6
THE COMING WOMAN.
Coming across the eastern hills apace with
hastening morn,
la garments stainless as the light and ra
diant as the dawn.
With steadfest gaze, majestic mien.
And brow where wisdom sits serene.
Before her evil flies, to hide In darkness far
away.
As flees the gloom of night before the swift
approach of day;
For heaven Is in her shining eyes
As In the deeps of cloudless skies.
Sovereign of home's broad realm Is she, and
fairer 'tis to-day
Because she rules within, yet far beyond
extends her sway;
For all the world shall better be,
And holier, for her ministry.
And little children round her throng lis
tening for her voice,
Whose sweet-toned cadences their hearts
encourage and rejoice;
Her swift, light footsteps to and fro
On missions of sweet mercy go.
She lays her tender hand In love upon the
lone and sad.
And hearts unused to Joy look up and look
ing are made glad;
Her very feet are shod with peace
Before which wars and tumults ceas»>.
The star that gems her coronet Is herald of
the day
When Christ shall claim Ilis own again
and sin be swept away;
His handmaid, she shall sooner bring
The welcome coming of the King.
—Meta E. B. Thorne. in Banner of Gold.
ft- S U*TT TfcATS.
(Copyright, ißq7, by Longmans, Green & Co.]
SVNOPSTS.
Chapter I—D'Auriac, commanding out
post where scene is laid tells the story.
De Gomeron has lieen appointed by Gen.
de Hone to examine into a charge made
against him. Nicholas, a sergeant, brings
tn two prisoners, a man and a woman, who
are from the king's camp at Le Fere.
D'Auriac,angered by insulting manner of de
Gomeron toward the woman, strikes him.
A duel follows, and during the commotion
the prisoners escape. De Hone happens on
the disorderly scene, and d'Auriac, upon
giving his parole not to attempt escape,
hears this remarkable sentence: "To-mor
row you must die on the field. Win or
lose, If 1 catch you at the close of the day,
1 w r ill har.g you as high as llaman."
Chapter It—D'Auriac next morning takes
liis place as usual on de Rone's staff In
the course of his ride over the Held he saves
the life of Nicholas, the sergeant, who, a
victim of de Gomeron\s malice, is found in
imminent danger of almost instant death.
Chapter 111—After the batttle in which
King Henry utterly routs de Rone's forces,
•dA'uriac, lying severely wounded, SIPS
the forms of a man and woman moving
under cover of the night among the d< ad
and wounded. They tind u golden collar
on de I.eyva's corpse,and Babette stabs
Mauginot (her partner) to gain possession
of the prize. After this hideous scene
Henry with a retinue, among whom is the
fair prisoner who had escaped from the
/hand of de Gomeron, rides over the field.
Chapter IV—D'Auriac In the hospital of
•Ste. Genevieve discovers his unknown
friend is the heiress of Bidache. She vis
its him daily, and when he is well enough
la taken to her Normandy chateau where
,je arrives shortly before noon.
CIIAPTEI! IV.— CO;.TIXI ID.
A turn in the avenue at this moment
brought U3 in full view of the gray
walls of Bidache. and on the wide stone
sUaircu.se that led to the great hall we
«aw the servants of the household us
faeuibled. Mailt'trie waved her hand in
greeting, and the eliwer which broke
from them was drowned in the boom
■of the bombard from the keep. As the
blue wreaths of smoke curled upward,
•a little ball rail to the top of the flag
staff on the keep, and the next moment
the banner of Tit mouille, with t he arms
■of Uochemars of Bidache quartered
thereon, spread out it.* folds to the
morning, and madame was come liotne
once more.
We dined an hour or so later than
usual —madame, d'Ayen, Palin and my
self at the high table, and the rest of the
■household with all Bidache at the next.
Madame, who seemed in nowise fa
tigued with her long ride, was in the
gayest of spirits and rippled with talk.
