FREELAND TRIBUNE. PUBLISHED EVEBT MONDAY AND THURSDAY. TIIOS. A. BUCKLEY, EDITOR AND PROPRIETOR. OFFICE: MAIN STREET ABOVE CENTRE. SUBSCRIPTION RATES. One Year Si 50 Bix Months 75 Four Months 50 Two Months 25 Subscribers are requested to observe the date following the name on the labels of their papers. By referring to this they can tell at a i glance how they stand on the books in this office. For instance: (srover Cleveland 28June04 means that Grover is paid up to June 28, ism. . Keep the figures in advance of the present date. Report promptly to this office when your pajier is not received. All arrearages must bo paid when paper is discontinued, or collection will bo made in the manner provided by law. A blue "X" on the paper is a reminder that your subscription is due. FREELAND, PA., JANUARY 4, 1894. A reduction of duties to about the | rates that prevailed about ten years ago is called by the 'New York Tri bune "giving the American market away to ail comers." This is far from a flattering estimate of the produc tive and manufacturing ability of a people whose just boast it is that they can "heat all creation," and who do not need to be coddled to death to do it. The false economists who claim to be more "American" than anybody else put forth habitually the lowest opinion of their countrymen. A furlong Lftir. A Biddeford (Me.) attorney had in his possession a lease the like of which local lawyers do [not believe can be found in existence. The names of the parties to the lease, according- to the Kennebec Journal, are given, but its provisions are none the less strange. The lease is of a lot of land at an an nual rental of $440 for twenty-fire years, with the provision that the lessee should within one year build and maintain a substantial three-story building of brick, iron and stone. When the lease expired the lessee was to have his choice between buying the building he had himself erected or of taking a perpetual lease of the lot at SBBO a year, just double the original rent. The lease expired a year or so . ago, and the lessee, to whom it was a case of "Hobson's choice," elected to take the perpetual lease of the lot. What puzzles the attorneys who have seen the lease is why a man of the property which the lessee must have been possessed should bind himself to such a one-sided condition. The gen tleman who has the lease intends to present it to the liar Library associa tion. Kn• w Her Fulling, Mrs. Newhouse—Katie, Mr. New house says cook must boil the drinking water after this. Tell her to have some boiled for dinner to-day. Katie—Yes, ma'am. Mrs. Newhouse—And, Katie, tell hei to be sure not to burn it.—Judge. A Choice of Terms. "I'm sure w, shall bo on good terms," said the man wl*> had Just moved into the neighborhood to the corner grocer. "No doubt of it, sir. Especially," he added as an afterthought, "if the terms are cash."—Washington Star. BUSINESS BRIEFS. Go to McDonald's for furniture. Use Pillsbury's Best XXXX Flour. You can get 50c. muffs at McDonald's. Parties supplied with ice cream, cakes, etc., bv Daubach at reasonable rates. Fackler has the finest and largest as cortment of fine candies and ornamented cakes for all occasions. "Orange Blossom" is safe and harm less as flax seed poultice. Any lady can use it herself. Sold by A. Oswald. Do you wish to enjoy good health, if so, use Wright's Indian Vegetable Pills, which cleanse the bowls and purify the blood. In case of hard cold nothing will re lieve the breathing so quickly as to rub Arnica and Oil Liniment on the chest. Sold by Dr. Schilcher. All those who haveused Baxter's Ma ndrake Bitters speak very strongly in their praise. Twenty-five cents per bot tle. Sold by Dr. Schilcher. The name of N. H. Downs still lives, although lie has been dead many years. His Elixir for the cure of coughs and colds has already outlived him a quarter of a century, and is still growing in fa vor with the public. Sold by Dr. Schil cher. Beware of Ointments. Beware of ointments for catarrh that contain mercury, as mercury will surely destroy the sense of smell and complete ly derange the whole system when en tering it through the mucous surfaces. Such articles should never be used ex- 1 cept on prescription from a reputable physician, as the damage they will do is ten-fold to the good you can possibly derive from them. Hall's Catarrh Cure manufactured by F. J. C'heney <St Co., Toledo, 0., contains no mercury, and is taken internally, acting directly on the blood and mucuous surfaces of the sys tem. In buying Hall's Catarrh Cure be sure you get the genuine. It is taken internally and made in Toledo, Ohio, by ,v ( '°' Testimonials free. Sold by all druggists, price 75c. per bottle. _________ When Baby ni nick, wo gave her Castortn.' When she was a Child, she cried for Castoria. When she became Miss, she clung to Castoria. When she hod Children, she gave them Castoria CSFLF "Elisabetta mia, I have lost pencils —colors; come, child, and aid me to look for them. What, thou art idling away all the day In that corner, in stead of taking care of thy little sis ters. llark! there is Barbara crying and la bambino Anna too: and the pen cils are lost: and II Signor Montenegro la waiting for the pioture. I shall never fluish it." The speaker—Giovanni Andrea Sir- 1 ani, one of the second-rate artists of Bologna hurriedly tossed about brushes, palette and oils, making the studio all confusion; then, loudly called on Elisabetta for assistance. She came forward from ho sunny nook in the | window, where she had been hidden, ! and addressing her angry father in a voice remarkable for its soothing and sweet tones, put into his hands the pencils he required, arranged his pal ette, and stood behind him while he again continued his work. Elisabetta Wits a girl of about twelve years, tall and well-formed, though still ohild-like in proportions, and too angular to be graceful. But her face was too striking to be passed unnoticed even by a stranger. Not through its beauty, for the features were irregu lar, and the long and rather aquiline nose would have given a character too masculine to the countenance, had it not been for the exquisitely sweet ex pression of the mouth, and the dimpled chin. Again, too, the harshness given by the strongly marked eyebrows, was softened by the dreamy lanquor of the dark eves and drooping eyelids. In short, the whole face of Elisabetta Birani showed a combination of mas culine powers and womanly sweetness, united with that tiexi billty of feature and evar-changing expression, which almost always denote great sensitive ness of mind. Signor Andrea, relieved from his dis quietude, worked at his picture, now and then calling on his young daughter to inspect his progress, and listening to her remarks and comments, which, though given with the simplicity and timidity of a child, showed an under standing that justified the considera tion with which she was treated by her father. Sometimes the hasty and nervous temperament of the artist wa* excited to anger by the noise of tho | children within; he would hurriedly dismiss his eldest daughter to restore quiet, and as quickly call for hei again, declare that he could not paint unless she was beside him, to grind his colors and prepare his pencils. Ho did not add that she was quite as use ful in giving him various unsuspected, but most successful hints, even in the picture itself. After an hour or two spent in this mnnner, the tete-a-tete of the artist and his daughter was broken by the entrance of a man in a clerical dress, but attired with all the taste and sumptuousness which was prevalent in the leading cities of Italy, and espec ially Bologna, at the close of tho sev enteenth century. Andrea Sirani re ceived his visitor with mingled cor diality and respect "1 am glad II fiignor Conte Malvasia is come. I should not have been satis fied to send my picture away without his opinion on Its merits." "You are very obliging, Messer Birani," said the ecolesiastic; "but 1 have usually only one opinion regard ing your beautiful pictures, and this appears equal to any. He sat down on the painting chair which Elizabettu had placed for him opposite the pict ure; and after patting her cheek with a friendly and affectionate expression, which dyed it with a blush of pleasure, he turned his whole attention to th work before hiua. "I e you love the soft and melting shadows and mellow lights of our Guido, the pride of Bologna," said the the C'onte Malvasia. "And you do not work in the gloom which some of our stern foreign brethren delight in; you let the sun visit your painting room; save for this warm crimson curtain, which must cast such a pleasant glow on everything here, though it rather darkens the picture now " lie drew back the heavy folds, and discovered the little nook where Elizabetta had sat. It was strewed with pencils and sketohes of all kinds Malvasia picked up one of the scattered papers. | "Is this beautiful Madonna one ol your studies, friend Andrea? Why, your first sketches are absolutely ac good as your finished paintings." The artist looked at it, and turned sway with a discontented air "Oh, monsignor, it is only one of the child's drawings. Elisabetta, I think you might be better employed than this. Go to your mother, child." "Stay one moment, Elisabetta," said Count Malvasia, drawing towards him the reluctant, blushing, and al- j most tearful child. "Did you really draw and design this?" "Yes, monsignor," said Elisabetta. "Messer Andrea," continued tho Conte, "why do yon not teach your daughter to be a painter like yourself? VN ould you not like to be a great art ist. figlia ml a?" added he. Elisabetta did not speak; but her eyes lighted up. aud her lips quivorod with emotion. Andrea said roughly •'No woman can ever be a painter." ' How can you say so. Andrea? Have you forgotten Lavinia Kontana, and Antonia Pinelli, and our own Properzia?" "Do not bring Madame de Rossi for ward as an exnmple for my child, Besides, Eiisabetta docs not wish to br a painter." Elisal etta went timidly up to hei i father, and laid her hands, folded ir entrorty, on his ai in. ' Dear father, I do wish it; I long foj j it Oh, teach me to paint like you " j The painter, jealous as he seemed | of hib ari was moved, and consented From that time he suffered his daugh ter to pursue her studies openly, though the aid and direction which she received from him were very little. An drea Saranl seemed displeased that a young girl should gain intuitively what it had taken him long years to acquire. He did not see the difference between natural genius and powers which were almost entirely the result of cultivation. I Elisabetta Sirani—and wo are not describing an ideal character, but one who really existed, whose name is still honored among the Bolognese school — Elisabetta Sirani, as her childhood passed away, devoted herself more and more to her beloved art She per ceived that her father felt an ill-con cealed aversion to seeing her at her easel, and. besides, ho had been so ac customed to her assistance in the minor duties of the studio that he could not bear to sec her occupied in anything but attending upon him. Therefore she rose by the dawn of day, and painted and studied with unwearied persever ance until the hour when he required her presenoe in the studia Then she patiently relinquished the occupation which she loved so well, and turned her attention to her father, to the do mestic concerns of the house, or to th "DKAB FATHER, TEACH .MB TO PAINT I.IKK YOU." acquirement of music, a study which was her greatest delight next to the one in which her genius lav. To the world she was still the simple Elisa betta, daughter of the painter Firani, distinguished by no outward sign? from her young sisters Barbara and Anna, or from her companions among the Bolognese maidens. No one knew what her hidden talents wore, save her father—who shut his eyes upon them as much as possible—and her un failing friend, the Conte Malvasin. At last, when Elisabetta had reached her sixteenth year, there came a change. A slow and painful disease stole over the unfortunate Andrea Sirani, crippling all joints, so that day by day the exercise of his art grow more difficult, until at length it became almost impossible for him to wield the pencil. In vain did Elisabetta chafe the poor numbed hands with her soft fingers; they would work no more; and life itself seemed riven from the des pairing artist, thus deprived of the power to embody his conceptions. "It is all in vain. Elisabetta," cried Sirani one dny when the brush had fallen from his crippled fingers, which could no longer guide it—"it is all in vain; I shall never paint more!" He looked at his powerless and dis figured hands, and tears rolled down the cheeks of the strong inan. No wonder that the gentle Elisabetta wept, too. and throw her arms around her father's neck, in vain attempts at consolation. "Do not give mo hope, my child," he answered mournfully: "I know this disease is incurable. I am no moro an artist. Holy mother of mercy! how shall I find bread for my chil dren?" Elisabetta's cheeks flushed, her eve* sparkled, words rose to her lips; but she stopped, thinking of the pain they would give to her helpless father. At last she said timidly: "Father, you know 1 huve Veen you? pupil these four years; in that time, I think—l hope I have learned enough to gain something by my paintings. Will you let me try?" Andrea shook his head. "Impossi ble: a girl not nineteen, and I have iu'en a painter these twenty years. But it is long since I have seen thy work, child,'" ho added in some confu sion; "bring it hither." Elisabetta, deeply joyful that her woman's tact had thus effected what -he thought would be a discovery loth difficult and painful, quickly placed before her father a Madonna so per fect that the artist at once saw th ■•eniusof his negleet.e I daughter. J was in vain to nourish jealousy; for. ilas! there could be no rivalry between them now. He ki>ed Eiisaletta?- i row, and prayed the Virgin, whose s*.\CM face she ha i depicted so well, te il -s his good and talented child. lii.sabctta l-eca:m* a painter. When only nineteen, her first exhibited pic ture made her the wonder and pride v' ier native citv. It was sT religious sub ject, such as t'ne yen tie and pious girl loved delineating—the saints of hot church. M. Ignatius and Franc!• Xrtvier. The purchaser was the Mnr chesc Sp.ila; and the sum Kiisahett* thus trained was large enough to i ring a thrill of proud d -light to her heart with the consciousne s that the futur was her own. Her iittle sisters laughed and shouted at the sight of the purse of gold; her young companion, Uincvro Cantofoli, whispered in her car how many personal adornments it would purchase; but Elisaletta went straight to her father's chamber, and lui 1 the first fruits of her talents and industry on the bed where the suffering artist was now confined. • My father," she said in meek and blushing humility, "we have gained thus much by my picture: see! ' "Thou sayest we, Elisabettal' answered SiranL ' Why not T. v Thii money is all thine." Not so, dear father," said the young girl, "all I have learned in painting 1 owe to thee. I am only thy hand t< work in thy stead, until it shall please the blessed Madonna to restore thee. therefore this shall bo devoted, like •11 thy earnings, good and kind father, to the general benefit of the fumily." Two large tears stole through the closed eyes of the poor artist; but he said nothing. Perhaps Elisabetta's lov- i ing deceit, aided by the natural vanity of mankind, made him actually believe j that bis daughter's unselfish gifts were but a duo requital for his instruction in art. But ho made no opposition, and her future earnings were all ap propriated to the domestic wajits of the family. Night and day did the young Bologneso toll at her easeL Yet it was a labor of love; for ahe had that earnertdevotlon and enthusiasm for art ; which constitute the true riches and re- I ward of genius entirely independent of worldly success. But this latter did not fail Elisabetta. A woman, lovely even among the beautiful of Italy, she attracted the attention of the connois seurs of her native city, who saw with surprise a young maiden of twenty ex- j ccute with facility works equal to many of the most renowned artists of ; the day. Her quickness of haud was extraordinary; her slight fingers seemed merely to play with the pencil, I and the painting grew under them al most by magic. The number of pic- | j tures which yearly came from her easel ! was astonishing; but Elisabetta had that strongest spur of all to deligence —she was working for the daily bread ; of those most dear to her, and who could only trust to her for support. ! According to the usual custom of the Italian painters, Andrea Sirani had | formed a school of young artists, who | profited by his Instructions, and imi j tated his stylo. Among these was the | favorite companion of Elisabetta, Gin evra CantofolL From earliest girlhood there had been a friendly rivalry bo tweon the two —at first amicable, and then, as Elisabetta's success increased, becoming gradually more serious, j though it was not apparent. Every I now triumph of the daughter of Sirani : gavo a pang to the heart of Ginevra, i until at last the wild passions of the south were all aroused in her bosom, j and a jealous rivalry took the place of j her old love for hor childhood's friend. Every sweet and kindly word of Elisa betta's but embittered this feeling, I which became the stronger for con cealment When, in the sincerity of her friendship, Elisabetta praised and encouraged her young rival, and at i times assisted Ginevra in her pictures | by the touches of her own superior hand, no feeling save envy and dislike entered the heart of the proud and desperate Italian. Even her beauty— and Ginevra was very beautiful—she counted as nothing compared with that of Elisabetta. 