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33.3,. Now , -. y'v,‘ .sr- * n « ‘ THUNDERBDLT‘S MATE. BY E. “I HORNUNG. CHAPTER I. Penelope Lees, cantering from the wood- shed to the homeatation in the red light of a Riverina sunset, was, beyonda doubt, the ink of all the merry-looking, black-haired, {Inc-eyed little minxes in the colony. It is true that there was not another min: of any description within fifty miles of the Bilbil boundary-fence : but there was not a second Penelope in New south Wales ;at all events, not one to compare with the Penelope that centered home so briskly this evening, after a long day out at the shed. Her spirits were not always so high, nor her looks so jaunty and engaging. It was a special occasion; the day now dying had been the happiest day of Penelop’s life': it was the first day of the shearing at Bilbil Station. A All day long little Miss Pen, on her pie- bald pon , had been helping with the sheep â€"rea|ly helping, not hindering. It was not the first time she had helped with the sheep; she could “ muster ” with the best, and the mysteries of “ yarding-up ” were not mys- teries to Pen ; but it was the first time she had been allowed out at the shed during shearing. Last year she was too young ; the privilege had been promised her when she should have entered “ double figures.” And now that Rubicon was pass- ed : the child was ten; and three times a week, while shearing lasted, Pen was to be one of the regular hands for mustering the wooly sheep and driving the sham ones back to their paddocks. The first day of this stirring work was at an end, and it had not disappointed her. This was why her blue eyes were so full of light, and her brown little face full of animation. This was why she was pleased to imagine herself a real, big, bearded bushman ; and why she must needs ride in the thick scrub, a mile wide of the trackâ€"the very thing a real busbman would not have done. Not that there was the least fear of Pene- lope. She was the very last person to lose her wav on Bilbil run. She knew every mile of itâ€"particularly those few between the homestead and the wool-shedâ€"too well for that. But it was good practice to strike astraight line through the scrub when op- portunity-offered ; and Pen was now in one of the thickest belts of scrub on the run, which was famous for its small share of use- less timberéd country, and for the extent of its fertile salt-bush plains. Here and there, where the short trees grow sparsely, pools of lingering sunlight lay across the pony’s path ; oncea great carpet-snake-â€"thick ass. strong man’s arm, and exquisitely marked â€"-glided into its hole almost under his can- toring hoofs ; and more than once huge red kangaroos bounded noiselessly past, in front of his nose. Theponydidnotmind,beinghush bred, and need to the swift, silent move- ments of its denizens. The silence, indeed, was extraordinary ; it always is in a belt of scrub. Even the pony’s cantor was muffled in the soft sandy soil. Penelope apparently grew tired of the silence all at once ; for she iincoiled the long lash of her stock-whip â€"-her real bushman’sstock-whipâ€"and crack- edit smartly. With the long lash swing- ing in the air for asecond shot, she sudden- pnllcd up the pony. She fancied she hal heard a human cry. She cracked the whip again : this time it was no fancy ; a man’s voice was calling faintly for help. Penelope was startled, and for an instant greatly frightened. Then, as she could see nothing, she took about the wisest course open to her: she marked the spot Where she had first heard the cryâ€"which was be- ing repeated a short intervalsâ€"and took it for the centre of a circle which she now proceeded to describe at a slow trot. The immediate result of this manoeuvre was that she almost rude over a man who was sitting on the ground in the shadow of a hop-bush with his two hands planted firmly behind him, and half his weight upon his straightened arms. The pony shied ; kangaroos it knew, and snakes it knew ; but a solitary man squatt- ing behind a hop-bush in the heart of the scrub was a distinct irregularity. The next moment Pen leapt lightly from the saddleâ€"and the man uttered one word. and that indistinctly : “ Water l” I‘cu tore from her saddle the canvas watcnbug, which was another of her “ real bushinan’s” equipments. “ There’s precious little in it, but there's a drop or two, I know." she exclaimed nervously; and she was down at his side, wrenching the cork 7mm the glass mouthpiece. N 'l‘iikescare of that leg, for God's sake l” ejaculated the man. H Why? Whather's the matter ‘3” She had noticed that his left leg was lying in an odd position. ’ * “ Broken," answered the man; and his lips closed over the mouth-piece. It was no misfortune that there was not more water in the bag. Their was enough to moisten lips and ten no and throat, and a mouthful or two besii es. Had there been more, the man might have done himself harm, as men have done before on obtaining water, after enduring the pangs of prolong- ed thirst. Though far from satisfied, how- ever, the man was relieved. Moreover. he know now that he was saved. He sank back and closed his eyes with a icon of weary thankfulness. Penelope gazed down upon him, not lik- - ing to say anything, and uncertain for the moment what to do. He was a man, :_lie guessed, of about her father's ageâ€"between forty and fifL ' : but his long black hair W3; not yet grizzled, nor was there asinglc gray strand in the bushy whiskers. Below the line of black hair, the forehead was ghastly in its pallor ; and the deep bronze of the lowor part of the face had sled into a sickly, yellow hue as of jaundice. The features were pinched and drawn ; the closed eyes like deep-set caverns. The limbs were large and power- f id, and had all the grace and suppleness of vigorous lifeâ€"all but the left cg. That limb had the hard and motionless outline of death, and lav. besides in an unnatural position. The man had neither coat nor “ swag." but he were long ridingdioots and spurs ; and this led l’euelo to the conclu- sionâ€"which turned our to correctâ€"that he had been thrown from horseback. She also noticed that his right hand rested upon his widcawakc, which Was on the ground b his side, as though he feared its being b’own away ; and this struck her as odd, seeing than the day was closing without a breath of wind. black beard and} _At length he opened his eyes. “ How far is it to the homestead, missy 3” “ From here? About two miles," replied Pen. “ Do you think,” asked the fallen man, half shyly, “ they would send -â€"if they knew?” “ Think? I know they would ; why, of course. Only, the worst of it there’o hard- ly any one a! the homestead. There’s only mother, and Sid the butcher, and Sammy the Chinee cook. I don’t suppose the groom’s got in yet ; he was masteringâ€"and so was I. The rest are out in the shed. The shearing began to-day, you know.” “ How far from this is the shed, then ‘3" “ Well, it's six miles from the home- stead,” said Pen thoughtfully ; “ so it must be about four from here. I’m certain it isn’t a yard less than four mile from here: I’ve just come from there.” “ Do you think they would send? My leg’s broken. I’ve been lying here twenty- four hours. ' But for you. little m’ssy, to- night would have finished me, straight ; though for that matter Bless me, missy, you’re smart at mounting that little pony of yours l” Penelope had vaulted back into the sad- dle. Her red little lips were tightly pres. sed, her teeth clenched. And there were no more sunrays anywhere to be seen, but only a pale, pink reflection in the western sky. ” Are you going to ride back to the shed, little missâ€"aloneâ€"so late ‘2" “ Yes ; I’m off. They’ll be here with the buggy in another hour.” The man muttered a blessing : it was no good blessing her aloud, for Pen and her pony were a. good twenty yards away: the trees and their shadows closed over them. Before the sound of the galloping lioofs died away, the broken-legged bushmun lift~ ed his Wide-awake from the ground; and under it all the while had lain a brace of revolvers. Before the sound of hoofs returned, and with it that of wheels, the revolvers had dsappearcd No one would have guessed that they were ten inches under ground. But the man’s finger-nails were torn and bent, and the sand had penetrated to the quick. II. The boss of Bilbil admitted that evening that there was something after all in the Ambulance Movement. The admission was remarkable, because for years he had vowed that there was nothing in that movement. During his last long holiday in Melbourne he had attended a course of ambulance classes, to pacify his wife, who worried him into it, and to convince her out of his own experience that there was nothing in those classes ; and he accepted the certifi- cate which was duly awarded him as a. conclusive proof that that certificate was within any fool’s reach; thus dispar- aging himself to disparage the movement of which he hai’. heard‘ too much. The Philistine was converted now. A simple fracture had come in his way, a few simple directions had come back to his mind ; to his great surprise, he knew all about it when the moment came; to his greater delight, the broken leg seemed to set itself. Late into that nightâ€"as late hours go, in the bushâ€"William Lees stumped up and down his wife’s sitting'room in ecstasies ; delight- ed with himself, delighted with the ambul- ance classes, delighted with his wife, who has goaded him into attending them. His delight might have been less had she taken her triumph less gently ; but as a matter of fact, she was doing her very best to read a book, and could not for his chatter. “ I never saw a neater break in my life,” W’illiiam Lees reported for the twentieth timeâ€"“ plain as a pike’staff and clean as a whistle. And I do believe I’ve set it safe and sound. He’s sleeping now like a. top.” Mr. Lees was hard-working, open-hand- ed, and kindly, and as popular among the station hands as any squatter need wish to be. He was of prepossessing looks, with eyes as merry and good-natured and almost as blue as those of his small daughter ; and he joined a schoolboy’s enthusiasm with a love of personal exertion which no school- boy was even yet known to exhibit. “ I am glad you have been able to make the poor man so comfortable,” remarked Mrs. Leosâ€"not for the first time, eitherâ€"- without looking up from her book. “ Comfortable? I’ve fixed him up Al ; you should just see. He’s in young Miller’s room. I’ll tell you what I’ve done : first of ‘ all, I’ve shifted ”-â€"- “ I don’t at all know how I shall get on with him upon my hands while 1 am all alone, as I am to be this shearing.” There was some slight petulance in her tone; she had been obliged at last to shut up her book in despair. It was not thatshe was an atom less kind and husband, in her own way. at it was a very different way. Mrs. Lees was robust neither in health nor in spirits; in appear- ance she was delicate and pale, in her man- ner gentle; but there were signs of determin- ation in her thin sweet faceâ€"particu- larly about the mouthâ€"which wore not dif- ficult to read, and which, by‘the way, were reproduced pretty plainly in Penelope. She lay in one of those long, wicker-work ar- , rsngemcnts which are more like sofas than . chairs, as her husband paced the room and ufl'ed his pipe; she disliked the smoke no 033 than the incessant tramping to and fro; I but she complained of neither. “ Why bother your head about him, my , dear ‘3” said the boss, still marching up and ; down. “ lf you just look him up now and then, and see that Sammy feeds him roper- lyâ€"he must live like a fighting-coo ', you know-that’ll be all that s necessary. fdon't fancy, from what I see of him, that he’s the one to talk much to anybody ; but . if, for instance. he cared to be read to, why, yonu-or even Penâ€"could do that for him ; though not, of course, to any wearisome ex- tent. ’ 1 For a while Mrs. Lees remained silent and thoughtful. " Has he told you all ’about the accident, \Vill?” she asked at i length. ' “ He fell off his horse.” “ But the circumstancesâ€"was he alone ‘3” , "' I should think so : I didn't ask," and Will Lees shrugged his shoulders, as much as to say that that was no business of his. 3 “ Then what happened to his horse? And where was be bound for? " ood than her “ I reall didn’t ask, ” answered the boss “ \Vell, think on ought to know some-- thing of the man, Yill, dear.” Lees stopped in his walk. and pointed at his wife the pipestem of masculine scorn. “ You ladies are so horribly suspicious ! ” he said. “ What business of mine is it who he is? \Vhat business of mineâ€"or yoursâ€" whether the man is a humbug or not, since that’s what you're driving at? There was no humbug about the broken leg; that’s enough for me. It ought to be enough for you too; for he can’t get at your silver spoons, my lady, and good old family late, and priceless old ancestral jewels,and c osets full of golden guineasâ€"he can’t get at any of them just yet a bit. The boss laughed loud at his pleasantry, beiili‘g pleased with himself in every way to- mg L. “No, but”â€"-â€"Mrs Lees began earnestly : she broke off: “ Dear me, how lale it is! I am going to bed.” She went. It had been on the tip of her tongue to express the objection she felt to being left alone, or practically alone, from Monday till Saturday, for six long weeks, with this stranger within the gates. But she remembered how heavily her husband had paid, the previous year, through not giving to the shearing that personal super- vision which was of little use unless it be- gan with the first shift in the early morning. She knew that the overseer was too young in man to manage thirty-six shearers, and half that number of “ rousabouts,” single- handed. She also knew that at a word from her, her husband would give up sleeping out at the shed ; and this was the reason of all others why she held her tongue. Nevertheless, William Lees did receive a hint as to the doubtful wisdom of leaving his wife and child alone at the homestead without protection during the inside of every week. It came from an outsider ; in fact, from no other than the object of Mrs. Lees’s feminine suspicions. It was Saturday evening, the man having been broughtin on the’l‘hursday; the squatter ha s returned from the wool-shed for the week- end ; and his very first care was to see how the broken leg was mending. The man lay in a room in the “ barracks” â€"a superior sort of but with four rooms, sacred to the bachelors of the station. “ Now, Brown,” said the squatter, bustling inâ€"Brown was the name the man had given “let’s have a look at the leg.” The brief examination that followed was entirely satisfactory to the amateur bone- setterâ€"there was no professional one witu~ in seventy miles of Bilbil. The starched bandages were hard as flint ; the form of the leg was perfect; that the snap had been really as simple as it seemed, there could be no longer any doubt. \Vhat was far less satisfactory was the patient’s face. “ I like the leg ; its doing very nicely,” said Lees, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “ But I don’t like your looks : you look like death, man. Are you eating any- thing Brown? ” “ Plenty sir, thank you. Sammy’s a first- rate attendant.” “ But not first-rate , company, eh ? Come, my good fellow, I’m afraid you’re moping. Mrs. Lees tells me you seem to prefer being alone from morning till night ; indeed, you’ve as good as told her so.” The patient smiled faintly, and gazed at Lees with a strange expression in his cav- ernous eyes. “Shall I tell you, sir, who mopcs more at this station than I do '3” “ By all meansâ€"if there is such a. per- son.” “ And I don’t want to give offence”â€" “ Then none shall be taken. Who is it ‘2” “ The missis.” “ The mistress ' mean, man ‘1” “ There ! - I knew you. wouldn’t like it. But it’s a fact. The missis mopes much I do. Its nervous work for lonely women at a station of night-time. Mrs. Lees, beg- your pardon, sir, is nervous, and well she may be.” " Well she may be ! My what are you driving at ‘2” Brown closed his eyes. of Thunderbolt, sir ‘2” ,‘I’ve heard of a villain knOWn by that name. What about him? He’s in Queens- land, isn’t he ‘1” “ He’s a good deal nearer home, sir," replied Brown earnestly. “ If I’m not mis- taken, I saw him a very little while ago. I don’t think I am mistaken : I know him: I have very good reason to know him well-â€" by sight.” A dark look came over the white face. Brown ground his teeth savagely. “ I was once stuck up by him,”he continued in a. low voice. “ I shall never forget him. And I saw him as plain as I see you, Mr. Lees,” said Brown impressively, opening his eyes againâ€"J‘ the day I broke my leg â€"in the paddock I broke it in l” “ In my paddock?” cried William Leos. Brown raised his head an inch from the pillow and nodded. “ As sure as Ilie here, sir. You heard of Moolah Station, twenty miles south 0’ this, being stuck up last Wednesday?” “ Just heard of it today ; but that was never Thunderbolt ‘2” “ It was never any one else, sir !” “ Then why should hc leave us alone ‘3â€" Arc you quite certain you aren’t mistaken, Brown? Andâ€"what the deuce is there to grin at, my man ‘2” “ Nothing, sir. I beg pardon. Only Thunder-bolt and 00. never did do two jobs running, with only twenty miles between them. Strike, and show clean heels ; that’s their line. I know themâ€"I tell you I’ve been stuck up by them. Now. if you was to hear of them twenty miles norlh’ “ Has he a mate, then ‘5” “ He had. But he was alone on Thusday --curse him ! As for beinginistaken, I know I’m not. I was in the scrub ; he was in the open. It was just before my horse fell and smashed incâ€"the horse that’s never been seen since. You can guess now who got it. Thunderbolt has a sharp eye for horse-flesh. The boss jumped up from the bed. “ I wish to Heaven you’d told methis before, Brown l" “ My leg was that bad ; I couldn t. think of things.” At this moment a hum of voices came through the open window from the long veranda opposite. The s natter looke out hastily. “The Beltcn uggy l” be ex- claimed. " Young Rooper and Michie 2" He hurried out. Brown closed his eyes wearily. But the buzz of voices outside grew louder and louder :and presently, back rushed Lees to the sick-room, his face flaming with excitement. “ You were right Brown ! I couldn't have believed it ! It arm; that villain you saw 2" Brown raised himself upon one elbow. “You don't mean thatâ€"that-they’ve caught him!" \Vhat on earth do you good fellow, ‘f You’ve heard “I do! He was taken at Belton this! afternoon; old Rooper las got him there now ; and young Rooper and Michie are l on their way to the township for the police. ” l A rin of exultation spread over Brown’s ‘ wan eaturesâ€"to fade rapidly into a pcevish smile of unbelief. His. thoulders sank back feebly upon the pillows ; he shook his head slowly from side to side. i “ They’ll never keep himâ€"never, never, j though they'd caught him twenty times over ! A slippery gentleman is Thunderbolt I know him well; he stuck me up, I tell youâ€"â€"-he stuck me up l” ('ro BE aox‘rixrnn.) Some Russian Sketches. A correspondent of the London Daily Graphic, investigating the famine-stricken districts of Russia, came to describe some of the native’s customs as follows : “ There are scarcely any forests in the province of 'I‘ambof, the ground is simply bare steppes, with scarcely a tree or shrub on them. You can take a sledge and drive for miles over the undulating plains without coming across any forest land. Here and there you see a recently planted wood con- sisting of young trees which have been set} by some enterprising landed proprietor. The result of this want of wood is that the ‘ inhabitants are obliged to use straw for fuel. j A bundle of straw is pushed into the oven, and a light is applied. ‘Vhen the straw has . burned out, leaving nothing but the glowing ’ embers, the oven is shut up so that the heat l may be retained for as long a period as pos- 3 sible. As there was a failure of the crops ' last autumn,tlicre has been very little straw ’ available 'for fuel this winter. In fact, in l seine of the poorer villages there are cottages j where the warmth of a fire has for several months been unknown. In such cases two or three families have crowded into one hut, and have tried to keep some heat in their bodies by packing themselves like sardines g on the top of the stove, and on the shelf‘ which extends thence to the opposite wall, on a level with the top of the oven. This shelf is generally six feet wide and eight feet long, so that about eight peo le can find sleeping accommodation on it. In many of I the larger huts a wide benchs take the 3 place of the shelf, but the bench is not a very warm sleeping place if there is no heat in the stove, hence the pre- ference for a shelf close to the ceiling where it is warm. \Vhile passing through St. Petersburg the other day I saw some clothes which some industrious and philanthropic ladies were making for the distressed peasantry. These ladies were, in my opinion, wasting their l l t l labor, for in the first place the material used was too good, costing about four or fivetimcs the price of the cloth of which the moujik and his wife make their clothes ; and in the second place the garments were not such as the people ordinarily wear. The peasant woman wears a shift, a petticoat, and a sheepskin coat. Her legs are wrapped up in rags, and bark shoes are tied to her feet ; while the richer women wear long felt boots reaching to the knee. The man wears a shirt, trousers, and bark shoes, or long felt boots, and a sheepskin coat. For head-gear the women tie a scarf or handkerchief over the head; the men wear a sheepskin cap. Obviously these people don’t want jackets made of flannclette, or vests of hygienic wool, or petticoats of pink flannel, with cur- ious designs in zesthetic colors. A woman was offered a petticoat which had been sent from Moscow and she refused it, saying she would'be afraid to appear in that in the vil- lage. 'Such are the inexorable decrees of fashion even in humble life. It would, therefore, be better if the ladies of St. Pet- ersburg and Moscow were to buy common material and send that to the villages with stocks of needles and cotton, and let the villagers make their own clothes. As it is, some of the people honestly say they can not wear the clothes, and refuse to take them, while others take the clothesâ€"and sell them. The money thus obtained goes to the dram-shop. % Terrible Plight of Two Ladies- The Daily Graphic contains the third letter of their special commissioner describ- ing his visit to ' Russia. He writes of a workroom having been established by Prince Viasimsky’s steward and his wife and adds â€"â€"Thc steward's wife told me an amusing though touching anecdote of what had oc- curred two days before. The news of the sewing-room had spread to a village some miles off. and two sisters determined to make the attempt to get to the workroom, although they had sold every article of clothing they possessed for food. They bor- rowod a neighbour’s horse, harnessed him to their sledge, wrapped their father’s shacp~ skin coat round them, and drove off to the workroom. Arrived there, they jumped out. and ran into the room, when the steward ’s wife saw that one girl was stark naked,z while the otherhad nothing on but the rein- uants of a shirt. They had driven the eight or ten miles with only their father’s tattcr. . ed sheepskin coat over them, and the ther- mometer was standing at something like 10 degrees below zero (Fahrenheit). These two determined young girls were pointed out to me. They were now clothed in garments made in the workroom, and looked clean and industrious losses. When the merits ofa good thing are con- sidered, it only requires proof like the fol. owing to convince and settle any doubt.-â€"â€"- Constantine, Mich, U. S.A., Feb. 16, 1887: “ Was troubled 30 years with pains in the back from strain ;in bed for weeks ata time; no relief from other remedies. About 8 years ago I bought St. Jacobs Oil and made about 14 applications : have been well and strong ever since. Have done all kinds of work and can lift as much as ever. No re- turn of pain in years. ” D. M Rsuucx. in ii .V‘O â€"_._..â€"â€".--~â€"â€"â€"-â€"o It Makes Pu re Blood And by so doing Hood‘s Susan-sills cures scrolula, salt rheum. and all other blood dls eases, aids proper digestion. cures dyspepsia, gives strength to every organ of the body, and prevents attacks of that timd lecilngor more serious urination. The fact that it has cured thousands of ollieis is sufficient reason for belief that it will cure you. N. 13. Be sure to get Hood’s Sarsaparilla Sold by all drugglsts. 8!; six for s5. Prepared only ‘c y C. I. llOOD J:- CO.,Apotliocarles, Lowell. Basil “.0 Doses One Dollar Judicious Advertising- The advertiser often slights this, which is a most im ortaut branch of his business. He prepares is copy hurriedly and without judgment or thought, leaves its display to the printer’s taste, does not attract the eye or the dollar of the reader, and then says advertising does not pay. Advertisin is an art, and does pay, if made a study. Il‘he advertising agent has goods just as legiti- mate and valuable to sell as the salesman of drugs or jewelry, and this fact is recognized by advertisers. The essentials of advertising can perhaps be stated as but three in num- ber : you must have what people want or can be made to want ; you must select the proper medium to reach them, and you must tell your story in an attractive and forceful manner. All the resources of modern ingenuity are called to the aid of the advertiserâ€"art, poetry, music, high literary ability, keen business insight, all contribute their quota. Lincoln’s famous saying that “ you can fool all the people part of the time, and part of the people all the time, but you can’t fool all the people all the time,” must not be denied in practice, if one expects to build up an enduring success. Advertising is a field of an infinitudo of variety ; what succeeds in one branch, is a failure in an- other. Intelligent study of the question is an absolute necessity.â€"[Pharm Era. ‘fAugustf Flower” For Dyspepsia. . A. Bellanger, Propr., Stove Foun- dry, Montagny, Quebec, writes: “I have used August Flower for Dys- pepsia. It gave me great relief. I recommend it to all Dyspeptics as a very good remedy.” Ed. Bergeron, General Dealer, Laiizon, Levis, Quebec, writes: “I have used August Flower with the best possible results for Dyspepsia.” o C. A. Barrington, Engineer and General Smith, Sydney, Australia, writes: “August Flower has effected a complete cure in my case. It act- ed like a miracle.” Geo. Gates, Corinth, Miss.,wn'tes: ' “ I consider your August Flower the best remedy in the world for Dys- pepsia. I was almost dead with that disease, but used several bottles of August Flower, and new con- sider myself a well man. I sincerely recommend this medicine to suffer- ing humanity the world over." 0 (D G. G. GREEN, Sole Manufacturer, “" Woodbury, New Jersey, U. S. A. W A Brilliant l’ast. \Vaggâ€"“ Do you see that seedy, shabby, dilapidated, bleary old wreck sitting over there?" Salpinxâ€"“ch, what apcrfectly fright- ful specimen.” , Waggâ€"" \Vell, that old man used to live in a magnificent great stone house that (-ov. cred acres of round.” Salpinx--“ 'ou don’t tell me.” \Vaggâ€"“Yes, it was one of the most ex- pensive structurcs in the State. It cost fully a million. Salpinxu” You simply astound me! Where was it ?” Waggâ€"“It was the penitentiary.” Bid For a Spring Hat. They were about going out, and she sat down while her husband got into his over- coat. ” I don’t believe you love me any more," she said with a sigh. “ I’m convinced ofit," and her voice trembled a little. “ Not love you, my dcar‘! Why, how absurd ! Must I tell you every moment that I love youâ€"«love you with all my soul 1'” “ Oh, that will do to say, but I know you care for me no longer. How can you love me in this old hat I" became . u Johnston, N. 18., March 11, 1889. “I was troubled for thirty years with j pains in my side, which increased and .aacons on. and it completely cured. I give it all praise.” I. RIGHT! ST. JACOBS OIL DID IT." very bad. I used MRS. IVM. RYDER. Iw“fl~ WWFW . l . i ‘ pammw.-- . -.. m...» .â€".. H..- .-...... ......, wan -,~.~ .q -w-«va .1. .. . ..... v... .. . .. .q . mama.