A L ove song. [ The eonp the robin sings in May, a It It the one I sing; rSfcjra^, ' He has the same sweet words to sajf Across the fields of spring. T Amid the green leaves on the tree, /]™s' L Hark to his lyric line; "^SHF r A burst of love and melody— I Bweetheart, !>e mine! fci- "a®. The south wind's message to the rose f In music soft and clear, It is the same as mine which goes I'.V. 1 To whom love holds dear. He sings the crimson to her checks; She trembles on the vine i\ With joy at every word he speaks; Sweetheart, be minel ••v 80, like the south wind's and the bird's* Let my fate be at last; ■(_,* Since I have dared to Bteal their words 'j ( * My lot with tlieirs I cast. Tlie rose and robin's mate shall givs Their hearts to love— thine. -v Say the glad word and let me live; * Sweetheart, be mine! x • —Frank D. Sherman in Harper's Bazar. >o3>o<S>o<e>o<s>o<S>o<?,4>o<3>o<s>o<S>c<®.o<3>o<S> I THE FLEOR-DE-LISI $ f 9 Was It Dream, Illusion or 9 g m Mingling With the Dead? g g BY S. L. BACON. | 0 o is>o<S>o<e>o<B>o<S>o<S>o<Sxi.o<S>o<s>o<S>o<£o3>o<& I was a young man then, 24 years of age. That Is very young, Is It not? Anil 1 had been at work ever since I was a mere lad, for I had had my living to make, and at the time of which I write I held a good position and had the re spect of my employers. I had been given Just at this time a holiday because of a generally woruout condition of body and mind, having been warned by my physician that un less 1 followed his prescription of ab solute rest and change 1 should suc cumb to a fever very prevalent then. So 1 crossed the channel and buried myself In a little seaport village In France. It was an ideal place In which to rest and gather strength. The suit air blew refreshingly, and nil night long one could hear the sound of the waves lashing up ngulnst the shore. The only thing of Interest In this quiet little place was the story of the wreck of the Fleur-de-lis aud the fact that a good part of the ruined vessel still remained Imbedded In the Im mense bunks of sand which cover the coast of this region. My garrulous landlord told me the story of the ship while I discussed my rolls and coffee the morning after my arrival. The big three masted vessel had been caught In a furious gale. It had been a storm before which the llsher folk trembled and which had since been a byword among them. It had occurred In December, more than three mouths before, and In the fury of the hurricane and the black ness of the night the ship hail com pletely lost her bearings and, steered at random, hud struck a terrible reef Borne distance out. The crew and the three passengers she carried hail made for the boats, but before their escape coulil be effected the vessel was swung about and tlie boats dashed against the rocjss. Of all on hoard only two were sayed, the first mate and the cook. Those, rescued almost by a miracle, cotlld tell of that dreadful night. Afterward the wind had driven the vessel on with Its powerful lashings and hurled It upon the shore. It was fastened (Irmly by two projecting points of rock nnd lay upon Its side, a mere discolored carcass of what had been the Fleur-de-lis. I was sufficiently interested, espe cially as the sun was warm and bright, to follow my liost's suggestion anil stroll off to view the wreck myself. I took the direction he had pointed out ami after brisk walking found myself nenring the coast. The tlat yellow sands stretched before me, and as 1 stepped upon their moist surface I felt that the sea had been there not long before. There wus a fresh wind blow lug, nnd the strong, fragrant salt air seemed to bring returning strength with It. I walked faster. 1 felt a sense of exultant life. Finally I came upon what had look ed in the distance like a black rock. It was the ruins of the vessel. But It was not entirely destroyed. After climbing over the lower side I could see Into the hold, which was filled with debris. I marveled as the rotten planks creaked under me that the ship should have rcmnlned here so long. I even suspected some of the keener spirits of the town of making her fast, that their object of Interest and curi osity might not be lost I stood upon the deck of the strand ed vessel and looked nbout me with de light and admiration. From necessity 1 was with the large manufacturing firm of Davenport & Co., but by nature I was nil