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SELECTED STORY.sattheand a big jackjcnifc picked his teeth wit merits, and wbMled Old dretWith him. aYoung Martin and Old Martin.Young Martin was the son of old Martin. Both were blacksmiths, and plied their trade in Tacktown, when there was any demand; when there was none, they among the iron bars in the shop, or„ timber threshold, “enjoyin’ toas they informed the passer-by-deatb doin’ nothin’.” . .. fIIlC, shirt-sleeves, OM Marlin lived *h££'!tung Marti,, and ivorc rusty Jparables. He jhis reflective mo- | with it when lively. everlasting talker, andrW-with extreme good nature, lie was a benefit—to please, amaze, or instruct. At uiddle age he was seized with a mission, though he did not call it so—packed his goods, and with his family moved to New London, distant fifty miles. In five years he returned as unexpectedly as he went, unlocked his front door, made a fire of chips, hung over the tea-kettle, and sat diwn before it a happy man; and his soul hugged the forsaken Lares and Penates. Anny, his wife, sat dumb in a corner, takin* a vig irous pinch ol snuff. a“Anny,” said old Martin, “declare for’t; if you can tell me whatever we went away for, I, for one, shall be obleeged to you.” “Needn t be under ony obligations to me. l am t the one to calkilate the ways of Providence/*Those five ears of absence, so to speak, were the battle-ground of old Martin’s tremendous hair-breadtli stories—concerning the lnjun9, the English men of-war, the troubles in the Revolution, and the rise and progress, sir, of the first families in New London. Young Martin at tliL time was twenty-two—slight, pale, with thin fair hair and a Lei:His* jhin; but he had kind, honest eyes, and a strong manly voice. Somehow, no one doubted his good sense and good feeling. Those who laughed at him, remembering his old whittling tricks, and his lolling against door-posts, or the fence, began to hear, and believe, that he was something more than a lazy mechanic. Tacktown had advanced; there was more work to do, and it was soon comprebended that young Martin “bossed” old Martin. About this time he added to his vocabulary of wonderful tales—“What his •on could do’’—“What they had thought on him when they were obleeged to leave Ne v London at dead o’ night. Martin was in such demand—plague on them New Londoners. ” Anny also doled her praise day and night. She flitted from neighbor to neighbor after dark, like a fat, gray owl, or stood at her porch door of mornings clacking like a motherly hen. “As good a cretur a9 ever trod in ■hoe leather” was Martin! She told the man that came along with quinces und fall turnips that she knew he wasn’t as pretty as a pictur, but the marrer on him was good. When he had the scarlet fever, she thought the Lord had called for him; but she believed the warm baths had saved him, though he was a runt of a boy.People were attracted by old Martin’9 manner. He was itrangely silent, yet he ap-pe:\red on the poiut of bursting; he winked and nodded, went from store to store, moving his head from side to side, and making mysterious grimaces, as if some moment was at hand when everybody would be astonished. His secret was revealed the day the frame of a new shop was raised below the ship-yard on the shore. How he trotted up and down the one main street of Tacktown, where all the ■tores were, and all the horses tied, and the oxen swinging through with their various loads!“My son did that,” he made everybody hear, pointing to the frame. “How New Loudon has missed it! But, Lord, they couldn’t keep him! And Tacktown is going to be a big place.” Old Martin’s spectacles were dim with pride and joy.“Poob, sir,” he cried into anybody’s face that was nearest, “I ain’t going to give up yet. Martin, says he to me, says he, ‘father, Taint necessary for you to give another blow to the anvil. Cut up your leather apron to meucthe jints in the hen-house door, or the pig-sty.* But I’m as capable as ever; I won’t eat my son's earnings yet.To describe Anny's satisfaction oyer the new shop would be impossible—that new shop, with stone walls and a belfry on top! She jerspired with acute joy, and wiped her face till she believed she had the “chaps.” No matter who went by, she was ready; with the air of an orator who fixes his eyes on a distant audience, she began and continued, the motto in her mind, or rather its spirit, being that Martin must he a living remembrance to everybody.