6 THE MAN WITH THE MAIL. Phe man wtfh the mail—God bless him— Comes In all sorts of weather; Letters and papers, books and cards. All In his bag together; He will come and go In the rain and snow, On his beat you will ever find him, Leaving his missives of weal and woa In the varied homes behind him. Tender epistles of youthful love, Uttered in softest breath, And tear-stained tales of the parsing away Of the loving and loved In death; letters of friendship from far away. And greetings fro.n neighbors near; Some that beguile the hour with a smile. And some that educe a tear. Bad, sad news and glad, glad news. In the sunshine and the snow. The faithful mailman brings to me. And yet he does not know; It may be a message to lift the soul To a nobler, truer part, Dr a tender woman may read and give The wail of a brokerrheart. —J. Pollock Hutchinson, In Chicago Rec ord. (Copyright, IIQT. by Longmans, Gre«n & Co J SYNOPSIS. Chapter I—D'Auriac, commanding out post whero scene Is laid tells the story. De Gomeron has been appointed by Gen. de Rone to examine Into a charge made against 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 Itone happens on the disorderly scene, and d'Aurlac, upon flvlng his parole not to attempt escape, hears this remarkable sentence: "To-mor row....you must die on the tleld. Win or lose. If I catch you at the close of the day, I will hang you us high as Hainan." Chapter ll—D'Auriac next morning takes his place as usual oi> do Rone's staff. In the course of hl3 ride over the tleld 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 lll—After the batttle In which King Henry utterly routs de Rone's forces, dA'uriac, lying severely wounded, sees the forms of a man and woman moving under cover of the night among the dead and wounded. They llnd a golden collar on de Leyva's corpse,and Habette 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 Held. Chapter IV—D'Auriac in the hospital of Ste. Genevieve discovers his unknown friend is the heiress of Didache. She vis its him daily, and when he is well enough Is taken to her Normandy chateau. Here he learns from Maitre l'alln, the madame'fl Chaplain, that the king is about to force upon the woman a very distasteful mar riage with M. d'Ayen. With Jacques, hi.s steward, d'Auriac leaves for the avowed purpose of preventing their marriage. Chapter V D'Auriac's hors» casts a shoe. This causes a delay at village of Ezy, wlire he comes upon Nicholas, iil.s old sergeant, who says de Gomeron is in the neighborhood with the king's commis sion, and that he (Nicholas) has evidence of treason brew ing among de Gomeron and certain associates against the king. Chapter Vl—Led by Nicholas, d'Auriac goes by night to whore de Gomeron is sta tioned. Standing beside a broken pane they hear something of the outline of a plot against the king. Burning with revenge, Nicholas tires through the window at de Gomeron, l>ut misses his murk. Chapter Vll—The two men fly for t'helr lives, and think themselves almost beyond pursuit when they ccme suddei.iy face to face with Biron,' one of Ihe traitors to the king, whom d'Auriac cuts down, and with de Gomeron, who makes short work of Nicholas, d'Auriac escapes. Chapter VIII —He comes to Rouvres where Jacques, by previous arrangement, had prepared to have him received. Chapter IX—D'Auriac reaches I'aris, and Is struck by the aspect of g'.oom the city wears. CIIA PT Eli IX—CONTINUED. "Pardieu, monsieur," exclaimed Jacques, as we turned up the Jiue de la IJarpe, hard by the hotel de C'luny, '"one would think the king himself "were dead, these gentry pull such long faces." My servant's chance olisena tion sent a sudden shock through me. What if Ilenry was dead! What if I had got only one thread of the plot that was weaving at Anet? 1 did not an swer Jacques, but observing a Capuchin priest advancing in my direction, 1 reined in Couronne, and giving him the day, asked what it was that had be fallen the city. He looked up at me in a slight surprise, and then observing my travel-stained appearance, replied: "I see you are a stranger, sir; but have jou not heard the news? —it should have gone far by this." "I have not, as you see—but what is it? Surely the king is not dead?" "God forbid," he answered, "no —not the king, but she who in a few weeks would have been the queen of France." "The duchess de Beaufort." "Exactly." "I knew that; but you don't mean to say that the city is in mourning for the mistress of the king." "No, my son—not for the mistress of the king, as you call her, but for the open hand and the generous heart, for the kindly soul that never turned from suffering or from