Bradford reporter. (Towanda, Pa.) 1844-1884, May 23, 1878, Image 1

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S. W. ALVORD, Publisher.
Enid:ten Carts—.
Painted to_neder at any price tiorn es to FM;
lOn Paintings Ite-Painted, Re-Tonched, or changes
made as desired.
All work done in the highest style,of the Art/-
Towanda; Pa.. - April IS, ISIS. •
Employ l litt M. liendelman for the put tour
. years, begs I to announce to his friends Mid
the puplic gene Ily that he has romoyed to the
Boston wAiedt tore, one door south of the .First
National Ban , and opened a shop for the ,Tep . air
of Watches. Clocks. Jewelry. dtc. All work war
ranted to t•ltre entire satiafaction. f Ap11174
'J. YOUNG ; _ ----
ATTORNE r -A 7LA sr,
Ortles—second door south of the First Nationit
Dank Mato St., op stairs.
0, D. KINNpY,' • ..
d Office—Rooms formerly otcupled by Y. M. C. A
neading Thom. fjan.3l ,R.
F. - B.SW.IS4E 8.,•
(*Mee over Mrs. Mtngos• store, Tracey tcNobte's
• Treatment of diseased teeth s specialty.
Gas and ether administered whett desired, mcht
OFFlCE.—Formerly occupied by Wm. Watkins,
(0ct.17, '77)
Piet Atty Brod. Co
A TToR.2rE S e .-A T-L A
Towanda, Pa, Office over Bartlett a Tracy, alalrma.
• Office with Smith & litontanye: tflowll-75
aln Street (4 floors north of Want house). To.
!vandal, Pa. (.4441 17, 1877.
• At LAIP S *YALCSING, PA. Will attend
loan business entrusted to his ears In Bradford,
lialliran and Wyoming Counties. Office with Esq.
porter. tn0v19.74.
C . L. LAMB,
WILKse-BAntti, PA,
ollections promptly attended to.
Oface—Norto Side 'Public Square.. 7 - -
Jan. I, vas
Dec 23-7 e. TOWANDA, PA'
cian and Surgeon. Office over 0. A. Black's
'rockery store.
Towatida, , Mar 1,18721 r.
31 A b ILL & CALIFF, 0
Mlles In Wrotlrs Bleck, first doorsocaAcDltt PA .
poles r s t
National hank, up-stairs.
O. J. MADILL. (JanS:73ly) J. N. CALIFF
AT TOR t tiE rs-. 4
!South side Merril' . Block . (rooms formerly occupied
by Davies dc Caruochan),
C. CiRIDLZY. (1417)
me 6948 TOWANDA. PA
Attorney-at-Law' and Notary,
WOl give cerefni attention to atfsltininess entnivt
ed to him. (nlic with Patrick & Foyle, - (over
Journal Office), Tbwauda, Pa. (June 777.
OFFICE.—Means Building (over PowelYs§tore).
Office.:—Maln-st., four doors North of Ward house
Practices In Supreme Court )
of Pennsylvania and United TOSS ANDA, PA.
States Courts.—rUee7.l6.
-S T RE E T E R,
°ince over Montanyet Store. • cmay67B
- April 11, 187 g.
Offiee, In Sfetcurs Block
CP •
ATTORNNY h cousBELtoß-4, 4 2-LAW,
• , trace ov..r eroi4S . Book StOne, two doors north of
gtr•venn It Long, Towanda, Pa. May he consulted
n [April 12, IC.)
tered Into co-partnership, offer their protessionat
P , rriees to thil pUblie. Special attention given to
Nedne,i In the Orphan's and Register's Courts,
lIVERTON, dn. (april-70) N. C. EtSBURE.
v• •
The following .
March li% I'4 ' 0. H. BLACK.
Mt 1876
at,,in stred nppottite the Ontr \ ilg , z . . tot,
W. S. I 3 7 INCENT, \
- '
(Mee over Dr. Porter h SoreaDrug Store, Towanda.
• over IL E. Rosenfield's, Towanda, Pa.
Teeth Inserted. on Gold, Sliver, Rubber, and Al.
mniusir base. Teeth extracted without palo.
Oct. 3472. • .
E D. PAYNE, M. D.,
Othecorer Moatanyea• Store. °Mee hours from 10
t u 12, A. u„ and from 2 to 4, P. M. Special 'Motion
[TM to dirrases of the EJe Anil Ear,,
• "IT E IN E ".
Says a Boston physician, 'has no equal as ahi
purifier. Bearing of Its many wonderful a s,
after all other remedies have failed, I - Hal the
Labratory : and .conylneed myself of Its nulne
merit. It Is prepared from barks, rootssuperb',
each of which Is highly effecUre, and " y are
compounded In such'it manner as to prod co &atom
'blur results."
llt cure the worst case of Scrofula. •
Is recommended' by physicians and apothecaries.
Ilas . cliected some merrellous cures In mesa Cat,-
Meets with wonderful meccas In Mercurial diseases.
Will eradicate salt Rheum-from the system
Cures the most Inveterate cases of Erysipelas.
Removes Pimple) and Manors from the faces
Cures ConstlpatlcUl and regulates the bowels.
c feb.li9
Restores the entire system to a healthy condition
Effectually cures Kidney Complaint.
July 27,16
Is eifectlye hi its cure of Female Weakness.
Isthe great remedy for tteaoral pegillty
is acknowledged by IVI chsses of people to he the
best. and most rrliable.blood purifier in the world.
Carriages CH EAPEWTII4\ N EVER. and Plat
oral Wagons at a GREAT REDUCTION.
Proprietor of the Old Carriage Manufactory, cm.
Main and Elizabeth streets, would call•the special
attention of .FARMERS and others to his large
and complete asi,ortm rot of -
All of his own manufacture, and warranted In
every particular to be equal to the most expensive
city work.
Look at the figures, and remember that every
vehicle Is warranted :
The prices are far below the cost of manufacture
and will not be maintained after the present stock
is disposed of, so you must make selections NOW.
aion't be imposed upon by Inferior work and
pr materials, hut purchase at the establishment
which has been In operation for nearly half a cen
tury and Is permvieutly located.
. .
Oak° and Factory cor. Main and Elizaboth streets.
Towanda, Pa.
Towanda, June 21, 1877
ItesPectfully announce to the public that Way are
prepared to.bulld all libido of
Made of the , best material and 'nibe best style
All work warranted to give perfect satisfaction.
We haie one of the best Carriage Painters in the
country; and de all work in this line at the lowest
. ,
- •
All kinds of
' ?.
Neatly an ,ptotnptly done at riO , ticed prices. -
Making new. springs and repairing old ones a
speci L alty. - 401 wpreggaranteed. Please gire usa
eal - • ,
-•- - \
• : . i ' IiteISITSE 411 arrsocu.
Towanda. April 211. 3 fin•
Is the great Bhial Partner
Cores the worst case of Canker.
1. a .ratuable remedy fin• Headache.
WM cure ppapepela.
Cures pstris In t h e side
Removes the cause efdiszlness
Relieves Faintness at the Stomach
Cures pains In the Back
Wagons and Garrison.
East of the Reporter Ogles
Mclntyre 4 Spencer
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OrFr •
. cLi.
long the Battle's naming van
We mark the tried and true,
' Defenders of the cause of man,
A chosen, peerless few.
-porn to their mission and Inspired, •
Oh, should they fall, we feel '
, . No spirit would like theirsibe fired,
No hand could wield theft' steel,
Yet, one by one, they step aside,
Or on the red field lie; -
-And still their places are supplied,-
Still rings the battle my.;
- Still o'er the hoary walls of Wrong -
Trrith's startling missiles fly, '
And still, a ith steady step and strong,
Her hosts are marching by.
AM so it shall be evermore,
Until the trOmpts blown, '
Proclaiming Wrong's hard rule Is o'er, .
And night Is on the throne. .
Oh, tear not for our cause sublime,
Let hate do all It cant :
Per In he darkest coming time
Tt e hour shall bring the many
We have a youngster in the house,
A little man of ten
Who dearest to his mother is
Of ail God's little men.
In doors and out he j clings to he,
lie follows upend down t
He steels his slender band in hers ;
Ile plucks her by the gown.
"Why do you cling to tno so, child?
o u track Inc everywhere.
Yon never let me he alone." ,
And he, with serious air,
Answered, as closer still he drew,
. "My feet were made to follow you."
Como hem my child, and sit with me,
Your head ulmn my breast; •
on are the last of all my sour,
And yon must be the best.
Howmuch I love you, you may guess - •
When grown a man like me,
You sit, as I am'sitting now,
Your child upon your knee.
Think of me then; and what I said
(And practiced when I could), ,
'Tic something to be great and wise,,
'Tic better to be good.
0, say to all things good and true,
" My feet were matte to follow you."
Come here, my wife, and it by me,
And place your hand In mine
(And yours, my child); while I have you
'Tls wIeIGII to re - pliie.
We've had our share of sorrows, dear,
We'io had our graves to fill ; •
But, thank the good God overhead,
have each other still
We've nothing In the world beside,
For we are only three;
Mother and ehltd—my wife and child,
ITow dear you are to me
I know—lndeed, I always knew,
My feet were made 'follow you!
R. 11. Stoddard
41' icell;stirotO.
Slimmer's Golden Days.
I have an intense, inexpressible
desire to go into the country ; I have
a wild, unutterable longing to see
the green fields and to hear the mur
mur of the river as it flows- smoothly
through the meadow at the end of
au - ntie's_garden ; I, have a mad im
pulse to throw myself down in a hay
field and to toss the hay about until
I am weary; but i_can have none of
these things, for it .is the height of
the London season, and mother
will not let me leave home. Mother
thinks it is high time one of us was
married ; :and as I am the second,
and am twenty-one, all her energies
seem to be expended on me this sea
a -
I suppose it is because Barbara,
my eldest sister, is such a lovely girl '
that she can pick and choose her
husband; so that - there is no fear of
her being put on the shelf, and that
there -is plenty of time for Helen,.
Who is only just out, that mother
pitches on me to torment 'unmerci
fully just now.
June is so hot in London, and I
do long for the country, , and yet I
am so strong and well that my long
ing does not make me look pale, and
late hours do not even take the lustre
from the roses in my cheeks, or I
might appeal to • mother's heart and
then, she would let me go to the
country.tii freshen up my beauty.
. I am not a bit beautiful, though
Only I am young, and all the Hesel
tines have gooths and pretty
figures, so 1 come in for those two
attributes just in the same way as I
get any . name of Lois Heseltine.
am all this time dreaming of: the
country and of pleasant things, in
stead of dressing for supper, and the
bell will ring directly and I shall Abe
left, and-father - will look grieved and
mother will scold; and I shall not be
one bit nearer Coolmory. '
• In the Midst of my meditation
Helen cotheS room and says
father is waiting, for me ,before he
tells us all a . piece of news. I quickly
change my dress while Nellie gets
out my ribbons and frills,
and before
long we are all
„eagerly listening to
father's story.
1100 10 11110
. Re " 100
. 125 " 150
He tantalizes us by making us.
guess the news, and, after refusing
to do so, we all make the most la
mentable failures in that line, until
I say (my mind still full of the coun
try): 1"
" Has it anything to do. with the
Coolmory. people ?" • .
Then father says: Lois' guess is
the nearest, for Maggie is going to
be married this day fortnight, and
she wants Lois to go down at once
to help her make: reparations and to
be persbrid esma id."
' And how did you hear it, father?"
Baitlam asks • as she absolutely looks
interested about: Maggie, -for -we are
all very fond of our only cousin.
" Well, the young man Mind to
see Inc at the office to get my con
sent, as I am-her guardian ; but, as
your aunt and Maggie have already
settled everything, there was nothing
left for Me to do except to give them
my consent, which I did most grace-
Ally and heartily."
Mr. Strafford is -a gentlemanly
young fellow, and had been curate
at Coolmory for a year; he-had just
been Presented with a living, and
nothing will content him but to mar
ry Maggie'olT-hand, So that they may
' take a holiday and wedding tour in
-one, before they, settle to his • paro
chial work down\ at Westbury.
" It is very annoying that Magg'e'S
wedding is to take place just now,"
mother says;: and. then continues:
" Why could she not haVe asked
Barbara or Helen to be her brides
maid instead of Lois? But they al
ways were such friefiei, I suppose I
must let her go" and then father de
cides the question at once, and adds:
• "Qf course she must go, and after
the wedding she must stay with
Aunt Mary until-Maggie returns from
her honeymoon expedition."
Already I am wildly happy at - the
idea of lebving Londoti, and happier
still when I think I shall be out of
all the gayeties that are set down in
the engagement book, and which
stretch out until the end-of burning
July. How I commiserate my sisters
when I think what they will have to
go through while I shall lazily enjoy
the summer weather down at pool
mory f_ Don't think lan not ftind
of gayety, and even London ; but
am weary of it all just now, and par
ticularly weary of mother's efforts to
get me married.
I have never seen a man I could
love, so I have Hever wanted to be
married ; but mother will insist on it,
and seems to think it reflects dis
credit on her tact that she has still
her three daughters on her'
I nth quite content to wait until:the
others are married, and then I trust
she will let nip alone to enjoy myself
in my own *ay, and keep father
company, while She goes about find
ing husbands for .other people's
I-have no reason to grumble just,
now, though, for my wish is,gratified,
and 1 am going down to.Coolmory
(or six weeks' holiday, and shall only
returnln time for the general migra
tion-to the coast or continent. Mr.
Strafford has been to see us, and' ,we
'all agree with father in thinking him
quite an unexceptionably- agreeable
young_ man, and mother considers
Maggie a lucky girl to have already
secured such a prize in the matrimo . - .
nial lottery: _
. He proposes to take me down- to
auntie's on Monday morning; and
as Maggie also signifies her approval
of this plan in her letter of invita
tion, I agree to it, andam raidantly
happy during . the _next three days,.
though I am taken about a good deal
more than consider good for me:
MondaY„at length arrives, and amid
kisses from the girls and inumerable
'directions from the mother about tlk
length and of .my bridesmaid's
gown, father- -slips a clean, crisp ten
-pound note into my hand. Mr. Straf
ford and I are at last driven allay.
Then, and only thin, I relized the
gratification of being on my way to
the country, and at the . same time as
happy a girl as was to. be found with
in the bills of mortality, as some
-body says. lam having behind me
all the gays-ties and so-called pleas
ures of the metropolis, and all dear
mother's plans for my futdre
The wedding. is over and I have
just seat home an elaborate account
of it. Auntie has gone up to her
room to shed unlimited tears, for she
thinks it the proper thing to do; and
I feel rather dull and lonely now that
the over and Maggie
has gone. The .wedding was very
simple, but we made everything look
as pretty as possible-and transformed
the house into a perfect .bower of
roses. The church was crowded, sad'
Maggie was so contented and happy
that she 'looked real pretty. I was
the only bridesmaid, and had to don
good deal of singing, so that I felt
quite a, person of importance. Then
there was the breakfast; then Mag
gie went away ; then all auntie's
friendswent to theirrespeetive homes,.
and auntie and' I are left alone td en
joy each other's company. The best
man, a young surgeon named Philip
Graham, is staying at the rectory,
and I think he ought to stroll over
to know how we are afterlife fatigues
of the day. What I Have seen of him
I like very much, for he is tall and
dark, and appears to , be of a serious
turn of mind; but he is not really
serious, fin- he has an immense fund
of humor, and generally amuses me
to such a degree that -1 laugh to an
immoderate extent, and am always
.dread of being reproved by my
auntie ; but she . seems to enjoy his'
conversation, and never checks my,'
mirth as mother would. We saw s
good deal of him before the wedding,
as ,he used to come over and spend
the day here with'Mr. Strafford, and,
naturally, we used to go about a
great 'deal together so ail not to in
terrupt 'the lovers. 'I wonder - if we
shall ever see him now his. friend is
gone,. and- how long he will remain
at the rectory. With
.all my self-love,
I can sec that he'does not care a bit
about me, and that there isino dan
ger of his 'making "love ; so does.
not contemplate leaving Coolmory
at once I trust , we shall have some
pleasant walks and talks together.
Next morning auntie has recovered
her 'usual. spirits, and is already look
incr out for letters from Maggie. e,
fore we have finished breakfast Mr.
Graham comes in, just in the same
easy way as if Mr. Strafford was fol
lowing him. . , .
" Good morning, Mrs. Lisle, how'
are you after your fatigues of yester
day?" he says; and then they begin
to discuss the wedding and' talk it
all overi:Whielt to my mind is very
often the best part of the. entertain
ments. I look out of the window and
think how pleasant it' must be under
the slitule of 'the alders down by the
river bank, and fervently wish that
Maggie was here, 'and that we might,
go Out and' spend our morning there,
as we , did every morning last week.
Evidently Philip Graham thinks.the
same thing, for turning from auntie
to me, he asks if ,it would 'not be
pleasanter out Of doors this lovely
morning, and if I will stroll down by
the river with„him. I looked toward
auntie and d,utifullynsked , her if she
'will accompany us;' but she declines;
and says she will spend the time We
are out in packing uptMaggie's pres
ents. feel I ought to offer to' help
her; but the sun is Shining so daz
zingly, and there •is such a. fresh
breeze down by the river,, that my
(rood resolution melts away,, and in
another Minute my hat was on, and
Philip Graham and I' auntered thro'•
the dewey imeadows and I am enjoy
ing pleasTint,Coolniory - even as Much
as I anticipated. .
We - wandered, through .a good
many fields and Inally i settled.doin
to rest in - quite a>
very lovely, and the scent o 1 eln•
„ .
ver intoxicates me to snob a degree
that I throw myself down.into ik
And take a long sniff before 1 look:
up to see what my companion is do.
ing. He regards me in quite a gripe
rior way, and I cannot help laughing,
as it strikes me he looks very much
like Landseet's dog Dignity, while
feel like impudence, with my rough
hair alid ,my hat very much at ohe
side. . •
Atter my frolic I amooth.mrhair,
put my hat straight , upon myparasol,
and then 'ask Mr. Graham for a re
mark. Ile answers me - slowly, as he
"I was thinking what a child You
arc, and wondering whether you had
any depth of feeling or force of char
In a moment I am serious, for his
words chill me sotnewhat and then
I tell him that I atti hating a sum
mer's holiday, and am just a child
fora a month, during which 'time I
want to leate all my worries at home.
Then lie laughs,in his turn at me,
and enquires my troubles ;and be
fore know what I am saying' I tell
him all about my mother and the
girls ; and' when our walk is over I
feel as if I had known Philip Graham
all my life. The rest of the day aun
tie and I devoted, to paying visits,
and in the evening we answer Mag
aie's letters.
All our days pass pretty much the
same- way. Every morning Philip
Graham and I take a walk—some-
timetimes down to the river, and oc
casion,ally to the little town two
miles off, to fetch the letters that ar
rived by the afternoon's post. Aunt
Mary is .always busy in the morning,
and , never comes with us. She is,
such al dear, sweet woman, and al
ways reminds me of father. I have
been with her a good deal 'for the
last two days. for it has been rue-
ing incessantly, and I have not been
able to leave the house even for a
turn in the garden. Wet days in the
country are more unbearable than in
London ; for I feel as if, they
prived me of so many modicums of
flesh air that legally belonged .to me.
We have seen nothing of Mr. Gra
ham, and I. miss him very much—a
great:deal more than I thought pos
sible. Perhaps it is because I have
neither Barbara nor Helen to talk to
about little things that do pot inter
est auntie. At the end of the i second
rainy day, there is a little excitement
in 'the house, because .we receive an
invitntion for a dance at the rectory
next !week. Auntie and I find-Venty
to say about what we shall wear and
who wilkbe there, and I go to bed in
a plea§ant frame of mind, but with
an intknse desire for the foll Owing
day to be fine, so that I may go for a
walk with .Mr. Graham. It is just as
fine as 1 could possibly Wish, and at
the usual'hour Philip Graham saun
ters in ; and without waiting to be .
asked I put, on my hat,. and once
more we are out in the pure, fresh
air. Everything appears to have been
bepefit%ed by thc,rain ." the flowers
and grass look so refreshed that I
exclaim, The world seems as if it
was just made, and I am delighted
to be out again."
" Did you find it dull the last two
days!" Mr. Graham asks; and I con
fess that I 'did, and that I whished
he had come to see us.
" I did not think you would have_
liked, it, Miss Heseltine ; because I
understood you to , say you did not
wish ~to be bothered during your
visit to youf aunt."
I looked up to see if he was laugh
ing at._ me, but he is perfectly se
riouiii,so I tell him that he does not
botherme, and ask him if we have.
another wet day to call at auntie's so
as to break the monotony irtnil
rupt our tete-a-tetes. This he prom
ises, but adds that he is leaying Cool-
mory next meek, and is going to In
dia as deetor on one of the mail
Why . did you not tell met sooner,
Mr. Graham ?" I-ask ;., and I feel as
if he had wronged me by not telling
me soonet.
"I have .onTy just got the Appoint
ment,iand only .knew it myself an
hour ago; and I hastened over here
to tell you, because, Miss Heseltine,
I looked upon you as one of my
dearest friends."
0, how his words delighted me !
At last I bave met a man 'who is hon-
est enough to tell a girl he looks"up•
on her as a friend, and 'who does not
mask his friendship behind a flimsy
veil of flirtations.
" tam so glad you look upon me
as' a friend, Mr. Graham. Nowl,
can tell you that you have made my
visit to auntie'smuch more enjoyable
by your friendship; so, let us shake
Viands on it and vow eternal fidelity.
I put my hand out to him, awl
raised my voice to a theatrical pitch
then looked up at him with eyes full
of laughter; but his are looking at
me so tenderly that I. drop - . mine to
the ground, and cannot raise them
again even, when be says, in his usual
voice: Thank you, dear little Lois.
I think you are a woman who, will
prove as good as your word on all.
occasions;. and I thank you are one
whose friendship is true enou g h to
last through life."
;He speaks so sternly now that I
am quite relieved when lie continues
in a lighter tone; " Since we, are to
be real friends; Lois, you must call
me Philip."
" Yes, Philip4 4 ' I answer, and •then
add, hastily, "And -we shall be
ways friends, whatever happens,
Philip; even it we never meet again."
Somehow -I have a presentiment
that fitter today we won't see much
of leach other; .tio I want to go down
to the river' -and spend one more
pleasant morning.
We lazily enjoy ourselves discuss
Our favorite books, compare our ideas
upon music, and I can scarcely be
lieve it;late ae it is when I see
auntie approaching us, with the tid-,
ings that loucheon has been ready
for more than an hour, and that she
has come to fetch us in.
It was such a glorious July day
when Philip' and I became Philip and
Lois to each other, that so long' as I
live it will stand out in bold relief
from all others. Never can . l forget
the. golden glow of ;thatk, summer
WO hail!' had four dqsof str?lre)
_ -
weather, Mr. Graham, iluntie, and I
havebeen able to go out - for a drive
tooafternoons, but the fourth is
too wet; so we spend the afternoon
itiatehing the rain, at least Philip
apdl \ do j _while auntie works. .
Aunt,Mary seems to have taken.
n odd Idta into her head .since _ that
orning she fetched us into lintheon.
verily belive she thinks Philip is
akin g love tone,or that 1 am rail
ing in lovewith him; for she' never
leaves us a moment \ alone, and inter
rupts all -our conversations. If this
absurd notion has really taken poss
ession of her mind, all Or free inter
course is at an end ;, for she would
never encourage anything.`Of this
sort without. directions from\headt
quarters, or, in other wordsonotber's
consent. I think if--she knel that
nothing was further from our minds;
and that we were only friends, she
might relat her vigilance.; but I do
not ,care to speak pn the subject, and
feel that I would rather not enjoy
any more rambles with Philip than
tell any one of our compactor friend
ship. It is very hard, for he will
leave Coolmory to-morrow so that
unless auntie ceases her vigilant
-Watch at the party Which takes place
to-night, we shall not have any time
together. At . going away Philip
asks me to keep him some dances
and I promises to do so--; but even
here auntie interrupts, and says:
"Lois, dear, I don't wish you to
dance more than' two- dances with
any one,- as people in the country
will talk about everything," and
turning to Philip, she proceeds to
- say: - . .
"I don't want my niece to lay her=
self open to criticism ; she shall dance
twice with you, Mr. Graham."
Philip bows his • thanks, but looks
disappointed. At the party Aunt
Mary_ introduces every one to me,
and before Philip can get to me my
priagitune is nearly .full ; but•l have
kept' two dances.- The first is a quad
rille. Auntie dances- oppo'Site' to. us,
and directlfit is over she takes ine
off to introduce 'me to some old lady
who knows my father. I don't know
any of my partners, and I don't care
to dance with any one ; but I go
through all the dances in a mechan
ibal way, and get - no pleasure out of
them. I notice that Philip does not
dance, and that every time that I
look at him he is looking at me.
At length our waltz arrives. . The
music seems better and the light '
more brilliant. Directily I feel Phil
ip's arm around me, as we slide off
into a delicious step.
" This is nearly as pleasant as-sit
ting by the river, Philip don't you
think ?" I asked ; 'but he answered ;
" I would give ahything I have for
one half hour with you alone, Lois,
down by the river."
"It would be very nice, Philip :
but we shall never go there again,"
I murmur, and the music makes me
long off again:
,Nest time we stop- is by an open
window thit leads to the garden ;
Philip puts my band • through his
arm, and leads me to it ; then he
bends his head close to my, ears and
whispers: "Lois, come out into the
garden, and decide my fate for. me."
Ile looks atme so tenderly and
eagerly thatl see in that moment
,that his friendship for . me has turned
to love, and I feel that I cannot re
turn it: and dare not answer him.
`" Lois, won't you come out? DO,
darling, fnr I must tell you that I
love you, and hear that you lOve
me:" •
I do not know what to say'; he is
my - friend,-and I am so fond of him
that I do not wish to hurt him ;.yet
I cannot give him the answer he
wishes to hear, for I do not love him,
I am trying to frame a reply when
auntie comes up to us and tells inc it
is time to leave. I- answer hurried
" Yes, auntie, I' will get my cloak,"
and give Philip a look to follow me,
but Aunt Mary has cheekmated me
here, for'she.hards Inc my wrap, and -
Lb& takes Philip's arm. As he puts
me in the carriage he says: " Wrike
me an answer in time to let me come
and see you to-morrow, before I leave
,I nod assent, then lean back, cover
my head over, and pretended to be
asleep. Why could not Philip have
remained my friend ? Why does he
want so much more. than 'I can give ?
When I get to my own room 1 take
out my desk and write a letter to
Philip I want it to be kind and
friendly, but I wish him to under
stand I have no love to eve in re
turn for his. First, I write a long
letter telling 'him he has mistaken
friendsniP for love.'
' but I feel I am
wronging him by su ch a disposition,
so I - tear it up, and write just what I
should have said , to him had time
allowed :
"Man P 1111.11.: Foralve me If I have ever led
you to beileie my affection for ;you was any other
then friendship. lam sorry that you love me, for
I have no love to offer you In ,return. but I shall
always remain, dear Philip, your true friend,
It was broad daylight before I have
finished this/short epistle so Ido not
attempt to go to bad, for ' \see it is
, six o'clock, but I change dress
and run over to the rectory with my
note, drop it into the letter-box,*d
get home again long before auntie\is
down. After breakfast she ordera ,
the carriage around-and asks me to
go out for a drive with' her. I see
her reason; she is afraid Philip will
come over, and that we shall. go ant
for a walk. I knew that lie will not
so I assent readily. As we are on
the Way, home we meet the rectory
carriage returning from the station
and I knew that Philip Graham has
one. lam very weary and to bed
early. Auntie winders, next. day,
why Philip does not call, and I tell
her that he basleft Coolmor,y, and is
going to India: She replies that he
might have been polite enough to
have called to say
,good bye; - -and
then severely censures him for his
inattention. This I cannot bear, for
I am very fond of Philip, and I will
not bear a word against him. I fell
weak and hysterical, and burst out
crying in a foolish way; . then rush
out of the house down to the river
where we had*, often been together.
I throw myself down on the grass
and have 'a good cry; then wohder
`about to all the places where I had
\ been so happy, and remember every
word that Philip said, and every=
thing thati had done v •even to my
mg* alba clover field. •-: -
..-•,, . . - .
. .
. . . .
. ,
. , . .
. . . .
. 4.
. ~...&
1. ..
Eveithing is. the same, but the
country seems to have lost its charm.
The sun is just as bright, the grass
just as green, the river just as rippl
log ; but I- want to igo 'home. I am
longing to see mother and the, girls,
and to have no time or opportunity
to think of the past month. I am
pining for change, for nothing seems
pleasant to me at Conbuory now _ ;
but most of all I im longing to see
Philip again. If I could only see
him down on the river once more,
only .have time to tell h:m that my
letter was a Mistake, and that I love
hith more than life!
- It is too late now, and . I only look
forward to seeing Barbara and Helen'
and trying to forget my summer
holiday. I never thought how gold
en-the days were, or what made them
so bright to me, until Philip left;
now ail the glory of my life seems
Wive, departed with him, and 1 feel
as io.he beauties of Coolmory are
mocking at my misery, and I desire
as much `togo home as I longed a
month ag to come down to Aunt
• . -cuaroTt iv.
I have been iiothe some months
now, and everything i . the same as
ever. Mother is just Ms \ busy about
getting married as, she weak last lien
son, only that she seems to rave giv.
en me•up altogether, and I ain\allow
ed to accept or refuse invitations at
my own sweet will. We'the
antumn at a semi-fashionable witte
ing-place, and made' some new ac
quaintances among open, a Mr.
.Jerome Beauchamp,who is very at
tentive to Mother hai great
hopes of his ultimately maki ng one,
of us Mrs. Jerome Beauchanip, brit I
have my doubts on.the subject, and
lbok upon him as' quite a • confirmed
old bachelor. He is an amusing, cle
ver man, and does not bore me in the
least, consequently we get - on very
well together.
I have never told any one about
Philip Graham, nor even asked Aunt
Mary for news of him. When I first
came home-I tried to forget him, but
every day I think of him and wonder
if I shall ever again see his grave, se
rious smile, or hear his melodious
laugh. • • . • .
It'was nearly a year since . I went
down to Coolinoty, and we_have
again glorious summer weather. The
season is swing, and we go
out a great deal.: I seem to- have
lost all my girlish whole-heartedne , s
and enjoy nothing with the old joy
ousness ; but I go out, and, my
thoughts aredistracted while I dance
and jalk, but when I come 'home , I
Christopher L. Ward, the eldest son m
William was born the 23d of-Oetober-the
towing the former's exodus -from
New England in 1807. A log house, the
usual shelter of the pioneer, standing in
what is now the centre of the borough of
New Milford, witnessed this. event,—a cir
cumstance which is note-worthy and sig
nificant of the rapid progress which`, under
the influence of American soil and - climate,
and American institutions, developed the
hilfory of this section and - has followed
the lives of men in the present century.
'William Ward became a (prominent and
useful citizen of the new county, and con
tributed in various wayi to dring the con
dition in which he found his. new libme
within the possibilities of civilized life. Ile
was a merchant, magistrate, 'land land
agent. and Conducted Atte affairs of exten
sive estates—the Dußois, Meredith, and
Drinker lands lying in the county, and; after
rearing a - large family, and virtually estab
lishing the first permanent foothold in that
neighboreood. died at the age of - sixty-four,
Octotier, 1849.
Under. these primitive auslpices the sub - ;
jest of this sketch gained the rudiments of
an ecincition at the country. schools—
meagre opportunities which he studiously
improved through life. Possessed of the
paternal industry, - he steadily - pushed his '
way from these humble beginnings, and be•
came in early life noted _for his - retiring and
studious ways, his application to books and
thirst fur , knowledge. Proceedi •g to Mon-. 1
trose,..the capital town
,of the County, he
learned the printing trade, and in January,
1831, became partner in and editor of the,
Susquehanna L'egisier, subsequently merged
into the North Pennsyleanian. He contin
ued the publication pf the paper until
March 1830. - In 'the same gear he began
the publication of the Register he was ap
pointed:County Treasurer. While publish
ing this paper there were intervals when
the entire work, mechanical and editorial,
fell upon his hands. In 1833 he was ap
pointed, Register and , Recorder ot. the
County. In 1832. at the laying . ,of the-cor
ner 'stone, ,of the St. Paul's Episcop,sl o
church, his name appears amongst the ves
trymen; and in 1834 as President of the
Young' Men's Temperance Union. In 1837
he was admitted to the bar from the office
of Hon. Wm. Jessup ; in the practice of
'the law.her became subsequently associated
with Hon. Benjamin S. Bentley. , In Octo
ber. 1837, he was' elected a director of the
Susquehanna Bank, and, it is related, be
came instrumental in securing the losses of
several sufferers by the failure of that in
taittition after his retirement. from any nffi - -
cial connection . .''•
In 1840 he came to Towanda and Pnr
chased the Tousey 'residence, on
S ! reet.mhich,laving undergone many alter
ations and received several additions in his
hands, has since become famous for the
collection of res, euriostr, hooks, and moo,
graphs, and its remarkable. interior archi
tectural' 'attractions. ' This place. [named
"‘Tredinnock," front a Celtic word found in
the works - of George Borrow, signifying
"house-on-a-hill] is always associated with
the memory. of the owner by, the residents
of the town.. The design of the library
room was furnished by Mrs. Ward. the
owner's second wife, and to .her is due:
!Tich of the taste arid labor which contrib 2
uted to Make ‘,'Vedinnock'r one of the
most • charming , and intereating, country
houses iri the land. -'
At Towanda Mr. Ward embarked in bus
iness. with his customary industry and en
ergy, and•took a leading
,rank as a liberal,.,
minded, hospitable, charitable,. and public
spirited. citizen. ' He acquired considerable
property in the t twn and neighborhood,
and throughout the county, owned wild
lands in Sullivan, Lycominz, Potter, Tiog!i.
' McKein; Wyoming. and Susquehanna
counties. and became agent and attorney
for,the Cadwallader lands in° Sullivan, and
the-Carroll-Caton lands iu Bradfoid County.
besides enjoying numerous trusts of a minor
character; His acquisitions in real, estate
extended to. North Carotin t. Tennessee,
and into Illinois and New York. He en
couraged and contributed' to public jour
nals. His taste tor this pursuit, his expe
rience in mastering the mechanical part of
journalistic art had produced an abiding
effect upon his tastes; . -which. joined to his
literary divee s ion•-, - never departed froth
him. He , w,as i associated until the day -- ot
his death with almost every'prominent- en
terprise or work of public moment under,
taken - in the vicinity whereitille had chogen
his last. abode. The extent - of his business
engagements took hint continually . . from
home and kept him constantly and univea•
riedly employed. His correspondence and
acquaintance with public men, men Or let•
tyre, capitalists. and. men. of professional
Prominence, was intimate and extensive..
He Attended almost all the, political con
, ventions, state anti national,' of . his party„
`as a delegate, and took an active and ad
tromi.ry part in politics, though Persistently
awn ing public office.: His hand and purse
•were !ways at the command of his ,pciliti
cal frie &and freely presurned_upon; '
In 185.1 he watt sent on a special mission
- by Secrets s of State Marcy , ' under . Presi•
dent Pierce, 4o Mexico, on matters relating
.to Vie Gadsden Treaty.' Aboitt the mune'
-time Itentecamettnsel • for:the . American
elainieuts,nnderot e tresqi lee. indemnity..
, Maw* hide ' di** *PI iru, Is e.
~,.....„...,.„..,.,,,L,Aprt•;,!;•,.: -:;- - ...-A , 77...(;-.a_ , x 4. 74 I , ?'>` , -, ~.i fz ,' , - ;„ :,,r, . - :t.;; ' '' , WY , '''.4. - ti
:x... - !...k,..v.,-,..2-f-slvz.6E-4 , ,:33v-sliwtt.,;-:apiA,,,,z-,&',40-4e4tye-,i_f4,-,,c;f4g,lottedat-A,..,,e,k1-.4:-:1-1..a5s,s-
feel weary .of it all, and : then think
how happy I, might have been with
Philip if I had answered his 'ques
tions differently that morning a year
I often wonder if he is still., in In
dia,•br if he returned home at once
and also - irlielnet any girl on his
voyage there or hack who has made
him forget me. I feel that I should
be happier if I knew these things
concerning him, and then I argue
with myself that he is nothing•to me
now, and. my, stock of logic is ex
hausted 'in the conviction that he
Is dearer to me than all the world.
I am in this frame of mind onimorn
'lug when father sends for me, and
when I reach his study I find mother
waiting . with him for me. - Mother is
looking delighted about something,
and father is looking worried. They
.do not waiting. before I have
heard their reason for ~sending for'
me, namely, that Mr. -Jerome Beau-
cram has - done me the honor of prci
posing to father for my hand and
youthful' affections
Father gOes on to tell that, be;th
mother and he approve of the- match,
and - that they have given Mr. Beau-
champ permission to plead his cause
with me. I listen silently until fath
er has finished speaking, then break
out into a passionate refu99l to. see
Mr. Beauchamp, much lessto become
his Wife. Father looks quite ,relies•-
ed at my answer, but mother
ditiappointed, and I wish it. was in
•my power to pass Mr. Beauchamp's
offer of-marriage on to Barbara or
After this little . episode my life
semis even darker, for . Mr: Beau
champ used to lend me clever books,
and his conversations were always
brilliant and amusing. Now my re
fusal of-him has vexed mother,. and
nothing I can say or 'w:11 pleese
her. Evidently Mr. Beauchamp will
not take father's answer as ii.decided
one,liecause this morning I received
'a letter from him, it - which he begs
so earnestly for my love, and prom
ises to make life so pleasant to me,
that - foionemoment I felt inclined to
13t the dead past bury its dead."
and'to become his wife, if he—will
have me when I tell him ali my love
was given to Philip Graham ; but .1
remember Philip's words, and that
he considers me true and worthy.; so
while the others go out to the p:rk
I stay at home to have a quiet after
noon to answer Mr. Beau -hamp's let
ter, and .to tell him that I cannot.
marry him. .
It is a brilliant warm .day,. and, I
am writing in father's study.. Sin
very much puzzled what to say to,
Mr. Beauchamp, and my thoughts re
vcr to that other letter - I wrote to
Phip Ulla time a year two.' pass
my fingers through my hair with' a
vague it ea that that' wilt help me
what to Say, when I hear the study
'door open and close again from the
outside; then look up to see who
has entered, an can scarcely believe
my - own eyes, fo it is . Philip Gra
ham !
In that one glanc I can see that,
Philip loves me still, and.that no on
has come between us. I Tllat he lovei
me..with, the same passionate long
in.'s, is -evident, fox before .. s ither 'of
us has time to reflect he has \aought
me to him, and I have to .thronc my
arms around his neck, and say nth,
but." Philip," *while be aniootlieS
my hair and murmurs, "Lois! my
little Lois!" .
Then " he puts me from him while
he says: " Lois, I 'should never have
intruded on you, but I came' to see
your.fatber on business; and they
told me that no one was at home." .
Here ICannOt help interrupting him
.with my eachuration of:, CI; Philip,.
it' JO what I ~hire - been' praying for
Then I break down, and cover my
face with my hands, as I remember
that he has said nothing to me that
has given any right to revert to old
At length I look up, and find, the,
same fond old smile on his face as he
takes my hand, and says: -
,L!' So, Lois, you do love me, though'
ton wrote that , letter, which has kept'
me in exile for a year?"
And'my eyes answer for me; for
in another moment I am in, his arms
again,=and he is pressing his lips to
• "1 came on here from your fath
er's office to get him to draw up 411
agreement tor a partnership with Dr:
Drewitt; bat. now he; . z will have to
give me . a4reed of gift
. insteaa ; for I
shall not .give you up easily this time,
little ~Lois.". • • . • •
•Defore the others tome in we have
settled everything; and Philip and I
are, looking forward to spend, many
.golden summer days together. • ,
The Late Christopher L. Ward, EMS.
[The folloiving sketch, intended to ac•
company a portrait of the late Christopher
L. Ward, -appearing in the History of
Bradford County, was received .. .too late
for insertion.—(So.
Out•or the township of Willingborough,
in the county:of Luzerne, the township - of
New Milford was created and finally estab
lished in August; 1807. On the
21st of February. 1810, the County - , of
Stisquehanna was, by act of Assembly, set
off from Luzerne, and two yearn afterwards
the county officers were chosen. By the.
time Susquehanna county had gained :a
separate existence, and cotemporaneons
wial \ the establishment of the township of
New Milford, the controversy petween the
Pennsylvania and•the Connecticut claim•
ants over the title to the land—the most re
matkable incident in the annals of the local
h story of this section of the ,State up to
this period, had been settled by successive
enactments and practical cOmpromises and,
finally, had passed into history.
Pending this condition- of things, in the
year 1800, William Ward,. of Litchfield
county, Connecticut, and. Sally, his wife
(nee Brigg 4). of 11Oxbury, came . , into the
wilderness lying along ,Salt Lick Creek, a
district subsequenily named New Milford
in lunor, of a town paternally-asso
ciated. with it in New England.
The-genealogy of this race is traceable to
English, and thence - to Norman origin,
the different branches of the z family have
spread frotp New England, where_ the first
possessors of the• name landed in 10-10
throughout the EastTrit and Middle eater,
and are mainly resident in Connecticut,
New York, Maisachusetts, and Penns/1- -
, Vaunt. *
$22 per Annum In Advanoup:,
interested in establishing the validity of;tbw:
Garay grant for a railway route acroefilits-,
isthmus of Tehuantepec. 1856
chairman of the National Banat's. emit*
mittec in the campaign which resulted is
the election of Mr. Buchanan. -
-be was, elected president of the Atlaittor
and Great Westerußailway, and in 1858
proceeded to Europe -to negotiate its as.
curities, and enlist foreign Investment in
the enterprise— h . This - he succeeded in ae-:
Compliehing, placing the road on a fooling
that mubsequently securert, constrotticin.
In 1861, he was chairman of Democratic -
State Centrel Committee.
During a life of constant employment - io
this manner, he had found time tocorustruet
several houses,. a large hotel among' the
rest; tafterward burned), and conducted in
- umerable improvements in - his town and
neighboring • properties. Added to these,
almost every enterpnse of , moment in hi*
neighborhood found him Connected with it. •
Be w.t.s director and officer of the Towanda :•-
Tanning Company and Sbrader band Coen " t
pany, both successful and extensive con- . : . -
cerns. Among the valuable properties ac.
quired by him was what now constitutes tbe
town of Ward, in Tioga county,. originallt► i
15,500 actes in extent, and covering the
mines of the Fall _Brook Coal Company,
owned by the;late John Magee, of Watkins,
In his latter years, mach of his time was
employed in managing systeniatically, his
multifarious business affairs, and in arrant
in. his collection of prints and autographs.
'and illustrating works of biogniptucal and
historical character contained in his librat7.
Flom time to time, he interested himself in
and sustained . several newspapers —the
Patriot and' Union, of Harrisburg; the
Baitimore Leader, (subsequently the staler
man) ; the Erening Express, of Washing
ton, D. - C., latterly combined with the
tional, amongst the rest. His
collection of rare books, engravings, auto
graphs and - Works. in - every department of.:
literature and science, arranged in the:
handsome library room of "Tredinnoct," ,
with its gothic outlines and stained glass ;
windows, and walls. hung with trophies of:
feudal times, and historical reliques, Amer-,
kap and foreign, f firmed - a unique assent-.
bldge of objects of art s history- and enter
tainment, and. gave evidence of a range of
information and a vast mastery of detail
seldom met with in a man of active And .
constant business habits and pursuits. .,
Mr. Ward was twice married; first. lo•
Hennab, daughter of W. Raynsford, ,of
Montrose, who died Feb ',try 25,, 1830._ ,
His • second wife was Hai. .12 Charlotte-
Porter, of Waterbury, Con o survived
.only two years. By his first •wiiehe had
two daughters, the youngest of , whom,
Mary, died In Charleston, S. C., in the
winter of '1857, .and - is buried there. His
eldest daughter, Ellen, married Gen - . Win.
H. Miller, of Harrisburg, and is still (18713)
living. By his second wife he had one
son. Henry, who. is still living.
Mr. Ward took an active part in sdiscov
erinz.,; and prrserving the historical remains
atViersonal -traditions of his section of
th tate ; rind on the fah of May, 1870 1 '
being interested in the efforts-of the author
of this -work* to collect materials for anac•
count of the Moravian missions of Penrr
sylvania, he-addressed a letter to the news.
papers of-the town concerning the subject,
offering to ['remote a publication •for the
preservation of such annals. On the morn
ing.of the 14th of the same month, arising
from his bed, he fell in .a fit of apoplexy
and expired within two hours of the attack.
His remains were followed by . a large con
course of citizens to their last. resting place
iii the , burial ground in Towanda, where
they repose under- a mem:meat covering
those also of his second wife.
This is undeniably• the record of q busy '
useful life,,a life of toil and of contribtotion
to the day and.generation in which be of
whom 'these chronicles: are written, - , was
born to live, and in which he bore his tart
steadily and' faithfully to the .end. The -
range and experience of such a life is no
less remarkable than its lesson of rewarded -
and unremitting work. The energy, habits
of method, and, withal, the sagacity 'and
strength of mind and -vigor of body. united ,-
in the subject of this sketch are seldom met /-
With amoliit men. That such an energy`
was not wholly expended in the pursuit, of
selfish gains, but was used, as this min's
was, to improve, enlighten, and betintify
the world within'which his sphere of action •
lay, is evidence of - a broad and/ctiltured
mind—a kindly and cathcilie spirit, a baud'
for-generous deeds, a heart tall/of kindness
for his fellow man. .It was',given him to
this, the age-of_ wonders :he saw io
the mighty impetus of human progress that
has sweptponwardwith such giant strides is' . •
the century at :whose dawn he came into
the world, - the contributive force of human
intelligence and human hands ; he saw,,and
felt the. impress ,Of his time and bet* an
honorable and , ansrduons part, the-ainple,__ .
measure of his allotted share.
*Rev. Mr( Craft's Historillof Bradford'. .
County. 7 .
- .
/' .
/The tire sinks low, the drifting smoke;
Dies softly-In the autumn daze,.
And silent are the tongues that spoke
The speech of other days.
Gone, too, the dqsky ghosts whose feet .
But no* yon listening thicket stirred ;
UnSe'ared within Its covert meet •
The squirrel and ttte bird. •
The story of the rag Is told,
But thou, a, sweet and lone :
Glen of the rainbow : thou shalt hold
Its romances as thine own.
Thoughts of thine ancient forest prinie
Shall sometime haunt thy summer dreams,
And shape to low poetic rhyme-
Theniusic of thy streams.
When Indian summer thugs her cloak '
Qf brooding aziirti'on tIM' woods,
The pathos of a yautshed folk •
' Shall tinge thisolitudes.
,The blue smoke of their fires once more
Far o'er the hills shall,
And sunset's Olden clouds restoo
. The red man's paradise. -
I Strange 'sounds of a forgotten tongue
Shall cling to many a crag and
In stash of falling waters sung. •
Or murmur of the ware.
And oft in midmost hush of night.• .
shrill o'er the deepdnoUthed cataract's rOltr.
Shalt ring the waiscry . lrom the height • •
That stoke the wilds of yore. -5
Sweet Vale, more pelmet' bind thy skies; •
. Thy airs are fraught with rarer balm ;
A. peoples busy tumult lies.
Hushed In thy sylvan cilm.
Oh, sweet thy peace : While fancy fumes
Soft idyls of thy dwellers lied.;
They loved thee, called thee gentle names,'
/n the long summers
Quenched Is Metre ; the drifting ontnie ,
vanished In the autumn haze:
Gone, too, oh, Vale, the simple folk
Who loved thtle In old dayi.
Rut for
_their sakes—their lives serene—
Their hues, perchance as sweet as 03 , 14..
Oh, be thy woods for aye more green, "
And fairer bloiim thy flowers!'
Ix Michigan they never hold inquests
upon the bodies of men whose pocketh
are found to contain fruit-tree catalogues
and wiretence samples, but if — the mur
del er becomes known his neighbors club
together and present him with a ~goldh
eaded cane, or a patient 4,0,26:0-box.
A ' FELLOW at a cattle show, where he
made himself conspicuous by his bluster,
cried out,, mill these prize .0 tttle ! Why
they ain't nothin' to what our folks rear
ed. My father raised the biggest Mgt of
any man 'round our parts." "do doubt
of it," said a bystander, "and the noisi
est." ,
"What is that arrangement?" asked a
newspaper man of a depot official , the oth
er day, as they stood looking into a trim
ming stove window. "Blamed ifl know,"
said the depot man, "it's some son of a
patent faunel. 4 ' And then the. ;Ivo 'pla
cable men went away. and didn't know,
that they bad been looking:tit a coral.
-And'yet rine. peopia-thinir„aktkeyster;
. fissin 7l .
v -,_ r ,
- , , ,
—Dmid Gray