As if thinking she had punished d'Ayen
enough she directed till heT conversa
tion towards him, and the old beau
was in his element in discussing the in
trigues of court life, and let me add
interesting, for his memory went far
£>ack.
At last the dinner caine to a close,
and Palin, rising, opened his lips in a
long thanksgiving, to which all, madame
included, listened devoutly. Our host
ess then retired, and we three were left
together in an absolute silence. Had it
been any other place, I would have felt
bound to call D'Ayen to account, and
ask him to name a proxy if he was un
able to meet me by reason of his age.
But as it was, this was impossible, nfid
I contented myself with a frigid re
serve, in which I was joined by the
Huguenot. He looked from one to the
-other of us with a satirical smile on
his thin lips, and then rising made a
slight bow, and left us to ourselves. As
we returned to our seats from our re
sponse to his greeting, I blurted out the
questions:
"Who is M. d'Ayen? Why is he here?"
"Who is he? It is enough to say he is
one of those men who live on tho follies
•of kings. And it is enough to say that
his company is forced upon us."
"I have heard that before; but ma
dame seemed to like him well enough at
dinner." I felt I was wrong as I said
this; but the words came out.
"He is here by the king's orders—by
the onli r of Henry the Great," said
Palin, with bitterness; "monsieur, you
seem a man of honor. What do yjm
think of a king who would force a mar
riage on a woman to—" and he whis
pered words in my ear which struck me
speechless.
I could riot believe him. It was in
credible. Was this the hero king—the
g-allant soldier—the father of his peo
ple? It could not be true.
Palin saw the doubt on my face.
"Kven you," he said, "will goto Paris
and see."
"I shall go lam going to-day."
"It w ill be at the risk of your life."
"Maitre Palin, there is the king's
peace—and even if it were not so I will
He looked at me long and attentively.
"Let it be so," he muttered to him
self, and then loudly: "Well, chevalier,
I have warned you —if you go you will
want a safe lodging—seek out Pantin in
the Kuo ilea Deux Mondes, and mention
my name. The house faces the Pont
Neuf, you can't miss it."
"Thank you, I will do so."
Then after a few minutes more of talk
we wished each other good-by and
parted.
As for myself I was on the cross with
what i had heard My mind was nicked
with doubt, and at last, in despair, I
sought my own room to think over the
matter. I could make nothing of it,
turn which way I would. Tome Palin's
story was incredible. But jet it ex
plained and made clear so much! It
was not to offer my sword to the king
that I would now goto Paris. It would
be to save the woman 1 loved, if possi
ble. How I was to do this, I had no
definite idea—the one thing at present
!n my mind was Paris—Paris. I there
fore g'ave the necessary orders to
Jacques to make ready to start at once,
and, descending the winding staircase
of the tower wherein my room lay,
sought the great hall with the view of
either finding madame there, or of
sending some one with the request to
permit my waiting on her to say good
fcy. The staircase ended in a long dark
corridor, hung on each side with
trophies of the ehase, old armor, and
frayed and tattered banners. At the
end of this was an arched doorway, hid
den by a heavy curtain. I lifted the cur
tain and passed into the great hall. At
first I thought it was empty, but a sec
ond glance showed me madame, seated
at a small table in the recess of the bow
window that overlooked the park. Her
face, leaning on her hand, was half
averted from me, and I caught a
glimpse of n small foot resting on one
of the lions' heads in which the legs of
the table finished. The foot was beat
ing up and down as if in unison with
the impatience of madame's thoughts,
but I could see nothing of her face be
yond its contour. She was, as usual,
robed in black, wearing no jewels ex
cept a gold collar round her neck. For
a moment 1 stood in silence looking at
her, half thinking that here was a
chance to speak out what was in my
heart, and then stilling the words by
the thought of how impossible it was
for a poor man to woo a rich woman.
As Is tood, hat in hand, madame sud
denly turned with a little start, and
hastily concealed something as she
caught sight of me. I went up at once,
and she rose to meet me.
"I have come to say farewell, ma
dame," and I held out my hand.
