TINTAGEL.
Low is laid Arthur's head.
Unknown earth above him mounted;
By him sleep his splendid knights.
With whose names the world resounded.
liuined glories! flown dellglitsl
Sunk 'mid rumors of old wars!
Where they reveled, deep they sleep.
By the wild Atlantic shores.
On Tintagol's fortressed walls,
Proudly built, the loud sea scorning.
Pale the moving moonlight falls;
Through their rents the wind goes mourn
ing.
See, ye knights, your ancient home,
Chafed and spoiled and fallen asunder!
Hear ye now, as then of old.
Waters rolled and wrathful foam.
Where the waves, beneath your graves,
Snow themselves abroad in thunder!
—Laurence Binyon in London Academy.
MEETING A POET.
I was busy one bright September
morning packing my trunks for my fall
removal from my uncle's house in the
country to the marble fronted hotel on
Broadway that numbered me each win
ter among its inmates, when my cousin
Adelaide came dancing into the room
and commanded me to give up all
thoughts of a journey for three months
at least.
"And why, pray?" I asked. "You
know I have to go out west after I reach
New York. Come what may, I must
see an Indian summer on the prairies."
"Bother the prairies and the Indian
summer, tool" cried Adelaide, taking a
letter from her apron pocket and waving
it in the air. "Look at the signature."
I did look, and I might have been
looking to tliis day for all the informa
tion I got; but' Adelaide grew impatient,
and snatching the letter from my hand
exclaimed;
"Listen, you goose," and read the let
ter aloud:
" 'My Dear Friend—l am coming into
the country for a month or two; my
doctor positively forbids my staying in
New York during the fall. Remember
ing our old schoolboy league I have oe
lected W as the place of my exile,
and shall be there 011 the 20th —wind
and weather permitting.'"
"What do you think of that?" asked
Adelaide, making largo eyes at me over
the top of the letter.
"I have not heard anything yet t/
make me postpone my journey."
"Wait a moment—l'll finish. 'I am,
as ever, yours faithfully' "
"Well, go on."
" 'James Quitman.'"
"James Quitman! You are mad, Ad
die —he can never be coining here."
"There is the letter—father has always
known him, it seems; it is the poet, and
we are to have him stay here all the
time. Father is to meet him at the sta
tion tonight, and not let him go to the
hotel on any account. Won't people
stare when we walk into church next
Sunday?"
I closed the lid of my trunk in the
twinkling of an eye. The poet I had so
often longed to see, the man over whose
tender verses I had made myself a Niobe
scores of times—was it possible that the
same roof was going to shelter us both?
Dinner was a thing unthought of in
the house that day, and my uncle lunched
meekly at one of the china closets off
cold meat and bread and preserved
strawberries, while Addie and I actually
ate rose leaves and sugar ami cream as
a suitable pendant to the work in which
we were engaged. Nothing less ethereal
would we partake while fitting up that
poet's chamber.
By 4 o'clock that afternoon our labors
were ended. The house was like a bed
of roses; they blushed and bloomed
everywhere, and their fragrance was
delicious in the upper chamber. My
favorite pictures had been unpacked
and arranged upon the parlor walls.
Everything was perfect. The tea table
sparkled with silver and cut glass; flow
ers wreathed the dishes of preserved
fruit, and cake and wine for the evening
were ready on the sideboard, to say
nothing of some delicately tinted ice
cream which was still undergoing the
process of "freezation" in the cellar.
Of course the train was late that night.
Trains always are late when we are ex
pecting any one by them, and Addie and
I had time to work ourselves into a fever
ish state that gave us some very becom
ing red cheeks. We heard the whistle
of the train, and five minutes afterward
a carriage stopped before the gate. The
poet had come!
He climbed out of the carriage like a
crab—sidewise—and, coining up the
graveled walk toward the front door,
presented to our admiring eyes the figure
of a stoutish, middle aged man, with
dark eyes and hair and a very pleasant
Binile. He did not wear a Spanish cloak
and a sombrero —he was clad in linen
garments and thatched with a rough
looking straw hat that had evidently
seen service. We heard him as he came
up the walk.
"Very pretty house, Tom; very pretty
house. Those girls your daughters,
hey? I see they've got those horrid city
fashions—low neck and short sleeves. If
I had a daughter I'd sew her dress to
her ears."
