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About The Yamhill County reporter. (McMinnville, Or.) 1886-1904 | View Entire Issue (Nov. 30, 1894)
Running Cures the Serpent’s Sting CONTAGIOUS In all its stages completely ni BLOOD POISON stinate sores and ulcers ft) [ —yield to Its healing powers ( I It removes the poison and builds np the system Aju^u*b.e uc*tlse oa th< diwase and its treaunentl/J / SWIFT SPECIFIC CO., A Ganta, Ga. J| 0. R. & N. CO E. McNEILL, Receiver. TO THE fli ■At GIVES THE CHOICE OF TWO TRANSCONTINENTAL ROUTES GREAT ■ VIA VIA SPOKANE Minneapolis DENVER OMAHA AND ANO KANSAS CY ST. PAUL LOW RATES TO ALL EASTERN CITIES. OCEAN 'STEAMERS Leave Portland Every 8 Days • • POR • • SAN 4- FRANCISCO For full detail« call on C. A. WALLACE, McMinnville, Or. Or Address: W. H HI BI BI UT, Gen. Pasa. Agt. POHTL AN», OK. EAST AND SOUTH VIA The Shasta Route OF THE Expresa Traina Leave Portland Dally L eave . arrive . Portland.......... 6:15 P M | ßan Francisco..10:45 A M San Francisco.7:00 P M I Portland............ 8:20 A M Above trains stop at all stations from Portland to Albany Inclusive. Also Tangent, Shedds, Hal sey, Harrisburg, Junction City, Irving. Eugene and all stations from Roseburg to Ashland Inclu sive. Roseburg .Hail Daily. LEAVE: ARRIVE: Portland......... 8:80 A M I Roseburg.........5.50 P M Roseburg........ 7:00 AM | Portland......... 4.30 PM DINING CARS ON OGDEN ROUTE. PULLMRN * BUFFET. SLEEPERS ANO SECOND CLASS SLEEPING CARS, Attached to all Through Trains. BETWEEN .West Side Division. PORTLAND AND CORVALLIS Mail Train Daily, (Except Sunday.) 7STÂM' tv 10:16 A M Lv 12:16 P M Ar Portland McMinnville Corvallis Ar Lv Lv 5:35 P M 3:01 P M 1:00 P M At Albany and Corvallis connect with trains of Oregon Pacific Railroad, Express Train Daily, (Except Sunday.) T«o p M Lv 7:15 P M Lv 7:26 P M Ar Portland St. Joseph McMinnville Ar 1 8:2ó A M Lv 1 5 58 A M Lv| 55) A M By WALTER BESAHT. One day Paul, the junior counsel in a case of no apparent importance, found himself unexpectedly called upon to maintain a legal position against the opinion of the court. He displayed in his argument so much ability and knowledge: of the law as to call forth an expression of admiration from the judge himself. I was myself present in my quality of briefless barrister. On the termination of the case we came out and stood for a few minutes talking over the point which had been raised. Paul’s senior join«! us and congratulated him. prophesying thnt his table would never be without briefs niter that morning’s work. Others came to shake hands with him, and there was quite a little scene of congratulation and triumph. In the midst of our talk I saw, bearing straight down upon us, with the evident inten tion of speaking, no other than that ter rible ex-Q. C. He was clearly half drunk. One of the men among us whis pered in disgust, “Good heavens, here’s that miserable man Brandish!” Every body stood aside to make way for him, as one makes way for a leper. Worse than a leper in the courts of Lincoln’s Inn is a man who has been disbarred. As well should a man who has been stripped of his commission and drummed out of his regiment for cowardice show himself again upon parade. This man, then, with a half drunken laugh, walked straight to Paul and held out his hand. “How are you, Paul, my boy?” he cried, addressing him independently by his Christian name. * ‘ Isabel quite well?’ ’ Paul tunied perfectly white. “How dare you,” he cried, “how dare you I speak to me? How dare you address me by my Christian name?” “How dare I? Ho, hoi Not use his Christian namo to the man who married my dear old friend’s only daughter? How do you do, Sir John?” He ad dressed one of the group, a well known counsel of very high standing and ex solicitor general, who made no reply. “Gentlemen, you know me, all of you. I have been in court today, and I de clare I never heard a better argument than my young friend’s here. Why, I never put a point better myself. ” “Your friend! Yours!” cried Paul, with a gesture of loathing. “Come, come!” cried the man. “This is rather too much. Why, Paul, you for get that you married the only daughter of my old friend, Sir Robert Reeve Byrne, baronot, whom I defended. You remem ber my famous defense, gentlemen. 1 am sure it nearly pulled him through, but not quite, for he got his five years’ penal servitude. ” Then there was a dead silence, and nobody dared to look at his neighbor, As for me, I understood it all. The case of Sir Robert Byrne was a cause oelebre. He had been, I remembered, defended by Mr. Brandish, Q. C., with marvelous skill and ingenuity. My delightful host was no other than that famous baronet then, and the rest of his guests—were they also what the cx-Q. C. had described them? Paul recovered himself. “It is quite true,” he said proudly. “I married the daughter of Sir Robert Byrne, but this man I know nothing of, except that he is a rogue. ” Mr. Brandish looked round him. He saw on every face loathing clearly writ ten. Half drunk though he was, he was cowed. He said no more, but slunk away. It was Sir John himself who laid his hand upon Paul’s shoulder and said kindly: "We are all sorry you should have been troubled by this scoundrel, whom I once called my friend. As for your private affairs, but of them we need not speak. ” They all murmured something, the group broke up, and I took Paul by the arm and walked with him to his cham bers. He threw his papers upon the table and sank into a chair. “It is all over,” he groaned, “My career is finished. ” “Paul, this is absurd. ” “No, ” he said. “I have already made np my mind what will happen. These tnen are my private friends, they are Through Tickets to all points in Eastern States, < iuiada and Europe can be obtained at lowest ra.es from G. A. Wilcox, Agent, McMinn ville. E. P. ROGERS, Asst. G. F. A P. A., Portland, Or. R. KOEFI.ER, Manager. A Shower of Yellow Clay. LOCAL DIRECTORY CHURCHES B aptist —Services Sunday 11 a. m. and 7:30p. iu ; Sunday school 9:50 a m.; the young people’s society 6:15 p tn Prayer meeting Thursday 7:30 p. m. Covenant meeting first Sat each month 2:00 p. m. M bthodist E piscopal —Services every Sabbath 11:00 a. m. and 7:30 p. ni. Sunday school 9:30 a m. Prayer meeting 7:00 p tn. Thursday. L ke T hompson , Pastor. C umb . P besbytebian —Services every Sab bath 11:00a in and 7:30 p. m. Sunday school 9:30 a. m. Y. P. C. E.. Sunday 6:30 p. m. Prayer meeting Thursday, 7:30 p. m. E E. T hompson , Pastor. C hristian —Services every Sabbath 11:00 a. m and 7:30 p. m. Sunday school 10 a. m. Young people's meeting at 6:30 p. m. H. A. D enton , Pastor. S t . J ames C atholic —First st., between G and H. Sunday school 2:30 p. m. Ves pers 7:30. Services once a month. W. R. H ogan , Pastor SECRET ORDERS. K nowles C haptub X o , 12, O. E. S.—Meets a Masonic hall tue tirsi ano third Monday evening in each mouth. Visiting members eordiallv in vited C. H. MCKINNEY, Sec. MRS. C. W. TALMAGE. W. M. Cvrrra P ost N o . S—Meets the second and fourth Saturday of each month in Union hall at 7:36 p. m. on second Saturday and at 10:30 a. m. on ith Saturday. All members of the order are cordially invited to attend our meetings. B. F. C lvbine , Commander. J. A. P eckham , Adjt. W <’ T IL—Meets on evers Fri- lay, in Wright’s hall at 3 o'c.ock p m. L. T. L. at 3 p. tu. M rs A. J W hitmokk , Pres C lama U E ssor . Sec’y think what he would look like in prison dress, but I never could. There was an other side to him, though. I saw it on the day when I asked him for his daugh ter. ‘Do you, ’ he said, ’know the story of my past?’ I assured him that he need not open a painful chapter, because I knew everything. And then—then he broke down, burst into a fit of weeping like any woman and thanked God sol emnly that I had come to take his daughter away from him. ‘For myself, * he said, ‘I suppose I am sorry. That mat ters nothing. But for my children’s sake, and especially for my daughter’s sake, I am—sometimes I am mad. ’ I think that when he was left alone after our marriage he was really mad, and I am nearly sure that he killed himself. However, that is done with. Isabel must not know what has happened. And she must not be mado to suspect that our friends, her new friends, know her se cret. Women are not always considerate toward each other. I must think—I must think what is best to do. ” Next morning I was not surprised to receive a note from Isabel. She said that her husband was suddenly prostrated with some kind of a nervous breakdown, though he looked very well, and that the doctor ordered him to give up all work, break off all engagements and go away for three months at least. They were going the same day. The three months became six, and the six became a year. They were traveling about in unfrequented places, where Paul’s health would not suffer from noise and talk of travelers. They staid only in towns where there were no Eng lish residents, and so on. Then Paul wrote to me that he had given np his chambers and bought a oottage iu the country, where he proposed to stay, his health, he said, being too wretched to think of his practicing any more. I made many visits to the cottage. It was three or four miles from any vil lage or house. It was on the seaside, and they had a boat. They had no chil dren, and the only people who ever vis ited them were the family of the nearest clergyman, who oame often to them. Isabel was their friend, unpaid govern ess, adviser, everything. Remark here a very strange thing. This man, my friend Paul, to whom at the outset life without success would have seemed intolerable, who gave up the most promising prospects solely on his wife’s account, who was endowed with every quality which success re quires, was perfectly happy in this ob scure retreat He wanted no other kind of life. To sail in his boat, to wander on the sands, to meditate in his garden, always with Isabel beside him, was enough for him. His love for Isabel was absorbing and sufficient for both. They lived in this way for five and twenty years. Then the greatest possible misfortune fell upon Paul, for Isabel eaught a fever and died. Then Paul be gan to break up. He was only just past 50 and should have been in the vigorous enjoyment of his manhood, but he be gan to fail. In the last months of his life I staid a great deal with him, and he talked freely about his old ambitious and their sudden end. “I am sure,” ho said, “that I did right in giving all up. Sooner or later Isabel would have- found out—would have been made to feel somehow—that other people knew the truth. In such a case the only safety lies in flight. ” “But if you had staid your own career was certain. ” “Perhaps — with the explanation whenever my name was mentioned, ‘You know, I suppose, that he married Sir Robert Byrne’s daughter. ’ And she would have heard it. ” “Tell me, ”1 said, “who were the residents of the village—the people we met at dinner”----- “I do not know. Why do you ask?” Evidently Isabel knew nothing of them. Perhaps, after al), the wicked old man lied about them. “I am glad to think,” Paul went on, “that we never met any of them after ward, because perhaps they knew. Thank God, never, never for a moment after the marriage did Isabel feel that her father' s sins were visited upon her. ’ ’ “Why, Paul,” I said, “they were, but you shifted the burden to your own shoulders and bore it for her. Did Isabel ever learn why you left London?” “No, she never knew, and she never suspected. The man Brandish died a very little while after of drink, I be lieve. ” “And you newer regretted all that you lost?” “Never—not f<jr a moment. ”—Long man’s Magazine. "It is all over,” he groaned. “Jfy career is finished.” part of our social circle, for Isabel, poor child, had no friends of her owil They are good fellows, and at first they will say that it doesn’t make any difference and think it too. But then, you see, there are the women. They will resent the thing and show their resentment too. Isabel must be spared this at any cost Go away now, my dear fellow, and leave me to think. ” “For heaven’s sake, Paul,” I said “do nothing rash. Think of your pro fession first. ” “No, ” he replied. “Isabel must be first thought of. ’ ’ I lingered awhile unwilling to leave him. “Now you know all, ” he said. “It is something like a cloud, isn’t it?” “Is it possible that the courtly and polished”----- “Quite possible. Sometimes I tried to On April 4, 1892, Marion county, la., and especially that portion of it contin gent to Knoxville, the county seat, was treated to a bath of thin, yellow mud. The cloud came up from the south southeast, but did not appear to be the result of any unusual meteorological disturbance. Tho barometer did not in dicate cyclonic conditions, and the great mud vehicle which rolled across tho ridge which separates English and Whitebreast creeks was unaccompanied with either wind, thunder or lightning. In some places in the county thin, sticky clay covered everything to the depth of about one-tenth of an inch, making a general cleaning up necessary after the “shower” was over. The Knoxville Journal of April 6, two days after the mud shower, contained the following among its locals, “We had a regular mud shower here on Monday morning, the mud falling a few minutes only, but while it lasted it literally plastered tho south sides of buildings and covered the windows and the people upon the streets with a coat of thin yellow clay. ” —St. Louis Republic. An Armless Nimrod« An armless Nimrod is the wonder of the people and tho envy of all the sports men of Bucks county. He is John Simon of Zion Hill, and his prowess is something marvelous. Simon’s arms were ground off above the elbows in machinery a few years ago, but his love of hunting spurred his ingenuity, and he overcame his seemingly insurmount- , able obstacle. He straps his single bar rel breechloading hammerless gun to his right arm, and when he sights game he swings the piece over the stump of his left arm, takes quick aim and fires, gen erally with telling effect His mode of loading is as unique as his shooting. He carries the shells in his hat, and when he wants one bows low, drops his hat on the ground, pulls out the empty shell with his teeth and in a similar manner loads, then pushing his head into his hat to re-cover his head. Despite his affliction, Simon has done some of the best shooting in Bucks coun ty the past year, his record standing: 16 opossums, 5 pheasants, 5 dozen black birds, 37 rabbits and 21 quail.—Phila- i delphia Record. MACHA. By ROSA MULHOLLAND. There is a lone upper world among the Connemara hills seldom visited by any wayfarer from the ordinary paths of life. Mountains form bulwarks around it; the gates into it are narrow defiles between rugged crags; the cen ters of its silent valleys are deep lakes, told and gray as steel or black with the lhadow of the rainclouds By the wa ter’s margin the dark, sullen earth, with its gorgeous clothing of purple and em broideries of emerald green, upheaves in curious knolls and bosses or stretches away in wind swept levels. The peaks around take fantastic shapes, and in twilight the place is like some region of hades, where disembodied souls walk in shadow and muse upon the mysteries that death has unfolded to thorn. Unoongenial as it appears to human life, there are a few inhabitants of this world of silent gloom and barren beauty. Here and there the infrequent traveler will come upon .an isolated cabin built of rude stone and roofed with the sod, hardly distinguishable from the heather capped rock except for the curl of smoke that steals through a hole from the hearthstone within. On a summer morn ing an inquisitive explorer of this lone some world passed by one of these smok ing hovels, and while gazing on it in dismay, almost expecting to see a gnome or monster issue from it, was startled by the appearance of an exquisite face which shone on him for a moment and vanished. The solitary rambler in so eerie a spot was at the moment in an imaginative mood, and open to all in fluences of the beautiful and supernat ural, and almost believed that a sprite of the mountain had crossed his path, and that she had a fateful message for him in her eves, but shaking himself into a more rational frame of mind he went on his way, with only a lingering look at the cabin, which seemed to re- freat into the fastnesses of the rock. Yet, in spite of common sense, the wild beautiful eyes of the mountain girl pur sued him, the message that lay a mys tery in their depths bewitched him, and finally, as the sun shot forth long shafts of flame and glances of gold, setting fierily behind a cluster of blackening mountain peaks, he turned upon his heel and retraced his steps in the direc tion of the enchanted hovel. Macha, the owner of the beautiful face, had withdrawn it hastily into the interior of the cabin, scared at the un wonted sight of a stranger, as lowland dwellers might be scared by a ghost The cabin was so poor that, only for the red hearth and the warm smell of smoko, it might have been mistaken for a shed for cattle. The earthen floor was un even and full of holes; the roof, of heather and sticks, was blackened with smoke; tho hearthstone was broken. One crazy table, one chair and two or three other nondescript seats, a kettle, a pot, a battered tin can, and a few mugs and plates—these were the chief contents of the dwelling’s principal room. Looking around, one might well ask by what means life could be sup ported in this place. Patches of pota toes that struggled for existence between bog and rock close by, and a black cut ting, that showed like an ugly wound on the face of a distant level and was the turf mine—these gave the only an swer to such inquiry. An old woman sat spinning in the corner of the cabin, lean and smoke dried, liko a mummy, her dark red gar ment and the yellow handkerchief wound turban wise round her head making a spot of subdued color in the murky picture. The contents of a pot of potatoes had been turned out on the table, and Macha, who, with a peculiar cry, had summoned the family from their work at the bog to dinner, stood on tho middle of the floor, with a slant light falling on her from the sky, across the mountain peaks, through the smoke stained doorway. Her skirt of crimson wool, spun by the grandame in the cor ner, and dyed with madder by Macha herself, was short enough to show her white feet, shining on the earthen floor. Over it she wore a short brown bodice, and a few yards of coarse yellow white calico were wound about her shoulders and had been about her head, but the drapery had fallen back in a sort of ! cowl behind her neck. No white lily or golden rose was ever so beautiful as the face of Macha, crowned with its honey colored hair, set with eyes dark and blue, with a look half sweet, half troubled, a rose red mouth, tinted to match flowers the girl had never seen, and creamy, satin smooth, dimpled cheeks. The way in which her head was set on her shoul ders, the pose of her figure and the movements of her white bare arms re called the goddesses in marble of the j early Greeks. With her almost super- | human beauty, where had Macha come from—to battle with the elements for life, to grow sun tanned, weather beat en, lean and withered in tho struggle to force the potato out of the rock and peat out of the reeking bog. What was she doing in this dreary upper world of the barren Irish hills. How could she be the granddaughter of the unlovely crone in tho corner, and why had generations of ignorance and hunger and rude toil produced her? It must be that nature had created her for a whim, making her a 6ort of image of the wild beauty of this picturesque wil derness. The afterglow of the sunset was abroad when Macha went out again, to roam round the lake in a fashion of her own. A strange amber and red reflec tion illuminated one side of the sky and the mountain peaks, intensified by gloomy fringes trailing along the hori zon. Delicate green tints overspread the other, and in this fairer skyey field had blossomed the round white moon, bright ening momentarily and shining among the early stars like a lily among daisies. Earth and heaven were pictured in the lake—the gemmed meadows and lurid ly illuminated deserts on high, the blackening hills ai d the moving shapes of orange, brown and purple that caught and rent the fringes of the approaching night Macha clasped her hands over her head and gazed round her half fearfully, enjoying and understanding the beauty of it all. She had heard of a shining city beyond the gold and silver gates of the sun and tho moon, also of earthly cities, wonderful, too, but not so beau tiful, that lay down below the moun tains in the busy world of men. She meant to go to the one, but 6he did not care to visit the others. Her mountain homo, with its inhabitants, contained the desires of her heart. The old brown crucifix on the cabin wall was her pass port. to the final happy destination of all patient souls, whither she and all she loved would depart when tho Master should send them a message to coma Nothing natural or supernatural dis mayed or disgusted her. If there were spirits in the rocks and fairies in the lake, the Almighty knew what they were doing there, and everything was all for the best. “Macha, come in,” called her mother from the cabin. “Something will get you.” “Aye, mother, I am coming,” said Macha, but still she lingered, looking hard at a piece of rock that seemed to be taking the shape of “something.” The clouds are alive and move and change—why should not the rocks? Suddenly a living person seemed to emerge out of the rock and come beside her, and, startled, she would have fallen into the lake had not a strong arm seized her and swung her into safety. “Holy mother! I nearly drowned you!” cried Macha, looking at the same traveler who had passed the cabin in the morning. “I nearly drowned you,” said the stranger, gazing in wonder at her beau ty, which seemed to have become almost unearthly, as tho still warm glow from one side irradiated her hair, and the greenish moonlight from tho other whit ened her round check and the drapery of her shoulder. “I thought you were—him who lives down in the lake,” whispered Macha. “Who is he?” Sho looked all round in the air, and her lovely face caught a thousand reflec tions of flitting colors and lights. Then she signed with her hand toward the lake. “The water is deep,” she said, “and there is many a thing down there. But you are a living man, for I saw yon iu the morning. ” The person addressed felt a strange thrill as she spoke and put out her round gleaming arm and touched his hand with her warm fingers, as if to assure herself that her own words were true, and that he was indeed a living man. “And you aro a living woman, ” he said. “I almost thought you were a spirit moving along the edge of the lake. Why do you keep 60 close to the edge? I thought I saw you walking on the water. ” “I like to look in and see what I can see, ’ ’ said the girl mysteriously. “Doyon aways walk here in the even ings?” “Yes, and sometimes a bit at dawn. Mother says something wicked will meet me. But I have only met you, and yon are not wicked. ” “I am not as good as I ought to be, ” said the man tremulously, answering the look of simple faith and approval iu “But I have only met you, and you arc not wicked.” the girl’s wonderful eyes. “But I hope I am not altogether wicked,” and the strangeness of his own humility es caped his notice. “I do not much believe in wickedness myself, ” said Macha, “except, of course, in the great dhiaoul” (devil), crossing herself. “But he will never hurt me unless I do something wrong. ” “What do you see when you walk here in the dawn?” “I see the blessed spirits trooping up and down the skies. Anybody could see them. Sometimes they come down upon the hills, but they change into white clouds and run away when they come too near me. There is my mother call ing me, and the supper is ready. ” “By what name is she calling you?” “Macha is my name. If you will eat a few potatoes, I will bring them out to yon. ” “I am not hungry, Macha, and I am going back to the inn. But if you offer me some another day I will take them. ” The girl went in to her mother, an« the stranger returned through the brightening moonlight down the’rugged mountain, retracing the steps he had made in the morning. The inn lay un der the hills, a few miles below the wild region where Macha had been born, in which she had grown to womanhood, eating the potatoes she had helped to produce and watching the blessed spir its trooping up and down the skies. “Something will get you,” said Macha's mother for the hundredth time as the girl appeared for her supper, and she was not wrong, for fate had got hold of Macha. Strange and unaccountable are the 'whims of men. Here was one with wealth and rank, accustomed to all that is cultivated, witty and beautiful among women, and yet, having gone fancy free till rather a late period of bachelorhood, he had climbed a savage mountain in an isolated corner of what he considered an uncivilized country, to fall iu love with a wild girl with a wild name, who lived upon potatoes in a hovel un der a rock! And he did not feel ashamed of him self. Contrast and inconsistencies had always possessed a fascination for him. Did not the spotless white flower of tho bog flourish there as purely as though it had not sprang out of the black slimy substance that held its root? And Macha, with her shining bare feet and arms, and her face like a poet’s dream, was all the more enchanting to his imagina tion because she had sprung, with her spontaneous loveliness, out of the moun tain and had been nourished and per fected between tho wind and the sun without help from “civilization” or a lesson from “art. ” He was going back to the inn that he might have further opportunities of see ing this girl, and yet he told himself that his admiration for her was merely an abstract idea; that after he had seen her a few times and studied her excep tional beauty and character he would go on his way contented, rejoicing to have perceived that nature can be still so lovely and unspoiled in her own se cret fastnesses, beyond the ken of the world. His rest was broken that night by a new excitement, and he wakened in the dawn to fancy he saw Macha walking with her bare white feet in the rosy light round the margin of tho lake. He wanted to hear her voice again and feel the touch of her hand. It struck him as remarkable that sho had shown no shyness of him, speaking to him as naturally as if he had been her brother, and he divined that this was so because she knew nothng of ranks and classes. Only the supernatural had pow er to awe her, and she had felt safe and happy os soon as she had assured herself that he was a living man. Accustomed to tho attentions of women, he would have felt less attraction toward Macha had she shown any desire for his return. The absence of all coquetry in her de lighted him. The girl thought of him, lying on her straw bed in the dead of the night There was a hole in the roof above her head, a hole that would be thatched over with heather for tho winter, but at present it -was good to let in tho air of heaven. Through it Macha could see a star shining in the sky, like a little is land of splendor in an ocean of dark blue, and tho ragged twigs of the broken heather made a rough frame for the bit of glory. The beauty of Macha’s face lay quenched in darkness beneath, but her soul escaped through the opening up to the kindred mystery of the star, carrying with it tho memory of the event of the evening. Her mind rested with placid wonder on tho occurrence of her meeting with the stranger. She had not fallen in love with him, as he with her, nor did she dream of such a thing. Roundabout her lay her mother, her grandmother, her little sisters, sleeping soundly, with the love of Macha asleep in their hearts. She loved them passion ately and had no thought or hope for herself apart from them. To work with them, hand and foot, that they might all have enough potatoes and turf to enable them to live together without more pain than they could endure—this was the one object of her existence. Vague splendors and delicious rest and joy were, she knew, awaiting them all beyond the gates of the sun. The only thing to be desired was that they might not be parted meanwhile in their pur gatory on the lonely mountain. As the night crept on and the stars waxed brighter Macha owned to herself that the “living man” might have been “him who lives down in the lake, ” after all. Pondering this doubt, she fell asleep. The stranger reappeared next day and for many days afterward haunted the mountain. Macha had leave from her mother to accompany him in his search for the wild flowers which, he explained to them, he wanted for scientific pur poses. The little sisters frisked about them and took their share in the search, dancing like young kids on the edge of precipices, with wild bright eyes and flying locks. Potatoes boiled in the cabin were eaten on the heather, and the long summer days went past like the beads on a goldpn rosary, told brightly through the fingers. The man was broth erly and kind with the little girls and the elder women, but he recognized a gulf between them and Macha. Their speech, translated literally from the Irish, though poetical and musical enough, was not delicately correct, as his ear imagined hers to be. Their swift feet were not white, nor was their clothing spotless. Macha, who bathed in the lake every morning and hung I out her yellow hair to dry in the first beams of the sun, and who wore her well bleached draperies like a princess, could not keep young nor old from dye ing their skins and garments in the bog 1 holes. An instinctive personal delicacy had come to Macha with her exceptional beauty. At the end of a fortnight the stranger told himself that t his moun tain floweT was worthy of being trans ! planted into the brightest parterre ever cherished by man. And what a month ago would have appeared to him only madness seemed now most sensible. Macha came into tho cabin one even- ing in the gloaming with a face of dis- for Infants and Children. HIRTY year»' ob«ervation of Ca«toria_withth« j>atre>aqge^f T million» ofprwai, permit ob to « p ea k of it withont fi Msti g. It 1» nnqne.tionably the be«t remedy for Infants and Children It is harmless. Children like it. It the world has ever known. gives them health. It will save thoir lives. In it Mothers have something which is ahsolntely safe Q"d praotjgfUv perfect a» a child's medicine. Castoria destroys Worms Castoria allay Feverishness. Castoria prevent» vomiting Sonr Cnrd. Castoria cure« Diarrhoea and Wind Colio. Castoria relievo» Teething Troubles. Castoria cures Constipation and Flatulency. Castoria neutrali»e» the effects of carbonic acid ga» or poisonou» air. Ca»toria doc» not contain morphine, opium, or other narcotic property. Castoria assimilates the food, regulates the «tomach and bowel», giving healthy and natural sleep. Castoria is put np in one-size bottles only. It is not sold In .bulk. Don't allow any ono to sell yon anything else on the plea or pr—1»» that it i» “just as good " and “ will answer every purpose Seo that yon get C-A-S-T-O-R-I-A. The fao-simile wrapper. signature of - Children Cry for Pitcher's Castoria. THE INTER OCEAN 13 THE Most Popular Republican Newspaper of the West And -Has the Largest Circulation. f DAILY (without Sunday)......................... $6.oo per year | DAILY (with Sunday).............................. $S.oo per year lERMS BT MAIL I I The PER Weekly Inter Ocean I Ci .00 YEAR.................................................. ) V* = S A NEWSPAPER THE INTER OCEAN keeps abreast of the times in all respects It spares neither pains nor expense in secu-lng ALL THE NEWS AND THE BEST OF CURRENT LITERATURE. A The Weekly Inter Ocean AS A FAMILY PAPER IS NOT EXCELLED BY ANY. It has something of interest to each member of the family. ITS YOUTH’S DEPARTMENT is the very best of its kind. ITS LITERARY FEATURES are ur.equaled. POLITICALLY IT IS REPUBLICAN, and gives its readers the benefit of the ablest discussions on all live political topics. It also gives them THE NEWS OF IT IS A TWELVE-PAGE PAPER. THE INTER OCEAN IS PUBLISHED IN CHICAOO, THE NEWS AND COl.TERCIAL CENTER OF ALL WEST OF THE ALLEGHANY MOUNTAINS, AND IS BETTER ADAPTED TO THE NEEDS OF THE PEOPLE OF THAT SECTION THAN ANY PAPER FARTHER EAST. It is in accord with the people of the West both in Politics and Literature. Please remember that the price of The Weekly Inter Ocean LsONLY ONE DOL LAR PER YEAR. Address THE INT£R OCEAN> Chicago. The Inter Ocean and the Reporter one year for $1.38. The Reporter ------- IS ONLY------- ONE DOLLAR PER YEAR may. “Mother!” she said, grasping her mother’s arm. . “What is on you, child?” “The sassenach is asking me to go away with him. ’ ’ “Away with him?” “He wants to give me a satin gown and a ring and to take me to his home. ” “Well, mavourneen,” with a long sigh, “if he makes you a true wife and is good to you, you would be better with him than here.” “Mother, ” cried the girl passionate ly, “have J vexed you, have I angered you, that you would turn me from your door?” 7b be Continued. The suprene court of Minnesota has rendered a decision of decided interest to bicyclists all over the country. A few months ago M. A. Thompson was driving along a Min nesota county road and met Wm. Dodge on a bicycle. Mr. Thompson's horse saw the bicj’cle, ran away, smashed the buggy to splinters and injured Mr. Thompson. The latter brought suit for heavy damages, but the supreme court has decided in favor of the bicyclist. Judge Buck says in his decision: ‘ ‘Bicycles are vehicles used very extensively for convenience, recreation, pleasure and business, and the riding of them upon a public highway in an ordinary manner as is now done, is neither unlawful nor prohibited, and they cannot be banished because they are not ancient vehicles and not used in the Garden of Eden by Adam and Eve.”— Oregon City Enterprise. I The Independent, NEW YORK. A Religion«, Literary and Family Newspaper. Undenominational, unbiased and impartial. A paper for clergymen, ncbolan, teachert, business men and families. It di»- cuhbcs every topic of the day -re j ligious, theological, political, ' literary, social, artistic and scientific. Its contrib uted articles are by the most eminent writers of the English Language. It employs specialists and distinguished writ ers as editors of its Twenty-One Departments, as follows: Literature, Science, Music, Fine Arts, Sanitary, Missions, Religious Intelligence, Biblical Research, School and College, Personals, Charities. Editorial, News of the Week, Sunday-School, Ministerial Register, Financial, Insurance, Old and Young, Pebbles, Farm and Garden. Odd Knots. A paper particularly fitted fur lawyers doctor», clergymen, those engaged in buxines«, young people of loth Bexes, men and women who read and think for themselves. A paper especially valuable for those Interested in Flu, Art», Science, Music. A paper giving valuable information upon Finance, Life insurance, Commerce. A paper for Sunday-School Workers, tbos. who have a Farm, Garden or House Plants. A paper for the family, old and young. Its yearly subscription oral that rat» for any part of a year. Clubs of five. $2.00 each. Specimen Copies Free. 47-8 TWENTY PERCENT DISCOUNT SALE!! ♦ We make no exceptions of staple goods, (as other merchants do) in our discount sale, for the reason that all our goods are marked as low as staples. From now until January ist we offer OUR ENTIRE STOCK AT TWENTY PER GENT DISCOUNT. We have on hand an immense line of CLOTH ING, OVERCOATS, MACKINTOSHES, FURNISH ING GOODS, HATS, SHOES, Etc., and they all go in this great sale. Don’t fail to Compare Our Prices cuith Others Before You Buy Elseiuhere. Kay- & Todd. KAY & TODD.