THE YAKIMA HERALD.IISIMIIlißl THlHsntl.

$2.00 PKR ANNUM. IN ADVANCE.AJitrt'niig tatex l>» IfflkavtiM.

E. M. Rszo, Editor and Business Manager

PAGE FIVE.

Official Paper of North Yaiima.THURSDAY, JUNE IS, 1893.

AN OLD MAN'S MEMORYCHAPTER L

"No, Paul, I want rt mind to worship aswell a* a heart to lore."

Ha, they say lam growing old. Old!Iwaa old a score of years ago. Thishand is flesh less and wrinkled, and as 1write it moves tremulously over thepaper. True, it was not so twenty yearsago, nor were my eyes dimmed and de-spoiled oftheir youthful luster; my stepwatf firm, my head erect, my hair asglossy as when my mother bade me herlast, dying farewell. All these 1 had—yet 1 waa old. My life was gone: 1 onlyexisted. Twenty years—long, drearyyears! And as 1 look back upon thethorny, uneven path, naught but mock-ing shadows, stretching their hugeblack bodies across the way, appear tomy view. Did 1 say naught? Na One•tar—one bright, refulgent star at lengthpenetrated the gloom of my pathwayand drove away the shadows thathaunted me.

There yonder by the window shestands. Oli, how like another! She isno longer a child that 1 may dandle onmy knee. She is a woman now, and 1smoothed with careful hand her path-way and watched with fluttering hearther progress. She stands there by thewindow gazing out upon the bleak, snowfilled street, and ever and anon as somehalf frozen, famishing wretch staggersby, a suppressed sigh, a whispered prayerescapes her lips.

It is fast growing dark, and the streetlamps shed their flickering rays throughtbe storm; still she stands there. Thewind rages and howls through thestreet, as if in mad joyat the miseryand woe it was sending to many a poor•bode: and she knows not how very likethat night it is, that night when first•he breathed the air of heaven. As thatfearful night rolls back upon my mem-ory I can with difficulty keep back astruggling tear. And that night wasjust twenty years ago.

Little did I think when in the firstbright flush of manhood I should everwitness such a scene: little did 1 knowwhat woe. what despair was in store forme and for her, lung dead, as in ouryouthful love we sat by that purlingbrook, and revelled in our "castles inSpain." Ah, those were happy hours,alas, I fear too happy. The events ofyesterday have fled from my remem-brance; but that evening, that last In-dian summer evening, so full of joy andpromise, remains in letters ineffable.

How beautiful I thought she looked asIgazed upon her that memorable even-ing—that evening wbich must see uspart, she to return to tbe wild whirl ofcity life, I to resume my studies at col-lege. Dame Fortune had not fondledtne as she bad most of my classmates;vacations were not for me opportunitiesto throw aside tbe mental cares of stu-dent life and ramble unrestrainedthrough the country or revel in the daz-zling delights of Newport and Saratoga.With vacation came new cares, newduties, i must spend it in some obscuredistrict school house eking out a fewdollars to bear my expenses at collegefor tbe rest of the year. But 1 did allthi*with a willing,cheerful heart. Am-bition had whispered a sweet tale in myear and heaped up before my eager eyesinvaluable rewards for all this toil.

Itwas in the autumn of IS—, and thevacation fast coming to a close, 1 beganto see the end of my intercourse withthirty or forty dirty, saucy ragamuffinswith no small joy. 1 received my fortydollars for three mouths' hard labor, andon the morrow was to return to college.As tbe evening came Itook my laat walkto the babbling trout brook, and seatingmyself on the broad, smooth rock closedown by the water's edge, I waited tobid a farewell to the mistress of yon-der summer villa. As 1 sat there onthat rock and gazed half sadly in thecalm water, what a tide of sweet mem-ories swept o'er me! Itwas on this very•pot only three little months ago that Ifirst saw her.

On that well- remembered evening 1•at there on that same rock reading th*closing chapters of the "Lifeof ThomasJefferson," and my meditations were Inperfect unison with their spirit Theywere thoughts of greatness, of honors;thoughts of good to be done, of hopes tobe realized, of a name to bequeath. Bothreading and meditation were broken off,however, by the approach of a footstep.1 looked np and saw on tha oppo-itebank some rods atiove me a person Ihadheard much concerning from the Til-lagers, but never liefont seen. They all

\u25a0poke much ofa certain rich man, whoin the suuimer months came from thegreat city with his family and occupiedtb*little cottage yonder among the trees.

And 1 bad beard, too, of this richman's daughter, so beautiful, so kind, sostately. This was she then. But I wasunnoticed, i nd she continued arranginga littlebor.quet of wild dowers to glad-den ber mother's sickroom, 1 supposed,for Ihad beard also that the rich man'swife was an invalid. She walked on•lowly down tha stream till eh* wasnearly oppotit* ma. 1 thoufbt 1 had

merer seen sneh * being, her dark hairhanging loose, her dark hazel eyes andcomplexion so fair; and then that plainwhite, lownecked dress, and that jockeyhat and bine ribbons; and she was soqueenly, so majestic- she waa just myideal. And then when she saw me sheblushed so prettily, and ceasing ber lowwarbling turned away Into the grovebeyond so proudly, so defiantly, that 1dropped my book in the water in myeager gase after her.

The following evening found me onthe same spot, but my coat was brushed,my boots polished, my hair oiled, mybeard close shaven, for I waa no smoothfaced boy, and altogether I doubtwhether one of my own scholars wouldhave known 'me. 1 had been readingquite diligently, aa Ithought, for a halfhour, when, suddenly possessed of a ra-tional thought, 1 gave a rational glance•t my book and found it upside down.But 1 discovered 1 could comprehendand appreciate the page so as well as anyway. for my mind waa not there; it wasoff yonder among the trees and prettydecidedly intoxicated.

As often in a storm at sea there sud-denly comes a still, dead calm for a mo-ment, and then the wind and wavescontended again, so frequently a calmthought displaces the contention of themind and then is gone. For a momentI looked upon myself with a rational,mortal eye and had not an ever benefi-cent Providence made it a physical im-possibility, I should have been sorelytempted to kick myself. 1 had ever con-sidered myself, and been so consideredby others, a pious hater of that wildcatnature which induces young ladies tomarry their father's coachman, andyoung men to shoot themselves, or im-merse their precious bodies deep in someunfathomable abyss.

And now that 1 should change mynature forthis unnamable nature flashednpon me as so strangely maniacal oridiotic that I shut my book a little se-verely and hastily turned away. But 1had not taken three steps when by somemysterious fatality 1 saw that samewhite dress, jockey cap and blue rib-bons stealing along this side the stream.Btrangel "Whom tbe gods wish to de-stroy they first make mad." It is a ven-erable saying and must be true, for nosooner did my eyes reach that whitedress and blue ribbon than my legs boreme back to the rock, and I began toread most laboriously.

To record how minntely each day'sprogress in the road (oh, rosy road I) oflove, to repeat our wild conversations, to•peak of the strange, new life I feltwithin me, how she fed the fire of myambition, how I stood for hours like •lovesick Egyptian mummy and gazed andgazed at her tall, queenly figure—to re-cord all this, 1 say. would but cause onyour part a contemptuous smile at anold man's weakness, and on mine atwinge of a tooretentive memory. Letit suffice, then, to know that before aweek waa gone we spoke: before a monthwe loved and were plighted, and nowafter three months, each passing d.iygiving increase to our love, came theevening when we must part.

I suppose all loves, especially printedones, must endure partings, and any onepossessed of sufficient patience toread athousandth part of the love storieswritten, will find a parting an essentialingredient in each. It would be there-fore a thrice told tale, and to yon, per-haps stoical or platonic. a nausea, wereIto record minutely the event 1 so wellremember. Besides, the memory ofit isto me a sacred memory. But we werenot boy and girl; our attachment wasnot a fitfuloutbreak of passion, the fruitof a love for romance—no, it was astrong, deep river running from heart toheart, whose current never rolled anddashed headlong over precipices to sinkagain into a sluggish, muddy stream. Itever flowed in that steady, unwaveringcourse, disturbed by no fears or jealous-ies, and overshadowed by no clouds ofdoubt and suspicion.

And at the parting interview, as 1

fazed npon ber seated on that old rock,er hands lying listlessly in her lap, her

eyes fixed on the ground, and ever andanon a single truant teardrop stealingdown her cheek; as. standing by her sideand looking down npon her, 1 couldhardly believe tbat she was really mor-tal, and more than all, that she wasmine, all mine. Then, as if at that mo-ment a dark angel had swept by us, 1started at my temerity. For a secondthe beauty, the wealth, the bliss of lovefled away, and I waa startled to see my-self—me, a starving, threadbare stu-dent, a vagabond; no home, no family,no friends—l was alarmed to see such abeing stand by the proud, wealthy LinaSpencer, and claim her aa his bride.But then the cloud passed, my thread-bare coat, my well worn shoes, my unpre-possessing, not to say uncouth appear-ance, all were forgotten, and I waapressing this child of rank and wealthto nay poverty begotten bosom.

How all this came about, how "a citybelle," already arrived at womanhood,whose lifehad been passed in gay saloonsand fashionable watering places; whohad been the pet of an indulgent fatherand a silly mother till she had grownalmost haughty, how this person, thecourted, the admired, tbe envied LinaSpencer, came to forget or conquer herpride, to descend from her exalted posi-tion to give her heart, nay. her hand tome, 1 never questioned, nor shall 1 nowattempt to find a cause. Enough for methat it was so. And how could 1 doubtber sincerity? At the bare intimation offorgetful; ess or change of mind, whensurrounded by flatterers in her father'sbrilliant parlors, she stretched upwardher tall form, and ber ey«s flashed al-most fiercely:

"Change! Oo yon know me so slight-ly then? Not 1 hate those brainlessfools who hang about me and fawn andsmile and tell me they are rich and Iambeautiful, who only talk of the opera,the horrible murder, the late marriage.No, Paul, I want a mind to worship aswell as a heart to love." Then thefierce look faded away, and her eyesgrew so tender, so childlike. Oh, I waaa happy man. And so we parted.

Farewell! a word tbat has been and must be;A sound that make* na linger—yet farewell:

CHAPTER aIwas back to my books again. Myex-

' periences in the country had not in theleast engendered a distaste for them, asmight he expected. "Love in a cottage"bad never been one of my beliefs. 1never could fully comprehend the blisstherein contained. Life waa to me abattlefield, and aa such 1 loved it, andmy interesting relations with a certainyonng lady in the great city yonder gave

1 a point, a purpose to the fight.Like most students 1 had before thh

: oftentimes been sorely concerned aboutI my future station in life, and generallyj the prospect was decidedly dark. Then 1

, would Elrg my lexicon m a distant cor'ncr, and in tbe language of the old

[ dramatist Otway howl most piteonsly:Tell tats why, gnod Hcarsn.

Thnn mad>t me what I tun. with all tboaptrtt,Aspiring tbeogbts anil elecant desiresThat Oil ihe happiest man? Ah, rather, whyDlilst thou not form me sordid aa mv fate,Baae minded, dull, and fit to carry burdens?

' Why bare I sense to know the cone that'soa me?

I» this Just dealing. Nature?Now this was gone, and I no more re-

peated Otway. unless it waa that pas-sage a little after that:

Can there In woman be such glorious faith?Sure, all til stories of thy aei aro false!O woman! Imely woman! Nature made the*To temper men.. We had been brutes without

youlAncris are painted fair to look like yon;Tbere'a In yon all thai *.Ibe Here ofheaven—Amazing brightness, pa lly and truth.Eternal joy and everlasi ing love!Time did not hang heavily on my

; hands, for I waa fullof hope, and \jaai. brought its joyful train. It was nowmy last year in college; but a fewmonths and Iwonld be fairly out on thesea of life. Commencement was overtI was an A. B. I pocketed my "sheep-skin" and started for the great city,where lived—well, you know.

It was now a year since I had firstseen her. We had made no arrange-ment on parting for any interchange ofletters, as that would hardly be tolerated

Iby the "hard, cruel parent" (vide daily] newspapers), so Ihad neither heard fromI nor seen her fora long twelvemonth. But

'\u25a0 no thought of the inconstancy whichwhich she so fascinatingly scouted, en-tered my brain; all was a sweet tran-quility.

And now 1 was In tho great city—for' what? 1 could hardly give an answer.| The tailor waa first to receive a rail! from me, tbe barber next and somebodyelse next

Nlgbt come* on apace.I walked briskly along a street with

' tall, proud mansions on either side tillI 1 came to "Number forty-three." I hadjno time to consider how 1 felt, for tbedoor was quickly opened by a spruce ne-gro boy. who, taking my card, led meinto the parlor. Here 1 had some oppor-

| tunity to know how 1 felt, and found I) did not feel altogether too easy. Somegreat preparations seemed going on: theparlors were lighted more brilliantly I

, thought, than ordinary occasion!* needed;I there seemed to be a great commotion—| servants hurrying np stairs and downstairs; 1 heard dishes rattling, occasion-

I ally a suppressed laugh, and then a harshoath from authoritative lips. Presently,. however, the door opened, and—not she

| entered. Instead it was a tall, gaunt! man, with a little round Jew eye, a veryCassins visage; one of those who "sel-dom Bmile. and smile in such a sort as

i If they mocked themselves."I rose aa he entered. "Mr. Shipley?*

| Ibowed. "You will pardon my dangh-I ter, sir, for not seeing you. I recog-i nixed in your name that frequentlyI dropped by my daughter in*her mo* me nta of mental abstraction, and allowI me to say to yon, sir, that it proves youI to be no gentleman."

"Mr. Spencer""1 say no gentleman would permit

himself to form a clandestine attach-I mint with a lady of birth and wealth.| and still less seek to lower her to hisown grade."

This was too much for my keen sensi-

' bill' ita. "What do you mean, sir?" Idemanded.

"1 have no inclination to bandy wordswithyou, sir. 1 have only to inform youtbat my daughter, whom by some foulmeans you attempted to entrap, butwho now n thoroughly ashamed of herconduct and is equally disgusted withyoa—please keep your seat, sir—thisevening, at eight o'clock, will be led to

I the altar by hia honor the Connt de Van -jTineauxl"

Perhaps the reader thinks that herewas a tine opportunity for a scene. 1

j hope he is not disappointed to knowI there was no scene, no raving, no pull-ing of hair or rending of clothes.

"Does your daughter know, sir, thatl! am in this house?"

"Doe* your daughter knntc, tlr, that I ,am tn tht* hcmtet"

"She does not, nor shall she. Yonwill please bring this interview to oclose by leaving the house! Oood even-ing, sir!"

I was in the street again, bnt, oh, withwhat different feelings! I walked downthat lighted street with heart howchanged from that it wm an hour ago!

On the opposide side, some blockstbelow "Number forty-three." waa a

Urge church, with carriages and people ;before tha door, and on inquiring its

.cause I waa told of the marriage of acertain rich man's daugher to a foreignnobleman—a count.

1 entered witb others, and patientlywaited the arrival of the bride and hernoble bridegroom. Counts were not soplenty then as now, and for a foreignnobleman to deign to take a republicanwife waa quite an event in fashionablecircles. The body of the house was full.Jealons maidens and envious mammaswere not kept waiting long, however,for soon the bell in the steeple tolledeight, and then came a rush at the door,and she. with unsteady step, a check likemarble, was led slowly down tbe wideaisle. Oh, how like loading a lamb tothe sacrificial altar it seemed to met

The ceremony was hastily concluded,and the crowd began to disperse. 1stood at the door to take on* "last,lingering look" as ahe passed ont. Shesaw met Por a moment she struggledwith her strength, and 1 sprang for-ward just in time to catch her, lifeless,in my arms, but it was noi withouthearing the low murmur, "Oh, Paull"

The father snatched the sweet bur-den from me, and 1 pa-ne«l ont th* door.Then it occurred to me how great wa»

i nur loss. and. too, that not Lisa bpencer,

U Ibut the mercenary heart or ncr fatherhad been the robber. Oh, what terri-ble, burning, bitter thoughts Ihad then—vengeance, murder, suicide! Then theysoftened into a strange desperation,and had they been written I mi,'lithave repeated these fine lines of Proctor:

No matter.11l take my srar alone, and barn essay—Evil or good. I car* not, co 1 spreadTremendous desolation on my maul:I'll be remembered as tange sneti-ors are.By the dismay tbey scatter.

CHAPTER IIL

/ rprnng feiruard to the hedttde.Imight say with Drydon: I

The remnant ot my tale Is ofa length <To tire your patience, t

for the years that followed were not en-tirely without their events, but 1 pass i

over them all.Instead of drowning myself, I had ,

amassed wealth. 1 had chased theI shining dollars with the same spirit adespairing wretch takes a dose of poison.Iwaa a rich man and a great man, butoh. bow 1 hated the "wealth" and the"greatness!"

1 could never forget that year of myyouth; it bung like a ghost on my everymovement.

Well, 1 went to Europe, for what ob-ject I hardly know, unless it was to for-get myself in the multitude of newsights and scenes. Iwas in myroom inthe Hotel Bcanvais, in the "proud oldcity" of Marseilles, "fullof wealth andrich with works of art."

Europel France! She had come toEurope after her marriage; her hus-band was a Freuchman; and I—perhaps1 was in the same country with her.

1 had heard but very little concerningher fate, and that was only some inti- ,inatinn that the Count de Vauvineanxbad turned out badly, and that Mr. {Spencer never received letters from his jdaughter. But 1 took this aa mere•caudal and thought little of it.

In France 1 found my old love to visitand dream over ancient things reviving,tbe contemplation of that dead, yet everliving gTeatness that fills ns "withthoughts beyond tho reaches of oursouls," and 1 sallied out to saunter

j through the older and more time worn1 haunts of the town.

I had been visiting the moldering re-mains of a once celebrated triumphalarch, and not far from this, wanderingamong the proud relics of a long aban-doned Roman church, when my return-ing steps led me through a narrow,winding street. Many parts of it wereso filthy and loathsome that 1 almostfeared the contagion of some disease,and surely in this dark spot the daggerof the assassin might naturally belooked for.

It was in this place, and engaged in 'reflections natural to it, that I wasstartled, almost alarmed, by the shrillcry of a female voice—she herself, a .ragged, dirty, gypsy looking woman,

\u25a0 running out into the street from a doorquite near me. "Mon Dien! Mon Dier.lElle est folle!"she exclaimed, hasteningnp to me; and then perceiving that I wasa foreigner she continued, "Anglais!Anglais!" and half drew me in the door.

Surely 1 do not know how manyflights of stair? we climbed up beforewe came to a little green door withoutlatch or panel, but we came to such aone, and the gypsy woman cautiouslyopened it.

The whole apartment could be com-prehended in all its parts in one glance,for certainly it was not more than tenfeet square, and much less that inheight. But the most noticable appur-tenance of the apartment was a low ragcovered bed in one corner, and as thedoor creaked behind ns, a form startednp wildly from it, and looked at me '.with a terrible, unearthly stare. Shewas a very, very beautiful woman. Herface was as cold and colorless as a block

jof marble; her jet hair hung loosely andjwildly about her shoulders, and her'eyes, oh, how bright, how glaring they'were! It might have been a minute*that we stood thus gazing at each other/At last I took a step toward her and

i addressed her kindly in English, when

' she raised herself yet higher, and giving'her white bare arm that repulsive

jswing she exclaimed, "Away! away!i Thou art some fiend come here to tauntme for my ingratitude! Away! away!" I

Then, as if overcome, she slowly sankback on her pillow. But that voice! Inan instant all the labor of years waslost—that great fabric of insensibility 1

\u25a0 had built about me was thrown to theground. I was no longer a cold, haughtybusiness man, bnt a yemt-h —a knter.Tbe impulses ml th*h«*rt. kvrig rVwirvTdown, suddenly buret %rrtt hnsvls »r,4\u25a0prang into a new life ttir feett M*ahad been tbe pil'.t r.t my craft-it f>*d

I been a wise ami faithful pil',t~- rmf It: never smiled, tiuver told Mut h'/pa, retlove, of heaven—only g'.ld. gold, gold.Bnt its rule waa at an end. I sprangforward to the bedside and involuntari-ly murmured, "The Countess de Vau-vineauxl"

"Tbat name? Who spoke tbat name?"She started np and glared almost fiercelyat me. I could not move nor speak —only stand and gaze in turn. And nowa terrible storm suddenly burst forth, 'ns if to heighten the awful solemnity ofthe scene within. I cannot attempt todescribe it The thunder seemed toshake the house from its foundations;the wind and rain, as if In fiendishmockery. lieat against the single win-dow, aud anon a flash of vivid lightninglit np the dingy apartment. Still nei-ther of its occupants moved. At lengthtbe wild, unearthly glare of ber eyeseemed to die away. 1 drew nearer— I•aw a tear.

"Lina!""Paul!"She was in my arms.

• c • • • •It is ten minutes since I wrote the last

Hne. Icould not hold my pen—pardon! my weakness—it is many, many years

ago. but as I recall that acene I cannot| keep back my struggling tears But Iwept then, and she—oh. heaven, spare

me from ever hearing such sobs again!1 cannot lengthen this scene. I cannotwrite bow many times she besought myforgiveness: bow tearfully abe told methat she became the Countess de Van-vineanz not from her own free will,andmuch less can I write how joyfully 1forgot all, yet how full of sadness and •amazement at finding her in this wretch-ed garret. Bnt she bade me to ask noquestions, only pointing witb a thin, 'wan hand to a blotted, tear stainedpaper on a little wooden table ni»ar tbebed. From this Iafterward learned the•ad cause.

Alas! poor girl, she fonnd herself tbewife ofa libertine; she had learned toowell that the Frenchman loves his mis-tress, not his wife. Sickened with herlife she left his roof scarce a year be-fore that terrible night. Too proud toreturn to her father, she had sought tosupport life with her own frail hands,and that attempt had brought her tothis. This paper she bad requested ber .woman to mail for America, addressedto "William Spencer, Esq.," etc.

But I knew none of this when Istoodbeside her there, and my feelings werea strange mixture—pity, remorse, joy,love, wonderment

1 saw her strength was fast failing;her> eyes were growing dim, her lipsturned to ashen, and I rested her headsoftly on my breast. Suddenly shestarted up and pointed to a distant cor-ner of the room. 1 looked. Twas a• child—a babe in the old gypsy's arms."Tis his, Paul—mine, Paul | Will yoube a father to it? Bring it here —poorChild;, sweet child!" It was laid nponher bosom. Sbe smiled, closed her eyes,and thus she died. Lina was dead! 1would be a father to her child.

She no longer stands by the windowgazing out upon the storm. She hasdrawn close the curtain and now sits bythe cheerful grate yonder and ever andanon casts a wondering glance at me.She wonders what 1 should be so longwriting.

And that is Lina's child. She littleknows that I have been recording bermother's sad fate: she little knows ofber father's ignominious death—onlythat I call her daughter and this is herhomo. And now she has stolen up tome, and placing her fair white armsabout my neck, whispers to me so sweet-lyearnest, "Haven't yon written enough,father?" How can 1 resist as she leansover aud kisses this old. wrinkled fore-head? Down goes my pen.

I THK I.ND.

"AugustFlower"I had been troubled five months

with Dyspepsia. The doctors toldme itwas chronic. Ihad a fullness

j ifter eating and a heavy load in thepit of my stomach. I suffered fre-quently from a Water Brash ofclearmatter. Sometimes a deathly Sick-ness at the Stomach would overtakeme. Then again I would have theterrible pains of Wind Colic. Atsuch times I would try to belch andcould not. I was working then forThomas McHenry, Druggist, Cor.Irwin and Western Aye., AlleghenyCity, Pa., in whose employ I hadbeen for seven yeirs. Finally IusedAugust Flower, and after using justone bottle for two weeks, was en-tirelyrelieved of all the trouble. Ican now eat things I dared not touchbefore. Iwould like to refer you toMr. McHenry, for whom I worked,who knows all about my condition,and from whom I bought the medi-cine. Ilive with my wife and familyat 39 James St., Allegheny City,Pa.Signed, John D. Cox. 9

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Plumbing, Sheetiron WorkWALTON & ATHERTON,

NORTHWEST CORNER OF YAKIMA AVENUE AND FIRST STREET

UNDERTAKING I BEDDING

Lombard—-—— 8t —ftorsley

] FURNITURE IAm~*r*i~M*rwirv'wnr^^r^'m~*fnr'e~*T^r^'tr-m~*^

Curtains,

Carpets,1 Wall Paper =-»***.— 1

Window

Shades.Syndloate Block I 1 North Yakima

GREEN FRONT GROCERY.Is Headquarters for Household Supplies atPrises that are within the reach of all.

CANNED GOdDS,i [VEGETABLES^

[MEATS!

CIGARS, j [TOBACCO7&C:Give me a call and be convincedThat I sell as represented.

JAMES QXTK,R,.A.IT.

H. SPINNING & CO.,

REAL ESTATE, INSURANCE,FARM LOANS.

Yakima Aye., North Yakima

LIVERY STABLEWalen Imsland,

AT THE OLD MATTOON STAND,Wart side ol South first Street, North Yakinia,

v>ash., have for hire

FIRST CLASS TURNOUTS!at n.*a»nable rate*. Polite attention aud Mtia

faction (riven.

jHORSES BOARDED' by the day, week or mouth at satisfactory price*..Sprii7<s ar?d Summer Styles

What a man wears counts for a good deal in this civilised ageI am now ready with an entirely new stock of

Elegant Imported and Domestic Patternsat price within easy grasp. Call and see my stock and get prices

WHITE, THE MERCHANT TAILOR.prices in is.,> un i mnnniMi MrMuara*

HID. *V. WHITB Ya-Jtima, Avcnu* North -VaJtlxa*.

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