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Xofth PUBLISHED EVERY THURSDAY —AT— BELLTON, GA. By JOHN T. WILSON Jr, I>er “““ *• for M month,, 25 cents forthree month,. to /rom Bellt0 “ requested send their names with such amounts of money they can pare, from 2co. to $1 NEWS GLEANINGS. Nearly all the Georgia editors are in favor of a local option law. Volusia county, Florida, has the larg est orange grove in the world—l,ooo acres. Some 2,300 dogs have been listed f» , taxation in Lewis county, Va. A fruit canning factory, to cost 110,- 000, is to be built in Nashville, Tennes see. The market price for turtle eggs in St. Augustine, Florida, is 16 cents per dozen. Georgia pays out about $3,000,000 per year to increase the cotton crop and lessen (he price. A company has Ireen organized with a plenty of capital to go into the busi ness of canning fruits and oysters at Pascgoula, Mississippi. A negress, arrested at Abbeville, S. C., for carrying a pistol, was discharged on the ground that the concealed weapon act dees not apply io women. The fruit growers of California have challenged the fruit growers of Florida to exhibit fruit with them in the city of New York during next spring. Loudon Hood, a well-known negro, died in Meriwether county, Ga., last week, aged ninety-five years. It was his proudest boast that during his long life as a slave heha<l never been whipped. Gen. Gordon is prospectively the richest man in Georgia. Gov. Colquitt is reported to have recently made $70,- 000 by the sale of a coal mine in which he and Gen. Gordon were interested. A writer in the Ennis (Texas) Re view proposes raising catalpa trees for fence posts; he says that in five years from planting the tree is large enough for posts and that in ten years it is large enough for a railroad tie. He es timates that 2,000 trees can be grown on an acre. Unpopular ministers that no commun ity wants are called “gum-log preachers” In the Georgia M. E. Conference. They are “hard stock,” and are generally pnt off on some mountain community, where they get a salary ranging from SSO to >2OO a year. A South Carolina paper says that thousands and thousands of doves are infesting the rice fields of West Wa fcarec. Tn some places the rice has been replanted two or three times, and yet the stand is not good, owing to its de struction by the birds. A party of miners in Northeast Geor gia, at the depth of twenty feet below the surface, found seventeen diamonds. They have been pronounced genuine by a New York firm, and are said to be equal to the African diamond. There may have been “salt” in the neighbor hood. Recent census bulletins show that Selma has 7,529 people; Greensboro, 1,833; Demopolis, 1,839; Marion, 2,074 Jacksonville. 882; Oxford, 1,361; Annis ton, 942; LaFayette, 1,061, and Tallade ga 1,283. While Rev. Mr. Collisson , of Hous ton, Texas, was taking farewell of his Methodist congregation, preparatory to going over to Episcopalianism, and was giving his objections to Methodism, Brother .Teems F. Dumble interrupted him, saying: “I have no right to ob ject t« your quitting the church if you think proper, but I have a right and do protest againt your using a Methodist pulpit to abuse the Methodist ahurch in, or to condemn Methodist doctrine.’ There was quiet on the Potomac after that. In 1881 Georgia produced 23,190,472 bushels of Indian corn against 17,646,- 459 bushels in 1870. Os wheat she made last year 3,158,335 bushels against 2,127,017 bushels in 1870. The oat crop in 1880 amounted to 5,544,161 bushels against 1,904,601 bushels in 1870. Only 19,396 bushels of barley were grown in the State in 1880, but the product in 1870 was still smaller—s,64o bushels. The figures of rye are 101,759 against 32,549, and of buckwheat 2 439 against pO2. Georgia is not a buckwheat State. Mr. J. M. Darsey, of Hinesville, Ga., was annoyed last year by the otters. Just back of his house is a spring branch which affords a home for a great many otters. Fish being scarce, when the corn was in mutton, they left the branch and took to eating the corn, and they could destroy as much as so many ccens. Mr. Darsey would sometimes run as many as five out of the field at one time, and the dogs soon became afraid of them. He succeeded in killing a number, how ever. The North Georgian. VOL. IV. mu UME KTVW GLFF, CITS CHORt'S. 72 am pawin’ down de lane, An haltin’ by de way, list loijg ’nnff to rest our limbs A.U’ fuf dfc cbll'en pfly; ’ Laa Saudfty prearhfr Gordoa anidi “ De march will soon be o’er, Ah’ all ae ole folks safely crow Upon du aMnlft’ shore.” CHOBVS—But old folks am jolly folks. An’ while we wait to go Let’s gin de fiddle loti o’ work And rush do ole banjo. • Dar* Uncle Dan'l, he am An’ Peter White am bald. An' Dinah Rock an’ ole Aunt CMt' Am waitin’ to be called; An’ Trustee Pullback says to me: “ De stimni MTs soon mus’ como For you an’ me an' us ole folks To tote our baggage home. CHVKU3- Dar’s Pickles Smith and Daddy Toots A nearin’ of dar end. An’ Deacon Spooner an’ his wife Am cfutchln’ round do bend; Ar! us old folks am hangin’ on, An’ kinder waitin’ round. To let Afcchll’en grow a bit Fo' under ground. CAORUS—But old folks am jolly folk%. An’ while we wait to go •el’s gin de fiddle lots o’ work And rush do ole banjo. THE WATER LILY. The little village of Clielston, in tho county of Hertford, might have beeh termed with Goldsmith's “Sweet Au burn” the “loveliest of the plain,” “ Where smiling spring it's earliest vir.it paid, And parting summer's lingering bloom*delayed.” And on this bright summer’s morning on which our story opens it appeared more lovely than ever, with the rich foliage swaying beneath the clear blue sky. the broad green meadows, and tho grazing cattle, while the gurgle of a brooklet mingled its music with tho caroling of birds. Half-hidden amid a shady clump of trees a young artist sat painting at a small, light easel, and the. faint outlines of distant hills and scattered hamlets were already standing out from the can vas iu front of him. He was apparently but little over thirty years of age, and his face looked grave and stern for one so young, and boro unaccountable traces of some long hidden sorrow. He had for some time been sitting ab sorbed in his work, almost unconscious of anything around him save the fair sketch of landscape lie was so faithfully delineating. The brooklet ran by him—not twenty yards from where he was seated—and the dappled cows lay chewing their cuds upon its banks, or quenching their thirst in its crystal waters, reminding one of Sidney Cooper’s most perfect pictures of cattle. Ernest Darrell’s attention was, how ever, suddenly arrested by a new object, and one which to his gaze was fairer than any lie had seen that morning. A little' girl, scarcely seven years of age, was standing near the brook—she had been gathering water-lilies, and in her hand she held a basket containing a number of the pure white flowers. His eyes fell upon her face, lifted wistfully to his own, and then something like a smile broke over the little one’s mouth as she said, half shyly: “Do come and reach me this beauty, d you please.” Ernest Darrell was hardly sure at first whether it was really himself she was addressing; but no sooner was he aware of the fact than he laid down his palette and brushes and came forward to her assistance. “A water-lily, is it?” he asked, glanc ing at her basket. “Yes, such a beauty, but so far out of my reach,” she repeated, and then stood eagerly watching Ernest, who stretching himself full length upon the bank suc ceeded with his long arm in grasping the coveted flower. The child’s delight was unbounded, the sight of which amply rewarded him for his trouble; but the unusual beauty of her face and the air of childlike grace which accompanied her every movement completely won Ernest’s heart, and he was determined not to let her run away just yet. “You must give me a kiss as pavmeut for it,” he said, with a smile, lightly passing his hand over her golden head from which her hat had fallen. She started back, with a vivid blush. “Oh, no, indeed; I am a great deal too old to kiss you,” she exclaimed. “Why, I am seven, and quite a young lady.” “Are you, really? Then I am sure I beg your pardon,” said Ernest, hardly able to repress a laugh. “But at any rate you will tell me your name?” he added. “Oh, yes; my name is Lilian, but I am nearly always called Lily,” replied the little girl, with an air of consequence. "Lilian—-nothing else?” asked Ernest. “No; only that, ’’ she answered. Surnames are generally superfluous with children. "Then. I pressmne, the fact of your being a lily yourself makes you fond of the flowers that bear your name,” he rejoined, smiling. She laughed—a soft, silvery, happy laugh, that fell like music upon the young artist’s ear. “Oh, I don’t know: I think I love all flowers, but especially these,” she said, glancing down at her basket. “They are so large and pure and white, like the white-robed angels in the stained glass windows at church. Mamma loves them too, because she says when I am not with her they remind her of me.” “You are mamma’s pet, then and pa pa’s, too, I suspect, for the matter of ttiat,” replied Ernest, his interrupted ooeupation totally forgotten in the new BELLTON, BANKS COUNTY, GA„ JUNE 30, 1881. [ pleasure he felt in conversing with the : child. “I haven’t a papa,” she said, droppipg her voice; “he died, oh, long before I i can remember, bnt I never ask about him, because it always makes mamma cry. Would you tell me the time, please ?” Ernest glanced at bis watch. “Nearly 1 o’clock,” he told her. “Then I must bid you good-bye,” she said, “or I shall be late home.” And setting down her basket she bethought herself of the hat, whieii she proceeded to adjust on the top of her golden curls. “Do yon come here every day ?” she asked of Ernest. “I shall be here every day for a little while,” he answered her. "Tnen I hope I will see yon again, she said artlessly. “And thank you so" very much for‘getting me the ‘ water*, lily.” For a moment her littlenngloved hand rested on his own, her lips parted in an other smile and then she was gone, has tening away with all possible speed across tho sunny fields, bearing her sweet bur den of flowers—types of her own pure soul. Ernest Darrell stood gazing after her. Was it the touch of her light Angers that had brought so strange a thrill to his heart ? Ho sat down to resume his paint ing but even that had lost its wonted charm—he was restless, and his thoughts wandered back to what might have been some years ago, when he married a girl who loved him only for his father’s wealth, and who (when the securities failed in which old Mr. Darrell had in vested tho whole of bis money, and he was a ruined mau, his son’s prospaats also) left him—his six months’ bride— leaving behind hor a cooly wordod-note, intimating that she could share poverty with no one, and that he need not seek her, as she never intended to return. And he never had sought her; but the love ho had borne her was as warm in his heart now as it had been on tho day they were married. And as ho sat at his easel there, in the field whore little Lilian had loft him, he wept for the memory of her who, in thoso days, bad not been worthy one throb of his noble heart. Several days elapsed before he saw tho little girl again, but during that time I she was hardly once absent from his thoughts. He had lived such a lonely life since bis father died (broken down by the trouble that had come upon him in the loss of his wealth,) and, with nothing to care for in tho world but the art he was wedded to, the child had oome across his path like a ray of sun shine in the darkness. But one day, as ; he was returning home, she came danc ing toward him, and seizing his hand as if their acquaintance had been of years instead of days, she immediately began an animated conversation, such ns only children can begin on the spur of a mo ment. Ernest was certainly amused, if not interested; but as their way along led them past the brook where they had met before, Lily broke away from liim and ran eagerly toward it. She looked back once or twice to laugh at Ernest, and in doing so tripped over a stone hidden in the grass and fell forward into tho water. A cry burst from her lips, but imme diately Ernest came to the rescue, and ere she became totally submerged, had succeeded iu drawing her out upon the bank. Wet clothes and a severe fright was all the harm tho child had sustained; and as Ernest proceeded to wrap round her a thick plaid shawl, which he gen erally carried with him to protect his feet from dump grass, she began to laugh at her little adventure. “I have gathered my water lily now,” said tho young artist, smiling; “and I would not exchange it for all the others in creation.” He took her, entirely enveloped in the warm shawl, up in his strong arms and continued his walk, now in tho direction of Lilian’s home. “I am so sorry—marnraa will bo out,” she said, lifting her beautiful eyes to his face. “She would so liked to have thanked you herself. But do you know • which way to go?” | “I want you to direct me, Lily,” he said. The distance was short, as he sup posed; and as they reached the gate of a pretty villa residence, which had often attracted Ernest’s