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DURHAM FOUNDRY A handsome” Illustrated weekly. [mgr «hum of any scientific mud. Terms. year:_ :99: guogtha. 81. 80 d ”.114an W ”riding a sketch and dual It) A flick! sum-rum our opinion has V C! Mom n is probably untenable. Com-lama ”Met” mnfldentm. Hmdbookon W not free. ”Meet agency for securing menu. Patents who through Mann a C0. "com «all gone. turnout. charge. In the ear: four month s. 501601 ul new menu-I mm gm (:0. 3mm New Ygtl £25? 81.. Wuhtnman. D. Why Go Around" lltoros'c allowed on Savings Bank da- ”its 0! 51 and upwards. Promw “tuition and every facility afforded ultomers living at a distance For A general Banking businoas tuna- mtod. Draftaissuod and collections nude on all points. Depcsits r.» ”3‘06 and infer-est. allowm'l a. cur rent rates. Repairing promptly “tended to. We: in all principal points in 011 Eric, Quebec. Hannah, United States tad England. "SEieutific Hmcrkan. Saws gummod and fitted. J. L. FLARITY Outings of .11 kinds undo order. Standatd Bank of Canada. SMITH 6: SONS Steam and Gas Piping tings. Domestic Sowing Mtchines. Bissau Disc Barrows md Lgnd Rollers. McCormick Binders. Mowers and Inns. Dealers in and Manufacturers of Harvesting Machinery and farm ins implements of all kinds. “pit.“ Authorized . . . 82,000,000 Pfid Up ....... . ..... 1.000.000 ”serve Fund ........ 1 £00,000 Give us 1 trial. With an ill-fitting ready-undo unit, when you can get : firet- clnss fit, mude to order in the highest clue of workmmahip [or about the same money? We have n large stock 0! SCOTCH TWEEDS. WOR- STEDS and SERGES. and we guarantee utiahction. THE SAVINGS BANK. MERCHANT TAILOR. , Agenr Fit to nn’ cut the cords, an’ that in the mid- dle 0' two («that bed: was a box an’ II the box a baby alive an’ squallin’. an’ most froze. "1' what I" pulled out looked like a feather bed tied round with a cord. but I out with my knife “It's anus been a puzzle to me just why I did it. for I was wet through Silas Terry, or Uncle Terry, as every- body on Southport island called him, was and for thirty years had been the keeper of the Cape light. situated on the outermost point of the island. To ’ this he added the daily duty of mail carrier to the head of the island. eight miles distant. and there connecting with a small steamer plying between the Maine coast islands and a shore port. He also. in common with other of the islanders, tilled a little land and \ kept a few traps set for lobsters. He ; was an honest, kind hearted and fairly ! well read man whose odd sayings and quaint phrases were proverbial. With i his wife, whom everybody called Aunt i Lissy, and adopted daughter Telly, he i lived in a neat white house close to the ; Cape light, and, as he put it. “his latch- T string was allus out.” i 1 Uncle Terry had a history, and not i the least interesting episode in it was i the entrance into his life of this same fair and blue eyed girl. Perhaps his ; own graphic description will best tell I the tale: “It was ’bout the last 0’ March, more ‘ than eighteen year ago an' durin’ one r o’ the worst blows I ever rec- -ciect since I kep' the light. that one mornin’ I spied a \essei hard an' fast on White floss ledge, ’bout half a mile off the pun. It had been snowin' some an' froze on the windows 0’ the light, so mebbe she didn‘t see it ’fore she fetch- ed up all standin'. The seas was pound- in' her like great guns, an' in her rig- gin’ I could see the poor devils half hid in snow an' ice. Thar wa’n’t no hope for ’em, for no dory could ’a’ lived a moment in that awful gale, an’ thar wa'n't no lifeboat here. Lissy an' me made haste to build a are on the p'int to show the poor critturs we had feelin’ for 'em, an’ then we just stood an' waited an' watched for 'em to go down. It might ’a' been an hourâ€"there's no tellin'â€"when I saw a big bundle tossin’ light an' comin' ashore. I ran over to the-cove where I keep my boats an’ grabbed a piece 0' rope an’ boat book an' made ready. The Lord must ’a’ steered that bundle, for it kept workin’ along, headin’ for a bit 0’ beach just by the p’int. I had a rope round my waist, an’ Lissy held en te the end, an’ when the bundle struck I made fast with the beat hook, an’ the next comb- er tumbled me end over, bundle an’ all, up on to the sand. I grabbed at it an’ 'fore the next one come had it high an’ dry out e’ the way. “I didn’t that. take _t_he rpm: 0391 The man seated himself and. draw- lnx of! his wet boots and putting on his slippers, opened his hands toward the blaze and observvd. "You and Lissy’s bound to meat me. so blmeby I won't Itll‘ out 'cept the sun shines." F “Better have some warm, Silas." said 4‘ the woman, taking the steaming kettle I from the stove and following him. “You might as wall be comfortable," the added. “You haven't got to go out again, have you ?" “It‘s blowing hard tonight, father, isn’t it?” she observed. “1 can feel the waves shake the house.” Then, not waiting for an answer. she step- ped to a closet and, bringing a short gray coat and felt slippers, pushed an armchair to the tire and, placing the slippers beside it. held the coat ready for him to put it on. Uncle Terry obeyed, and, finding I bright fire burning there, stood back to it, smiling aifectionately at a young girl busy beside the table. She had an oval face, a rather thin and delicate nose, small, sweet mouth and eyes that were big. blue and appealing. A wealth of light hair was coiled on the back of her head, and her form was full and rounded. “Supper ’most ready, Llssy ?” he ask- ed, eying a pot on the stove that gave out an appetizing odor. “I’m hungry ’nough to eat a mule with the harness .n." “'Twill be in a minit,” was the re- ply. “Better go into t'other room where Telly's nettin' the table.” Uncle Terry took 03 his dripping Iou’wester and coat and, hanging them over the wood box, went to the sink and began pumping a basin of water. “The Lord-a-mauy help any poor uni that goes ashore tonight!” re- sponded a portly, white haired woman beside the stove as a monster wave made the little dwelling tremble. CHAPTER r.‘ T’s goin’ to be a nut! night." said Uncle Terry, coming in from the shed and dumping an armtul of wood in the box lwhind the kitchen stove ‘an’ the (ombors is just a- bump- in' over White Moss ledge. an’ the spray’: flyin’ halfway up the light- house." \¢ ““1.- Copyrllbt. 1900. by CHARLES CLARK MUN N - wwv‘m. a.» «aw 0-.“ *3.» ...3y.... “An’ ran for the house.” relatives she imagined she must have in faroi! Sweden ever made any ef- fort to learn the fate of her parents, who she knew had gone down so near her home. The story of her rescue with all its pitiful details was familiar to her, and in her room were treasured all the odd bits of wreckagbthe locket that contained her parents' pictures. the two rings, the last message of her mother and even the wooden shoe that had floated ashore. How many times she had looked at those two pictured faces, one a reflection of her own; how many tears she had shed in secret over them. and how, year after year, she wondered if ever in her life some rel; She had never received even the first lesson in that Charmin; art, but for all that every room in the house had dozens of her efforts, large and small. hanging on the walls and in the oddest frames. Some were of strips of thin board covered wlth little shells or dried moss. and others of rustic handiwork anti mounted with fir cones. There wu but one shadow in her life. and that the fact that no one of the One special talent she was gifted with, and that was the ability to draw and paint well. Even as achild at school she would draw pictures on a slate that were surprising, and when older and she obtained materials she worked uno til she became in a way quite an artist. As Uncle Terry put it, “Makin' picters comes nat’rl to the gal." 01' been ehe hardly knew the mean- ing. and it must be aid the few young uwn who remained on the lsland after marking the age of courtahlp were neither ln garb nor manners Inch ae would attract a girl like Telly. To them she was all that a devoted daughter could be, and when school days were over she became Uncle Ter- ry's almost constant companion. 0n pleasant days she went with him to attend his traps and on his daily drive ts the head of the island. She was welcome in every house and well he- loved by all those simple, kindly peo- ple, who felt an unusual kindly inter- est in her existence. 0! tender heart and timid nature, her appealing eyes won the love of young and old. On Sunday evenings she was always one of the small congregation that gathered to hold simple services in the little church at the Cape. a square one story building that never knew paint or shut- tors. 0! «mo no history of Unclo Ter- ry’s note.” '10 known to ovary roll- dont o! a. bland. and :3 sho grow in- to girlhood at nttondod Ichool at tho Capo. on tho little vilingo n quarter milo back o! no point was coiled. until sho mound into a young lndy overy one «no to feel that in 3 way no he- longed to tho kindly lighthouu tuner and bio Vito Hells“. waist, but grabbed the box aa’ ran for the house, with Lissy after me. We had a are in the stove, an’ Lissy warmed a blanket an' wrapped the poor thing up an’ held it over the stove an' kissed it an’ took on just as wim- min will. When I see it was safe I cut for the p’int, thinkin' to wave my hat an' show ’em we had saved the baby, but a squall o’ snow had struck in, an’ when it let up the vessel was gone. Thar was bits 0’ wreck cum ashore, pieces 0’ spars, a boat all stove in an’ the like an’ a wooden shoe. In the box the baby was in was two little blan- kets, an’ tied in a bit 0’ cloth two rings an’ a locket with two picters in it, an’ a paper was pinned to the baby's clothes with tnrrin writin' on it. It said the baby's name was Etelka Pe- terson aa'. To God I commend my child,’ al’ atned, ‘A Despairia: Moth- er.’ l're- hits 0' the wreck we learned the vessel was from Stockholm an' named ‘Peterson.’ “The paper was sech a heart techin’ appeal, aa' as we’d Just buried our only child. a eix-year-old gal. we was glad to adept this 'un an' brias her up. In due «Ilse 0' time I made a report 0’ the wreck to the lighthouse board aa’ that we had saved one life, a gal baby, al' the all the facts. Nothin' ever ease ea 't. though. as' we was glad that Ildl’t. We kep’ the little gal. aa’ fie wa’ a 't long is growin' iato ‘ our Mia's. aa’ the elder she crowed the nose we thought e’ her." LEE @ SHEfAflD who-u. vu' {or evening nervlec. ad that: usually Ducky chi-non lost a do all: et- rect to an axiom“... may Otkl presidod at {to on“ “(I titled [on- pel hy-u ht, whuy and rather long 41;:ng foot new“. float ct the m0 in this connection it must be stated that the spiritual life of Southport was of a primitive description. The small unpainted church at the Cape, above which hung a diminutive bell, was the only place of worship, and to this every other Sunday came a minister from the mainland. It was furnished with long wooden settees, and a small cottage or- gan graced the platform, upon which an antique desk did duty as pulpit and a storage place tor hymn books. Feur wall bracket lamps ll‘hted this room And, again. when Dene.- Oekl. the leader at all prayer W, ensured hlm how great a bleak; rollxlon we! end how much he enjoyed dlvlne nerv- lce, Uncle Terry answered: “Your tak- ln’ the lead at meetln’s la n blessin’ to the rest, for none of ’em has to worry ’bout who's goln’ to speak next. They know you’re nllus ready.” The most pronouncod ohoneterlotio of Cuclo Torry was his unfailing good humor, tinged with o .94 urcaom. Ho lovod his follow I. out jot en- joyed puncturing their ouol concolto. but no droll was his w of doing it that no one folt the slug. To Duncan. who kept the only otoco ond oloo post- omco at the Cape and Carly loved to hear himself talk. Unolo Torry onco ortd: “You’vo got tho motoot gift o' galb I ever heerd. loocou. on' you could 'n' made your tort!- ln tho show buolnooo. But if you’ro ovor took with religion the hull island 'I turn infid- die.” In spite of his investment in a mine he had been frugal and owned most of the land between the vlllage and the point and was aloe Joint owner. with two other men, In a small trad- ing schooner that male oemlmonthly trips between the Cape and Boston. She carried fish, clams, lobsters, hay and potatoes and fetchei an “all sorts" cargo useful to the Loin-o, from a paper of needles to a heuhoad of mo- lasses. Among the Bouthport islanders Un- cle Terry was considered an odd stick. and yet one who would go out of his way to do a good turn to others. He was seldom seen at church, though his wife and Telly usually were. As he once remarked: “It’s a good thing for ’on, 'cause it takes up that mind an’ is more sociable, though prayih' allus seems to me a good deal like a man tryin’ to lift himself by his boot straps. It keeps him busy, though, an' it’s healthy exercise." “I've never wronged nobody nor done much preyln', 13’ when the Almighty calls nae I think I'll etend jeet no good e chence o’ gittin’ n help as those wheee dene mere on’t The worst ehinnin' I ever got wu dene by this ere lawyer. who never not dewn to neele 'thout eehin' e bleeein', en’ neb- he thet'e the reeeon I'm e motor. I’ve ehlerved e good deel eince I left the eld fern, en' heve come to the belief that ther'e e eucker horn every ninit and two ter hetch him. When I wee young I toeh hold 0' the big end 0' the log en' did the liftin', but new I tnhe hold o' the little end en' do the grant- in’. Ther'e one thing I've lerned. .en' lerned it for eertin, en' that in ther'e few peoyle in thin world thet cut n he. in the middle. Meet on ’em out few elicee en' cut ’ern thin." CHAPTER II. WA’N'T consulted ’bout com in’ into this world.” said Uncle Terry once. “an' I . don’t ’spect to be ‘bout go- in’ out. I was born on 11 way back farm 1 in Connecticut. whore the rocks was so thick we used ter round the sheep up once a week an’ sharpen thar noses on the grin’stun so ’t they could get ’em ’tween the stuns. I walked a mile to school winters an’ stubbed my toes on the farm summers till I was fourteen. an’ then the old man ’grool to give me my time till I was twenty-one if I ’ud pay him half I earned. I had a colt an' old busted wagon. an’ I took to flicker in.’ I bought eggs an' honey an’ pelts of all sorts. an’ peddled notions an’ tarmln’ tools. When I on. of age I went to the city nn’ turns! trader an' made a little money. got Iarried an’ cum down into Maine an' bought a gold mine. I've got it yit-tbat is, I've got the hole whar I a'pooo‘ the mine was. Most o' my money wont into it na' stayed that. Then I got a chance to tend light an’ ketch lobsters an' hey stuck to it ever sinco. I take some comfort livin'. an' try an' sees it along. The Widdor Leach calls no a scofler. but she allns comes to no then she's noelin’. an’ don't allus have to cum ei- ther. My life’s been liko Dost every- body elso’s, a streak o' loan an’ a streak 0’ (at. with less proloninatin'. 'Twss a streak o’ {at when I found a good woman an' she so.“ ‘7os,’ an' a streak 0’ loan when I woo bamboozled by a lawyer into buyia' a gold mine. I’ve kop’ that hole ever since an' paid taxes oa't to prove to myself jest how big a tool a man can be aa' live. ti'v'e w:uld be known to her. no our not even her foster parents, ever knev. Neither did they knew how many times she had tried to imagine the mo- ment when her despairing mother. with death near and with prayers and tears, had cast her adrift, hoping that the one little life most dear to that mother might be saved. The fatal reef where those parents had gone down also held for her a weird fascination. and at times the voice of the ocean seemed like the despairing cries of mortals. One picture. and it was her best. was a view of the wreck, as near as Uncle Terry could describe it, with human forms clinging to the ice clad rigging and tempcstuoas seas leaping over them. The subject held an un- canny influence over her. and she had spent months on the picture. But this shadow of her life she kept carefully guarded from all. ‘ On the north end of this park-like .' highway and beyond the last house it 1 narrows to an ordinary roadway and ' divides. One fork turns to the right. following up the banks of a winding stream to an old gristmill with mass covered wheel 'and lily dotted pond above. The other turns to the left. crosses the narrow Sandgato valley and bears south past the Page place. If it were Sunday. not many years ago and about 11 in the morning. a stran- ger passing the church would have heard through the open doors and win- dows the exquisitely sweet voice of Alice Page. clear as a bell and melodi- ous as a bird's, toying and trilllng through “Coronation" or some other easily recognized hymn. and had that stranger awaited the close of service he or she would have seen among the congregation filing out one petite and plump little lady. with flower-like face. sparkling blue eyes and kiss inspiring mouth. who would most likely have walked demurely along with her big brother Albert and. turning down a narrow pathway, follow him across the meadows, over a footbridge that spans the stream and up to an old fashioned elm shaded house. This landmark. known far and wide as the Page place, is historic, Built in the time of King George and one of the first three erected in Sandgate, it has withstood the stems of two centu- . ties and seen many generations of : Pages cone, and go. Additions have : been made to itâ€"an oil on one side. i W ml". £99.!!!“ veranda a. ‘ One or two men may be st work hay- lnz In the broad meadows west or the village, through which the slow cur- rent of a small river twists and turns, or others wielding hoes on s hillside field of corn to the east. but so far as moving life in tho vlllage street goes there will be none. ()0 either side of the Ssndgste vslley two spurs of the Green mountsin range, forest clad, stand guard as if to lsolste from all the world thls peaceful dale. whose dwellers’ sole smbltion in life may be summed up in to plow, plsst, resp and go to meetlng. CHAPTER III. STRANGIR visiting Sandgate. in the Green mountains, on a summer afternoon would in- evitably conclude the town was asleep. Often not a person would be visible the entire length of its main street, cooled by three rows of maples. one dividing it and one shading each of the two sidewalks formed of narrow strips of weather stained marble. Un- der some of these trees that almost teuch branches for half a mile one or We cows might be grazing or taking a siesta while chewing the cud of con- tent. 0n the vine hid porch of the village tavern Landlord Pell would quite likely he dosing in an armchair tilted back, and across the way Mr. Hobbs, whe keeps the one general stere, would as likely be napping on a counter, his head pillowed upon a pile of calico. A little farther up the street and near the one tall spired white church Mrs. Mean, the village gossip. may be sitting on the veranda of a small house almost hid by luxuriantly growing Norway spruce and idly rock- ing while she chats with the Widow Sloper, who lives there and whose mis- sion in life is to cut and fit the best “go to meetin’ " gowns of female Sand- gate. Both dearly love to talk over all that's going on. and whether this or that village swain is paying especial attention to any one rosy checked lass. and, if so. “what’s likely to come on‘t.” ‘ Both mean well by this neighborly in- ; terest, and especially does Mrs. Sloper. ’ who always advises plaits for stout. women, “with middlin’ fullness in the l bust" for thin ones. There ls a sense of justic. underly- 133 all men’s mlnds, and the natural instinct 18 to judge others by what they are and how they live rather than by what they profess, and so it wan ll Uncle Terry’s can. In spite of Uncle Terry’s mildly fla- vored shafts 0t sarcasm he made no enemies, and his kind heart and ster- ling honesty were respected {at and near. He was considered a doubter and skeptic, and, though seldom seen at church, as he had originally con- tributed his there when that edifice we. built, his lack of piety was for- given. “But I got a little comfort finally, (or when tho deacon died by some in- Idnrtance the choir an n; ‘Pralse God. m Whom All Blessiu' 3 Flow.’ an' I m ’I't the only one who felt that way olthor." “I can’t hear Oaks, though, 'thout thlnkin’ o' Deacon .:ogers up in “'01- cott, who‘never momloned the need 0' rain till he’d got his hay in. He was a sly fox an’ allus t1: mined the Lord for Iendin' raln nights nn’ Sunday: so the poor hired man could rest. “I used to have him held up as a shlnin’ example, but he opened my eyes nrter I began dlckerln’ by sellin’ me a lot 0’ eggs that had been not on two weeks. an’ the store man I sold ’em to never trusted me ag’ln. ’Twas a case 0’ the ungodly sufferln’ for the sin: 0' the righteous that tlme, which may be a perurslon o’ Scripture, but the truth jut the s: e. “It's lucky the widow’s sure 0’ lots 0’ happiness in tlw next world," ob~ servvd Uncle Terry nnce. “for she ain’t gittiu’ much in this. elce tried to chase the tunes along and inl‘ined they were singing, which per- haps is all that is necessary. On the Sundays between the minister's visits only evening services were held and ev- ery Thursday evening a prayer meet- ing. It was on these latter occasions that Deacon Oaks was in conspicuous evidence. The Widow Leach, a poor unfortunate woman who had seen bet- ter days and in whose poverty stricken lite religion was the only consolation, was also prominent, and her testimony, unvarying in tenor as the tunes played by Mandy, helped to fill out the serv- £ce. 3:3, though, 'thout Jogers up in “'01- :ioned the need 0' hay in. He was a naked the Lord for --â€"‘ v' “-6 tutu ‘ llntten cunc and end“ his indecision. He had boon away from his once all that afternoon taking 1 long stroll in the woods to en- cape hln lonelineu, and ten time. found n cloud on his face. ‘ .uuvu-IC. a“. ever. and yet to accept the ate: a. leave Aunt Sun: and Allce Ieemed herd. On the other hand. to borrow money on what little or the term we: left did not help matteu. I. when tint wu (one what then? â€"' VY IVI' to a former classmate :vflhoaa father was a prominent merchant in Boston ply, and then, though a cordial letter of sympathy, it did not go far toward solving the problem. A week later, however, came a letter from a lawyer In that city of the name of Frye offer- For a month after the funeral he worried a good deal. He knew tut bills had been left unpald through No mother‘s illness and that the tnmlly were in straltenod circumntnncea. Ill own luv practice so far hnd ylellol scent returns, and what to do sad when to turn Wu a puzzle. He wroto a- - .___-, - But far all that Allce was ceunted I- on every festive gatherlng. It lt was a barn dance. she was always there as! never lacked partners, and when the lolly party rode hone ln s blg wagon filled wlth straw it was her velee Oat always started “The Quilting Pal-g" or other old tune ballad usually lnfilr- ed by noonllght. When a strawberry festival was in order at the church. ‘e was given a post of honor, and wfin Christmas decorations were necesasb every young man felt it a privilege to obey her orders. At home she was the same Winsome llttle queen and had ne more devoted subject than her brother. 80 devoted a brother and oioter were they that it had kept them fro- for-o ing other asaociationo, and when Al- bert had been aoked why he did not oo- cort oome other young lady to the hub ing been, barn dancea or church oocia- hloo hio uoual reply wao, “Alice io good enough for me, and when ohe preter- anothor beau I nay, but not till then.“ With Alice, though many of the til- lago owaino wooed. ohe wouldn't. Ev Jln lean. omiwart and with a In; like a toot, fared no hotter. and whoa Albert rallied. her once about young lento aho- anawerod, “Oh. Jin'a all fight; he in“: haadoo-o, but, then. he to ott'ong," which delicate area. may he conoidened a onflcient reflex o! her teelingo toward othero of the would bo_attentive,young tat-more. Albert, who hel rether teken chem et metters etnce his return to See. xete. kept the debt sltuetlen Alice etter his mother's deeth. tfi she led (rte! enough te beer w lt, but for ell that it troubled h1- G rlouely. The income Item his pane“ wee scercely enough te clethe kl. eel net likely to Increase, (or Budge. led scent use for e lawyer, end whl to de or which wey to turn he knew not. It it were not for Alice end Aunt Susen he thought it weuld be eesler, but they must he provided ter. Alice, who hed been hte compeeloe, pleymete and confident since the deye e! shert dresses, he especlelly cerel for, end that feeling wee mutuel. But the years °§ self denial were at an end, for one June day that notion laid down her burden and was place! beside her husband la the village ca.- etery. Then the two orphans for themselves jolnt belts to an old worn house, a tow acres of meadow a couple hundred dollars of debts ai- nothlax else. No, that ls not rlght, ~ they both had youth, good health ad hahlta and good educatlons. ly son should become a professional man, and, carrying out his wishes. Al- bert’s mother had pinched and saved, denying herself all luxuries, and gives him a collegiate education. He had graduated with honors, read law, been admitted to the bar and then returned to Sandgate and opened an oflce. Alice, three years his junior, had been sent to a boarding school for two years, where she devoted most of her time to music, then came heme again as mother’s helpmate. hon? Inllde lt :- much the ume, for 'the open fireplaces remain in parlor and Ilttlng room, and a tall clock or solemn tlck stands in the hall where it stood when Paul Revere took his ta. mous rlde. The last owner, Simeon Page. or, as he was called, Squire Page, joined the great majority two years after an enterprising railroad crept up the Sandgate valley. He had bitterly op- posed its entrance into the town, and it was asserted that chagrin at his de- feat hastened his death. His widow, with their two children, Albert and Alice, and a widowed sister, remained and with the aid of hired men man- aged the farm. But bushes began to choke the pastures and meadows, the outbuildings grew shabby, the house received no paint. and as the children grew up and needs increased one by one the broad iielda were sold. It had been the squire’s ambition that his on- know thut through M. the “may ulces. In and yield.‘ to do II‘ f) gum nutmc II DURHAM, The umh “signed ban-mg 1M! by simple means, ath-r suflrri with 8 “Were lung 113.1110! Mew-punt. n~ anxi to his fellow nuflrh‘ru the In those who desire it. he will ch “ chm-go. a copy of the pre will find a sure cun- Chairman-chm M. He hope. I may. no it in invaluobl ,. puma, which I'm 9 Elam-x ! U tioneer for the Count; proqptly attended m. 0| at has Implement “'ueru all «had. or u the Chrol Nov. 9. '03. 6.1195 pl“ fondant Orders 11 U ensod Auctioneer {0 Guy. Land Vulnuuur, H Divnsion. Court 5.1% and gonptly “tended w. M rubbed if required. ltwhded 1 O BENT A ‘1‘" in Inn). ('0 lttended trv Oflice 00?! Stand Shore, 1. 0f mun? property W. 0. Pickering. HONOR GRANT! U the Durham Block. Residence- tho Station. l 600 mar McLu‘h hours, 8 tn w n. m.. 2 p. I). Spec-int attend of women and childre posite Presbyterian Ch H Drs. lamieson (‘I-‘I-‘K‘I-I AND ' shut! drum“; [Agnbtnu Sm Ofiloe huurs fr‘ fut WI " For k." etc - 5 and! tubswucm All adverti-aemcm In Advana. Contact rates for Qpliauion t_o the u -_ A .- “1.3.4“ [w an L". L WTISIHC ‘ W per 51311. THEJOB:: - .. . I~ (‘0 DEPARTHLNI a” N “should bel Iormng. HYSICI AS A N [)5 five «Her McLachl OHN CLARK. Ll AMES CARSON. I)‘ It Alladveni Ill ARRISTER ARRISTER UGH AR R l. G. Hutton. FI’ICEâ€"Fl HST I FPICI‘I AN D Gnrafraxn a Ming [utilities for t work. . . M cl I Dr. T. G. Hol MA T0 CONSUM ARY I G. Lefroy MacKay Arthur Gu m ptl y Vlt'll I Denial Di A. H. lac Mm [.1194]! D!) _,_ o yam“ ll 1e 3W. m l. P. Tel IS PUBLI: THURCD‘ ' .uwnd rum to left at 1 “flit-6 {16 H 'cllam II l‘ele pt KAY SUI ’l ‘1