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4 ft '1' 'V I When Knighthood \l Was In Flower Or, The Love Story of Charles Brandon and Mary Tudor, the Kings Sister, I and Happening In the Reign of His August Majesty King *r Henry the Eighth Rewritten and Rendered Into Modern English From Sir Edwin Cas A koden's Memoir I By Edwin Caskoden [Charles Major] Copyright, 1898 and 1901, by the Bowen-Merrill Company *!**'V -I' CHAPTER XXContinued. We were barely settled at court in Paris when Mary began to put her plans in motion and unsettle things generally. I could not but recall Hen- Jane thought I had gone stark mad. ry's sympathy toward Louis, for the young queen soon took it upon herself to make life a burden to "the Father of His People," and in that particular line I suppose she had no equal in all the length and breadth of Christendom. I heartily detested King Louis, large ly, I think, because of prejudice ab sorbed from Mary, but he was, in fact, a fairly good old man, and at times I could but pity him. He was always soft in heart and softer in head, espe cially where women were concerned. Take his crazy attempt to seize the Countess of Croy while he was yet Duke of Orleans, and his infatuation for the Italian woman, for whom he built the elaborate burial vaultmuch it must have comforted her! Then his marriage to dictatorial little Anne of Brittany, for whom he had induced Pope Alexander to divorce him from the poor little crippled owlet Joan. In consideration of this divorce he had put Caesar Borgia, Pope Alexander's son, on his feet, financially and polit ically. I think he must have wanted tiie owlet back again before he was done with Anne, because Anne was a termagant and ruled him with the heaviest rod of iron she could lift. BHt this last passion, the flickering, sputtering flame of his dotage, was the worst of all, both subjectively and objectively, both as to his senile fond ness for the English princess and her impish tormenting of him. From the first he evinced the most violent delight in Mary, who repaid it by holding him off and evading him in a manner so cool, audacious and adroit that it stampedJ?er queen of all the arts fem inine and demoniac. Pardon me, la dies, if I couple these two arts, but you must admit they are at times some what akin Soon she eluded him so completely that for days he would not have a glimpse of her, while she was perhaps riding, walking or coquetting with some of the court gallants, who aided and abetted her in every way they could. He became almost frantic in pursuit of his elusive bride, and would expostulate with her, when he could catch her, and smile uneasily, like a man who is the victim of a prac tical joke of which he does not see or enjoy the point. On such occasions she would laugh in his face, then grow angrywhich was so easy for her to do and, I grieve to say, would sometimes almost swear at him in a manner to make the pious thouch ofttimes lax virtued court ladies shudder with hor ror. She would at other times make sport of his youthful ardor and tell him In all seriousness that it was indecorous for him to behave so and frighten her. a poor, timid little child, with his im petuosities. Then she would manage to give him the slip, and he would go off and play a game of cards with him self, firmly convinced in his own feeble way that woman's nature had a tinc ture of the devil in it. He was the soul of conciliatory kindness to the young vixen, but at times she would break violently into tears, accuse him of cru elly mistreating her, a helpless woman and a stranger in his court, and threat en to go home to dear old England and tell her brother, King Henry, all about it and have him put things to right and redress her wrongs generally. In fact, Bhe acted the part of injured innocence so perfectly that the poor old man would apologize for the wrongs she in vented and try to coax her into a good humor. Thereupon she would weep more bitterly than ever, grow hyster ical and require to be carried off by her women, when recovery and composureJ were usually instantaneous. Of course1 the court gossips soon carried stories of! the quick Recoveries to the king, and, when he spoke to Mary of them she! put on her injured air again and turned the tables by upbraiding him for be lieving such calumnies about her, who was so good to him and loved him so dearly. Mary would often pout for days to gether and pretend illness. Upon one occasion she kept the king waiting at her door all the morning, while she, having slipped through the window, was riding with some of the young peo ple in the forest. When she returned through the window she went to the door and scolded the poor old king for keeping her waiting penned up in her room all the morning. And he apol ogized! She changed the dinner hour to noon In accordance with the English cus tom, and had a heavy supper at night, when she would make the king gorge himself with unhealthful food and coax him "to drink as much as Brother Henry," which invariably resulted in Louis de Valois finding lodgment under the table. This amused the whole court except a few old cronies and physicians, who, of course, were scan dalized beyond measure. She took the king on long rides with her on cold days, and would jolt him almost to death and freeze him until the cold tears streamed down his poor pinched nose, making him feel like a half ani mated icicle and wish that he were one, in fact At night she would have her balls and keep him up till morning, drinking and dancing, or trying to dance, with her until his poor old heels, and hiss head, too, for that matter, were like to fall off then she would slip away from him and lock herself in her room December, say I, let May alone she certainly will kill you. Despite which sound advice, I doubt not December will go on coveting May up to the end of the chapter, each old fellowbeing such a fine man for his age, you under standfondly believing himself an ex ception. Age in a fool is damnable. Mary was killing Louis as certainly and deliberately as if she were feeding him slow poison. He was very weak and decrepit at best, being compelled frequently upon public occasions, such, for example, as the coronation tourna ment of which I have spoken, to lie upon a couch. Mary's conduct was really cruel, but then, remember the provocation, and that she was acting in self defense. All this was easier for her than you might suppose, for the king's grasp of power, never very strong, was begin ning to relax even what little grip it had. All faces were turned toward the rising sun, young Francis, duke of Angouleme, the king's distant cousin, who would soon be king in Louis' place. As this young rising sun, himself vast ly smitten with Mary, openly encour aged her in what she did, the courtiers of course followed suit, and the old king found himself surrounded by a court only too ready to be amused by his lively young queen at his expense. This condition of affairs Mary wel comed with her whole soul, and to accent it and nail assurance, I fear, played ever so lightly and coyly upon the heartstrings of the young duke, which responded all too loudly to her velvet touch and almost frightened her to death with their volume of sound later on. This Francis d'Angouleme, the dauphin, had fallen desperately in love with Mary at first sight, something against which the fact that he was married to Claude, daughter of Louis, in no way militated. He was a very distant relative of Louis, going away back to St. Louis for his heirship to the French crown. The king had daughters in plenty, but, as you know, the gallant Frenchmen say, according to their law salic, "The realm of France is so great and glorious a heri tage that it may not be taken by a woman." Too great and glorious to be taken by a woman, forsooth! France would have been vastly better off had she been governed by a woman now and then, for a country always pros pers under a queen. Francis had for many years lived at court as the recognized heir, and, as the custom was, called his distant cous in Louis "Uncle." "Uncle" Louis in turn called Francis "Ce Gros Garcon," and Queen Mary called him "Monsieur, mon beau fils," in a mock motherly manner that was very laughable. A mother of eighteen to a "good boy" of twenty-two! Dangerous relationship! And dangerous indeed it would have been for Mary had she not been as pure and true as she was willful and impetuous. "Mon beau fils" allowed neither his wife nor the respect he owed the king to stand in the way of his very marked attention to the queen. His position as heir and his long resi dence at court, almost as son to Louis, gave him ample opportunities for press ing his unseemly suit. He was the first to see Mary at the meeting place this side of Abbeville, and was the king's representative on all occasions. "Beau fils" was rather a handsome fellow, but thought himself vastly handsomer than he was, and had some talents, which he was likewise careful to estimate at their full value, to say the least. He was very well liked by women, and in turn considered himself irresistible. He was very impression able to feminine charms, was at heart a libertine, and, as he grew older, be came a debauchee whose memory will taint France for centuries to come. Mary saw his weakness more clearly than his wickedness, being blinded to the latter by the veil of her own inno cence. She laughed at and with him, and permitted herself a great deal of his companyso much, in fact, that I grew a little jealous for Brandon's sake, and, if the truth must be told, for the first time began to have doubts of her. I seriously feared that when Louis should die Brandon might find a much more dangerous rival in the new king, who, although married, would probably try to keep Mary at his court even should lie be driven to the extreme of divorcing Claude as Claude's father had divorced Joan. I believed, in case Mary should vol untarily prove false and remain in France either as the wife or the mis tress of Francis, that Brandon would quietly but surely contrive some means CHAPTER XXI. LETTERS FROM A QUEEN. THE PRINCETON TTKIOy: THTJBSPAT, JULY 9, 1903. te take her life, and I hoped he would. I spoke to my wife, Jane, about the queen's conduct, and she finally admit ted that she did not like it, so I, unable to remain silent any longer, determined to put Mary on her guard, and for that purpose spoke very freely to her on the subject "Oh, you goose!" she said laughingly. "He is almost as great a fool as Hen- ry." Then the fears came to her eyes, and half angrily, half hysterically] hhaking me by the arm, she continued: "Do you not know? Can you not see that I would give this hand or my eyes almost my life, just to fall upon my face in front of Charles Brandon at this moment? Do you not know that a woman with a love in her heart such as I have for him is safe from every one and everything that it is her sheet anchor, sure and fast? Have you not wit enough to know that?" "Yes, I have," I responded, for the time completely silenced. With her fa vorite tactics she had, as usual, put me in the wrong, though I soon came again to the attack. "But he is so base that I grieve to see you with him." "I suppose he is not very good," she responded, "but it seems to be the way of these people among whom I have fallen, and he cannot harm me." "Oh, but he can! One does not go near smallpox, and there is a moral contagion quite as dangerous, if not so perceptible, and equally to be avoid ed. It must be a wonderfully healthy moral nature, pure and chaste to the core, that will be entirely contagion proof and safe from it." She hung her head in thought and then lifted her eyes appealingly to me. "Am I not that, Edwin? Tell me! Tell me frankly am I not? It is the one thing of good I have always striven for. I am so full of other faults that if I have not that there is no good in me." Her eyes and voice were full of tears, and I knew in my heart that I stood before as pure a soul as ever came from the hand of God. "You are, your majesty never doubt," I answered. "It is pre-emi nently the one thing in womanhood to which all mankind kneels." And I fell upon my knee and kissed her hand with a sense of reverence, faith and trust that has never left me from that day to this. As to my estimate of how Francis would act when Louis should die, you will see that I was right. Not long after this Lady Caskoden and I were given permission to return to England, and immediately prepared for our homeward journey. As we left Mary placed in my hands a letter for Brandon, whose bulk was so reassuring that I knew he had never been out of her thoughts. I looked at the letter a moment and said, in all seriousness, "Your majesty, had I not better provide an extra box for it?" She gave a nervous little laugh, and the tears filled her eyes as she whisper ed huskily: "I fancy there is one who will not think it too large. Goodby, goodby!" So we left Mary, fair, sweet girl queen, all alone among those ter rible strangers. Alone with one little English maiden, seven years of age, Anne Boleyn. PON our return to England 1 left Jane down in Suffolk with her uncle, Lord Boling broke, having determined never to permit her to come within sight of King Henry again if I could prevent it I then went up to London with the twofold purpose of seeing Brandon and resigning my place as master of the dance. When I presented myself to the king and told him of my marriage, he flew into a great passion because we had not asked his consent. One of his whims was that every one must ask his permission to do anythingto eat or sleep or say one's prayers, especially to marry, if the lady was of a degree entitled to be a king's ward. Jane, fortunately, had no estate, the king's father having stolen it from her when she was an infant so all the king could do about our marriage was to grumble, which I let him do to his heart's con tent. "I wish also to thank your majesty for the thousand kindnesses you have shown me," I said, "and, although it grieves me to the heart to separate from you, circumstances compel me to tender my resignation as your master of dance." Upon this he was kind enough to express regret and ask me to reconsider, but I stood my ground firmly, and then and there ended my official relations with Henry Tudor for ever. Upon taking my leave of the king 1 sought Brandon, whom I found com fortably ensconced in our old quarters, he preferring them to much more pre tentious apartments offered him in an other part of the palace. The king had given him some new furnishings for them, and, as I was to remain a few days to attend to some matters of busi ness, he invited me to share his com fort with him, and I gladly did so. Those few days with Brandon were my farewell to individuality. There after I was to be so mysteriously in termingled with Jane that I was only a part and a small part at that I fear of two. I did not, of course, regret the change, since it was the one thing in life I most longed for, yet the period was tinged with a faint sentiment of pathos at parting from the old life that had been so kind to me and which I was leaving forever. I say I did not regret it and, though I was leaving my old haunts and companions and friends so dear to me, I was finding them all again in Jane, who was friend as well as wife. Mary's letter was in one of my boxes which had been delayed, and Jane was to forward it to me when it should come. When I told Brandon of it I dwelt with emphasis upon its bulk, and he, of course, was delighted and impatient to have it I had put the letter in tke box, but there was some thing els which Mary had sent to him that I had carried with me. It was a sum of money sufficient to pay the debt against his father's estate and, in ad dition, to buy some large tracts of land adjoining. Brandon did not hesitate to accept the money and seemed glad that it had come from Mary, she, doubt less, being the only person from whom he would have taken it. One of Brandon's sisters had mar jried a rich merchant at Ipswich, and another was soon to marry a Scotch gentleman. The brother would prob ably never marry, so Brandon would eventually have to take charge of the estates. In fact, he afterward lived there many years, and, as Jane and I had purchased a little estate near by, which had been generously added to by Jane's uncle, we saw a great deal of him. But I am getting ahead of my story again. The D'Angouleme complication trou bled me greatly, notwithstanding my faith in Mary, and although I had re solved to say nothing to Brandon about it, I soon told him plainly what I thought and feared. He replied with a low, contented lit tle laugh. "Do not fear for Mary. I do not. That young fellow is of different stuff, I know, from the old king, but I have all faith in her purity and ability to take care of herself. Before she left she promised to be true to me, what ever befell, and I trust her entirely. I am not so unhappy by any means as one would expect. Am I? And I was compelled to admit that he certainly was not So it seems they had met, as Jane and I suspected, but how Mary manag ed it I am sure I cannot tell. She beat the very deuce for having her own way, by hook or by crook. Then came the bulky letter, which Brandon pounc ed upon and eagerly devoured. I leave out most of the sentimental passages, which, like effervescent wine, lose fla vor quickly. She said, in part: To Master Brandon: Sir and Dear Friend. GreetingAfter leaving thee, long time had I that mighty grief and dole within my heart that it was like to break, for my separation from thee was so much harder to bear even than I had taken thought of, and I also doubted me that I could live in Paris, as I did wish. Sleep rested not upon my weary eyes, and of a very deed could I neither eat nor drink, since food distasted me like a nausea and wine did strangle in my throat. This lasted through my journey hither, which I did prolong upon many pretexts nearly two months, but when I did at last rest mine eyes for the first time upon this King Louis' face I well knew that I could rule him, and when I did arrive and had adjusted my self in this Paris I found it so easy that my heart leaped for very joy. Beauty goeth so far with this inflammable people that easily do I rule them all, and truly doth a servile subject make a sharp, capri cious tyrant. Thereby the misfortune which hath come upon us is of so much less evil and is so like to be of such short duration that I am almost happy, but for lack of thee, and sometimes think that after all It may verily be a blessing unseen. This new, unexpected face upon our trouble hath so driven the old gnawing ache out of my heart that I love to be alone and dream, open eyed, of the time, of a surety not far off, when I shall be with thee. it is ofttimes sore hard for me, who have never waited, to have to wait, like a patient Griselda, which of a truth I am not, for this which I do so want, but I try to make myself content with the thought that full sure it will not be for long, and that when this tedious time hath spent itself we shall look back upon it as a very soul school, and shall rather joy that we did not purchase our heaven too cheaply. I said I find it easy to live here as I wish, and did begin to tell thee how it was when I ran off into telling of how I long for thee, so I will try again. This Louis, to begin with, is but the veriest shadow of a man of whom thou needst have not one jealous thought. is on a bed of sickness most of the time, of his own ac cord, and if, perchance, he be but fairly well a day or so I do straightway make him ill again in one way or another, and, please God, hope to wear him out entirely ere long time. Of a deed, Brother Henry was right. Better had it been for Louis to have married a human devil than me, for it maket a very one out of me if mine eyes but rest upon him, and thou know est full well what kind of a devil I make. Brother Henry knoweth, at any rate. Fo all this do I grieve, but have no remedy nor want one. I sometimes do almost compassionate the old king, but I cannot forbear, for he turneth my very blood to biting gall, and must e'en take the conse quences of his own folly. Truly is he wild for love of me, this poor old man and the more I hold him at a distance the more he fondly dotes. I do verily believe he would try to stand upon his foolish old head did I but insist. I sometimes have a thought to make him try it. doeth enough that is senseless and ab surd, in all conscience, as it is. At all of this do the courtiers smile and laugh and put me forward to other pranksthat is, all but a few of the elders, who shake their heads, but dare do nothing else for fear of the dauphin, who will soon be king and who stands first in urging and abetting me. So it is easy for me to do what I wish, and above all to leave un done that which I wish not. for I do easily rule them all, as good Sir Edwin and dear Jane will testify. I have a ball every night wherein I do make a deal of amuse ment for every one by dancing a Volta with his majesty until his heels, and his poor old head, too, are like to fall off. Others importune me for those dances, especially the dauphin, but I laugh and shake my head and say that I will dance with no one but the king, because he dances so well. This pleases his majesty mightily and maket an opening for me to avoid the touch of other men, for I am jealous of myself for th sake, and save and garner every little touch for thee. Sir Edwin will tell you I dance with no one else and surely never will. You remember well, I doubt not, when thou first didst teach me this new dance. Ah, how delightful it was, and yet how at first it did frighten and anger me. Thou canst not know how my heart beat during all the time of that first dance. I thought, of a surety, it would burst, and then the wild thrill of frightened ecstasy that made my blood run like fire! I knew it must be wrong, for it was, in truth, too sweet a thing to be right. And then I grew angry at thee as the cause of my wrongdoing and scolded thee, and repented it, as usual. Truly didst thou conquer, not win, me. Then afterward, withal it so frightened me, how I longed to dance again, and could in no way stay myself from asking. At times could I hardly wait till evening fell, and when upon oc casion thou didst not come I was so angry I said I hated thee. What must thou have thought of me, so forward and bold! And that afternoon! Ah, I think of it every hour, and see and near it all and live it o'er and o'er, as it sweeter grows with memory's ripening touch. Some moments there are that send their glad ripple down through life's stream to the verge of the grave, and truly blest is one who can mile upon and kiss these memory waves and draw from thence a bliss that never fails but zhou knowest full well my heart, and I need not tease thee with Its out pourings. There is yet another matter of which I wish to write in very earnestness. Sir Edwin spoke to me thereof, and what he said hath given me serious thought. I thank him for his words, of which he will tell thee in full if thou but Importune him thereto. I Is this: Th dauphin, Francis d'Angouleme, hath fallen des perately fond of me and is quite as im portunate and almost as foolish as the elder lover. This people in this strange land of France have, in sooth, some curi ous notions. For an example thereto, no one thinks to find anything unseeming in the dauphin's conduct by reason of his having already a wife, and more, that wife the Princess Claude, daughter to the king. I laugh at him and let him say what he will, for in truth I am powerless to prevent it Words cannot scar even a rose leaf and will not harm me. Then, by his help and example, I am justified in the eyes of the court in that I so treat the king, which otherwise it were impossible for me to do and live here. So, however much I may loathe them, yet I am driven to tolerate his words, which I turn off with a laugh, making sure, thou mayest know, that it come to nothing more than words. And thus it is, however much I wish it not, that I do use him to help me treat the king as I like, and do then use the poor old king as my buckler against this duke's too great familiarity. But, my friend, when the king comeB to die, then shall I have my fears of this young Francis d'Angouleme. is desperate for me, and I know not to what length he might go. Th king cannot live long, as the thread of his life is like rotten flax, and when he dies thou must come with out delay, since I shall be in deadly peril. I have a messenger waiting at all hours ready to send to thee upon a moment's notice, and when he comes waste not a precious instant. I may mean all to thee and me. I could write on and on forever, but it would be only to tell thee o'er and o'er that my heart is full of thee to over flowing. I thank thee that thou hast never doubted me, and will see that thou hast hereafter only good cause for better faith. MARY, Regina. "Regina!" That was all. Only a queen! Surely no one could charge Brandon with possessing too modest tastes. It was, I think, during the second week in December that I gave this let ter to Brandon, and about a fortnight later there came to him a messenger from Paris, bringing another from Mary, as follows: Master Charles Brandon: Sir and Dear Friend, GreetingI have but time to write that the king is so ill he cannot but die ere morning. Thou know est that which I last wrote to thee, and in addition thereto I would say that al though I have, as thou likewise knowest, my brother's permission to marry whom I wish, yet as I have his one consent it is safer that we act upon that rather than be so scrupulous as to ask for another. So it were better that thou take me to wife upon the old one rather than risk the necessity of having to do it without any. I say no more, but come with all the speed thou knowest. MARY. It is needless to say that Brandon started in haste for Paris. He left court for the ostensible purpose of paying me a visit and came to Ipswich, whence we sailed. The French king was dead before Mary's message reached London, and when we arrived at Paris Francis I. reigned on the throne of his father-in law. I had guessed only too accurate ly. As soon as the restraint of the old king's presence, light as it had been, was removed, the young king opened his attack upon Mary in dreadful ear nest. He begged and pleaded and swore his love, which was surely manifest enough, and within three days after the old king's death offered to divorce Claude and make Mary his queen. When she refused this flatter ing offer, his surprise was genuine. "Do you know what you refuse?" he asked in a temper. "I offer to make you my wifequeen of 15,000,000 of the greatest subjects on earthand are you such a fool as to refuse a gift like that, and a man like me for a husband?" "That I am, your majesty, and with a good grace. I am queen of France without your help and care not so much as one penny for the honor. It is great er to be a princess of England. As for this love you avow, I would make so bold as to suggest that you have a good, true wife, to whom you would do well to give it all. To me it is noth ing, even were you a thousand times the king you are. My heart is anoth er's, and I have my brother's permis sion to marry him." "Another's? God's soul! Tell me who this fellow is that I may spit him on my sword!" "No, no! You would not. Even were you as valiant and grand as you think yourself, you would be but a child in his hands." Francis was furious, and had Mary's apartments guarded to prevent her es cape, swearing he would have his way. As soon as Brandon and I arrived in Paris we took private lodgings, and well it was that we did. I at once went out to reconnoiter, and found the widowed queen a prisoner in the old Palace des Tournelles. With the help of Queen Claude I secretly obtained an interview and learned the true state of affairs. Had Brandon been recognized and bis mission known in Paris he would certainly have been assassinated by order of Francis. When I saw the whole situation, with Mary nothing less than a prisoner in the palace, I was ready to give up without a struggle, but not so Mary. Her brain was worth having, so fer tile was it in expedients, and, while I was ready to despair, she was only getting herself in good fighting order. After Mary's refusal of Francis, and after he had learned that the sacrifice of Claude would not help him, he grew desperate and determined to keep the English girl in his court at any price and by any means. So he hit upon the scheme of marrying her to his weak minded cousin, the Count of Savoy. To that end he sent a hurried embassy to Henry VIII., offering, in case of the Savoy marriage, to pay back Mary's dower of 400,000 crowns. He offered to help Henry in the matter of the impe rial crown in case of Maximilian's death, a help much greater than any King Louis could have given. He also offered to confirm Henry in all his French possessions and to relinquish i mi i mi ilium I iiiiinii mi Great Northern Railway. ST. PAUL MINNEAPOLIS, PRINCETON AND DULUTH. GOING SOUTH. GOING NORTH. Leave. Duluth 6:45 Brook Park.. 9:30 Mora 9:50 Ogilvie 10:03 Milaca 10.25 Pease (f) 10:40 L. Siding(f). 10.50 Brickton (f).10:54 Princeton.... 11:00 Zimmerman. 11:15 Elk River.... 11: Anoka 12 Minneapolis. 12:40 Ar. St. Paul. 1. Leave. a.m. a.m. a.m. a.m. a.m. a.m. a.m. a.m. a.m. a.m. St. Paul 2 Minneapolis. 3 Anoka 3 Elk River.... 4 Zimmerman. 4 Princeton 4 Brickton (i). 4 L. Siding (f). 4 Pease (f).... 5 Milaca 5 Ogilvie 5 Mora 5 Brook Park. 6 Ar. Duluth 9 35 a.m. 00 a.m. p.m. 05 p.m. (f) Stop on signal. ST. CLOUD TRAINS. GOING WEST. Le. Milaca. Bridgeman. Ar. St. Cloud.... Le. St. Cloud. Bridgeman :35p.m 05 p.m, 45 p.m. 11 p.m. 29 p.m. 46 p.m. 51 p.m. 55 p.m. 05p.m 20p.m 41 p.m 54 p.m 15 p.m. :00 p.m. 10:25 a. 10:36 a. 11:23 a.m. GOING EAST. 4:20 p.m. 5.12 p.m. p. m. Ar Milaca 5:30 MILLE LACS COUNTY. TOWN CLERKS. Bogus BrookO E. Gustafson Princeton. BorgholmJ Heron Bock TreenbushR. A- Ross Princeton HaylandAlfred F. Johnson Milaca* Isle HarborOtto A. Haggberg Isle MilacaOle Larson Milaca MiloR. N. Atkinson Foreston PrincetonOtto Henschel Princeton RobbinsC. Archer Vineland South HarborEnos Jones Cove East SideGeo. W. Freer Opstead OnamiaArthur Wiseman Onamia PageAugust Anderson Page VILLAGE RECORDERS. J. M. Neumann Foreston W. Goulding .Princeton H. Foss Milaca NEIGHBORING TOWNS. BaldwinH. B. Fisk Princeton Blue HillThomas E. Brown Princeton Spencer BrookG. C. Smith. Spencer Brook WyanettJ. A. Krave Wyanett LivoniaChas. E. Swanson Lake Freemont PRICES OF THE Princeton Roller Mills ail Eleyator, Wheat, No. 1 Northern.. Wheat, No. 2 Northern.. Corn Oats .80 78 .50 34 RETAIL. Vestal, per sack $2.35 Flour, (100 per cent) per sack 2.25 Banner, per sack 1.85 Ground feed, per cwt 1 20 Coarse meal, per cwt. 1.15 Middlings, per cwt 1.05. Shorts, per cwt 9. Bran, per cwt |g5 All go'ods delivered free anywhere in Princeton. FRATERNAL. LODGE NO. 92, A & A M. Regular communications,2d and 4th Wednesday of each month. B. D. GRAN T, W. M. A. B. CHADBOURNE, Sec'y. PRINCETON-:- LODGE, NO. 93, K. of Regular meetings every Tuesday eve ning at 8 o'clock. C. W. VANWORME H, C. C. OSCAR PETERSO N, K. R. & S K. O. T. M., Tent No. 17. Regular meetings every Thurs day evening at 8 o'clock, in the Maccabee hall. W. G. FREDRICK S, Com. N. M. NELSON. R. K. Hebron Encampment. No. 42,1.0.O. F. Meetings, 2nd and 4th Mondays at 8 o'clock p. H. M. C. SAUSSER, C. P. D. W. SPAULDING, S. W. Jos. CRAIG, Scribe. PRINCETON LOD GE NO. 208,1. O. O. Regular meetings every Fridav evening at 7:80 o'clock. J. LOWELL, N. G. M. JAAX, R. Sec. PRINCETON CAMP, M. W. A., No. 4032. Regular meetings 1st and 3rd Saturdays of each month, at 8.00 p. M., in the hall at Brick yards Visiting members cordially invited. NED KELLET, V. C. J. ZIMMERMAN. Clerk. I Dr. C. F. Walker's Dental Parlors now located in the $ Oddfellow's new building, where Dr. Walker will attend to his Princeton appointments from the 1st to 20th of each month. In Cambridge 21st to 28th of each month. office over Gouldberg & Anderson's store 4 Old Papers for sale at the UNION of fice for 25c per 100. Just the thing for carpets and house-cleaning. \i 1 1 1 1 16'