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look at the other miie. Should you bear a etniOße, nncanny tale, Fron. the Itpn of a iproarip bold— A tale jfwronp, perhaps ofehaine, That, fills you with ffrief untold; That makes yon lose your faith in man. E’en the trusty ami the tried— Don't take It too much to heart my friend, Till you’ve looked at the other side— Till you’ve weighed In the bnlanee of the Just All the minute words and deeds. Aye. winnowed the wheat and left the chaff. And counted the golden seeds. Who knows, when you let the sunlight In. And open the window wide, Hut you’ll find more white than black, my friend ? Then look at the other side. Although, in all ypur daily toil, To hurry mav be your plan, (io slow, mid let moderation reign In judging your fellow man. Just pnt yourself in his place awhile, And then be sure to do As you, when the saddest trials.come, Would have men do unto you. If we try to follow, each day we live, This beautiful golden rule, He sure of this, In the wide, wide world We can find no better school. The tale-bearers then, we may defy, Whatever they may confide, For we shall lie sure, ere we condemn, To look at the other side. Faith lilts her telescope on high, And brings the heavenly glories nigh. Hope trims her taper with a prayer. That she may find an entrance there. Love stoops to earth in service sweet, And foremost treads the golden street. nVFRWMFI M 1 - - - ,—<- -M - -- . md. . I BY WALTER BESANT. So perplexed were we with the strango and unintelligible intelligence that, after turning it about in talk for a week, it was resolved that we would consult Mr. Car naby in the matter It would perhaps have been better if we had kept the thing to ourselves For this gentleman, though be kindly considered the case, could do nothing to remove the dreadful doubt under which we lay. except that he re commended us to patience and resigna tion. virtues of which. Heaven knows 1 we women who stay at home must needs con tinually practice We should, Isay, have done better had we held our tongues, be cause Mr. Carnaby told the barber, who told the townsfolk one by one, and then it was whispered about that Ralph had Joined the gypsies, according to some; or been pressed and sent to sea. according to others; or had enlisted, according to others, with wild stories told in addition, born of imagination, idle or malignant, as that he had joined a company of common rogues and robbers; or—but l scorn to re peat these tilings Everybody, however, at this juncture, rernenibered the wicked things said of the boy by his cousin. As for Mathew himself , overjoyed at the wel come news, which he received open mouthed, so to speak, he went about call ing all his acquaintances to witness that he had long since prophesied ruin and dis aster to the boy, which, indeed, to the fullest extent, a lad so depraved as to horsewhip his own guardian, richly de served. As for coming back, ho said that was not likely, and. indeed, impassible, because he was already knocked on the head—Mathew was quite convinced of this—in some midnight brawl, or at least fallen so low that he would never dare to return among respectable people. These things we could not believe, yet they sank Into our hearts and made us uneasy. For where could the boy be, and why did he not send us one letter, at least, to tell us what he had done, aud how he had fared? “Child,” said rny grandmother, “it is certain that Mathew does not wish his cousin to return He bears malice in his heart against the boy, aud he remembers that should he never get back the mill will be his own." Already he began to give himself the airs o t the master, and to talk of selling a held here and a field there, and of improving the property, as if all was his “He will come back,” said the fugle man. “Brave hearts and lusty legs do not get killed Maybe he hath enlisted. Then he may have gone a-soldiering to America, or somewhere in the world, and no doubt will get promotion —ay, corporal first, sergeant next, and perhaps be made fugleman Or maybe, as your lady mother says, he hath been pressed, and is now at sea, so that lie cannot write. But, wherever he is, be sure ho is doing well. Where fore, heart up!” Well, to shorten the story, we got no news at all, and could never discover, for many years, what had become of the boy. When four years bad passed by without a word or line from him, Mathew grew horribly afraid, because Ralph’s one-aud twentieth birthday drew near, and he thought the time was come when the heir would appear and claim his own. What preparations he made to receive him I know not. Perhaps a blunderbuss and a cup of poison But the day passed, and there was no sign of Ralph. Then, indeed, Mathew became q uite certain that ho would no more be disturbed and that the mill was his own. As for myself, I sat at homo chiefly with my grandmother, who was now be ginning to grow old. yet brisk and nota ble still There was a great deal to be done, and the days pass swiftly to indus trious hands, yet not one so busy and not one so swift but I could find time to think and to pray for Ralph. Still the fugelman kept, up my heart, and Sailor Nan swore, as if she was still captain of the foretop. that he would come home safe. I was young, happily, and youth is the time for hope. And about the end of the sixth year I had cause to think about other tilings, because my own misfortunes began. I had long observed in the letters cf my dear parents a certain difference, which constantly caused doubt and questioning; for my mother exhorted me continually, in every letter, to the practice of frugal ity. thrift, simple living, and the acquisi tion of housewifely knowledge, and, in short, all those virtues which especially adorn the condition of poverty. She also never failed to bid me reflect upon the un certainty of human affairs and the insta bility of fortune; and every letter frur nished examples of rich men become poor, and great ladies reduced to beg their bread. . My grandmother bade me lay these things to besrt, and I per ceived that she was disturbed, and site would have written to my father to a&k If things were going ill. but for two reasons. The first was that she oould neither read nor write, those arts not hav ing been taught her in her childhood; and I testify that she was none the worse for want of them, but her natural shrewdness even increased, because she had to depend upon herself, and could not still be run ning to a book for guidance. The second reason was that the letters of my father, both to her and to myself, were full of glorious anticipation and confidence. Yes, while my mother wrote in sadness he wrote In triumph; when she bade me learn to scour pots he commanded mo to study the fashions, when she prophesied disaster he proclaimed good fortune. Thus he ordered that I was to be taught whatever could bo learned in so remote a town as Work worth, and that especial care was to be taken in my carriage and demeanor, begging my grandmother to observe the deportment of Mrs. Car naby, and to bid mo copy her as an exam ple, for, he said, a city heiress not uncom monly married with a gentleman of good family, though impoverished fortunes; that some city heiresses had of late mar ried noblemen; that as he had no son. aor any other child but myself, I would in herit the whole of his vast fortune (I thought how I could give it all to Ralph), and, therefore, I must study how to main tain myself in the position which I should shortly occupy He desired me especially to pay very particular attention not to seem quite rustical und country bred, and to remember that the common speech of Northumberland would raise a laugh in London. With much more to the same effect. I say not that my father wrote all this In a single letter, but in several; so that all these things became implanted in my mind, and both my grandmother and my self were, in spite of my mother's letters, firmly persuaded that we were already very rich and considerable people, and that my father was a merchant of tho greatest renown—already a common coun cilman. and shortly to be alderman, sheriff and lord mayor—in the city of Lon don. This belief was also held by our neighbors and friends, and It gave my grandmother, who was, besides, a lady of dignified manners, more consideration than she would otherwise have obtained, with the title of madam, which was surely due to the mother of so great and successful a man. Now the truth was this: My father was the most sanguine of men, and the most ready to deceive himself. He lived con tinually (if I may presume to say so with out breaking the fifth commandment) in a fool’s paradise. When he was a boy nothing would do for him but ho must go to London, refusing to till the acres which would afterward be his own, because ho was ambitious, and ardently desired to be another Whittington. See the dangers of the common chap books, in which he had read the story of tips great lord mayor! He so far resembled Whittington that he went up to London (by wagon from New castle) with littlo in his pocket, except a letter of recommendation from the then vicar of Wark worth to his brother, at the time a glover in Cheapside. How he became apprentice—like Whittington—to this glover, how he fell hi love —like Whitting ton—with his master’s daughter, how ho married her—like Whittington —and in herited the business, stock, capital, good will and all, may hero only be thus briefly told; but by thd death of his master he became actual aud sole owner of a London shop, whereupon, my poor father's brain being always full of visions, he was in flamed with the confidence that now, in deed. he had nothing to look for but the making of an immense fortune. Worso than this, he thought that the fortune would come of its own accord. How a man living in the city of London could make so prodigious a mistake, I know not. Therefore he left the whole care of the business to his wife and his apprentice, and for his own part spent the day in coffee houses or on ’change, or wherever mer chants and traders meet together. This mndo him full of great talk, and he pres ently proceeded to imagiue that he him self was concerned in the great ventures and enterprises of which ho heard i much, or perhaps, because he could no actually have thought himself a merchant adventurer, he believed that before long he also should be embarking cargoes to the East and West Indies, running under convoy of frigates safe through the ene my’s privateers. It was out of the profits of these imaginary cargoes that ho was to obtain that vast wealth of which ho con tinually thought and talked until, in the end. he believed that he possessed it. Meantime his poor wife, my mother, left in charge of the shop, and with her house hold cares as well, found, to her dismay, that the respectable business which her father had made was quickly falling from them, as their old friends died, one by one, or retired from trade, and no new ones coming in their places; for, as I have been credibly informed, the business of a tradesman or merchant in London is so precarious and uncertain that, unless it bo constantly watched, pushed, nursed, encouraged, coaxed, fed and flattered, it presently withers away and perishes. For want of the master’s presence, for lack of pushing and encouragement, the yearly returns of the shop grew less and less. No one knew this except my 'mother. It was useless to tell ray father. If she begged his attention to the fact, he only said that business was, in the nature of things, fluctuating; that a bad year would be succeeded by a good year; that largo profits had recently been mado by traders to Calicut and Surinam, where he had designs of employing his own capital, and that ventures to Canton had of late proved extremely successful. Alas, poor man! ho had no capital left, for now all was gone —capital, credit and custom. Yet he still continued to believe that his shop, the shop which came to him with his wife, was bringing to him, every year, a great and steady return, and that he was amassing a fortune. One day—it was a Saturday evening in May—in the year 1770, six years after the flight of Ralph Exnbieton, when I was in my seventeenth year, and almost grown to my full height. I saw coming slowly along the narrow road which lead* from the high way to W ark worth a country cart, and in it two peraooa. the driver walking at the horse’s head. I stood at the garden gate watching this cart idly, and the setting sun behind H. without so much as won dering who these persons might be. until presently It came slowly down the road, here slopes gently to the river and the bridge, and pulled up in front of our gate. When the curt stopped a lady got quickly down and seized my hands “You are my Drusilla?” she asked, and without waiting for a reply, because she was my mother and knew I could be no other than her own daughter, she fell upon my neck in a passion of weeping and sob bing, saying that she knew I was her daughter dear, and that she was my most She knew I was her daughter dear . unhappy ruined mother. It was my father who descended after her. He advanced with dignified step and the carriage of or.o in authority. I observed that his linen and the lace of his ruffles were of the very finest, and his coat, though dusty, of the finest broadcloth. He see ned not to perceive my mother’s \ >ars; he kissed me and gave me his blessing He bade the carter, with majestic air, lead the “coach” —he called the country cart a coach—and take great care of the horse, which ho said was worth forty guineas If a >iuuy; but the horse was a 10-year-old ea.* torso, worth at most four guineas, as I knew very well, because I carrier Amazed at this extraordinary behavior. I led my parents to my grandmother, and then we presently learned the truth. My fc.ther, if you please, was ruined; he was a bankrupt; his schemes of greatness had come to nothing; his vast fortune lay in his imagination only; he had lost his wife’s money and his own. He had returned to his native county,, his old friends having clubbed together and made a little purse for him, and his creditoas having con sented to accept what they could get and to give him a quittance ir* full, because he was known to be a man of Integrity; otherwise he might have been lodged in jail, where many an unfortunate, yet honest, man lieth In misery. The disaster was more than my father’s brain could bear. First, as soon as he fairly understood what had happened, he fell into a lethargy, sitting in a chair all day in silence, and desiring nothing but to be left alone. After a while the lethargy tfianged into a restlessness, and he must needs be up and doing something—it mat tered not what. Then the restlessness disappeared and he became again his old self, as cheerful, as sanguine, as confident, with no other change than a more settled dignity of bee ring, caused by the belief, the complete delusion, that now his for tune was indeed made; that he possessed boundless wealth, and that he was going to leave London and to retire into the country, as many great merchants used to do, in order to enjoy it. He was fully possessed with the idea that he was as wealthy as he ever desired to be. His poor brain was turned, indeed, on this point, and after a while I thought little of it, because we became accustomed to it. and because it seemed a harmless craze. Yet it was not harmless, as you will hear. Indeed, even an innocent babe in arms may be made the instrument of mischief in the hands of a wicked man. Our first visitor was Mathew Humble. He came first, he said, to pay his respects to my father. Then ho began to come with great regularity. But I perceived soon, for I was no longer a child, but already a woman, that he had quite another object in view, for he cast his eyes upon me in such a way as no woman can mistake. Even to look upon those eyes of his made me turn sick with loath ing. Why, if this man had been another Apollo fbr beauty I would not have re garded him. and so far was he from an Apollo that a fat; and loathsome satyr more nearly resembled him. He was already three or four and thirty, which I. being 17, regarded as a very great age indeed; and most Northumbrian folk are certainly married and the fathers of children already tall before that time. He was a man who made no friends, and lived alone with his sister Barbara. No girl at all, so far as I know, could boast of having received any attentions from him; he was supposed to care for nothing except money and strong drink. Every evening he sat by himself in the room which overlooks the river, with account books before him. and drank usquebaugh. But he loved brandy as well, or Hollands, or rum, or indeed anything which was strong. And being naturally short of stature he was grown fat and gross, with red hanging cheeks, which made his small eyes look smaller and more pig like, a double chin, and a nose which already told a tale of deep potations, sored and swollen was it. What girl of 17 could regard with favor—even if there were no imago of a brave and comely boy already im pressed upon her heart—such a man as this, a mere tosspot and a drinker? And. worst of all, a secret and solitary drinker —a gloomy drinker. * CHAPTER VI. THE LETTER AT LAST. It was strange that, about the time when Ralph’s disappearance was first heard of, rumors ran about the town that perhaps the mill would turnout, after all. to be the property of Mathew Humble; that these rumors were revived at the ap proach of Ralph’s 21st birthday, and that again, when Mathew first began his ap prentices to me, the rumor was again cir culated. By the help of the fugleman l traced these rumors to the barber; and. fttili with Ids help-—because every man must be shaved, and. while being shaved, must talk—l traced these to none other than Mathew himself He had then. Home object to gam. 1 knew not what at the time l.ater on I discovered that his design was to make it appear — should Ralph ever return— that I had taken him for a husband when i thought he was the actual master aud owner of all. for I be lieved he allowed himself no doubt as to the result of his offers Doth it not seem as if the uglier, the older, the less attract ive a man is whether in person or in mind, the more certain he becomes of con quering a woman’s heart? The rumor on this occasion was more certain and distinct than before It was now stated that Mr Embletou was dis covered to have mado a later will, which had been proved, and was ready to be produced if necessary, that In this will the testator after deploring the badness of heart manifested by l.?s nephew Ralph, devised the whole of his property to his nephew Mathew The barber, for his part, had no doubt of the truth of this report, but those who asked Mathew whether it was true received mysterious answers, as that time would show; that in this world no one should be certain of anything; that many is the slip between cup and lip. that should an occasion arise the truth of the story would bo tested, such oracles as incline the hearers to be lieve all that has been said—and more. Barbara, his sister, for her own part, showed great willingness to answer any questions which might be put to her. But she knew little, her brother, she said, was a close man. who sat much alone and spoke little And then the fugleman told mo a very strange story indeed, and one which seemed to bode no good to any of us By this time I so regarded Mathew that 1 could not believe he o6uld do or design aught but evil This was wreng. but he was most certainly a man of very evil dis position His own private business, the fugleman told me—this was nothing in tho world, os I very well knew, but the snaring of rabbits, hares, partridges, and other game on the banks of the river—led him some times past Morwick Mill, in the evening or late at night There was a room in the mill—the same room in which Mathew was vanquished and beaten—the window of which looked out upon the river, which is here a broad and shallow brook. The bank rises steep on the other side, and is •-lotbed with thick hanging woods in which no one ever walked except the fugleman, and he. for those purposes I have just mentioned, always alone and after sun down Now his eyes were like unto the i-yes of a hawk, they knew not distance, they oould see. quite far off. little things ■i* well as great things, and the fugleman saw. night after night, that Mathew Humble was sitting locked up in his room, engaged in writing or copying something 1 believe that if the fugleman Rad kuown how to read, he would have read the writing even across the river Unhappily, he had never learned that art Mathew was making a copy, the fugleman said, of some other document. But what that document was he could not tell It was something on large sheets of paper, and in big hand writing Me wrote very slowly, compar ing word for word with the papers which he seemed copying. Once when there was a noise as of some one at the door, he hud dled ail the papers together, and bundled them away in a corner quickly and with an affrighted air. Ho was therefore doing something secret, which means something wicked. What could it be? “Little he thinks," said the fugleman, “that Master Ralph is sure to come homo and confound his knavish tricks, and trip up his heels for him Ah. I think I see him now. in lace and ruffles and good broadcloth, walking up the street with a fine city madam on his arm." 1 should have been very well contented with the lace ruffles and good broadcloth— indeed. 1 wanted uothing better—but I wanted no tine city madam at the mill. Later on I learned what this thing was which he took so long to copy, and which gave him so much anxiety But it was like a fire ship driven back by the wind among the vessels of those who sent it forth One morning when 1 was busy in the kitchen with household work, anti my mother was engaged upon the family sew ing, Mathew came and begged to have some conversation with her He said that, first of all. he was fully acquainted with her circumstances, and the unhappy out look before her. when my grandmother should die aud leave us all without any income at all, that, being of a compas sionate heart, he was strongly minded to help them; and that the best way. as well a.s he coirid j udge. would be to make her daughter Drusilla his wife This done, he would then See that their later yeai-3 would lx? attended with comfort aud the relief of all anxiety At first my mother did not reply She had no reason to love Mathew, whoso un kindness to his ward was well known to her Again, she had still some remains of family pride left —you do not destroy a woman s pride by taking away her money She thought, being the daughter of a well to do Loudon citizen, that her child should look higher than a man who had nothing in the world of his own but thirty acres of land, although he lived at the mill and pretended to be its owner And she very truly thought that the man was not in per son likely to attract so young a girl as my self But she spoke him fair She told him that f was young as yet. too young to know rny own mind, and that perhaps he hatl better wait lie replied that he was not young, for his own part, and that he would not wait. Then she told him that she should not, certainly, force tho inclinations of her daughter, but that she would speak to me about him. She opened the subject to me in the wooing No sooner did I understand that Mathew had spoken for mo than I threw myself upon my knees to my moth er, and implored her with many tears and protestations not to urge me to ac cept his suit I declared with vehe mence, that if there were no other man in tho world. I could not accept Mathew durable I reminded her of his behavior toward Ralph. 1 assured her that I be lieved him to bo one who tat drinking by uunseif. and a plotter of evil, a man with u hardened heart and a dead conscience Well, my mother shed team with me, and said that I should not be married against my will, that Mathew was not a good man. and that *be would bid him. not uueourteously. go look elsewhere This she did. thanking him for the houor he had proposed For some reason, perhaps because he did not really wish to marry me. perhaps be cause he had not thoroughly laid out the scheme of marrying me to revenge himself upon Ralph. Mathew gave me a respite for the time, though I went in great terror lest he might pester my mother or myself Per haps which 1 think more likely, he trusted to the influence of poverty and privation, and was contented to wait till these should make me submissive to his will However that may be. he said nothing more concerning love, and continued his visits to my father, in whose conversation he took so a pleasure Oh. villain! Tilings were in this posture, I being in the greatest anxiety and fear that some ihing terrible was goiug before long to hapj>en to us. when a most joyful and un expected event happened. It was in the month of May. seven years since Ralph s flight—like the followers of Mohammed. I reckoned the years from the flight—that this event happened. The event was this, that the fugleman had a letter sent to him—the first letter he ever received in his life. I saw the post boy riding down the road early in the uftenioon; he passed by the house of Mr Carnaby, where he somo times stopped, past our cottage, where he never stopped because there was nobody who wrote letters to us, and over the bridge, his horse’s hoofs clattering under the old gateway l Kiought he was going to the vicarage, but he left that on his right and rode straight up the street, blowing his horn as he went. 1 wondered, but had no time to waste in wonder, who was going t© get a letter In that part of the town The letter, in fact, was for no other than the fugleman. Half an hour later the fugleman, who had been at work in the garden all the morning, came down the town again, and asked me—with respect to her ladyship, my mother—if I would give him five min utes’ talk With him was Sailor Nan. cause the thing was altogether so strange that he could not avoid tolling her about it, and she came with him, curious as a woman, though bold and brave as becomes an old salt. “ Tis a strange thing,” said the fugle man. turning the unopened letter over and over in his hand; “’tis a strange thing; here is a letter which tells me 1 know not what—comes from l know not where l have paid three shillings and eight pence for it. A great sum. I doubt [ was a fool It may mean money, and it may mean loss.” ‘ 'Hero is a'letter.” •‘Burn it, and ha’ done,” said Sailor Nan * • *Tis from some land shark. Burn the letter.'* “lam 60, or mayhap 70 years of age. Sixty, I mustla-bo. Yes; sure and certain, CO Yet never a letter in all my day:; before. '* Now. which is very singnlar, not th* least suspicion in our minds as to the writer of the letter. “Is it." 1 asked, “from a cousin or a brother?" “Cousin?" he repeated, with the shadow of a smile across his stiff lips. “Why, l never had a father or a mother, to say nothing of a brother or a cousin. When l first remember anything I was running in the streets with other boys We stole our breakfast, we stole our dinner, and we stole our supper Where are they all now.those little rog and pickpockets, my companions? Hanged, I doubt not. What but hanging can have come to them? But as for me, by tho blessing of the Lord. I was enlisted in the Fourteenth Line, and after a few hundreds taken mostly by three dozen doses, which now are neither here nor there, and ane the making of a lad. I was (logged into a good soldier, and so rose as was due to merit A hearty three dozen, now and then, laid on with a will in tho cool of the morning, works miracles. Not such a regiment in the service as the Fourteenth And why? Because the colonel knew his duty and did it without fear or favor, and the men were properly trounced. Good comrades all. and brave boys. And where are they? Dead, I take it; beggars, some, fallen m action, some; broke, some, Lu comfortable berths, like me, some. If all were living, who would there be to send me a letter, seeing there wasn’t a man in ail the regiment who could write?” Strange that uot one of us even then guessed the truth. It was a great letter, thick and care fully sealed, addressed to “Fugleman Fur long, at his room in the Castle of Wark worth, Northumberland, England.” It came from foreign parts, and the paper was not only stained, but had a curious fragrance. I broke the seal and tore open the cov ering of the letter Within was another packet Oh. heavens! It was addressed to “Drusilla Lletherington, care of the fugleman, to be forwarded without delay. Haste—post haste!” And then I knew without waiting to open the letter that it would be from none other than Ralph It must be from Ralph. After all these years, we were to hear once more from Ralph. I stood pale and tremfc ling, nor could t for some moments even speak At lost I said “Fugleman—Nan—this letter is ad dressed to me It is. I verily believe, from Ralph Embleton. Wait a little, while I read It " "Read it — read It!** cried the old man. Could I— ah' merciful heaven— could I ever forget the rapture, the satisfied yearning, the blissful content, the grati tude. with which l read that sweet and precious letter? They waited patiently; even the rude and coarse old woman re frained from speech while I read page after page They said nothing though they saw the tears falling down my face, because they knew that they were tears of happiness. After seven long years my Ralph was talking to nie as he used to talk I knew his voice. I recognized his old imperious way. I saw that ho had not changed As if he would ever change.' When I had finished and dried ray tears they begged me to read his letter to them. TO BS CONTINUED. YOUR EARS Ought to have attention perhaps. If so, B. B. B. will do you good, removing all ignorant matter, the direct cause of deafness. Witness the following testi monies: COULD HFf.N H A TICK CRAWL. Mr. C. E. Hall wrote from Shelby, Ala , Febuary 9, 1887: “I could not hear it thunder. I heard of B. B. 8.. used tvyo bottles, and now can hear a tick crawl in the leaves. “i G'AVF UP TO DIE.” Knoxville, Tenx., July 2,1887 I had catarrh of the head for six years. I went to a noted doctor and he treated me for it, out could not cure me, lie said. I was over fifty years old and gave up to die. I had a distressing cough; my eyes were swollen and 1 am confident I could not have lived without a. change. I sent and gotone bottle of your medicine, used it, and felt better. Then I got four more, and thank God! it cured me. Use this any way you may wish for the good of sufferers. Mrs. Matilda Nichols, 22 Florida Street. A PREACHER CURED OF DYSPEPSIA. Miccosukee, Fla., Leon Cos., July 20,’86. I have been a sufferer from indigestion and dyspepsia for a long time, and have tried many remedies, but until I was in duced by my friends to try your B. B. B. received no relief, but since using it have found more relief and comfort than from any other treatment I have used. Hop ing you will forward to my address your little 02-page book for prescription, also evidence of cures. Send at earliest date. Rev. Rob’t C. A BOOK OF WONDERS, FREE. All who desire full information about the cause and cure of Blood Poisons, Scrofula and Scrofulous Swellings, Ulcers, Sores, Rheumatism, Kidney Complaints, Catarrh, etc., can secure by mail, free, a copy of our 32-page Illustrated Book of Wonders, filled with the most wonderful and startling proof ever before known. Address, Blood Balm Cos., 9 6-lm Atlanta, Ga. Calender and Weather Fore casts for 1889, by Rev. Irl R. Hicks, with explanations of the “Great Jovian Period,” mailed to any address, on receipt of a two cent postage stamp. Write plainly your Name, Post Oflie and State. The Dr. J. H. McLean Medicine Cos., St. Louis, Mo. y *pepsia, Despair, Death. These are the actual steps which follow indigestion. Acker’s English Dyspepsia Tablets will both check and cure this most fearful of diseases. Guaranteed by J. ii. Wikie & Cos. eow In cases of Fever and Ague, the blood is as effectually, though not so danger ously poisoned by the effluvium of the atmosphere as it could be by the dead liest poison. Dr. J. 11. McLean’s Chills and Fever Cure will eradicate this poi son from the system. 50 cents a bottle. 9 6-3 m You will have no use for spectacles if you use Dr. J. H. McLean’s Strengthen ing Eye Salve; it removes the-film and scum which accumulates on the eyeballs, subdues inflammation.cools and soothes the irritated nerves, strengthens weak and failing sight. 25c. a box. 96-3 m Exposure to rough weather, getting wet, living in damp localities, are favora ble to the contraction of diseases of the kidneys and bladder. Asa preventive, and for the cure of all kidney and liver trouble, use that valuable remedy, Dr. J. H. McLean’s Liver and Kidney Balm SI.OO per bottle. 6-S-3m If you suffer pricking pains on moving the eyes, or cannot bear bright light, and find your sight weak and failing, you should promptly use Dr. J. 11. McLean’s Strengthening- Eye Salve. 25 cents a box. 6-8-3 m To the Consumers of Oils. We handle all kinds of lubricating and machinery oils, and are manufacturers’ agents and can offer specia inducements in this line, either by the gallon or barrel, Very respectfully, J. R- Wikle & Cos. Their ISusi es Booming. Probably no one thing has caused such a general revival of trade at Wikle's Drug Store as their giying away to their custo mers of so many free trial bottles of Dr. King’s New Discovery for Consumption. Their trade is simply enormous in t his very v a liable article from the fact that it always cures and never disappoints. Coughs, Colds, Asthma,Bronchitis, ; 'roup, and all throat and lung diseases quickly cured. You can test it before buying by getting a trial bottle free, large size sl. Every bottle wairanted. 3 Is Consumption Incurable? Read the following: Mr. 0 A. Morris, Newark, Ark., says: “ Was down with Abscess of Lungs, and friends and phy sicians pronounced me an Incuranle Con sumptive. Began taking Dr. Kings New Discovery for Consumption, am ro w on my third' bottle, and able-to oversee the wora on my farm. It is the finest medi cine ever made.” 5