Bradford reporter. (Towanda, Pa.) 1844-1884, January 08, 1880, Image 1

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The ISTI&D1 , 0111) RU.01321E1111 published every
'Thursday morning by GOODRICII & HATCHCOCE,
:at One Dollar per annum, in advance.
W.Advertising In all case. exclusive of sub.
ecription to the paper. •
line for first Insertion, and viva CCNTS patine for
.each subsequent insertion, but no notice Inserted
for loss than fifty cents.
ed at reasonable tares.
Administrator's an!' .Execntor'a Notices, ;
Auditor's liotices,l2.so4 Business (Ails, !trellises.
{per year) OS, additional lines It each.
Yearly advertisers are entitled to quarterly
changes. Transient advertisements must be paid
'tor in advance.
All resolutions of associations; communications
•of limited or individual interest, and notices of
marriages or deaths, exceeding five lines are charg
ed r t yr: c ENT'S per line, but simple notices of mar
riages and deAtits will be published without charge.
Its rowrxn having a larger circulation than
:any other paper in the county, makes it the beat
:advertising medium In 'Northern Pennsylvania.
JOB PRATING of every kind, In plain and
!fancy colors, dune with neatness and dispatch.
'Haadifills, Blanks, Cards, Pamphlets, Billheads,
Statements,&c., of every variety and style, printed
.at lhe shortest notice. The REPOATIR Mlles Is
• well supplied with power presses, a good assort
• meet of new type, and everything in the printing
line can tic executed in the most artistic manner
. and at the lowest rites. TERMS INVARIABLY
rosiness garbs.
oMce over Mason's old Bonk.
Office with Patrick and Foyle
Solicitor of Patents. Particular attention paid
to'business to the Orphans Court and to the settle
ment of estates.
Mice in Illontanyes Block
NI 0 N'T ItOS F.. PA.
Judee Jessup having resumed the practice of the
law in Northeni Pennsylvania., will attend to any
f•gat business filtrated to him in Bradford county.
wishing to consult 'him. can call on It.
Streeter. Esq., Towanda, Pa., when an appointment
can be male.
Feb 27, '7
- Residence and Office lust North of Dr. Cur
'Alen, un Mal ii, street, Athens, Pa. Jun26-Cm.
E • F. GOFF,
Ag•Mey for the sale and psireliase of all .klndt, of
t.ritMS and for making loans on Heal s F'4ital.e.
All htl , !nts Will receive careful and. prompt
armntlon. fduue 4, 1879.
t il l. . 1.
A T2 - 1 11 0 ,
1, 1 , 1 1. Pt,
e E n Y d
to a 1 buetnesv entrusted Co his care In Bradford,
cudivan and Wyonang Counties. Office with Esq.
forte?. (novi9-74.
1 1 11. ANGLE, D. D. S.
iftive on State Street, second floor nT Dr. Pratt's
v!hve. apr 79.
Ornee—RoOMS for occupied by Y. M. C. A
Ilea itofitn. tjan.:ll 478.
Dist Atry Srad. (17 , +.
a'OEN W. mix,
Ofnee—lortli Side Public *quare
E., •
E =I
OCbm nrcr Turner ,St Gordon's Drug Store
Towanda, ra. May be consulted In German.
()Mem —sorond ditor south of the First Natsotta'
Bari t. Matu St.. ny stair,.
.\TT( tNl:l'~-AT-T.A~P
E.—Fn:rper.'y occupied by Wm. Watkins,
11. N. WILLIAMS. 1net.17.171. E. .1. A
)111,e r I/nylon's Store
TTO N,EY S- T-1, A Vr,
Ofll,o it 11 -'sl3lr.ek. first door 5011t.:3 Of the 'First
rt; onnk. up-Malrs.
0 .1)11,1.. : L i:mi.:3ls) J. N. CALIF?.
TAtz. S. 11. IVOODBURN, Pitysi
ciao mill Surgeon. Office over 0. A. Black's
‘r.s.o Ma: 1. 1S"."11y•
W. over \T. E. M...•afc..1,1 , . Towanda, Pa.
,-11, 1,, ~t 4 ,1 Gold. Silver. Ito Tiber, and
onintion Teoth extracted without pain.
D. PAYNE, M. P.,
I -4 • PliVsit lAN AND Sri:GEM:.
o:hue orer Mout:Dives' %tor,. litlire hours from 10
to 11 A. 11., ara.l from t.t
Spoclal otit•ritl,+n Oyu to
• and nF
G• ,
Zdtlire ‘l:ty last Famed ay of exeknumih. flyer Turner
Gortlon's Drug Store, Towanda, Pa.
Towanda. 3upe
iqns. IL PEET,
TT.ACII is It 0 F lANO:3Ir F. S C.
TERMS.--,10 rcr term.
tlte,lilettee Thud street, let ward.)
V Ar 2.. att
Tr) it'A NDA, PENN -A
Onioe—SouTh side Poplar street, opposite Ward
Ilou..•. i Nov. la. 1!,:9.
$ This Bank offers unusual facilities for the trans- .
hs . etior, of 3 gencr.:l blanking hustress.
Jos row ELL, President
TINWARE-a large and general
aswimetic et I , )w•ri ICC', ►t .71.7Nre,
her who in this month•wu born •
WO gem save Garnet's should be wore•
They will insure her constancy,
Trim friendship and lidelity.i
The rehruary born will find .
tlincerity and peace of mind,
Freedom from passion and from care,
If they:l6es Amethyst will wear,
Who on Ills world or ours their eyes
In March first open, shall be wise,
In days of peril firm and brace,
And wear a Bloodstone to their grave
Stio who front April dates her years,
Diamonds should wear, lest bitter tears,
For rah; repentance now ; this stone
Emblem of Innocence is known.
May 1, '79
'Who first beholds tae light orday
In spring's sWeet flowery month of May,
And wears an Emerald all her life,
ShaMho a loved and happy wife. -
Who comes with summer to this earth.
And owes to June her day of birth,
With . ring of Agate on her hand,
Can health, wealth, and long life command
The glowing Ruby should adorn
Those who In warm July are born't
Then will they be exempt and tree,
From love's doubts and anxietSt.
Wear a Sardonyx. or for thee
No conjugal felicity;
The August born, without this stone,
•Tin said must live unloved and lone.
A maiden born wher. Autumn leaves-
Are rustlingto . Septembera breeze,
A Sapphire on her brovi should bind—
'Twill cure 'diseases of the mind-.
October's child Is born for woe,
And life's vicissitude's must-know ;
Itut lay an Opal on her breast,
A.nd hope will lull those woes to rest,
Who fivst comes to this world below
With drear November's fog and snow,
Should prize the Topaz, amber hue—
Emblem of friends mid lovers true.
If cold Dccetnber gave you birth,
The month of snow and ice and mirth,
Ilace on your hand a Turquoise blue;
Success will bless what'er you do.
By what strange freak of heredity,
the humble home of sturdy Deacon
Gray and 'his meek wife, among the
Berkshire hills, should have held such
a nestling as Margery, it might have
puzzled our modern philosoperisi to
discover,' unless, Perhaps, the spirit
of some beautiful ancentress, burned
for witchcraft in old colonial days,
disdaining successive plhdding gen
erations, had reappeared in her to
vex the somewhat less rigid proprie
ties of the nineteenth century.
Jan. 1,1575
"She don't seem to favor the grays,
nor yet the Percivals," one gossip
had said to another over her cradle,
" but a handsomer baby I haven't set
my. eyes on for these thirty years."
Margery's growing maidenhood
had fulfilled the fair promise of face
and form. It was but faint praise to
call her the prettiest girl of all the
country side. The quick smiles that
dimpled in her dainty cheeks or broke
the delicate curves of her mobile,
scarlet lips—the swift glances of her
dark eyes, full of slumbering fire,
made of her fresh, young face a per
petual "song without words." Who
should translate the melody ?. Not
the father, whose stern notions of
filial submission, voiceless and abso
lute; had received a hundred shocks
from her self-asserting individuality;
nor the mother, whose gentle soul
was grieved by her distaste for the
monotony othousewifely duties; nor
the teacher, whose ipatient hand had
closed so often the open Tennyson
or Victor Hugo above the unlearned
algebra upon her desk; nor yet the
couritry lads, who, though boasting
of her beauty, were, after all, more
at their ease with plain, little Annie
Lee than Margery.
(A . Pril )2. 16.]
John Butler, looking up at her in
the singers' seats, on . the Sunday of
her seventeenth birthday, as he had
done ever since she was old enough
to take her place there, saw, as in a
dream, the beautiful world of passion
and romance asleep in her heart.
" Waiting for the kiss of thetPrince!"
he thought, with an unconscious sigh.
Years. ago, in his college vacation
days, .he had made rare friendship
with the bright little hoyden ; it was
he who had fashioned the kites and
balls and other like boyish toys, for
which her doll bowie was disdained
and deserted ; he, who bad' beaten
for her the chestnut boughs on the
!hillside, or initiated her into the
stealthy arts of trout fishing in the
mountain brook.
Shehad grown away from him now
—nay, rather, he confessed to him
self with a dull pain at his heart-'-he
had grown away from her He was
thirty years old, and his daily em
ployment of instructing the half
dozen boys, whom he was accustomed,
to receive for college preparation,'
made him feel still older. A very
quiet and humble life-work, but he
had chosen it both from a certain
felt aptitude for teaching and because
he could not leave his widowed moth;
er quite alone in the old home to
which she clung so fondly. Once
chosen, however, he was sure to put
into it his best of heart as well as
brain. One may measure the pressure
of steam, or the weight of falling
water, but not the power of con
science in one noble human soul.
Seeing in turn the wheel of small and
seemingly monotonous daily duties,
we scarcely guess at the immense re
serve force, which, if need were,
would impel to martyrdoms.
There was a stranger' at church
that day who, in his turn, gazed at
Margery. ,She had met him already
at same village merry-making, and
knew him to be Allan Wilde, an at
tache of the surveying party which
t. BETTS, Cashitte
Aril 1. 187.9
Er .118.5. J. H. HADIRMAN
E 1337
elccied Sale.
A S t ory of To-Day.
wait just then laying the route for
.the .new railWiy through the neigh
boring hill passes. As it chanced,
he had been shown a seat in John
Butler's own pew, and a striking con
trast was presented by the men
standing ;side by side, and sharing
the book of hymns, while Margery's
clear soprano rang through the little
church: The one, whose grave,
thoughtful brow and slightly-stoop
ing shoulders kept the old habit of
his student life; the other, with fig-
ure bold, erect, and full of careless
grace; black, flashing eyes. which
seemed to speak in turn all languages
but that of fear or reverence ; full
lips, Whose easy curl was veiled by
the silken mustache be wore.'
Twice 'or thrice Margery's own
eyes; encountering those of the new
comer, dropped suddenly' and a
heightened color crept to her cheeks.
John Butler saw,,and hated himself
for the sudden aversion he felt' for
the man at his side. • What property
had he in Margery that he shoula,
resent the tribute of admiration
which none could ehonse but render ,
to so fair a face ? Yet a vague pre
sentiment of evil, from which, strive
as he might, he could not eliminate
an• unreasonable sense of personal
loss, made him unquiet as he walked
homeward, when the service was over.
His, heart was none the lighter to see
that young Wilde, presuming on his
previous introduction to Margery,
had overtaken her and was walking
at i her side, bending with chivalrous
grace as he talked, while smiles and
blushes chas e d each other over her
It was the beginning of a sad sum
mer for John Butler. There are no
truths so powerful in their final self
assert►on as those which we have
persistently striven to hide even frchn
ourselves. It was not long before he
knew, past denial, that with all the
strength of his mature manhood, he
loved :Margery Gray ; and, that, alas!
whatever faint hope he had uncon
sciously cherished, despite the dis
parity of age and temperament, of
some day winning her to himself,
was fast fading into thin air.
Allan Wilde had so far disirmed
Deacon Gray's first distrust as to be
a welcome visitor at the farmhouse.
Evening by evening he sat with Mar
gery in the "grape arbor, and the light
breeze wafted the sound of gay talk
and happy laughter through the open
window of John Butler's study.
Margery's beauty blossomed in those
days like that lovely cactus-flower
which opens in a single night. Her
untrained imagination invested her
lover with all heroic attributes. The
stories he told her of adventures met
in the practice of his . profession in
remote, half settled districts, of en
counters with hostile land owners,
who disputed even by force of arms
the right of railway passage across
their sell, sounded to her like the
wildest dreams of romance. She
could scarcely believe that so brilliant
and daring a representive of the
great world outside should bring the
treasure of his Jove to the little coun
try girl whose life was bounded by
her native hilts.
John Butler watched the young
man narrowly. He hid the rare no
bility of nature, which would have
made him rejoice in Margery's hap
piness, even at the price of his own
pain, could he have felt that he re
signed her to a worthy rival. He
hid learned that Allan was well con
nected in his distant home, but noth
ing definite of his "personal character,
beyond a certain reputation for care
less living. Yet all the more, as
weeks went by, be telt assured that
Margery was building her life hopes
upon the treacherous sand of an un
true and vacillating nature. Possibly
he was neither wholly right nor
wrong in his judgment. Wilde had
the,dual temperament. Magnetically
responsive to external influences, he
was gdod and bad by turns. When,
with a just perceptible mist of tears
dimming the brightness of his eyes,
lie would say to .Margery :
" Dar ing, you little know what
my life as been! I am not worthy
of you, but you shall make me what
you will !" lie was, perhaps; for
that time, as thoroughly himself as
when, far away, amid a crowd of
reckless companions 7 )he had drained
the dangerous glass or sung the
bacchanalian song.
He left her in the first days of
autumn, with the golden rod bright
in the valleys,and the scarlet sumach
aflame on all the hills. Margery's
face was bright through her tears
with perfect hope and trust, as she
bade hith' good-bye. Was he not to
come again at Christmas time, and
then, if all was well, they would nev
er be parted more.
Gay, tender letters came to her as
the first weeks went by, their loving
words singing themselves over in her
heart like the carol of spring birds.
Almost imperceptibly a change crept
over thein—a tone of troubled, half
reckless discontent, which grieved
her sorely, though it could not shake
hex loyalty.•
At last, one night, she opened the
envelope, with its familiar superscrip
tion, to find only a hastily-scrawled
note within
DEAREST MARGERY : I have been un
fortunate and am in serious business
trouble. I fear I may not be able to come
to you as soon as we arranged. Don't
forget, darling. Your own :ALLAN.
That was all. No word of comfort
or explanation; and following an
absolute silence for three long weeks.
None but a nature proud and sen
sitive as Marg erv ' s could comprehend
the agony of suspense in which, each
night, she looked vainly for a mes
sage from her lover. She shared her
burden with no one—others ' might
distrust him, but not she
Coming in one evening from a long
walk among the bleak bills, whither
she had gone to ease the intolerable
aching of her heart, she heard the
noise of wheels as herfather returned
from his nightly journey, to the vil
lage post-office, and sank down un
noticed in a dim corner of the half
lighted room. He came up the long
walk with a slow, heavy step, aid,
throwing wide the door, strode thro'
the passage *ay. He did not see her
as he passed, and, in her, breathless
anxiety,, she made no sound.
"Wife !" be said, with a solemn
intensity of tone that made her heart
leap, "an awful thing has happened I
Alas! for the day when, in spite of
my better judgment, I received a
wolf in sheep's clothing under my
roof! All the village is talking bf
the news which the newspapers
have brought to-night. It is of Allan
Wilde, Mary. To meet debts he has
rade—gambling debts !—he forged .
a 'note. Detected and pursued, with
arms in bands he resisted the officers
of the law, and=paid the forfeit with
his own life!"
A scream rang through the room.
Mrs. Gray fell back, weakly in her
chair, and even her husband's strong
limbs tottered under him. Margery
came forward from the shadow.
Colorless as the dead, with the long
white - cloak-she had not yet removed
falling, in heavy folds about her, she
might have seemed standing in her
winding .sheet, but for - the intense
burning of her eyes, as the fire -light
fell upon her face. With an imperi
ous gesture, she grasped the newSp-
per in her father's hand, and, before
he had gathered strength to detain.
her by word or sign, she had .gone
through the - long hall, up the stairs,.
and they heard the key ttirn in the
lock of her own door. -.
If Margery could' tiire died that
night, she would 110 e counted it the
sweetest boon that fate could holdjn
store; but life was too strong in her
young veins. Rebel as she might
against the cruel fortune which . had
befallen her, she had no choice - fait
to rise next morning to the first of
the new days which seemed to stretch
in endless; procession before her, un
til her very brain reeled dizzily. 'One
purpose only was the chaos .
of her mind—to let no one speak to
her of her dead lover. There should
be silence; since there were no kind.
words to say. With a fierce tender
ness. she wrapped his memory in the
garment of her love which he had so
dishonored. She made fOr 'him It
hundred excuses to her oivn heart;
yet, none the less,
with . the pitiless
truthfulness which was a part of her
nature, she knew that the mere fact'
of his death was to her less than
nothing beside the wreck of broken
As the long winter wore, away, and
spring and summer covered the hills
once more with bud and blossom,
Deacon Gray grew impatient that
the color did not return to Margery's
cheek and the old light to her eye.
His,stern nature might bear with the
first shock of grief and dismay, but
be felt it
,now time that she.
Should forget all vain regrets for an
unworthy object: Unconsciously his
manner betrayed his • disapproval,
and, in proportion, her own grew
Old and reserved. From her moth
fr's weaker nature she: bad tnever
Iboked for helpful and comprehend
ing sympathy.
Only John Butler, with the- keen,
nsight of love, read the poor child's
heart. Ile had given her little more
than an occasional smile of pleasant
greeting in all these months, yet his
whole soul yearned toward her in an
agony of pitying tenderness. Slow.
ly and tremblingly the hope dawned
in his heart 'that she might be won
to begin . with him a new life, in
which his great love should atone to
her for the' cruel suffering she had
Allan Wilde had lain for eighteen
months in his dishonored grave, when
Deacon Gray. called Margery, one
day, to speak with her alone.
." Child," he said, "I have some
thing to tell you which deeply con
cerns your welfare. John Butler has
spoken to me of you to-day. Ile
would scarcely expect me to repeat'
to you what he has said, but I have
thought best to do so, so that you,
may, know beforehand my own opin-,
ion in reference to the subject.
has asked My permisSion to seek you;
for his wife."
Margery started violently.
_ .
." His wife !" she cried, with bitter
emphasis. " Does John Butler think
that I can—" She stopped suddenly,
and a wave of color swept across her
Her father had risen. •.
"Margery !" he said, in a voice
tremulous with passion, "listen to
me! On the hillside yonder are the
graves of three of my children.. Bet
ter for the only one left me that she
were laid beside them than to waste
Iler, in wicked repining for a,
scoundrel who, if he were alive to
day, would be serving out the penalty
of hiS crime in the penitentiary !"
Ile' paused, startled at the calm
whiteness of her face. She put up
her face, and her lips moved for a
moment without a sound. 'At last
she said
"Father, it is enough! Send John
Butler to me !"
• " I cannot, Margery.. He gave me
no message for you."
"Then I will go ixo 'she an
swered, turning with swift, resistless
motion to open the door.
",Margery, come back !" be called;
but she was gone.
John Butler sat alone in his school
room. There was a quick tap on the
door, and, scarcely Avaiting for his
ansier, Margery entered. Startled
at her pallor, he would have led her
to a . seat, but she gently resisted.
"John," she said, still standing
before- him, "my father has told me
what you said to him."
" He told you !"
"He told me. Yes, it was better
so," she answered. -" I have ere to
tell you that I will marry you if you
wish, but there is one thing you
should have known. I have but—"
The strain had been too great. She
sank into a chair' and burst into a
storm of passionate weeping.
He bent over her in an agony of
self-reproach, soothing her like- a
little child. -
"My . Child, I know,, i I know," he
said. Then, when her sobs were"
"Did you conic to me of your own
will, Margery?"
"Of my own will."
"And could you trust me, then to
cherish and comfort. you, and some
time, maybe, teach you to' love me as
I—Oh my darling, I have loved you
alway !"
"I will try," she answered. •
lie took the little cold bands in
his own and kissed them reverently,
in seal of the strange betrothal.
'He had had other dreams—this
strong; self-contained man—of the
little bride . that slowly, but surely
won, might creep sometime with
smiles and blushes to his !sheltering
breast, but he put them by, and close
ed the book of memory upon the un
marked page. •
His home had been very lonely
since his mother's death, and Mar
gery herself seemed to, wish for no
delay; so in the , carly autumn, they
were married.
With.fond secrecy be had fitted all
the`: belongings. of her room, to . her
special tastes andlancies. The colors
,she chose—the books and flowers she
loved best—were there. He had
pictured to himself over and over
how the old sunshine would light her
face at the sight.
" You are very kind,!' she said
simply, only that. •
"I am too impatient!" be thought
i e'ruShing his disappointment. ' " I
'must wait—she must haVei time !"
How patiently he waited only pod
knew were
smallest wishes
consulted ; she was irked . by no-un
accustomed care; she dwelt in at.
atmosphere of watchful care and
gentleness..* Yet he looked vainly for
anything beyond the quiet, grateful
response which might have been
made by any honored guest. At
rare intervals an almost petulant
manner replaced her usual calm, and
he found her, sometimes, after long
walks, by herself, with traces of tears
upon her cheeks. - He ceased the
small carresses which she received so
piissively, fearing to give her pain.
His love never wavered, but slowly,
slowly, hope was dying froni his
She came to him' one day, and
stood silently beside the desk where
he was correcting avile of Latin ex
ercises. Suddenly, with her old im
pulsive motion, she swept her hand
across the paper.
"Are you never tired of it all ?"
she cried. " This cea3eless Monotony
—the boys with their creaking boots
and blotted exercises and endless con
jugations?. Does this life satisfy you ?
Do you want nothing ?"
Long afterward she remembered
the pain in his face. He felt for a
moment that he• must open his arms
and cry to her, "„You—you—it is
you I want! Come !" But he only
wiped his pen carefully and laid it
"You are tired, my child," he said
—he always called her "my child "
now—" I have been selfish in keeping
you to my dull ways. We must have
some change for you. Stay l I have the
very plan. You remember my aunt
Olivia Mande, whom you met here
with her daughter ; three years ago?
I had a letter from her this morning
from hex' country house on the sea
shore. She asked us to her
for a long visit. I cannot well leave,
you know, but I will send you for
both of us. Would you like it, Mar
gery ?
He had not seen so bright a look
upon: her face for months.
"T am sure 3 should like it!" she
answered. Then, with sudden com
punction. "You won't be lonesome 1"
"1 shall he busy, you know, and
old Elsie will take famous care of
Ile lifted his eyes to her face. If
she had said but one little_word how
,would be have pushed aside
all obstaeles:tO follow her *here she
I am writing a story, of to-day. It
was in last July that Margery went
away. Life in Mrs. Rande's house
was a novel e i xperience. There was
a throng of gay gueSts, and Mar
gery's unconscious beauty made her
the petted and'anniired of all. Amid
the airy flatteries which chivalrous
men of the world poured into her tin
accustomed ears, she first began to
take her husband's measure. A
strange, homesick longing stirred
within her, growing, as the Week
went by. Why not'go back at once?
To-morrow? Sheltaught one night.
She need not wait: to send him word.
She would take him by surprise
How glad he would be ! A thrill of
unused delight made her cheeks flush.
She ran lightly, up from the station
after hel long day's ride She had
never dreamed that the mere sight of
the staid, brown hense could make,
her so glad. As she cable near she
fancied it uninhabited aspect.
The front doors were shut, and the
blinds at her husband's study window
closely drawn. Her heart throbbed
in time to the heavy knocker under
her hand. Sne -heard the old house
keeper's step in the passage, and the
door slowly opened. •
" Miss Margery!" cried the woman,
starting as if she had seen a ghost,
and falling back in her astonishment
to her old-time form of address.
" Yes, yes, it is 1! Why do you
look. at me so? Where is your
master ?
"Then you don't know ?"
" Know what? Oh, Elsie, tell me
quickly ! Is anything wrong with
my husband ?"
"Miss Margery—'MUSC me, Mrs.
Butler, I would say, Master John
meant it for the, best. lie would
have told you, though your pa was
bound. you . should not - be, for fear
'twoulit he - the sp'illin •of your visit,
until you was ready to- come home,
he said ; but he's been gone nigh onto
two weeks—" she covered her eyes
with her apron—" to nuss them ais is
sick with yellow fever in the South."
'Margery fell on the threshold with
out a word. Old, Elsie lifted her in
her arms, and laying her on a couch
within, dispatched a passing neighbor
for her father and mother.
" Did he leave no word, no message
for the ?" said Margery, when she
could speak.
"Yes honey,. dear; this letter he
said I was to give it into your own
She, sat up, and, breaking the seal
with trembling Angers, read :
" When you read this, my beloved, you
will know that I have gone where duty
called me, in the hope of doing some little
goixl to the Buttering and dying. I have
not written you of rny decision, because I
would not have your ideasure marred by
any anxious thought of me. I knoW the
dan g er, and am not unprepared. If God
wills, I shall come back.; if not there is
one thing I must ask you, dearest. For
give the selfish wrong I did in making
you my wife. I was too old and dull to
make you happy,. but believe me, darling,
I would have done. it if I could. My
great love made me blind.- You, have
beeirgood and bravo . I bless you now
and ever in trip heart.
"If anything should happen to nie,
Margery, go to Mr. Latieter. He holds
my will and knows , my wishes. All I
have is yours.
"Think gently of me, darling, and may
God bold you in his keeping now and
lsvays.'" • "Jolts:"
- She read it slowly through to the
last line, then she turned:
"Father," she said, with the old
ring in her voice, "I start for the
South to-morrow."
." Margery !"
"Do hot think to stay me. lam
gbing to' my husband ! Shall I sit
safely here while he gives "away a life
worth a thousand , such as , mine?
Fwen now he may belighting death
alone." •
Argument, entreaty, command,
all were alike in vain. With the
early morning light the long journey
was begun.
She, knew no weariness, she Felt
no fear. -The rushing,. thundering
train seemed to her to crawl along
the sand. She would have ridden, if
she could, Upon the wings of the
lightning. In the night she seemed
to hear his voice calling her. God
could not let him die before he knew
how *she loved him. 'Oh,' fool and
blind that she had been! Where in
all her dreams of discontent had
there been love and courage like this?
Here was "a knight braver than Lan- ,
celot, more true and tender than
Arthur of the Round Table, and her
hand had refused his crown!
Closer and more stifling grew the
heat . and dust as they neared . the
fever-infested districts. Long trains'',
laden with flying refugees, met them
at stations. Groups" of Sisters of
Charity, in their black gowns and
quaint snowy head-gear, occupied
the car with her. Two phy;ieians
from the far Northwest sat just
across the aisle. She heard 6ag-
Incas of their conversation, calm and
cheerful as if the 3 were, bound . on
some long-planned excursion of busi
' ness.or pleaFure. Common life had
grown all at once heroic. It was
worth while to live ; nay, to die in
such a cause as this.
The quarantine station was reach
ed at last,
.through which 3laraery
was to enter the doomed city of her
" My child!" pleaded an old officer:
"I speak to you as a father. Go
home! You are too „ lioung and beau
tiful to rush upon certain death."
"My husband is there !" said Mar
- The early morning papers were
brought in, She took one mechanic ;
ally in her hand, and this. is what she,
• "John Butler, volunteer visitor for the
Howards, front Mass., was strick
en yesterday. It will be hard, indeed; to
till the place - of this marvellously brave
and efficient worker, - who has seemed
able to instil some of his own indomitable
courage attl hope into every one with'
whom he b s come into contact. He lies
violently at - hospital." '
She is ill a carriage at last.. The
coachmaniashes his horses, but she
cries to him to drive faster. Stores
aad shops are closed. Here_ and there
.people, black and white, rush out
from the by-streets and alleys, help " for !he - love of God !".
About the great aid-centres hundreds
of negroes, Ntitli their baskets, crowd
ed on the etkrbing, , wait, for the call
ing of their names. Everywhere
they meet hearses. cglen wagons,
great express carts, piled with the
dead, their horses at a trot, moving
.southward to the cemeteries.
Thev are s topped now; she springs
from the carriage unaided. ' A - little
girl grasps her dress. '
"Oh, lady, my mother is dying!".
She cries out through a•rain of tears.
Margery loosens. the child's fingers
gently, but she cannot linger.'
" Take me to John
„Baler!" she
cries to an attendant.
Past long rows of cots where: men
and women and : little children groan
aid writhe in mortal agony, she fol
lows him. They *are taking out a
dead man; her garnients • brush the
stifiening limbs as she passes.
Tier guide pat7ses at,last.',oll, God
in heavenl Tossing in delirium,
with face discolored and distorted,
and 'bloodshot, staring eyes ;" can this
be he?
One moment she sank upon her
knees beside the bed, then she rose,
up to do battle with death.
• The nurses' could tell you how•a
giant's strength seemed to dwell in
her young arm's; a wisdom althost
superhuman in her inexperfenced
brain. Day and night went ,by but
she did not mark them: The ilead
around her were replaced `by the
dying,. but she took no.heed.
The hour came when love had con
quered. John Butler woke, too weak
for speech or motion, but, with the
old .ray of reason in his 'eyes and
whether in .the body or out of the
body he knew not, but Margery's
face was bent above him, and Mar
gery's-kiss was on his almnst lifeless
Slowly but surely _his strength re
turned. Margery could leave him at
length to care for others whose needs
were greater. lie did not keep he
back. She seemed W I wear a char-loaf
ed life, and her face, Wight as with a
light reflected from world beyond
this, was the last comfort of many a
dying eye; the first returning gleam
of earthly hope and hive to souls
who, through her gentle ministration,
came slowly and painfully back from
the gstes of death.
• t
They went home together when
over the smitten land:had descended
the healing benefit of the frost. It
;was their wedding journey. The far
hills were blue with Indian summer ;
sky and earth seemed bathed in the
glory of a mystic transfiguration.
They talked little by the way. There
are some moods - which words. even
the tenderest, but profane.
If they had never come back, ghat
then ? What does -;it matter, death
(!or life, to souls that 4 Lave -tasted the
supreme of existence, perfect love
and sacrifice.
HoW to Preserme Health:
The first great secret of good health
is good habits; • and the next is reg
ularity of ?habits. They are briefly
summed up in the followingirules:
L— Sleep. , Give yourselfl the nec
essary amount of sleep. Some men
require five tours of the twenty-four;
others need eight. Avoid feather
beds. Sleep — in a garment not worn
during the day. To maintain robust
health, sleep - with a persdn as healthj•
as yourself or no one.l
2.—Dress. In cold weather, dress
warmly with underclothing. Remove
muffler, overeoit, overshoes, etc.,
when remaining any considerable
length of time in a warm room. Keep
your feet warm and. dry. 'Wash them
in-warm water two or three times a
Reek. Wear warm stockings, large
boots and overshoes when in the
snow or wet. Wear
. a, light covering
on the head, keeping it always cool.
3.—Cleanliness. Have always a
pint or quart of water in the steeping
room. in the morning, after wash-
bag the hands and face, then wet with
the 'hands every part of the body.
Cold water will not be disagreeable
when applying it with the bare hands.
Wipe immediately ; follow ley briSk
rubbing over the body. The Iwhole
operation need net take over five
minutes. The result of this dash is,
the blood is brought to the surface
of the skin and made to -eirenlate throughout the body, You
have opened the pores of the skin,
'allowing impurities of the body to
pass off, and have given yourself in
the operation a gciod vigorous.morn
ing exercise; Pursue this habit reg - ,-
ularly, and you will seldom take cold.
4.--Inflation of the Lung. Five
minutes spent in the open air, after
dressing, inflating the lung4;_l,y in
haling as full- a breath as_possible,
and pounding the breast during the
inflation, will• greatly enlarge the.
Chest, strengthen the lung.
and effectually ward off consuMntion.
s,Diet. If inclined to be dys
peptic, avoid mince pie, sausage and.
other highly seasoned food. Beware
of eating too freely or soups,; better
to eat food dry enough to employ the
notural saliva of the mouth in mois
telling it. If inclined to - over-eat,
partake freely of rice, cracked wheat,
and other articles that are easily
diL;ested. Eat freely 'of ripe fruit,
and 'avoid excessive use of meats
Eat .4 regular hours, and lightly
near the hour of going to bed. ' Eat
slowly. Thoroughly masticate the
food. Do not wash it down with
continual drink while eating. [Tell
your funniest stories while the
table, and for an hour afterwhrds.
Do not enghge in severe mental ' l abor
directly after hearty eating.
6.—EXerciisc. 'Exercise, not too
viofent, but sullicient Co produce a
gentle prespiration, should 'be.,had
each day' in the open air,
7.--Condition of the Miry: The
condition of the mind has much to
do with the health. Be hiipiful and
joyous.- To be so, avoid biisiriers en
tanglements:that may eausesperplex
ity and anxiety. Keep out of debt.
Live within 'your income. Attend.
church, walk, ride, mix in joviarcom
pany. Do as nearly right as you
know how. Thus conscience will
always' be at ease. If occasionally
disappointed, remember that there is
no rose without a thorn, and that the
darkestelonds have a silv-dr
that sunshine follows storm, and
„beautiful spring follows .the dreary
winter. Do your duty, and leave the
rest to God who ddetlgllthigs well.
The Tramp Triumphant.
A citizen of lloprard street was .
picking his teeth at his gate the oth
er noon after a hearty dinner,. when
a tramp came around the corner and
halted be:ore hlm. -
" No use !" said the citizen, " I've
no. food for tramps."
" Lam not begging." ,
" No; but yo_iilooli W
as if you ant . -
ed to."
"_Well, I can't help -my looks, but
I'm no beggar. 1 pm - for all .1 get.
You loOk to nie like ti,gentleman.
44 1 4 i
"You have a ~•smart, intelligent
look about you."
-" Well, I hope so."
" I'd plek you out anywhere from
the common herd, I would . ,'";' contin
ued the tramp, as hi gentiy rubbed,
his back on the fence:
" Well, that's pretty .good," and,
the citizen stroked hisj whiskers," but.
what t is all this talk about ?"
" tell you. I'm nothing but an
old tramp .1 I don't know buckwheat
from broorn 7 corn, While you know
eVerything: Give me a chance and
give you one. I see you . have
got two crops' of wood , at the side
igate, and I'll make you this offer. I
you'llfnake a speech ten minutes
long saw that wood for nothing.
If you break dowri you shall give me
a square dinner and I'll move on."
" By George ! but I'll du that,"
.:• • .
chuckled the eitiAen.
"I Very well ; I'll stand by that bar-
The citizen-threw away his .i.cooth
pick, pulled — Out his watched, cleared
his throat and began :
"Fellow-citizens—We are called
together here, t4day by a common,
impulse. We nave met—we have
tnet=we hare—we have—"
"You can try once more—.l 4lon't
want-to be hard on you'," obsOrved
the tramp, as the citizen broke down.
"Try -
. the financial question this:
time." -
'Thus encouraged, the citizen led
on with:
s " Fellow citizens—You have pa
- ti'ently . listened to the (long-winded
remarks of Sam Cary. Jle has told
yOU that a piece of paper:is as good
aS;a gold dollar. Ile has, told you ,
that—he has had 'the impudence to
assert that—that is, he has told you
—told you—"
"11l give you one more chance,"
said 'the tramp, as the break-doWn
seemed complete.
" But I won't take it," replied the
citizen. "You go around to the back
door and ra tell the girl to set you
out the best dinner you've had in a
year, and don't
,you he, in a hurry .
about leavinfi ; the table, either !"
Free Plies& •
$l.OO per Annum In AdvanCe.
What Is the little one thinking - ,bent r
Pity wonderful things, UP doubt.
linwritteti history :
Yet ho laughs and 'odes, and eats and drinks,
And chuckles and crows, and nods Ind winks,
As if his head-were as full of kinks
And curious riddles as any sphinx! -
Wrnped by colic, and wept by teary,
, Punctured by pins, and tortured by fears,
Our little nephew will lose two years;
And he'll /Wier know
Where the summers go ; -
lie need not laugh, for he'll Ili - 4U so !
Who can tell What a baby thinks?
Who can lollow the gossamer links
Ily whictithe manakin feelstfitii way
Out from the shore or the great unknown,
Blind, and walling, and 'alone,
Into the lightid day ?
Ptt from the shore of ilia unktiowria, •
Tossing in pitiful Agony—
Of the unknown sea that reels and rolls
Speckled with the barks of little souls—
Darks that were . lanuched on the other Side,
And slipped from Iteaveh on the 0.11114 ;tide•:
What:does he think of his_ mother's eyes?
What does.he think of his mothers hair?
What of the cradle-root that files
Forward and backward through the air?
haf d_w„is he think Of his mothers! breast?—
Bare and Oyoutiful, smooth and white,'
Seeking it ever with fresh delight—
Cup of hislife,'aud couch of hts rest.
What does lie think when her quirk embrace
Presses his hand and btiries . his face.
Deep where the heart-throbs sink and smell"
With tewleiness she eau never tell,
Though shimurtuur the words
Of all the birds—
Words slid has' learned to murmur well?
Now she think:she'll go to sleep!
I can see the shadow Creep
) Over his eyes in soft eclipse,
Over his brow, and over his lips,
Out to his little finger tips!
Softly sinking, down he goes!
Down he goes ! Down he goes!
See ! lie is hushed in sweet repose. .
The Year 1880.
The year 1880 is Leap Year, and
until the fourth of July is the .104th
yea' of,the American Independence,',
.Dominical Letter,Mid-Lent; March
D. C.
Ei)act, 1. "4- 'Palm Sunday,
Solar Cycle, 13.: !, March-21.
Golden Number,.G o d Fri day,
19.. , March 28. -,
.Roman Indiction; Easter Sunday,
• • 3E1.6 26.
.Jewish Lunar Cy. Low Sunday,
cle, 16. 1 April 4. , -
Dionysian Period, . Rogation Sunday,
209. ; May 2. •
Julian see nsion Day,
6593. May 62" -
Sc ptuagesi Ma WhitSunday,May
Sunday, Jan: :25.'
Sexagesima Sun- Triiiity Sunday,
day, Feb...l. • —May 23.- •
Quin qua ges -ma Corpus Christi,
Sunddy, - Feb. 8. " May 27:
Ash Wednesday, :Advent Sunday,
Feb. 11.• , - Nov. 28.
Quad rage si Christmas,Dee.s.
Sunday, Feb. 15.1. • • 1, •
There will be six, eclipses in 1880
--roor of the •siin and two, of the
moon—as follows: -
I: A total eelidse Of the sun, Jan
nary 11. Visible in San Frane*o.
11. A total eclipse of the 'moon,
June .22. Invisible-11n the United
111. An annular eclipse of the sun,
July 7. Invisible in'North America.
IV. A p4tial eclipse of thelsun,
December IL Invisible in America.
V. A total eclipse of the moon,
December 16. Invisible in the'
IThited States.
VI. A partial eclipse Of. the' sun,
December Visible in the United
States when the sun rises. •
The'poon i i ;ealled the. governing
)laaet this wear. • i;
. .
Winter begins December 24.179,
and lasts 90, 1 ,- days.
Spring begins March 20, 180; and
lasts nearly :12 days, ;.
Sumner begins June 20,1880, and
lasts 94 days:
Autiima begins September 22,
liBo. and lasts nearly 91 days.
Winter begins December 21, IsBo.
Venus until 13th iVenus after 13th
. July.
Mars after 25th: . Mars until. 25th
Oct , r Oct.
'Jupiter aftei 150 'Jupiter until 15th
March,. until March, after
12th of July. • • 12th of July..
,Saturn 'after tithiSaturn until 'nth
• until April, -after 9th
• of. July. .
.1 , . of July.
Mercury. 25th 'of er_c u ry, 11th
April,23d -Mnrch,Sth July,
.2d Nov. • ' 11th Dec.'_
. . ,
A solar day is thb-ro
tation Of the earthl'uPon it axis, and
is of 'different lengths, owing - to the '
elliptipticity of the earth's orbit 'and
other causes ; but a mean solar day,
re,orde,dby the time piece, is twenty
four hours.
An astronomical day commences
at noon, and is counted from the first
to the twenty-fourth hour. • A civil
day commences at midnight, and is
counted from the , first to the twelfth"
hour, when it is recounted avail from
the first to the twelfth hour. • A nau
• tical day is counted as' a civil day,
but commences like an astronomical
• day, from noon.
A calendar month varieta In length'
from 28. to 31 days. A- mean lunar
month is twenty nine days, 12; Hours
44 minutes, tt seconds and 5.24 thirds.
A year is divided into 31;5 days.
A solar year, which is the time-oc
cupied. by the sun in passing from
one vernal equinox to another, con
sists of 30.24244 solar days, or 365
clays, 5 hours,' .48 : minutes, and
49.536 seconds. - . '
A Julian year 'is 30 days.. A
Gregorian year is
. 365.2425 days.
F,:erylourth year 'is Bissextile, or
leap. year, and is' 31;f; days: The
error of the Gregorian computation
amounts only .to one day in 3571.
4286 years. -- •
By the reformation Of the calendar .
. l'ope Gregory XIII., the year
began ett,the first of January, and,.
consequently. whenever and where
.ter the new style of reckoning time
, was adopted, then and there the year
commenced. on this day .. i Previous .
to the use of Gre gorian. :Calendar,
theyears had 'different days of begin
lug at various times in the same and
different countries, and• occasionally
at the sometime in the samecountry..
In most countries it began on one of
the following days : Chtistmas day,
the 25th of December; Circumcision
day, the Ist of January ;'Lady day,
the 25th! 'of
. .March; Easter day, the
day of the resurrection of our Lord.
In England, in the seventh, and -
late as thfr , thirteenth century, the
year began on Christmas day; but
in the twelfth , century the Angelican
church commenced, the year on the`
25th of . March, as dicta*, the
ians of the fourtOnthiesntury. This
continued until 1752, the time of the
adoption of the new style. By this ,
it eppears that two modes of reckon
ing the commencement of the year
have generally existed in ..103ff Britain
and its colonies, causine what is
known as the Civil, Epelesiastical, or
Legal Year, and the Ilistoiical Year.
The last named of these have corn- •
menced on the first of January for a
long period of time. •
&Oh dedicated to a- heathen deity,
as follp7s :
Dbe Sofa (Day of the San) .
Die Lltnir (Pay of the Moon) -
ititrt L. 4 Pay of Tulseo)....
Dire Merettrii 112y.0f WOOlO
Dios Jarm (Day Of !Thor)...
Vilikrioe(bay of Frey:o.
„We, Strinrni (Day of Salm')
the last stanza in - the 308th hymn in
the Hymnal, that they were singing
in one-of_ our-city churches the other
evening—L•tke Ist offerinfi, of praise
in the service it was, Fortunately.
The stanza reads : -
-The soul that to,fesus bath fled for repose;
I Will not, I wilt not desert to his foes; .
That soul. though all shall endeavor to shake,
tiev2r forsake.
:-And before the word: -"forsake " _
wats reached the gravity of a member ,
of the choir forsook her:entirely, and
she had to sit .down' for laugh - ter, and •
then the rest broke dOwn in a titter.
The choir face 4 the congregation
that church, -and. abotit everybody
present fell into laughter, also,
almost as much merriment' prevailed 1
as though the hymn Rasa humorous
song and tire placeilthe 'opera house - .
Of course, the " no-never-irill;hardly
ever " business in Pinafore "is to
blame 'for the ; whore of,it.—Docen.
port, Dc»iberat. - ;
Fun, Pact anti Facetim
• I
&Thin men pay attention who never, ay
anything elsei . -
WirEN grapes , are squeezed it makes
them whine.
To avoid the first wrondstep, let yliur
first step be 4 right one.
NE.k . F.Ssrry is the mother 4.1- Thomas -
I:Alio - IL—Buff/10 •E v
rpre. •
AN he-gQatist is one who makes a butt
of himself by. continually talking of his
own exploits.
A GLASS bfower has recently died at the
age of 11.0 years. His greatfinge is anoth
er proof - of.the truth of the blewglass.the- -
- •
THE Correspondent who asks' if there
was ever a greenback answered' in
the negative., Yet we once heard a man
" The IV Green." - -
EStremis—Pat: "D 3 Toll buy rags
and bones here'."' Merchant : •" Ne
do, sir.- 1 - 1 1 Pat:' "Thin, be Jabbers! put I
me on the schkales -
- '- - 3
LIMIER (noticing"' ier sort's greedi
ness) "Gelirge, yonsl ould always leave
the table feeling that y ft could eat a lit
tle more. George : “ - I do, mother." •
CIIERUBINIwas no admirerpf the !lute,
and one of favorite conundrums ian
as follows : "What isworse than a flute
player') Why, two, of course !"
MEDICAL man : : "M" then-, °with re
gard to the swelling at-thei back _of your
head,. don't appreheti;d ianything 'seri
ous; but•you must keep your eye on it."
RE told ale that he lWas now reOilarly
engaged as a writer for one of the leading
dailic.s. his honestold mother said,
"Writing wrappers at it:3 a week." ,
"Ilow beaatiful . is truth,"" exclaims "a
Texas newspaper. It is, it is; dis
tatii!e lends .eilehantmqnt to the view,"
isn't it, oh piopliet of the Lone Star?
A 311.xEstrK.A. man dropped dead ,Im
mediately after depositing his vote in the
-Nt+t, knowing thci ticket ho
voted, We iire unable point the moral in
this case. 7 .
A VEmffiNT pet lamb swallowed seVer
al.balls of yarn, and-it-was lief long be
fore his life became such a tangled" skein
that he could not uutavel it, and had to
shuffle off the tnorMleoil.
I F a man is dissipated, it is true that
be will hot•live out half his .days, but
thenyoung Keepitup' says he lives out
about t*o-thirds of his nights and says
that makes a good average.
BEi'011,1?. the show-window-of a picture
shop=l4.4-garilin to second
come away ;on't be looking at them pic
tures o' Ballyy dancers, or folks. 'II take
yeyfor aillarcard freshman."
AN . urchin who bad begged a penny of
an old toper in vain, • re,Warded him with
this advice " Don't you- carry that nose
yourn - near to no powder factory, or
they night turn_ the hose onto-ger.' -
A DEmoot.vric leader remarked the
otter day that the Democratic party
would not be sunk if it put - out • enough
headlights. • " That's the difficulty," said
aiby-stander ; " they were all put out long
ago." - .
Fi:ONI Texas comes the cattle man.;
Each year he appears ; • -
liesellS:his herds, and then straight back
Ilis course to Texas steers.
.—KunsaA City Timm
POLITICAL principles - change; kingdoms -
are overthrovim and religions altfr ; but
four aces . 1161 d an undisturbedpre=emi
nence in their own . peculiar Him—Peck:
"Pr Schimminy, bow dot, pot studies
de languages F' is whata delighted-elder
ly (ermau said when his Our-year-old son
called him a blear-eyed son of a sawhorse._
HlsTUtty repeats itself, but sometimes
with variations. Dioaenes had a tub:;
had barrel. One was - lookingt for
honest men ; the otherfotAishonest ones.
,IT is hard to decide which is. the more
pestilential—the'young %ore who is forev
er bragging what he is golly, to do do, or
the old bore who is, eternally, bragging
wit -he has done.
. " NVAAT's frolic.' yelled an excited or
ator—" What's fame t that ghost of am
! Whits honor?" And a weak,.-
minded man id the erourrl - said he suppos
ed she had clothes on her, as any foot
ought to kettu4.
VANDIiItHILT ;buildingta new
house for himklf ow Firth . Av'enne, And
the rea...;on he ,(1d out for-that R;''20,000,000
lwas 'so that he would have the 'money on
hand to pay the plumbers when they got
throngb. '
WHEN a toper heard Lb . (' temperance
declaimer on the Esplanade ilecifxre that
"whisky tills your jail," ho 1- snea'ked' off
up there too see if there wasn't sonic of
it leaking. out of he joints. and - crackS,
forlie hadn't hatl.a smell the whold 'day
long.—Cincinnati &aril-day - W . Va. .
.A . NEW memoir of Lord Ileactinstield,
just mit in England, bears this motto from
Artemis Ward "lie asked what As
my Prinserpuls; got-tinny,' I said;
not . Priusurpul ; I'm in.the show bik
ness.". .
- • .
, sos of, the Green Isle stood On the
highway looking on a comrade who was
lyitig helpless through drink.. The day
was •liot, and, as the' Irishman - wiped his
-foreligact, be said, sadly : " Ab, my Inv,
u inh I had just half of your digease.
• :AT the Yorktown celebra i tiou a "blarst
ed - after'suryeying the. sit-
Itation and surroundings, said : " I can
- will understand tow why' Cornwal
lis Yorktown. If owned
such a place I would -give it up myself."
. I .Monday