artist. With the love of art strong within me I had all my life been obliged to crush it down until I had the means to justify my ambition and cultivate what I felt sure was my gift. Only recently had I been able to begin study, and strong encourage ment had been given me. Now I seat ed myself amid the ruins, with my hack to the shore, drew out my sketch book aud lost myself In my beloved work. I worked steadily, for there were several fantastic points to make, anil along the coast, which stretched to the right of me, there were many beautiful views to be sketched. But I was not strong, and the long walk had tired me. Moreover, the strong Bait breeze cnrrled a soothing potion upon Its breath. The low surge of the waves was like a cradle song. My pencil slid from my inanimate fingers, my head dropped to one side, and my eyes clos ed. I slept. I awoke suddenly. It was the sensa tion of cold, of a chill, which awaken ed me. How long had I slept? The sky had changed; It was dark, lowering. I heard the cry of a gull flying Inland. I rubbed my eyes. Where was I? Was this the Fleur-de-lis? I looked again. Then I sprang to my feet and cried uloud In horror, for the ship was mov ing. The sands of the fast receding beach were enveloped and concealed by the water. The tkle was up, and the ves sel, the vessel upon which I stood, was detached from Its hold aud heuded out to sea! I cried aloud. I shrieked. I thought I must Jump Into the water. Finally I felt the hopelessness of my situation and resigned myself to despair. A strong wind had sprung up, almost a squall, and It drove the ship on faster. The shores faded, about me was the measureless sea. Night came on. I was faint aud worn with hunger, and I crawled down Into the hold and wished j for death to come to my release. Suddenly as I lay there I heard a faint sound. It was not like any noise I had ever heard, and yet It was strangely familiar to me. I strained my ears; while 1 listened there passed me suddenly a gleam of light. It was surely some one carrying a lantern. Some one. Who? I started up. Cold perspiration was upon me. The next Instant I knew and recognized the sounds I had heard. It was the moving of the machinery of a vessel, but dim auil far away, like the suggestion rather than the actual thing. I rose and with the sense of re turning strength alt fear left me. I climbed upon deck. The masts were there as they hud been when the Fleur-de-lis was happily sailing home ward. The sailors were at their post. The captain, u tall, slender man, stood with his glass to his eyes. But about them all was au air of vague strange ness. A deep melancholy, mingled with au unearthly quiet, pervaded them. Their movements were felt rather than heard. As 1 stood looking without fear up on the marvelous scene my attention was arrested by the figure of a young girl. She stood with her profile to ward nte, the wind stirred the little curls of her light hair, with a faint, transparent hint of color In It, as Is sometimes seen upon the heart of a cloud. She had a blue scarf twisted about her throat, which she held In place with the delicate lingers of one hand. On oue of them there glistened a ruby of great size and brilliancy. She turned her face slowly us I looked and smiled a faint, unmirthful smile. 1 approached her und lifted my hat "Will you tell me," I said, my eyes meanwhile feasting upon her beauty, "what ship this Is and where It Is go lug?" She looked at me half sailly, I thought, and answered In a low, vi brant tone; "It Is the Fleur-de-lis, but It Is dead, you know. We are all dead, aud we are sailing through eternity. You are a stranger. I am glud to see you. We have been alone BO long." The voice of this young girl thrilled me as nothing had ever done before. My heart beat fast. I looked Into hor blue eyes, with their changing lights, and the pnst and future faded. I cared only for the present. "Arc you alone?" I ventured. I could scarcely restrain myself from putting my hand on her delicate wrist, from caressing her soft hair. "No," she replied; "I have my maid and Mme. d'Estell with me." "You are French, then?" "Yes, but 1 was at school In Eng land." An absent look came Into her eyes. "That was long, long ago. 1 must go now nnd help mailamc with dinner. We take the cook's place. He was lost, you know." She smiled sadly and left me. A repast was presently