Addie and I looked at each other in
consternation and barely managed to
give him a civil greeting as he crossed
the threshold. Was this the man who
had raved about his Lydia
That bosom, white and fond and fair,
I would I were the enamored air.
To faint and fall in pussing there.
Low necks, indeed! I sat beside him at
the tea table, as had been previously ar
ranged, and saw that all things were
within his reach. Never did Hindoo
idoHax his votary more severely. I had
hardly time to snatch a mouthful my
self —though, for the matter of that, hiß
appetite quite took away my own. He
was a regular Dr. Johnson for tea
strawberry preserves pleased him, and
soda biscuits vanished before his attack
as green things before the march of a
cloud of locusts. Heaven knows he had
one qualification—a stomach!
Tea over, we adjourned to the rose
scented paVlors. and the volume on the
center table caught his eye. He took it
up, turned over the pages, laughing now
and then to himself, and finally tossed
It back carelessly.
"The unconsciousness of genius!"
whispered Addie in my ear, just as
he turned upon us.
"Who owns this hook?"
I modestly answered that I had that
great pleasure.
"Great pleasure, hey? She calls it a
pleasure, Tom! Hem I I suppose I
ought to feel complimented; but I don't.
Young lady, will you do me one favor?"
"What is it, sir?"
"Put that stupid trash into the fire."
"Stupid trash!" cried Addie, aghast,
snatching up the volume.
"Yes, I wrote it. I was a hoy—and,
by George, my publishers took it out of
my desk and went mad over it, while
they actually turned up their noses at
my report of the poor laws—would you
believe it?"
My uncle looked sympathizing. Addie
arranged the ice cream glasses before
him without a word.
"But, sir, look at the fame you have
won," I remarked.
"Hem! fame—it's a rag fluttering on
a bush; I wouldn't give a button for it.
Five thousand dollars a year will keep
you well clothed and well fed—fame
won't."
He helped himself to an ice.
There was no reply. Tho two gentle
men resumed their political discussion,
waxing so warm in the defense of their
favorite views that they were in a fair
way to clear the tray between them.
Addie caught up the contemned volume
of poems and vanished from the room.
I followed her. She fled up the stairs
like a fairy, and I found her in the poet's
chamber, stripping the roses from the
vases with frantic haste.
"What on earth are you about?" 1
asked, halting on the threshold in amaze
ment.
"He shall not have one of them," she
said, half crying. "His curtains shall
not be looped up with them—l have a
great mind to tie them hack with rope
yarn. To think how we worked all the
day to give him pleasure, and after all
he only cares about eating and drinking,
and being an alderman. Oh, it is too
had!"
I hurst out laughing and ran down
Btairs. The contrast between our
dreams of the poet and the poet as ho
was was rich. I had to wait a moment
in the hall to get my face into "company
order," and then, pushing open the half
closed door, I went hack into the parlor
At first sight I thought it was empty.
The chairs were pushed away from the
table, aud there was a faint smell of
cigars—had they actually been smoking
there? No; I heard my uncle pacing up
and down the garden, as was his wont
each evening, and the fragrance of the
weed came that way, but lie was alone.
Where was the poet?
I caught sight of him at last, sitting
at the open window with the rose col
ored curtains falling in soft folds around
him. The moon was up, shining glori
ously upon the grassy yard beneath
him; the night wind rustled in the
leaves of the maples above his head.
Addie, coming into the room, paused at
the sight of my uplifted finger on the
threshold.
It had been all a "sham" then! Our
poet, though a hearty eater, still re
tained his love of tho beautiful. What
on earth had made him talk such heresy,
when he sat rapped in enjoyment, never
stirring, scarcely breathing, as he
watched that glorious moon? I would
steal softly to his side, pause, try to
convict him and make him recant all
the fibs lie had told about these beauti
ful blossomings of his youth—the poems.
The carpet was thick and soft, and it
muffled my footfall effectually, and I
stood beside him unnoticed. His face
was hidden by his arm. I heard a chok
ing sound—he was weeping. My heart
molted in a gush of pity; I laid my hand
upon his shoulder as sympathizingly as
1 could; lie started a little; his head set
tled down upon one side, exposing his
face; the mouth opened, and—he snored!
The next morning I started on my trip
to the west, and from that day to this I
have never met a "poet."—M. W. G. in
New York News.
Heverul Strange Dreams.
A farmer's wife dreamed that she was
walking near the house of a rejected
lover—one O'Flanagan—attended by a
beautiful hound, of which she was fond,
when a raven dashed at him, killed him,
and tearing out his heart flew away
with it. She next imagined that she
was running home, and met a funeral,
and from the coffin blood flowed upon
the ground. The hearers placed it at
her feet, opened the lid and exhibited
her husband, murdered and his heart
torn out. She awoke, as might he ex
pected, in great terror. But here fol
lows the most incomprehepsible part of
the narrative. Her husband entertained
an idiot cousin in the house, and lie in
doggeral rliyine repeated the very same
dream to a gossip to whom tho farm
er's wife had related hers.
That very night the farmer was mur
dered, and the next morning the poor
idiot, to the horror of all, exclaimed, as
be rose from his bed: "Ulick"—Ulick
Maguire wiq; the farmer's name—"is
kilt! Shamus dliu More kilt him'.'
[Shamus dliu .More O'Flanagan—big
black James] "and buried him un
der the now ditch at the back of the
garden. I dreamed it last night—every
word of it." Search was made at tho
Bpot indicated by the dream, and the
body was found with the skull nearlv
cleft in two. In the meantime O'Flaii-
Agan absconded and enlisted, but was
subsequently arrested, confessed his
crime and was executed.—Pall Mall
Gazette.
A Neophyte's Answer.
At a confirmation at Strassbnrg the
bishop asked of a pretty souhrette the
usual question of the Heidelberg cate
| chism:
j "What is your only consolation in life
j and death?"
j The neophyte blushed and hesitated.
The first question was repeated, aud
{ then Blie stammered out;
I "The young shoemaker in the next
' street."—Loudon Tit-Bits.
FOR LITTLE FOLKS.
Baby Julia lie Grignau.
Julia De Grignau, or "Baby" De Grig
nan, as she is better known, has made a
hit as Pearl in "The Scarlet Letter" in
Richard Mansfield's production at Daly's.
She is seven years old, of dark complex
ion, has large, lovely eyes and seems
born to the stage. The little lady is as
easy and natural on the stago as though
she had had many years of experience.
It was three years ago that Julia ap
! peared in arms as the baby in "Cootie's
Baby" at the Madison Square theater.
' and she went "right on" the stage with
out a single rehearsal and behaved
beautifully. Then she was in "The
Pharisee" at the same house. She took
to it like a duck to water. Her first
speaking part was iii "Editha's Burglar,"
and then came "Raglan's Way," with
Edwin Arden, and in the summer of
1890 Baby De Grignau appeared with
Rosina Vokes at Daly's. Rose Coghlan
next had petite Julia in "Peg Woffing
ton" at the Columbus theater in Har
lem. The baby actress joined the Ken
dais in October, 1801, and played with
them in "The White Lie." One of her
most successful appearances was at the
Actor's Fund fair, where she created
such a furore in running a booth and in
selling pictures of herself that one gen
tleman gave her a magnificent doll, and
others loaded her with candies and
sweetmeats. Julia remained eacli night
until the final curtain was rung down.
Baby De Grignau is fortunate in hav
ing a stanch personal friend in Commo
dore Gerry. He pets her and tells her
—the probable truth—that she will be
come a famous actress. She does not
dance or sing, so the head of the S. P.
C. C. allows himself to admire her and
protect her. Julia's father is French;
her mother German-American. Mme.
De Grignau says the baby gets her dra
matic bent from her father, who once
tried opera, but gave it up for reasons
of health. The De Grignans were well
known on the French stage. Julia says
she has no favorite part. "I like them
all," she declares.—New York Press.
Looking After Her Kitten.
The other day in Beekman street L
motherly looking cat was calmly sitting
on the curb watching the antics of her
four kittens, which were having a glori
ous time rolling about and mauling one
another. The kittens kept at their sport
for some time. Suddenly one of them,
tiring of further play, wandered away
toward a large paper bag that was flut
tering in the wind 011 the walk. Nosing
around the bag he presently espied an
opening into which he crawled. The
attention of his fellows was soon di
rected to the new attraction, to which
they speedily hastened, and entering
one by one the four kittens quickly
found themselves housed in this unusual
domicile. They made 110 effort to leave
it, observing which the old cat, who
kept an eye all the time on the maneu
vers of her progeny, walked toward the
bag, smelled and looked within its in
terior, and seeing her kittens at rest she
picked up the parcel with her teeth, and
walking down the street disappeared in
a hallway with the bag and her tots in
closed.—New York Sun.
Swing Away, Baby.
Swing away, baby, in the tree top;
Though the wind blows, I've no fear that you'll
drop;
Should tho bough break It won't matter at all,
Others below you can catch in your fall.
Swing away, baby; your little flst
Shows how your forefathers used to exist;
In your wee fingers a Uobinson sees
Proof that your ancestors lived up in trees.
Swing away, baby: if your hand grows
Tired you can rest it by using your toes.
Ere boots and shoes have distorted the shape.
Due to the uueient quadruniuiious ape.
Swing away, baby. Monkey and man
Both have been made upon one common plan.
One missing feature you'll live to bewail;
Only a rudiment's left of your tail.
Swing away, baby, swing! You have not
Need of a cradle, a crib or a cot.
Mansion or cottage, or lodgings or flat;
Trees, only trees, are your true habitat.
—St. Janus Gazette.
Highway llobbcry.
Wanted Long Dresses.
Little Girl—l'll be awful glad w'en
I'm old 'nougli to wear long dresses.
Mamma—What do you want long
dresses for?
Little Girl—So I can climb trees
j wifout showin zee holes in my stocic
ins—Good News.
Patching Up the San Marco Lion.
One of the most wonderful pieces of
mechanical work ever undertaken by
human hands lias just been completed
abroad. The celebrated landmark of
Venice, the lion of San Marco, has
during the past three months been great
ly missed from the top of the mighty
column of the Marcus place by strangers
visiting the City of Lagoons. Last year
when an examination of it was made,
it was found that the statue had fallen
into more than fifty pieces, which were
liable to come down at any moment.
This discovery gave rise to a desire on
the part of some of tho city fathers to
transfer the original lion to the Civil
museum and to make for the column an
exact copy of the historical monument.
But the Venetians were strongly op
posed to this, and argued that the orig
inal lion should remain in its place.
Thereupon Signor Luigi Vendraseo de
vised a plan to repair the damaged mon
ster. With infinite labor and care the
decayed statue was lowered to the
ground and its fragments carried to the
arsenal. The experiment by which it
was thought the loose pieces could be
reunited by a smelting process proved a
failure. Giovanni Bontempi, one of the
finest mechanics of Venice, was called
in, and resolved to repair the fallen hero
by welding the pieces together in the
presence of several of the municipal of
ficers.
More than 250 screws were used to re
unite the separated pieces of metal, and
the cracks and interstices were filled
out with an inside lining of bronze.
This difficult piece of work was brought
to a happy close with marvelous skill.
Nothing can he seen of the repairs ex
ternally, and as of old the lion of San
Marco bids the stranger welcome as he
enters the beautiful City of the Doges.
—St. Louis Republic.
A Hit of Hanger Property*
There in one piece of real estate in
Maine which is entailed so far as such
property can be in this country. It is
known as Dundee, and is situated in
the town of Linrington. In IGGH Francis
Small bought it with other lands from
the Indians, the original being yet
preserved in the family. Having de
scended from father to son for several
generations, Huinphj-cy Small purchased
a small section of his father's land,
which he named Dundee, and he stout
ly affirmed that Dundee should remain
in the ownership of the Smalls forever,
and that it should be allowed to become
a forest again. Twice he was offered
more than double its value, but although
hard pressed for money he remained true
to his declaration.
On the 28th of November this proper
ty will have been in possession of the
family 224 years, and to commemorate
this and also to celebrate the centennial
of Limington, which was organized in
1792, the family had a reunion and pic
nic recently. Next year they propose
to celebrate their 22.7 th anniversary with
a larger gathering, to include all of the
Small family that can be gathered to
gether.—Bangor Whig and Courier.
Architecture tit the Fair.
The architectural standards of the
average man are the best buildings he
lias seen. To show him the possibilities
of beautiful construction is to enlarge
his aspirations and make him dissatis
fied with inferior jobs. He might cross
the seas and travel thousands of miles
without getting so effective an archi
tectural lesson as he will get at Chicago,
lie will not only see admirable buildings
there, but be will also see some pretty
bad ones, and having the good and the
bad side by side he will have so much
the better chance of learning which is
which, and wherein consists the excel
lence or inferiority of either.
The fair buildings have cost a great
sum of money, and most of them are
only for temporary use, but we miss our
guess and our liope if they do not prove
in tlio end one of the most beneficent
educational investments that have been
made in this country, and as lasting in
their ultimate results as stone and iron
could have made them. Hurler's
Weekly.
The Ncarcht Star.
One of the most clearly defined figures
in the sky is the Northern Cross, which
you will find at about 8 o'clock now
directly overhead. It would be hard
for you not to identify it. The head of
the cross, the bright star Deneb, is
toward the northeast, and the foot, Al
, bireo, is toward the southwest. Thus the
! whole figure lies along the milky way.
j Tho cross has no special mythological
! history, nor indeed has the constellation
Cygnus (the Swan) of which it is a part.
But Cygnus is famous for containing
the star that is nearest to us of all the
stars seen from this hemisphere, sixty
one Cygni, as it is called. It is a faint
star immediately under Deneb and in
the direction of the Square of Pegasus.
■ The astronomers have obtained the
parallax of this star with something
I like accuracy, and they find that it is
about 650,0U0 times as far from us as the
| sun is distant from the earth.—Philadel
[ pliia Times.
MinsiniiuricK In Scotland.
j It seems odd to think of missionaries
; going to Scotland, tho home of the
' Covenanters, to convert tho savage in
habitants to Christianity. At Anwoth,
in Kirkcudbrightshire, there was found
a few days ago one of the old "hillside
crosses" set up by the early missionaries
j who went to the lowlands from lona.
; or Ireland, to mark the spots where they
1 first preached Christ to the heathen
Scots. This interesting cross is of red
sandstone, 48 inches long, \4}>£ inches
; across the widest part, and' 4 inches
thick. Its arms are 20 inches in length,
or were, for one is broken off. Rude in
scriptions are carved on the cross.—Lon
don Letter.
A Niue Cent Stamp.
A new stamp is to be issued in Great
Britain of the value of fourpence half
penny—nine cents —to be available for
all postal, telegraphic and revenue pur
! poses. It will be tho first stamp issued
of this value, and its issuance is called
j for by the new features of telegraph and
I parcel post business.
GEMS IN VERSE.
Wanted—A Situation.
Ef anybody ast me what's the thing I'd ruthest
do,
Puvidin I could have my pick o' John,
1 guess the work my natur'would the soonest
tackle to
Is shellin corn an pllln up the cobs.
I'd want the corn fetched in an biled afore It
got its growth.
An left to dreen awhile upon a platter;
An I'd want some salt an butter, an a plenty of
'ein both—
Especially a plenty of the latter.
Ef anybody knows a man 'at wants to hire a
band
To shell bis corn an furnish the machine,
Jes' tell 'em 'e can git me if tho job isstiddy an
The corn is biled when it is proper green.
The Coming Poem.
All motion is rhythm, says wise Herbert
Spencer,
A sago so immense that no sage is immenser.
All tho worlds wabble on with a rhythmical
teeter
And the universe whirls on its mystical meter.
Tho sago sees the stars, and their rhythmic
orbs show him
That the world is a verse and tho Cosmos a
poem.
The torn sea that surges with wreck scattered
trophies
Beats out its great theme In tumultuous
strophes;
The blind winds that blow from the caverns of
chaos.
Or the zephyrs of twilight that sooth and allay
us;
The rivers that leap from the high precipices
Whose foam banners wave o'er the startled
abysses.
Or the gay brook that makes the long lilies
grow sweeter-
All these, one and all, are a part of the meter.
And all lives are a poem; some wild and
cyclonic
With verses of cynical bluster Byronlc;
And some still flow on in perpetual benison.
As perfect and smooth as a stanza from
Tennyson;
And some find huge bowlders their current to
hinder.
And are broken and bent like the poems of
Pindar;
And some a deep base of proud music are
built on—
The calm ocean swell of tho epic of Milton;
Aud some rollic on with a freedom completer
In Whitman's chaotic, tumultuous meter.
But most lives are mixed like Shakespearean
dramas.
Where the king speaks heroics, the idiot stain-
Where tho old man gives counsel, the young
man loves hotly;
Where the king wears his crown and the fool
wears his motley;
Where the lord treuds his hall and the peasant
his heather—
And in the fifth act they all exit together-
And tho drama goes out with its pomp aud its
thunder,
Aud we weep, and we laugh, and wo listen
and wonder! —S. W. Foss.
A Change of Taste.
When he was youth and she was maid
Full oft would he declare
He loved to see her churms displayed
In setting rich and rare.
The costliest lace, the gayest plume.
The quaintest broidered stuir,
The choicest fabric of the loom
Was hardly choice enough.
Years pans, and Angelina's life
With Edwin's no%v is blent.
And—ho a husband, she a wife—
His tastes are different.
Simplicity, he says, is best
Away with vulgar showl
She shines tho fairest when she's dressed
In eight cent calico.
—New York Herald.
The Undertow.
You badn't ought to blamo a man fer things
he hasn't done,
Fer books he hasn't written or fer fights he
hasn't won;
Tho waters may look placid on the surface all
aroun.
An yet there may be an undertow a-keepin of
him down.
Since the days of Eve an Adam, when the s
fight of life began.
It ain't been safe, my brethren, fer to lightly
judge a man;
He may bo trylu faithful fer to make his life a
f?o.
An yet his feet git tangled In tho treacherous
undertow.
Ho may not lack in learnin, an he may not
want fer brains;
He may be always workin with tho patientest
of pains,
An yet go unrewarded, an, my friends, how
can we know
What heights he might climbed up to but fer
the undertow?
You've heard the Yankee Btory of the hen's
nest with a hole.
An how the hen kept layin eggs with all her
might an soul,
Yet never got a settin, not a single egg, I trow;
That hen was simply kickin 'gin a hidden un
dertow.
There's holes in lots of hens' nests, an you've
got to peep below
To see tho eggs a-rolliu where they hadn't
ought to go.
Don't blame a man fer failiu to achieve a
laurel crown
Until you're sure the undertow ain't draggln
of him down.
—Carrie Blake Morgan.
The Years.
Tho years are all alike. With childish laugh
ter
They follow butterflies with endless wings;
They peep into the birds' nests; they look ufter
White lambs and other pretty little things.
Then in the first flush of their youth they
bring us
Shy gifts of violets in a gallant way;
And ah! what charming, low lovo songs tlioy
sing us
From leaf green shadows where tho wild
doves stay.
But somewhat later they show bearded faces
And sway tho scythe and bear tho shears
about
In the hot fields, and quite forget the graces
They had of old—as others do, no doubt.
Still later they go out for us and gather
The scarlet fruit Wi, and tho yellow corn,
Or walk about the withering woods wl:.h rather
A faded look, and sigh and soein forlorn.
Then they sit still and watch the dying embers
Behind tho curtains in some pictured room,
While each ono somewhere in his heart re
members
The dew, the summer moonrise and tho
bloom.
Then comes the last night watch, the lone- |
some tapers,
The few tears of the many prayers quick J
said,
Tho black lined columns in the morning pa- !
pers,
And, yes—the many virtues of the dead.
—S. M. B. l'iatt. i
The I)ab.
Naked, on parent's knees, a newborn child, j
Weeping thou sat'st when all around thee
smiled;
So live that, sinking to thy last long sleep,
Thou then inay'st smile whilo all around thee ,
weep. -Sir William Jones, i
Then at the balauce let's be mute—
We never can adjust it;
What's done we partly may compute.
But know not what's resisted.
-Burn*. 1
CASTOR IA
for Infants and Children.
"Cantor! a Ls so well adapted to children that
I recommend it as superior to any proscription
known to me." 11. A. ARCIIER, M. D.,
11l So. Oxford St., Brooklyn, N. Y.
"The ÜBe of ' Castoria 1 Is so universal and
Its merits so well known that it seems a work
of supererogation to endorse it. Few are the
intelligent families who do not keep Castoria
w i thin easy reach."
CARLOS MARTYN, D.P.,
New York City.
Late Paetor Bloomingdalo lteformed Church.
Tme CENTAUR COMPANY, 77 MURRAY STREET, NEW YORE.
NINETEEN "TEARS - EXPERIENCE
In I<eatlier.
Our stock is bound to go. There is nothing like slim figures to
put it in motion. We have laid in a very large stock of
seasonable goods. WE BOUGHT CHEAP—WE SELL
CHEAP. A lot of goods turned quick at close margin is
good enough for us. Now is the time to buy
A No. 1 Goods- None Better on Earth
At Very Close to Manufacturing Prices.
We do business to live. We live to do business, and the way to
do it is to oiler the very best grade of goods at prices that
will make them jump. An extra large line of ladies' and
gents'underwear just arrived. Call and see us. Thanking
you for past favors, we remain, yours truly,
Geo. Chestnut, 93 Centre Street, Freeland.
YOU WILL FIND US AT THE TOP
lis THE CLOTHING LINE,
With more fresh styles, low priced attractions and ser
viceable goods than ever. 'The big chance and the best
chance to buy your fall clothing is now offered.
Our enormous stock of seasomible styles is open and now
ready. Such qualities and such prices have never before
been offered in Freeland. A thoroughly iirst-class
stock, combining quality and elegance with prices strictly
fair. Come in at once and see the latest styles and most
serviceable goods of the season in
MEN'S, BOYS' AND CHILDREN'S CLOTHING,
HATS, CAPS AND FURNISHING GOODS.
The newest ideas, the best goods made, the greatest
variety and the fairest figures. Everybody is delighted
with our display of goods and you will be. Special bar
gains in overcoats. Kemember, we stand at the top in
style, quality and variety.
JOHN SMITH, ,IBKBEC VSN.
H. M. BRISLIN.
UNDERTAKER
HORSEMEN
ALL KNOW THAT
Wise's Harness Store
Is still here and doing busi
ness on the same old principle
of good goods and low prices.
" I wish I had one."
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.
Advertise in
the Tribune.
Cantoris cures Colic, Constipation,
Bour Stomach, Diarrhoea, Eructation,
Kills Worms, gives sleep, and promotes di
gestion,
Without injurious medication.
" For several years I have recommended
your ' Castoria,' and shall always continue to
do so as it has invariably produced beneficial
results."
EDWIN F. PARTIES, M. D. f
"The Winthrop," 125tk Street and 7th Ave.,
New York City.
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.
lEiIK MILIIAI SYSTEM.
LEHIGH VALLEY
ißffiK. di ™ on -
I Anthracite coal used exclu
1/ > slvely, insuring cleanliness and
• ' comfort.
ARRANGEMENT OF PASSENGER TRAINS.
MAY 15, IBi>*.
LEAVE FREELAND.
| 0.15, 8.45,J>.40, 10.35 A. M., 12.35, 1.50, 2.43, 3.50
I 0.35, (Ml, 5.47 P. M„ for Drii'ton, Jeddo.*
■ Lumber \ ard, Stockton and Ha/.leton.
0.1;>, U. 40 A. M., 1.50, 3.50 P. M . for Mauch
chunk, Allentowu, llethlehein, Phila., Easton
Now York) 8 110 conilt; ction lor
del phi a' M * f ° F Bethlollem ' Easton and Phila
-7.30, 10.50 A. M.. 13.10, 4.89 P. M. (via Highland
wiiL n lor i,i ,lito 'Liven, (iivu Summit,
IH'tf i' { " llllU ".Junction.
0.1.1 A. M. lor Hluok ltidgo and Tomhicken.
SUNDAY TRAINS.
Lu!u^Vt.?tfY^:,e^nf OrDrirtoD - Jc,ldo '
3.4.) P. M. for Delano. Malianov City, Shen
andoah, New York and Philadelphia.
ARRIVE AT FREELAND.
5 50 0.53, 7 30. 0.15, 10.50 A. M„ 13.10, 1.15,3.33,
4.30, .,i0 and *.37 P. M. from lla/leton. Stock
ton, 1 .ii in I•< \ ard, Jeddo and Dritton.
7.30,0.15, 10.50 A. M., 13.10. 3.31, 4.30, 0.50 P. M.
lroni Delano, Maliauoy City and Shenandoah
(via New Iloston Itruuch).
New Pork, Easton,
I hiladelphia, Ilelhlehem, Allenlown and
Maueh ( hunk.
0.15 and 10.50 A. M. from Easton, Plilladel-
I phia, Ilelhlehem and Mauch Chunk.
1", i i \ ' \|. i Mini While
Haven, Glen Summit, Wilkcs-ftarrc, Pittston
; and L. and li. Junction (via Highland liranch).
SUNDAY TRAINS.
11.31 A. M. and 8.31 P. M. from Haaleton,
Lumlter \ ard, Jeddo ami Drii'ton.
11.31 A.M. from Delano, Hazleton, Philadel
phia ami Easton.
3.31 P. M. from Pottsvllle and Delano.
For turther information inquire of Ticket
Agents.
I. A. SWEIGARD, Gen. Mgr.
C. G. HANCOCK, Gen. Puss. Agt.
Philadelphia, Pb
|A. W. NONNEMACHEH, Ass't (J. p. A.,
I tiouth Hetblebem, Pa,.