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.