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.