Lewistown gazette. (Lewistown, Pa.) 1843-1944, February 20, 1867, Image 5
ALLE LEUTE SOLLEN DIESEN V orsets Lesen. Everybody Should Read This a sii?® inmost* . As people will buy where good goods are sold cheap, and, as large sales at small pro fits afford satisfactory pay for labor, time and attention, we have determined to soil oar now stocks of PRINTS, MUSLINS, &C., just received, at the VERY LOWEST LIVING PRICES, thus insuring the trade and good will of our friends, and offering inducements to all peo ple to trade with us, We have just opened the beßt and most beautiful styles of prints we have ever han dled from 12J to 20 cents, Unbleached Muslin, from 15 upward, Bleached " " 1G " Our stock of FRENCH MERINOS, All- Wool De Laiues, All-Wool Plaids, we will close out at COST. Our large stock of Flannels, will be run off at a very low figure. Large Stock of Balmorals & lloop Skirts. Full assortment of ladies' Dress Trimmings, Buttons, Velvet Ribband, Ruffiiugs, Tape, Trimmings, &c. 100 Breakfast Shawls worth $3.00 will bo sold at $2 00. Gents' Goods. Cloths, Cassimeres, Satinets, Jeans, &c. t will be closed out at the very lowest figures. Gents' Merino. Wool Shirts and Drawers from SI.OO to $4 00. Carpet Chain and Woolen Yarn at lowest figures. Groceries. Sugar, from 10 to 1G cents, Coffee, (Rio) from 28 to 33 " Syrup, (tip-top) 25 " Spices, Raisins, Dried Peaches, Currants, Apples, Cherries, &c., constantly on hand. TUBS, BASKETS, BUCKETS, BROOMS, . BRUSHES &c., &c. ' A full line of Queens-ware, at lowest cash prices. The Fnllest Assortment of FANCY GOODS in the County. Fancy Soaps, Perfumery, Pocket Wallets, NICK-NACKS AND JIM-CRACKS, everything the gent, lady or child may desire. Dobbins' and all other kinds of Soap. Kaighn'g Cattle Powder Celebrated Through ont the State. # A FULL, FRESH STOCK or NOTIONS AT WHOLESALE, to which the attention of Country Merchants is especially invited. Each buyer will be certain to get the worth of his money. Store room and warerooms on the corner af Valley and Mill streets, east of the Black Bear Hotel. PRATT, LAW & PRATT. Lewistown, January 30, 1867. SiPPIMIT TO THE Gazette. 'szmm AFTER THE "W-A.R- J. G. WHITTIKK. He sits beside her, bronzed, but young, Scarce seeming one day older Than when, five'years ago, he Hung A gun across his shoulder. The same broad brow and sunny hair,' The same frank, blue eyes smiling, The face without a shade of care, So earnest, yet beguiling. Unaltered, and yet changed, for bright Upon his breast is gleaming The star whose ever beck'ning light First set his spirit dreaming. Its golden glories rise and fall With each quick heart pulsation, And he is only one of all The brave ones of the nation. Unaltered, yet changed, for see Beneath the glittering spangles Where his young, strong right arm should be, An empty coat sleeve dangles. Thus, in the autumn afternoon, The blue mists slowly rising, They sit as in that by-gone June, When love first shunned disguising. His one hand holding fast her twain, The brave heart proudly swelling, As breathe the fervent lips again That tale so sweet in telling. . Unchanged? no, dearer for the star That has a hero named him: But dearer for the life-long scar, And the swift ball that maimed him. And if she sought the wide world through, Her heart could ne'er discover, Nor fancy suitor, half so true, As this, her one-armed lover. BY MBS. N. ROBINSON. CHAPTER I. The hour is midnight, and tho season summer. The lull, round moon smiled a tender, subdued smile upon the little, low-caved brown house, hedged in by roses, and covered with vines. It fell through tho open door in a broad sheet, and shone through the tossing vines, falling in silver patches among the shadows on the floor. There were two in the old browji house—an aged man with sunken checks and glaring eyes and snowy hair, resting upon a couch ; the other, a girl of sixteen, with long, black curls, eyes as brilliant as the stars and dark as a rayless night, and laco as pallid as the snow-white locks her slender fingers were smoothing so tenderly away from the wrinkled brow of her only parent. There was no light in the room other than that of tho moon; and