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Daily evening star. (Washington [D.C.]) 1852-1854, December 16, 1852, Image 4

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DAILY EVENING STAR.
THE WIFE.
BT AG3&S PI?KSOL.
It was the dead hour of night. The room
was a high wainscotted apartment, with furni
ture of a rich but aiitique pattern. The pale
moonlight streaming through the curtained
window, and struggling with the subdued
light of a candle placed in a corner, disclosed
the figure of a sick man extended on a bed,
wrapped in an unquiet slumber. By his side
sat a care-worn though stiil beautiful woman
gazing anxiously on his face, and breathlessly
awaiting the crisis of the fever?for it was uow
the ninth day since that strong man had been
prostrated by the hand of disease, and during
all that time he had raved in an incessant de
lirium. lie had at length dropped into an un
quiet slumber, broken at first by starts and
moans, but during the last hour he had bee^i
less restless, and he now lay as still as a sculp
tured statue. Ills wife well knew that ere
morning the crisis would be past, and she
waited, with all a woman's affection, breath
lessly for the event. Aye ! though few women
have been wronged as Emily Walpole had
been wronged, she still cherished her hus
band's image, for he was, despite his errors,
the lover of her youth.
Few girls had been more admired than
Emily Severn. But it was not only the beauty
of her features and ?he elegance of her form
which drew around her a train of worship
pers : her mind was one of no ordinary cast,
and the sweetness of her temper lent an ineff
able charm to all she did. No one was so
eagerly sought for at a ball or a pic-nic as
i \ ^ e ei n, and at her parental fireside
she was the universal favorite. It was long
before she loved. She was not to be misled
by glitter or show. She could only bestow
her affections where she thought thev were de
served, and it was not until she met Edward
Walpole that she learned to surrender her
heart.
Edward Walpole, when he became the hus
band of Emily Severn, was apparently all that
a woman could wish. He was warm-hearted,
of a noble soul, kind, gentle, and ever ready to
waive his own selfish gratification at the call of
duty. But, alas! he had one weakness, he did
not act from principle. His generous deeds were
the offspring of a warm heart rathtr than of a
regulated intellect. As yet he had never been
placed in circumstances which severely tried his
principles. But, about a year alter his mar
riage, he fell heir to the large property of a
maiden auat, and at once his whole style of
life was altered. His accession of wealth
brought him into contact with society in which
hithferto he had never minted, where the
polish of factitious politeness often hides the
most depraved morals. Above all by abatir
doning his profession, he condemned himself
to comparative idleness. He now began to be
tortured by ennui, and sought any excitement
to pass away the time. The harpies who infest
society, and with the appearance of gentlemen
have the hearts of fiends, now marked him for
their prey; and his open and generous nature
made him their victim in a comparative short
space ot time. c shall nut trace his down
ward progress. It is always a melancholy
task to mark the lapse from virtue of a noble
and generous character, and how much more
ho when the heart of a wife is to be broken by
the dereliction from rectitude.
Emily saw the gradual aberration of her
husband, and though i-he mourned the cause,
no word of reproach escaped her lips, but bv i
every gentle means she strove to bring back
her husband to the paths of virtue. ?But a
fatality seemed to have seized him. He was
in a whirlpool from which he could not extri- !
cate himself. He still loved his wife, and
more than once, when her looks cut him to
the heart, he made an effort to break loose
from his associates; but they always found j
means to bring him back ere long/ Thus a
year passed, llis fortune began to give wav,
for he had learnt to gamble. As his losses '
became more frequent his thirst for cards be* !
came greater, until at length he grew sullen
aud desperate. He wa^ now a changed man.
He no longer felt compunction at the wrongs
inflicted on his sweet wife, but if her sad looks ;
touched his heart at all they only stung him iuto
undeserved reproaches. He was become harsh
and violent. Vet his poor wife endured all
in silence. No recrimination passed her lips. '
But in the solitude of her chamber she shed
many a bitter tear, and often, at the hour of !
miduight, when her husband was far away in
some riotous company, her prayers were heard
ascending for him.
Two years had now elapsed, and the last j
one had been a year or' bitter sorrow to Emily.
At length her husband came heme one night
an almost ruined man. He had beeh stripped !
at the gambling table, cf every cent of his !
property over which he had any control, and i
lie was now in a state almost approaching to :
madness. Before morning he was in a hidi i
fever. For days he raved incessently of his 1
ruin, cursing the wretches by whom he had
been plundered. Nine days Lad passed and
now the crisis was at hand.
The clock struck twelve. As sound after
sound rung out on tiro stillness and died away
in echoes, reverberating through the house,
the sick man moved in his sleep, until, when
the last stroke was given, he opened his eyes
and looked languidly and vacantly around. <
His gaze almost instantly met the face of his
wife. For a moment his recollection, couid
be seen struggling in Lis countenance, and at
length an expression of deep mental suffering !
settled in his face. His wife had by this time
risen and was now at his bedside. She saw
tliat the crisis was past, and as she laid her
hand in his, aud felt the moisture of the skin
she knew that he would recover. Tears of
joy gushed from her eyes and dropped on the
sick man's face.
44 Heavenly father, I thank thee!" she mur
mured at length, when her emotion suffered
lier to speak, while the tears streamed faster
and faster down her cheek, 44 he is safe!
he will recover," uud though she ceased
speaking, her lips still moved in silent prayer.
The sick man felt the tears on his face, ke
saw his wife's grateful emotion, he ki*ew ih-t
she was even now praying for him, and as lie
recalled to mind the wrong3 which he had in
flicted on that uncomplaining woman, his
heart was melted within him. There is no
chastener like sickncss; the most stony bosom
softens beneath it. He thought of the loug
days and nights during which he must have
been ill, and when his insulted and "abused
wife had watched anxiously at his bedside.
Oh! how he had crashed that noble heart;
aud now this was her return! She prayed for
him who had wronged her. She shed tears
of joy because her erring husband had beeu
restored, as it were, to life. These things
rushed through his bosom and the strong
man's eyes filled with tears.
44 Emily?dear Emily," lie said, 44 I have
been a villain, and c.jin you forgive me? I
deserve it not at your hands?but can you,
will you forgive a wretch like me ?"
44 Oh! can I forgive you?" sobbed the grate
ful wife, 4iyes! yes! but too gladly. But it is
not against me you have sinned, it is against
a gooi and righteous God."
44I know it?I know it," said the repentant
husband, 44 and to his mercy I look. I cannot
pray for myself, but oh! Emily pray for me.
He has preserved me from the jaws of death.
Pray for me, dear Emily."
The wife knelt at the bedside, and while
the husband, exhausted by his agitation, sank
back with closed eyes on the pillow, see read
the noble petition for ihe sick, from the book
of Common Prayer. At times the sobs of Em
ily would almost choke her utterance, but the
holy words she read had at length, a soothing
effect both on her mind and that of her lius
i band. When the prayer was over, she re
mained for several minutes kneeling, while her
husband murmured at intervals his lieart-felt
responses. At length she rose from the bed
side. Her husband would again have spoken,
to beseech her forgiveness. I3ut with a glad
feeling at her heart?a feeling such as she
had not had for months?she enjoined silence
on him, and sat down again by his bedside to
watch. At length he fell again into a calm
slumber, while the now happy wife watched
at his bedside until morning, breathing thanks
givings for her husband's recovery, and^hed
diiig tears of joy the while.
When the sick man awoke at daybreak, he
was a changed being, lie was now convales
cent, he was more, he was a repentant man.
He wept on the bosom of his wife, and made
resolutions of reformation which, after his
recovery, through the blessings of God, he was
enabled to fulfil.
The fortune of Walpole was mostly gone,
but sufficient remained from its wrecks, to
allow him the comforts, though not the lux
uries of life. He soon settled his affairs and
removed from his splendid mansion to a quiet
cottage in a neighboring village. The only
pang he felt was at leaving the home which
for so many years had been the dwelling of the
head of his family?the home where his uncle
had died, and which had been lost ouly through
his own folly.
