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BfflMJS PUBLISHING GOMPAHT.
AS SI-5E COMES DOVN THE LANE.
Alons the fields the shadows xall.
The sun is hanging low.
And oa the ivy-mantled wall
The soft lights come and ?o.
A zephyr wafted from above.
Drifts o'er the waving Brain,
Jly heart goes out to mest my love.
As &he comes down the lane.
I lean upon the moss-grown bars.
As ':on ihe path she Tares.
My grjfiltmi queen, no blemish mar
Tne coronet she wears.
The scepter in her woman's hand
Will banish care and pain.
For I am lord of all the land
7hen she comes down the lane.
Bcf t breezes play about her now,
And lift her shining hair.
The sunset glow is en her brow,
To ma!ce her passing fair.
Her beauteous face, her modest mien
To picture them were vain.
And she is mine, my bonny queen,
As she comes down the lane.
The dairies nod as she goes by,
The wild rose blushes pink.
Sweet songbirds round her pathway Sy,
.d sing the praise they think.
Eae lifts her head, her eyes so clear,
Smile into mine again;
lly hca rt cries out : "God bless you, dear,"
As she comes down the line.
E. D. Camp, in Philadelphia Prest.
'Doscribins How Mi3s Vandorpool
Came to Hor Own.
Hiss Vanderpool came down the steps of
her lodjring-house and stood looking about
her with an expression of discontent on her
hich-bred face. It was not a very genteel
lodging-house, and it was not in a very
genteel quarter. The paint was off in
-patches, and one of the faded green blinds
hung on a single hinge. The steps were
worn and the little front area was used as a
depository for wood and coal. There were
a pair of dirty faces at the basement win
dows, and outside of the door Sairy Ann,
the Gorgon's eldest, watched her depart
with undisguised curiosity. Possibly she
knew that Miss Vanderpool's rent for her
single room, third story in the rear, was a
-week overdue. She might have been sta
tioned there as a spy by the Gorgon, her
mother, to see that no recereant lodger
contrived to slip off, bag and baggage, with
out a formal parting. She need not give
herself any concern on Miss Vanderpool's
Recount, that lady reflected. Her piano, the
one article of value among her possessions,
was much too cumbrous to carry, and it was
mor: gaged up to its full value. TVhy was it
that peoplo never exhibited any conscience
or honor about their music-teacher's bills,
as they did about their butcher's and wash
erwomen's i Why was it that she, respected
and admired as the rich Miss Vanderpool,
could find uo market for her accomplish
ments now that she must earn her daily
bread! Why did every ono talro advantage
of her and cheat her, down to the pawn
broker who had latoly taken the last piece
of jewelry saved from her financial wreck?
She was faint aud hungry, and a gnawing
pain that was new to her, reminded her that
she had lived on bread and water for six
weeks, and that she had been on short ra
tions for the last few days. If she had been
a soldier, now, she could have withstood it
right valorously, for there was martial blood
in her veins. But to suffer it for no heroic
reason, in nothing but the common way !
The thought humiliated her, and she put it
She was walking down the street, lined
vith low cottages, when she stopped before
ono of the poorest and meanest, where a
stunted lilac, just budding in the front-yard,
gave evidence of some little refinement on
the part of the occupants. But it was not
this that attracted Miss Vanderpool's atten
tion. Floating from the door-knob she be
held a little pieco of thin white crepe, tied
;with narrow ribbon, the wan banner of sor
row. This was the cottage where the two
little girls had looked out upon her, with
laughing faces, every day as she passed by.
Only yesterday they had flung her kisses
from the window. Now one was gone. The
shock bore down upon her with all tho sense
of a personal loss.
She pushed the gate open and went up the
steps. A woman opened the door and led
her to a darkened room. It was the custom
of the neighborhood to give free admission
to visitors at such a time. In tho little white
coffin lay the younger of the two children.
Beside it sat the father and mother, the
woman sobbing quietly, the father with his
arm about her, and in his lap the remaining
child, who had cried herself to sleep in his
"I am so sorry;" said Miss Vanderpool,
gently; ,-is there any thing 1 can do J"
The moment she spoke she regretted it.
The mother uncovered her face and looked
up piteously, then shrauii from the strange
"Nothing, nothing," she moaned, "unless
you could bring back my child."
"There, there, Emily," said the man, pat
tine her kindly; "Don't talro on so. It's
hard on all of us. We've got to bear it
Miss Vanderpool's eyes were wet as she
went silently out of the room and closed the
door behind her. It had been a mistake,
her coming. They had plainly resented the
intrusion. If only she could havo done
something for them, could havo given thehi
somo testimon of her sympathy. To lose a
little life that was part of your very oivn
must be hard, but doubly hard when poverty
and want are attendant upon sorrow. The
room had been so bare. There was not a
flower about the coflin. Miss Vanderpool
had been accustomed to see grief smothered
in costliest offerings, and this little creature
was going to her last rest without so much
as a flower in her little hands the tiny
hands that had thrown kisses to her but
She wished that she could get some
flowers for that dead baby. It wa3 April,
and there was none in the city gardans, just
recovering from the shock of a severe
Eastern winter. She had no money to buy
theni from a florist. Up in the great house
on the bluff that had been her home there
was a conservatory, and in it there was a
magnificent climbing rose that she had
planted herself. yeara gone by, and nurtured
into a vigorous growth. Out of all the
riches that she had lost, at this moment she
wished only for one of the large pointed
buds, with its petals half unfolded, shut in
a little bower of green leaves. But that
was out of the question. 2sot even for this
sacred purpose could she ask any favors
from the people in the house on the hilL
A little larand there would be plenty of
wild flowers" outside the town. The violets
always came first. Nay; it was already the
last of April,and with the soft wiud blowing
and the clear sunshine of thepasttwo weeks
the violets must be already out. Sho quick
oaed her steps at tho thought. A little
brook ran through tho town and cut a nar
row channel down the bluffs, on its way, to
the sea. Near the foot of the bluffs there
was a narrow bench of land stretching be
tween tho hills and the tide-lands, and there
beside the brook she had gathered early
spring violets since childhood. If she
walked quickly she could easily get there
and back again before the night had closed
To reach the place she had to pass through
the business portion of the town. Walking
swiftly along, looking to neither right nor
left, she was surprised to havo some one ac
"Miss Vanderpool I"
It was John Ashton, -whom she had not
seen since the day that she had found her
father's nam dLshooortf aad herself fcsg-
gsre I and homeless. He had asked her to
be hisTvife and shs had refused. Was it
because she had known him as a poor boy,
born in the lowest walks of society, while
the Vanderpools had inherited the wealth
and high standing of many generations' Or
was it because she elected to bear her
poverty and disgrace alone? She flushed
now as she recognized him.
"Ono minute," he said. ""
"Not now. I can not, wait," she insisted,
and he stepped back without a word.
What could he wish to see her for? She
remembered what he had said that time.
"If you were rich andhonored I should have
been too proud to address you." She had
resented the speech then. Recalling it now
she could not help admitting that it did
honor to John Ashton. She was thinking
of John Ashton the boy, tho little ragged
fellow who used to do chores about her
father's house, picking up an education at
the public schools, devoting himself to her
service on holidays. John Ashton the man
wa3 a separate entity, and she had never
trusted herself to analyze her impressions
of him. He was liked and trusted by all
men, and very probably admired by women.
She knew his errand to the place. He wa3
a celebrated engineer now, and had come
down to take charge of a great project for
reclaiming the tide-lands. People called the
enterprise "the march of improvement,"
but Mis3 Vanderpool hated the march of
improvement and did not care for benefits
to commerce, but liked best the wide stretch
of salt marshes with their rusty vegetation,
their black pools and flitting fogs. She
was coming to them now, for her path lay
along their border, and soon she was
beside them, and drew a long breath, in
haling the fresh ocean air with it3 briny
smelL She looked out to sea, where a lumi
nous glow along the horizon commemorated
the going down of the sun, and sullen
clouds above presaged the gathering of a
storm. She hoped, with a feeling of pjty
new to her, that it might be clear for .in
hour or two on the morrow, that the burial
of the little child might not be made drear
ier by clouded skies and a driving rain
Not far away on the marsh, surrounded by
broad pools which reflected the distant glow
in the sky, she saw the tall chimney of a
steam derrick and a low, barge-like shape
that seemed to be anchored in tho mud.
She did not give herself much time to specu
late now. Night was fast falling, and a
little ahead she saw the tiny brook she
sought. But think a moment! Was it the
right place? She hesitated for an instant in
doubt aad perplexity, then looked quickly
about to determine her bearings by some
familiar landmarks. There on the bluff
were the square outlines of her old home.
just visible against the sky, and there, off to
the right, far beyond, were the harbor lights.
Just a little further on, then a sharp turn to
the left, a climb up the rocks to the little
bench that lay between the bluffs and shore,
and she should find the flowers. She pressed
hurriedly on to gain the placo before it
should be wholly dark. She knew a way up
the bluffs, a steep and winding path, by
which sho could gain the lighted upper
street when she was done. If only she
could once find the flowers, the dewy,
spring flowers, with their faint, sweet odor
and their fresh, sheltering leaves 1 All
worldly thoughts seemed to fall away from
her, the weight of disappointment and care
was lifted from her heart, and sho felt like
an eager child, bent on her innocent quest.
But what was this the solid ground giv
ing way beneath her feet, every step taking
her deeper and deeper into a bottomless
ooze, her feet drawn down and held as if by
leaden weights 1 This was not the way it
used to be along the bank of tho littlo
brook. In a moment tho full horror of the
situation flashed upou her. Deceived by tho
light or rendered careless by her own wan
dering thoughts, she had strayed further
from the town than she had supposed, and
what she had mistaken for the little brook
was really an estuary of the sea, bordered
by treacherous bogs, a portion of tho great
waste of tide-land which the company wore
seeking to reclaim. Quick and sharp came
other recollections. She remembered that
children had been lost there when at play.
She remembered that every now aud then
some man or woman had mysteriously dis
appeared from sight and knowledge, and it
had been whispered about that they had
bsen last seen walking along the border of
the tide-lands. But these were people of
the lower classes, about whom the Vander
pools had given themselves littlo concern.
She remembered now ah, how sharply!
that she had read with a curling lip that por
tion of tho young engineer's argument be
fore the harbor commissioners, when he
was pleading for permission to go on with
his work, wherein ho had advanced, as one
of his strongest pleas, that many lives
would be saved by the completion of the en
terprise. And now she, Judith Vanderpool,
the last of her name, was about to succumb
to this most unheroic destiny. It was bet
ter so. She would have chosen this very
way of death, if she might. She had been
tortured by one dread, over and over again,
during these years of poverty and privation,
aud she gave a little hysterical laugh as she
remembered it now. If sho should have
broken down and died in the midst of her
unsuccassOU struggle she had not the where
withal to buy her funeral shroud. Now no
one would know, no one would care.
O, the terror of it! Not death. Many
were there who would kuow her and greet
her gladly; father, mother, brother, friends
of her childhood the only friends she had
kept. But that last thought! To dropout
and never be missed ; to leave behind her
not a human bing who would care. Why
should she grieve over it now? She had, of
her own will, separated herself from all
human interests; she had never cared for
human companionship or love.
But, oh God! shs did care. She knew it
now. Face to fac3 with this terrible and
lonely death she had come to a knowledge of
herself. Nursing her foolish pride and
family traditions, measuring all the world
by faUo standards, she had wronged herself
most of all. What was it that had so
touched her in the humble home she had just
left, breaking down the barriers of her own
reserve, drawing her on and out of herself,
until she longed to claim some littlo part in
it? What was it but the glad and sacred
atmosphere of pure family affection ? O. hor
life hai been empty; empty. And the ono
human love that sha mi?ht have had she
knew it now would have male her a happy
woman, s'ae had scornfully rejected. O, if
she cauld only live h r life over, if she could
but take up its tangled threads aain with
cleared vision .and haaibied heart.
It was then that she sent up her first and
only cry for help. Hitherto she had been
silently resigning herself to death with a
calmness and dignity bodtting a Vanderpool.
Now a prolonged and mournful cry went
out over the marshes, startling the seagulls,
which rose aad wheeled aimlessly about
azainst the darkening sky. The cry was
taken up and answered far out on the
marshes. There was a sudden commotion
ubout the barge, lanterns flashed outside,
and by their light she could see dark forms
moving about. But she she was sinking,
When she came to herself she was in her
own little room. It was very quiet and
comfortable. Her landlady flitted in and
out, with a look of honest concern on her
careworn face. So the world was not so
hard, after all. She the Gorgon seemed
glad that her delinquent lodger was alive,
and said no word about the rent overdue.
Somebody had pulled the lounge, on which
she lay, up to the stove, and there was a fire
there, the first for many weeks, for her own
fuel had given oat in February, and she had
been freezing ever since freezing heart and
body. And what w m that brewing on the
stove, that sent such a delicious fragrance
through the room?
"Now, my dear,'- said the Gorgon, pour
ing something into a clumsy earthen cup
and handing it to her, "just you take this
cup of coffeo and bit of hot roll, ana it'll set
you up In no time. You've been looking
peaked and mis'able this long time. Folks
that feeds theirselves don't take no proper
care. I've been thinking, this long while,
thai if you'd just take your lirisg along of
mo and give pianny lessons to my Sairy
Ann but I hardly dared ask it, you being
sich a fine player and she having no instru
ment unlcs3 yon'd maybe let her come up
and practice times when you was in and
could watch and see she didn't dirty the
pearl keys or spile it " Homely and
rough as she was, there was a delicate flush
on her thin cheek as she checked herself in
her bold presumption.
"Didn't dare ask it!" Miss Vanderpool
would have acted as the child's nurse,
scrubbed floors, washed dishes, if she had
asked it. The backbone of her pride was
brokes. But what wa3 tho woman saying
"And now, if you'll let mc tidy rp a bit
and make things half-way decent, for the
gentleman's been waiting to see you this
"f he gentleman ! What gentleman?" Mi--s
Vanderpool was not used to callers. The
landlady answered her inquiry:
"Why, who but him that savjd you ! Him
that brought you hero in his arms, looking
like d3ad and all covered with mud and a
pretty sight you were, Miss VandirpooL
And awful work it W33 cleaning you up, if
you be a lady!"
What made Miss Vanderpool's fac2 aflame
and her heart beat so? It might be any one
of a thousand men. There was no reason,
no reason in the world, she toid herself,
why it should be any particular one.
Yet, as luck would have it, it was John
Ashton! No, not luck. Chance rarely favors
uch mea as he. All that they have is won
by hard endeavor, and persistent faith, and
dodged watchfulness. Luck is more apt to
buffet them, to call out all tho slumbering
forces in them and show the stuff of which
they are made. He had turned and followed
Miss Vanderpool at a respectful distance,
that afternoon he had met her on the street.
It wa3 getting late, and he had some old
fashioned notions, now almost out of date,
prejudicial to a woman's goingaboutat night,
unprotected, upon thb streets. Wiien he
saw the lonely direction in which she was
tending, he had followed still more resolute
ly, for he knew the character of the men
along the water-front better than she. And
who could tell whom she might meet in that
wretched place at such an hour? When she
stopped to look seaward he had gone down
over the marsh, both because he had some
instruction to give to his foreman and
because he feared sho would discover him in
turning back. Ho had been first to hear the
wild, beseeching cry, and to realize its pur
port; to start out with a party of men pro
vided with lanterns, planks, ropes, every
thing needful; to man a boat and row fierce
ly up the slough, flooded at high-tide, di
rectly to the spot where a human life so
precious to him, was going out; to throw
himself out upon the morass, bracing him
self on the planks they had brought, and
finally, like the true knight ho was, to
gather the unconscious girl in his arms,
covered with mud as she was, and wrapping
his coat about her, bear her to the place she
called her home.
But John Ashton was not the man to claim
any recompinse for the service he had
rendered.. The more serious her peril, the
greater the risk he had run on her behalf,
the more need that he should be delicate
and distant in all his bearing toward her;
that he should try to make her forget he
had ever pressed any claims upon her. He
would not have come now had he been his
own free ageut. She saw that the moment
he opened the door, and shrank from her
own thoughts. He surmised the look upon
her face and interpreted it in his own way.
So sho disliked him so much that it galled
her to think that he had put her under such
obligations. Woll, well! If te had had
time to consider, it might have been better
to have left it to one of the men, or. at least
to have concealed his own connection with it.
"You are feeling better, Miss Vander
pool?" There was not a note in his voice beyond
the ordinary requirements of courtesy.
She answered him in kind.
"Quite well now, I thank you. Won't you
be seated," motioning him to a chair.
"I thank you." But he still remained
standing, his hat in his right hand, his left
hand was it her fancy, or were the fingers
clenched? hanging easily beside him.
"I came," he said, iu a matter-of-fact
way, "about a matter of business. I tried
to speak to you on the street to-day. You
were not willing to listen. Yoa were right.
It was not the proper place."
"You mistook. It wasn't that. I was
preoccupied; I couldn't have talked then
with any one," she explained, hurriedly,
aad in a low voice. He scarcely noticed
her words and did net at all comprehend
them, but went on, in a formal, business
"A matter of business. I was authorized
to conduct some negotiations with you
They concern tho Vanderpool estate."
Weak as she wa3 and broken as she was,
she could not suppress a little laugh, only
half mirthful, but wholly sarcastic The
Vanderpool estate ! What had there been ol
it, since she came into possession of it,but an
inextricable tangle of debt and litigation,
lapsed contracts and forfeited rights I
"Now that we have got ready for worfc
Ave are in a position to negotiate for the
tide-lands. There are seventy acres belong
ing to tho Vanderpool estate. I am em
powered to make you tho following offer."
He drew a paper from his pocket and
named a sum which took Miss Vanderpool's
breath away. Enough to restore tho lost
glory of the Vanderpools. Enough more
than enough to buy back the old home
where her mother had died and she W3S
born; enough to restore her to the life ol
affluence to which she had been bred;
enough to place her forever above the reach
of the petty privations and racking cares that
had sat so heavily upon her but yesterday.
She raised herself up on one elbow and looked
at him. Her ayes, always large, shone with
an unnatural brilliance. He thought hei
exulting over her restoration to wealth and
"I won't ask you for an answer now," ho
3aid; "perhaps you would better consult a
lawyer. May I say to the company that you
will give your answer in writing?"
He was moving toward the door, not even
waiting for her answer, for he had deter
mined to give her no opportunity to refer to
the events pf the day. Ho was arrested by
a single word:
No woman ever speaks in such a way to a
man shs does not love, but the men do not
always understand. John Ashton did not
understand. He came back and stood by her
side looking down doubtfully into the shining
eyes raised to his own, then quickly turned
away. It was only a man, after all, and he
had some bitter recollections to steel him
against any betrayal of weakness. Besides,
she was a rich woman now, richer than she
had been in the days when he had assured
her he would hare been too proud to ask her
to share his life.
"John, are you going so?" He under
stood then; slowly at first, with a dawning
comprehension of all the words meant to
him and to her. Then Heaven itself seemed
to open to him, as he gathered her into bis
Had any other Vanderpool ever made
overtures to the man she loved? Would tho
cheeks of dead and gone Vanderpools have
reddened with mortification could they but
have witnessed this shameless betrayal of
her heart! Somehow Miss Vanderpool was
so happv that she did not care. And as for
It would have seemed like a curse if it
had parted us, dear," she said. Flora
Haines Longhead, in Argonaut.
Somewhere down East a married
pair were in the habit of airing their
differences audibly. In these spats the
wife, having the longer tongue, was
usually the winner. The result was
made known in one case to an inquir
ing neighbor (who asked where he
could find Mr. McBIank) in thes
-words: "I don't know; I guess he 3 up
stairs hatia' hiMelL" Boston Tran-
L Description of tho 3Inlx:s Known as
the Uohhaber .Processes.
During the year 1SS5 the masonry
ind iron-work of the 3Iadrid and Bau
lin bridges at Paris were thoroughly
ileansed by Messrs. Mathieu and
Peigne, who work the patent processes
Df M. Liebhaber. These processes,
which are purely chemical in their
nature, were at first applied solely to
the cleaning of lime-stones, but in
these bridges materials of a very dif
ferent nature were successfully dealt
with. The surfaces to be cleansed are
submitted to the action of a jet of mixed
hydrochloric and sulphuric acids, and
left for two or three hours, when they
are all well brushed, and finally
washed down with a water-jet, which
completes the process. In the case of
lime-stone masonry, the hydrochloric
acid unites with the calcium, forming
chloride of lime, which is then decom
posed by the sulphuric acid forming a
calcium sulphate, this being precipi
tated on the face of the stone, and con
taining all the impurities, which are
then removed by the action of the brush
and of the water-jet. In many cases
this acid treatment will not succeed
unless thestoneis previously prepared,
as tho masonry frequently becomes
coated with a black and shining de
posit of all the impurities contained io
the atmosphere of a large town, which
entirely prevents the acids reaching the
stone. In this case M. de Liebhaber,
before applying the acids, covers the
stone with an alkaline paste, consisting
of a mixture of carbonate of soda and
calcium hydrate, which he has named
"tolugene." This paste is spread ovei
the face of the masonry with a trowel,
to a thickness of from one-half to one
millimeter, and left there for froa
three-quarters of an hour to an hour,
when the excess is quickly washed
down and brushed off, and the acids ap
plied as previously described. In
cleaning iron-work the "tolugene"
alone is used; it is spread over the
work either with trowel or brush, and
in the course of an hour or so will have
united with all the oil of the paint,
leaving the red-lead on the work in the
form of a dry powder, which can be
easily washed off with a jet of
water. The metal is said to bo cleaned
much better than by the older method
of burning and scraping off the paint.
For cleansing brick-work M. de Lieb
haber makes use of he property which
hydrofluoric acid possesses of separa
ting the silica from silicates. The work
is first painted with a solution of am
monium floride, and this immediately
afterwards is treated frith a jet of con
centrated sulphuric acid, which libe
rates hydrofluoric acid in situ, and this
immediately attacks the silicates, rob
bingthemoftheirsilica. The wholesur
face is afterwards thoroughly washed
with water. With regard to the cost
of the processes a total of 502 square
yards of masonry, of which about 16'
were sandstone, were treated at the
Madrid bridge at a cost of from 6.7d. to
8.4d. per square yard, and brick-work
at the Baudin bridge cost 8.4d. pei
square yard, the prices including the
cost of erection of such scaffolding at
was necessary. With regard to the
iron-work, the contract price was 10&
per square yard for plain work, and Is,
3d. per square yard for moulded work,
but the contractors are said to have lost
money in carrying out this part of theii
LINEN DRESS GOODS.
The Coolest and ricasantet of All Ma
terlals for Summer Wear.
Since the times when "purple and
fine linen" were the acme of elegance
in apparel, linen has retained a place
as the pleasantest of all materials for
summer wear, notwithstanding the
countless array of diaphanous and airy
fabrics in cotton, woolen and silk.
There is nothing "clinging" about
linen. It is a fabric whose "cool re
serve" is grateful to the oppressed
senses in hot wenther, and if it be
comes limp and discouraged with wear
it can readily be restored in the laun
dry and made to assume its first fresh
Linen ginghams are charming for
morning wear, and their simplicity
may be relieved with embroidery and
ribbon, so that they become really
dressy. The newest goods in this line,
however, are the linen damasses, woven
like gingham, but in designs resembling
print, and which also like ginghams
are not all linen, but with the colored
threads of cotton. Stripes, checks and
fancy plaids in gray, wood-color, brown,
blue, red and several pretty color com
binations predominate, yet the effect
when made up is quite as pleasing and
satisfactory as the figured goods of
The woven linens are also in stripes
and plaids of colors contrasted with
white, but these are all linen, and are
the most durable of all similar fabrics.
These are used not only for morning
dresses, but for boys' shirt-waists and
blouses, and for this purpose are pre
ferred to the figured linen cambrics
and percales, although the latter are
used, especially in dark shades of blue.
Blue flowers on white are the favorite
figure in linen lawns, of which there
are two varieties, known as Irish and
French, the Irish linen, which is sheer
and even, being slightly heavier than
the French linen lawn. The latter has
also the advantage of more brilliant
coloring in its stamped patterns, one
of which is extremely pretty blue
corn-flowers strewn over the surface.
All of these are twenty-four inches
wide, and consequently require rather
more material to the dre3s than cotton
The styles for making up are simple
enough to admit of laundering, and a
favorite model is made with three deep
flounces covering the plain skirt, and
a short, fitted basque or surplice waist
worn with a wide sash. Tucked plain
skirts have a tucked sash of the
material, or a full back drapery, which
is cut square and hemmed all around,
and draped by tapes fastened on the
White linen lawns, sheer and cool
looking, make beautiful dresses, and
are to be had in various grades of fine
ness; but the very finest are seldom
used except for handkerchiefs or in
fants1 dresses, and there is no woven
fabric, except bolting-cloth, which can
compare In delicacy of tissue with the
had-8pun linea lawm. Philadelphia
6ENERAL BANKING BUSINESS
Giles Especial Attention to Cofledons
Bnyi snd Sells Foreign and Do
Negotiates Mortgage Loans
"All business promptly attended to. Lly
(Malott & Company.)
ABILENE, - - - KANSAS.
Transacts a general banking bnsiness
No limit to our liability.
A. W. RICE, I. R. GORDEX, J0H3
JOILNTZ, W. B. GILES AXD
T. II. MALOTT.
T. H. MALOTT, Cashier.
I. E. Bosebrakx, Pres. I Theo. Moshzk, Cashj
Capital, $75,000. Surplus, $15,000
STAMBAUGH, HDRD & DEWEY,
ATTORNEYS AT LAW,
T. S. BARTON, Prop'r,
Respectfully indies the citizens of Abi
lene to his Bakery, at the old Keller
jtand, on Third street, where ho hat
tonstantly a supply of the best
to be found in the city. Special orders
for anything in my line promptly at
tended to on short notice.
T. S. BARTON.
M. T. G0SS & CO.
Respectfully inform all who intend
building in Manchester and vicinity
that they are prepared to furnish
Pisterii :-: Mat
AS LOW AS THE LOWEST.
Call and get estimates before
M. T. goss & CO.,
ST. LOUIS MD TBE EAST.
S Daily Trains S
Kansas City and St. Louis, Mo.
Equipped with Pullman Palaco Sleeper
and Buffet Cars.
FREE RECLINING CHAIR CARS
aad Elegant Coaches.
THE MOST DIRECT LINE TO
TEXAS and the SOUTH.
S Daily Trains 2
to principal polnU In the
3L.ONE STAB STATE,
IROff MOUNTAIN BOUTE
Memphis, Mobile. Now Orleans and principal
cities In Tennessee, Mississippi, Ala
bama and Louisiana, offer
lnr tne obolce of
TO NEW ORLEANS.
Jer Ticket, Bleepm Car Sertht and fnrthe
laxotna-ttoa, applr to mearest Tioket areat at
J. S, LTON, W. T. A-, 5M Mate street,
Kaasa CUy, Me.
V. H. HlWJf AH, Oh. Trmfle Maaarer,
The ABILENE IMPROVEMENT CO. offers
$100,000 IN BONUSES
to reliable manufacturing concerns who will
locate in Abilene. Abilene is the largest as
well as the most prosperous city in Central
Kansas. It will soon have
THREE SEW TRUNK LINES OF RAILROADS,
making FOUR lines, which will insure tun
equaled shipping facilities.
ABILENE If RdilT CO
THE ABILENE NATIONAL BANK
CAPITAL, - $150,000.
CLARK H. BARKER, President.
W. P. RICE, Yice-President.
E. D. HUMPHREY, Cashier.
A. K. PERRI, Assistant Cashier.
TEMSA0TS A GENERAL BANKING BUSINESS.
Business of Merchants, Farmers and Individuals generally
solicited. Unequaled facilities for the transaction of all
business intrusted to us.
A. FRY. J. C. BOYER, Attorney and Notary. C. G. BESSEY.
FRY, BOYER CO.,
Loans on farms and cltj property. Real Estate bought anil sold.
Insurance contract at current rates. Notarj business promptly attended
to. Special bargains In city and suburban property.
Citizens' Bank Building,
mrri A TPtT.Tl n mT- 1870.
LEBOLD, FISHER & CO., Proprietors.
Done in all its branches. MORTGAGES negotiated on Fant
Property at 6, Tand 8 per cent., with reasonable commissiorg
Also, money on Farms without commission.
At all times ; for sale at lowest rates.
Furnished on all the principal cities of the world.
BOJSTDS BOUGHT AJNTD SOX.T3.
Special attention given to business of Farmers and Stockmen.
Personal liability not limited, as is the case with
TYe are giTing special attention to thig department; carry the largest
aad finest line or UXDEUTAKEUS SDPPLIES in the city, and are pre
pared to attend to this business in all its branches.
Corner Fourth and Broadway.
. X.EBOLD, J. M. TI3HEK, J. X. HEHBST,
E. A. Hebbst, Cashier.
Oar Individual liability Is not limited, as is the
case with stockholders or Incorporated banks.
LEBOLD, FISHER k (X)., Baaken,
udl lul u
No one shonld purchase real estate until
they know tha title is perfect.
W. T. DAVIDSON
baa the most complete set ot Abstracto
laths County. 14 years' experience.
Once orer Post-ofllee,
ABILENE, - KANSAS,
.vy-'-'i j -. ;".