Decorah public opinion., October 18, 1895, Image 6

About Decorah public opinion. (Decorah, Winneshiek County [Iowa]) 1895-1928

Image provided by: State Historical Society of Iowa

                
H)R RUBES SAKE.
[j] r=],Si] ORKING HOURS
\WvAvi// were ovti r in the
\\m\m Great White can
yon. Mary Vernon
pulled down the
At'** jT little window of the
\t» *j?| postoffice of which
‘Qjv' \ she was the mis
- / '..Jfga tress, swept the
4 ' contents of the nar
t| row counter into a
drawer, which she
locked; then pinning a broad-leaved
hat above the brown curls that clus
tered about her brow she passed out of
her log cabin into the sweet evening
air.
As she reached the low fence which
ran before her house a hurried footstep
sounded through the gathering gloom,
and a man s voice said;
“Is that you, Mary, my girl? You
look little more than a ghost under the
shadow of those bushes.”
‘‘You've kept your promise, dearest,
and come to see me,” she cried, as she
threw herself into the arms of her lover.
Reuben Halse kissed the red lips so
frankly offered him before he spoke.
‘‘Yes, Mary, I've kept my promise,
but I’ve come to say good-bye,”
‘‘Good-by— good-by? You’re going
away? You’re going to leave me—
jour sweetheart —your wife that is to
be?”
“My dear little girl, don’t cry—don’t
grieve. You've been my sweetheart,
faithful and true, but we can never
marry.”
The strong man's voice broke and
died into silence.
‘‘Go on; tell me the worst,” sobbed
the girl in his arms.
"Listen, dear. You know that lately
things have gone wrong with me. The
bit of monej* I’ve saved up for our wed
ding in the fall w r as stolen, and then
the cabin I'd built for you down by the
Glue Pools was burned. Still, there was
the farm stock and your little purse of
saving left, but thb drought has killed
the stock and —oh, Mary, how can I tell
you?”
Mary drew apart from her lover and
steadied her trembling form against the
garden fence.
"Some one has robbed you of the
money I gave you. Oh, my poor boy—”
She stretched forth her pitying hands
toward the man before her, who only
bowed his head and shuffled his feet in
the thick, white dust.
"Tell me, Reuben; tell me how it hap
pened. Ah, surely, you are not think
ing I shall blame you for such a mis
fortune?” and once more she crept to
his side.
Rut Reuben thrust her from him.
“ ’Twas no misfortune; ’twas a crime.
Your little savings, those few coins
RUBE CONFESSES,
you’ve starved and scraped to keep, lie
there.”
He pointed with his lean, brown hand
down the canyon to where, amidst a
dense mass of foliage, a few lights
twinkled.
Mary staggered.
“Down there? At Ffolliott’s!”
“Aye, lass—at Ffolliott’s! I lost all
at faro last night.”
For a moment no sound but the even
ing breeze whispered among the creep
ers and bushes, and the harsh note of a
night bird broke the silence. Then a
woman’s voice, tender and low, and full
of tears, murmured: “Rube, dear
Rube, I forgive you.”
“Don’t, Mary, don’t! I’d rather you
would strike me.”
The stars twinkled their diamond eyes
on the man and girl as they said fare
well. For Reuben had settled to leave
the canyon that night.
“Bill Redfern, One-eyed Sammy and
Joe, the Portugee, are going, too.
We’re all broke, and maybe will starve
out there.” and he waved his hand to
wards the wide forest land of Arizona,
“as in this canyon here. Don’t sob so,
my girl, you’ll break my heart. I’m
not worth a tear from your pretty eyes,
or a choke in your white throat. But.
Mary, you might pray for me some
times, and when you’re married to a
good chap as don’t go to Ffolliott’s and
neglect his farm for the tables and bar,
think of uie—who loved you, but was
not worthy to have you.”
* * *
Reuben Halse and his companions
had been gone from the Great White
canyon for a week. Mary’s cheeks,
never very full of color, had grown
pale and heavy, and blue lines beneath
her large eyes told of sleepless nights
end many tears.
Y’et Paul Harding—" Beauty" Paul as
he was called in the canyon—thought
he had never seen Mary look so lovely,
as he clattered up to the door of the
postofllce one morning and asked the
young postmistress if there was any
thing for him.
"Nothing for you to-day.”
Yet Paul seemed loath to go. He
ulled his long, tawny moustache, Jin
led* his spurred boots upon the door,
'id continued to /tare through tin*
pigeon-hole window at the girl, and she
flitted about her usual business.
"Anything I can do for you?” she
asked him presently.
"No,” Paul said slowly, taking in
every detail of the girl’s pretty figure,
clad in cotton frock of gentian blue.
“But might I speak to one miuutc—
privately?”
"You can say what you’ve got to say
where you are.”
"How different you keep your place
from what a man's shanty is ”
“You live down by the Blue Pools,
don't you?”
"Yes, next to Reuben Halse, till his
place was burned out, and he came to
my shanty. I saw Rube three days
back.”
“You saw Rube?” Mary clasped her
hands above her heart.
"Yes. He and his chums passed
through Lon Tom’s ranch. I've been
out there this two months past, help
ing him brand and count the cattle.
Rube told me that you and he had
parted and the reason why. He asked
me to look after you a bit. You see,
we’ve been good pals, and I’d like to do
him a turn now he’s gone under. You
will let me look after you now and
again, won’t you, for Rube’s sake?”
The handsome cowboy, tall and
strong as a giant, clad in the pictur
esquely rough clothes of his calling,
bent like a retd before the tiny, blue
eyed figure of the postmistress, who
laid a slender white hand in his great
palm and lifted her violet eyes to his
dark ones.
“Surely, Paul Harding, for Rube’s
sake, you may look after me when I
can’t look after myself.”
It was for Rube’s sake that the fol
lowing Sunday Paul dressed himself in
his best, brought a little two-wheeled
cart, gay with bells and bright colors,
to Mary’s door, and asked her to drive
out with him.
The day was fair, and “Beauty” Paul
amused her with stories of Rube, and
when they came to an end he told her
of his own home, in the heart of a
green country in England.
He made her laugh with his tales of
college life, and shudder with his de
scriptions of the campaign in Egypt,
which he had gone through. Only he
did not tell her how he, an English
gentleman, and a gallant officer, came
to be loafing and drinking and gam
bling away his days and his health In
Great White canyon.
The next Sunday Mary shut herself
within her log cabin, and neither the
blue sky nor the gay cart and smartly
caparisoued horse, nor “Beauty” nor
himself could wheedle her out.
She would not be seen, she said stern
ly, with one of Ffolliott’s lot. She,
however, repented and forgave him on
his promise to amend for her sake.
As weeks and months went by, and
the green of the canon changed to red
and gold, Paul found that if he was io
"look after” Mary he had to give up
the saloon.
And, indeed, for a space Ffolliott's
knew him not, till one October morning
his allowance—the money which bought
his family freedom from his disgrace
ful presence—arrived from England.
For the next week Ffolliott’s was a
pandemonium, with the “Beauty" as a
presiding demon.
Mary heard of it and refused to speak
to or look at him. Then it was that he
flung himself before her one day and
prayed her to save him from that which
he was powerless to save himself—from
drink, and dice, and bad companions.
And she did what other good women
have done before and will do again.
She placed her hand in his and with
her heart full of Rube Halse, she prom
ised to marry Paul—for her soul's sake.
The eve of the marriage day arrived,
and with it Paul’s allowance from Eng
land. The occasion and opportunity
suggested a carouse, and Paul informed
the "boys” he would be standing tr°at
at Ffolliott’s that night for the last
time.
Paul was full of liquor—he had drank
Mary’s health with every man in the
place—and he was also full of luck,
for once in a way. A pile of gold lay
before him on the table, and he was
just proposing another round in Mary’s
honor, when big Bill Redfern strode in
and was greeted with a shout of "Hal
loo, Bill; you back! What luck, pard?”
“Luck, my lads! I leave luck to fools
and dead beats. I’ve been working,
and, thank God, I’ve worked for some
thing. I’ve put my sweat and muscle
into the ground and I’ve struck ore!
None of your dust or pockets, but a
vein as broad as an ox’s back, and as
long as a river, and so I've come back
with Rube —"
Paul looked up with a start. Here
was he drunk in a gambling hell on the
eve of his marriage with Mary, and
Rube had come back.
“What did you say?” he muttered.
“I said Rube and I had come back.
But don’t let me disturb the game.
Come, come, have a drink; I’m standing
treat, and as to Rube, here’s his healih
and Mary's!”
“I’m standing treat!” shouted Paul,
springing up. “Have a drink with
me?” And with this he flung liis
liquor p« Bill's face and made a rush at
him.
A pistol flashed, u blue puff of smoke
died in the hot air, and "Beauty” Paul
lay stone dead on Ffolliott's floor.
Some of them went up to the post
office to break the news to Mary. There
was a light in the window, and by it
they saw Rube and her sitting talking.
Quietly and with bowed heads they left
the cottage and returned to Ffolliott's
without fulfilling their mission.
Next day r. jury,
having considered all the circumstances
of the case, and with due appreciation
of Bill Kedfern’s prowess as a dead
shot, decided that Paul had courted cn
purpose a certain death, and they re
turned a verdict of “suicide while of
unsound mind.”
If the United States were as densely
populated as Japan, they would have u
population of %0,000,000.
TALMAGE'S SERMON.
STORY OF THE HEROIC RESCUE
OF ISAAC.
(■olilrn Test: llrholil the Klre anil the
Woml, llut Where I* the l.auth'.’ —
Hon 7 Abraham's Supreme Trial
Delivered Oct. 13, IHII3.
ERE are Abraham
j/Ie! and Isaac: the one
a kind, old, gra
]l| cions, affectionate
If I I father; the other a
JMI brave. obedient.
Id — religious son.
—From his bronzed
''SvxST appearance you
can
son has been much
in the fields, and
from his shaggy dress you know that
he ha 3 been watching the herds. The
mountain air has painted his cheek
rubicund. He is twenty, or twenty
five, or, as some suppose, thirty-three
years of age; nevertheless a boy, con
sidering the length of life to which
people lived in those times, and the
fact that a son never is anything but
a boy to a father. I remember that my
father used to come into the house
when the children were home on some
festival occasion, and say: “Where
are the boys?” although “the boys”
were twenty-five, and thirty, and thir
ty-five years of age. So this Isaac is
only a boy to Abraham, and his father’s
heart is in him. It. is Isaac here and
Isaac there. If therv is any festivity
around the father’s tent, Isaac must
enjoy it. It is Isaac’s walk, and Isaac’s
apparel, and Isaac’s manners, and
Isaac’s prospects, and Isaac’s prosper
ity. The father’s heart-strings are all
wrapped around that boy, and wrapped
again, until nine-tenths of the old
man’s life is in Isaac. I cau just
imagine how lovingly and proudly he
looked at his only 30:1.
Well, the dear old mah had borne a
great deal of trouble, and it had left
its mark upon him. In hieroglyphics
of wrinkle the story was written from
forehead to chin. But now his trouble
seems all gone, and we are glad that he
is very soon to rest forever. If the old
man shall get decrepit, Isaac is strong
enough to wait on him. If the father
get dim of eyesight. Isaac will lead him
by the hand. If the father become des
titute, Isaac will earn him bread. How
glad we are that the ship that has been
in such a stormy sea is coming at last
into the hai bor. Are you not rejoiced
that glorious old Abraham is through
with his troubles? No! no! A thun
derbolt! From that clear eastern sky
there drops into tha* rathcr’s tent a
voice with an announcement enough
to turn black hair white, and to stun
the patriarch into instant annihilation.
God said: “Abraham!” The old man
answered: “Here I am.” God said to
him: “Take thy son, thy only son
Isaac, whom thou lovest, and get thee
into the land of Moriah, and offer him
there as a burnt-offering.” In other
words, slay him; cut his body into
fragments; put the fragments on the
wood; set Are to the wood, and let
Isaac's body be consumed to ashes.
“Cannibalism! Murder!" says some
one. "Not so.” said Abraham. I hear
him soliloquize: “Here is the boy on
whom l have depended! Oh, how I
loved him! He was given in answer to
prayer, and now must l surrender him?
O Isaac, my son! Isaac, how shall I
part with you? But then it is always
safer to do as God asks me to; I have
been in dark places before, and God
got me out. 1 will implicitly do as
God has told me, although it is very
dark. I can't see my way. but I know
God makes no mistakes, and to him
I commit myself and my darling son.”
Early in the morning there is a stir
around Abraham’s tent. A beast of
burden is fed and saddled. Abraham
makes no disclosure of the awful se
cret. At the break of day he says:
"Come. come. Isaac, get up! We are
going off on a two or three days' jour
ney.” I hear the axe hewing and split
ting amid the wood until the sticks
are made the right length and the right
thickness, and then they are fastened
o.i the beast of burden. They pass on
—there are four of ,aem—Abraham,
the father; Isaac, the son: and two
servants. Going along the road. I see
Isaac looking up into his father's face
and saying: “Father, what is the mat
ter? Are you not well! Has anything
happened? Are you tired? Lean on
my arm.” Then, turning around to
the servants, the son says: “Ah! fa
ther is getting old, and he has had
trouble enough in other days to kill
him.”
The third morning has come, and it
is the day of the tragedy. The two
servants are left with the beast of bur
den. while Abraham and his son Isaac,
as was the custom of good people in
those times, went up on the hill to sac
rifice to the Lord. The wood is taken
off the beast's back, and put on Isaac’s
bark. Abraham has in one hand a pan
of coals or a lamp, and in the other a
sharp, keen knife. Here are all the
appliances for sacrifice, you say. No,
there is one thing wanting; there is
no victim—no pigeon, or heifer, or
lamb. Isaac, not knowing that he is
to lie the victim, looks up into his fa
ther’s face, ami asks a question which
must have cut the old man to the bone:
“My father!” The father said: "My
son. Isaac, here I am.” The son said:
“Behold the fire and the wood, but
where is the lamb?” The father’s lip
quivered, and liis heart fainted, and his
knees knocked together, and his entire
body, mind and soul shivered In sick
ening anguish as ho struggles to gain
equipoise; for he does not want to
break down. And then he looks into
his son's face, with a thousand rushing
tendernesses, and says: “My son, God
will provide himself a lamb.”
The twain are now at the foot of
the hill, the place which is to be famous
lor a most transcendent occurrence.
i They gather seme stones out of the
field, and build an altar of three or
four feet high. Then they take this
wood off Isaac’s back and sprinkle it
over the stones, so as to help and in
vite the flame. The altar is done —it te
all done. Isaac has helped to build it.
With his father h*> nas discussed
whether the top of the table is even,
and whether the wood is properly pre
pared. Then there is a pause. The
son looks around to see if there is not
some living animal that can be caugnt
and butchered for the offering. Abra
ham tries to choke down his fatherly
feelings and suppress his grief, in or
der that he may break to his son the
terrific news (hat he is to be the victim.
Ah! Isaac never looked more beauti
ful than on that day to his father. As
the old man ran his e*naclated fingers
through his son’s hair, he said to him
self: “How shall I give him up?
What will his mother say when I come
back without my boy? I thought he
would have been tbe comfort of my de
clining days. ] thought he would have
been the hope of ages to come. Beau
tiful and loving, and yet to die under
niv own hand. Oh. God! i:: there not
some other sacrifice that will do? Take
my life, and spare his! Four out my
blood, and save Isaac for his mother
and the world!" But this was an in
ward struggle. The father controls his
feelings, and looks into his son’s face,
and says: “Isaac, must 1 tell you all?”
His son said: - “Yes, father. 1 thought
you had something on your mind; tell
it.” The father said: “My son, Isaac,
thou art the lamb!’* *’Oh,” you say,
“why didn’t that young man, if he
was twenty or thirty years of age.
smite into the dust his infirm father?
He could have done it.” Ah! Isaac
knew by this time that the scene was
typical of a Messiah who was to come,
and so he made no struggle. They fell
on each other's necks, and wailed out
the parting. Awful and matchless
scene of the wilderness. The rocks
echo back the breaking of their hearts.
The cry: “My son! my eon!” The an
swer: “My father! my lather!”
Do not compare this, as some people
have, to Agamemnon, willing to offer
up his daughter, Iphigenia, to please
tbe gods. There is nothing comparable
to this wonderful obedience to the true
God. You know that victims for sac
rifice were always bound, so that they
might not struggle away. Rawlings,
the martyr, when he was dying for
Christ’s sake, said to the blacksmith
who held the manacles: “Fasten those
chains tight now. for iny flesh may
struggle mightily.” Bo Isaac's arms
are fastened, his feet are tied. The old
man, rallying all his strength, lifts him
on to a pile of wood. Fastening a
thong on one side of the altar, he
makes it span the body of Isaac, and
fastens the thong at the other side the
altar, and another thong, and another
thong. There is the lamp flickering
in the wind, ready to be put under the
brush-wood of the altar. There is the
knife, sharp and keen. Abraham,
struggling with his mortal feelings on
the one side, and the commands of God
on the other-takes that knife, rubs
the flat of it on the palm of his hand,
cries to God for help, comes up to the
side of the altar, puts a parting kiss ou
the brow of bis boy, takes a message
from him for mother and borne, and
then, lifting the glittering weapon for
the plunge of the death-stroke—his
muscles knitting for the work—the
hand begins to descend. It falls! Not
on the heart of Isaac, but on the arm
of God, who arrests the stroke, making
the wilderness quake with the cry:
“Abraham! Abraham! lay not thy hand
upon the lad. nor do him any harm!”
What is this sound back in the
woods! It is a crackling as of tree
branches, a bleating and a struggle.
Go, Abraham, and see what it is. Oh,
it was a ram that, going through the
woods, has itß crooked horns fastened
and entangled in the brushwood, and
could not get loose; and Abraham
seizes it gladly, and quickly unloosens
Isaac from the altar, puts the ram on
in his place, sets the lamp under the
brushwood of the altar, and as the
dense smoke of the sacrifice begins to
rise, the blood rolls down the sides of
the altar, and drops hissing into the
fire, and I hear the words: "Behold
the Lamb of God who takes away the
sins of the world.”
Out yonder, in this house, is an aged
woman; the light of heaven in her face;
she is half-way through the door; she
has her hand on the pearl of the gate.
Mother, what would you get out of this
subject? “Oh,” she says, “I would learn
that it is in the last pinch that God
comes to the relief. You see the altar
was ready, and Isaac was fastened on
it. and the knife was lifted; and just
at the last moment God broke in and
stopped proceedings. Ho it has been
in my life of seventy years. Why, sir.
there was a time when the flour was
all out of the house; and I set the table
at noon and had nothing to put on it;
but five minutes of one o’clock a loaf of
bread came. The Lord will provide.
My son was very sick, and I said: ‘Dear
Lord, you don’t mean to take him away
from me, do you? Please, Lord, don’t
take him away. Why. there are neigh
bors wlio have three and four sons;
this is my only son; this is my Isaac.
Lord, you won’t take him away from
me, will you?’ But I saw he was get
ting worse and worse all the time, and
I turned round and prayed, until after
awhile I felt submissive, and I could
say: ‘Thy will, O Lord, be done!’ The
doctors gave him up. And, as was the
custom in those times, we had made the
grave-clothes, and we were whispering
about the last exercises when I looked,
and i saw some perspiration on his
brow, showing that the fever had
broken, and be spoke to us so naturally,
that l knew that he was going to get
well. He did get well, and my son
Isaac, whom 1 thought was going to be
slain and consumed of disease, was loos
ened from that altar.; And bless your
souls, that's been so for seventy years;
and if ray voice were not so weak, and
if I could see better, 1 could preach to
you younger people a sermon; for
though I can’t see much, I can see this;
whenever you get into a tough place,
and your heart is breaking, if you will
look a little farther into the woods,
you will see, caught in the branches, a
substitute and a deliverance. ‘My son,
God will provide himself a lamb.’ ”
Thank you, mother, for that short
sermon. I could preach back to you
for a minute or two and say. never do
you fear. I wish I had half ns good,
hope of heaven as you have. Do not
fear, mother: whatever happens, no
harm will ever happen to you. I was
going up a long flight of stairs; and I
saw an aged woman, very decrepit, and
with a cane, creeping on up. She made
but very little progress, and I felt very
exuberant; and I said to her: “Why,
mother, that is no way to go up-stairs;”
and I threw my arms around her and I
carried her up and put her down on the
landing at the top of the stairs. She
said: “Thank you, thank you; I am
very thankful.” O mother, when you
get through this life’s work and you
want to go up-stairs and rest in the
good place that God has provided for
you, you will not have to climb up—
you will not have to crawl up painfully.
The two arms that were stretched on
the cross will be flung around you, and
you will be hoisted with a glorious lift
beyond all weariness and all struggle.
May the God of Abraham and fsaac be
with you until you see the Lamb on the
hill-tops.
Now. that aged minister has made a
suggestion, and this aged woman has
made a suggestion: I will make a sug
gestion: lsaae going up the hill makes
me think of the great sacrifice. Isaac,
the only son of Abraham. Jesus, the
only Son of God. On those two “onlys”
I build a tearful emphasis. O Isaac!
O Jesus! But this last sacrifice was a
most tremendous one. When the knife
wns lifted over Calvary, there was no
votee that cried “Stop!” and no hand
arrested it. Sharp, keen, and ti«?men
dous, it cut down through nerve and
artery until the blood sprayed the faces
of the executioners, and the mid-day
sun dropped a veil of cloud over its
face because it could not endure the
spectacle. O Isaac, of Mount Moriah!
O Jesus, of Mount Calvary! Better
could God have thrown away into an
nihilation a thousand worlds than to
have sacrificed his only Son. It was
not one of ten sons —it was his only
Son. If he had not given up him, you
and I would have perished. "God so
loved the world that he gave his only
—.” I stop there, not because I have
forgotten the quotation, but because
I want to think. "God so loved the
world that he gave His only begotten
Son, that whosoever believeth in him
should not perish, but have everlasting
life.” Great God! break my heart at
the thought of that sacrifice. Isaac the
only, typical of Jesus the Only.
You see Isaac going up the hill and
carrying the wood. O Abraham, why
not take the load off the boy? If he is
going to die so soon, why not make his
last hours easy? Abraham knew that
in carrying that wood up Mount Moriah,
Isaac was to be a symbol of Christ
carrying his own cross up Calvary. I
do not know how heavy that cross was
—whether It was made of oak, or acacia,
or Lebanon cedar. I suppose 't may
have weighed one, or two, or three hun
dred pounds. That was the lightest
part of the burden. All the sins and
sorrows of the world were wound
around that cross. The heft of one, the
heft of two worlds: earth and hell
were on his shoulders. O Isaac, carry
ing the wood of sacrifice up Mount Mo
riah. O Jesus, carrying the wood of
sacrifice up Mount Calvary, the agonies
of earth and hell wrapped around that
cross. I shall never see the heavy load
on Isaac’s back, that I shall not think
of the crushing load on Christ’s back.
For whom that load? For you. For
you. For me. For me. Would that all
the tears that we have ever wept over
our sorrows had been saved until this
morning, and that we might now pour
them out on the lacerated back and
feet and heart of the Son of God.
You say; "If this young man was
twenty or thirty years of age did not he
resist? Why was It not Isaac binding
Abraham instead of Abraham binding
Isaac? The muscle in Isaac’s arm was
stronger than the muscle in Abraham’s
withered arm. No young man twenty
five years of age would submit to have
his father fasten him to a pile of wood
with intention of burning.” Isaac was
a willing sacrifice, and so a type of
Christ who willingly came to save the
world. If all the armies of heaven had
resolved to force Christ out from the
gate, they could not have done It.
Christ was equal with God. If all the
battalions of glory had armed them
selves and resolved to put Christ forth
and make him come out and save this
world, they could not have succeeded
in it. With one stroke he would have
toppled over angelic and archangelic
dominion. • • •
I have been told that tho cathedral
of 3t. Mark’s stands in a quarter In the
center of the city of Venice, and that
when the clock strikes twelve at noon,
all the birds from the city and the re
gions round about the city fly to ths
square and settle down. It came in this
wise: A large-hearted woman pa.ising
one noonday across the square, saw
some birds shivering in the cold, and
she scattered some crumbs of bread
among them. The next day, at the
same hour, she scattered more crumbs
of bread among them, and so on from
year to year until the day of her death.
Jn her will she bequeathed a certain
amount of money to keep up the same
practice, and now, at the first stroke of
the bell at noon, the birds begin to
come there, and when the clock has
struck twelve, the square is covered
with them. How beautifully suggestive.
Christ comes out to feed thy soul to
day. The more hungry you feel your
selves to be, the better it Is. It Is noon
and the Gospel clock strikes twelve.
Come In flocks! Come as doves to the
window! AH the air is filled with the
liquid chime: Come! Come! Cornel
A Silent Appeal For Help.
When yonr kidnevs or bladder are in
active they are making a silent appeal for
help. Don't Jisregard it, but with Hostet
ter's Stomach Ritters safely impel them to
aetivitv. They are in immediate danger,
and it is foolhardiness to shut one’s eyes to
the fact. Re wise in time, too, it you ex
perience manifestations of dyspepsia, ma
laria. rheumatism, constipation or nerve
trouble. The Ritters before a meal adds
zest to it.
A ('miip»lj;ii ble.
The Indiana Man—How in the world did
did you get beat out of that office, Jim?
The Kansas Man—The vile opposition
started n rumor, too late for me to contra
dict, that I wore long whiskers to hide a
silk necktie.
Health
Built on the solid foundation of pure,
healthy blood is real uud lasting. As
loug as you have rich red blood you will
have uo sickness.
When you allow your ,blood to become
thin, depleted, robbed of the little red
corpuscles which indicate Its quality,
you will become tired, worn out, lose
your appetite and strength and disease
will soon have you In Its grasp.
Purify, vitalize and enrich your blood,
and keep it pure by taking
Hood’s
Sarsaparilla
The One True Blood Purifier prominently
In the public eye. st. All druggists.
Un;i|„ cure liakilual consUpa
-1100(1 S Fills * ion. Price Ssc. per box.
BITCyTC o*l Hi. h QiiWljr. iWnrt for Ibt*«iUo*m Wm
|A I CR I W Ltd.” Kdgal Tat- It Cuuipanj, !4i tiroaUway, N.Y.
ittKIHIIT MUSIC
Sand for cat. A. Ku1mA00.,1748 Chouteau Ara., Mt-Louia.
w.noHßis,
Vltlvullwll WaHlihigton, D.f,
Prosecutes Claims.
■ Late Principal Examiner u.B. Pension Bureau.
■ Synlulaat war. lStufiutUcatuigclauiui attyelute
ifiIMTS^^NTED!
wSno per day selling our new
goods. Wanted In every family. Send stamp for
full particulars. It. A. IIAKT A CO.,
4£ Lincoln Nt., Hattie Creek. Mich.
888 - AB® Cattle hates and alt kinds
■MB W* I MMI of skins whole for Robes
Wm k ■ II PI and Rugs. Soft.Tiyl.t,
If ■’* I M■■ moth - proof, uet our
■ ■ “ ■ ■■■ tan circular. We make
frtstan, coon and ga'.’.oway fur coala and robes. If
yourdealer don't keep them get catalogue from us.
CaosßT Faisi ax Ku it Co.,bracket Bl'g, itucbe»U-r,N.Y.
■ HAIR BALSAM
Clean*** and beaatiftea th* bait.
Promote* a luxuriant growth.
Mover Falla to Beatora Gray
Bair to its Youthful Color.
Cure* eralp^(h*ex*e^^h^r^^iiuf^
Western Fur Co.,
p DES MOINES, IOWA. C
U Write for illustrated cata- |_
logue and pricelist. Goods O
D sent on approval. A
WESTERN FUR CO. K
© Wholesale and Retail. S
PROFITABLE DAIRY WORK
Can only bo accomplished with the very best
of tools and ri<aM appliances.
With a Davis TJp Cream Sepa
rator on the tZSjT farm you are
sure of moro and hotter
butter, while the skimmed
milk Is aval- liable feed.
Fanners will make no mis
take to get a Davis. Neat,
Illustrated catalogue
mailed free Agents wanted
DAVIS * RANKIN BLDG. & UFO. CO.
Cer. Randolph A Doarborn Sts- Chicago.
Go to
California
in a Tourist Sleeper.
It is the RIGHT way.
Pay more and you are ex
travagant. Pay less and
, you are uncomfortable.
The newest, brightest,
cleanest and easiest rid
ing Tourist Sleepers are
used for our
■<■■■■■ Personally Conducted
|jin|MU Excursions to
■iiiiß California,
which leave Omaha every
Thursday morning reach
ing San Francisco Sunday
evening, and Los Angeles
Monday noon.
You can join them at
* any intermediate point.
Ask nearest ticket agent
for full information, or
write to
J. Francis, G. P. A., Omaha, Neb.
niOOD POISON
Ka SPECIALTY
■ lll.<><>!> I'DISON permanently
-■■"<! reillii iaio3i dar*. You can be treated at
for sume price under Bituie guarao
. If roll prefer to come here wowlllcon
tract to pay railroad fareand hotel bill*,and
nocharre. If we fall to cur*. If you have taien mer
cury, lodide pot anti, and attll have ache* and
Pirns, Mucous Patches In mouth. More Throat,
luiplea, Copper Colored Npots, Clcem on
any part of thabody. Hair or Eyebrows falling
out. It 1a tbla Secondary BLOOD POISON
we guarantee to cure. We aoltcit the most obsti
nate cases and challenge tho world for a
cane we cannot cure. This dl-eate haa always
battled the skill of the moat emineut pliyai
ciaria. 9500,000 capital behind our uncondi
tional guaranty. Abaofute proofs sent sealed ou
application. Add reus COOK KKMK.DY CO.,
3**7 Masonic Temple, CHICAGO, ILL,
Cutout and send thla advartlsenieut.
McCREW
V THU
Sgt SPECIALIST
WHO THKATS AI.L
% PRIVATE DISEASES
Weakness and Secret
9 1 Disorders of
J MEN only
Evory cure guaranteed.
eiperieuoa
< m ill*
1 I <h .t Kiti-nuin Mt*.
OMAHA. % f.tt.
Cel In time. Sold bv (Iriigalata.