“Never did I consider Martin a forrard child; but I ain’t surprised that be should come out at the big end of the horn at last. He ain't a bright and shining light anywhere, as I knows on; but ha’ massy, do you think that there Edgar Willis can hold a candle to him. for vartu and goodness to his parents?” The shop was finished. Old Martin tied on his apron daily, and hectored the two apprentices with great comfort to himself. lie knew in his heart of hearts that young Martin was the king pin; but it solaced him to play at authority with the boys, and tbe country folks who came to the shop to have a tire mended, or a horse shod. What discourses on New London horse-shocs he gave, hammer in hand, and the bind leg of a horse! Young Martin busied himself with greater things. He was fortunate enough to«lease the first merchant in Tacktown, who ad had his ship-work doue elsewhere till uow. Chains, bolts, and alia ship 8 iron gear, he engaged of Young Martin, considering old Martina doosed fool, and quite in the young man’s way. But he was compelled, in spite of himself, to compare young Martin’s filial obedience with that of his own son—the gay Edgar Willis, the beau par excellence of Tacktown. Young Martin was not particularly respectful to his father, in words, but perfectly so in feeling and manner.“There, old man,” ho often said, “dry up yoursass; you make me sick” —accompanying these words with a pleasant smile, and a tap 011 old Martin’s back, which, if the old man had been a Frenchman, would have made him bestow a kiss on young Martin's face. Sometimes, when he thought the old man tired, he said, “Go home, dad, and tell mother I« want a short-cake for supper; you’ve been in the shop long enough. W ash up, you are as black as the ace of spades; and if you ain’t white we can’t go to Mrs. Willis’s party to-night.” Which was a great Joke, as they were not invited.Old Martin's “Ho, ho,” and “Ha, ha,” would last him the way home. Philosophers might take a lesson from the conduct of this foolish old pair, so devoutly believing in young Martin’s hope of tbe short-cake supper.“Father, I’ve a mine to cut into a ham. It is sharp to-day; he may have an edge to his appetite.”“Well, Anny, if you’ll brile it; otherwise ’tain’t worth while to cut into a whole ham.”“See here, now. My quince jelly—I do believe you have moat forgot the taste of that. Besides, they tell me it is sovereign good to clear tbe throat. Singing-scliool to-night, you know.”“Talking about a Tacktown band, they be. Where's my old fiddle?”“Sho, old man.”“I wai. going ou to say, added old Mar-tin, testily, when you must needs put your oar in—that Martin might like it.”“No, indeed; he is going to blow on something—-an offglide, I think he said.”“Why, they had ’em in New London as thick as blackberries, a blowing away at one time’ man and boy, like—like anythiug.” “Now, father,” said the cunning Anny, “Martin might not like to hear of their being ■oplenty; for, say9 he to me, ‘Mother, I don't know what folks will say when my instrument comes from Boston!”“You don’t say,” answered old Martin, delighted. “Of course it won’t do to say a word; and inind your eye, old woman—clack Is clack.”But the next day old Martin was afflicted with another mystery, which broke like a boil when the stage-drivcr handed from his box a huge bundle in green flannel to young Martin, who was in waiting. It contained an opbicleide—a dreadful instrument—but it filled old Martin’s soul with awe and delight.“What ails you, faTier?” asked young Martiu. “You look as if you had catched something.”“Do let it out, Martin.”And Martin did, as full of secret delight as his father was of noisy rejoicing.The band was formed, aud after a summer's practice it played one quickstep, a march, and a Fisher's hornpipe; it they went ^nter quarters, to learn cotillion music, it was a sight to behold young Mar-nTiAT^o\lis °Phicleide; as he was a slight,reminded °ne aHewas vc*ryin-riiUhfl at v practice, playing oir-niwdhilr. ■**• in his ‘ittle room,werefearful. Ui^koo of ‘“nontAuny that sho tied a thief her ears, pretending she had the eawh hut old Martin was game to tile bSone’- he kept time with a triumphant mien. 2thou5h he could not tell one tune from another A^ii ny noticed that he was apt to go to bed in a hurried way on the nights young Martin played at home, and. contrary to his wont, buried his head beneath the bed-clothes, which proceeding made him snore so, that one night, Anny, driven wild, exclaimed, “Why, father you beller like the off—pigs,and I wish you wouldn't.”It seemed to her then as if the bed-clothes shook—or was it the vibration of the walls? for that night it was a dreadful “storm andstress period with young Martin. He wasovercoming Hull’s Victory!” From the window outside he was watched by a pair of irreverent young persons, who gave him up for lost, declaring him to be floored, after some involuntary escape of sound. Little did he know who was outside, The girl lieWith a °H ia»‘ complexion, an aquiline nose.■I? wrkcvcs, a cleai voice, and a gay !)rliph • a violent contrast to him erery way. imfwas the duuifhtlier of a rich farmer, who Uvpd on Tacktown Neck, three miles from the village, so secluded a place that when Matilda r ime up to the Shore, as the village was called, she telt a metropolitan excitement; there was zest in ch irch-going anti singing-scliool; and a stray lecture, or a dance, was just absolute satisfaction. Youug Martin had ahvavs known her, or thought so, till she burst 'in upon all his awakened senses one night at the^.,SlrWehad never ^dressed a word to iler, She knew him quite a? well.hn? m ever bestowed a thought upon him! but many a laugh and alas’ did he but \VdU ’ Was.n,0' toughing at him. Edgari n hcr» and ho was making him-sell witty at youag Martin's expense. The nouse stood in the angle of two streets; there was a yard in front, with a picket fence round it. The side street was a dark, crooked road, with houses scattered along it. and ending in a broad field which had that very afternoon been the scene of the performance of a traveling circus, attended by Matilda. The wagons were now loading, and from time to lime one of them thundered by, and turning the sharp corner by old Martin's bouse, passed through the main street fronting the harbor, anil so out of the village. There had been some fighting among the men, and much savage swearing over the heavy loading of the wagons, till the proprietor who happened to he partially intoxicated, lost patience, He struck with his whip at one of the drivers, who Instantly jumped into his seat, and, swearing he would take no more on, lashed his horses into a gallop along the road. The proprietor sprang into his buggy, and dashed after him, with the intention of stopping his wagon. Martin heard the noise, opened bis window and rati down stairs. As short as the distance was between tbe door and the gate of the little yard, he never forgot the scene. 1 he harbor below the street lay white in moonlight, its silver sheet unruffled by a single breeze. A wagon lurched round the corner, and rolled by. ne beard a scream, and saw a figure flying over tbe fence—safe inside,—Edgar Willis,—then be saw a buggy swaying toward Matilda; he cried out in terror, seized her in his arms and almost threw her over the fence toward Edgar. Then he picked up the proprietor, who was thrown out, but not nearly so much injured as his carriage and horse were. Anny came to the door iu perturbation, and begged everybody to come right in, while old Martiu hardly awake to tbe state of things, murmured that he guessed New London would liave something to answer for arter this. Edgar Willis declined, muttered something about attend ing to the proprietor, and, clad to be intimate with a celebrated man, offered him liis services. Matilda, wondering whether young Martin had observed his cowardice, could not help altering a proverb for his benefit. “I have heard,” she said “about people laughing on the wrong side of their mouth, and now 1 ain going to laugh on the right side of the fence.”“I thought the wagon fellow did not see us and I sprang over without knowing it hardly, Matilda. I could have helped you; but, good gracious, you never could have expected me to lift your weight over the fence. I am not a blacksmith.That speech killed all the riches and family position of the Willis family forever with Matilda. She turned to Anny, young Martin still standing beside her in silence, and, as Edgar Willis walked slowly down the street, said, “I will go in, Mrs. Pell, for a few minutes. I think your son must be used up, trying to put me over the tence. You did it like lightning,” turning her face toward him.“You see, my son strikes when the iron is hot,” said old Marttn. “IIe did so when he was in New London.” Young Martin put his hand on his father’s shoulder; the gesture was enough,—old Martin was mum from that moment.“Mother,” asked young Martin, “can’t you give Miss North wood some refreshment?“Oh I am so put by! Wliat will you have —a cup of tea?”“Nothing in the world, thank you. Do you suppose that my brother William will hear anything from Mr. Willis, and bring the wagon for me ? I expected to meet him at Mrs. Miller's about this time.”“Martiu might go round with you,” said Anny. “I am afraid yonr folks way down on the Neck will worry if you are late. I should worry, if I had such a darter out all alone.” The sharp old woman looked at young Martin. and he knew that then and there she had divined his hopeless secret. Matilda, also, intercepted these dances, and was astonished and disturbed, Was a circus man to be thrown out of his buggy at Mr. Pell's door, that she might discover a secret impossible to learn otherwiseb What did it mean ? Young Martin, too was miserably flustered; he had a painful sense of his mean home, the homeliness of his mother, the commonness of his father. Not in this fashion would he have selected to make Matilda’s acquaintance. A shade tell upon them all. Old Martin got up for his pipe, also embarrassed. Young Martin, telling him to sit still, found it, and held a match for him to light it. Well, it was somtthing to see this little fellow so gentl», and through goodness so refined, Matilda thought, rising to go. She held her hand out to Mrs. Pell, and then kissed her. There were tears in Matilda’s eyes; why, no mortal could guess.* Shall I wait upon you to Mrs. Miller’s*’ asked Martin, simply.“If-vou please.”And the pair walked down the yard. Mrs. Pell saw with a kind of dismay that Matilda’s bonnet was just above young Martin's flat cap. “I wish, father, he had on his tall hat,” she said. Old Martin pounded his knee with his fist, and broke his pipe.“Lord, I used to smash pipes in New London. But it’s no use, Anny, we ain’t high enough up in the world for them North woods. Martin must have blowed out his wits with that darned offclide; he has gone from one big thing to another, and now it he ain’t trying te reach up to that six-foot gal.”“I’ll tell you what he's got to. He put that gal over our fence when he thought she was in danger, when that Edgar Willis jumped ever, and left her behind him.Old Martin’s cup was full. He could say nothing, but stared at the fire till Anny lx-gan to be alarmed. Then lie said, solemnly, “Suppose I go there.”“Where upon artb, father?”“To New London, to tell ’em this ccrcum-stanee, you know. There was a man there who used to advise me on jest sick pints.” Auny put old Martin to bed at once, with a spoonful of picra and gin, and he was himself the next day.Matilda shook hands with young Martin at the Millers’ door, and saying the simplest thing she could coujurc up, told him that but for his impulse that nielit she might have been much farther off—and showed him the skirt of her dress; there wa* a rent in it which turned him cold to look at.“Yes,” he replied, “I thought the horse was bearing down on you when I caught you. Oh, heavens!” and he clapped his hands together with passion—“I am all gratitude.— But you mustn’t thank me. Yes you may— but i only did what I ought to have done for anv helpless person.”“And Edgar Willis?”“He is not a blacksmith, and is to be excused.” This was Martin’s first sarcasm.“Well, good night”—and Matilda put out her hand again; she only felt the very tips of his fingers, and could not decide whether his hand was rougher than her father's. She was silent on the way home; her brother entertained her witli an accouut of the circus trouble and upset. lie had seen Edgar Willis with the man that bad been turned out of his buggy, and he could not tell which boked the most scared.The world weut on the same afterward. Martin drove work like the very old chepi, old Martin remarked to Anna; but be fell off on his musical evenings, appearing restless of nights, and went about more. One night be brought home a bran new'suit of clothes, with a blue neck-tie, and told his mother that he had joined the Cotillion party. Every week there was to be one, and lie had engaged to play the band alternate weeks; the other nights he should go on the floor.“Now who was that plaguy chap in New London.” said old Martin, musingly—“who used to cut such trcmenjis pigeon-wings ?” “Martin,” said his mother, sadly, “I almost wish father and I had stayed in New London; it might have forraded your plans, and you been the better for it. I feel as il we was your drawbacks—and how conld we help being poor ignorant creeturs ? And oh. Martiu, I see as how you are eddicating yourself; we did not think of doing so, and I don’t know how to make things out.”“You see,” interpolated old Martin, “he has got stamini, and status, and a sinking fund of character, which we haven't.”“Never you mind, old man—got bacca, haven’t you? Smoke it. Mother, jist go right ou helping me. It’s all right, I tell you. Where’s my,biled shirt?”Unfortunately, at the first party Martin played, perched upon the little platform behind one fiddle, a clarionet, and a flute, he looked very small and his dreadful instrument very large. It was remarked how very mildly young Martin played that night. Somebody told Matilda Northwood that he was staring his head off at her.“My,” exclaimed another, “if the musicians are going in for staring, Tilly will have conniptions.”4,By no means,” calmly replied Matilda, turning her full regards upon Marlin, who did not happen to be playing at that momeuL Jlis quiet, lair face was flushed, and his fair hair, brushed otf his forehead, was curly with he heat. He was dressed like a gentleman too; she ‘bought bis dreM as wel' fitting Ai that ot Edgar Willis, though the tailors were not the same. Martin shivered at her glance, then he looked back and gave her a grave bow in return for hers. Ho was melancholy, and reflected upon what his mother had said; it was all true. The only way her father (meaning MatildaT) would allow him to approach her would be with money, andby tbe time lie had earned enough, somebodye'lf, tt04 More than once?h»t hi! 19 direct'on, and perceived, 'VaB“ot inbis playing Ho was S -v °.m ber; bo ni‘giit burst intoaars it he did, she looked so pretty aud he was so tar from her. She danced every set, ot course. Once, when the company was marching round the hall, she cauie with her partner close to the side of the platform, and stood for a moment near him. He heard her say that she was tired, and warm, and didn’t think it was so very pleasant after all. Martin felt so comforted that a great gulp camein his throat, so loud that the Flute looked at him, and asked if that ’ere offclide wasn’t pulling him down.“Shut up, you fool,” answered Martin, “or I’ll pitch you headlong into the middle ot the next dance.”Matilda heard this, and she felt better, too. She admired pluck, and every time she came near this little tellow he gave her an instance of it.The second party young Martin joined as a dancer. Nobody knew where he had learned to dance at all; but no man went through hla pacrs with more grace.“lie learned on the anvil, and old Martin made him dance on the hot iiou, I suppose,” sneered Edgar Willis.“Down in New London, maybe.” laughed another.“I wish.” said Matilda Northwood to Edgar Willis, “that Martin Pell heard your speech; but there is no fence for you here.”4 Well, Tilly, if you are going to keep on punishing me I must bear it; a fellow can’t always control his nerves,” lie answered. “Your preserver is close by, I see; going to take him out?”Matilda wa stung. Martin kept aloof, and she understood that the advance must come from her. Martin was on the alert, and at a motion from her, he was bowing and asking her for the next set. It was an ordeal for him. Matilda was at the head of the hall, above the salt which divided those 4 who worked for their living,” and those who had money enough to live without actual labor. The male and female ancestor of every person in Tacktown was a laborer or tradesman of some sort; but there was not common sense enough for anybody to blow those airs away, till Matilda and young Martin did that night.“Whereshall we take our places?” asked Martin, very pale, and his lips shut so tigbi, and his eyes so determined, that Matilda’s heart beat with pleasure. She knew he could be tested.“At the head of the first set.”There they stood, the first couple on the floor—all eyes upon them. Matilda kept her face toward him, and smiled resolutely. Her spirit passed into his. lie yrcic. She was fluttering her fan carelessly.“Let me fan you,” he said, and took it from her, and no polite dandy could have flirted it with moie grace than our young Martin; he twirled it first before her face, and then bestowed a whiff upon hi9 own.“Well, I never!” gasped the lookers-on. “Should think his face would bum! Just like Matilda Northwood to amuse herself so.”But Edgar Willis did not agree to this; he felt she was in earnest. They were well aware, Matilda and Martin, that they were the objects of criticism. As the sets slowly formed, they ventured to look into each other's eyes. Martin’s face flushed, and he did not feel quite so self-possessed. Matilda went pale, but each knew that tbe look exchanged happiness. She wore a pretty bracelet.“How would you like to have me forge you one?” he asked, as she twisted it round 'her wrist.“I will wear it she ans vered.“What if it be of iron, audl could give you ornaments of no other sort?”“All the same.”“Oh, Matilda, be careful, I can bear but little.”She took the fan now, and somehow their hands touched.“Not from me, Martin? I might ask you to bear a great deal from me.”The tender accent of her voice was unmistakable. She kept her face concealed from the crowd with her handkerchief, aud Martin stood very near her, almost face to face; in fact, they were as much alone as if they were in the wilderness which blossoms as the rose. Th$ heart alone knows how to discover that matchless solitude where love is first revealed. Again he began, and so did the violins and flutes.4‘The other day, when I went over to Beg-liam for this suit of party clothes, I made a resolution. I put something in this vest pocket, and determined that if ever you would dance with me, 1 would offer it to you, and that if you refused me, I would never wear the suit, nor dance, again.”He was so nervous that he put his hand to his neck-tie, as if he would denude himself of the Ncssus apparel at once. Matilda was never so moved. Every demonstration that this obscure little young Martin made pleased her more and more. She slyly put out her hand to take his gift. It was a ring and he not only slipped it into her hand, but on her finger. It was a pretty ring, too,—an emerald circled with pearls.‘ You know what I mean,” he whispered. “How becoming your suit is,” she answer-ed; “do wear it. The next dance is yours— ‘Hull’s Victory’—and the next—“All, Matilda?”“Every one.”“Balancez!” shouted the conductor.—Frjm the Aldinefor June.HENRY CLEWS CO.”32 WALL STREET, NEW YORK, Offer for anlc a limited number of theFIRST MORTGAGE 7 PER CENT, CON VERTIBLE SINKING FUND GOLD BONDS— OF THE —Burlington, Cedar Rapids Minnesota Railway Line.At 90 and accrued intercut in currency.At which price they yield over 9 per cent., and are strongly recommended as aMnfc and Profitable Bn vestment.This Railway is a corporation organized under the Jaws of the State of Iowa, which is ihe moat prosperous State in the Northwest, being the only State in the Union fbre from ikbt. The Minnesota Division, running from Burlington, Iowa, to Austin, Minnesota, a distance of 200 miles, was completed in February, 1872. and earned during that year an average of 583,000 per month, being a monthly increase of $35,000 on the earnings of 1871. The earnings for 1873 arc estimated to exceed $1,500,000, or more than $125,000 ier month. The » iiwaukee Division, from Cedar Rapids to Postville, on the Milwaukee and St. Paul Railroad, a distance of 110miles, passes through one of the richest sections of the State of Iowa, aud furnishing an outlet to Milwaukee and the lakes.The Burlington, Cedar Rapids and Minnesota Railway bonds have been admitted to the New York Stock Exchange, and are dally dealt in and quoted on the official lists, thus furnishing dealers an advantage enjoyed by few of the new issues of Railway Bonds.The entire loan has been sold, except about $300,-000. which we now offer, to close it out.All marketable securities taken in exchange at current prices, without commission.For Bale in Portland byRobt. A. Bird,97 Exchange Street.up26dtfCity ot Portland.In Boai:i of Mayor and Aldermen, 1May 12, 1873. Jthree weeks successively, that this Board on Monday, the 2d day of dune next, at 7| o’clock, P. M., at the Alderman’s Room In the City Building, will lienr all parlies interested in the petition for Sewers in the following named streets:Middle street, from Free to Market Square.Spring street, from High to State street.Brown street, from Congress to Cumberland street. Deeriug stroet. from State to Avon street. Washington stroet, from Cumberland to Congress street.Mavo street, from Oxford to Cumberland street. Oxford street, from Anderson *o Washington street.St. .John street..And that thcrcaftervards this Board will determine and adjudge if public conveniences requires the construction of sewers in said si reels Read and passed.Attest: H. I. ROBINSON,Otcrk.A true copy,Attest: II. I. ROBINSON, City Clerk.myH-3waTs7lyma^sPatent Pure Dry Air Refrigerator]Tlie best and Only Reliable One in tlic market.IT is indlsj*ensable to Butchers, Provision dealers. Hotel Keepers. Grocers and Restaurants. Will save more than Its cost every Summer. Butchers who use it, In its best form, will soon find their meats recommendod by their customers. The Internal arrangement is such that a curront ot cold air U kept constantly moving over the contents of the Rcfriger-aU)r;T Patent »P°n this has been fully tested in the U. S. Courts and its validity established In eighteen cases.For LICENSE, RIGHTS, c., apply toSCOTT D. JORDAN,AOENT FOR A1AINE,No. 2 Park Street or No. 80 Middle St.,to wtarm aft applications should be made, and who has full power to settle infringement/I. mchleodt/ELIAS H0TESewing MachinesANDBUTTERICK’SPatterns of GarmentsJan I 73 ttPLUMMER A WILDER173 Middm St.. Up 8Uirs.Sanford’s Improved Refrigerators.The three points ol excellenco which I claim, are, 1st, constant and thorough circulation of pure air: 2nd; rvness. no dampness monld nor taint; 3rd; no lute-mingling of odorn; purity and active air, the elements of Its success. Call, or send for circulars.Manufactured and for sale by J. F. MERRILL, between Cross and Colton sts., near Leavitt, Burnham « Lo.s Ice House. Portland. Me. je5dtfT\T1TC1 SOUTHWARK CO’S JLll JVi5 Ink writes Black and iiT, . Agcn BtorU.S.-Sc 55 Beckman St., N. Y.English \-- never fad SCUKKCK 1
Newspaper Details
Portland Daily Press
Portland, Maine, US
Sat, May 24, 1873
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MA, USA 02 Jan 2022
Other Publications Near Portland, Maine
The Portland Gazette
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Portland Sunday Telegram and Sunday Press Herald