attention before by its quaint picturesqueness. Lilian informed him that this was “her home. ” “I thank you so very much,” said the | child, as she stood onoe more upon the ground and rang the bell. “I wish mamma could thank you herself—l don’t know how to.” “Yon need not thank me at all, dear child,” Ernest Darrell assured her, .with the old shade of sorrow darkening his face. “I only hope the consequences of what has happened may not be serious. ” He remained with her until a middle-aged woman, whom Lilian called “nurse,” came forward to claim her young charge; and then, after giving a brief explanation of the whole affair, he bade Lily good-bye and walked on. About a week subsequent to this event, I Ernest Darrell happened to be passing the house where little Lilian dwelt, when he heard her voice calling after him down the sunny road: "Come back—Oh, please come back fl’ she was saying, in breathless eagerness; | “mamma does want to see yon so much, and thank you for saving me when I fell in the brook.” And Ernest felt his hand grasped in the child’s, and almost before lie was aware of it, she had led him through the gates and up the steps to the portico. I Then across t>hs wide hall she dragged ' Mm. Izurrhiu® and chattins osilv the waw, aato a MBArioasiy rarmsaec rows, where her mother sat. A beautiful woman, with dark hair and Oriental eyes, rose from an ottoman at their entrance and came toward them. At least, she came half way, and then f<lftered back, with a deathly pallor overspreading her oouuteuauco; while he—Ernest—-dropped Lilian’s hand and stood gazing at that agonized face. “Marian—my wife!” “Ernest! OJa, is it possible that we meet at last?” There was a dreadful silence, during which, at a sign from her mother, Lilian fled, and those two were alone—after seven long years. The stern, grave face of Ernest Dar rell was sterner aud graver still—even Li’.’an might have shrunk from it then —and Marian, the woman who had blighted hfs life, fell at his feet. “Oh! Earnest, my husband —my much-wronged husband —forgive me!” she cried. “I have suffered deeply— ever since that day I left you. ” “Suffered!” repeated Ernest, in cold, rigid tones. “Have you ever thought of what I have suffered?” “Yes, yes; ten thousand times,” re plied Lilian's mother, in a voice well nigl, choked with emotion. “But mine has been the nndyiqg worm of an accus ing conscience. Oh, Ernest, I have bees justly punished for iny wickedness. I never knew how dearly I loved you nnti I bad lost you—until I had sacri ficeL that which I would have given the best years of my life to bring back. Re metiber what I Jiad always been—a spoked, petted child, with never a wish ungiatifled, and it seemed so hard to face powrty—even with you. 1 was very youtg—only seventeen, remember, Er nest—and all through the dim vista of years that lay before me I saw nothing but want, penury and deprivation. I fled in a moment of madness, delirium— anything you like to call it—leaving be hind mo that cold note, in which I bade you never seek me. I did not go home, for my parents would have immediately have com municated with you. 1 went to an uucie, who loved me only too well—sin ful wretch that I was—aud I told him a lie, that you had deceived mo, and that I married a beggar whom I believed to have been rich. Ho was a bachelor, and lived a secluded life, away from all relatives and friends. I think I was the onl“-<-»oatu;-c he loved on earth, aud we two lived alone. At his house my little child was born, and it was then that I began to think and long for you. I wrote and told my parents—ns soon as I was able—of what I had done, and hade them to seek you, and bring you back home. They wrote, I know, but never received any answer; and so I thought you had treated me a, I de served, and faad resolved to forget me for ever. When Lilian was three years old my uncle died, leaving mo his hoiresrf, and I took this house, iu which I have lived ever since, alone—quite alone, with my cliild. Oh, Ernest, how I have longed for you, and prayed to heaven to send you back to me? I have seen your name in tho newspapers sometimes, and I know that as an artist you have risen to fame. And now, Ernest, for our child’s sake, forgive me—take me back, and try to think of me as leniently as possible. I know that you can never love me again. I don’t expect you to; but—,” “Indeed, Marian, you are wrong; I have never ceased to love you,” inteij rupted Ernest’s cold, stern voice. “I have been as truly your husband in heart, all through £hese bitter years, as if we had never parted. I have wept for you aud have prayed foj you too, over and over again. But—” “But you cannot, take me back. No, no!” exclaimed Marian weeping. “I was wrong to ask it; only I thought for Lily’s sake—” “And, for Lily’s sake, I will,” said Ernest. “I love my child too well to part with her now. Rise, Marian, nry wife—my well-beloved—the past shall bo forgotten; blotted out as though it had never been, and we will begin our marriage life again.” “I am not worthy. Oh, Ernest, I have never deserved such love aS this!” said Marian, as she was clasped in her husband’s embrace. “You shall make yourself deserving; it is all in your hands now, remember,” he laid, with grave tenderness, and looking into the depths of her beautiful eyes. How long they remained thus, in happy silence, they might never have known had not a little hand, the touch of whose fingers Ernest Darrell had felt before, been placed within his own. He looked down and met the upturned gaze o( his child. In a moment she also was gathered to his arms, while blessings fell upon her fair young head. And as she had fallen like a sunbeam across his path in the beginning, so did she continue to the end; and through the happy years long afterward he could only look back, with joy and thankful ness unspeakable, to the day on which he had met her by the side of the brook, carrying her basket of water-lilies. Lime-Preserved Wood. Lime has been found successful as a wood-preserver. The method, which is French, consists in piling the planks in a large tank, than covering them with quicklime and slaking them with water. The timber requires about a week to be thoroughly impregnated with the lime water before it is taken out of pickle and slowly dried. The entrance of the mineral particles into the grain also ren der* the wood harder and denser than before. Beech wood, for example, be comes like oak, and, without losing the elasticity that fits it for tool-handles, is far more durable than oak. Something About Fans. Kan Bi was the first lady who carried a fan. She lived in ages which are past, and, for tho most part, forgotten, and she was the daughter of a Chinese man darin. Who ever saw a mandarin, even on a tea-chest, without his fan? In China and Japan to thia day every one has a fan, and there are fans of all sorts for everybody. The Japanese waves his fun nt you when he meets you, byway of greeting, and the beggar who solicits for alms has the exceedingly small coin “ made on purpose ” for charity present ed to him on the tip of the fan. In ancient times, among the Greeks and Romans, fans seem to have been enormous ; they were generally made of feathers, and carried by slaves over tho heads of their masters and misstresses, to protect them from the sun, or waved about before them to stir the air. Catherine de Medicis carried the first folding fan ever seen in France; and, in the time of Louie XIV., the fan was a gorgeous thing, often covered with jew els, and worth a small fortune. In En gland they were the fashion in the time of Henry VIII. All his many wives carried them. A fan set in diamonds was once given to Queen Elizabeth upon New Year’s day. The Mexican feather fans which Cor tez had from Montezuma were marvels of beauty, and in Spain a large black fan is the favorite. It is said that tho use of the fan ia as carefully taught in that country as any other branch of education, and that, by a well-known code of signals, a Spanish lady can carry on a long conversation with any one, es pecially an admirer. The Japanese criminal of rank is po litely executed by moans of a fan. On being sentenced to death he is presented with a fan, which he must receive with a low bow, and, as he bows, presto I the executioner draws his sword and cuts bis head off. In fact there is a fan for every occasion in Japan.— Harper’s Young Folks. Apropos of the great fire in Paris a correspondent offers the following ad vice: “In disasters of this kind one should proceed with the strictest order and method. Accordingly, one will first of all save the children, who are the future; the women, who are the present; tho old men, who are experience; then tho furniture; and, if there is time, the collateral relations and the mothers-in law.” As the hot days of summer draw near people arc debating the question, “Where s.iall J go for a trip?” It has laien fashionable for a year or two to visit the Northern lakes and mountains. These resorts are very pleasant in hot weather, but they have serious draw-, backs. First, it is very expensive get ting there and then back again. Then it is still more costly to remain, as one should, until after Southern frosts; for if one returns home during the malarial season he is much more liable to suffer the effects of the poison than he would have been had he remained South all summer. Then their distance from bus iness and other connexions is an objec tion. All these can be avoided and more than equal benefit secured by the ex penditure of less than half the time, money and trouble of preparation nec essary for a Northern trip. We have within easy reach a resort whose claims have been before the public fifty yeans and never been rivalled or disputed. In all that ministers to health or pleasure it is the peer of any place in the United States, and its charges are very reasona ble. Railroads give its visitors ex .ur sion rates. We refer to Bailey Springs, Alabama, Ellis & Co., proprietors. In addition to its merits as a pleasure re sort, its power to cure all diseases of debility, poverty of the blood, nervous exhaustion, dropsy, scrofula, dyspepsia, and especially diseases of the kidneys or bladder, is truly wonderful. Write to them before making other arrangements. A postal card only costs a cent A woman may talk “ women’s rights,” “ iudepomlonoo of tho sexes,” “suf frage,” “hor mission,” and all that sort of thing, but when her face lights up at the sight of a baby and she calls it a “sweet ’ittle oosty toosty,” instead of an “infant,” you may bet fifteen cents that that woman’s heart is in the right place and that she will como out nil right in the end.— Steubenville Herald. Prejudice Kills. “Eleven years our daughter suffered on a bed of misery under the cure of several of the best (and some of the worst) physicians, who gave her disease various names but no relief, and now she is restored to us in good health by as simple a remedy as Hop Bitters, that we had poohed at for two years, before using it. We earnestly hope and pray that no one else will let their sick suffer as we did, on account ot prejudice against so good a medicine as Hop Bit ers.” —The Parents.—Telegram. A Sacramento girl was guilty of a mean trick the other day, the relation of which will cause tho blood of every mother in the land to curdle with horn ir. She eloped with her objectionable lover the same day hor mother was enameled; and, as the latter was compelled to re main shut up three days or else crack all over, tho couple managed to get away without pursuit. A Testament Reviser's Oplnlnm The eminent author, Prof. A. O. Kendrick, D. D., LL. D., who is profeßßor of Hebrew, Latin and Greek in the University of Rochester, and waa one of the revisors of the New Testament, in general conversation with a number of gen tlemen, a abort time since, said: “I have re ceived from the use of Warner's Hafe Kidney and Liver Cure very marked benefit, and I oan most cordially recommend it to others." Published Every Thursday at BELLTON, OEORGHA, RATES OF *'oUBSCRIPTIOIf. One year (52 numbers), $1.00; six moaths \ I; 6 numbers) 50 cents; three months (13 numbers!. 25 cents. Offies in the Carter bailllu’, wett of th depot. M). 26. Self Control. In some people passion and emotion are never checked, but allowed to burst out in a blaze whenever they come. Others suppress them by main force, and preserve a callous exterior when there are raging fires within. Others are never excited over anything. Some govern themselves on some subjects, but not on others. Very much can lie done by culture to give the will control over the felings. One of the very best means of culture is the persistent with drawing of the mind from the subject which produces the emotion, and con centrating it elsewhere. The man or woman who persistently permits the mind to dwell on disagreeable themes only spites him or herself. Children, of course, have less self control, and so par ents and teachers must help them to turn their attention from that which ex cites them to something else; but adults, when they act like diildren, ought to be ashamed of themselves. The value of self control as a hygienic agent is very great. It prevents the great waste of vitality in feeling, emotion and passion. It