6 DOiNG AND DREAMING "Ob! could I lift," a dreamer cried, "These hitter burdens of the poor. Grant I hem the Joys of life denied, < Soften the sorrows they endure, Lighten the cloud of ignorance for all the helpless, hopeless throng, And win them some deliveranoe From brutish cruelty and wrong— What blessedness could life contain To equal this? Alas that still The dear desire should be in vain, The power be lacking to the will!" Upon h'is way the dreamer'went, Nor heeded what he left undone. When helping hands he might have lent To many an over-wearied one. HU soaring fancies far outran The hungry child be could have fed. And overlooked the sad old man That a kind word had comforted. F'oor dreamer! —and poor heart of mine That haply equal pity needs— What blessedness were surely thine H.id dreaming given place to deeds! —lljry Uradley. In S. S. Times. S lfrtrr "YtATv Ccopjrlcht. IBQ7. by Longmans. Green & Co] SYNOPSIS. Chapter I—D'Auriac, commanding out post where scene Is laid, tells the story. S">« Gomeron has been appointed by Gen. cie Rone to examine into a charge made •gainst him. Nicholas, a sergeant, brings in 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 trivfjig his parole not to attempt escape, hears this remarkable sentence: "To-mor row— you must die on the field. Win or 112 if I catch you at the close of the day, I will hang you as high as Ilaman." Chapter fl—D'Auriac next morning takes ill* place as usual on de Rone's staff. In the course of his ride over the field he saves th-» life of Nicholas, the sergeant, who, a victim of de Oomeron's malice, is found in imminent danger of almost instant death. Chapter lll—After the battle in which King Henry utterly routs de Rone's forces, d'A'jriac, lying severely wounded, peep th<* forms of a man and woman moving 7irad.T cover of tlie night among the dead and wounded. They find a golden collar on de Deyva's corpse, and Habette stabs Manginot (her partner) to gain possession «»f the prize. After this hideous scene Henry with a retinue, among whom is the ftir prisoner who had escaped from the hand of de Gomeron, rides over thefli Id. Chapter IV—D'Auriac In the hospital of Ste. Genevieve discovers his unknown friend is the heiress of Bidache. She vis its him dally, ami when he Is well enough U taken to her Normandy chateau. Here he learns from Maitre l';illn, the madame's i taifain, that the king is about to force <iii.'icj the woman a very distasteful mar ria.se with M. d'Ayen. With Jacques, his ■steward, d'Auriac leaves for the avowed purpose of preventing their marriage. Chapter V—D'Auriac stops at little vil -1 jpi of Kzy to have a shoe put on hi 3 horse, s»rxl heire demands refreshment for him self. In the corner of the room lay a man feigning sleep. "CII APTlili v.—CosTIS L'ED. I was never a brawler or blusterer, ant! least of all did 1 wish to worry these poor people, but the times were such that a man's safety lay chiefly iu himself, for the writ ■of the king ran weak in the out lying districts. The whole business, tiio, was so strange, that 1 was de termined to fathom it, and unbuckling my -sword, I placed it on a table soasto be ready on the instant, and then, .seat ing" myself on a stool beside it, said .somewhat sharply: "Unotigh. my girl; get me some wine, aw! take out some to my servant. This will pay for it,"and I i"inga fat crown piece on the table. "Hurry your father if you can, and I will be gone the mo ment my horse is shod." My tone was one not to be denied, nnd hiking up t lie money, she turned to a cupboard, and with shaking lingers drew a bottle therefrom and placed it before me. Filling a cup 1 asked her to bear it back to Jacques, and then lean ing back against the wall, took a pull lit my goblet, and judge of my surprise when I found I was tasting nothing short of d'Arbois <>f the ''J" vintage! It was getting dark p>vw within the room, over which the flart.es of the fire •occasionally blazed up and casta fitful and uncertain light. Outside, however, there was a moon, and in a few min utes sit the in ok*, my horse would be shod, and I \\Ntu!d have to continue my journey, without having discovered what this, little mystery meant. I could not help being a little amused at the man ner in which my bashful friend, whose face was so well covered up, kept him self a prisoner in his corner, but at this moment the girl's cooking was finished, and the savory odor of it was appar ently more than he could endure,for he suddenly sprang to his feet, exclaiming: ".VOID du diable! lam sick of this, •and hungry as a wolf. Give me my sup per, Marie—and if he wants to take me -—let him do so if he can—he will have to fight an old soldier first." An he spoke 1 distinctly saw his band indicate me, and with an alarmed cry the girl sprang between us. It flashed upon me that my gentleman was, after alt, only some one who tvas wanted, nnd that he regarded me with as much ap prehension as I regarded him with •caution. Tush!" I said,"you good people make a gre; t fuss over nothfng. I certainly <!</ not want to take you, my man, and neither you nor your little sweetheart here need be the least alarmed." 1 had hardly finished speaking when he rushed forward."lt is the chevalier —lt is M. d'Auriac—idiot, turkey, pi?T that 1 am to have kept my eyes shut, and not recognize you. .Monsieur, do you not know me—Nicholas, your ser geant, whom you saved from the rope'."' "Where you appear likely togo again, Nicholas; but what are you skulking about here for?" The wood in the fire place blazed tip as 1 spoke, and I saw Nicholas .diift uneasily and look at 1 lie pirl, who had moved to his side, and *sfood with bet hands holding onto his ■don k. 'This p'ace as my home once, mon sieur," she said, bitterly, "and I have come back to it." "I see you have, sergeant—but why in this way?" "Monsieur, I was driven to straits and did a thing. Then they hunted me from Dreux to IJouvres, from Rouvres to Anet—" "And from Anct came you here?" "It is but a stone-throw," Nicholas answered, "and I had a business in hand. After which we were going away." While he was speaking Marie lit a lan thorn, and I saw that my ex-ser geant was evidently in the lowest water. Ife had been a smart soldier, but was now unkempt anil dirty,and his eye had the shifty look of a hunted animal, lie wore a rusty corselet and a rustier chain cap on his head, drawn over a bandage that covered his ears. As my eye fell on the bandage I called to mind the mutilation that had been inflicted on him, a brand that had cast him out of the pale of all honest men. Nicholas watched my glances, and ground his teeth in rage. "I will kill him," he hissed, "kill him like the dog he is— monsieur, that was my business." "Then de Gormeron—" "Is but an hour's ride away, mon sieur—at Anet." "At Anet! What does he do there?' "Monsieur," he answered hoarsely, taking me by the sleeve of my doublet, "1 know not; but a fortnight ago lie came here with a score of lances at his back, and the king's commission in his pocket, and he lords it as if lie were the duke himself. Yesterday a great noble came up from the Ulaisois, and another whose name I know not has come from Paris—and they hatch trea son against the king. Monsieur, I can prove this. You saved my life once, and, beast as I am now, I am still grateful. Come with me; I will settle my score with him, and to-morrow you can bear news toithe court that will make you a gxcat man." It was one of those moments that re quire instant decision. I was certainly not going to assist Nicholas in commit ting a murder. Any such plan of his would be easily stopped, but if what the man said was true, then he had given me information that might be of the greatest value to me. If it was false, well, then I should have a fool's errand for my pains, but be otherwise none the worse off. There was no time to question him in detail—for a second I was silent, and Marie looked from one to another of us, with wide-open eyes. "You have a horse?" I asked. "Yes, monsieur—it is hidden in the forest not. 300 toisesfrom here." "We are ready, M. le Chevalier," and Jacques'voice broke in upon us, Jacques himself standing in the doorway. My mind was made up that instant, and I dtcided to take the chance. "Jacques," 1 said, "I have business here to-night, which must be done alone ride on. therefore, yourself to Itouvres and await me at the Grand C'erf. If anyone tries to hinder you say that you ride for your master in the king's name. If I am not at Itouvres by morning make your way to Septeuil. If I do not arrive in two days, go home and do the best you can for yourself—you fol low V" "Monsieur." "Adieu.then—and Marie,here is some thing as a wedding portion for you," and I thrust a handful of gold piece:* into her palm, and, being moved by many things, added: "When this is over, you and Nicholas goto Auriac. I will arrange for you there." The girl stared blankly at me for a moment, then suddenly caught my hand and kissed it, and then with, a rapid movement flung herself into her lover's arms. "So," she said, "no—take back your gift, monsieur—he will not go." "Nonsense, Marie," and Nicholas gently released her arms. "I have come back to you to mend my ways, and must begin by paying my debts —come, monsieur." CHAPTER VI. "GREEN AS A JADE CUP." We passeu the I ace work of trees that bordered the skirts of the forest, Nicho las and I. On our left we could hear the drumming of a horse's hoof-s growing fainter and more faint, as Jacques rode through the night to Itouvres. Marie's wailing carne to us from behind, and Nicholas, who was walking doggedly along by the neck of my horse, stopped short suddenly and looked back. Turn ing in my saddle I looked back too, and there she was, in. shadowy outline, at the ruined gates of the inn, and again her sobbing cry came to us. We turned sharply, behind the silent ly waving arms of a hedge of hornbeam, and it was a relief to find that this cut away all further chance of seeing the pitiful figure at the gates of the inn. Nicholas drew tlie folds of his frayed cloak over his head, as if to shut out •til sound, and hurried onward—a tail figure, lank and dark, that flitted before me within the shadow of the hedgerow. "You count jour toises long here. Nicholas," 1 remarked, for something to say. "They are as we reckon them, nit n sieur. But a few steps further and we will get my horse, and after that there is no difficulty, for 1 know each track and bypath of these woods." "And I wager that many a fat buck has dropped here to your arquebus on moonlight nights sueli as this." "One does not learn the forest for nothing M. le Chevalier, but the bucks fell lawfully enough. My grandfather came here ns huntsman to Mine. Diane, my father succeeded him. and I had followed my father but for the war—" "And a smart soldier you made. I remember that when I cut you down from a nasty position I had not time then to hear how you came in such plight. liow was it? Tell me the truth." "I have almost forgotten how to do so. I will try, liov.v»er, and make it short. When M. le Marquis bore you off after the duel anil the escape of the prisoners. Capt. de Gomeron turned on me, and, damning me from head to toe, CAMERON COUNTY PRESS, THURSDAY, JANUARY 5, iß< j9 . swore he would flay me to ribbons. Feeling sure he would do so, and care less of the consequences, I answered back—with the result you know. Marked as I was, it was useless to seek employment anywhere, and then I be came what I am, and will end on the wheel." "I don't think so," I said, but he in terrupted: "At any rate, not before I have paid my debt, and the bill presses." I had purposely worked up to this. "See here, sergeant," I said, "no non sense. Brush off that bee that you have on your head. You are here to-day to attend to my business, not your own. You say you are sick of your present life. Well, I have means to give you another chance, and I will do so; but I repeat again, 'no nonsense'—you under stand ?" He stood silently for a moment, look ing this way and that. We were within a yard or so of the forest, and it-s shad ow covered him, all but his face, which was turned to me, drawn and white. He was struggling against old habits of absolute obedience, and they won. "I understand, M. le Chevalier." "Very well, then, goon, and remem ber what I have said." Ileturned and stepped forward."This way, and mind the branches overhead," and we entered the forest, my horse leaping a low ditch that separated it from the grass land. We took a soft turf-covered path, overhung by branch es, and went on for about 50 paces be fore coming to a halt, which we did in a small, irregular patch of trees that lay in the full flood of the moonlight. In the darkness beyond I heard the gentle murmur of a small spring, and then the distinct movement of a heavy body and the clink of iron. My hand reached to my holster in a flash, but Nicholas saw the gesture, and said: "It is the horse. A moment, monsieur," and lifting up the curtain of leaves beside him, from which as he did so the dew fell in a soft shower, he dived into t he thicket, to reappear again leading the long blaek length of his horse. It struck me at once that the beast was of uncommon size, and this and the white star on its forehead brought to my mind the recol lection of De Hone's great English charger, Couronne. "Ilarnibleu!" I burst out, "you seem to be in the lowest water, and here you have a horse worth a hundred pistoles at the least!" "Did you see her by daylight, mon sieur, you would know that twice a hun "SHOULD WE BE DISCOVERED MONSIEUR " dred pistoles would not purchase her. Do you not know her, M. le Chevalier? This is Couronne, M.de Hone's charger." "Couronne! 1 thought so. And how the devil do you come by her?" "Her reins were in the wind when I caught her, a fair prize of war, and M. de Hone w ill never need her more. Sir.ee I got her she has saved me t wiee, and if I can help it we shall never part." lie stroked the mare's sleek neck, wet and glistening with the dew,and, quick ly mounting, swung her round to the bit and laid her beside me. It was not the time for talk, and we drew out of the clearing in single file, and, after forcing our way through the wet and shining leaves around us, found a bridle path. Along this my guide went at a trot. Nicholas suddenly pulled up and held out a warning hand. "What is it'.'" I asked, in a lijjv tone. "Ilist!" he said, and then in a rapid whisper: "Another 50 yards and we come to the open. Anet lies before us, and the rest of the way must be done on foot." "And the horses?" "Fasten them here. You have a pick et ing rope?" "Yes—round the neck of the horse." "Good. I had not noticed it before, and was half afraid you had none, mon sieur." The horses were soon securely fast ened, and when this was done Nicholas spoke low and earnestly: "Should we be discovered, monsieur, there is no use making a standing fight. The odds are too many. When we come to the open I will show you a withered oak. This is exactly opposite where the horses are—in this direction. If we are pur sued, make for the forest and lie down. The chances are they will pass us by. Then to the horses and follow me. If I go down, ride northwards for your life." "How the devil am 1 to find my way through the trees?" Nicholas shrugged his shoulders as if to say, "that was my affair." We had gone too far togo back, how ever, and placing my pistol in my belt and loosening my sword in its sheath, I followed Nicholas with cautious foot steps. As he said, in about 50 yards we came to the open, and halted close to a huge oak, bald of all leaves, with its gnarled trunk riven and scarred by lightning, liefore us a level stretch of turf sloped gently down towards what was once an ornamental lake, but now overgrown with the rankest weeds. In the center of the lake was a small is land. on which was seta summer house, fashioned like a Moorish kiosque, and beyond this rose huge and square the enormous facade of the chateau. It was in darkness except for an oriel window above a long terrace on the east wing, which was bright with light, an/1 In the courtyard below there was evident ly a fire. Men were singing' round it, and a lilting- chorus came to our ears. Inch by inch we crept onward, keep ing well in the shadow, and edging our way round the frills of the forest. 1 could hear Nicholas breathing hard, and from tii*e to time he stopped to rest; but I vsas a glad man to find 1 was not winded, and that therefore I must be truly as strong again as ever I was. At last, by dint of creeping, crawling and wriggling along, we worked our way to within 20 paces of the terrace, above which the stained glass of the oriel window glowed with light. Here we came to a stop and watched. Sometimes we saw* a shadow moving backward and forward in the light of the window, then the shadow was joined by another, and both stopped, as if the two men to whom they belonged were in earnest con verse. "We must get to the window," I whis pored, with an inquiring look. "Hy the terrace," said Nicholas, in answer, and as he spoke there came to us the faint but distinct sound of a horn, apparently from the very depths of the forest, and the notes roused a brace of hounds in the courtyard, who bayed into the night. Nicholas gripped my arm, and I turned to him in sur prise. His face was pale, he was shak ing all over like an aspen, and his black eyes were dilated with fear. "Did you hear that, monsieur?" he said, quickly. "Diablo! What? 1 hear three dif ferent things—dogs, men and some one blowing a horn." "Then you did hear it —the horn?" "Yes. What of it? No doubt a post on its way to Anet." "No post ever rang that blast, mon sieur. That is the Wild Huntsman, and the blast means death." As he spoke it came ag'ain, wild and shrill with an eerie flourish, the like of which I had never heard before. The dogs seemed togo inad with the sound, there was a hubbub in the courtyard, and some one in the chamber above the terrace threw open the sash and peered out into the night. 1 thought at first it was de Gomeron; but the voice was not his, for, after looking for a moment, he gave a quick order to the men below and stepped in again. iTO BE CONTINUED.] SING AS THEY RISE. Souie Itlrdn Tbat Sppm to He Kiiirlj Carried Off Their Keet with Joy. A very interesting feature of our bird songs is the wing songs, or song of ecstacy. It is not the gift of many of our birds. Indeed, less than a dozen species are known to me as ever singing tn the wing. It seems to spring from more intense excitement and self-aban donment than the ordinary song deliv ered from the perch. When bird's joy reaches the point of rapture it is literal ly carried off its feet, and up it goes into the air, pouring out its song ns a rocket pours its sparks. The skylark and bob clink habitually do this, but a few Others of our birds do it only on occa sions. Last summer, up in the Catskills, I added another name to my list of ecstatic singers—that of the vesper sparrow. Several times I heard anew .song in the air, and caught a glimpse of the bird as it dropped back to earth. My attention would lie attracted by a succession of hurried, chirping notes, followed by a brief burst of song, then by the vanishing form of the bird. One day 1 was lucky enough to see the bird os it was rising to its climax in the air, and identified it as the vesper sparrow. The flight of 73 or 100 feet was brief; but it was brilliant, and striking, and entirely unlike the leisurely chant of the bird while upon the ground. It sug gested a lark, but was less buzzing or humming. The preliminary chirping notes, uttered faster and faster as the bird mounted in the air, were like the trail of sparks which a rocket emits be fore its grand burst of color at the top of its flight.—Century. IVn Migrlitler 'Minn Sword. The life of such a man as Peter Force was worth more to American letters and to huimwi history than the lives of a score of the military generals and other notables whose names are so generally blazoned about. He lived for more that* half a century in Washington. He filler? many public and responsible positions, and he was for nine years editor and proprietor of a daily journal which en joyed the confidence of Henry Clay and John Quiney Adnms; but it is not a* mayor of Washington nor as an editor that he will be best remembered. IIU characteristic merit, which differenti ates him from the Uitchics, the Dull (Jreens and tlie I". I*. lilairs, who also l>ore an active part in political journal ism at the national capital, is that he was more than a journalist—he was a historian.—Ainsworth It. Spofford, in Atlantic. WSiat lie Woulil lie. "I regret to say," she snid, reproving ly, "that you do not always use words with a due regard for their exact mean ing." lie bowed with becoming humility. "Now, if Fido had bitten you," she went on, caressing the dog, "you would doubtless be angry and he might be mad." Hi shook his head. "No," lie replied with much feeling, for he had no great iovo for the dog, "he would not be mad; he would be dead." —Chicago I'ost X Speedy Recovery. .Timmy-—Are you back to school al ready? I thought you were good tor tli*ee or four days. Tommy—Well, me mother wouldn't let. me go out, even after x o'clock. Might as well be in a hospital.—Puck. A woman would rather be a gras; widow than an old maid.—Atchisc. Globe. WILL MARRY PATH. Ilarun Crdrmlrnm, a Bwi-ill«h Koblfe. limn, 111 lie Ibe Faiuuun l>lv«'a Third Venture. liaron Olaf Rudolf Cederstrom, who Is soon to become the third husband of Mine. Adelina l'atti, is a jouiif,' S-.vedish nobleman of excellent family, but with positively nothing in the way of a for tune. However, that will make small difference, for the divine singer has a castle and enough money for both. The baron is 011I3' 28 and l'atti is 51. The match, nevertheless, is by no means grotesque, for Mine. Patti doesn't look a day older than she did when she came to America in the early 'BUs and she was BARON CEDERSTROM. (The Swedish Nobleman Who la to Re Married to l'atti.) then only 115. She met Uaron Ceder strom in his London gymnasium, where he was engaged in teaching the young English noblemen how to work up their muscles, fence, shoot, wrestle and ac quire all sorts of athletic and calis the oic accom pi ish in en ts. The baron's father is Baron Claes Ed vard Cederstrom, an old lieutenant in the Royal Swedish Life dragoons. His mother, before her marriage, was Baroness Martha Leijonhufvud. The family of Cederstrom is one of the best in Scandinavia. It was ennobled in IGB4, and although not prominent in the way of wealth, it has been always highly respected, and its male mem bers have taken no small part in the military, civil and professional fields of Sweden. Young Olaf is a handsome, dis tinguished looking man, simple and courteous in manner and highly edu cated. The family beiug poor, he was expected to earn his own living. True, he might have joined the army, but the idle, good-for-nothing life of an otlicer in peace times had no attraction fol him. lie went to London, opened his athletic institution and soon had a fashionable and profitable clientage. Mine, l'atti was much impressed by the young Swede's manliness, and him to Craig-y-Nos, her castle in Wales-. It was from there the formal announce ment of the engagement was made. Mine, l'atti's third venture in the mat rimonial line promises to be as happy as was her second with Signor Xicolini. l'atti and Nieolini lived like doves up to the death of the tenor :u 1897. It is said that Xicolini won the song bird by sheer persistence. Her first husband, Marquis de Caux, was much older than she, but very rich, and their married life was anything but pleasant. Nieo lini had nothing but the good fortune to win Mine, l'atti's love, and that was enough. Cederstrom is likewise a poor man, but he is noble, and it is by no means improbable that as Baroness Cederstrom Mine, l'atti can spend her remaining years in very pleasant asso ciation with Europe's best society. The wedding will take place at Craig-y-Xos February Huron and Baroness Ced erstrom will then go at once to London. The former is to become a naturalized British subject. ST. PAUL'S CHURCH. It Is liOrntcd in \Vi«*k.for<l, H. 1., ami I.h thf Oldeat KpisoopHl Sanc tuary in Xeu Knit land. In the little town of Wick ford, R. 1., on tne shores of Navragansett bay, stands the oldest Episcopal church iri Kfew England. It is St. Paul's church, srected in South Kingston, in 1707, and y- - ST. PAUL'S CHURCH, WICKFORD. ;From a Photograph Taken for New York Truth.) in 1800 removed to its present site in U'ickford. In 1847 regular services in the church were abandoned, as in many nays it was unfit for use. Batlfjvd by itornus for more than a century and t aalf, and shorn of its olden comeliness, it is yet standing, and sometimes in milliner months the people of the parish isteinble to worship within lis walls, but the quaint structure, with its o'd fashioned arrangement of pulpit and giallery, belongs to the JKISI, and it seems almost a desecration to expose iged walls that are hallowed by so atany precious associations, to the inrele>ss!y curious ga/e of the nine teenth century congregation. Tli. first rector, as far as known, was Dr. Mc- Sparran, who came to America in 1713, lind was rector to 1757. IIIK Money In Turtle*. A large turtle affords eight potindscf ortoise shell. SSOO Reward The above Reward will be paid for that will lead to the arrest and conviction of the party or parties wha placed iron and slabs on the track of tha Emporium it Rick Valley R. R., neai he east line of Franklin Hoosler'n funn, «n the evening of Nov. 21 at, 1891. ilKNar Aucuo, 88-tf. J'rtndent. FINE LIQUOR SfORB IK EMPORIUM, PA. THE undersigned haa opened a first, class Liquor store, and invites tha trade of Hotels, Restaurants, We shall carry none bat the boat Axow loan and Imported WHISKIES, BRANDIES, GINS AND WINES* BOTTLED ALE, CHAMPAGNE, Eta Choice line of Eottled Goods. F addition to my large Hoe of liquor® I carry cou.itaatly in stock a full line of CIGARS AND TOBACCO. 0-Pool and Billiard Room In HB< bolldtnf.-«» C*LL AND SEE VIE. A. A. MCDONALD, PROPRIETOR, EMPORIUM, PA. & F. X. BLUMLE, 112 EMPORIUM. PA- Bottler of and Dealer !M $ BEER, j? & WINES, J? & WHISKIES, & And Liquors of All Kinds. -%L A The best of goods always j®s W carried in stock and every- W tjT thing warranted as represent # Especial Attention Pal 41 « nail Orders. EMPORIUM, PA. $ 112 GO TO S sj. /L 1 Broad Street, Emporium, Pa., J J Where yon can get anything yon want in C \ the line of J s Groceries, / l Provisions, ? > FLOUR, SALT MEATS, J I SMOKED MEATS, \ J CANNED GOODS, ETC., ) ) ten, Coffees, Fralti, f«Df«fUonery, ) S Tobacco and t lgam. v 1 V Good* Dcltycred free any / / Place in 1 own. S £ Cltl AM SEE HE ISD GET PRICES. \ r IEAR P. I E. DEPOT \ EHPORIIM Bottling Works, IOHN MCDONALD, Proprietor. tiear P. it E. Depot, Emporium, Pa. 1 Bottler and Shipper of Rochester Lager Beer, BEST BBMDS OF EIPORT. The Manufacturer of Soft Drinks and Dealer In Choice Wines and Pure Liquora —— We keep none bnt the very hemß Rwr and are prepared to fill Orders on ihort notice. Private families served daily If desired. joriN MCDONALD. I Caveats, sad Trade Marks obtained and all Pit-£ 1 ent buaiaesa conductcd for MODERATE Fees. > | OUR Orricc is OPPOSITE U, S. PATCNTOrriceJ 1 and we can tecuro patent m less time Loan tlioseS remote from Washington. . ,5 J! Send model, drawing or photo., with descnp-c . tioo. \S'a advise, if patentable or not, fr*e ois ' charge. Our fee not due till patent is secured. I !> A PAMPHLET u How to Obtain Patents, witnj I'oost of same in the U« S. and totciga countricsi "Jsent free. Address, :O.A.SNOW&CO.j " * - P: .."ONHLUN CHJCAGO NEW YORK.™., . JL N. KELLCOB CO.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers