woman of fashion who is no lougcriii
life‘s delightful iiioriiii'i;;, but ignores that
fact, the greater civility to her sex of Ameri-
can manhood. "You call it well, civility.”
she unswci'el; “is: in some things i prefer
the Frenchman‘s way of taking us. In France
one is not; constant v reminded of the flight
of time by tho llua'lL‘C; with which one is
treated. America is u very nice place for the
miss in her teens. But ladies who are turn-
zng thirty don‘t like it so well. In ball rooms
they are utterly neglected, and they are
looked upon as old and only good to ho
shelved at forty. A French lady who is at
all agreeable is never reminded of the flight
of time when she goes into socioty.”—-—Puris
Letter.
Will be found an excellent remedy for
sick headache. Carter's Little Liver Pills.
Thousands of letters from people who
lilillfle used them prove this fact. Try
I cm.
The Pullman Palace Car company is
worth $25,000,000.
Are you going to travel? If so, you
mnstbe very careful of your health, or
your doctor’s bills iviil cost you more than
your traveling expenses. A bottle of Sn!—
phur Bitters will protect you from all
sickness incident to a change of climate.
~[Evening Telegram.
Only 13,188 New Yorkers pay taxes on
personal estates.
I have been a sufferer from catarrh for
the past eight years. Having tried a num-
ber of remedies advertised as "sure cures"
without obtaining any relief, I had re-
solved nover to take any more patent
medicines, when a friend advised me .to
try Eiy’s Cream Balm. I did so with
great reluctance, but can now testify With
pleasure that after using it. for six weeks I
believe myself cured. It. is a. most agree—
able remedy-an invaluable Balm—Jos-
eph Stewart, 624 Grand avenue, Brooklyn.
New York City is going to spend $1,-
000,000 on the Washington Centennial.
POWDER
Absolutely Pure.
This Powder never varies. A marvel of pure
strength and wholesomeness. More economic
than the ordinary kinds, andcannot be sold in com-
petition with the multitude of low test, short
weight, allum or phosphate powders.
Sold only in Cans.
ROYAL BAKING Pownnn 00.,106 Wall St., N. Y.
was
ThéuniyRELlABLE REMEDszgD:
03li"§000-UP [it"ei-i‘esIHIIUH
Indoned by Physicians. Used by those“:
IT WILL CURE YOU.
N0 OPIUM IN IT. Mothers, you can conduct
that dreadful foo, GROUP, with it. Have it on M
Ind Save tho Child. Sold by Draggists. ”In
.ELY’S
CREAM BIIM
I‘leanses the
CAT“: R H
' exhilaysuain
and inflamma
iion lu-alslhc
sores. restol'
vs the senses
of taste and
smell.
HAY-F EVER rev was ones
A particle is applied into each nostril and is
ugl‘ecahie. i'rice rid cents at lirngglsts; by mail,
regiszered, 50 his. ELY BitO’l‘ilL‘ttS, 56 Warren
Street, New York. 1544
HEN RY TILLY
CARRIAGE MAKER,
conn
SOUTH NOR WALK, -
Manufacturer of
Fannie Carriages, Victories, Bonnier, in.
All Kinds of Repairing.
EQUI’I‘AII LE MOH'I'GAGE (30.,
on KANSAS ('i'rv. (‘AI'I'I‘AL $2,000,000
r. and 7 percent. lieneuture Bonds and Mortgage
Loans at Far and Al'urued Intern-q.
it. B. (,'I{:\[' Fl'itl), Agent.
lioom 2 .‘iasonzc Build-31 g
P. H. DWYER.
The largest Stock of Harness
EVER DISPLAYED IM TOWN.
_ All First-Class, Hand Stitched, Oak Tanned
' Pennsylvania Leather
THIRD CLASS PRICES.
Call early as I intend to sell at Slum. Pnorir,
SEYENI Y-FIVE
Set Stools and Bottle Harness.
HABDEHBROOK "All,
Over Mitchell's Market, next door to P. H. Dwy-
er’s old stand. ldtf
PETER L. GUIGUE,
ironstone so rnrn.
UNION AVENUE,
North of Norwaik Cemetery,
NORWAJLE, - - CORR.
Dealer in in Green House and Hot House and
, Bedding and Vegetable Plants, Fruit and Ornamen
I
|
r
r
r
' , tal Trees Shrubbery, Vines. Cut Flowers always
on hand and all sorts of designsln Flowers arranged
to order. ' 41ya
Grading and Re-filling Cemetery Plots
promptly attended to.
n. c. WHITNEY’S
-—.- ART STORE :—
‘57 1-2 Main Ste, 80. Norwalk.
r Entire stock moved from Danbury to So. Norwalli
Etchinngnnnvlngn. Artotypes, Pastels,
\‘I’nter Colors, Etc.
PICTURE FRAMING A SPECIALTY.
Fllll. STIGI III ARIISTS’ MATERIALS.
Albums, Easels, Cabinet Frames
N. B.—Al’ter May 12th, a complete stock of
Ladles’ Stationery and Box Papers. Whiting
Standard Linen, etc.
3m21 W. P. WHITNEY, Manager:
TO HORSE OWNERS !
We keep constantly on hand a good assortment of
Kentucky and Ohio Horses,
i
7 selected with great care in the western markets.
' We have horses suitable for all purposes and no
one who wantsathoroughly reliable animal snonld
puictiasc helore seeing what we have to offer.
We a;so keep constantly on hand at our Carriage
Repository at corliplete .me or (:AltltlAG its from
the nest matters. which are nianuh-i-rurcd for us
to special order; every Cill'i'ltlL'L‘ warranted.
WAGUNS and (3A li'l‘S of every description.
HAHNESSES, Wull’s, HOBBS, BLANKETS
DANN’S LIVEIlY STABLE,
OFFICE 48 WALL s'r., NORWALK
, orr. D. a s. It. 1:. nrror .35
A PAYING INVESTMENT
For Sale,
IN SOUTH NORWALK, A LARGE
Double House,
Each containing Ten Rooms, Water, Sewer
Connections and Ciosets.
Paying 12 per cent. on the money
to be raised.
remain on the place
no (lash-ed.
Mortgage can
For further information enquire of
H G. HYATT, NORWALK
Or, Box 2‘29, Norwaik P
address If. ,7
onlce. 451i
For Sale.
DOUBLE BARRELLED ltll’LE madeby Jon
Blissett. London. Will be sold cheap to
cash.
, III-I
Z
<
w,
><
.<
E
Heals Without Leaving a Scar.
It FAMILY BLESSING FOR 25 CENTS.
Enuuire at the (mice.
inivslwirio
'1! “Width “I Pln‘l‘lS Arguing °N
Its action upon the system is unlike any other external remedy, as it never drives the
disease to the Internal Organs.
lts properties go to the diseased part, and separate
all the poisonous and corrupt liumors, through the perspiring vessels t! . "the surface, and
eradicates the disease from the system.
We warrant it to cure 0.21 Sores, Ulcers,
Scrofula. Sores. Salt Rheum, Sore Breast: or Nipples, Iuflamed Eyes, Swollen Glands,
'Erysipelas, Boils, Scolds. Burns, Cuts. Bruises, Fistula, Piles, Corns. Bunions,
Cliil.
blaius, Frosted Feet, and all cutaneous diseases on man and beast.
PAGE'S CLIMAX SALVE
acts like magic on horse flesh in curing Scratches, Mange, Old
Sores, Fresh Cuts, Snake Bites, Brmses, Burns, Saddle and Harness Galls, Chafes, etc.
It is put up in
boxes three times larger than any other Salve, and sold at the low price oftwcnty-five cents periiox.
It is warranted to cure in every case or money refunded. For Sale by Drixggists and Dealers In medicine
everywhere.
._———-a———-——-—-
MDFFAT’S LIFE PILLS.
THE GREAT STOMAGH AND. LIVER REMEDY.
Established by one of our most eminent physicians and recommended by the medical
profession and druggists who know their real merit, and are used With more pleasmg .
results than any other medicine.
Mofi'at's Life Pills are purely vegetable.
They act on the stomach, bowels, liver
and kidneys, purity and regulate the whole system, and are warranted a certain cure
for all Malarious Diseases, Torpid Liver, Impnre Blood,
Dyspepsia, Loss of Appetite, Indigestion.
Neuralgia an Nervous Diseases, Female
Inflammatory Rheumatism,
Kidneys, Colds and Fever and Ague.
Jaundice, Bilious Complaints,
Costiveness, Nervous and Sick Headache.
obstructions and General weakness, Scurvy.
Piles of every kind, Gravel and Diseases of the Bladder and.
MOFFAT'S LIFE PILLS are elegantly Sugar coated and easy to take and are a perfect aftrr
dinner Pill, one taken after dinner each dav will and digestion and cure ail disorders of the Stomach.
Headache m"): Sicl: Headache cannot exist it these Pills are used. For costiveness take one Pill at bedtime.
MOFFAT’S PHOENIX BITTE RS
Are not a drink used for intoxication, but a pure medicine and only used by people
who are sick.
Dyspepsia, Sleeplessness, Nervousne s, Debility, Weakness, Loss of Appeti'e, ‘ ‘
Thousands of certizicates are in possession of the proprietor, giving,
these invaluable medicines and we warrant that they \viil do
Complaints, etc.
perfect cures effected by
just what we hive said or money will be refunded.
their use will convince the most skeptical.
will try them once,
’l‘hey correct the secretions of the stomach and are asure cure for
Femal:
It is simply asked that the atllicted
PAGE’S CLIMAX SALVE. 25¢. a Bax. HOFFAT’S LIFE PILLS. 25¢. a Box. MOFFAT'S
PHOENIX BITTERS. $1.00 a Bottle. {or Sale by Druggxsts and Dealers in medium r cvuywhere,
or sent by mail or Express, prcpald, ca. .eceipt of price.
3'. P. MILLS, Sole PrOprietor.
85 LIBERTY STREET; NEW YORK.
RHEUMATISM Alli NEURALGIA
These twin- diseases cause untold suffering.
Doctors admit that they are difficult to cure—
so do their patients. Paine's
Celery Compound has per-
manently cured the worst
cases of rheumatism and
neuralgia—so say those who
have used it.
UHaving been troubled
with rheumatism at the knee
and foot for five years, i was
almostunuble to get around.
and was very often confined
to my bed for weeks at; a
time. I used only one bot-
, lie of Palne's Celery Com-
pound. and was perfectly
A
FOR SALE .
NO USETO
OWNER.
\ cured. I can now jump
‘ around. and feel as lively as
a boy." FRANK Canon.
Eureka, Nevada.
$1.00. SLv for $5.09. Druggists.
Mammoth testimonial paper free.
WELLS. RICHARDSON at Co..Props.,Burltngton,Vt.
allflofln ”YES Give Faster and Brighter
Colors than any other Dyes.
”—7
ii I).
“ Paine‘s Celery Compound has been a God-
send to me. For the past two years i have sut-
t'ered with neuralgia of the heart, doctor after
doctor mum to cure me. I have now taken
nearly four ottles of the Compound, and am
free from the complaint. I feel very grateful
to you." CHAS. ll. LEWIS, CentralVlllage, Ct.
Paine’s
Celery Compound
"I have been greatly afflicted with acute
rheumatism. and could find no relief until I
used Paine’s Celery Compound. After ustn
six bottles of this medicine I am now cured o
rheumatic troubles."
SAMUEL Bus-caisson, So. Cornish, N. 11.
Effects Lasting Cures.
Palne'sCelcry Compoundhas performedmany
other cures as marvelous as these.—coptes or
letters sent to any address. Pleasant to take.
does not disturb, but aids digestion. and entire-
ly vegetable; a child can take it. What‘s the
use of suffering longer with rheumatism or
neuralgia?
Livia u LactatedFood areHealthy
IBABIES Haggiyfiearty. 12 {a L'nequalcd. '
IF YOU WANT
A HEATER
THAT WILL
Heat Your House
-——GET———
it into
SARSAPARILLA CUMPUUND
couch MIXTURE,
Hair Tonic,
—F|NE STATIONERY-
In the Latest Society Styles:
Easter Gan-(Is,
—AT-——
J. G. GREGORY’S,
38 Wall Street.
ennrnni MARKET. '
Meat, Fish, Vegetables. he.
