HEART'S HUNGER. We let them be just for a little while. We cannot hear to put them yet away— The vacant high chair of a little child. The torn hat but worn the other day. Or the low footstool where our dear one's feet Had rested, or the father's easy chair, That never more will hold the manly form— We let them stand, the room would look too bare. We gaze out in the waning, fading light. The books and music mock us in the room; Onr hearts are with that new made grave in the night, All dark and shadow haunted in the gloom. God pity those who wait in vain to hear The sound of feet that ne'er will tread again Or long to kiss white faces hid away. In their deep beds beneath the snow and rain. The wind from out the harp at nature chants A dirge above them as it passes by; The dead leaves, tears of autumn, sadly fall Upon our sleeping ones as still they lie. Oh, ye who never o'er dead loved ones wept, Who ne'er kissed cold hands and faces white. And held out empty arms and hearts to God, Can never know the pain we feel tonight. —San Francisco Examiner. A GHOSTLY BRIDAL. The stagecoach which ran between Paris anil Marseilles had just reached Grenoble, when the young Baron de Saint Andre climbed up to the front seat. Here he found a good looking fellow of his own age, and straightway the two became great friends. At the end of an hour they began exchanging con fidences after the manner of youth. The scion of noble stock was on his way to Paris, to buy an officer's brevet, so as to servo his country, as his ances tors had done before him; the other, who was the son of a rich tradesman, was also bound for Paris, for the pur pose, however, of marrying an heiress, the daughter of an old friend of his father. "It is an even thing!" cried the young baron laughingly. "A mere money mat ter for each of us. The little god Cupid has no more concern in your business than in mine!" "There you mistake," returned the other. "I have never seen Sylvia, but I fell in love with her, once and forever, the first time I laid eyes upon her por trait. Judge for yourself." He opened a tortoise shell case, and Saint Andre exclaimed admiringly: "What an angel! Indeed, my dear fellow, you are very fortunate to have that charming, dainty creature picked out for you." "I do not complain," said the bride groom elect, "and now I am going to sleep, if this miserably, jolting concern will allow me. lam expected to break fast at my future father-in-law's as soon as I reach Paris, and as I shall then be presented to my betrothed I waqt to look as well as possible." At the end of three days and two nights the heavy stagecoach lumbered iuto the metropolis and the two travel ers went to the nearest hotel and en gaged two rooms, intending to take a little rest. Saint Andre had just thrown himself upon the bed when he heard deep groans in the next room, and on rushing in found his late companion rolling on the floor in agonies of pain. The servants were summoned, a physi cian was brought in and the latter de clared that the patient was suffering from acute colic, which had probably been contracted before ho left home and had been aggravated by the fatigue of tho journey. He pronounced the mala dy a vory serious one, and so it proved, for, in spite of every care, the youth ex pired at the end of an hour. Saint Andre was overwhelmed by the catastrophe, and when he found that he could do nothing more for his friend he stood gazing sadly at the lifeless clay which lay on the narrow bed in the bare hotel room. Poor fellow! So young, so gay, looking forward to a bright future and now snatched away without warn ing! What would the fair bride-elect say when she liejird of this tragedy? Saint Andre dreaded the bearing of the sad news to the family, but there was no one else to perform tho errand, and so ho set off, carrying with him the dead youth's satchel. When he reached the stately mansion the front door flew open and two foot men in livery came to meet him. One relieved him of his satchel, the other took his hat and cloak and a voice was heard exclaiming joyfully: "Monsieur, here is your son-in-law at last!" "Dear fellow!" cried a little, fat, white haired man, rushing into the hall, "let me embrace you?" and he clasped the newcomer rapturously to his heart. As soon as he could get his breath Saint Andre said hurriedly: "Pardon me, sir, but" "I pardon you for being late," inter rupted the other. "Look, it is 12 o'clock, and breakfast is growing cold. Come in and see my daughter. The little puss has been watching the clock fqr hours, and is all impatient to meet you." He pulled the young man into tho breakfast room as he spoke, and with out pausing an instant added, "My wife, Uncle Dorival, Aunt Dolarice, here is the son-in-law at last; Sylvia, my child, bid him welcome" "I beg pardon, sir," cried Saint Andre, but again his host interrupted him. "Don't tell me that you wish to draw back at the last moment, my dear fel low! Everything has been arranged by my esteemed friend, your father, but if you have any objection to urge I will hear it later; bad news can always keep. Now let us sit down to breakfast at once and be merry. Sit by me, son-in-law, and give me your opinion of this pigeon bisque." The visitor was young and very hun gry, having fasted since midnight. The shock of his companion's sudden death had unnerved him somewhat, and so for the time being he yielded to the force of circumstances. "Come what will," he said to himself, "I cannot bear to put a dampener upon the joy of these good people; at least not until they have had their break fast." He joined therefore in the general merriment, smiled sweetly upon blush jug Sylvia, the bride-elect, and replied unhesitatingly to his supposed future father-in-law's inquiries. "How is your Aunt Armando, my son?" asked the old man suddenly. "I remember her as a charming young wo man ; when I was twenty I came near falling in love with her! We must keep her in good graces, for she will leave a snug little fortune to her nephew." "Dear aunt!" exclaimed the youth in a tone of deep affection; "I hope she will enjoy life for many, many years longer," and his pious wish was reward ed with a tender glance from Sylvia's dark eyes. Aunt Dolarice also listened to him with delight. "He has the instincts as well as the bearing of a born gentleman," she whis pered to her brother. "Who would think that his ancestors had always sold cinnamon and nutmegs!" Uncle Dorival, who read cyclopedias and was thought very learned, retorted quickly: "And why should he not have as fine sentiments as a nobleman? Away with your absurd notions, sister! All men are equal!" The clock struck 2, and Saint Andre suddenly felt a pang of remorse for the part he was playing, as he recollected that he had to arrange for his friend's burial and would be expected at the hotel. He therefore rose from the table, and announcing that he had important business to attend to, prepared to leave. His host protested in vain, Sylvia looked up in blank amazement and every one entreated him to remain. "I do not understand," began the old man, following his visitor to the front door. The young man interrupted him, saying solemnly: "I will explain. At 11 o'clock this morning I died, after a short and sud den attack of colic, and I gave the hotel proprietor my word of honor that my body should be removed this afternoon. You see, therefore, that if I were to ab sent myself any longer it would be very awkward." With these words he dis appeared, leaving the old father over whelmed with amazement. When the rest of the family heard what had been said they decided that the youth was joking. "He has humor," said Uncle Dorival. "I shall congratulate him the next time I see him. He will be here in time for supper." But supper time came and passed, and there was no sign of the son-in-law. The family became anxious and alarmed, and toward 8 o'clock they sent a mes senger to the hotel to inquire for the passenger who had arrived there by coach that morning. The proprietor sent back word that the gentleman named had died at 11 o'clock of colic, and that the body had been taken away for burial in the afternoon. This news was received with unbounded astonish ment, and little Sylvia burst into tears as she declared that she would wear mourning as if she were a widow. "It was his ghost that camo here," said the girl's mother in a tone of awe, but Uncle Dorival shrugged his shoul ders. "Do ghosts eat and drink as he did?" he asked. "That fellow was merely some young scapegrace who wanted to play a trick on us and get a good meal at the same time." Nevertheless the ghost story went the round of the serv ants' hall, and the footmen boasted of having seen a spirit in broad daylight. The tale spread until it became a sub ject of wonder in boudoirs and drawing rooms, and the fair young widow who had never been married wore a black gown and veil and shed passionate tears for the affianced husband whom she had seen but once. Two weeks later she was wandering about the garden one evening, listening sadly to the songs of tho nightingales. The stars were shining brilliantly, but the sight of their beauty only served to increase her sorrow. "Alas!" she sighed, "if he were but here to stroll with me along these path ways!" As she spoke a cracking of boughs near her made her start with ter ror, and in another instant a man broke through the flowering shrubs and knelt at her feet. The stars were shin ing to some purpose then, for by their light she recognized the face for which she had been longing, and in a voice which betokened mingled joy and dread she cried: "Then you are not dead!" "No indeed, sweetheart," he answered softly; "I am alive, and I hope to live and love you for many a long day yet." When the two young jieople entered the drawing room the family were play ing backgammon. A look of amaze ment greeted the appearance of Saint Andre, and every one being dumfound ed the young baron had no difficulty in telling his story, which he concluded by asking for Sylvia's > hand. The marriage took place as soon as the proper period of mourning had elapsed, and Aunt Dolarice was triumphant. "Did I not tell you ho had the bearing of a nobleman?" she cried. "All's well that ends well, and a baron is as good as a grocer," said Uncle Dori val.—Translated from the French by Isabel Smithson for Romance. Training Youngsters to Sling Stones. It has been said that Asiatic nations excelled others in the use of the sling, and the slingers of an ancient army used their little weapons with terrible effect. "These natives have such skill," says one old historian, "that it very rarely happens that they miss their aim. What makes them so great in the use of the sling is the training given them from their earliest years by their moth ers, who set up a piece of bread hung at tho end of a rod for a target and let their children remain without food until they have hit it, when the child who is the victor receives the bread as the re ward of his skill and patience."—Har per's Young People. Fireworks in Europe in 13GO. Fireworks first became known in Eu rope in 1380, when tho Italians in Flor ence managed to make some. The first speotacleof fireworks was in 1588. New York Evening Sun. GEMS IN VERSE. Where Man Should Die. How little recks it where men die, when once the moment's past In which the dim and glazing eye has looked on earth its last— Whether benoath the sculptured urn the cof fined form shall reHt, Or In its nakedness return back to Its mother's breastl Death Is a common friend or foe, as different men may hold. And at its summons each must go—the timid i and the bold; But when the spirit, free and warm, deserts it. as it must. What matters whero the lifeless form dissolves again to dust? Twere sweet indeed to close our eyes with those we cherish near, And wafted upward by their sighs soar to some calmer sphere; But whether on the scaffold high or in the bat tle's van. The Attest place where man can die is where he dies for maul Inconstant. Inconstantl Omy God! inconstantl When a single thought of thee Sends all my shivering blood Back on my heart in thrills of ecstocyi Inconstant! When to feel That thou hast loved mo, wilt lovo to the last. Wore Joy enough to steal All fear from life—tho future and the past! Inconstantl When to sleep And to dream that thou art near mo is to learn So much of heaven, I weep Because the earth and morning must return. Inconstantl Ah, too true! Turned from the rightful shelter of thy breast; My tired heart flutters through Tho changeful world— a bird without a nest. Inconstant to the crowd Through which I pass, as to tho