1 But all unconscious of this the art ; ist's daughter went on hor way—her loving and quiet spirit untroubled by any of those violent passions which ; distracted Ginevra—pursuing her art j with unwearied diligenco. She rarely joined in the amusements of the ladies of Bologna; hor sole recreation was her favorite science of music. Often in the delicious Italian evenings Elisa betta would take her harp, the instru ment in which she excelled, and for hours together draw from it the a wee tr : est sounds, giving up ho whole BOUI to J music. I One night she was thus occupied, when Conto Malvasia entered unob- I served. He went up to the couch where Andrea Sirani, whose sufferings were a little abated, luy watching the sunset, and occasionally turning his eyes to where Elisabetta sat bending over her harp. Her form had lost its angularity in the roundness of woman hood; her hair was knotted behind in SHE ATTRACTED THE ATTENTION OF THE CONNOISSEURS. thick plaits, after tho fashion of tho times, save that a few silken curls rested on her white throat, with tho stiff and tight-fit ling dress of the duy could scarcely hide. The expression of her eyes and mouth was as sweet as ever, and as she sung, her whole face was lighted up with irresistible beauty. "Look at her," whispered the proud father to Malvasia; "tell ino, is not my Elisabetta the fairest maiden, as well as the greatest painter, in all Bo logna?" The good old ecclesiastic smiled, and assented. "She looks as happy as if she had a presentiment of the good news I bring," be answered. "A bout tho holy fathers of Certosa?" eagerly asked Sirani. "What! have they determined —and for Elisabetta?'• "Yes," laconically said the conte. "Elisabetta—Elisabettina mia," cried the delighted Andrea, who had long since forgotten his jealousy in fatherly love and pride, "you are successful; tho good padri of Certosa have chosen you to paint their altarpiece!" Elisabetta darted forward with un constrained delight. She kissed the hnnds of Malvasia, and thanked him over and over again. "But, iny dear child," said the be nevolent conte, "you are only at tho commencementof the journey, and you seem as joyful us if the goal wero at tained. Do you know what is tho chosen subject of the picture? A grand and difficult one—the Baptism of our Lord. Have you any idea of the manner in which you will treatir., Elisabetta?'' "I will show you, Signor Conte." She took a sheet of paper, laid it on her knee, and with a brush dipped in In dia ink, began to dash in the first sketch of her composition with won derful rapidity end power. ' 'Will this please you, monsignor?" timidly asked Elisabetta at last, hold ing up the design of the picture, which Was afterwards the pride of the mon astery of Certosa, and the work on which the fume of Elisabetta Sirani ohiefly rests. Ere the father and Conte Malvasia could find words for their delight Ginevra Cantofoli entered. There was a heavy sadness over her mouth and a wild look in her eyes, which spoke of some inward trouble. Elisabetta, in her unconscious delight, threw her arms around her friend's neck and told her of her happiness; but Ginevra recoiled as from the touch of a serpent. "Then it is you who have taken from me my heart's desire?" she said bitterly. 4, 1 sought to paint this al tar-piece, but the padri, like all the world, thought me your inferior. I suppose I shall live and die so, Elisa betta," she added, attempting a forced smile. "Why did you not tell me of your plan, Ginevra?" said Elisabetta, gently. "Because I resolved for once to think and act for myself. I have failed; now let us forget it," answered tho other. But Ginevra did not forget it, and year after year that added to Elisa betta's fume only burled the poison deeper in the heart of her rival. At last, added to all other jealous ies, came the one excited by lovo. j From the city of I'arma, where he j had been completing his studies In ' art, came Battista Zuni, once the pupil of Sirani, and now th'* betrothed of Gin evra CantofolL Young, enthusiastic, rich in all that could win a maiden's love no wonder was It that Battista was al most idolised by the girl he had chosen |to be his wife one day. And when. I like all who came within the circle of I her presence, he yielded to the magic j Influence of Elisabetta Sirani, and felt and expressed toward her a regard and I rovorenco almost approaching worship, Ginovra'a very heart was rent asunder with jealouay. Sometimes, in his simplicity and utter unconsciousness of evil, Battista talked to his betrothed of Elisabetta, of her saint-like beauty —upon which he delighted to look, with that admiration of all things pure and lovely which was so deep in his artist soul—of her unworldlinoss, her genius, and-all this was to Ginevra the most exquisite torture. Then, too, in the frank admiration and friendly inter est which Elisabettashowod toward the 'H3 "YOU HAVE TAKEN FROM ME MY HEART'S DESIRE." young painter, whose talent gave promise of such wondrous fruits, Gine vra saw nothing but the preference of love, for she could not imagine the pos sibility of any maiden's beholding her own Battista without loving him. And truly with many this suspicion would not have been far wrong; but it was not so with Elisabetta Sirani After a time spent iu, his native Bo logna, the artist determined to go to Home. "Would that I, too, were going to Home—beautiful Rome!" said Elisa betta, when Battista came to bid adieu. "How pleasant to see all its wonders—to behold the glorious Ca pella Ristlni of which we have so often dreamed, Battista! I would that I were going also!" "Then, why not, Madonna Elisa betta?" cried the young painter, eag erly. "It would be such happiness to see Rome with thee!" Elisabetta smiled quietly. "Thou forgetest my father, my home. How could I loave all these, good Battista, even to go to Rome?" "Then I will think of thee, always, Madonna. In my memory, in my pray ers, thou shalt visit Rome." "Be it so, kind Battista," smilingly answered Elisabetta, as she gave him her hand, which he kissed with rever ence, and departed with Ginevra. j "Is she not an augel, this Madonna Sirani, to speak so kindly to a poor : artist like me?" he said to his be trothed. "But ere I see hor agnin I 1 may be more worthy of hor goodness, i Dost thou not think so, Ginevra mia?" "Yes," answered Ginevra in a low j and changed voice, while a horrible j determination made her hands clonch | and her eyes Hashed fire. But Battista j saw it not: ho was wholly absorbed in | those delicious dreams of coming j glory, which too often fade like a morning cloud. "La Signora Elisabetta desires her spiced draught," said tho old nurse, coming from the painting room one day. "Get it ready for her quickly, Benedetto." Benedetto, a young country girl whom Elisabetta had educated, and j who loved her mistress with passionate ' tenderness, went speedily about her task. "Thou art putting too much cinna mon, silly clild," said the old woman, j "It is not cinnamon, good mother; it is another spice that I bought the other day. The woman who sold it said it would do Madonna good, and that 1 must give it to her every day. And 1 truly she was I never saw the signora's eyes look so bright as yesterday." So the young girl carried tho cup to hor mistress, and watched her with affectionate looks while she drank her favorite beverage of sugar, cinnamon and water. How little did either know that this day it was a draught of poison! An unaccountable Illness seized upon 1 the doomed Elisabetta. It was little dreaded by those who best loved lier; but sho herself felt an utter langour— a strange overpowering- sensation, which gavo her a foreshowing of the coining death. When Ginevra, whom her summons had brought, stood be side her, Elisabetta spoke to her early friend with an affectionate serious ness, beyond her wont, of the beloved art they both followed—of Ginevra's future life—of her lover. A look-at once full of hatred and de spairing grief came over Ginevra's face, but Elisabetta went on—"I always loved thee, Ginevra, and thy Battista, too; and, if I recover———" Thou wilt die; tltou art dying now," Raid Ginevra, in a low and hissing whisper. lhou hast been mv bane through life, my rival in all things; last of all, in Battista's lova I have poisoned thee." A shudder convulsed Elisabetta'? frame, but she did not shriek; awe. not terror, possessed her, as she heard of her certain doom. Her lips moved long in a silent prayer; then she looked calmly at Ginevra, who stood beside |jj!i|i $ vJiflijy: I / /jA % "*$ | BP __ $L - ••jCf- >tj) 'fji -• ttlT' "*TZ MANY SURMISES ADOBE AS TO THE FATAI CAUSE. her like a statue of stone, and said, ! "Thou art deceived; I never loved any ' man; ray life was devoted to God and to divine art. Thy Battista woed me not, Ginevra; he never loved but thee." In utter abandonment of remorse the murderess sued for pardon at her victim's feet "Denounce inel Thy death will be slow; let me die before thee as an atonement " "Not so," faintly answered Elisa betta; "the secret be between thee and mo. Let not my father know that his child died by poison. The holy saints forgive thee, as Ida Gin evra, live and be happy with thy be trothed." "It is too late," shrieked Ginevra; "Battista is dead." It was indeed so. Battista Zani died at Rome, soon after his arrival, leav ing behind him only the memory of the genius which had promised so much, and which perished in its early blossoming. His name, chronicled by Malvasia, is all that remains in pos terity of Battista Zanl Elisabctti fcirani died by this mys terious and horrible death in her twenty-sixth year. Many surmises arose as to the fatal cause, some ap proaching near the fact, others wild and contradictory. Amidst the pomp of splendid obsequies, the maiden artist was laid in the tomb of Guido Reni. The orator I'icinardi poured forth a torrcntof eloquent lamentation over the beloved dead; solemn music sounded through the church of 8t Dornenico* and the whole city mourned. But while poets wrote her elegy, and I sculptors udorned her costly monu raent, the memory of Elisabetta re mained, line that of a departed saint, in her father's house; at first sorrow ful, afterwards bringing only holy and j solemn thoughts. They spoke of her j genius; of her humility, which scorned not all the lowly but sweet offices of | home; of her beauty, made still lovelier by the calm dignity with which, know ing sho was fair, she gloried not in it; and of her pure and holy mind, which, ; though not too proud for earth, over j turned heavenwards, as if there was its true home. And thus, like the con tinual perfume of virtue and of holi ness, which death cannot take away, lingered on earth the memory of Elisa betta Si rani. Andrea Sirani survived his eldest daughter many years. His two other children, Barbara and Anna, also be came artists; und there is still extant a graceful sonnet of Picinardi. ad dressed to Barbara Sirani, who had painted from memory the portrait of the lost Elisabetta. Of Ginevra Canto foil, all that need be said is, that she lived and she died. A SiiKgoHtive Observation. She (looking 1 at the autumn land scape)—-Isn't it perfectly beuutiful, George? He—lt is simply delirious! I could gaze on it for hours. Do you know that every time I look on those glori ousiy tinted autumn leaves they remind me of you? She —In what way? He—They look as if they appealed to one to be pressed. Hoston Courier. A Barbarian. "Did you know," said the well in- ! formed man. "that some of the great est classical music we have was given us by a deaf composer?" "Classical music, did you say?" in quired the man whose musical taste is uncompromisingly low. "Yes."s, "Ilumph! How he must have en joyed his misfortune. Washington j ytar. Impertinence of the I'arion. A Chicago clergyman having per formed the marriage ceremony for o couple undertook to write out the usual certificate, but being in doubt as to the day of the month, ho said: "This is the ninth, is it not?" "Why, parson," said the blushing bride, "you do all my marrying, and yon ought to remember that this is only the fifth." —Texas Siftings. May Have Been lt!ht After All. "You must have an idiot for a barber " "Don't you call me an idiot" "I didn't" | "Yes you did. I shave myself." J. c. BERNER'S EMPORIUM Just as sure an the rivers run to the sea so the title of trade runs to the counters of the merchant who advertises. Look at this: "The*. George, are the gifts for these timtf. When one can get his choice of twelve of ihe richest woods grown, and at regular price, Christmas should bring every woman in the Uati it new liisscil Carpel | bweeper." | For the balance of this month ire icill give i you TEN PER CENT. OFF ON ALL BLANKETS. ! and 5(1 /terr, nt. of) on all eoate left from lax! year. Thin mean* ! A SIO.OO 1 allies' coat Cor $5.00. I Can yon afford to mix* all this? | Toilet chttmber sets, worth $4. for $2.50. j Chea/icr than nnyerrr offen din the etmn \ TY. ACTIONS and noun A Y GOODS ire are aitniny to hart' j net ichat yon mint ! far elien/ier than yon dreamed of—ctmtider ing quality. 11', hare a targe Dork of elates to xcteet front; the Orwitjithnrg ithttrii far chil dren; every pair guaranteed; call and nee them. GROCERIES and PROVISIONS. 20 I.IIS. GKAWLATEF) SUGAR $1.00; Shoulders, lie; Cheese, ltie; Butter, 30c I. aril. 12.j,-; Salt herrinjf. 5o 11,; Salt had dock. 5c lb; 3 llAioloeiia. 25c; 3 lhs mix ed cakes. 251-; 5 |l,s rice. 25c; 5 lbs bar ley. 25c; 3 lhs Ringer cakes, 25c; -1 lhs i soda biscuits, 25c; .Mint lozetigers, 10c 111); Mixed candy. 10c lb; Stick candy, | 10c lb; 5 cans sardines. 25c; 2 cans salm on. 25e; 3 ()ts beans, 25c; 3 i|ts peas. 25c; j 2 lhs dry corn 25c; 5 lhs currants, 25c; j 3 lbs raisins bine. 25c; 5 lhs raisins, 25c; Bonny Hour, $1.85. , Yours truly, J. C. BERNER, FKW 7 LEIIIGH VALLEY L RAILROAD. Anthracite coal used exclu r sively, Insuring cleanliness and I com fort. Aft It AIVG KM ENT OF PARBENOEH TRAINS. NOV. 10, 1803. LEAVE FRKELAND. <1 (IV 8 40, 1)33. 10 41 a m, I 20, 227, 3 45, 4 65, 0 58, t 12, 547 p nj, for Drifton, Jcddo. Lum ber Yard, Stockton and Hazleton. ti 05, H Ml a in, 1 20, 3 45 J. 111. fur Mauch Chunk, MlCllloyyii, Bethlehem, J'lilla., Boston and New \ ork. 0 40 a m, 4 55 p in for Dcthleheni, Kaston and IMiila. 720, 10 56 a in, 1233,4 34 p m, (via Hiirhland ranch) for Whitc Haven, Glen Summit, Wilkcs arrc, l'ittaton and L. ami B. Junction. RUN DAY TRAINS. II 40 a m and 3 45 p in for Drifton, Jcddo, burn er Yard and Hazleton. 3 45 n in for Delano. Mahanny City, Slicnan doah. New York and Philadelphia. ARRIVE AT FRKELAND. 5 50, 7 is, 7 20, 9 10, 1050 a in, 12 33, 2 13, 4 J44, 1.58 and *57 pin, from Hazleton, Stockton, Lumber Yard, Jcddo and Drifton. ' ; 20. 0 10, Hi 50 a in, 2 13, 4 34, 058 p m from Delano, Mahanoy City and Shenandoah (via Now Boston Itraneii). 13, 0 58 and 8 3", p m from New York, Eaaton, IMiiladelphia, Bethlehem, Allentownand Maueh Chunk. I) 10 and 10 50 a m, 2 13, 0 58 and 8 37 p m from KuHton, i'liilu , Bethlehem and Mauch utiunk. 0 :w{. in 41 a in,27,0 58 p m iroin White Haven, Glen Summit, WilkeH-Barre, l'ittaton and L. and B. Junction (via Highland Branch). SUNDAY TRAINS. 11 31 a m and 381 pm, from Hazleton, Lum- I ber Yard, Jeddo and Drifton. 11 31 a m from Delano, Hazloton, Philadelphia and Boston. 3 31 p in ironi Delano and Mahuno}' region. For further Information inquire of Ticket A get i to. CJIAB. H. LLP, GenU Pass. Agent, It. H. WILBUR, Gen. Supt. East. Div.,' l " U '* ** A. W. NUN NEMAC 11 Fit, Ass't (i. P. A., South Bethlehem, Pa. '! UK DuLAWABK, SusiIIEIIANNA AND Scni'VLKILl. Railboad. Time fable in effect September 3,1883. I Trains leave Drifton for Jeddo, Eoklcy, Hazle | brook, .Stockton. Denver Meadow Itontl, ltoan and lln/.leton Jtmcliun at a 00, )i It) a in, 1210, I i tr.i p m, daily except Sunday, and T 03 a in, 2 38 I p m. Sunday. Trains leave Drifton for Harwood, Cranberry, Toinhlokcti and Deringer utttOOn ui, 12 10 p m, daily except Sunday; and 703 a m, 2 38p in, Sunday. I Trains leave Drifton for Oneida Junction, Garwood itoad, Humboldt Itoad, Oneida and ! sheppton at ti It) a m, 12 10, 4 OH p in, daily except ; Sunday; and 7 08 a m, 2 38 p m, Sunday. Trains leave Hazleton Junction for Harwood, ! Cranberry, Tomhicken and Deringer at 087 u i in, i 40 p m, daily except Sunday; and 8 47 a ni, 4 18 p m, Sunday. i Trains leave Hazleton Junction for Oneida Junction, Harwood lioad, Humboldt Itoad, i )neida and Sheppton at 0 47, 0 10 a m, 12 40, 4 39 p m, daily except Sunday; and 740 a m, 308 p i in, Sunday. Trelus leave Deringer for Tomhicken, Cran berry, Harwood, Hazleton Junction, ltoan, Beaver Meadow Itoad. Stockton, Hazle Brook, Ecklcy, Jeddo and Drifton at 2 40, 007 p m, dally except Sunday; and 937 a m, 507 p m, Sunday. Trains I cave Sheppton for Oneida, Humboldt Itoad, Harwood Bond. Oneida Junction, Hazle ton Juuet ion ad ltoan at 7 52, lOlMara, 115, 5 25 p in, daily except Sunday; and 8 14 a in, 3 45 p m, Sunday. Trains leave Sheppton for Denver Meadow Itoad, Stockton, Hazle Brook, Eekley, Jeddo and Drilton at 10 10 a m, 5 25 p in, daily, except Sunday; and 8 14 a in, 3 45 p m, Sunday. Trains leave Hazleton Junction for Beaver Meadow Itoad, Stockton, Hazle Brook, Ecklcy, Jcddo and Drifton at 10:48 a m. 3 11, 5 47, 6 38 p in, daily, except Sunday ; and 10 08 a in, 5 38 u m, Sunday. All trains connect at Hazleton Junction with electric euro for Hazleton, Jeanesvllle. Autlen nedand other points on Lehigh Traction Go's. Trains leaving Drifton at 0 10 am, Hazleton Junction at 9 10 a m, and Sheppton at 7 52 a ra, 1 15 p in, connect at Oneida Junction with L. V. It- It. trains east and west. Train leaving Drifton at 0 00 a m. makes con nection at Deringer with i\ It. It. train for Wilkes-Bar re, Sunbury, Harrisbitrg, etc. E. B. COXE, DANIEL COXE, President. Superintendent.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers