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MP> i: Tffi 41 I * <G> (0) Four Pretty Styles and as Many Pretty Girls # Specially Posed for This Page by Members o) "The Madcap Duchess" Company » o ♦- A DJURATION of the latest styles in coif- fnres is largely tinged with rejoicing that the day of the grotesque hay stack bunch of jute is passed, and that the simple, graceful coiffure is coming hack into its own. Reginning with left to right, a very effect ive and simple style of hair dressing is shown by Miss Ann Swinburne as Seraphina in the title role of “The Madcap Duchess.’’ The ef fect is that of a Psyche knot with the added graoefulness achieved by a braid worn over the forehead, with the side hair brought low over the ears. The style adopted by Miss Margaret An rirews is in direct contrast, with the effect al most as simple. The hair is bunched at the crown with the effect of a soft drooping pom padour in front. The style so well suited to the piquant face of Miss Peggy Wood is simplicity itself. The hair is parted in the middle, allowed to fall ♦ 0 » -♦ O ♦ -♦ o-» Ann Swinburne. Margaret Andrews. Peggy Wood. Glen Ellis- ♦ o >- loosely over the ears, and is gathered in a low knot at the back. Miss Glen Ellis has the perfectly rounded head that permits of the hair being drawn into a low bunch at the back, with a fluffy ef fect in front redeeming it from the trying severity this style would otherwise become. r ' I Meeting the Difficulty | V — — ' A GOOD story is told of a worthy Quaker who lived in a country town. The man was rich and benevolent, and his means were put in frequent requisition for purposes of local charity or usefulness. The townspeople wanted to rebuild their parish church and a committee was appointed to raise funds. It was agreed that the Quaker could not be asked to subscribe toward an object so contrary to his principles, hut then, on the other hand, so true a friend to the town might take it amiss if he was not at least consulted on a ma'- ter of such general interest. So one of their number went and explained to him their project—the old church was to he removed and such and such steps taken toward the construction of a new one. "Thee wast right." said the Quaker, "in supposing that my principles would not allow me to assist in building a church. But didst thee not say something about pull ing down a church? Thee mayst put my name down for a hundred pounds to pull it down." ♦ 0 ♦- *♦-0 ♦- THE FAMILY CUPBOARD A Dramatic Story of High Society Life in New York fNovelized by] (From Owen Pavia’ play now being pre sented at the Playhouse. New York, by William A. Brady Copyright, 1913, by International News Service.) TO-DAY’S INSTALLMENT There was a pause. Emily Nelson stood trembling with emotion such as she had forgotten to know through long guarded years of life that bad made this moment come relentlessly lo her at last. The Instrument was held close to her ear as she waited for Charles Nelson’s voice-- while her gase never left the room behind whose curtains her son and his was making prepara tion for IHs—long Journey. Could she save him now at last? Could anything now be saved from the wreck of love and—honor and zest to live At last a voice. "Hi* voice her hus band was there at the other end of the little wire that might be the instrument of saving their boy. “Hello! Charlie! It is Emily! I am at Kenneth's: He is In dreadful trouble! He is going to—Oh, I can't tell you, Charlie. Come to me! Come to save him! How long?—Five minutes?—I’ll try and keep him! No more! No! No! I love you, Charlie! Come!" She dropped the instrument that might yet be of salvation and fell into the chair sobbing wildly—her strength almost spent. Kenneth came into the room walking as in a daze like n sleep-walker, lie held some letters in his hands- with the most minute care he was tearing these into small pieces As he heard his mother sob he dropped the paper to the floor—a white shower ami went to her aide. “Don't! Don’t do that'" he said in a tone so frozen by the horror of all he had come to know of life that it sound ed remote—like a voice from another plane. Emily Nelson looked up. Five min utes! Could she hold her son that long? “What are you going to do, Ken neth?" "Just going away. I can't stay here, you know. I am not fit. I can’t face it! 1 can't face life," he mumbled almost to himself. But her heart defined what her ears could not hear. Emily Nelson rose and followed her boy toward the door. “It is my fault I was a bad mother!" “We did not understand any of us," ssid Kenneth, in that quiet voice of doom. “Dear. 1 have suffered! 1 think 1 understand now." said his mother, gently Fighting the Moments. In the boy's face was that grim sor row' that seemed to be bearing his soul away from life and light and any hu man consciousness “That’s what father meant that suf fering would open my eyes. It has. lie said that 1 should see myself and her as wc really are and 1 do. It isn’t a pretty sight." His eyes deepened -and then again there came across them that film that faraway look. “I want to get rid of it mother, so l am going." One step farther from her one step nearer the door—and after that what? “Wait!” The mother came hastily between her son and the door—that door she must not let him pas-. Could she hold him Could she hold him? Her agonized brain kept reiterating that question even while she was bending ever> ctv erg.\, every power, to the successful an- CASTOR IA lur Infants and Children Tiie Kind You Hays Always Bought 3ear^ the :natu;e ot swering of the question on which fate was balanced. “You did not love her! Ken. it is not sorrow I see In your eyes—it is bit terness!" “Perhaps. I don't know." The boy spoke in a soil of lethargy of Indiffer ence He felt that nothing that had passed mattered now all that counted was what was coming “What differ ence doea it make? Arc you coming down? I can’t wait." He did not call her by the sacred name of mother It was scarcely to his mother he spoke -just to some one who was, strangely enough, showing interest in him, now that It was too lute, and trying to change his plans -too late! He turned courteously -but impatiently —to the door. As he started Emily Nelson put her hand on his arm very gently she scarcely dared to caress hinv he seemed to her like one In some strange trance she dared not waken him too abruptly - lest reason totter- lest he push her roughl> aside and go on with what lie had determined. “Just a moment, dear! When did she go “Just now." ' Why?" “She was tired . She couldn’t stick. . . . Thai's what the old man said poor old beggar she couldn't stick. Well ... I must go!" Again he started for thut door of strange doom. Again the frantic ntothcr seized upon any pretext to stop him. “Did did she go alone?" “No." "With whom'."' “Please! i CAN T DIVE IT OVER AGAIN! I CAN'T LIVE IT ADD OVER AGAIN! LET ME GO!” The mother heart knew that he could not li\e it all over again -that with that memory scaring boyhood and hope and idealism from his nature he could scarcely bear to live at all for these few extra moments that she was trying to hold him to save bis sanity- to save his life Itself! And yet she must an swer him u« if she knew nothing sus pected nothing of the wild storms that were sweeping through his agonized j young-old mind. Life had offered Ken neth Nelson a rude awakening would he indeed interpret his knowledge in terms of death? “Yes. dear, of course." said Emily, soothingly. lie passed her- on, on toward that door. There seemed nothing to say - nothing to do—all bad been tried in vain Would the mother give up hope, apd lease lighting her battle against the odds of a disordered brain? “Oh. Ken!" Ho stopped. “Yer?" “Mai > Burk wh;- “Mothier. dear! I .am \er> tired and- and 1 have a lot to do Emily strove for an easy tone. If only some stray gleam of love for the girl* whose unselfish devotion for the bo> site had been coldly told was “too good for her—was worlds above her"— ci ukl brighten the gray gloom of Ken's outlook on life and love and woman! Mar> was. as Emily Nelson had come well to know, the one rose in the tan gled and weedy Nelson garden, if o»l> she might yet be the “Rose of the World” for Ken! And Emily Nelson’s growth in womanhood was measured by her simple Judgment thut her penniless social secretaries love was the on© gleam ot' hope in the life and for the life of the wayward boy whom both women loved. Perhaps Mary's name would he the talisman to save Ken! “I am very tired -and 1 have a lot to do," said Ken. "Natural^ go dear how sill> for me to keep you. Poor Man s troubles are nothing to you." There was deep subtlety in that! “Mary's troubles"' I The boy cam* back to his i niter's aid i- “Yes But it doesn't man-"-. She sa>s she is going i<> leave m* Sir. ,» 1 gave up the house thcru .« nalL r Thing for her to do ar.d she knows ifford to keep her, But it will BA/ A Thrilling Story of Society Blackmailers (Novelized by) 1. Mil! To He Continued To n orrow. (From the play by George Scar borough, now being presented at the Thirty-ninth Street Theater, New York. Ser.al rights held and copyrighted by International News Service.) TO-I)AY ’S INSTALLMENT. The chief and the Inspector looked at each other. Well, Flagg, Invulnerable to all state weapons that had searched for the vulnerable spot In the armor of Ids evil deeds, hud been reached by a higher law. And the .dealer of justice must l»e meted human justice now and pas the penalty to human law—the pen alty for spilling the blood of this base brother. “Inspector. I’d swear on a stack of Bibles that I saw a tin box set tin’ right a-top of that there cabinet," said Don nell. rubbing his eyes to make sure that some strange magic was not all that kept him from seeing it now "Well, who moved It?" asked the in spector sternly "I don't know, sor." “\\ bo’s been in the room since you saw the box?” “Only ourselves, sor." There was a moment's pause. Then the flinty smile played about the firm mouth of Chief Dempster. There was a trail plain for his eyes to see. Only he could not see just where it would lead, and well for 1dm, and for the friendship he had ever had for the Dis trict Attorney of the I'nlted States that lie could not see that the trail led to the white-faced * girl who was the daugh ter of bis friend: “Only ourselves," repealed lhe In spector chief Dempster put u grin period to the sentence. “And Holbrook," said he quietly. But Holbrook was speeding through the night—speeding on to his cham bers speeding to the final revelation of that tell-tale plateholder he had filched from the camera Donnell held In hands that should never have been trusted with such valuable evidence. i A Night of Terror. The victims of the scourge Insom nia cal la Jij&ln of sleeplessness a “white I hey dread even through the golden day the- coming of the long stretch of hours when all life sleeps and they alone wake. A “white night" measures horrors of twitching nerves and unresting mind of weariness and despair too great for normal man. wrapped in sweet slumbers, to meas ure. But the terrors of such a night arc multiplied a thousand fold- are raised to the power of desperate agony when the? come to a girl whose past is a degradation whose present Is a liv ing horror of death itself and whose future is otd? a pitiless toll extorted from her own mistakes. Like a mad thing Aline had gone j through the streets after that scene of strangling and choking and strug- ling—and striking—in the den of the spider. In fear she had left her own home to enter the web she had allowed to he woven about her six years be fore by the summer sea. But fear was an unmeasured thing—fear was a weak word to picture the tortured agony she must endure as she fled back to what could no more be a refuge for her—to what was called Home—Home whose sacred j recincts she had defiled Aline rushed from the spider s do main she ran from that writhing thing that bad lately been called a man— she fled from insult and degrading in nuendo from that leering face and silky voice that dared ask of her, nay. de mand of her “a hundred days strung throughout the year." N v running like a hunted thing like the hunted thing she must soon become: now biding in shadow at the terror of h cm. kiing tw g now doub ling on her UAcks that the inevitable pursuer might be thrown off the tran sit** vouched i.»" own «L orwa\ at Iasi But ilo’-o w.. s one enem> she could iiiiow ledge of Aline Graham At last she reached her own room. She tore from her the polluted gar ments that the master of pollution had touched— the poisoned things she had worn In the rooms of Evil. She flung them in a heap on the floor; they could not be touched now ; her 'maid would hang them away. And in flinging aside the habiliments of that dark night Aline forged another link In the chain that must soon bind her fast. At last her soft white “robe de milt" encased her cold form and she tumbled Into the sanctuary of her white bed. Like a child that shuts out darkness, she pulled the covers over her eyes; warmth and comfort must :ic there. But warmth and comfort lay nowhere. The girl lay shivering in fear and horror of all she bad learned tills night- and all she did not guess. For the full terror of her visit to her enemy Aline did not know; she did not realize that Judson Flagg- had died! Suddenly she heard the jangle of the door bell loud talking she must know what it portended- -Rhe must have real- it> instead of' this mir%bing terror of what might he. She leaped from Jier bed ami crept to the top of the stairs. Aline • Graham held become an eaves dropper in her father's house! She came on down the stairs and stood trembling at ilie library door. She listened—and new terror tore at her face like a monster with evil claws. Like a fugitive thing she crept back to her room at last—and stealthily, lest any might hear her. she began dressing in street clothes. Then in the sinister black of the midnight hour Aline Gra ham again left the protection of her father’s house—and crept out into the streets. A man's room will often tcU what he is. Jn one of the side streets of Wash ington in one of the luxurious apart ment buildings of Washington where secretaries of legation and young for eign diplomats, where dilettanti at liv ing. where Washington’s eligible bach elors prove how homelike may be a homo even without woman's magic touch, Lawrence Holbrook had his quar ters. To-night a white-clad, black-haired, Oriental-eyed Filipino boy stood with Eastern stoicism and patience and gazed out of a high studio window into the blackness of the midnight streets. Master would come soon and in the meantime the “boy” would stand and gaze into the same blackness that held his island jungles. Back of him and his window lay a huge living room wainscoted high in panels of soft brown Circassian walnut. Above the wood was a wall covering of forest green burlap. Against this background were hung half a dozen time-mellowed and rare hunting prints. Above the fireplace was a fine moose head, ar.d on the breast of the mantel were shining barreled guns. Over door- wajs and hung above the monster buf fet ami wide book shelves were swords, knives, a Manila kriss. some foils, a travel-worn knapsack and wavy daggers of a rare Spanish make. Sconces lit the dark wainscoting and shone on the heads of elk and caribou and on hunt ing horns from far German forests. A “world-man" indeed was the dweller in this great room Suddenly tne keen-eared Filipino boy turned—arranged glasses and decanter on the great table In the center of the room—drew the deep Russian chair closer to the gleaming fire and stood at attention at the open door with a quiet dispatch that seemed to disprove all theories about Oriental slowness. In His Home. With the eas\ grace that was his Irish heritage—with the smiling at- homeness with the world that had al ways been his up to the time of dan ger—Daptain Holbrook swung into his own domain. The servitor he had j trained to wear livery instead of Fil- ! ipino skins and fiber took his hat and coat with h military precision. “Wait a minute. Barne> Hold <»n H ye don’t mind. I’ve got something up rue sleeve." He u« \ that g ha.k U*x it lap armed fr.-m sleeve. Barney locked . uri* us., at the other sleeve. The captain produced a queer little I wooden thing from his pocket and put it j on the table. Off came his dinner coat and draped its well-cut blackness over I a chair; then the captain’s hands slipped 1 through the unaccustomed opening in his shirt sleeves, leaving the cuffs standing away from his arms just below the elbows. He picked up the curious thing that was a plate-holder and van ished into an inner room. Barney looked after his master speculatively, touched the black box with a long, curious finger shook his head, a*nd picking up the topcoat ami fedora marched into anot'n- I er room. Had Larry Holbrook forgotten the emerald brooch that lay In telltale carp lessness in the pocket of that coat that he had so idly hung over the back of the cliair? j For a moment there was stillness in the deserted room. Then the captain’s voice called. “Barney! Barney!" No answer. Back came Holbrook carrying a red lamp unlighted and a pan for a photographic plate. The Missing Hypo. “Barney!” “Yes, sir." and the servitor with nar row. twitching black eyes came at the calf. “There was a bottle of hypo in my cupboard. W here Is it?" Holbrook was now quite intent on lighting the lamp. “What, sir?” “The stuff you’ve seen me pour in this pan." “Bah-tle?" queried Barney, with great precision. "Yes." “Don’ know. Captain." “You must find it, Barney." “Don' know!" lie started across the room, shaking his head gravely and repeating his for mula. .“Don ’ know." “It’s not there!" cried the captain in exasperation—he must have the means of developing this plate—he must know —the worst—the very, very worst. He spoke with slow patience. “Big bottle—says H-Y-P-O on the label—big Poland water bottle." Barney bobbed his head vigorously; he went over and knelt at the buffet. “Oh, yis. sir—yIs. sir." The captain dropped the work/ of his hands and straightened up to t J he oc casion. “My word—in the buffet!" “These. Captain?’’ “That’s it . . . Barney, did you give anyone a drink of it?" “Not yit, sir," answered Barney re spectful!?'. “Well, wait till 1 tell you before you do!" “Yis, sir.'' The captain started back to his own private sanctum to immerse the plate that would tell all in its hypo bath. “And. Barnev —don’t drink any of it yourself." “Yis. sir." The captain lingered at the door and spoke with the grave emphasis he used in training this ignorant “boy"—-and ' yet there was in eye and voice the j twinkle that had won him the friend ship of women and savages. A New Plan. “That’ll send you back to Manila, Barnadino—in a pine box. . . . Now get Dr. Elliott on the phone and tell him I’m sick—to come as fast as ever he can A new plan was hatching in the pro lific brain of this soldier of fortune. “Docker Ell-yut," repeated Barna dino gravely. “Yes. His number's in the little book. E-two L’s-I-O ami two teas!" Barney's nose was buried in the lit tle book while yet he knew that precious formula. “Yds. sir " “And after that get me a pot of tea." Barne> .dropped the book and gazed at his master in something akin to horror. -tea:" We have moved to our new store. 97 Pesohtre? Street ATLANTA FLORAL GO. “TEA!" Repeated Captain Holbrook late of the V. S. A. and late and soon of the world. There was something in tliis brief dialogue to suggest that tea was not a beverage for the preparation of which Barnadino had a vast num ber of calls. “Yis, sir," said Barney in a chastened tone. The Captain took the plate and went into I he dark room that w ould soon give him light that should be as sinister and dark as the ruby-lit gloom in which the mysteries of the camera come to life. Barnadino went back to his book and the formula, “E-two L's-l-0 and two teas!" "3-8-1 Main." The Captain came back to the door way for a brief second. “Tell him I’m near dead." The door slammed after him with a tone of finality—and Barney was left alone with the room and Its precious contents. “Yis, sir." said Barnadino, in the pause of waiting for the mysterious pro ceedings that made that little black thing at his ear talk to him. To Be Continued To-morrow. The Only Seat. A famous pianist used to be greatly bothered by requests for free seats at his concerts. On one occasion his appearance had been advertised fbr weeks, and on the day of the concert every seat was booked. Just before he was about to go on to the platform an excited lady made her w r ay to the artists' room and begged for a ticket, saying that all her efforts to buy one had proved futile. “Madam,’’ answered the musician, “there is but one seat left in the whole building. If, however, you care to take it you are welcome to do Sv " "How can I thank you!” answered she. "It makes no difference to me where the seat Is.” “Then, madam," said he, “come this way!” Leading her to the steps up to the platform, he pointed to the seat at the piano. When be turned round she had fled. His Turn. Two motorists, having almost ruined their tempers—and their tires—in a vain attempt to find a hotel with a vacant bed. were at last forced to make the best of a small Inn. Even then they had to share a bed. which was—and on this the landlord laid great stress—a feather bed. They turned in, and one of the pair was soon fast asleep; the other was not. He could not manage to dodge the bumps and heard hour after hour strike on the church clock until 3 a. m., when he also struck. H4 did this by violently shaking his snoring friend. "What's the matter?” growled the other. “It can’t be time to get up yet"’ "No, it Isn’t,” retorted his friend, continuing to shake him, “but it's my turn to sleep on the feather!’ THE MANICURE LADY “1 By WILLIAM F. KIRK. HOPE to goodness we don't I never have a real war with them Mexican fellow's,” said (he Manicure Lady. “That is about all the talk I have heard up to the house for the last week, and I am getting kind of scared and nervous about it. My father's father fought in the Civil Rebellion, George, and got one of his legs shot clean off at | the battle of Missionary Ridge. I j used to see him hobbling around the [ house when I was a little kid, and i I couldn't help thinking when I seen ! his wooden leg that war was every thing Mister Sherman said it was. I suppose the scars of war is honorable scars, George, but you got to admit that there ain’t much class to one of them old fashioned wooden legs, big in the calf and little in the ankul and no instep on them. “Every time the old gent gets a little lit up he tells that pie is of fighting stock, and you w'ould think to hear him go on that his ancestors had all went to West Point and served Uncle Sam all over the world. His old man was the only one that ever smelled gunpowder, and he didn’t come out of it with no flying colors except the wooden leg, as I w’as say ing. I think ho got that leg shot off in the only battle he was ever in. But the old gent is full of the war fever now, and he has even got brother Wilfred talking war and strategy. Wilfred wouldn’t make much of a boy in blue, with that gentle, shrinking poet nature of his, but he thinks that if war broke out with Mexico he would be right down there with bells on. I don’t believe they would take him for a soldier at all, on account o2 his lamps being weak and his small size being against him, but between him and the old gent all we hev now is war, war, war. “It kind of grates on mother and us Brirls, because we ain’t of a fight ing nature, and the only fun me and May me gets is kidding the life out of Wilfred when he tells how he would charge the ramparts of the enemy and save the country's flag. We told him last night that the only thing he could charge was his board bill, and Mavme found a war poem that he had wrote and was going to send to the Washington Heights Flour and Feed Courier. This is how it goes, George. Don t read it if it is long," said the Head Barber. “Me and the Missus had a few words before I left homo this morning, and I don’t feel none like listening to poetry.” "It ain’t much, George. Listen: ‘ Oh, Mexico, thou land of heat And cactus thorns and creeping things, You most assuredly will be beat If Uncle Sam on you his soldiers flings. 1 shall volunteer for the Stars and Stripes And fight like a hero our flag tot save, And if your navy with ours does clash. You will surely go to a watery grave. And if I die on the battlefield The world will say that 1 done mr best, And my greatness it will be revealed* When my hands are folded on my breast.” “He ain't giving himself any the worst of it in that poem,’’ said the Head Barber. “It sounds kind of fool ish to me.” Internal Evidence. •At a certain college custom ordains that at examination time each of the candidates shall write the following pledge at the bottom of his papers: “I hereby declare, on my honor, that 1 have neltFer given nor received as sistance during the examination.'' Now, recently, it so happened that a young fellow, after handing in one of the papers, suddenly remembered that in his haste he had omitted to write the oath. On the following day, therefore, he sought out one of the examiners and told him that lie had forgotten to put the required pledge on his paper. The old man looked at him over the top of his glasses and dryly remarked: “Quite unnecessary. Your paper in it self is sufficient evidence. I've just been correcting ^t." CHICHESTER S PILLS , THE lMAMUM) BRAND a Ladles! Ask yonr l»ru Kff |.t f nr /\ { " U ,n H ' d ‘"i ''"Id mmm r.k^ nU\rL;7 r \/ y tars known as Best. Saf, sl . Always Rell,bta SOLD BY DRUGGISTS EVERYWHFP5 To® Lovers will appreciate theuv viting fragrance exquisite flavor of Maxwell Home Blend Tea It meets every require ment of Quality and purity. C«p» 1 Baat.‘»* J»cka~,ilU A Friend of Quaker for Twenty-Two Years Mr (J. R. Howder. 63 years of age. Who lives at 110 (’enter street, this city lias been a friend of Quaker Ex tract for twenty-two years. When he first lierame acquainted with its won derful virtues he had been ailing for years from stomach troubles, and had used quite a few of the many remedies on the market at that time, but found nothing to give real permanent relief until he at last found the first pack age of Quaker Herbs put up at that time in a dry form He was cured by R few weeks' use of them, and since then each year, usually at the spring lime, he gives himself and all the fam ily a course of the great medicine, and if more healthy-looking and vigorous- feeling man ai the age of 63 can be found in Atlanta it will take more than the normal exes to find him. Mr Howder has raised i wo < hildrm on Quaker." and they have never had the puny. pale, sallow complexions »•( the average* child. tt«>r l ave they .of fered from in;.;;.' ills ' * besot the growing child, more especially the hundreds of worms and other intesti nal parasites that infest the human system of those who do not properly cleanse the digestive tract each year. When Mr. Howder first began to use the Quaker medicine himself lie weigh ed just exactly 130 pounds. Now he tips 'he beam at 198. and it ; s all good, healthy muscle and sinew and steady nerves, not a lot of bloat. This gen tleman (ailed at Coursey & Munn's drug store and. after talking to the Quakers a while took three more bot tles of Quaker Extract, which he in giving • to a friend yt ginning t > manifest some nf tiic* symp toms of pellagra. He knew that the same remedy had already cured a case in Marietta, and is doing yeoman ser vile in six or seven other rases right in. MUnia Now. Duise ,.f on wit., arc inclined to dotilu tha- the <»u;i!-.*r Itemednr<* per-v.-r-ut in t heir noa : •“ 'ht ,• who think that when uu ' tnr re ucui« i .\. maoe n friend they are easily shaken off. just take & walk over to Mr. Howder’s residence on Center street and ask him person ally what lie knows of the Quaker s medicines. He'll be onlj too glad to explain why he has used them for so many years, when there, are over 200 other remedies that are sold on thP druggists' shelves to-day. And . re member. too. that if you suffer from any possible branch of stomach, liver, kidney or blood troubles, or you and your little ones have xyorms of any lend, here is a cure, ont- that has ere a ted over 900 permanent cures right hei*- ih v.iiir own city, right on your very threshold, **o to speak, w-here you have the privilege to investigate them at your Will, x These wonderful remedies—Quake: Extract. 6 for *5 0". 3 for 12.50 or $1.00 a bottle: nil of Balm. :„n\ or 5 for 1 obtained hi Coursey S- Munn's Dr::g Store, 2'* Marietta street. , p ( :-m cjiar*/es "n all or dots -T '•< op over.