"So soon," she said, as she took it for
a moment, her eyes not meeting mine.
"Yes—Paris is far —and it will be well
for me to be there as quickly as possi
ble."
"Paris! You are surely not—" and
s/he stopped.
"Why not, madame?"
"O, I don't know,"and hastily, "one
sometimes says things that don't exact
ly convey one's meaning. But I can
Imagine why you goto Paris—you are
tired of Bidache, and pine for the great
city."
"It is not that, but," and I pointed to
the rolling woods and wide lands that
spread before us, "I have no responsi
bilities like these—and Auriac, which
stands by the sea, takes care of itself—
besides I have my way to make as yet."
"You have friends?"
"One, at any rate, and that was re
stored to me by you," and T glanced to
the hilt of my sword.
She shook her head in deprecation.
"Very well, then, I will not recall it to
you; but I can never forget—life is
sweet of savor, and you gave it back to
me. We will meet again in Paris—till
then, good-by."
"At the Louvre?" As she glanced up
at me, trving to smile, I saw her eyes
were moist with tears, and then- —but
the wide lands of Bidache were before
me, and 1 held myself in somehow.
"Good-by."
"Good-by."
I turned and, without another look,
passed out of the hall. As I went down
the stairway I saw on the terrace to my
right the figure of d'Ayen. lie had
changed his costume to the slashed and
puffed dress which earned for tlie gay
gentlemen of Henry's court the nick
name "llergarrets," from M.de Savoye's
caustic tongue, and his wizened face
stood out of his snowy rutT in all the
glow of its fresh paint. With one foot
resting on the parapet, he was engaged
in throwing crumbs to the peacocks
that basked on the turf beneath him. I
would have passed, but he called out:
"M. le Chevalier—a word."
"A word only then, sir—l am in
haste."
"A bad thing, haste," he said, staring
at me from head to foot. "These woods
would fetch a good price—would they
not?" and he waved his hand toward
the wide stretching forest.
"You mistake, M. d'Ayen. lam not
a timber merchant."
'*Ot A good price," he went on, not
heeding my reply, "M. le Chevalier, I
was going to say, I will have them
down when I am master here. They
obstruct the view."
I could have tiling him from the ter
race, but held myself in and turned on
my heel.
"Adieu, chevalier!" he called out
after me, "and remember what I have
said."
I took no notice. The man was old
and his gibing tongue his only weapon.
Iran down the steps to where Jacques
was, ready for me with the horses.
Springing into the saddle, I put spurs
to the beast, and we dashed down, the
avenue.
CHAPTER V.
A GOOD DEED COMES HOME TO
ROOST.
We dashed through the streets of Bi
dache. arousing the village dogs, asl.'ep
in the yellow sunlight, to a chorus of
disapprobation. About a dozen sought
CAMERON COUNTY PRESS, THURSDAY, DECEMBER 22, 1898.
to revenge their disturbed slumbers,
and, following' the horses, snapped
| viciously at their heels; but we soon
' distanced them, and, flinging a curse or
so after us in dog language, they gave
up the pursuit and returned to blink
away the afternoon. It was my inten
tion to keep to the right of Jvry, and,
after crossing the Eure, head straight
for l'aris, which 1 would enter either
by way of Versailles or St. Germnins, it
mattered little what road, and there
was plenty of time to decide.
For a league or so we galloped along
the undulating ground which sloped to
ward the ford near Ezy; but as ve be
gan to approach the river, the country,
studded with apple orchards and trim
with hedgerows of holly and hawthorn,
broke into a wild and rugged moorland,
intersected by ravines, whose depths
were concealed by a tall undergrowth
of Christ's thorn and hornbeam, whilst
beyond this, in russet, in somber greens,
and grays that faded into absolute blue,
stretched the forests and woods of Anet
and Crofh-Sorel.
As we slid, rather than rode, down
one of these banks, my horse cast a
shoe, and this put a stop to any fur
ther hard riding, until the mishap could
be repaired.
"There is a smith at Ezy, monsieur,"
saiil Jacques, "where we can get what
we want done, and tlieit push onto
Rouvres, where there is good accom
modation at the Grand Cerf."
In this manner we jogged along, mak
ing but slow progress, and the sun was
.setting when we came into view of the
willow-lined banks of the Kure and en
tered the walnut groves of the outlying
forest in which Ezy lay. As we ap
proached we saw that the village was
three parts deserted, and the ruined or
chards and smokeless chimneys told
their own tale. Turning a bend of the
grass-grown road we came upon a few
children shaking walnuts from a tree,
about 200 paces from us, whilst a man
and a woman stood hard by observing
them. At the sight of us the woman
turned to the man with an alarmed ges
ture, and he half drew a sword —we saw
the white flash—and then, changing his
mind, ran off into the forest. The chil
dren followed suit, sliding down the
trunk of the tree arid fleeing into the
brushwood, looking for all the world
like little brown rabbits as they dashed
into the gaps in the thorn.
As for the woman, she turned slowly,
and began to walk toward the village.
"They are very bashful here, Jacques,"
I said, quickening my pace.
"Except the lady, monsieur," and then
we trotted up alongside her.
Reining in, I asked if she could direct
me to the blacksmith's, for there
" 1 WILL GUIDE YOU."
seemed no sign of a forage about. She
made no answer, but stopped and stared
at us through her hair, which fell in
thick masses over her forehead and
neck. As she did this I saw that she
appeared to be of the superior peasant
class, but evidently sunk in poverty.
She was young and her features were
so correct that, with circumstances a
little altered, she would have been
more than ordinarily good looking.
At present, however, the face was wan
with privation, and there was a fright
ened look in her eyes. I repeated my
question in as gentle a tone as I could
command, and she found tongue.
"Monsieur —pardon —I will guide
you."
"O! That is all very well," began
Jacques, but I interrupted him, won
dering a little to myself what this
meant.
"Very well, and thanks."
She dropped a courtesy, and then
asked, with a timid eagerness:
"Monsieur does not come from the
Blaisois?"
"Ma foi! No! This js hardly the
way from the Orleannois —but lead on,
please, it grows late."
She glanced up again, a suspicion in
her eyes, and then without another
word went on before us. We followed
her down the winding, grass-grown
lane, past a few straggling cottages
where not a soul was visible, and up
through the narrow street, where the
sight of us drove the few wretched in
habitants into their tumble-down
houses, as if we had the plague itself at
our saddle bows. Finally we stopped
before a cottage of some pretensions to
size, but decayed and worn, as all el*e
was in this village, which seemed but
half alive. Over the entrance to the
cottage hung a faded signboard, mark
ing that it was the local hostelry, and to
the right was a small shed, apparently
used as a workshop, and here the smith
was, seated on a rough bench, ga/ing
into space.
He rose at our approach and made as
if lie would be r.tT; but his daughter, as
the young woman turned out to be.
gave him a sign to stay, and he halted
muttering something I could not catch,
and ns I looked at the gloomy figure of
the man, and the musty inn, I said out
loud: "Morbleti! Hut it is well we
have time to mend our trouble and
make Rouvres—thanks, my girl," an-*
bending from the saddle, I offered our
guide a coin. Sine fairly snatched at it.
hihl then, coloring up, turned anil ri»u
into the inn. I threw another coin to
1 the smith, and bade him set about shoe
ing the horse.
lie shuffled this way and that and an
swered dully that he would do the job
willingly, but it would take time —two
hours.
"But it will be night by then," I ex
postulated, "and 1 have togo on—lean
not stay here."
"As monsieur chooses," answered the
clod; "but you see—l havm nothing
ready—and I am slow J cannot
help it."
"This is a devil of a plaAt," I ex
claimed, resigning myself tc circum
stances, and dismounting, handed the
reins to Jacques. As I did so I heard
voices from the inn, one apparently
that of a girl, and the other that of a
man, and it would seeia that she was
urging something; but what it was I
could not catch, nor was I curious as to
the point of discussion; but it struck
me that as we had to wait here two
hours it would be well to inquire if I
could get some refreshments for our
selves, and a feed for the beasts. For
answer to my question I got a gruff "go
and ask my daughter," from the smith,
who turned as he spoke and began to
fumble with his tools. I felt my tem
per rising hotly, but stayed my arm,
and bidding Jacques keep an eye on the
horses stepped toward the door of the
inn. As I put my hand on it to press it
open, some one from within made an
effort to keep it shut; but I was in no
mood to be trifled with further, and,
pushing back the door without further
ceremony, stepped in. In doing so I
thrust some one back a yard or so, and
found that it was the girl, who was try
ing to bar me out. Ashamed of the vi
olence I had shown I began to apol
ogize, whilst she stood before me
rubbing her elbow, and her face
flushed and red. The room was
bare and drear beyond description.
There were a couple of rough tables, a
chair or so, an iron pot simmering over
a fircof green wood, whose pungentodor
Ailed the chamber. In a corner a man
lay apparently asleep, a tattered cloak
drawn over his features, so as to entire
ly conceal them. I felt in a moment
that this was the stranger who had fled
on our approach and that he was play
ing fox. Guessing there was more be
hind this than appeared, but not show
ing my suspicions in the least, I ad
dressed the girl:
"I am truly sorry and hope you are
not hurt; had I known tt was you I
should have been gentler. 1 have but
eome to ask if I can get some wine for
ourselves and food for the horses."
"It. is nothing," she stammered, "lam
not hurt. There is but a little soup
here, and for the horses—the grass that
grows outside."
"There is some wine there at any
rate," and I rested my eye on a horn
cup, down whose side n red drop was
trickling, and then let it fall on the still
figure in the corner of the room.
"There is no fear," 1 continued, "you
will be paid. I do not look like a gen
tleman of the road, I trust."
She shrank back at my words, and it
appeared as if a hand moved suddenly
under the cloak of the man, who liy
feigning sleep in the room, and the
quick movement was ns if he had
clutched the haft of a dagger.
[TO BE CONTINUED. I
I nele Knew It All.
I was stopping at the Arlington, at
Augusta, and I fancied that I had been
preaching long enough to have preach
er ways and preacher looks, but I was
mistaken. An old darky approached
and with an apologetical pull at his hat
said: "Boss, kin you tell me whar I
kin git er set er de minuits er de meet
in'? Brer Jeems Ilenry, he say he want
er set an' he ax me ter git 'em ferhim."
I told him where he could get the min
utes, and he thanked me. after which he
said: "Boss, when de bishop gwinter
preach ?"
"We have no bishop," I replied.
"Yasser, I know dat; course I know
dat; but I mean de bigges' one er you
all, de president; when he gwinter
preach ?"
"Oh, he's not a preacher. That's ex-
Gov. Northern"
"Is dat a fack? Well, sab, I voted for
dat man, but I tell you, sah, I laks de
way dat man talks frum de cheer, an' 1
wanter hear him preach, lie sho' do
talk lak a sponsible man."—Atkinta
Journal.
I'iiii Made ivlth Gravity.
Gen. John W. Norton is a clever pun
ster. Some years ago a prominent
young local attorney died of alcoholism.
He was a talented chap, a brilliant or
ator and full of promise for the future.
Gen. Noble was one of his best friends,
and none regretted his sudden end more
than did the ex-secretary. At a meet
ing of the bar which passed resolutions
on his death the general was asked
what he knew about the end of the
young man. lie knew no more than
was reported in the newspapers at the
time, and said so. "I wonder if he died
hard ?" suggested some one in the crowd
after the meeting had adjourned. "No,
he died in 'good spirits,'" remarked
Gen. Noble, as seriously as if delivering
a funeral oration. Then he added, in
an undertone.to a friend, who happened
to be passing out with him: "I'd hate
to have any of you fellows ask if I died
hard some day when you are eulogizing
me."—St. Louis Republic.
Didn't 1.1 ve l|> to It.
"I never made a promise that I did not
live up to," she asserted proudly.
"No?" he said, inquiringly.
"No," she said, emphatically.
He made no reply. Argument, he
knew, was useless. Facts alone would
count. Therefore he hunted up a copy
of the book of common prayer, and
when he had found it he turned to the
marriage service and where it says
"love, honor and obey" he underscored
the word "obey."
What happened after that is n matter
that does not concern the public. It is
enough to know that, while there wa.
no doubt that he had proved his poiai.
he deeply regretted having done so.—
Chicago Pos*
INTERESTING CAREER.
A. \V. Met'nne, an Ambition* Utah
Millionaire, Ileican l.lfe an a
Woodchopper.
"From woodchopper to United
States senator." Such may be the fate
of A. W. McCune, the millionaire mil
road and mining operator of Salt Lake
I City, Utah, who wishes to succeed
United States Senator Frank J. Can
non. If he does not win he will score
his first failure.
Mr. McCune is to-day a most pictur
esque figure. Starting as a farmer's
hoy, he is now president of the Utah
& Pacific Railroad company, owner of
the famous Payne gold mine in British
Columbia and the posse c «or of other
A. W. M'CUNE.
(liegan Life as a Woodchopper and Is
Now a Millionaire.)
varied and valuable interests. His in
come is variously estimated at from
$50,000 to SIOO,OOO per month. lie
probably gives away more to benevo
lent, charitable and church institutions
than any half dozen men in the state.
McCune made his first big money by
filling an immense timber contract for
the Anaconda (Mont.) Mining comj>any
some years ago, despite the fact that
his competitors predicted lie had taken
the contract at a figure that would re
sult in a large loss.
A few months ago McCuae appeared
In the Third district court for Salt
Lake county to justify on a $:!00,000
bond, and when asked his occupation
replied: "I am a woodchopper."
He is everybody's friend, the same
ns he was eight years ago, when he
wore a flannel shirt and overalls, and
was hustling night and day to get a
start in the world.
Mr. McCune resides in the Gardo
house, commonly called "Amelia's pal
ace." the magnificent residence erected
by the late President Brigham Young
for his favorite wife, Amelia. Three
of the rooms are set apart for costly
pieces of statuary which Mr. McCune
purchased while in Europe.
Mr. McCune's parents were Mormons,
but he has never been a churchman
himself. His wife is an active member
of the church, however.
MRS. SARAH TERRY.
Site la a l\ Ife an Well an a Dauthlrr
of the Revolution, and I'roud
of Her ION Yearn.
Sarah Terry is 108 years old, and she
has just celebrated the anniversary
of her birth by joining the Daughters
of the Revolution. She is the only mem
ber of that honorable body who is not
alone a daughter of the revolution but
tt wife of the revolution as well. Mrs.
Terry lives with her granddaughter
at 545 North Sixteenth street, Philadel
phia. She persoually knew George
Washington and I.a Fayette, and says
that the father of his country had
twinkling eyes* and that La Fayette
had rosy checks. She remembers very
distinctly when Queen Victoria was 12
years old, and recalls, as if it were yes
terday, the return of the her. - from
*.
MRS. SARAH TERRY.
(She Is a Wife as Well as a Daughter of
the Revolution.)
the war of 1812. She lived in Philadel
phia at the time that Benjamin Frank
lin lived there, and she lias seen the
city grow and develop as has no other
person. Mrs. Terry sits upon a great
rocking chair and talks clearly about
matters which she herself saw more
than a century ago. And. although her
hair is as white as it used to be black
and her form bowed, her appetite is
good and her brain clear. The Quaker
city chapter of the Daughters of the
devolution is being congratulated on
having acquired so very distinguished
a member.
Olne Made from Seaweed.
A fre' h use for seaweed is claimed to
have been discovered by a Norwegian
engineer, who exhibited an invention
at the Stockholm exhibition for produc
ing papT glue, dressing gum and so-ip
from seaweed. The first establishment
for this branch of manufacture is to he
erected in the district of Stavanger.
FflKtli-K Seetn In India.
In fasting feats the sect of Jains, in
India, is far ahead of all rivals. Fasts
of from 30 lo 40 days are common, and
once a year !he\ are said to abstain
from food for 75 days.
SSOO Reward
The above Reward will be paid for i»,
that will lead to the arrest id 4
conviction of the party or partien whe
i»lac*d iron and »Üb» on the track of the
Emporium & Rich Valley R. R., neai
he east line of Franklin Hounler's farm,
»n the evening of Nev. 21st, 1891.
IIENRT AUCHC,
88-tf. J'rendcnt.
Fine Liquor S:qrb
—ii*—
EMPORIUM, PA.
THE onderfltg-ned haa opened a flrwV
olui Liquor store, and invites th«
trade or Hotels, Restaurants, Ao»
We shall carry none bat th»taskAmu*
loan and Imported
WHISKIES,
BRANDIES,
GINS AND
WINES,
BOTTLED ALE, CHAMPAGNE, Etfc
Choice lint of
Bottled Goods.
F addition to my large line of liquors I c +rrf
count as tly In stock a full line of
CIGARS AND TOBACCO.
SWPool an 3 Billiard Room In ASM*
C*LL AND HEE ME.
A. A. MCDONALD,
PROPRIETOR, EMPORIUM, PA.
& F. X. BLUMLE, 7
4, EMPORIUM, VA-
W Bottler of and Dealer Ja ft
$ BEER, jU
£ WINES, jrf
& WHISKIES, $
■gr And Liquors of All Kinds.
A The beet of goods always j®[
w carried in etock and every- ££
TT thing warranted as represent
ft. Especial Attention Paid ten
ii nail Orders. M
$ EMPORIUM, PA. §
} GO TO i
sj. A- ttiflsler'J, j
1 Broad Street, Emporium, Pa., 1
J Where you can set anything you want la V
\ the line of ?
S Groceries, ?
i Provisions, ?
y FLOUR, SALT MEATS, P
C SMOKED MEATS, \
J CANNED GOODS, ETC., )
i Tea*, Coffees, Fniiti, C-enfeftlonery, )
S Tobacco tod Cigars. (
S Oood» Delivered Free any /
/ Place In Town. S
C. CALL A,IB SEE EE AID GET PRICES. \
C IEAK P. k B. DEPOT C
EMPORIUM
Bottling Works,
JOHN MCDONALD, Proprietor.
Near P. it R. Depot, Emporium, Pa.
-
Bottler and Shipper of
Rochester
Lager Beer,
BEST RAIDS OF EYPORT.
The Manufacturer of Boft
Oriaka and Dealer In Choice
Wine* and Pure Liquors.
We keep none bnt the very beet
fceer and are prepared to fill Orders on
ihort notice. Private families served
laily If desired.
JOHN MCDONALD.
! Cereals, and Trade-Marks obtained and all Pat-J ,
eot buaiaeu conducted for MODERATE FEES. I 1
! Ouaornci is U.S. PATENT OrricE'l
rand we can tecuro patent in lew* time Uian UioAe ( ,
I remote from Washing too, <>
II Send model, drawing or photo., with descnp-#
i tion. Wo advise, if patentable or not, free of (
' charge. Our fee not due fill patent is aecured. <
;; A Pamphlet 4i How to Outain Patents," withi
l Oost of Setxne in'the U. S. and foreign countriesj,
1 sent free. Address, <
iC.A.SNOW&CO.
TATENT
tfSuMZFiU CHICAGO
ffe NEW YORKom™.',
. LM. KELLZGQ *EWSP*°ER CO.