sorrow—for Mag dalen bountiful, aud, let us hope, Mag dalen repentant." Palin's directions were clenr, and after crossing the pont St. Michel, a wooden bridge, we kept to the south of Ste C'liapelle, and then, after many a twist and turn, found ourselves in the Uue des Deux Mondes, before the doors of Pan tin's house. The master himself answered my knock and stood in the doorway, a small, wizened figure, looking at us cautiously from gray eyes, shadowed by bushy white brows. "Good day, monsieur. What is it I can do for you?" "You are Maitre Pantin?" "At your service." "And I am the Chevalier d'Auriac. I have come to Paris from Biilaehe on business and need a lodging. Maitre Pal in has recommended ine to you." "Enough, monsieur le chevalier. My friend Palin's name Is sufficient, and I have need of clients, for the house is empty. If monsieur's servant will lend the horses through that lane there he will find an entrance to the stables— and will monsieur ste-p in and take a seat whilst I summon my wife —An- nette! Annette!" I limped in and sat down, escorted by expressions of compassion from Pantin, who mingled these with shouts for An nette. In a little time Mme. Pantin ap peared, and never have I seen so great a resemblance between husband and wife as between these two. There was the same small, shrivelled figure, the same clear-cut features, the same white eyebrows standing out prominently over the same gray eyes, their height, walk and tone of voice even w<-re al most the same. Madame, however, had an eye to business, which her husband, although I understood him t»> be n notary, had not discovered to me, and whilst he went off to see, as he said, to the arrangements for the horses, Mme. Annette struck a bargain with me for my lodging, which I closed with at once, as I was in sufficient funds to be a little extravagant. This matter being ar ranged by my instant agreement to her terms, she showed me to my rooms, which were on the second tioor, and commanded a good view of the river face, and, pocketing a week's rental in advance, the old lady retired, after rec ommending me to an ordinary where the food was excellent and the Fronti gnac old. I spent the remainder of the day do ing nothing, going forth but to sup quietly at the Two Ecus, which I found fully upheld the good name Mme. Pan tin had given it, and returning early to my rooms. Jacques came in presently and lit the tall candles that stood in the grotesque bronze holders that projected from the wall, and then drawing the curtains, in quired if I needed his services further that night. "I don't think so, Jacques, but stay!" "Monsieur." "llow do we stand?" "O, well enough, monsieur. Better really than for a long time. We have three horses and their equipment, al though one of monsieur's pistols is broken, and a full 150 crowns." "A perfect fortune —are you sure of the crowns?" "As I am of being here, monsieur." "Well, then, there is something I want you to do, and attend with both ears." "Monsieur." "I want you to take the two horses we got at Evreux and 50 crowns, and go back to Ezy. Keep ten crowns for your self, and give 40 to the smith and his daughter, and take them with you to Auriac. The forester's lodge is vacant; let them live there, or, if they like, there is room enough in the chateau. I will give you a letter to Bozon. lie wants help, and these people will be of service to him. After you have done this sell one of the horses —you may keep the proceeds—and conic back to me. If I ain not here you will get certain news of me, and can easilyfind meout-—you follow." "Exactly." "Then, when will you be prepared to start ?" "As soon as monsieur le chevalier is suited with another man as faithful as I." "Eh?" "Sangdieu! monsieur, I shall never forget what Pere Michel and the old steward, Bozon, said when I came home last without you. I believe-if I were to do so again the good cure would excom municate me, and Maitre Bozon would have me flung into the bay to follow. If I were togo back and leave you alone In Paris, anything might happen. No! No! My fathers have served Auriac for 200 years, and it shall never be said that Jacques Bisson left the last of the old race to die alone, never." "My friend, you are mad; who the devil talks of dying?" "Monsieur, I am not such a fool as perhaps I look. Do I not understand that monsieur has an affair on hand which has more to do with a rapier than a ribbon? If not, why the night ride, why the broken pistol and the blood stained saddle of Couronne? If mon sieur had come to Paris in the ordinary way we would have been at court, flut tering it as gayly as the rest, and cock ing our bonnets with the best of them, instead of hiding here like a fox in his lair." "Very well, Jacques; but remember if I pet other temporary help that you upprove of you will have to go." "In that case, monsieur, it is differ ent." "Then it must be your business to see to this, and now good night." "Good night, monsieur," and he took himself oft". I had made up my mind to lay my in formation before Sully. That he was in Paris 1 knew, having obtained 1 he infor mation from Pantin. and it was my in tention to repair the next day to the hotel de Bethune, and tell the minister all. The night was one of those in which sleep would not come, not be cause the place was a strange one. I was too old a campaigner to lose rest because the same feather pillow was not under my head every night; but because my thoughts kept nie awake. What these were 1 have already de scribed, and they were in force suffi cient to banish all sleep until the small hours were well on, and I at last dropped off, with the solemn notes of the Bourdon ringing' in my ears. It was about ten o'clock the next morning'that I mounted Couronne, and followed by Jacques, well armed, took my way toward the hotel de Bethune. Sully had just received the master generalship o.* the ordnance, and at his door was a guard of the regiment of La Ferte. I kii«w the blue uniforms with the white naslhes well, and they had fought like fiends at Fontaine, Fran caise and Hani. The officer on guard very civilly told me that the minister did not receive that day, but on my in sisting and pointing out that my busi ness was of the utinos>importance, he gave way with a shrug of his shoulders. "Goon, M. le Chevalier, but I can tell you It is of no use; however, that is a business you must settle with Ivoy, the duke's secretary." I thanked him and, dismounting and flinging the reins to Jacques, passed CAMERON COUNTY PRESS, THURSDAY, JANUARY 26, 1899. up the courtyard and up the stone steps to the entrance door. Here I was met by the same statement that Sully was unable to receive to-day, but, on my insisting, the secretary Ivoy appeared and asked me my name and business. "I have given my name twice already, monsieur," I answered. "I am the Chevalier d'Auriac, and as for my business it is of vital import, and is for monseigneur's ear alone —you will therefore excuse me if I decline to men tion it to you." Ivoy bowed. "It will come to me in its own pood time, monsieur. Will you be seated. I will deliver your message to tihe duke, but I am afraid it will be of little use." "I take the risk, M. d'lvoy." "But not the rating-, chevalier," and the secretary with a half smile on his face, went out and left me to myself. In a few minutes he returned. "The duke will see you, monsieur— this way please." "Pardieu!" I muttered to myself as I followed Ivoy, "he keeps as much state as if he wetre the chancellor him self. However, I have a relish for mon seigneur's soup." Ivoy led the way up a winding stair case of oak, so old that it was black as ebony and polished as glass. At the end of this was a landing, where a couple of lackeys were lounging on a bench be fore a closed door. They sprang up at our approach, and Ivoy tapped gently at the door. "Come in,"was the answer, given in a cold voice, and the next moment we were in the room. "M. le Chevalier d'Auriac," and Ivoy had presented me. Sully inclined his head frlgfrtly to my bow, and then motioned to Ivoy to re tire. When we were alone he turned to me with a brief "Well?" "I have information of the utmost importance which I wish to lay before 3'ou." "I hear that ten times a day from peo ple. Will your story take long to tell?" "That depends." "Then for your important news, mon sieur. It must be very important to have brought you here." "I do not understand." ITe looked at me, a keen inquiry in his glance. "You do not understand?" he said. "Indeed no, monseigneur." "Hum! you are either deeper than I take you to be or a born fool. Look you, are you not Alban de Breuil, Sieur d'Auriac, who was lately in arms in the service of Spain against France as a rebel and a traitor?" "I was on the side of the League." "Monsieur, the League died at Ivry." "But not for us " He made an impatient gesture. "We won't discuss that. Are you no<ti the man I refer to—say yes or no." "I am d'Auriac—there is no other of my name; but no more a rebel or THE MASTER HIMSELF ANSWERED MY KNOCK. traitor than Messieurs de Guise, de May enne and others. The king's peace has pardoned us all. Why should I fear to come to you? I have come to do you a service, or rather the king a service." "Thank you. May I ask if you did not receive a warning at La Fere and an other at Bidache?" "From M. d'Ayen—yes, monseigneur. I refuse to believe what I heard." "And yet your name heads a list of half a dozen whom the king's peace does not touch. One of my reasons for receiving you was to have you arrest ed." "It is a high honor, all this bother about a poor gentleman of Normandy, when Guise, de Mayenne, Epernon and Others keep their skins whole." "You have flown your hawk at too high a quarry, monsieur." "Then that painted ape, d'Ayen, told a true tale," I burst out, in uncontrol lable anger. "Monseigneur, do what you will to me. Remember that you help to the eternal dishonor of the king." The words hit him, and the blood flushed darkly under the pale olive of the man's cheek. "Monsieur, you forget yourself." "It is not I, but you who do so. You who forget that your name is Bethune. Yes, touch that bell. I make no resist ance. I presume it will be tihe chate let." His hand, half stretched toward the button of the call bell before him sud denly stayed itself. "Were my temper as hasty as your tongue, monsieur, it would have been the chatelet in half an hour." "Better that—" I began, but he inter rupted me with a quick wave of his hand. "M. d'Auriac, a time will come when you will have reason to regret the words you have used toward me. Ido not mean regret them in the place you have mentioned, but in your heart. In this business the honor of Bethune as well as the honor of the king is at stake. Do you think lam likely to throw my hazard like an infant?" I tva* siU'Ot; but a dim ray of hope flickered up in my heart ns I looked at the man before me, and fe't, I know not why, in the glance of his eye, in the tone of his voice, in his very gestures, that here was one who had conquered himself, and knew how to rule. "Now, sir," he went on, the animation in his tone dropping to a cold and frigid note, "proceed with your tale." It was a thing easier ordered than done; but 1 managed it somehow, try ing to be as brief as possible, without missing a point. Sully listened with out a movement of liis stern features, only his eyes seemed to harden like crystal as I spoke of Biron and Zamet. When I told what I heard of the death of Mine, de Beaufort, he turned his head to the open window and kept it thus un til I ended. When lie looked back again at me, however, there was not a traca of emotion in his features, and his voice was as cold and measured as ever as he asked: "And your reward for this news, chevalier?" "Is not to be measured in pistoles, monseigneur." "I see—and is this all?" His tone chilled me. "It is all—no," and with a sudden thought, "give me 20 men, and in a week 1 put the traitors in your hands." He fairly laughed out: "Corboeuf! M. le Chevalier, do you want to set France ablaze?" "It seems, monseigneur, that the torch ts held at Anet," I answered, a little sulkily. "But not lighted yet—leave the deal ing with that to me. And, monsieur, the king is at Fontainbleau, and for a month nothing can be done. And see here, monsieur, I can do nothing for you —you follow. At the end of a month go and see the king; tell him your story, and, if he believes you, claim your re ward. I will go so far as to promise that you will be received." All the little hope I had begun to gather fluttered away at these words like a scrap of paper cast in the wind. "Monseigneur," I said, and my voice sounded strangely even to my ears, "in a month it will l>e too late." "Leave that to me," he answered. "I thank you, monseigneur, but there is one little favor I ask." "And that is?" "The king's peace until I see the king." "You would be safer in the chatelet, I assure you, but as you wish —stay; there is one thing. Not a word of your inter view with me—even to the king." My hopes rose again. "On my faith as a gentleman I will not mention it." As I finished he struck his bell sharp ly twice, and Ivoy entered. "Ivoy, do me the favor to conduct M. d'Auriac to the gates yourself, and im press upon him the necessity of keeping to his lodging. The air of Paris is un healthy at present. Good day, mon sieur." Ivoy bowed with a slight upraising of his eyebrows, and we passed out. Going down the stairway, he said to me with a smile: "I see you dine at home to-day, chevalier." "At the Two Ecus," I answered, pre tending not to understand his allusion, and he chuckled low to himself. At the gates I observed that the guards were doubled, and a whispered word passed between Ivoy and the officer in com mand. But of this also I took no notice, and wishing them the day, rode back as I came. [TO BE CONTINUED.] The Hdkllmli (iontloniiin. It is o fit en asked, by foreign critics why the manners of aristocratic Eng lishmen are so much better than those of their womenkind. The answer, in deed, is not far to seek. The training and education of the boy lies in very different lines to that of his sister. The public school, the 'varsity, the "smart" regiment are one and.all schools of good manners. The English giri of to-<iay is brought up like a tomboy—with the happiest effect, it must be owned, on her health and appearance —and though she can win a golf match, ride across country and beat her brothers at tennis, she does not always know by the time she is "presented," how to receive a dozen guests with perfect ease of man ner. She. has become in the last few years a "daughter of the gods," as far as inches are concerned; her pretty head is stuffed with Greek and algebra and she prefers Browning's "Men and Women" to Tennyson's "Idylls of the King," but only too often she is gauche and shy, and not so much at home in the drawing-room as her great-grand mother was, who knew naught but how to work a sampler, play cribbage and direct the stillroom maid. The simple truth appears to be that with all these demands on her muscles and her brain, on her time and on her intelli gence, the modern girl has small leisure to cultivate the graces. Yetin real kind liness of heart, sympathy and good fellowship, she is hard to beat. —St. Louis Globe-Democrat. A Dormant I'iK. That animals may exist for length ened period® without nourishment in a quiescent state is shown by the fact that, after a great fall of earth on one occasion from the cliff at Dove.r, which buried a whole family, a hog was found alive five months and nine days after it had thus been buried! It weighediabout seven score when the accident hap pened, and had wasted to about 3d pounds.—Household Words. Why, of Course. "Think of it!" said the girl in browa, ns she put down the paper. "He gavt her a kiss and she sued him for dwm ages." The girl in blue was very properly shocked. "The idea of asking payment for «< ccpt.ing a luxury!" she exclaimed.—Chi cago Post. Sometime* So. When people are patient it is becaus* they found out that they had to be Every one kicks until satisfied that tha which he is kicking against is harde than patience.—Atchison Globe. The czar of liussia owns over 1.000.0f square miles of private property. -a A NEST OF SIEVES. Their Use Is < Ml I Kor Almost Kverjr Day In tdvery Vnrletjr of Farm Work. The value of a set of sieves with meshes of varying degrees of fineness is too apparent to need argument. Their use is called for almost every day upon the farm. They are useful in sep arating weed seed from grain that is to be sown. In fact, all seed grain ought to be sifted with a mesh just fine enough to hold the sound, plump, per fect grains, and to let all foreign seed and shriveled grain pass through. This is but one out of the many im portant uses to which sieves may be put. It is important, however, to have a whole line of these articles, else just the right mesh will always be lacking. A very handy arrangement is shown in the eut. A boxlike framework is made A NEST OF SIEVES. having a slit in one side and a gtoove around the inside. Light frames are made, strung with inesh of varying de grees of openness, and, as wanted, one or another of these frames is slipped into the groove and a sieve of the right sort is at hand. One excellent use for a set of sieves at this season of the yeai is in getting out of cracked corn just the right sized particles for chicks .when first hatched, for those a coup!* of weeks old, a month, and so on Cracked corn is a splendid feed foi chickens, but it must be graded to se cure the best results. In the same ex pellent way grit of proper size foi chicks of varying ages can be provided Once get a full set of these sieves, and you will be surprised at the great num ber of uses to which they can be put.— X. Y. Tribune. GYPSUM IN THE SOIL. Experiment.* Demons! rate That the Sulxtnace Is \ot Inimical to IMiint Growth. It has generally been supposed that gypsum, when used as a fertilizer, is valuable largely because it attracts moisture and furnishes some material which nourishes the plants in extreme ly dry weather. As for producing vegetation, it has never been consid ered, indeed it has not been supposed that plants would grow in it, but some experiments at agricultural stations show that plants will flourish in pure gypsum and make an almost phenom enal growth. Grain and plants were raised in this soil with most surprising results. Experiments also have been made in growing plants and grain in clean, white sand. The results of these efforts may, it is said, almost revolu tionize the growing of certain forms of vegetatioa. As a case in point: Some years ago a family moved into a new house which was built upon an un promising gypsum bed. The mistress of the house was extremely fond of flowers and bewailed the fact that she could have no flower garden. Finally her house plants became so trouble some that she turned them into the sand bed, diggiug holes and dropping them in regardless of order or system, and left them, as she supposed, to die. Her astonishment may be imagined when she grew such verbenas, petunias, geraniums and other plants as she never raised in her life. The neighbors insisted that she must have used soma commercial fertilizes, but the fact was that the roots found abundant nour ishment in what would usually be con sidered absolutely worthless soil.— Journal of Agriculture. ORCHARD AND GARDEN. In transplanting cut oft' all broken or mutilated roots. Fumes from an oil stove are not good for house plants. If the lawn needs manuring, now is the best time to give it. In mulching, use material that is free as possible from weed seeds. In growing fruit for market it is an advantage to have varieties that will keep well and bear transportation. While lilies and gladiolas are injured by manuring, tulips, hyacinths and crocuses are benelited by a liberal al lowance. Nearly or quite all kinds of fruits and vegetables keep much better if the tem perature in the place where they are stored can be kept even.—St. Louis lie public. Winter-Grown l'le I'laat. Growing pie plant in winter has passed the experimental stage and be come a profitable industry. Thousands of dollars arc paid the gardeners each winter for the product, which is bought at high prices, both for home consump tion and for shipment. Any cellar or outbuilding which can be made abso lutely frost proof and light proof will answer the purpose. There is no ob jection to the house cellar, as no ma nure and very little water are re quired, so no odor or dampness will arise. The labor of growing is so lit tle and the profits so large that tht> most greedy ought to be satisfied with the results. 5500 Reward The above Reward will be paid for b* Vmatioa that will lead to the arrest aid conviction of tbe party or parties whs plaoad iron and alube on the track of ths bmporiun A Kick Valley R. R., neai he east line of Franklin Hoosler's fua, m the evening of NOT. 21 at, 1891. HBSBT Accw, 88-tf. l\mdt*il. FINE LIQUOR STORE Uf '■ ■ ■ EMPORIUM, PA. THE undersigned baa opened a tn» class Lienor store, uxt invites tbe trade or Hotels, Reauvaata Jto> We shall carry none bat the best Axoe»> loan and Imported WHISKIES, BRANDIES. GINS AND WINES, BOTTLED ALE, CHAMPAGNE, Etc. CkdM line at Bottled Goods. Faddltleai to mj large line ef llqaoaa I Mi If •oiatutl; la atoeh a fell 11B* at CIGARS AND TOBACCO. W'Fml aaft BtlMaad loom In mm billfflaf.'V. C*LL AND BE® MB. A. A. MCDONALD, PBOPBIXTOB, kmpobjum, PA. o IUFOBIUII, rjL. tyf Bottler el aa4 Uselar la & WINES, ? & WHISKIES, & And Liquors of All Kinds. M q Tbe best of goods always H w CArrled in atock and every, w rf thing warranted as represent ff Especial Attention Pal* l S X> nail Orders. Aft $ EMPORIUM, PA. $ / GO TO i sJ. fi. fliDSler's, ( J Breed Street, Emporium, Pa., 1 J Where yon can (ct anything job want la C C the llae of / s Groceries, ? S Provisions, ? y FLOUR, SALT MEATS, ) C SMOKED MEATS, \ J CANNED GOODS, ETC., > J leu, Coffiw, Frnlti, C#Bf«tlenery, ) S Ttiuu tad Clpn. C \ Cooda ntllyrrrd Free any / / Place In Town, S I CILL U» SEE IE lID GET PRICES. \ C SEAR P. £ E. DEPOT C EMPORIUM Bottling Works, IOHN McDONALD, Proprietor. P. it K. Depot, Emporium, Pa. f ? Bottler and 8 hip per of Rochester Lager Beer, BEST mm OF EYPORT. The Manufhctarer ef Soft Qriaka end Dealer la Choice Wines and Pure Liquor*. We keep none bat the very beet Beer end are prepared to fll! Orders on ibort notice. Private families served laily If desired. JOHN MoDONALD. ami 1 rade-Morfca omains.) »n.l all PaV■', rot buiiiui conducted for MODERATE Pace. i> ! Oua ornct la Opposite U, 8. PaTiNTOrrtct | i and we can secure pataatia Ices tune Ifiaa those; nanti from Waihiutoa < i Scad model, drawing or photo-, with de»erip-i| tioa. V't advise, If patentable or sot, free or, charge. Our fee not due till patent it secured. , i A |»a«PMLtT. " How to Obtain Patents," with* j oost of same in the U. S. and foreign countries J sent free. Address, s C.A.S^OW&CO.| e ae. »w T " "• e - 1 TBi»rArM OUirAPfl 18 ON FILE IN l/rtSl/MUVI ffe NEW YORK Orricaa a . L N. KELLZQB *EWBPI®ER CO.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers