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Published Every Tlntrwdny. BAS1KHUR8T. • * IIIHHIHHIPPL PASSING THE BOUNDS. Yto discover a sprinkle of gray In your beard. Aud a t Inn no** of crop where the upland Is cleared; To no to how you take your slippers and gown. And bug to the Are when you get home from tow n— Ah. that's what It U to be forty. And that your shadow ha* portlier grown. That your voice ha* a practical, bus-nets like tone; Tbst your vision la trtoky, which oooe was so bright. And a hmt of a wrinkle Is coming to light— Ab, that's what It Is to bo forty. To And all the dreams of your boyhood dts polled: And that i.iu hare tolled vainly where others etkVlM: That your fortune Is scanty where other s •bounds. That you're only worth pcnco where you should be worth pounds— Ah. that's what It Is to be forty. A *lelgh ride, a party, a dance or a dlno; >v hy, «>f course you'll be present, you never decline; But. aUm there'* no Invite; jrour'e not “young folk*,'* you *ee. You're no longer a poach, but a ormb-applo tree— Ah. that's what It Is to be forty. A daughter that grows like a Illy, a queen. And that bloom* like a rose la a garden of green. A dapper y oung clerk In an ice-cream saloon. Doth a dude and a dunce, is to carry off noon: And a boy that ts ten. and the prldo of your *ye. Is caught smoking vile cigarette* on the sly— Ah. that's wbst It is to be forty. At twenty i» man dream* of power and fame; At thirty bl* tiro ha* a *obrnr ttame; At forty hia dreamt and hie vi-lotit are o'er. And he know*, uud ha feels, a* ho no ur did before. That a man It a fool till he's forty. Ah. we n* young and we're old. an«l we're green and we're gray, And the luw of our livlug !• change uud de cay: Come, tee the lone tpot In tho Valley of Tear*. Where your baby Ilea low In tho crudlo of year*. When no longer on earth ho It forty. —IYm. “JACK’S” VENTURE. Curried Out in Both Muuly ami Womanly Fashion. ••I'll go ami try my fortune with Uncle Robert,” said Jack. “Bess and Maria failed because he could not stand girl* with such tiue ideas; but 1 won’t trouble him that way. Tho old fellow ia all right if one only stirs him up in the right way.” • My child.” said the geutle Mrs. Raymond. “Ido not like to hear you speak in that boyish, rude manner. 1 fear your uncle would have less pa tience with you than witli your sister*. No. ho does not intend to forgive me. nnd we will make no further ad vances.” “O, yes, we will, dearie!" and Jack's curly hair buried itself in the mother’s shoulder, ooaxlngly. “Do. do lot me try to win the obstinato ohl—well! then*, then—to win our honored rela tive to a proper sense of his obligations towards hi* ouly sister ajid her inter e-ting family. IIow will that do, oh? Now, marmio, don't shako your head so; it's no use. Why did you give m<‘a boy’s uumo and bring me up on top* and marbles if you wanted me to bo a real girl?” “It was your father’s wish, you know, dear. He was so grievously dis appointed that ho had no son. Hut Jacqueline is not a boy’s name,” and Mrs. Raymond shook her head smiling* ly at her wayward daughter. “No, but Jack is; and I’m nover called any thing else,” that young lady replied, triumphantly, with au obsti nate little shake of tho jetty t iris that gave such piquancy to her bright face. “If father were only here he would let me try any thing that would take the burden from off your shoulders; and now that he is dead, uncle mu>t surely forgive you for marrying against his wishes. What right had ho to have wishes, any how?” “lie was my only living relative and guardian,” answered Mrs. Raymond, who was always ready to excuso her brother’s harsh treatment “Well, mother, do lot mo ‘go beard the lion in his den, tho Douglas in his ha’,’” sang Jack, gayly. “You know we must do something, for wo can get no work of any kind in this place, though we've tried so faithfully.” “Well, go. my dear, and I shall pray for your success,” said the gentle moth •r. Mr. Robert Doran sat cowering be side a dull, spiritless tiro one bright spring morning. His room was dusty and disordered, through its furnishing was good, and oven luxurious, lie looked moody and discontented, as if the wealth that showed itself in the handsome surroundings brought no pleasure to its owner. Perhaps he was thinking of the fair young sister who hsd once made sunshine in the now gloomy home, and wishing that his pride would let him beg her to come back, and care for him in his lonely, dreary old age. ▲ tap at the door aroused him. “Who is it?” ho demanded in sur prise; for his servants never came un summoned. The door opened slowly, and a bright face peeped in. “It's Jack Raymond, at your serv tec, uncle,” and in the venturesome girl walked, and stood before him. She wore a long ulster, closely but toned to the throat, where a standing collar and neat black tie showed them selves. while on the short, glossy curls was a jauuty “Derby,” guiltless of any trimming save the simple mascu line band. “Why, I didn’t know my aister had a son!” exclaimed the old gentleman, his wrinkled face showing something very like satisfaction ss be looked at tbo new-comer “She hasn’t,’ said Jack, with danc ing eyes, “but it Uq't my fault I do my twat Vra awfully sorry I’m not a boy, undo, if It would pleas* you; but Just lot ins stay nwltilc, and you'll boo what a first-class substitute l am,” re moving her hat and bowing with easy grace. “But, dear mo! llow dull it is in here. Your lire wants a good stirring up!" and seizing tho poker who attacked tho ooals in tho grate with an energy that seemed to imply she would liko to treat him in the same fashion. ▲ bright blase followed her vigorous action, dancing on tho walls, and showing the bright hues of pictures and furniture, despite the dust that covered them; bringing a cheery look, too, even to Mr. Doran’s prim face. “There!” said Jack, giving a last approving poke; “ that's better. Now, if 1 just open this window and let in the sunshine so (suiting the action to the word), you’ll feel as bright aa a spring morning.” The girl was like a Mny-dtfb herself; fluttering around the room a* if wafted by invisible breezes; her bright face the embodiment ot sunshine; and as the lonely old man watched her light lingers bringing order out of the turn fusion that had reigned so long, a quiz zical smile dawned on his face. *• For a would-be boy. you seem to know a good deal about snob things," he remarked, dryly. “That’s the mother-part of me." said Jack, as she “settled” tho chairs and furniture with a touch that ouly u woman has. Then she came and sat down on a foot stool be-ide him, and. claapiug her knee with both hands, looked up with smil ing audacity, saying: “You’d better let mo stay awhile, uncle; you’d be a great deal more com fort able.” I here was deep anxiety Doneatii the merry exterior, for she knew well how vital her mule’s favor was. Her mother was too delicate, her sisters too line ladies to work; ami the child (she was m>t much more. In spite of her seventeen years) felt as though the burden of the family rested on her shoulders. Her uncle was very wealthy, ami if lie could only bo brought to for give her mother, what happy days tluy would see. Ho had sent once for her two si-ters to spend a Week at (•tenside, a step toward reconciliation which her mother had hailed with thankful Joy; but, before the week was out, lie sent them Initii home, saying lie couldn't stand their line airs; that, since his sister had chosen to bring up her family to such idle habits, he would have nothing more to do with them. The one longing of the old man’s heart hud been for a -on to l»ear bis name. That hope disappointed in the early death of his wife, lie hud gradually grown into the sidiisli, gloomy ilian .lack found him this fair spring morn ing. Then* was something in her bright, boyish face that fascinated him; and now, with a warmth that surprised himself, lie sal 1; “Stay if you like, it,y child. It’s a dull place within doors; but then* are llowers ami sunshine outside.” It was so iiiiit*h kinder than Jack had dared hope that she eould have cried for joy. “Oh. you dear uncle,” she said; and kiss«>d his wrinkled old face with an honest henrtiness that he was quick to feel. "There, there,” he said, impatiently, as if ashamed of tho unwonted soft ne»s he had shown: “go and tell cook that you’re going to stay, and that she must give you a mom ami sec to your meals. Ho not he afraid if she’s cross,” he added, somewhat anxiously. “She does not like trouble or work.” “I won’t,” said Jack, as she ran olT. Half an hour later she looked In tho door again, saying; “Coine to lunch, Uncle Robert. Yes (as lie stare I at her in amazement), I know cook always orougni you jiim what she liked up here. I*ccau*c she did not want you downstairs. There has been a skirmish, but it's all right now. Come for my sake, please.” Mr. Doran drew his dressing-gown more closely around him and followed Jack down into the small breakfast room, which -ho had chosen, because it was much pleasanter than the great oak-wainscoted dining-room. A most tempting lunch was spread upon the round table, and flowers were inter mingled with the dishes in profusion. It was pretty to see the air with which she led her uncle to his place, then took her own opposite him, almost forget ting -in her eagerness to serve him—to satisfy the demands of her own healthy young appetite. “Did cook do all this?" Mr. Doran asked, with some curiosity. “No," replied Jack, blushing. “She wanted to take you up some smoky soup, and because I said no she wouldn't do any thing else, so 1 slid it myself. Don't youlikn it all?” and she looked anxiously at him. “You are not like your sisters,” he •aid, not replying to her question. “O, no!” and Jack shook her head somewhat dejectedly. “They an* very accomplished—real young ladies, you know, lhit then, I can cook, ami sweep, and do things that they can't.” “Hut I do not want a cook and a house-maid,'* said Mr. Doran. “I think you do,” laughed Jack. “If you had only tasted the soup!” “Child!” cried Mr. Doran, suddenly catching at her hand. “I’m a disap pointed. heart-broken old man. If you could only love me a little—” “I Jo. Uncle Robert; I do truly!” said Jack. And she meant it; for her warm heart had gone out at once to the lonely old man; and she comforted him now, in the best way she knew, with loving words that, skeptic as he was. he felt were honest and true. “I fear master be a goin’ to die; he wor never so gentle afore." said cook, a week later, who. under Jack's skill ful handling, was herself so gentle as to warrant forebodings of sudden d* fniae. Jtiat very night Mr. Doran wu taken suddenly HI. Jack hoard hl« groans, and hastening to his ass'stanoo, found Idni suffering Intensely. “You must go for tho doctor, cook; there's no one else to go,” said .lack. “’Deed I’ll not.” replied cook, de cisively; "he’ll been none so good a master to me that 1 should risk myself tu the dark for him.” “Then watch him while I go,” im plored Jack. “Do not leave him, or he'll die.” She had been down to the village once, on an errand for her uncle, and knew she could tind her way; hut it was so ditVerent now, at night. Itrave Jack for going! How her heart flut tered, and her limbs shivered with fear as she hastened on through tile star light. The way seemed interminable, lint lit last the few lights which yet hunted in the village shone out close at hand, nod one part of tier Journey was over. I’liestiey was one of those unfortunate villages with houses so painfully similar tlint a stranger might well wonder how each inhabitant knew Ills own home. Little wonder, then, that Jack, after much uncertain pausing Indore various doors, should at last decide upon the wrong one. She rapped gently, then listened. A footfall sounded on the pavement, n hiiml was on tho gate, mid—yes — the steps were coming towards her, swiftly, certainly. Site drew herself close to the side of tho porch, allltosl fainting with terror, when a hand out stretched touched her arm, and u voice exclaimed: “Who are you? Speak! Who come* so late to uty door?’’ (lathering her courage with one last effort. Jack faintly replied: *•1 want l)r. Kohldii*. My I’nele Doran is very ill, at (ilcnsidc.” ••And have you come alone ‘from (ilcnsidc, poor child?” the voice in quired. “Yes, sir,” she said, impatiently. “Hut arc you the doctor? Will you I hurry? I'nelo may he dying now. 1 have been so long in coming.” The poor girl had hurried till she was almost exhausted, and stood leaning, breathless aud panting, against the iloor. ••The doctor lives two houses beyond. Shall 1 go with you and call him?” Hut then* was no response, for poor Jack, who had never in her life done ! any thing so womani-h, had fainted ! quietly away. She was only dimly conscious of being lifted in strong arm-, that hold her close, and of being rap ' idly driven over a rough mad; and at last of timling herself lying on lierown t bed at (ilcusidc, with a gray-haired 1 gentleman bending over her. She started lip, pale and anxious. “How is uncle?” she cried. “1 must go to him.” “No. no, child; lie still; he Is bet ter,” the doctor said. “Well, then, toll me all about it. Win* was it, and how did I g t hone?” The doctor knew what sin* meant ••You were at tint minister’s floor, and he (coining home from visiting a sick parishioner) carried you, when you fainted, to my house; and l drove you both over here. Now drink this; then, if you feel able, you may go to your uncle; lie wishes to see you." Jack obediently swallowed the strengthening potion; then -mouthed out the tangled curls with her hands, and. without stopping to look ill her mirror, hastened to her uncle’s room, lie was not alone, for by his bedside sat a grave, pleasant-faced young gen tleman. who looked at her with kind ly, .smiling eyes. She gave him but a hasty glance, for her uncle's hand was outstretched to her, ami she ran to take it. “And this is th • brave girl who went two miles through the dark night to bring help to her cross old uncle?” hu said. “I know all alioiit it, dear. I would have died if tin* doctor ha.l not come so soon. You saved me. What reward can I give you, dear child? ’ •• Forgive my mother,” whispered Jack, softly. Mr. Doran s lace iingnieneu. •*l was sure you would -ay tbatP" In* cried. ••Jack, dear, I have forgiven her already; and a- soon as it Is morn ing the nilnit-t-r lien* I- going for her. Do you think she will forgive me, and come? Site must come, and stay; fot I can never let you go, Jack dear, hrave Jack! You have t ;;'s: tn • v lesson.” And lie drew the blushing, happy fare down, and kissed it with all a father’s tenderness. There were tears hi the bright eyes when -lie looked lip For the second time within a few hours Jack forgot her manliness, and was crying. But the tears and the blushes gave a soft ness and charm to her fac» tint made it wonderfully attractive to Malcolm Boyd, the young minister; and she looked so sweet and lovable and womanly that he felt an almost irn si-tilde inclination to take her to his heart ••She will be a woman worth the having,” he thought; and then and there resolved to win her for his own. Jack had meant to make some pretty speech to the minister, to thank him for helping her; but she only re niembered now how she had felt hh arras around her in the starlight, and blushing, she hung hor head in silence. That was two months ago. She sniilei now when she thinks of it; for she if no longer shy with the minister. Cac you guess whyP Mr. Doran is build ing a beautiful little parsonage close by the village church, and Humor sayi that, when it is completed. Jack will go there as the minister’s bride. Per haps it is so; for she is growing s< quiet and womanly that her bappj mother (who is renewing her owr youth in beautiful Glcnside) says thaf God has doubly blessed Jack's venture —.V. Y. Lrdgtr. —The Lick Observatory at 8ar Francisco has ordered a set of in^trv naents for automatically regisUru»| earthquake shook*. PORTABLE FENCE. A. Wlnrun*ln »'Hriiier,« M»W|»I*» (Jarfill I'uMlrlvMiM'r. Who will lie tlio llrst lo bulkl Unit light, 0111*1111, portable fence. wbirli farmers linvo boon looking for many years? Mirny patents linvo boi,u taken out to prntuct tin* Inventors of this kind of fence. As far as I know, these patents were all unueeess iry, fur no farmer would ever build one of those patent fences, unless some smooth tongued ngent talked him out of his senses. One idea runs through the heads of all these inventors, however much they may differ In regard to de tails—then* must be no post or stake driven into the ground. They throw out of the account labor, lumber and distance. I have seen a cut of a pat nt fence that would weigh live hundred pounds to the rod. and take a Ilian half a day to luiild it, and tli -n it was built tigzag In order to make it stand with out posts in the ground, thus greatly increasing the distance. 1 hey gain oil one point, hilt lose on three. Last spring I had forty rods of fence to build on rented land, 'lo build a permanent fence was unnecessary. »s I would want to remove it at the expira tion of my lease. To pattern after any fence 1 had ever seen or heard of was o<|tial!y absurd. At first I fell into tho old error of building with braces. This I found would reipiirc too much labor, and it could not be loaded on a sled or wagon without taking apart. I hit upon a plan that suited me. I built two rod* ami was di*gii'ted with it. Finally I bought board* 1<» feet long ami 0 inches wide, and *Jx I scant lings lg feet long. The scant lin"* were sawed ill the middle, shar|» . ... . . .i.i.. nini iimi umni imw im- .^ 10 feel apart. Four boards were nailed to cleats with steel nails and these wcra clinched. Three cleats arc siillicicnt for one panel. Those at the end should be long enough to rest on the ground when the lower board is about six Inches above. Then I fastened the panels to the scantlings withasinglu holt. If the stakes are driven so that the panels lap four inches, the holt will go through both. In winter these 1 mils may be taken out and the fence carried on a sled wherever it mat he wanted. This fence requires les. labor 'hail All) other kind 1 ever built. It ill a windy place stakes may In* driven in the middle ami fastened together with , wire. While not perfect, stteh a fence is very convenient to move a great dis* t a lire once in two or three years, lo move a few rods every day, 1 use a small pen with two wheels, -ter. . Country Uaitlcnuin. PERTINENT TRUTHS. Why Fitrimts ('mi Not .\ITiinl I•» Italso 1'imr I.It •••Muck. Stock-raising and farming are tho same in a certain sense. No farmer can keep stock unless he grows grain and grass, and no Inrm can he kept to n standard of fertility unless contain ing stock. K\cry farmer aims to im prove his farm with his stock, and en deavors to secure the greatest Jidda possible per acre, using the latest im proved methods for that purpose. All farmers are quick in pointing out the mistakes of their neighbors and as sisting them to avoid such 111 future. Hut in stock-raising the conditions seem to be changed. The farmer who spends time and labor to secure a largo crop of wheat or corn, resorting to tho best seed and the most available ma chinery. allows Ids crops to be wasted by inferior stock. We use the term wasted lor the reason that any portion of tin* food consumed that does not contribute to the production of aotnu other article is wasted. True, it is in the manure, hut a waste of time re sults, as tin* henetit from the manure can only he gained later. The importance of the stock being of the best can not he too strongly urged. Labor, shelter, time and mon ey are factors in stock-raising, and the better the stock the cheaper the cost. There is no necessity for using ten UUSIICIS 01 leou wnere live ousnci* win accomplish the same results, to say nothing of the fuel that the expense of HautUing tho smaller quantity is also lessened. How is tills saving to he ef fected, may bo usked. It is simply Jo such stock as will digest and assimilate the greatest nnmuut of food in tho shortest timo. Wo do not mean tlio aniuial that eats tho largest quantity, but the one that digests the food and converts R Into a more salable product. Can the farmer regulate tho matter? lie can by using those breeds adapted to the objects desired by him. As he is careful to grow wheat on soil best adapted for such a crop, so should ho use care in the use of stock designed for special purposes. All breeds have their characteristics and merits. They are ditloreut in many respects. Though some of them are unprolitnblo when used for other purposes than those for which they aro intended, yet their places can not be tilled In some other respects. As differ the crops so do the animals, and tho farmer should govern his management accordingly.—National Stockman. Grasses for Rotation. Tho professor of botany and liortl sulturc in tho Agriculture College of Colorado, in his experiments on grass es. found tho earliest cultivated grasses to vegetate in that vicinity last year to be meadow foxtail. English rye, tall oats, alfalfa and orchard grass. These grasses afforded excellent feed thcro early in May, and were followed by meadow fescue, blue grass, red top and timothy, in regular order, so that with tho five clovers animals wore pre sented with a succession of food-pianti throughout tho season. Tho five clov ers are mammoth and medium red olorer, alfalfa, alsiko and white olover. —Chicago Tribune. —Any breed is better than no brood for the good farmer, and no breed is better than any breed for the poor | tarmef.—Montreal Witntu* FACTS FOR FARMERS. —Tlio practice of pegging down svcr-blooming roses ho that they will cover completely the Hiirfuco of the bed Is known to produce very ploasunt results. It is said Unit pegging down dahlias proves quite satisfactory.—N. y. rout. —Prof. J. W. Sanborn, of tlio Mis souri Agricultural College, haa boon experimenting with prickly oomfroy aa a forage plant, and whllo ho finds It making a good growth from cuttings, lie has boon unable to induce oows to I eat it. j _True economy in farm matters li wise use of resources, with care to pre vent waste. The word signifies some thing more than saving, for there is economy in dispensing the proceeds of I labor as well as in husbanding.—/« itiaiiii/tolis Sentinel. - Nearly every thing that a farmer must buy is low, and this operates as Bn offset to low prices of farm product*. (bn id courage and faithful luhor, skill fully directed, will effect ft cure of all , the ills that now depress and discour i age farmers. —Exrhuiuje. —No pruning at all is safer to prac tice than the putting a sharp knife iuto the hands of an ignoramus. It re quires -.kill and kn iwlcdgu of varieties mid their peculiarities, which few pos sess, to prune apple and pear tree.* properly. What would he good treat* ; merit for one variety would ho rulnouj to others. - .V. E. J’anncr. One thousand pounds of dry corn coli* will hum down to four and a half pounds of a*h, and of this two and a half pounds will Ire pure potash. The fact j that cows often like corn-cobs may bo Illlc to (ill1 |M»U!*il (III j i uiiuiiiif mm wliirli mny sene t<* correct disordered digestion, Corn-cobs also contain about two pounds of nitrogen to one thousand of dry ooh«, but this is, of course, lost by burning.—A'.}'. 1 Ur aid. The air permeates all soils union tilled with stagnant water. If there if motion in the water through tho sol', it is evidence that some air is present even there. All soils excepting puru muimI absorb and retain ferlili/.ingprop erties from the atmosphere, though heavy ami loamy soils do this most. Winn the country was new it was noticed that fever and ague developed from malaria was worst on sandy soils, though these were generally dry, and the malaria itself was most apt to originate on low, wet lauds, where there is an abundance of decaying veg etation.—A*. F. Time*. ■ ^ » ABOUT COOKING. A I.lttl® Snallilr riill.*s<>|ihr with a Ml. ! Ilf ( lifiulsiry Thrown In. This subject contains nn epic poem, for, upon the cooking in our families, depends in a large measure the men tal and physical health of its members. With poor cooking comes poor diges tion. followed sooner or later by dys. pepsia, with its attendant train of | evils, in the sad dy-pcptic we often, see tho ultimate result of poor cooking; sometimes one or two generations re mote, but nevertheless true. As Amer icans even as New Kngland people— We are a race of dyspeptics, an! if this means one-half the present population have disordered digestion, the fact is self-evident that tho generation next to follow must be two-tliirds, or even more dyspeptics. From the present out-look it would seem our Nation may soon lie described as “blue, bluer, bluest.” The questiou that now arises is, from win uce is the saving power to come? Hardly from the physician, for his skill and power are but limited to stay the growing evil, hroin whom then shall wo expect salvation? 1 answer from the daughters of our land. When they shall bring their line brain of quick Intelligence into tho work of healthful cooking, a decade of years will not have passed before a change for the 1 better will be noticed. With many it is “not a iittle wine for thy stomach's sake,” but, “eat whatever is set before thee, asking no questions for con* science s sake. *>ow wnon a young l:idv—when every young lady—shall take along with her studies physiology Mini soienlitio cooking, when slio stud ies these understanding!}’ and prac tically, will nut questions sometimes be asked, and will they not be con science questions for humanity’s sake? 1 would censure no one, but am moved to speak with earnestness upon this subject. When a young lady leaves school with a definite life-pur- j pose or not, in nine eases out of ten, if one-half the time and thought were given to healthful cooking that is now given to fancy work in all its multi tudinous varieties, the human race would doubtless lie greatly benefited thereby. “But,” I hear some impul sive miss exclaim, “1 An re tried and tried and can not get good bread; the witches are in my sponge;” and in deed it may seem thus to you; but in vestigate a little—find out the secret place wherein the “witch” abideth. If you are persevering, never fenr; in the light of this nineteenth century you will exorcise the evil genius. Haro you not learned in your philosophy and chemistry that thero is uo effect without a cause? Find out tho cause of a hundred at present mysteries to you concerning domestic cookery and ob serve tho effect. If the same blunder is made in a loaf of bread twenty-five times, will not native common sense load one to seek the cause and avoid it tho twenty-sixth? Most surely. But little faith is to bo placod in the assertion that some people havo a “knack” for cooking. If so it has been asquired by years of practice and observation. I am no enthusiast upon the quostion. but since the daughters must soon glide into the piaco of the mothers and follow in this round of I duties, how important, bow essential ' this underlying stratum of tho family j happiness—good, healthful cooking— be well understood. — !,. Eugent Eb dndge, in Good HouitUeping, H. BURNLEY & SON, -WIIOLKHALB AND DETAIL DBALBKM IN* Drugs, Patent Medicines, Paints, Stationery, Tobacco, Cigars, Toilet Articles, Notions and Sundries. rirUliKHAL DISCOUNT TO MERCHANTS AND COUNTRY DEALERS. I’roMTlidioii.t hi..I family rcw ripti yomp<.iuuded with the greatest care and at ell houra of the night. EAST SIDE FRONT STREET, Kazletmrst, ■ Miss. —MANOAI.Tl Kr.KH AMI HOMt PHOPWBTOIUI Of— BRITTAIN1 <ft MILLER, Lower Story Masonic Hall, HAZLEHURST, - - - MISS. *DBALEDM IX —KKKI* niNSTANrl.T ON HAND A FULL LINK OF Croccries, and Receiving a Full Line of Staple and Fancy Coods, Clothing, Boots, Shoes, Hats, Domestic, Cal* ico, Hosiery, Handkerchiefs, Lace, Trimmings, Canned Coods, Hardware, And everything iimihIIv kept in a first .Ha** itur*. Call and axniuln* our stock and ,prior*. We will not lie under* dd. F. E. HEIWAY, -MAKES AND REPAIR8 WAGONS, BOOGIES, AND PLOWS. -KEEPS ON HAND Steam Pipes anil Fitting, Thread Pipes, —AND DOES ANY— Farm and Machine Blachsmithing. ETL BRITTAI HAZLEHURST, MISS., -DEALER IN GENERAL MERCHANDISE, - BEEPS CONSTANTLY ON IIAND A !n’l Lino of Drv Grrod* and Groceries. Moot'*. Shoo*. lint* ami Cap*. Boya’ Youth*’ i»ml Gent*' Cloth in". UN Mock of l.ndie*’ Drc** Good* i* of tho Very Latest Myles. and Prloo-n »re a-* Low a* the Lowest. Ho ;.* now prepared to furnish I’lANCQ, <0X%.0-^\.2NTS, VIOLINS An I oilier M'udcal In*tiuui«ut* at Low Figure*. T. J. FEISTIST, -MANUFACTURER AND REPAIRER OF Gonoral Farm Work shop on Tront Street, - East Side of Railroad. WORK GUARANTEED AND PRICKS REASONABLE. F. M. RKI'l'lNU. KATK M- McMASTEK. F. M. REDDING & DO., HAZLE1IUKST, - 3IISSI8SIPPI. -DEALERS IN STAPLE AND FANCY GROCERIES, Dry Goods, Fancy Goods, Hats, Boots Shoes and Hard ware. Highest Price Paid for Country Produce of All Kinds. jraWHlTE, PrescriptionDruggist, ECaziloUnrert, Mississippi, —DEALER IN— DRUGS, MEDICINES, Chemicals, Druggists’ Sundries, Stationery, Etc. ET rreacriptlon* * Specialty. Ordara from Country Merchant. BollclUd. . 8. J. JOHNSON. D.F. JOHNSON. $. J. JOHNSON & SON, SaBlenurst, - a&lmm. (OrrOSlTE OUR OLD stand ON OREEN STREET.) Saddlery, Harness, Whips and Cellars. -ALSO DEALERS IN Baggies, Hacks, Phaetons, Milborn Wagons, Etc. nr AM Kind* of Rtpalrlnt D n** on H»ort Notice at ReafonaMa friqn i