skies above ; The flckle summer cloud, But not to thee; oh, uot to thee, dear lovo. 1 may be false to all On earth besides, and every tender tie Which seems to hold in thrall This weary life of mine may be a He. But true as God's own truth My steadfast heart turns backward ever- j To that sweet time of youth Whose golden tide beats such a barren shore. I Inconstant! Not my own The hand which builds this wall between our lives; On ita cold shadow, grown To perfect shape, the flower of love survives. God knows that 1 wouhl^^o All other joys, the and tho best. For one short hour to live Close to thy heart, its comfort and its rest. But life is not all dark. The sunlight guldens many a hidden slope. The dove shall find Ita ark Of peaceful refuge and of patient hope. And should another's head Sleep on thy heart, and it should ever seem To be my own instead. Oh, darlingl hold it closer for the dream. God will forgive the sin. If Bin it is; our lives are swept so dry. So cold, so passion clean. Thank him death comes at last—and so— I goodby! Self Conquered. Go, if thou wilt, beloved, far from mo— What way soever pleasure beckons thee, But make this heart thy refuge still, alway. The key is thine-none other's. Stray or stay. When thou art wearied in that chamber rest- When thou art grieved, and deemest quiet best. When thou art glad or sad. My tenderness Shall shield thy moods of silence. None shall J guess Thy presence there. Alasl what breaks ray I voice? Three times I tried to say, "Bring In thy choice Of one alone whose prcsenco is most sweet, And 1 that friend with gracious word will greet." Forgive, love, that I faltered. "Yea," I cry, "Bring e'en that friend thou lovest—though I die." —Kate Vannah Changes. Whom first we love, you know, we seldom wed. 1 Time rules us all; and life. Indeed, is not The thing we planned it out ere hope was dead; And then we women caunot choose our lot. Much must be borne which it is hard to bear; Much given away, which it were sweet to keep. God help us ail! who need, indeed, his care. And yet, 1 know, the Shepherd loves his sheep. My little boy begins to babblo now Upon my knee his earliest infant prayer. He has his father's eager eyes, I know. And, thoy say, too, his mother's sunny hair. But when he sleeps and smiles upon my kneo. And 1 can fool his light breath come and go. 1 think of one (Heaven help and pity mel) Who loved me, and whom I loved, long ago. Who might have been—ah, what I dare not think! Wo are all changed. God judges for us best. God help us do our duty, and not shrink. And trust in Heaven humbly for the rest. But blamo us women not, if some appear Too cold at times; and some too gay and light, j Some griefs gnaw deep. Some woes are hard to bear. Who knows the Past? and who can Judge us right? Ah, were wo Judged by what we might have been. And not by what we are, too apt to fall! My little child—ho sleeps and smiles between These thoughts and me. In Heaven we shall know alll —Owen Meredith. ! Across the Hay. 1 gaze across the rippling, shining bay, And watch thedistant boats with eager eye, 1 wonder why the sails so far away Are whiter than tho sails 1 seo near by. Far out, the water glistens In tho sun. With dazzling beauty, as the daylight dies; Tho water near the Bhoro is dull and dark. So full of shadows and of sad, drowned eyes. This is life's story from the first to last. Tis far off things for which we over pray. The beauty that lios 'round us we see not, But gaze with loving eyes across the bay. Florence A. Jones. The Hero. Nay, never falter; no great deed is dono By falterers who ask for certainty. No good Is certain but tho steadfast mind, The undivided will to seek the good; Tls that compels the elements and wrings A human music from the indifferent air. Tho groatcst gift the hero leaves his race Is to have been a hero. Say we fn.il! We feed the high tradition of tho world. And leave our spirit in our children's breasts. "Our Own." We have careful thoughts for tho stranger And smiles for the coming guest; But oft for our own The bitter tone, Though we love "our own" the best I Ah! lips with tho curve Impatient, Ahl brow with that look of scorn, Twere a cruel fato Were the night too late To undo tho work of tho mornl -Margaret £. BangsUh - . i THE WOMAN BOOK AGENT. She la Entitled to Consideration, Though She Gets but Little. Of all the wage earners of the gentler sex the woman book agent is most to lie pitied. She, owing to her occupation, has to struggle not only against the usual trials attendant on a woman's starting out in lifo for herself, but she must opposo the tradition of years that has caused the people to regard her ts an unmitigated nuisance. * Remember, dear "lady of the house," how you would feel if the wheel of fate | should revolve with sufficient speed to throw you 011 your own resources and you were compelled in order to eke out an existence to l ing strange doorbells, interview sharp tongued and uncharita ble members of your own sex, walk many a mile through dust or rain, your one shabby black gown growing shab bier with each day's wear and going home at night with perhaps only ono i order, which means for all tho hours of I labor not enough to pay for a substan j tial meal. Of course it is very trying when your servant announces, "A lady in the parlor wishes to see you, ma'am." and you hastily don your most becoming ; tea gown, give your hair an extra brut 1 ! and twist, descend to the waiting stran ger with your company manners on and find instead of the caller you expected a faded woman with the inevitable pack ago or little bag who eommenccAat once on the beauties of the book she* wishes to canvass. No wonder you are cross and put out, but change places with her and would you not be the greater coward in her position? You are in your own house. She has edged in under false pretenses, i for such has her vocation become that once let it bo known that she is a book agent she will have the door slammed in her face. Therefore she must dis semble and enter your abode under the guise of a social caller. | She realizes your displeasure and talks i all the harder to cover her own embar i rassment. Tears may be very near the ! surface and the hands that struggle to ! untie the knots that bind her wares to | gether may be trembling with nervous i ness, yet she must talk on. She must urge the sale if possible, and when at last she is perhaps not too politely shown the door she knows that the same ordeal must be gone through with many times before she can seek the shelter of the poor place she calls homo and give up to | the luxury of a good cry, for she is but a woman after all, with a woman's heart | and tender feelings. I Of course the pushing, aggressive mem- I bers of this body need no sympathy, j They will get 011 in life no matter how | many rebuffs come, but we make our ! appeal for tho poor timid little woman I who takes up this occupation us the only 1 thing open to her, and who in lier j shrinking way endeavors to impress you with the value of her offerings. ! Do not be too hard on the next one ; that calls upon you; if you cannot buy, | at least be kind, for in the life of these j women consideration is an almost un -1 known factor, and means more to them than you in tho shelter of your own : home with the world smiling upon you I can ever know.—Philadelphia Times. The Summer Girl of 1892. ! The summer girl this year is not a lawn tennis girl. She is just a plain | croquet girl, as was the summer girl of ! twenty or more years ago. Her cos j tume is dainty and picturesque and I more feminine than that of the girl with the racket, and she shields her fair head with a softly tinted parasol, which en hances rather than endangers her beauty. Mallet and ball have knocked out racket j and net; the spreading, half drooping leg horn hat of soft texture and creamy tint j reasserts its sway over the "outing" hat of felt or the yachting cap of flannel for 1 our garden parties, and the reason is ob vious. ! This is a warm summer—who ever ; knew a presidential summer that wasn't? ! —and the activity of the sunbeaten ten ; nis court becomes less alluring than th -1 umbrageous croquet grounds. It is easier and pleasanter to arrange a little "acci dental" grouping of two in cozy corners I of the field, and more conducive toharin less little flirtation, good for the sum | mer season only. Croquet is eminently a flirtation game, and as such commends itself to tho young people. Who can 1 blame tlieni?—Utica Observer. Women of tlie Alitor Family. Considering the vast fortune left by Mr. Astor, tho women of the family are given hut a beggarly pittance. Mrs. Astor's $50,000 will not enable her to livo as she lias been living. With two i immensely expensive establishments to i keep up, ono in Fifth avenue ami one in Newport, she will have n struggle for j existence. She will he obliged to dis ! pose of a lot of horses, dismiss servants, j cut hero and curtail there in order to j make both ends meet. I have already suggested that the Astor women should | "get together" and make a determined j stand for their rights, and I am still of I the opinion that the point is well taken, j They aro decidedly getting the worst of it. They are apparently faring worse as the fortune gets larger, and the time may come when they will be forced to [ take in washing.—John A. Cockerill in New York Recorder. Girls Who Were Not Afraid of Hoars, j A smart young man in Walla Walla, ' Wash., started out to lmve some fun bv scaring two young women who were to return homeward through a wooded stretch of road after visiting friends in the evening. He put on a buffalo robe and started out to play bear. The girls attacked the supposed bear with heavy stones and then thumped it with clubs before the young man squealed. He was so badly bruised that he could hardly crawl home.—Exchange. Pearls and Uuliios in France. In France pearls and rubies are far more fashionable than any other precious atones. Diamonds are chiefly worn sewed all over a velvet or silk ribbon, which is tied loosely around tho neck.— Pall Mall Gazette, w COTTAGE HOTEL, Cor. of Main and Washington Streets, MATT SIEGER, Prop. Having leased the above hotel ami furnished it in the best style, I am prepared to enter lo the wants of the traveling public. %3T GOOD STABLING ATTACHED. For Information and fton n'mdhnojc witeto_ MUNN A CO. -Ml HIIOAOWAV, New YOHK. Oldest bureau for ee '.nlni; patents in America. ICvcry patent taken out by us Is brought before the public by u notice given free of charge in the Jffittrtific JUnmcau Largest circulation of any seiontlflo paper in the world. Splendidly Illustrated. No intelligent man should lie witliout it. Weekly. 5*3.00 a year; $1.50 six month*. Address MtJNN A CO, PUBLISH EUS, 301 llt-oadway. New York. PATENT I A 48-page book free. Address W. T. FITZ GKKALI), Att'y-at-Law. Cor. Bth and F Sts., Washington, I). C. Pimples, Boils; BM- j j Heads, 1N FACT. Wo must all havo now, rich blood, which is rapidly made by that remarkable prepar ation, Dr. LINDSEY'S IMPBOVED BLOOD SEABOESD.' For the speedy euro of Bcrofula, Wasting, Mercurial Disease, Ernptions, Erysipelas, vital decay, and every indication of iripovor ished blood. Dr. Lindsey'i Blood Sotrchor is the' one remedy that can always be relied upon. Druggists sell it. v ' THE SELLERS MEDICINE CO; PITT3BUW | OH [ PA. RUPTUREiESfS Pa. Ease at once. No operation or business delay. Thousands of cures. Dr. Maver Is at Hotel Pcnn, Reading, Pa., second Saturday of each month. Scud for circulars. Advice free. IS but skin deep. There are thousands ofladies 1 w ho have regular features and would bo ac corded the palm of beauty were it not for a poor complexion. To all such we recommend DH. HEBRA'S VIOLA CREAM as possessing these qualities that quickly change the most sallow and ilorid complexion to one of natural health and unblemished beauty. It cures Oily Skin, Freckles, Black Heads, Blotches, Sunburn, Tan, Pimples, and all imperfections of the skin. Itisnotacosmcticbutacure, yet is bet ter for tho toilet table than powder. Sold by Druggists, or sent post paid upon receipt of 50c. G. C. BITTNER & CO., Toledo, O. HORSEMEN ALL KNOW TJIAT Wise's Harness Store Is still here and doing busi ness on the same old principle of good goods and low prices. HORSE GOODS. blankets, Buffalo Robes, Har ness, and in fact every thing needed by Horsemen. Good workmanship and low prices is my motto. GEO. WISE, Jeddo, and No. 35 Centre St. 1 1 CURE THAT !' II Cold !! 11 AND STOP THAT 11 ii Cough, ii I iN. H. Downs' Elixir 11 II WILL DO IT. || ! ' j | Price, 20c., 50c., and SI.OO per bottle.) | j | Warranted. Sold everywhere. () | | HENBY, JOHNBON & LOBD, Trops., Burlington, Vt. | | I Sold at Schilcher's Drug Store. What is Castoria is Dr. Samuel Pitcher's prescription for Infants and Children. It contains neither Opium, Morphine nor other Narcotic substance. It is a harmless substitute for Paregoric, Drops, Soothing Syrups, and Castor Oil. It is Pleasant. Its guarantee is thirty years' use by- Millions of Mothers. Castoria destroys Worms and allays fevcrisliuess. Castoria prevents vomiting Sour Curd, cures Diarrhoea aud Wind Colic. Castoria relieves teething troubles, cures constipation and flatulency. Castoria assimilates the food, regulates the stomach anil bowels, giving healthy and natural sleep. Cas toria is the Children's Panacea—the Mother's Friend. Castoria. Castoria. " Castoria is an excellent medicine for chil- castoria is so well adapted to children that dren. Mothers hnvo repeatedly told nie of its j recommend it as superior to any prescription good effect upon their children." known to me." Dn. G. C. OSGOOD, H. A. ARCHER, M. D., Lowell, Mass. 11l So. Oxford St., Brooklyn, N. Y. "Castoria is the best remedy for children of " Our physicians in tho children's depart which lam acquainted. I hope tho day is not ment have spoken highly of their experl far distant when mothers will consider the real ence In tlieir outsido practice with Castoria, interest of their children, and use Castoria in- and although wo only have among our stead of the various quack nostrums which are medical supplies what is known as regular destroying their loved ones, by forcing opium, products, yet wo are freo to confess that the morphine, soothing syrup and other hurtful merits of Castoria has won us to look with agents down their throats, thereby sending favor upon it." them to premature graves." UNITED HOSPITAL AND DISPENSARY, Da. J. F. KINCIIELOE, Boston, Mass. Conway, Ark. ALLEN C. SMITH, Pres., Tho Centanr Company, T7 Murray Street, Now York City. BOOTS AND SHOES. A Largo Stock of Boots, Shoes, Gaiters, Slippers, Etc. Also HATS. CAPS and GENTS' FURNISHING GOODS of All Kinds. A Special Line Suitable for This Season. GOOD MATERIAL! LOW PRICES! HTXGKEC MALLOT, Corner Centre and Walnut Sts.. Freeland. 8. KUDEWICK, Wholesale Dealer In Imported, Brandy, Wine Ami All Kinds Of LIQUORS. THE BEST Eeer, Porter, And Brown Stout. Fcrc'gn and Domestic. Cigars Kept on Hand. S. P.UDEWICK, SOUTH HEBERTON. PETER TIMONY, BOTTLER. And Dealer in all kinds of Liquors, Beer and Porter, Temperance Drinks, Etc., Etc. Geo.Ringler&Go.'s Celebrated LAGER BEER put in Patent Sealed Bottles here on the premises. Goods de> livered in any quantity, and to any part of the country. FREELAND BOTTLING WORKS. Cor. Centre and Carbon Sts., Freeland. (Near Lehigh Valley Depot,) L RUDEWICK, GENERAL STORE. SOUTH HEBERTON, PA. Cloiliirg, Groceries, Etc., Etc. Agent for the sale of PASSAGE TICKETS Frr.ni all the principal points in Europe ; to all j-oiiits in the United States. Agent for the transmission of MONEY j l'<> all parte of Europe. Checks, Drafts, | | and Betters of Exchange on Foreign ' Banks cat' il at reasonable raits. E. M. GERITZ, 2R years in Germany and America, opposite the Central lintel, Centre Street, Freelaeu. The Cheapest Repairing Store in town. Watches, Clocks and Jewelry. New Watches, Clocks and Jewelry on hand for the Holi. days; the lowest casli price in town. Jewelry repaired in short notice. All Watch Re pairing guaranteed for one year. Eight Day Clocks from 53.00 to 812.00; New Watches from $4.00 up. E. M. GERITZ, Opposite Central Hotel, Contre St., Fit jland. GO TO Fisher Bros. Livery Stable FOR FIRST-CLASS TURNOUTS At Short Notice, for Weddings, Parties and Funerals. Front Street, two squares below Freeland Opera House. I C. D. ROHRBACH, Dealer In— Hardware, Paints, Varnish, Oil, Wall Paper, Mining Tools and mining Sup- 4 plies of all kinds, Lamps, Globes, Tinware, Etc. Having purchased the stock of Wm. J. Eckort and added a considerable amount to the present stock I am prepared to soli at prices that defy compe tition. Don't forget to try my special brand of MINING OIL. Centre Street, Freeland Pa. H. M. BRISLIN, UNDERTAKER AND
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