Neither "Walpole nor his wife ever regretted
their loss of fortune; for both looked upon it
as the means used by an over-ruling Provi
dence to bring the husband back to the path
of rectitude; and they referred to it therefore
with feelings rather of gratitude than of re
pining. lu their quiet cottage, on the wreck
of their wealth, they enjoyed a happiness to
which they had been strangers in the days of
their opulence. A family of lovely children
sprung up around them, and it was the daily
task of the parents to educate these young
minds in the path of duty and rectitude. Oh!
the happy hours which they enjoyed in that
white, vine-embowered cottage, with their
children smiling around them, and the con
sciousness of a well regulated life, tilling their
hearts with peace.
Years rolled by and the hair of Walpole be
gan to turn gray, while the brow of his sweet
wife showed more than one wrinkle, but still
their happiness remained undiminished.
IIixts on Paper Hanging.?44 Many a fe
ver has been caused by the horrible nuisance
of corrupt size used in paper-hanging iu bed
rooms. The nausea which the sleeper is aware
of on waking in the morning, in such a case,
shyuld be a warning needing no repetition.
Down should come the whole paper at any
cost or inconvenience, for it is an evil which
allows of no tampering. The careless decorator
will say that time will set all right?that the
smell will go off?that airing the room well iu
the uay, aud burning some pungent thing or
other, at night, in the meantime, will do very
well. It will not do verv well: for health, and
?/ - '
even life, may be lost in the interval. It is
not worth while to have one's stomach impaired
for life, or one's nerves shattered, for the sake
of the cest and trouble of papering a room, or
a whole house if necessary. The smell is not
the grievance, but the token of the grievance.
The grievance is animal putridity, with which
we are shut up when this smell is perceptible
in our chambers. Down should come the
paper; and the wall behind should be scraped
clear of every particle of its last covering.
It is astonishing that so lazy a practice as
that of putting a new paper over an old one
should exist to the extent it does. Now and
then an incident occurs which shows the
effect of such absurd carelessness, Not long
ago, a handsome house in London became in
toleralle to a succession of residents, who
could not endure a mysterious bad smell
which pervaded it when shut up from the outer
air. Consultations were held about drains, and
all the particulars that could be thought of,
and all in vain. At last, a clever young man,
who examined the house from top to bottom,
fixed h:s suspicions on a certain room, where
be inserted a small slip of glass in the wall.
It was present y covered, and that repeatedly,
with a putrid dew. The paper was torn down,
and behind it was found a mass of old papers
an inch thick, stuck togeth?r with their layers
of size and exhibiting a spectacle with which
we will not sicken our readers by describ
ing.?Dickens' Household Wordx.
K.EI4T. the Store-house, -with dry goods
I tirunes, on Penniylvinia avenne, between 7th
aud 8th street?, lately occupied by Yi-rby x Miiler.?
For particulars enquir* of YEllBY & MLLLKK.
Miys Dennett's building, corner ol" 7th st. aiid I'enn.
dec 4?
I >KH>ILTUA AiiBOW HOOT?A v?ry supe
L> rkr article, jutt reevhei. W. T. EVANS.
The Snake and Crocodile.?The following
thrilling account of an engagement between a
boa constrictor aud a crocodile in Java, is
given by an eye witness :
It was one morning that I stood beside a
small lake, fed by one of the rills from the
mountains. The waters were clear as crystal
and everything could be seen to the very bot
tom. Stretching its limbs close over this pond,
was a gigantic teak tree, anu in its thick,
shining evergreen leaves, lay a huge boa, iu
an easy coil, taking his morning nap. Above
him was a powerful ape of the baboon species,
a leering race of scamps, always bent on mis
chief.
Now the ape, from his position, saw a croco
dile in the water, rising to the top, exactly
beneath the coil of the serpent. Quick as
thought he jumped upon the snake, which fell
with a splash iuto the jaws of the crocodile.
The ape saved himself by clinging to the limb
of the tree, but a battle immediately com
menced in the water. The serpent, grasped
in the middle by the crocodile, made the water
boil by his furious contortions. Winding his
folds round the body of his antagonist, he
disabled his two hinder legs, and, by his con
tractions, made the scales and bones of the
monster crack.
The water was speedily tinged with the blood
of both combatants, yet neither was disposed
to yield. They rolled over and over, neither
being able to obtain a decided advantage.
All this time the cause of the mischief was in a
state of the highest ecstasy. He leaped up
and down the branches of the tree, uttered a
j 7
yell, and again frisked about. At the end of
ten minutes, silence began to come over the
seene. The folds of the serpent began to be
relaxed, and though they were trembling along
the back, the head hung lifeless in the water.
Tne crocodile also was still, and though
only the spine of his back was visible, it was
evident that he too was dead. The monkey
now perched himself on the lower limbs of the
tree, close to the dead bodies, and amused
himself for ten minutes in making all sorts of
faces.at them. This seemed aiding insult
to injury. One of my companions was stand
ing at a short distance and taking a stone
from the edge of the lake, hurled it at the
ape. lie .was totally unprepared, and as it
struck him on the side of the head, he w;?s
instantly tipped over and fell upon the croco
dile. A few bounds, however, brought him
shore, and taking to the tree, he speedily dis
appeared among the thick branches.
A KNOT OF EEL-GRASS.
BY CHAKLKS CLEWLINE.
The Oswego river isn't navigable far up; for
it is cut off by a bridge about half a mile
from the l.'tke, and a mile further up it is cut
.otf by a dam.
Between this bridge and the dara there is
a rift, which is a famous place for catching
fish in wears, hilt out into the middle of the
river, in form like a Y, with the fork up the
stream, and down to the lower end there is a
crib into which ihe water and fish run, pitch
ing down a little fail of about three feet, and
then as the crib is built of slats, the wator
runs out, leaving the fish to be picked out by
the proprieiurri of the wears.
i. I
They used to catch lots of eels there, and
a rousing follow, b;g as a boy's leg and long
as a stick of wood, was thought dear in Os
wego at fonrpeuce. But, some how, buying
eels, even if v.e g?;t them for nothing, did'nt
suit me, and I determined to steal a few of
them wears up there.
I toll Mrs. Werts, the young widow that
7 v C
I boarded with, what 1 was going at: and
I reckon she was up to them games, for bhe
furnished me with a pillow-?ase to bag my
game and two pairs of woolen mittens to me
iu nobbing the slippery customers; and thus
armed and equipped 1 set out on my mid
night eeling expedition.
When i came abr??sfc of the wear. I dis
covered that the skill' I had seen there at
sun down was gone ; but as I knew that the
water wasn't more'n up to my arms, I did
not care much, aud so I wad? d oil' to the
wear, where I found and bagged about twen
ty real swingers.
My pillow case was nearly full, and I
was just about to get under weigh for home,
when the great-grandaddy of all eels came
walloping down into the water. I pitched
x O # I
into him, but my mittens had gat so slippery,
with the slime of captured eels, that 1 could
not hold him a second. There we had it, for
about ten minutes?up and^down, over and
under, slip slop?till at last, I got mad, and
making a desperate dive for the old fellow, 1
got his head into my mouth, and- Wah !
faugh! what a taste, as teeth crunched through
and through his head until they met, and
the big eel dropped quietly down leaving part
of his cut-water, bit otf somewhere about the
eyes, in my mouth. I spit it out quicker,
and about all my inside *' fixing" with it.
Wasn't I sick? For about twenty minutes
I tried to turn myself wrong side out like a
stocking; and then pillow-cased the old eel,
waded ashore, and mizzled for home as if 1
had swallowed a land crab, and been ridden
for months by a double and twisted attack
of Maumee fever.
Next morning, before I turned out, I heard
the little '*widder" singing out in the back
i ' o
entry, where I'd slung my bag of eels?
"O, Charley ! Charley ! come here quick!"'
Well, I did; and, as I'm a live sinner,
there on the floor, among the eels, and the
biggest of them all, was a thunderiug great
black wafer snake, with his nose bit ojf Just
about the eucs.
%s
Those two pigs in the back yard had an
eel fcreakfast that morning, aud Clewline
swore au'oath never to go wading about in
the night after other peoples' eel3 again.
[CarptL Bag.
Simple honesty, the naked truth, pure vir
tue, and a straight-up-and-down way of deal
ing with the world, have as much advantage
over vices, trieks and stratagems in the long
run, as a good equere trotting-horse has over
a prancing poay or racker, tnat goes his mile
or two like the mischief, and is done fur the
rest of his journey.
WRECK AND IUI\.
A Scene in tke Bay of Naples.
In October, 1848, I went over to the Island
of Capri, some twenty miles from Naples, to
enjoy a rustic festival. Our party consisted
ol some Englishmen and some Italians. The
latter being in the serviee of the Govern
ment, had a fixed time laid to. their leave
of absence. W lien the morning arrived that
was appointed for the departure of our Ital
ian friends, we accompanied thciu to the
shore, where they made their arrangements
tor the passage back to the maiuland. There
was a srotng west-and-by-south wind roar
ing round the Island, and the sea looked
dangerous; but in Naples, where there is no
career for a young man out of Government
j employ, an official must not tritie with bis
; poat. The preparations, therefore, for the
! launching of the boat went on.
It was one of those wide bottomed boats,
commonly u-ed in the port of Naples, upon
which the stran ger starts out for a moon
light row to Tosillippo, or betakes himself
with his portmanteau and his carpet-be**,
or with his wife and her pill-box full of =a
few things to the steamer. Such boats are
not made for riding on a stormy sea. The
men preparing to put out that morning were
our two friends, the officials, and two boat
men. One oi the passengers was hailed by
the Captain of a good strong bark upon the
point of starting. "Come with us, llafi;el
luccio : it will be madness to sail out in that
cockleshell through such a sea."
Kafiieiluccio, a delicate youth, reolied that
he was no coward, lie had come in the
boat, and might go back in the boat, with the
Madona's blessing. The other passenger was
a stout black bearded man, and the two boat
men were a youth and a weather-beaUn sail
or from the port of Naples.
The little harbor at Capri, is so shel
tered from certain winds that there is o*'ten
a deceptive smoothness in its waters. It
was only by looking out to sea, that'one
detected, 011 that wild October morning how
the water writhed under the torture of the
wind. Far as the eye could reach, the sea
was covered with those smaller storm waves,
called in the phrase of tiie country pvcore.
These, as the day advanced, swelled into
great billows, (cuva'loui) which came rolling
011 upon our little island, and clashed vio
lently against the coast of Massa and Somnto.
The boat had been shoved off, and hadie
turned for some article, left accidentally be
hind. A group of weather-wise old sailors
thronged about the lool-li ?rdy crew in vain
urging them to wait for fairer weather; but
they put out to se.i again, aud made strait for
the c.-tpe, under the summer palace oi' Tibe
rius. This is a well known point, which
boatmen often seek when they desire 10
citeti a direct wind for their pa-sage to the
mainland. The gale that had been blowing
round tiie island appeared to pour out lrum
this point its undivided force, aud beat the
sea with a strengtli almost irresistabie. We
S i vv the mast of the little *>oat snap the mo
ment it had reached the cape, and ttie crew
put back not to a'.vait calmer weather, but to
seek another temporary mast, an I start.aicain.
_ r * ?' "
i?o tnreat or persuasion could detain the
Italians, who feared to exceed their term ol'
leave. A rude mast was set up, and again
the boat started, leaping across wave after
wave. We saw 110 more of it. "I watched
it i'ur some distance,1 said rho captain of the
bark, which had started at the same time ?
'? Their mast bent as though it would lue.tk
at every puff of wind, and the little sail
iiuttercti i.Ke a ha n<liv< rehief upon the a a v. s.
In a moment it disappeared, and we knew
that our foreboding had prove 1 true/' The
rest of the tale I had from the iips of tiie
black-bearded olheial, the sole survivor: ;u;d
a wilder tale ot human passioxt does not often
tail wit a in the bounds ol sober truth.
Tiie old mariner at, starting had bplac
ed at the hei.n, as the most competent lu ni
of the party; but there was an alainiing
din reace between the eddies, currents and
bilior.s at the Cape, and the smooth waters
of the i>ay of Naples. A monstrous cacaltone
appeared in the uistance, leaping, roaring,
ioaming. It was close upon their quarter;
its crest overhung them ; and in an instant,
said my informant, they were swallowed up.
The boat was overturned, but the crew?
struggling desperately for life?rose with it
once more to the surface, clinging to its 1 ot
torn. In their last agony they glared upon
each other, lace to face, among tLe heatiug
waves, and the loud execrations of his com
panions were poured passionately 011 ine
ancient inarriuer, wkose want of skill was
cursed as the fatal cause of their despair.
The hold of the poor ol 1 follow, weak with
age and faint with emotion, had not strength
enough to bear up amid the tossing of the
waters, aud as his grasp relaxed, tiie others
watched his weakness with a fiendish satisfac
tion. 44 It is some consolation," exclaimed
one, "to see you die first, fool as you are."
lie did not hear the latest male iictions, but
went down in the deep sea.
The next who died was Raffaelluccio, up
on whose dai'y work the daily bread of a
mother and three children depended. "1 am
still with cold, and can hang on no lonrrer,"'
he said to his companion. "Get on my shoul
ders," was the answer of the stronger man;
and so he did, and so he died, the hvifig man
With the doad weightupou him, grappling still
for lite, and drifting before the storm. The
young boatman, the other surviver, trembling
himself upon the brink of eternity, crept round
to the dead body, anl having robbed it of
a watch and chain, and other valuables,
| pushed it lrorn the shoulders of nis friend into
I the sea. i5-> there ouly remained these two
' men, clinging to the boat and gizing on each
other anxious!v.
The thought had crosse 1 the mind of the
young man that if they lived until they should
i>e thrown ashore, the surviving passenger
would require that he should deliver up ihc
watch and other valHab'.es to the family of
ItaiFaelluccio. He may not have taken them
with a design of theft. lie probably saw
I that the dead body cumbered his com pan
| ion, and committed it from a good human
! motive to the sea, having removed the jew
elry. But to retain possession of the property,
??? a^?
his conscience did not bid him shrink from
murder, of which no eye of man would ev"
see the stain. An uiiei^Mu.1 ui ..
silence liis companion ana le- ve 1 ?W W0U.
boat to drift to land, a sole 00 **
made richer by the wrecv-' "i reid^it
his eyes ' said my inf?railllt. ? ?
was in them, and 1 watched him well; bufa
happy sea raised h.s s.de uf the
was h.s opportunity; aud immediately he
struck a heavy blow upon my be d If ?!
was the younger 1 was the Z hi
summoned me to struggle lnv ilf' J ??
that chance of life which either ?f'us L"j
upon the gulf of waters. There was a horr -
ble wrestling. I am tho onlv surviv.r
"All that day, and through a ?t.-mv
pitch dark night, I lay tossed about, almoa
senseless, in the liay of Naples. But before
dawn on the second day, my boat w'a* cast
ashore at TorrcdeU' Annuniiata, and tlie-c
locked between two rocks. I had* "i ?
strength to crawl to the Coast-guard-hon-e'
in which 1 perceived that lights were
twinkling. 1 was spurned. My papers were
demanded.
44 Faint as I was, in time I found it po^i
ble to make the good officials understand un
ease, and excuse the production of creientii*
from the fi<hes. They took me in at;d treated
; me with Christian kindness. My looks h id
j frightened them?my face was bloated, and
! my eyes protruded like those of * lobster "
The mother of Raifaelluccio was livin- in
Capri, and L was there when the news cTute
hack el her sou's fate. In the darkness of an
October night, the ruined family?the bereux
ed mother and her daughters?mounted
their house-top, and turuing towards the
shrieked wildiy for the sou and brother wiluui
^held from them.
The voice of woe that then thrilled in niv
ears will never be forgotten. 1 never knew
till then what agony could be, not expressed
only, but communicated by the wail of women.
GxtEAT XED1CXL DICOVEKY!
1VITII sueh testimony. no stronger proof run he-iv
T T ??> uuiet* it be inai oftlii> Wwuderfui llacupt Ve
^e^etabie Tincture.
Let the ailiicted read! read !
1>AKU LLLVILLL. AUXGANT CotXTT, (Md..) )
Mm j 4, Itos. j
To M'Sxrg. Mnrtimrr cf- Mowbray:
i>i:AU&ias: in justice v> ui. ilampton'tf Vegetable Tia>
ture. i wist. U> iuform yoa that I wat.tak<-n sick t.u ti e
?>d ol .J.tuutry iasi. with au atf -ciiouoi tueatouiach,
boweif, and kitlno s. I was attended by f ?ur eminent
pii}\-i "iaut lor more thn.ii two niout-ns?m 1 i to n'Ue?r
ii j I had si me knowledge of the j*re:tt virtue iu
Hampton'^ Tincture fr?>m one bottle which iuj wiic
h:t'l takei. two year* sin e.
I came t<> the con iu>ion that I would t ike no m^re
mejiciue from my physician*, but try the Tiuctur*
and i hiu happy t?? inform you I had not take* it .v
days Ih f ?re I tell its powerful influence upon w
stomach. 1 have continued jr the Tiucturc. an<l nui
a ?w aide 11 leave my room, and can eat any couiui< a
diet wiiuout much inconvenience or prepare oa n.v
sl-iuaeh.
The afdicted or their friends are daily visiting: nmto
learu ~jt the great virtue there is iu this Tincture f
j liumpton's.
1 xpeet to send you several certificates in a f 'w.!?v??
one especially from a young lady who li"s been contitol
to ner room twelve monidis, \?ilh a di^ase of die Le?a,
alicciing the br.tin.
Respectfully yours, K. W. IIALL
On the permancy of the cure hear him. Still another
lett r froai the above I
liARKELLVlLLF.. ALLEGANY C H NTY,
OfUilvr 1-i, hoi. )
M s-rs. Mortimer d If -xcbrag :
Okah mks: 1 aai hippy to inf >rm you tliat this ia*
finds me iu the enjoyment o: ^'*>d Ileal ih, by tti? u*
of \our Hampton's i'luciune and the l?ie->uar ? f <e?j 1
utii nibbled lo pursue my daily avnnatioa> a? u>u*...
1 tune a ureat d'.'ire that t le aoti'ted yhouki ?i- *
chi,' ^:e::t eura ive power." of the 'iiucture.
x j\iu with respect, vourti, H'. UAL!.
T:5 K ALMOST MIItACUL0U?CUi5EMn? le-> Ilv -
toii !? \ eutllt >le Tin; lure Oil our IUos( .
! zeos?iueu well kn iwti and trie I?*e ?!i < ,?.
woii-i to f'iiow anvil.iugoa rect?r?i in yieieiuei j
it. !? 's\y iowi /;U;'C Jci' it.< lf \h my f/iiwt'* i *
j Ui*: su nt ttsU 'iohy.
P.fLTIXORE, July ?>, 1-CJ,
| M*syrs. M>rtitr*r rf : <<ei i-:
j Iht I ??.ig ait ;ekeu w:;ln;rysi < ;iS. fr'Uii whi? l: * ijr. ? ;;ui
u cer f ;i: e ? ??u my i:^L. !e,^. (idtin; N 't r 1 '
last Xovmbi-r I !?*>k a (Jeep colli, wliieh ],>( t?.? >t
1 V J '13 sieiail to id i,i?. Mas O'iKUS pieur.-V. u!i;<li f'l
j !fi" v,;:h a <0.; ivpiv ?lld j ivl 1! ?
| itavinr no rest tlay or ni^bl. and c? n iaiitly ti.n ? : -
; lip ;r >ui my :t U:i'*kmatter. 1 be-auje tiaic
; e..- at"d. jrrownu wear.er*-very day. and ke? | iui: 1.0 1
; :.i.? gj?;;?o;r part of the ti:?e. >ly trieudb tboujlil i ' -"i I
I'.ie <*? >(i.?nmplioii. a;:d at t'.iiie" I v.'as also of I "
Opiniou. At th.> of my di^'as-. afer liavii '1
in mv and var.otis 1 ? wiitiout tu- e".
advi-?il iue '.o ti v i'li. iiAUl f )N .* V i.01.1
1 LVC'I'KK. nil'! pr cur?*<J ?r>* a l<ottie. ?Li ii 1 -i " i' "
! nounce tlie jie-.i-M uiiMHvtie I ever t *ok. IM r<-1 . I
la-", a half the c ?iltent- of on b'U.e 1 fp'l '??u ^
proved ; and now. h.iviuir tak?*n 1'iit f"-'' ?*?tl?-, if
cot.tyn and horr *n'irr ?/ /?/1 ?c. auJ 1 uia ,T
bittU to atuod to hu.-in>*.<*. J ctn truly ?ay thai. ?i'^
the bVA^iii'* of <?wii. I have I*-n r?*rtt<>
I hejtlf.h 1 iiovt e.ijoy by the use of thi? *tn??t i? v* ? ?*
| medi'iue. Youis, W hSU-V !?'h
Svhr^Jer. Lear tiara?4r-et
r"ni.?>Vi>rTfT. An?. IH. lk'1.
Nr.J. K. Ji/tHfh?l*-,r Mr: WLi e I am in p,i.,,'*l
o;?|?om"| to P;-.tcr.: i-'ie--. ? ;.nd'T e n:;. !? ? I
ttial 1 hav?* L'i?*.jt c n ; I nee in the vii tue- < ! !
tons \e^er?h!e 'linetnre. Fr.r ?ereral month* t. - ?
us?d i^ in my tau.ilr, an I in i" F ?ia. !<?? ?
f etj'e, oi. z;n?-s. hi| j .-en.-nil l? i 'v.vitr. erjt:r- ?
? e S. So f-ir a- Ui V e' p r e . ??f e\t< II !.?. 11 T' t'Tr. I >' *
! !?? i- up ir: rer*o?nmen Jing it ?o ,i(e :???'>??? i >. ? >
and eUacieat MMdf. VfckXOM KSUlKkt
For ?%Je by f. Ptott A Co.. Wnt-hin^n. T? C
Wallace K ? i?t. c>r. K ?nd 1-' ' ' I
I). B. Clark#-, cor. M l. *t. Ill# W
J. Wjm-r. ?'?IL -t.. n<" r f,< ue:sr*?T
>!clntir?'>, c r. I and 7th *t.
(irav x lUllantyne. 7th rt.. at-*:
ii. s. T. Ci"K:IJ. ??e'?rretfiwn.
C. C. Berry. Alexandria, Va.
And by I.T'i^'i-t* ir-Tjernllv. ?-v< nrwher?
MORTIMKH A MOWBRAY,
General As-ent?, Baltimore#*
ROSb'S KERVOL'S CORDIAL!
Tiv trif.fi Vutuau; >*irat;on in M'uval
rI,?lK thousand^ who are suTerir^ with any M:-'
j J[ Affe tioxk will find inime .i.ite re.ief in unt ? ?'
i w(?nf:erful C,>p ml. It eures Neuralp.a. H'.'.rt I/i-*^
} ^a pit ttion. ?|e rt> urn. Nervon# Head-AcJ.e. lr? n.
! toe MuRc.es o; tWsh. Wakefullnefw, and all r
td the luiad or body; whether w^rn down by car*
bor. or atudv.
Thia truly wond'-rful Med?eirr. from i,? jvctj]:*? ?
: y e!Wt in alhiv nir the mo't vi'! i.t S?-r\ j- A -
"nd compietelv era ii?-:-Tir Z theru fr -in the h t?-i
justly iv Urmed the jrr:im <e-t di- ov ry ia th ? ?-i n '
*l?ti:c ne. It subdues and av?-rt" all !:io?e .'?e'?'>u? -
??ti*1 over whi*h the c.o-t profjui.d in*-Ji :1 ?k:*
hitherto had no c^?ntrol. It is a ^tnd restorer io ^ (
ius? ?p a weak constiiutVm. alreadr worn ' n '1
i *r>'r*1
',u?i,tl/ cured by usiux a single b-itl*.
rnce .^i cents, and to bo had ft th<* st r?- of
Z. D. ii ih/iau, W. IL Giluan,
t L.r 1 Co-' Sanurl Butt,
^a'lan, John W. \*im,
T t /V, -Wci' * Lawpenre, IVa Wiirirton niy,
- Is- nidwcll, Cie'Tjeto* u, < 1). t < tie
toviUvrcsiu a: xauiiiju - --

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