a solemn, invisible Presence sat by the watcher and the watchod. The eyes of the girl failed not to road the unmistakable tokens presaging the coming of the Mes senger; and though her cheek blanched, and her heart quivered with anguish, she nover for a moment ceased those gentle ministrations to the sufferer. ' Maud !' It was the voice of the dying man. ' Here, dear father,' she replied, pressing the stiffening hand. ; Maud, lam going. Pvemember,dear, all that I have said to you. \ou havo now no friend to care for you. This poor shattered lrame can no longer stand between you and life's storms; but, child, remember that tho Father of all is your refuge. He will not forsako you, darling. l)o you hear mo, my daughter?' ' \ es,' sobbed the girl, and burying her head in her hands, sho cried : ' O, father ! father I' ' Don t, Maud! Bo strong. It is very beautiful whith er I am going. Maud, darling, make life glorious with good deeds. Aspire always. Be good and pure—bo bravo in all circumstances. God is your father now.' A long silence followed, broken only by the convulsive sobs of the bereaved daughter, who had thrown herself beside the dead, laying her head upon the bosom so fast turning to ice. Hours flow by, and the moon went over and stood in the west; deep shadows crept over the place on tho floor where its radiance fell, and darkness filled the apartment. Anson Arlington, who lay dead in tho brown house, had appeared a strange, taciturn man, to all save his child. Ho had come among tho simple farmers with Maud a babe in his arms, whence no one knew. He gently but firmly repelled all tboir advances toward form ing a more intimate acquaintance—rarely going out, and devoting himself to his child. A poor woman in tho vicinity prepared clbthing for little Maud, and came twice a week to wash, iron and bake, for which she was liberally remunerated. He adored his beautiful Maud, and surrounded her with everything in his power to render her noblo and womanly. Gifted by nature, and studying undor so loving an in structor, sho, at sixteen, fulfilled the rare promise of her girlhood; and at this period her only earthly friend was summoned away, leaving her the brown house r and gar den—a thousand sweet, tender memories—tho books they had' read together—and the education ho had given her; a legacy more precious than gold. Of her mother, Maud knew little. Sho had question ed her father respecting her, but the query brought such an expression of anguish upon the face she loved, that sho forebore. Sho only knew that the portrait of a pale, haughty woman, looking many years her father's junior, hanging in tho parlor, was that of tho parent whom she had never soeu. After the performance of the sad bori rites, au , down to think upon some course to pursue. The future looked "very dark to the orphan ; but it would not do to spend precious moments in use ess repining. She must act. Her last money had gone to t e ray the funeral expenses, and in some way she must procure a livelihood. Making up her humble wardrobe in a small parcel, she put on her bonnet and shawl, and closing the cottage-door behind her, looked about. There was a e ear blue sky overhead—green fields and wood lands stretching away to the right and loft, and in the distance the spires of a large manufacturing town were just visible. What drear, desolato feelings sweat over lei as she closed the gate, and paused to gaze for a mo ment upon familiar objects which sho might never be hold again. She leaned against the old elms, whose slender branches vibrated through the still air, aud wept bitterly. r A voice came to her, saying, 4 G'od is your father now,' and her grief softened. Sho looked unconsciously to ward the heavens. There was no familiar form floating there, buoyed up on angel pinions—nothing but white v apor sailing along on a cool westorn breeze. Yet she felt new courage coming to her heart, and whispered, 4 1 will not despair.' footsore and weary, when tho sun had reached its meridian, she paused before a large, aristocratic-looking dwelling. I hero was something repellant about the massive stone structuro, but she said resolutely, 4 1 will try.' And ascending tho granite stops, she touched the boll knob. ' I wish to seo. your mistress,' she said to the servant who appeared. The menial eyed her superciliously, left her a fow mo ments, and then returning, conducted her to a gorgeous apartment, where, reclining upon a sofa, was the mis tress of tho mansion—a handsome woman, haughty and passionate-looking. Maud shivered beneath the search ing gaze of the stony, gray orbs, and a dim memory of <i faco like that of the splendid female heforo her arose like a troubled vision. 4 To What happy eircumstanco am I indebted for this visit/' asked the lady in a cold sneering tone. 4 1 am friendless and poor, and camo hither hoping to find some employment as a governess.' 4 Indeed !' ejaculated tho lady, running her eye over the faded but neat apparel of Maud. 4 Unfortunate, poor, destitute—the old story! Doubtless you are a worthy young lady, have moved in good society, are refined, etc.' Maud's C3 r es flashed, but sho only remarked : 4 1 will endeavor to prove myself worthy of your re spect and confidence, if you will permit me.' 4 Possible ? How very kind of you ! 4 Here,' sho con tinued, shoving a book toward Maud, 4 can you read French ?' Maud read clearly and readily a fow passages, after which she was subjected to a rigid examination in Latin, the higher English branches, and music; at the conclu sion of which, her future employer said: 4 My name is Mrs. Lamoille; and my niece, Miss Ger aldino Mott, aged twelve years, of whom you will have the charge, and a cousin, Gustavus Lamoille, with my self, comprise the family. What, may Ibe permitted to ask, is your name?' 4 Maud Arlington.' Mrs. Lamoille, sprang to her feet—a fiorce, deadly light glowing in her eyes, and her face colorless as fall ing snow. 1 What?' she gasped. 1 Maud Arlington.' Mrs. Lamoille sank back, while a hateful expression came over her countenance. ' King tho bell,' she ejaculated, imperiously waving her hand to Maud, who obeyed in silence. A servant quickly answered the summons, whom she bade bring Miss Geraldine to her. Soon a child, beautiful as a dream, with long golden curls, clear, sunny eyes, and step like a fawn, entered, and crossing the room, asked : .' What do you wish, dear aunt ?' 'To present to you your governess—Miss Arlington.' Tho name was pronounced in a sharp, disagreeable man ner. ' 1 am sure I shall love you,' said the child, advancing and placing her hand in thatofMaud. Mrs. Lamoille frowned, ami commanded servant to show Miss Arlington her room, saying as' she arose to go: ' I shall expect you to set at the table with tho family, and hopo you will deport yourself as becomes tho gov erness of my niece,' She well knew that this last insult would ho keenly felt by the sensitivo girl, in whom, despite her own hard, ungontle nature, she had perceived purity and native refinement. For a moment, Maud lost sight of the good principle hitherto hor guide, and stood flashing back upon tho ar rogant woman the indignation burning within her soul; hut it was only for an instant. A remembrance of the words uttered by loved lips, now motionless beneath the clammy fingers of death, dispelled all angry feeling. * CHAPTER 11. Maud met tho family at. the tea-table. Mrs. Lamoille, stiffly inclining her head toward her, said: ' Mr. Lamoille—our governess.' The young man bowed slightly, fixing a pair of largo eyes upon Maud, who experienced an unaccountable fas cination until those scintillating orbs were withdrawn. Mr. Lamoille and his cousin conversed on a variety of topics, in no way adverting to or addressing Maud, who, pained and deeply embarrassed, excused herself early and withdrew to her room. Her labors for tho day woro done, and she sat there with a weary, heavy sensation at her heart. .Night spread its shadows darkly beneath the feathery pines and under tho hill; but the moon sil vered the forest-tops and tho open valley, and coming in at the window, tenderly enfolded the young mourner in its radiant sheen. Musing alone there on the present, so bitter with trial and sorrow, on the past—with its delicious, as well as mournful recollections, she heard, oven in hor revorie, tho voices of Gustavus and Mrs. La moille in earnest conversation ; then Lamoillo came out on the piazza, and began pacing up and down. She could see him distinctly in the moonlight. Ho was tall and massively built, yotof elegant proportions. He had a haughty tread, and a defiant way of folding his arms over his chest. His face was dark and unreadable, his hair jetty and luxuriant, and his eyes flashed and cor ruscated like diamonds. Weeks sped away, during which Maud completely won tho love of Geraldine, whom she found intelligent, gentle, and assiduous. Mrs. Lamoille remained repelling as at first—the keen, cold, gray eyes lookod as stony, and in no way did the proud woman acknowledge that the poor, but beautiful and gifted governess, was enti tled to the least consideration; while tho latter, in her presence, was always startled by her resemblance, to some one whom she had seen before. Gustavus Lamoille soldom addrossed Maud, yet she never lifted her eyes, save in the solitude of her own chamber, without meeting the fascinating gaze of thoso inexplicable orbs; and at such times, a power irresisti ble seemed chaining her to her seat. She was happy only while in the society of her pupil. At length, when Maud had been at Mrs. Lamoille's nearly a year, that lady was seized with a most violent malady, and the servants, all save one, fled in affright.— (nistavQs placed Geraldino out of tho reach of danger, and then returned to the infected dwelling. .laud s womanly heart would not permit her to for sake Mrs. Lamoille, though thore wero no ties of grati tude to bind her to the spot, fraught only with unhappy momones. Bay after day she minißterod to tho suffer er, who, wild with delirium, uttered—when life had near ly ebbed to its close—in the ear of Maud, the startling story. ® 4 1 am your mother, Maud Arlington !' sho shouted. 4 I never loved your fatbor, and I hated you, you looked so much like him. I tried to smother your worthless life out when you was a babe—but ho foiled me. Thoo I struck deeper at his heart; and agonized at my perfi d} r , ho took you and fled from mo! Ila, ha ! He forgot the riches, which I hastened to bear boyond his reach. beggared you both. 4 Seo thore, Maud P she ejacula ted, springing upright, and pointing to a darkened cor ner— 4 Your father! Beckon away, old dotard. I won't come. O, my God, I am dying!' and shrieking a loud, hideous shriek, she fell back dead. Maud remained # pale, breathless, and shocked at the terrible scene, and'the words of the dying woman. Lamoille sat opposite, regarding her with a straugo intensity. Presently Maud whispered: 4 Mr. Lamoille, can you tell me tho meaning of those frenzied words?' A sinister smile curled the scornful lips of Lamoille, as he answered slowly and deliberately: 1 She was your mother After she forsook your fath er. she camo hither and lived with me.' He paused to watch the effect of his words. Maud, terribly agitated, gasped : 4 Sho could not; my own mother could not have done so unwomanly a thing !' ' Sho did, nevertheless,' sneerod her tormentor, 4 and your father was cognizant of the fact.' ' My poor, poor, father!' murmured the horrified girl. 4 It is no wonder you never smiled.' Lamoille's black, fathomless eyes regarded her oven when—in tho heavy stupor which had come upon hor sho seemed unconscious of his presence. 4 You are to fill your amiable mother's place,' he said, crossing to where she sat, and laying his hand on her arm. Sho felt in every fibre the subtle mesmeric power of tho]lußtrous orbs which appeared penetrating her very She would have spoken, but her lips were frozen, and would not move; her tongue chained, and a deadly weight pressed upon her brain. Few people camo to Mrs. Lamoille's funeral; they feared infection, and they kept aloof. Poor Maud, with a flood of discordant emotions surging up in her heart, beneath an exterior of perfect apathy, behold her old enemy placed in the family vault, and almost uncon sciously, Lamoille became her constant attendant, and with a fiendish joy, which he took no care to conceal, went on weaving about his helpless victim thosostrong, intangible cords holding her in such loathsome bondage! Humors derogatory to both were circulated by the lovers of scandal, which, through a faithiul servant, reached tho oars of the miserable girl. It was a rare exemplification ot the ascendancy gained by a string, wicked being over one physically weak. Maud, under the baleful influenco of Lamoille, seemed gradually for getting tho past, and losing intelligence; and be with a zest, favoring of duibleire, watched coolly, and trium phantly, the sad spectacle of a mind sinking into idiocy. Having established, beyond a doubt, in his belief, that Maud was fully and irretrievably under bis control, he left her one evening, for the first time since Mrs. La moille's death—three months having elapsed 6inco that event. It was a dark, starless night, and a south wind moan ed drearily through tho yews and quivering aspens with out, and penetrating crevices, flared the pyramids of flame capping the tali waxen tapers burning on the mar ble table. Maud crouched before the fire, listening to the voice of the approaching storm. Thoughts began to move .like shadows through her sluggish mind. There was a sensation of pain as she gradually awoke from her long mesmeric sleep, and became conscious of tho life she had for weeks been leading. Sho shuddered as memory, in pact, reproduced the wretched past. She started to her feet, glancing fearfully around, and, perceiving herself alone, bounded from tho apartmenfr, out into the dark ness. \\ ith feet swiftly impelled by terror—for she was now fully aroused from the lethargy imposed upon her by the demon in human form —Lamoille—she fled to ward her early home. The gray dawn of morniDg came in rain and tempest, when Maud reached the door of tho cottage. The elm-boughs vibrated slowly, for they wero heavy with moisture, and tho birds twittered in the rosebushes—just criraspning with unfolded buds. She lifted the latch, and went in; a damp, musty odor greeted her senses. Sick, and almost insensible, she flung herself upon tho couch, last pressed by her dying father; and then ensued a wild delirium, induced by the fierce fever raging through her veins. She thought the rain-drops pattering upon the mossy shingles were bul lots dropped by Lamoille into her burning brain, and tho rosebush tapping against tho window was his fingers on the panes. I 1 rom this deliriujn she awoke, one evening, just as the setting sun was tinging with gold tho deep shadows under the trees. Through her partially closed lids she saw widow Brown (who came to tho cottage in her childhood to labor for herself and father,) sitting by the open door knitting. She heard tho tea kettle bumming on the coals, and inhaled the aroma of tho boiling tea. >*he felt weak and languid, while a sensation of perfect peace and security stole over her. A now life was opening upon her perceptions—a life of wider activity and truer aspirations. The words of her dying father had a deeper import than hitherto. She had a bitter experience, but it made a grand ba sis for tho superstructure builded in the aftertime. CHAPTER nr. The neighbors were kind to Maud, and with their aid she established a school, which was liberally patronized* while Mrs. Brown became her ally in the Household duties. Thus a year passed quietly away. Maud remembered the time spent at Mrs. Lamoille's ever with a shudder. She had expected Lamoille would seek her out in her humble retreat —but no tidings of him had reached her. He might have died as well as her former pupil—(feral dine; but she shrank from making any inquiries. One evening in mid-winter, when the air was filled with descending snow—which the wind in its erratic gambols tossed wildly about—Maud sat alone before comfortable fire. Her scholars had gone to thoir re spective homes, and Mrs. Brown had been summoned to the bedside of a sick child. The clock on the bureau bad just chimed eight, whori a heavy step, partially muffled by the drifting snow, sounded on the stone step without; then the door was unceremoniously pushed open, and the form of a man, deeply muffled in furs paused before the somewhat startled girl. 'You do not recognize mo?' said "the stranger, in a hoarse, rattling voice.