The Picture of Dorian Gray 1 BY OSCAR WILDE. A -It is an ihteresting, question," said Lord Henry, who found an pleasure in playing on the lad's unconscious extremely, interesting question. fancy that the explanation ts this. It often happens that the real tragedies of life occur in such inartistic manner that they hurt us by: their, crude violence, their absolute incoherence, their absurd want of meaning, their entire lack of style. They affect us just as vulgarity affects us.
They give us an impression of sheer brute force, and we revolt against that. Sometimes, however, a tragedy. that has artistio elements of beauty crosses our lives. If these elements of beauty are real, the whole thing simply appeals to our sense of dramatio effect. Suddenly we find that we are no longer the aftors, but the spectators of the Or rather we are both.
We watch ourselves, and the mere wonder of the spectacle enthralls us, In the present case, what is it that really happened! Some one has killed herself for love of you. I wish I had ever had such an experience. It would have made me in love with love for the rest of ylife. The people who have adored me--there have not been very many, but there have been some -have always insisted on living on, long after I had ceased to care them, or they' to care for me. They 1 have becomes stout and tedious, and when 1 meet them they go in at for reminiscences.
The memory of woman! What's fearful thing it is! And what an utter intellectual stagnation it -reveals! One should should never absorb remember the its color of life, but Details one are always rulgar, 1 "Of course, now and then things linger. once wore nothing but violets all through one season, as mourning for a romance that would not die. Ultimately, however, it did die. I forgot what killed it. I think it was her proposing to sacrifice the whole for me.
That is always a dreadful moment. It Alis one with the, terror of eternity. Wellwould you believe tia week at. Lady Hampshire'3, I found myself seated, at dinner next the lady in question, and she insisted on going over the whole again, anddigging up the past, and raking up' the future. I bad buried my romanco in a bed of poppies.
She dragged, it out again, 'and assured me that I had spoiled her life. I am bound to state that she ate an enormous dinner, so I did not foel any anxiety. But what a lack of taste she showed! The ono charm of the past. But never know. when the curtain hast fallen.
They always want a sixth act, soon as the interest of' the play is entirely over they propose to continuo it. If they were allowed to have their way, arery comedy would have a tragic ending, and overy tragedy would calminate In a farce. They are charmingly artificial, but they have no sense. of art. You are more fortunate than am.
I assure you, Dorian, that not one of the women have known would have done for mo what Sibyl 'Vane did for Ordinary women always console themselves. of them do it by going in for sentimental colors. Never trust a woman who weurs mauve, whatever her age may be, or a woman over thirtyfive who ib fond of pink ribbons. It always means that they have a history, Others And a. great consolation in suddenly discovering the good qualities of their busbands.
They flaunt their conjugal' felicity in one's face, as if it was the most fuscibating of sins. Religion consoles some. Its mysteries have ull the charm of a flirtation, a woman on told me; and I can quito understand it; Besides, nothing makes one so vain As being told that one is a' sinner. There is really no end to the consolations that women find in modern life. Indeed, I have not mentioned the most important one of all." "What is that, Harry?" said Dorian Gray, listlessly.
1 "Ob, the obvious ono. Taking some one else's admirer when due loses one's own. In good society, that always whitewashes 8. woman. really, Dorian, how different Sibyl Vane must bare been from all the women Que meets There is: something to me quite beautiful about her death.
I am glad Tam living in a century when such wonders happen. They mako one believe in the roality tho things that shallow, fashionable peoplo play with, such as romance, passion, and love." 1 was terribly cruel to her. You forget that." "I believe that women appreciate cruelty moro than abything else. They have wonderfully primitive instincts. We have emancipated them, but they remain slaves looking for their masters all the same.
They love being dominated. I am sure you wero. splendid. I have never seen you angry, but can fancy how delightful you Looked. And, after all, you said something to me the day before yesterday that seemed to me at 'the time to be merely fanciful, but that I seo now was absolutely true, and it explains everything." "What was that, Harry!" "You said to me that Sibyl Vane represented to you all the heroines of romancethat she was Desdemona one night, and Ophelia the other; that she died as Juliet, she came to life as "She will never come to life again now, murmured the lad, his face in his aands.
"No, sho will never come to life. She has played her last part. But you must think of that lonely death in the tawdry dressingroom simply as astrange lurid frugment from some Jacobe.in tragedy, as a wonderful scene from Webster, or Ford, or Cyril Tourneur. The girl never really lived, and so she has never really died. To you at least she was always a dream, a that fitted through Shakspeare's plays and left them lovelier for its presence, a reed through which Sbakspeare's music sounded richer and more full of Joy, The moment she touched actual life, she marred ft, and it marrod her, and so she passed away.
Mourn. for Ophelia, if you like. Put ashes on your bead because Cordelia was strangled. Cry out against Heaven bocause. daughter of Brabantio died don't waste your tears over Sibyl Vane.
She was less real than they are." There was a silence. The evening darkened in the. room. Noiselessly, and with silver feet, the shadows crept in from the garden. The colors faded wearily out of things.
After some time Dorian Gray looked up. hare explained me to myself, he murmured. with something of: a sigh of relief. "I felt all that you have said, but somehow I was afraid of it, and I could not express it to myself. How well rod know me! But we will not talk again of what has bappened.
It has been a marvelous ex- I' -5 4... graphed for me when you heard st it Erst I read of it quite by chance in a late edition of the Globe, that I picked up at the club. I came here at once, and was miserable at not finding you. 1. can't tell you how heartbroken I am about the whole thing.
I know what you must suffer. But where were yout Did you go down and see the girl's mother! For a moment I thought of. following you there. They gave the address in the paper. Somewhere in the Euston Road, isn't it! But that I was afraid not of intruding upon Poor 8 sorrow.
I could lighten. wordan1, What a state she must. be in! And her only child, too! What did she say about it all?" "My dear Basil, how do I murmured Dorian, sipping some pale-yellow wine a delicate gold-beaded bubble of Venetian glass, and looking dreadfully bored, was at the opera. You should have come on there. I met Lady Gwendolen, Harry's sister for tho first We were in her box.
She is perfectly ing, about and horrid Patti subjects. sung If divinely. one doesn't Don't. talk about a thing, it has never happened. It is simply expression, 88 Harry says, that gives reality to things.
Tell me about yourself and what you are went to the opera said Hallward, speaking very slowly, and with a strained touch of pain in. bis voice. "You went. to the opera while Sibyl Vane was lying' dead in some sordid lodging1 You can talk' to me of other women being charming, and of Patti singing divinely, before the girl you loved has even the quiet of a grave to sleep in1 Why, man, there are horrors in store for that little body of hers 1" "Stop, Basil! I won't hear cried Dorian, leaping to his fect. "You must not tell me about things.
What is done is done. What is past past," "You call vesterday the past?" "What has cue actual lapse of time got' to do with it! It is only shallow people who require years to get rid of an emotion. A man who is master of himself can end a sorrow as easily as be can invent a. pleasure: I don't want to be at the mercy of my emo tions. I want to use them, to enjoy them, 1: and to dominate them." "Dorian, this is horrible! Something has changed you completely.
You look exactly the same wonderful boy who used to come down to my studio, day after day, to sit for his picture. But you were simplo, natural, and affectionate then. You were the most unspoiled creature in the whole world. Now, I don't know what has come over you. You talk as if you had no heart, no pity in you.
It is all Harry's influence. I see that." It The lad flushed up, and going to the window looked out on the green, flickering garden for a few moments. owe 8 great deal to Harry, Basil," he said at than I owe to you. You only taught me to be vain." I am punished for that, Dorian or shall be some day." "I don't know what you mean, Basil," 'he exclaimed, turning round. don't know what you want.
What do you want?" "I want the Dorian Gray I used to a. "Basil," said lad, going to 'him, and putting his band on his shoulder, "you have come too late. Yesterday when I heard that Sibyl Vane had killed Good heavens! is there no doubt about that?" cried Hallward, looking up at him with an expression of horror. "My dear Basil! Surely you don't think it was 8 vulgar accident! Of course she killed herself: It is one. of the great romantic tragedies of the age.
As rule, people who net lead the most commonplace lives. They are good husbands, or faithful wives, tedious. You know what I mean-iniddle-class virtue, and all that kind of thing. How different Sibyl was! She lived her finest: tragedy. She.
was always a The last night she played--the night you saw ber-ghe acted badly because she had known the reality of When she kuew its unreality, she uled, as Juliet might have died. She passed again into the sphere of art. There is something of the martyr about her. Her death has the pathetic uselessness of martyrdom, all its wasted But, as I. was saying, you must not think I have not suffered.
If you bad come in yesterday at a particular moment--about half past five, perhaps, or: quarter to. six-you would have found me in tears. Even Harry, who was here, who brought, me the news, in fact, had no idea what I was going through. I suffered immensely, then it passed away. not repeat an emotion.
No one can, except sentimentalists. And you are awfully unjust, Basil. You come down here to console. me. That is charming of you.
You find me to console me. That is charming of you. You And me consoled, and you are furious. How liko a sympathetic person! You remind me of a story Harry told me about'a certain philanthropist who spent! twenty years of his life in. trying to get some grievance redressed, or some unjust law altered -I, forget exactly what it was.
Finally ho succeeded, and nothing could exceed his disappointment. He had absolutely nothing to do, almost died of ennui, and became a confirmed misanthrope. And' besides, my dear old Basil, if you really want to console me, teach me rather to: forget what has happened, or to see it from a proper artistic view. Was it not Gautier who used to write about la consulation des arts! I remember picking, up a little vellum-covered book in your studio one day and chancing on that delightful phrase. Well, I am pot like that young man you told me of when we were down at Marlowe together, the young man who used to yellow satin could console one for all the miseries of life.
I love beautiful things that one can touch and handle. Old brocades, green bronzes, lacquer-work, 'carved ivories, exquisite surroundings, luxury, pomp--there is. much to be got from all these: But the artistic temperament that they create, or at any. reveal, is still more to me. To become the spectator of one's own life, as Harry says, is to escape the suffering of life.
I- know you are suri prised at my talking to' you like this. You have not realized how I have doveloped. I was a schoolboy when you knew me. I am 8 man now. I have new passions, new thougbts, new ideas.
I am different, but you must not like me less; I am changed, but you must always be my Of course I am very fond of Harry. But I know that you are better than he is. You are not strouger-you are too much afraid of life -but you are better. And how happy we used to be togetber! Don't leave me, Basil, and don't. quarrel me, I am what.I am.
There is nothing more to be said." Hall ward felt strangely moved. Rugged and straight-forward as he was, there was something in his nature that was purely. feminine in its tenderness, The lad was infinitely dear to him, and his: personality had been the great turning-point in his art. He could not bear the idea of reproaching him any inore. After all, his indifference was probably merely 'a mood that would pass away.
There was so much in him that was good, so much in him that was noble. Dorian," he said at length, with a sad smile, "I won't speak to you again about this horrible thing, after to-day. I only trust your name won't be mentioned in connectiond with it. The inquest is to take afternoon. Have they summoned yout" Dorian shook his head, and a look of noyance passed over his face at the mention of the word "inquest There was something so crude and vulgar about everything of the don't know my name," he answered.
"But surely abe did?" "Only my Christian name, and that I am quite sure she never mentioned to any one. She told me once that they' were all rather curious to learn who I was, and that she invariably told them my name was Prince Charming. It was pretty of her. You must do me drawing of her, should like to have something more of her than the memory. of a few kisses and some broken pathetic words." "I will try and do something.
Dorian, if it would please you. But you must come and sit to me yourself again. I can't get on without you." "I will never sit to you again, Basil. It is impossible!" he exclaimed, starting back. -Hallward stared at him.
"My deur boy, what nonsense!" he cried. "Do you mean to say you don't like did of you! Where Ls Why you have pulled the sercen in front of Let me look at it. It is the bestshing I have ever painted! 'Do take that screen away Dorian. It is simply horrid of your servant biding my work like that. I felt the room looked different as I came in." 'My servant has nothing to do with it, Basil.
You don't imagine 1 let him arrange, my room 'for' me! He settles my flowers for me sometimes--that is 'all. No; I did it myself. The light was too strong on the "Too strong! Impossible, my dear fellow! It is an admirable place for it. Let ino see it." And Hallward walked toward the corner of the room. A cry of terror broke from Dorian Gray's lips, and he rushed between Hallward and the screen.
"Basil," he said, looking very pale, "you must not look at it. I don't wish you to." "Not look at my own work! you are not serious. Why shouldn't I look st it?" claimed Hallward, laughing. "If you try to look at it, Basil, on my word of honor I will never speak to you as long as I live. I am quite serious.
don't offer any explanation, and you are not to ask for any. But, remember, if you touch this screen, overything is over between us. Hallward was thunderstruck. He looked at Dorian Gray in absolute amazement. He had never soen him like this before.
The lad was absolutely pallid with rage. His hands were clenched, and the pupils of his eyes were like disks of bluo, fire. He Was trembling all over. "Dorian!" "Don't speak!" "But what is the Of course I won't look at it if you don't want me to," he said, rather coidly, turning his heel, I and going over toward' the window. "But, really, it seems rather absurd that I should not see my own work, especially as I am going to exhibit it in Paris in tho autumn.
I shall probably bavo to give it another coat of varnish before that, so I must see it some day, and not to-day?" "To exhibit You want to exhibit exclaimed Dorian Gray, a strange sense of terror creeping over, him. Was the world going be shown his secret? Were peoplo at the of his life That was Something, ho: did not know what, to be done at once. "Yes: I don't suppose youl will object to that. Georges Petit is going to collect' all my best pictures for a special exhibit in the Ruo de Seze, which will open the first week in October. The portrait will oply be away a month.
I should you could casily sparo it for that In fact, you are sure. to be out of town. And if you hide it always behind a screen, you. can't caro much about it. Dorian Gray passed his band over his forehead.
There were beads of perspiratipn there. He felt that he was on the brink of a horrible danger. "You told me a month ago that you would never exhibit it," he said. "Why have you changed your mind? people who go in for being consistent have just as many moods as others. The only difference is that your moods aro rather meaningless.
You can't have forgotten that you assured, me' most solemnly that nothing in the world would induce you to send it to any You told Harry exactly the same thing." He stopped suddenly, and a gleam of light came in to his eyes. He remembered that Lord Henry had said to him once, (half seriously and half in jest, "If you want to haro an interesting quarter of an hour, get tell you why he won't exhibit your picture. He told me why he wouldn't, and it revelation to Yes, perhaps Basil, too, had his secret. Ho would ask him and try. "Basil," he said, coming over quite close, and looking him straight in the face, have each of us 1 socret.
Let mo know yours, and I will tell you mine. What was your reason for refusing to exhibit the picture?" Hallward sbuddered in spite of himself. 4 it I told you, might me less than you do, and you would cortainly laugh at me. I could not bear your doing either of those two things." If you wish mo never to look at your picture again, am content. I have always you to look, at.
I be hidden best. world, I am satisfied. you wish the work I have ever done to Your friendship is dearer to me than aDj fame or reputation." "No, Basil, you must tell murmured Dorian Gray. I think I have a right to know." His feeling 'of terror had passed away, and curiosity: bad taken its place. (To be continued:) Eupepsy.
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I wonder if ute nas still in store for me anything as "Life has everything in store for you, There is nothing that you, with your. extraordinury good looks, will not be able to "But suppose, Harry, I became baggard, and gray, and wrinkled? What then?" then," said Lord Heury, rising to go my dear Dorian, 3 you would have fight for your viotories. As it is, they aro brought to you. No, you must keep your good looks. We live in an age' that reds too much to be wise, and that thinks too much to be beautiful.
We can not spare you. And now you bad better dress, and drive down to the club. Welare rather T. late as it think I sball join you at the opera; Harry. I feel too tired to eat anything.
What is the number of your sister's box!" "Twenty-seven, I believe. It is on the grand tier. You will see her name on the door. But l'um sorry you sou't come and don't feel up to it," said Dorian, wearily. I am awfully obliged to you for all that you have said to me.
You are certainly my best friend. No one has ever understood me as you have." "We are only at" the beginning of" our friendship. Dorian," answered Lord Henry, shaking bim by the baud. "Good-bye. I shall see you hefore nine-thirty, I hope.
Remember, Patti is singing." As ho closed the door behind him, Dora Gray touched the bell; and in a few mite utes Victor appeared with the lamps and drew the blinds down. He waited 1m- patiently for him to go. The man seemed' an interminable time about every thing. As soon as he had left, he rushed to the screen, and drew it back. No; there Was no further change? in the picture.
It had roceived the news of Sibyl Vane's death before he had known of it himself. It. was conscious of the events of life as they 00- curred. The vicious cruelty that marred the Ane lines of the mouth had, no doubt, appeared at the very moment that the girl had drunk the poison, whatever it Or wits it indifferent to results? Did merely take cognizance of what passed with-, in the he wondered, and hoped that, some day he would see the change taking place before his very eyes, shuddering as he hoped it. Poor Sibyl! what a romance it had been! She had often mimicked death on the stage, and at last Death himself had touched her, and brought her with him.
How bad she played that 'dreadful scene! Had cursed him, as she died! No; she had died for love of him, and love would always be sacrament to him now. Sho had atoned for everything, by the sacriticc she bad made of her lifo. He would not think any moro of what she had made him go through, that horrible night at the theater. When be thought of her, it would be as a wonderful tragic figure to show Lore had been a great reality. A wonderful tragic figure! Tears came to his eyes as' he remembered her child-like look and winsome fanciful ways and shy tremulous grace.
He wiped them away hastily, and looked again at the He felt that the time had really come for making his choice: Or his. choice already been made? Yes, life had decided that for him--life and his own infinite curiosity about life, Eternal youth, infinite passion, pleasures subtle and secret, joys and sins -he was to bare all these things, portrait was bear the burden of his shame; that was all. A feeling of pair came over him 88 he thought of the desecration that was in store for the fair face on the canvas. Once, in boyish mockery of Narcissus, he had kissed, or feigned to kiss, thoso painted lips that now siniled 80 cruelly at him. Morning after morning he hnd sat before the portrait wondering at its beauty, almost enamored of it, as it seemed to him at times.
Was it to alter now with every mood to which he Was it to become a hideous and loathsome thing, to hidden away in a locked room, to be shut out from the sunlight that had so often touched to. brighter gold the waving wondor of the hair! The pity of it! the pity of it! For a moment he thought of praying that the horrible sympathy. existed between him and the picturo. might cease. It bad changed in answor to a perhaps in answer to 'a prayer it might remain unchanged.
And yet; who, that knew any. thing about would surrender the chance of remaining always young, however fantastic that might be, or with what fateful consequences it might be fraught? Besides, was it really under his control! Had it indeed been prayer that produced the substitution! Might there not be some curious scientific reason for it. all? It thought could exercise its induence upon a living organism, might not thought exercise an infuence upon dead and inorganic things? Nay, without thought or conscious desire, might not things external to ourselves vibrate in unison with. our moods and passions, atom calling to atom, in secret love or strange affinity? But the reason was of no' importance. He would be able to.
follow his mind into its secret places. This portrait would be him the most magical of mirrors, As it bad ed to him His own body, so it would reveal to him his own soul. And when winter came upon it, ho vrould still be standing where spring on the yerze of surimer. When blood crept from its face, and left behind a pallid mask of chalk with leaden eyes, he would keep the glamour of boyhood. Not one blossom of.
his loreliness would ever fade. Not one pulse of his life would 'ever weaken. Like the gods of the Greeks, he would be strong, and flect, and joyous. What did it matter what happened to the colored image on the canvas! He: would be safo. That was everything.
He drew the scroen back into its former placo in front of the picture, smiling as he did so, and passed into his bedroom. where bis valet was already waiting for An hour later be was at the opera, and Lord Henry was leaning over his chair. CHAPTER FIT. As be tras sitting at breakfast next morning, Basil Hallward was shown into the room. "I am so glad I found you, Dorian," he said gravely.
"I called last night, and they told me you were at the opera. Of course I knew that was impossible. But I wish you had left word where you had really cone to. I passed a dreadful evening, half afraid that one tragedy might 'be followed br another. I think you might have tele- 4 Exchange Bank OF WAUKESHA.
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He will Return to the South for the First Time Since the War. Secti wit Hit of Inti All It seems hardly necessary to say anything of thi history of Gen. B. F. Butler No man in the' whole nation has been more constantly in the public eye for the last four decades than he.
As 1 successful lawyer and induential politician before, the war, as a prtriot wbo was among the first to' respond to country's call at $ring upon. Fort Sumter as the man who gave New Orleans the best government the city ever had, as Commander of the Army of the James. as a Representative in Congress And a leading politician since the war, he has bad publie attention constantly focused upon him. No man in the country has received more praise and wore abuse than be, and Du wan has more warm, personal friends admirers. Many of the people of the South, have been pare ticularly bitter against him, and' hare tried to make his name the synonym for all that was detestable.
He is now about to return good for evil, and heap coals of tire upon the heads of his detractors by a great enterprise to help restore pros; perity to the region which suffered so severely front the ravages of the war. He is at the he of the great Georgia Investment and. development Co, whose advertisem*nt appears elsewhere in this paper, which is mule up of capital-' ists whom he has associated with himself in scheme to rebuild and develop large portions of. Dixie Early next month be intends to make tour of the South, that section for the' first time since the close of the war twenty years He will go to New Orleans, and (to all other prominent points, and the, Held of operations of this company carefully, inform himself personally as to the pomaibilities of each locality There is something phenomenal to such a tour by a general whose first visit was sword to hand but who now goes as a restorer. It will be watched with great interest all sections of the National Tribune, Washingwn, D.
STATE IN OF COUNTY COURT. A COUNTYIn the matter of the. estate of: Caroline IT Cottrell, deceased. Letters of administration with the will annexed on the estate of Caroline B. Cottrell, tleceased, baring -been granted to Alice Cottrell by, this Court: is ordered that six months from and after January 28, 1891,, be and are hereby allowed and limited for creditors to present their claims against said deceased 'It is further ordered.
that all claims and demaids against said deceased he rod, examini ed and adjusted by the said Court at a special term thereof. to be held at the Court House in the village of Waukesha, in maid county, on the 416 Tuesday of July, A.D. 1891, being the day of said month, at 10 o'clock in the forenoon of said day, or as soon thereafter is the parties can be heard. And it further ordered that notice thereof be given by publishing a copy of this order for four successive weeks prior to. hearing, in the Waukesha Freeman, a weekly pewspaper printFed and published said county, The first publication of such.
notice to be. made within ten days frow the date hereof. Dated Jan. 2:, A. D.
1891: 1 26 By the Court, T. MARTIN, County Judgo, STATE OF COUNTY COURT. WISCONSIN-WAUKESHA COUN. In the matter of. the estate of Frederick Selfert, deceased On reading land Bling the petition of Laura Salfert of the town of Brookfield In Waukesha county and statS of Wiscousin representing among other things Frederic Feifert an inhabitant of the town Brookfield in the county of Wan.
kesha and state of Wisconsin, on the 20th day. of December. A. iD 1890 at his 'residence in the town of Brook field in said county, died leaving goods, chattels and estate within thin atate to be administered and that the said petitioner is the widow of the maid deceased; and praying that letters of administration of said estate may be in granted maid unto (justar Baacbe of the town of Ottawa Waukesha county It is ordered that the said application be heard before the said court. at a special term thereof to be held at the Court House in said county on the fourth Tuesday of February, A D.
being the 24th day. of said month, at In o'clock in the forenoon of said day or as GOOn thereafter as the parties can be heard. And It is further ordered that notice of hearing be given to all persons interested in said estate by publishing a copy of this order for three weeks successively previous to the time appointed for said hearing, the Waukesha Freeman, weekly newspaper printed and published in said county Dated January A. 18914 By. the Court, T.
C. MARTIN, County Judge. SNYDER, Attorney. STATE OP COURT. -WAUKESHA COONIn the matter of the estate of Emeline.
B. Kendrick. deceased; On reading and sling an instrument In writing purporting to he the late past of will and Waukesha testament Emeline Kendrick County, deceased, and also the accompanying petitiup of Ezra B. Birchard and Francis W. Soyes, representing among.
other things that the Raid Emeline B. Kendrick, lately died an fababitant the said county of Waukesha, in Wisconsin, testato, that Ezra B. Birchard, Francis Nores and Charles W. Camp are named and appointed in said instrument as executors thereof; praying that the said instrument may be prove to and letters testamentary granted thereon accord-, to ing one to oft law, bet to said or to persons wome suitable person to be. named as executors, or It named is ordered them: that (ald be beard by before the said Court, at a special terra thercof, to be beid at the Court louse in said county, the third Tuesday of February' A.
1891, bein the 17th day of said month, as 10 o'clock the forenoon of said day or as thereafter an the 'And parties it is can further ordered that notico of saint be heard hearing be given to all persons of interested this order in rank for three weeks successively prior to! said bearing im estate by copy the Wan kesha Freeman, weekly newspaper printed Dated and Jan: 15ch published A. D. 1891. 122. 12 in said county.
By the Court. T. C. MARTIN, 1 Couaty a Vernon Tichenor, attorney, LE DUC'S PERIODICAL PILI-TH French re medy. Act valy uposi the generative organs and cure suppression the menses (trona whatever cause: and all periodical troubles paruliar to Wumpen A safe, reliable remedy.
These pills not be used, during pregnancy. $2, or 3 ft $5. Amencan Pill Royalty proprietot Spencer lows. Bosworth Con, il waukee; Kobe Stephenson de Co Clicago, whales agents. Take no.
other. The genuine French Pill cau be chained of W. Sanner or White Nelson Tre only Fren Reine i dy for saic in the S. We 3 boxes to cure the severest case. F.
L. L. CAUFY,.