helps to give* one a mastery over pain and distress, rather than it a mastery over us. STARTING IN TUR WORT.D. Many an unwise parent labors hard and lives sparingly all his life for the purpose of leaving enough to give his children a start in this world, as it is called. Setting a young man afloat with money left by his relatives is like tying bladders under the arms of one who can not swim ; ten chances to one he will lose his bladders and go to the bottom. Teach him how to swim and he will never need bladders. Give your child a sound education and you have done en ough for him. See to it that his morals are pure, his mind cultivated, and hie whole nature made subservient to laws which govern man, and you have given him what will be of more value than the wealth of the Indies. Antidote for Snnke Bites. Under the common name of “ Guaco ” many plants are known, belonging to different natural’families, which have a reputation for curing snake bites. In a recent number of tho J'harinaceutlopl Journal particular attention is drawn to one of these guaco-yieldiug plants, tho Mikania guaco, a composite plant of South America. The paper referred to is the substance of a letter received at the Royal Garden, Kew, from a corre spondent at La Snlada, New Granada, in which the writer gives his personal testi mony as to the value of the remedy, and says that it forms tho basis of all the preparations of tho snake bite doctors of the district. Notwithstanding that there are several species of snakes in tho coun try whose bite is considered mortal, some killing iu a very few hours, it is asserted by the writer of the letter, who has resided in snake-infested regions for many years, that, properly and promptly administered, tho guaco is a sure cure for the bite of the most venomous. An infusion or tincture of the leaves is used, internally, and hot poultices of the bruised leaves and stem are applied ex ternally. — Nature. Haunted Me. A workingman says : “Debt, poverty and suffering haunted me for years, caused by a sick family and large bills for doctoring, which did no good. I was completely discouraged, until one year ago, by tlie advice of my pastor, I procured Hop Bitters and commenced their use, and iu one month we were all well, and none of us have been sick a day since ; and I want to say to all poor men, you can keep your families well a year with Hop Bitters for less than one (lector’s visit will cost.”—Christian Ad vocate. Opportunities Me very sensitive things ; if you slight them on their first visit, you seldom see them again. Headache, bilious attacks, dizziness, and loss ot appetite, are cured by Kidney-Wort. Shp, was a young lady fresh from boarding school, and she went into the laundry to learn how to iron shirts. She did not succeed very well, and she said: “Oh, Katy, I shall never be able to get any polish on this bosom.” “Sure, miss,” was the answer, “you want to put a little elbow grease on it. ” “Please get some for me right away, Katy,” was the innocent response. Ho, Ye Baldheads!—There is just one way, and no more, by which you may b« cured—use CakbOLlnb. It will" positively produce new hair, there is no substitute for this marvellous petroleum hair renewer. Flies an* Slosq u I tee*. 150. box “Bough on Rats” keeps a house free from flies, bod-bugs, roaches, rats, mice, Ao. now to Ntii'u u>: ■■>: iltu. It 18 any oiih will «ufi t from dor,.ug' ni**i>ti bioughlon by impuio blood, wlnin KuSAIiAIJ 4 »vi!l ie bt<u«: health io 1h« physical or.;.iii /. lion. RGSADAIJM I* » Btr«ngth(M>big .'yrtip, pleasant to take, and th • BEST BLOOb l i’KIEIEE < ver discovered, curing Ecrohiiu, \yphililic disorders, Weakness of the Kidneys, Eiv<ipe ln<, JLlurin, Nervous disoiders, Debility, Bilious com plaints and IhseusoN of ths Blood, Livei, Kidneys, Stoiu.u.di, blfln, etc. BAKER'S PAIN PALACE.', cure* paiu in Mau and Bo wi. DR. ROGER’S WORM STROP IrwLautly destroys WORMS. Jndigbrttom, dyspepma, nervous prostration and all forms of general debility relieved by taking Menbman’s Fkptonlzbd Beep Tonic, the only preparation of beef oontaiuing its entire nutritious properties. It contains blood-mak ing, force-generating and life-sustaining prop erties; is invaluable in all enfeebled conditions, whether the resalt of exhaustion, nervous pros tration. overwork, or acute disease, nartioularly If resulting from pulmonary complaints, Oas w«U, Hazard A o*., propriWora, Nvw Xwk.