LOCKWOOD & ANDREWS,
MAIN STREET.
All kinds of the best qualities of Meats, Fish,
Clams, Vegetables, etc., are kept constantly on
hand. and will be sold by us as low as can be pro.
cured at any market in Norwalk. We intend to
prove to our customers that we deserve their
patronage by fair and generous dealing.
ly40 LOCKWOOD & ANDREWS.
FURNITURE
A Full Stock of Furnitureot all kinds-
PAIILUR AND BEDRUDMSETS
a specialty.
DAVID STOW,
Main Street opp. Depot
SOUTH NORWALK, com
SOLDIERS, ATTENTION
M. L. BYINGTON,
Pension Attorney,
241 Eighth Street, N. E.,
\VASHINGTON D. (2.,
Located at the National Capital, adjacent to all the
Executive Departments, gives me superior
advantage in the prosecution of Claims
against the United States.
INCREASE YOUR PENSION.
Many pensioners borne on the rolls are entitled
to a much higher rate of pension than they now
receive. In a. great majority of cases in which
pension was granted for disease, the pensioner is
entitled to an increase of rate, and in most cases
where it was granted for wounds or In] uries the
disability increases each year. As time passes the
disability of all classes naturally increases. Many
were at first rated too low, had it often occurs
that pensioners are unjustly or erroneously re-
duced by examining surgeons. A pensioner is
entitled to increase on a disability not set forth in
his original declaration. The pension laws are
more liberal than formerly, and better rating can
be had for many disabilities. I make a specialty -
of Neglected and Rejected Claims, and if you will
present me With a brief statement of your case,
stating by whom it was presented,,1 will obtain a
rehearing of your case, and, if it has merit, will
procure a favorable settlement Many claims
stand rejected before the department, when it
only requires a competent attorney to make them
good cases. Soldier's sufiering with disabilities
contracted in service, who have not applied for a
pension, should do so as it is their RIGHT.
SOLDIERS OF THE MEXICAN WAR,
Who were in that service sixty days, [or their
widows if not re-marrled] are entitled to $8.00 per
month from January 29th, 15st. tf20
Hatoh, Bailey It 00
“ MANUFACTURERS AND DEALERS IN
LUMBER, TIMBER,
Shingles, Lath,
Doors, Sash?
Blinds, .Moulding,
Window Frames
Pickets, é-c.
Veneered Harri Wood IWorlt.
Harri Wood Ceiling and Flooring
South Norwalk, Conn.
The “Record.”
The N orwalk Record,
In an established fact. Although only one
year old its circulation already averages
3,000 COPIES PER WEEK,
a, fact which aitestsrts rapid rise and firm hold on
the public favor. It aims to be clean and whole-
some, and presents all the legitimate news in
readable, spicy and terse shape. Its subscription
price is suiticieutly low to enable anybody to have
it without discarding any other or their favorite
journals, and it prospers Without encroaching
upon the prosperity of any of its excellent and
esteemed local contemporaries. as is shown by
the fact that it enjoys and appreciates the hearty
good will of all—the Gszsrrn, Hour, Sentinel
Journal and Republican.
THE RECORD is sent to any address forth
small sum or
75 oentsa Year; Single Copies, 2 cents.
Now is the Time to Subscribe
SPECIAL TO FARMERS.
The Record
PUBLISHES EVERY SATURDAY THE
The New York Market Reports
CORRECTED UP TO DATE. than
DR. HARTLEY’S
0ATARRH REMEDY
Is the best remedy known for the cure of Cutarrh
and its attendant ailments; it is safe, painless, and
never fails to give relief. This remedy cleanses
the nose, head and throat of all unhealthy secre-
tions, and soothes and heats the inflamed parts.
When the remedy is once tried the beneficial re-
sults are so prompt and satisfactory that the suf-
ferer never fails to commute the treatment until
permanent relief is obtained,
Do Not Neglect a Bad Cold
Use Hartley’s Catarrh Remedy for its Immediate
1y4't Cu
re.
Norwalk Chronicler