served In the long saloon, but nil hunger seemed to have left me, nor did 1 see any of the others pnrtake of anything set before them. Afterward I walked on deck with the girl. We paused, looking at the horn shnped moon together. I felt the blown strands of her hair upon my face. "Will you tell me your name?" I whispered to her. She turned her face to me serenely. "1 hnve forgotten," she said simply. The answer did not surprise me, for to me the past was a lilunk. "Then I shall call you Psyche," I said. "Very well," she replied, and we be gan to walk again. Thus days went by, or at least some form of time, just what I could not tell. I was like one Intoxicated with a Joyous wine. I thought and cared only for the beautiful French girl. Her seductive beauty enchanted me; her proximity thrilled me with Intense de light. The vessel sailed onward, but never sighted land. Before us stretched ul wnys the boundless water, now taking strange and varied hues, now bubbling nnd whirling around us, now sinking Into a glassy calm. One day as I sat with Psyche, as It pleased my fancy to call hor, watching her as she looked out upon the sea, I felt a sudden wild longing to paint her face. A sense of Joy and delight sprang up within me. Tremblingly I asked her If 1 might attempt her portrait. She, with her Ineffably sad smile, agreed at once. With a touch that I should have em ployed In handling the silk of thistle down I turned her head to the desired pose, adjusted the silky tendrils of her hair and began. My heart thrilled with a wild rapture as the picture grew un der my hand. I designed it to be very small, scarcely more than a miniature, and after sketching her head in several different positions I chose the most suitable, if, Indeed, there could be any choice. The charm of ray existence cannot he described. I felt that for the first time In all my life I lived. As the delicate colors blended together and with unerring touch portrayed the perfect face before me my happiness knew no bounds. At length the picture was completed. As 1 put the finishing touches upon It she rose and came to me, leaning over my shoulder to look at it. At that moment a crash of thunder ! sounded, and a brilliant flash of light ning illuminated the ship. I looked up. ' The sky had grown black as uight. The sea, with its inky waves, seemed to bound toward us. It hissed under I the sing of the wind. The vessel rock ; ed from side to side, and the water I splashed upon the deck. I sprang to i my feet and, thrusting the picture into my bosom, seized my couipau ion's band. Another and still another clap pealed through the air. In a few moments we were almost In complete darkness save when the lightning shot in flash ing lines across the sky. The fury of ; the storm was indescribable. The j wind seemed to have gone mad. Salt j spray dashed on my face, cutting like a knife. In the darkness I turned and threw my arms about the girl. As my lips sought hers there came suddenly i a cry—a cry that rushed upon me like a resurrection. I felt my companion slip from my arms. By a vivid flash of ; lightning 1 caught a glimpse of her face. It was like n shadow, but wear ing still that sad smile upon the lips. The next Instant a light flashed be fore my eyes. The storm had abated, had ceased. All was calm. Beside me ' stood a tall man in uniform. His ap pearance seemed strange to me. He suggested that which I had forgotten. He had his arm thrown about me, and he seemed to be supporting me. "Feel better now?" He spoke iu a loud, gruff voice, and it was to me like the memory of a dream. He held something to my lips. It was like liquid fire. I gpped and turned from him. "Psyche!" I cried. The ship, the crew, my beloved, all were gone. 1 stood alone upon the ruins of the Fleur-de-lis. The sea was calm and placid, the sky blue. The rotten planks were beneath my feet. "Come, hurry," said my companion. "This won't last much longer." And he dragged me to the side of the ves sel, where there was a boat. Just be youd I saw the masts of an English frigate. I felt myself being transport ed to the boat, and, though I shrieked and struggled, begging that those I had been with on the Fleur-de-lis might be saved or at least that I might remain there also, it was of no avail. "He is raving," I heard the officer mutter. "The strain has caused insani ty, not unusual in such cases." I thought of Psyche, of my love, and with the despair of the thought I swooned away. I remained unconscious, ill, for many clays, and when I was myself again we were ncarlng the shores of Eng land. As I tottered weakly upon the deck and, wrapped in a heavy cloak, reclined In my easy chair I suddenly bethought me of my portrait. I put my hand iu my bosom. There, close to my heart,. I felt It. Tremblingly I drew It forth. I gazed with a sense of joy and relief upon it. Just as It had been completed it was now—the beau tiful, perfect features, the exquisite turn of the head, the sweet, melan choly smile. I pressed It to my lips In a delirium of joy. I speut myself upon it. At least I had this tangible proof of the past. It was more than I had dreamed possible, a treasure. For when I re lated my experience to those on board I saw from their incredulous faces that they regarded my words but as the incoherent wauderiugs of a dis traught brain. The captain told me that he had es pied a floating wreck, that with his glass it had appeared to him that some* one was signaling, and he had sent to investigate. This story, and not mine, was everywhere received among my friends, and as I noted their pitying glances when I eager!}' related my nar rative, I ceased finally to make any mention of it. But in the solitude of my chamber I kissed the loved face which 1 carried against my heart and heaped every dear and endearing name upon it. I had a case of chased gold made and fitted the picture to it. A fine, almost invisible gold thread was fastened to this, and It. never left my person. As often as I gazed upon the sweet face which looked back at me I longed with an intense longing for the original. My heart cried out for my lost oue. Will ingly would I have spent all my days upon that ghastly wreck to have pos sessed the joy of her presence. I mingled but little in society, for it held no attraction for me. I was con sidered a woman hater and looked upon with curiosity. But I was pros- IK'rous In my business. Fortune smiled upon me. I made rapid strides and all that I touched seemed to yield ten fold. But whatever art I had in paint ing was lost, gone from me forever. Vainly I strove to restore my talent I could accomplish nothing. Since the painting of that one perfect picture all else was of no avail. Finally I aban doned the effort in despair. So time passed. Years came and went. I watched the gray hairs come about my temples, and in my unevent ful life counted time "by the figures on a dial." Eighteen years went by. It was the summer of 1889. We nil remember the great heat of that year. I took a little trip Into Switzerland, to Interlakcn. The first evening I was there, after dinner, I stepped out on the piazza of the hotel with my cigar. I raised my eyes from lighting it. I saw standing at the other side of the balcony the figure of a young girl. Iler profile only was toward me as she gazed out at the beautiful view. Iler light hair was uncovered, and she had a blue scarf twisted about her throat. As I looked she raised one hand to draw It more closely, and I caught the flash of a deep red stone upon her finger. My heart seemed to stand still. Throwing away rny cigar and shaking as with an ague, I approached her. As I passed her I was obliged to steady myself by the railing. Her face was Identically the same as the one I felt against my fast beating heart. She looked at me* curiously and with sym pathy, and the pallor of my face might well have startled her. I sought M. Lauze, the maltre d'hotel, and begged to be introduced. lie hesi tated, but my earnestness Increased, and finally he presented me to the young girl. Her name was Marie Ramee, and she was traveling with her invalid mother. She had but just left school. "You remind me of a dear friend," I said to her In explanation of my pre sumption. The words quivered upon my lips. When night came, I took out the por trait. I looked eagerly upon the face. It was indeed a perfect likeness of this French girl. But as I looked it seemed to grow less distinct, or were my eyes tired? I replaced it without kissing the lips as I usually did. Marie and I were much together. We walked or sat on the broad piazza look ing out on the beauties around us. I longed to show her the picture, but re frained, I knew not why. When 1 looked at it at uight it seemed less fresh, less clear. I wondered if my ca resses had injured it. • There came at last a day when I felt that Marie loved me. 1 divined that precious gift was mine and for me was reserved God's greatest blessing. Trembling, though I felt that the treas ure was already within my reach, I asked for her love. My arms encircled her, her warm lips met mine. Then I told her the story of the Fleur-de-lis— a story I had vowed never to relate again. Iler eyes widened, her face ! paled like a white flower. "The Fleur-de-lis!" she exclaimed. "Surely it is not possible, dear one! I My mother's only sister, my young aunt, a beautiful girl, scarcely IS, was lost on that vessel. It is for her I am named. She was returning from Eng land with a companion and maid. They all perished." Iler blue eyes filled with tears. "You see it is not possible, sweetheart." "But it Is," I exclaimed, "and I have her portrait. I painted it, and I will show It to you now." 1 put my hand in my hosom and drew out the case. With trembling fingers I opened it. Vaguely I gazed at it. There was nothing there; the face had faded ut terly ! i While I looked, horror stricken, upon the empty case there was breathed close to my ear a faint sigh. Twice It came almost imperceptibly, then it ceased. It was not my companion, for when I looked at her she was smiling. —St. Louis Star. I)e Witt's Little Early Risers are dainty little pills, but they never fail to cleanse the liver, remove obstructions and invigorate the system. Grover's City drug store. Both Sort*. Flo—These box parties are nothing hut gab and chutter and all that. Joe—You're right there. Take that fellow Fitzcorbett, for instance.—Phil adelphia Press. Correcting a Misapprehension. Anxious Reader—No, you lose your bet. The late Max Muller was not re lated to Maud.—Cleveland Plain Deal er. "Yes, he wears good clo'es now an smokes fine cigars, but 1 knew him when he wuz glad ter share my bread an 'lasses." —New York World. The most effective little liver pills made are Do Witt's Little Early Risers. They never gripe. Grover's City drug store. Old newspapers for sale. Dyspepsia Cure Digests what you eat. It,artificially digests the food and aids Mature iu strengthening and recon structing the exhausted digestive or gans. It lathe lateatdiscovereddigest ant and tonic. Mo ottier preparation can approach It in efficiency. It in stantly relieves and permanently cures Dyspepsia, Indigestion, Heartburn, Flatulence, Sour Stomach, Nausea, Sick Headache, Gastralgia.Crampsand all other results of imperfect digestion. Price 50c. and SI. Largo slzocontainc 2K times small size. Book all about dyspepsia mailed free Prepared by E. C. DeWITT A CO/ Cb'caflo. Grover's City Drug: Store. AMANDUS OSWALD, dealer in Dry Goods, Groceries and Provisions. FRESH ROLL BUTTER AND EGGS. A celebrated brand of XX flour always in stock. Latest Hats and Caps. All kinds of household utensils. A. W. Cor. Centre and Front Bts., Freeland. Read - the - Tribune. Boots and Shoes. Rubber Goods. 1 Styles, Dualities ail Prices. Latest Desips, Larpst SMs, Lowest Prices. McMenamirt's Gents' Furnishing, Hat and Shoe Store. 86 South Centre Street. KrtsVwtroh<l nburg? I The Winter term of this popular institution for the training of teachers opens Jan. '■!, HH)I. This practical training school for touchers is located in the most healthful and charming part of the state, within the grout, summer resort region of the state, on the main line of the 1). L. & W. Bull road. Unexcelled facilities; Music, Elocutionary, College Preparatory, Sewing and Modeling depa rtmonts. Superior faculty; pupils coached free; pure mountain water; rooms furnished through out: GOOD BOARDING A UECOGNIZEI) FEATURE. We are the only normal school that paid the state aid iu full to ull its pupils this spring Write for a catalogue and full information while this advertisement is before you. We have something of interest for you. Address, GEO. P. BIBLE, A. M., Principal. ifSlylr mSSm A Girl's Experience., My daughter's nerves were terribly out of order. Blie was thin and weak: the least noise startled her, and she was wakeful at night. Before she had taken one package of Celery King the change In her was so great that she could hardly he taken for the same girl. Bhe Is rapidly growing well and strong, her com plexion is perfect, and she sleeps well every night.—Mrs. Lucy McNutt, Brush Valley, Pa. Celery King cures Constipation, and Nerve, Stomach, Liver aud Kidney diseases. 4 P. F. McNULTY. FUNERAL DIRECTOR ' AND EMBALMER. . Embalming of female corpses performed exclusively by Mrs. P. F. McNulty. PREPARED TO ATTEND CALLS DAT OR NIGHT. South Centre street, Freeland. Condy 0. Boyle, dealer in LIQUOR, WINE, BEER, PORTER, ETC. The finest brands of Domestic and Imported Whiskey on sale. Fresh Rochester and Shen andouh Beer and Yeungliug's Porter on tap. 88 Centre street. Boat Cough Syrup. Tunes Good. Use In time. Sold by druggist.*. H RAILROAD TIMETABLES LEHIGH VALLEY KAILKOAD. November 25, 19U0. ARRANGEMENT OF PABSBMQBK TRAINS. LEAVE FKKKLAND. 6 12 a ra lor Weathcrly, Muuch Chunk, Ailentown, Bethlehem, Luston, Phila delphia uucl iNt'W York. 7 40 a in tor .Sandy Itun, White Haven, ! Wilkes-Banc, Pittstou und Scruuton. 8 18 it in lor Huzieton, Muhunoy City, bheuumJuuh, Ashland, Wcatheiiy, Muuch Chunk. AUotituwn. Bethlehem, Eusioii, Philadelphia und New York. 11 9 30 ain for Huzieton, Mahuuoy City, Shen andoah, M L. Carmel, Sbuiuokin ami I Pottsvillo. 12 14l> m lor Sandy Hun, White liaven, W likes-Bar re, seruuLun aud uli points 1 20 pin for Weutlierly, Muuch Chunk, Al ieiiLown, Bethlehem, Easton, Philudel piuu iinu New York. 4 42 i in tor Jiuzieton, Malianoy City, Slieu iiudouii, Mt. Carmel, sliaiuokiu and I'otisviile, Weuiherly, Muuch chunk, Ailentown, BcLliluheiu, Fusion, Phila delphia and New York. 0 34 1 iu for Sundy*ltun, White liaven, wiikes-iiurre, scran Lou una all points 7 29 p in for Huzieton, Malianoy City, Shen andouh, Ml. Carmel und Slianioaiu. AHHIVE AT KHEELAND. 7 40 a m from Weutlierly, Pottsville, Ash luiid, sheiiuudouu, Mahuuoy City and Huzieton. 9 17 a in troiu Philadelphia, Easton, Bethle hem, Alleiitowu, Muueli chunk, Weutli erly, Huzieton. Muhanoy City, Slienun douli, Mt. Carmel und Shuinokiii. 9 30 am troiu Seruutoii, W ilkes-Burre und White Haven. 12 14 p m from Pottsville, Slmmokin, Mt. Carmel, Shouandouh, Malianoy City aud Huzieton. 1 12 l> in troiu New York, Phihidelphia, Huston, Bethlehem, Alieutown, Muuch Chunk und Weutlierly. 4 42 0 34 |> in lroui New Y'ork, Philadelphia, Luston, Bethlehem, Ailentown, Potts ville, Shaniokin, Mt.. Carmel, Sheuan doali, Muhunoy City und Hi zletou 7 29 I' m from scranton, Wilkts-Barre and W Idle liaven. For lurther intormation inquire of Ticket Agents. ivuLLIN H.WILHUE, General Superintendent CorMandt street. New York Ciiv' CHAS. S. Lr.E, General Passenger Agcut lit! Cortlandt Street, New Y'ork Citv J* T. KEITII, Division Superintendent, Huzieton, l'a. THE DKLAWAUE, SUSQUEHANNA AND X HCUUYLKILL RAILROAD. Time table in effect April 18,1897 Truius leave brilton tor Jeudo, Kckley. Havln Brook, Stockton, Beaver Meadow Houd, Hoau and llazleton Junction at 5 30, tiUUaui du.iv except Sunday; and Ula.n, iij& p m, Sundav r# muV't, ve VV ,lon lor Harwood,Cranberry' 1 omiiickeu and Derinaer at 5 ;iU, 6UU a m daifv Okcopt Sunday; uud 7U3 a in, i3a p Sum ii^2ls!i l u #ve . D J ,rto P for Oneida Junction, day; and 703a m, 2 ,lh „ w \ sun&y P ' SU " _ ( ea ,r' e Wttatotoh J unction for Harwood. Cranberry, Tomhicken uud beringer utu3& a Sundiiy. " ICCPt SU " day: aud "''-""n, i pin" iJ.™'™ lel !j e O't/.leton Junction for Onclda Junction, Harwood ltoad, Humlioldt Hoad Oneida und Shepptou at B 02,111(1 a m. 4 41 S • Sunday? 0 SUDdßyi Hn " 787 Trains leave Deringor for Tomhlck -n Crn at°7& IBa4.',?rl',H,rFeto" 1 B a 4.',?r l ', H ,r Feto " Jnnntion aod •loan "mr%mp£, m s' u d ndl,yf looPt SUDda,; and : ' B7 iiZr?".'? '™ v <'jnepptou lor Onclda, Humboldt ltoad, Harwood ltoad. Onclda Junction H >l7 i I ton J unction and Kuan at 711 am ™'w S p ™'sunday oJtoePt Bu " dfty; and 8 " aml3 44 and V&Z p^.simdij?: 1 rains leave Huzieton Junction for Peaver Meadow ltoad, Stockton, Hazle lliook, Kcklcv Jeddo and lirlfton at 5 45, 620 pm uailV except Sunday; and 1010 a iu. 540p m, Sunday' Junction with nilla JI;,? ~ Hazletou, Jeaucsville, Audeu pauyas Mnc r pomts on the Traction Com- Trains leaving Drifton at 5 30, fl 00 a m make connection at llcriugcr with P. It, It. trains for west Sunbury, Harrisburg and mints For the accommodation of passengera at wav stations between Hazlctnu Juuctiou and Der trnln will leave the loimcr p„mtU UlEg^% p °S ept Bunday ' "rtving at LUTIIKK 0. SMITH. Superintendent,
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers