The Montrose Democrat. (Montrose, Pa.) 1849-1876, July 15, 1874, Image 1
Wm. 0 Oraser B. Hawley, E. B. HAWLEY & CO., PUBLISIIEUS OF THE MONTROSE DEMOCRAT, AND GENERAL JOB PRINTERS, Montrose, Susquehanna County, Pa Orrics—West Side of Public Averico Business Cards. J. B. & A. A MeCOLLUM, A CToticCill AT LAW Office over the Bank, MeWIZOIri p. Montrome,May 10, IS7I. U D. W. SEARLE, A (TORREY AT LAW, otßee ore? the More of Y. 0 ell a ser, I n the Brick Block, Montrose, Pa. Caul Q 9 W. w. SMITH, :•111NKT AND CHAIR KANDFACTURICRYI,—PooI of MillLI .meet, Youtro,e, P.. M. C. SUTTON, A I. , CTIONESR, and linsunksaa Mimi?, ant 69t( Prleadavtlle. Pa A.VI EL Y, Addres., :Brooklyn Pa AUCTION/ZEN Jove 1. Ital. J. C. WHEATON, Cnn. Raounnta AND Lamm Scravirroa, P. 0. addrces, Franklin Forks, Susquehanna Co„ Pa JOHN GROVES, I aIIIONABLE TAILOR, Montrone, Pa. Shop over Chandler's Store. AP orders Stied to firsterateetylt. t'atllng done on short notice., and warranted to St. 4. 0. W Annta, ATTORNEY A. LAW. Bounty, Back Pay. 4 PenslOo gpa EraelZlp. on Claims attended to. ()Mee dr. .00r below Boyd's Store.' Youtrose.Ps. Ida. 1.481 W. A. CRO&SMON, attorney at UM, Oaks at the Court Rouse, le the Commlnstoner'• Office. W. A. Caosaaux. heave... SeroLitt. E. L. WEEK t CO. lionlere In Dry Goode, Clothing, Ladle■ and Mane. tine Shoes. E. hicKENZIE, Manager. M out rain, July Ist, "N. LAW OYFICE. rITCII & WATSON, Attorney" at Law, at the old ales or Bentley & Pitch, Montrose, pa 1- I. (Jan.ll. '7l.f w. w. "rano". ABEL TURRELL, eeler In Drugo Medicines, Chemicals, Paints, Oil., D 7 r stuffs, Pena, Spice., Fancy Goode, Jewelry Per fumery, fr.c., Brick Block, liontroee, Ps. Staabßelled l$4S. [Feb. I, UM. SCO FILL & DEWITT. Attorneys at Law and Solicitors 111 Bankruptcy. Ocoee No. 49 Cour...Bred, over City National Bank, Bing hamton „N....Y. W. .II 8.1,114... =IMI DR. W. L, RICHARDSON Pit YSICIAN & SUMMON, tenders his professions .ervices to the citizens of Montrose and vicinity.— unce at hi.rastdoree, on the corner east of Sayre& Bro.. Foundry. fAnz. 1, 1869. CHARLES .N. STODDARD, )etler in Boots and Shoes, Hate and Cape, Leather and Findings, Main Street, lit door below Boyd'. Stare. Work made to order, and repairing done neatly. lioutroae Jan. 1 1010. LEWIS KNOLL, SHAVLNG AND GLAIR DRESSLYG. ahoy In the new Postotace building. where he will be found ready to attend all who may want anything let his line. Montrose Pa. Oct. 13 1869. DS S. W. DAYTON, PHYSICIAN d BURGEON, tenders his service' to the citizens of Great Bend and vicinity. Office at it, residence, opposite Bannon Bonse, Git. Bend village. Sept. lat. 180.—tf DR. D. A. LATHROP, Administers lifturso Mutsu Bum, a tbo Foot of Chesnut street. Call and coual to a.l Chronic Diseases. Montrose. Jan. If. "Ta—no3—tf. IL B GILEUTT. Dealer .n Staple and Penny Dr, Goods, Crockery, Hard ware, Iron, Store., Drugs, Ms, and Paints, Boots and Shoes, Hats and Caps, Furs, Buffalo Robes, Gro ceries. Prorislone, ae. New-hlittord, la., Nor, 6, '72.—tf. EXCHASOE HOTEL. If . J. HARRINGTON wishes to Inform the public that having rented the Exchange Hotel in Montrose, he Is now prepared to areaminodatethe traveling pubne in first-class style. Montrose, Ang. If, 1675. LITTLES f BLAKESLEE ATTORNEYS • AT LAW, have removed hither New 0.114 z, opposite the Tarbell House.. Montrose, Oct. 15,1813. BILLINGS STROUD. rI RE AND LIFE ETAINIANCE AGENT. AE b El, II Inest attended to promptly, on (Mr terms. °Mee Met door east of the hank or Wm. H. Cooper G Cs. Public Aserme.Enntreae, Pa. [A0g..1,1869. July It ISIS.] DMArnos &nom% B. T. & E. if CASE, HARNESS-MAILERS. Oak Ilarnesa.llglit and heavy, at lowest cash prices. Ala, Blanket., Wean Blan kets, Whips. and everything pert-owing to the Ilse, cheaper than the cheapest. Repairing done prompt- ly and in good style. Montrose, Oct. 49,1873. CHARLEY MORRIS THE HAITI BARBER, _ has moved Ms shop to the ban E ding occupied by E. McKenzie & Co., where hails prepared to do all kinds of work In his line.sach coma , sine switches, puffs. etc. All work done on short notice and prices low. Please call and sea me. THE PEOPLE'S NAEKET. Pnuarr Hamm, Proprietor. Fresb and Salted Meats, Hnma, Pork, Bologna Ban e.etc., of :be Lent qandity, constantly on hand, at ync to gait Montrone, Pa.. Jan. 14. IM-17 VALLEY HOUSE, thoteT Been, Pa. Situated near the Erie Railway De. put l a large and commodious bowie, has undergone a thorough repair. Newly furnished rooms nod sleep tu a l Mot else, hoteartmenta.splendid tables. D und all things_eompr lags fs l. ENNY ACKERT; seta. Put. Proprietor. DR W. W. &MITE& Livens, Rooms at hie dwelling, nett door north of Dr. Halsey's. on Old Foundry street, where he would be [moor to see all those In grant of Dental ork. Re confident that be can pletse all, both In quality of work and to price. Office hoary from 9a.a. to 4 P. M. Montrose. Feb. 11, laT4—tf EDOAR A. TURBELL, IICIZI=2E:1 No. 1n Broadway, New York City. Attends to all kinds otAttorrrea Business, and con ducts causes In all the Courts of both the Brats and the Orated States. Frb 11.1tra.-V. E. P. HINES, M. D., tirsdonte of the University of Michigan, Ana Arbor, I. sod al. of Jefferson Met Coßrix of Phila. delphis, 18;4, has returned to PriendsvWee, where be will attend ro nllO4ll. in big profession os usual.— Itesideuce in Jessie Eloillord's horwc. osm the Same a. heretofore. Inendsville, Ps., April 24th., 18:4.—e.m. BUILNS & NICHOLS, OKA. :.11.8 In Drugs, Medicines, Chemicals Lis's •: ,as:Paints,olls, Varnish, Liquors, Bpices.Piney um Patent Endictnee.Perfameryand TotletAr ,. ,3Prescriptions carotrally compounded.— Brick Block. ii012t.(01.0•Pl- B, Bones. u eh. Cl. 1979 WITTEI loft PREVErIeG. Elsocysztoci Alr THIS OFFICE. CIIEAP. Try trim. M t NTROSE DEMOCRAT. TWO DOLLARS PER YEAR IN ADVANCE. VOLUME 31. TUE SOCIETY UPON TILE STAN —o-- I reside at Table Alountain, and my name is Truthful James, I am not up to small deceit,or any sinful games; And I'll tell, in simple language, what I know about the row That broke up our Society upon the Stanislow. But first I would remark, that it is not a pro per plan For any scientific gent to whale his fellow man And, if a member don't agree with his peculiar whim, To la for that sum.' member "to put a head on him." Now, nothing could be finer or more beautiful to see, Than the brat six months' proceedings of that same Society, Till Brown, of Calaveras, brought a lot of los ail bones, That he found within a tunnel, near the tene , ment of Jones. Ten Brown, be read a paper, and be recon ?' structed there, Prom those same bones, an animal, that was ex tremely rare : And Jones then asked the chair for a suspension of the roles, 'Till he could prove that those same bones was one of his lost mules. Then Brown he smiled a bitter smile, and said he was at fault. It seemed he had been trespassing on Jones's family vault: Ile was a most sarcastic man, this quiet Mr. Brown ; And, on several occasions, he had cleaned out the town. Now I hold It is not decent, for a scientific gent To say another is au ass—at least, to all intent; Nor should the individual, who happens to be meant, Reply by heaving rocks at him, to any great extent. Then Abner. Dean, of Angers, raised a point of order—when A chunk of old red sandstone took him In the abdomen And heemilod, a kind of sickly smile, and curl. ed up on the floor, And the subsequent proceedings Interested him DO more. For, in less time than I write it, every member did engage In a warfare, the remnants of a pahezotic age; And the way hey heaved these fossils, in their NV anger BM, 'Till the skull an old mammoth caved the head of Thompson in. And this is all I have to say of these improper gamm; For I live at Table Mountain, and my name is Truthful James. And I've told, in simple langnage,what I know about the row That broke up our society, upon the Stanislow. =M= MISCELLANEOUS READING FARNIEH, BROWN'S STOUT. -a I have no words for her sweetness ; I can't describe her; perhaps. Were Ito do so or - even could I place her picture before you, you might not see her as I did and do. Every eye makes its own beauty, and to me the was more beautiful than any other living creature. Nellie Brodie, I wan lovely Nelie Brodie, whOse father was the sexton of our church, a good old man, but prosy, and prone to tell one or two long stories about ghost, after all, whenever one met him. Many and many a time I've listened to them„ out in his little porch, of a summer's night with the moon bright above us, and mys terious chirps and cries in the bushes and the smell of the evening primrose growing sweeter and sweeter, and Nellie, still and quiet as a mouse, sitting with folded hands between us. We were busy folks enough by day but we idled away the long summer evenings together, and thought no harm of it. It is good to idle sometimes, in that hap py sort of way; and to tell the truth, I like it. No man could say I neglected my duty. A better farm no man ever hal, and larger crops bone gathered, and no starved cattle grazed in my meadows—as for my dairy—but that was sister Jane's doing. A good house. A pretty,bright, eyed girl, with a cheery heart, and a laugh that seemed to be catching. Alone together we two were, and we were fond of each other. MEV= I never told her I liked Nellie Brodie, bnt I did not bide it from her. Nellie and she were great friends. Over and over again I tried to find out from Jennie what she said about me—Nellie, I mean —but the girl would never let a word blip out. A true woman hides another woman's secrets. I knew that, and built on it. "For." said I to myself, "If Nellie dis liked me, Jennie would give me a hint, sister•like, and save me from mortifica tion. Either she knows nothing, or she knows that Nellie likes me." After that, I may say I colPrted Nellie. She knew I loveil her, I'm sure of that , even if I had not said so out and out, she -could not help knowing it. But there were other young men in the plate, of course, and many willing enough to listen to old Brodie's stories for the sake of looking at his daughter ; and many a jealous pang I had in those 'days, for Nellie had the same pretty , kindly ways to all, and the same smile for every one. I used to think that a "no" from Nel lie's lips would - go straight through my heart like a bullet, and I found it hadto risk the bearing of it. She must say it to all but one of us, and I was not so handsome as one, and not so witty as another, and not so rich as a third, I think I never knew bow I was though, until I had my photograph taken one day, by a mar who had a gallery in the village. I thought though at first he had made too much of my mouth and too - little of my eyes; but y peshowed me plain ly that the machine must take a good likeness, because it was a machine that couldn't make a mistake. I took the things home avid put them in a drawer, and showed them to nobody ; but they took the little vanity I had oat of me, though I kept saying over and over again. '•What do looks:matter fora mao Aiwa Ntanoza I'd meant, you see, to give Nellie one for her album ; but I thought if I look like that it was best not. I've heard other people speak of the same feelings since in regard to photographs ; and I am not, sure now that they are always perfect. Waiting and watching, hoping and fearing, I let the time slip by ; and win ter came, with its frost and snow, and old Mr. Brodie told his stories by the fire, in POETRY. ISLAIVS. And I thought to myself. "What de ceitful creatures women are r fur the look she gate me was as sweet as if she had not worn another man's portrait in her bosom. A week from that day I was in New York and sought out an.old ship owner, who had been my father's friend. "I'm tired of farming," I said, "and want to try the sea as a common sailor. The old man would have laughed me out of the notion ; but when he found me firm, he gave me what help he could. I went on board a vessel bound for China, and wrote a line to sister Jennie, telling her to send for Uncle William and his wife to manage the farm, which I knew they would be glad to do ; but I never told where I was or what I had done. I meant, you see, to throw myself away' and be heard of no more by any one. Of course, I was mad, for the time ; that is the only exegise for me. So I led the sort of life a sailor-in the merchant service leads—no very pleasant one, I can tell you—for a year or two,and I grew no better for it, and no happier. The other men had mostly some one at home--•--to get a letter or a message from at times ; I for my own act, had no one. And all the while, at work or at mess, or in the house when Watch was kept on deck, I thought of Nellie ; saw her as she looked w i l M Mi.-sat by her father's side in the suer oonlight ; saw her with the fire -Might on her golden hair. beside the winter hearth ; saw her smil ing up at me, as whirled through the snow drifts that last bright day, and saw her as she lay like a dead thing in my arms. And fancy painted other pictures. I saw her as Tom Armstrong's wife, I {saw her—oh, good heavens I—with his chil dren on her knee. I am not sure shonld have turned idiot, had not something happened to alter the circumstances of my position. This was nothitg else than the total wreck - of our vessel,and my narrow escape from drown ing, but with an arm 'broken by falling off a spar: For a month I lay on a sick bed ; and then. with a softened heart,and a feeling that I was sick of the sea, I went home to aster Jennie, to be a farmer again, if I could. In those two years she had never had a line from me. Notan angry word did she !give me, but ran to my anna and wept on MONTROSE, PA., WEDNESDAY, JULY 15, 1874 stead of his porch ; and the lump-light fell on Nellie's yellow hair, as she sat knitting, making the prettiest picture you ever saw ; and 1 made up my mind to test my fate before Christmas, and didn't 1 You see when a young fellow is in love be looses courage. But one thing 1 vowed—NeLie should take a sleigh ride with me. Tom Armstroirg had said—l had heard him—that lie meant to drive the pretti est cutter, the prettiest pair of horses,and the prettiest girl in New Bridge. He meant Nellie by the prettiest girl. His turn•ont might be what he chose, but Nellie shuuld never go with him. The snow fell fast ; and by morning you could see nothing for miles around but great white drifts, thumb the sky had grown clear as thougiff it had been summer. I called for Nellie in the after noon., and she was ready, and away we went. She looked charming, with her rosy cheeks and bright eyes and sunny hair ; and I was happier than ever I had been in my life. Going out of the village, we met Tom Armstrong, with hit splended cutter. He looked daggers at vs both—or at least I thought so ; and he went, as I heard af terwards, to invite Sue Nichols to ride with him. As he drove out of sight, I made up my mind to ask the question that would settle everythitig on our way home. Man purposes and Heaven disposes. Things happened that evening that I had no thoughts of. We were going back, in the moonlight, when I put my hand on Nellie s, and made her turn her eyes towards me. "I have been trying to say something to you for a long while," I said. "Per haps you guess what it is." But adore I could utter another word,my horses took fright at something, and away they went like mad things. Nellie clung to me and screamed. I did all I could to stop them. They left the road entirely and took their way across a field, and striking against a stump the snow had hidden, the vehicle was over turned, and we were thrown out togeth er. I was not hurt ; but Nellie by insensi• ble. I lifted her in my arms and clasped her to my boson, and begged her to open her eyes and speak one word to me. But she was like one dead ; and in my terror I dared not take her to her home. I car ried her instead, to my sister, who, fright ened half oat of her senses, came forth to meet me. She took Nellie to an inner room and bade me bring a doctor ; and he was there soon. I spent an hour of agony, such as I had never felt before ; but at last Jennie came to me, all smiles. "There is no danger," she said. "She has come to herself ; she only fain ted from fright. You haven't killed her, or even hart her much, you foolish boy." And I buret into- tears. Jennie bent over me. ',But to think that she should be so sly," she said. "A gentleman's portrait in her bosom all this while, and not a word to me of it 1 I'll punish her for it now." And awe .) , she ran back to Nellie, but my tears were all dried up, and my heart was like gall. She was engaged to some one else. then, this girl who was so dear to me, and she wore nis portrait next her heart. Fool that I was not to guess it, I never asked whose portrait it was— Tom Armstrong's or Jack Mayder's did not care. When Nellie was well enough to go, in the course of an hour or two, I drove her home and bade her good bye. I said, "I regret that I should have been the means of alarming you so, Miss Brodie." And she looked up in my face with her great blue, innocent eyes, and said. "It was not your fault; you could not help it.. It was so foolish to faint awn!. Devoted to the Interests of our Town and County. my bosom like a child ; and then she showed me the wedding ring on her fin ger, and the baby laying asleep In the cradlP, and told me whose wife she was. She was Mrs. Tom Armstrong, and I had never guessed they liked each other!" "And I'm happy as the day is long," she said, "only fretting about you. How could you go away so, Ned ? if you did not think - of my feelings, you might have thought of Nellie Brodie's." "Nellie Brodie's teelings !" I cried "Nellie Brodie,a I Don't laugh at me Jeanie." "Laugh at you 1" she cried. "Laugh at you, my dear! I haven't a thought of IL Did you quarrel that' night ? It must have been a quarrel, I think. "Whose fault was it., your's or her's ?" "Miss Brodie and I never had a quar rel." I said. "Oh. Ned," she resumed, softly, "don't try to hide it from me, when I saw your portrait iu her bosom. I told you so. I know, and thought it was all settled, and was so glad." "I started up and caught Jeunie's wrist. "Myportrail !" I cried. "Why, Ned, Ned, don't look at me so," screamed Jenire ; what does it all mean? Your portrait, of course ; one of those you had taken—l found the rest after you went away. Oh, Ned, don't—don't look so. dear I" "I thought you told me she wore anoth er man's picture." I said. "That drove me away ; that and nothing disc. 06, what a wretched fool I've been I" But Jennie, dear Jennie, with her kind motherly face and Woman's eyes, came close to me, and put her arms about my neck, and whispered, "Don't despair,Ned. She has never liked anybody else, and I know for certain, that she wears your picture still." And those words brought my youth hack to me;'and the years seemed blotted out, and I was the Ned Brown who fell in love with Nellie Brodie, once more. Well, Jennie told the truth. I went to see Nellie Brodie, and found her sweet and beautiful as ever ; and we were mar• ried when the spring came sod the birds began to build their nests in the green orchard. Afterwards, when she had been my wife some time, Nellie t( Id me,uuder those very same trees, how she had found my picture one day when no one saw her, and worn it afterwards for love of me— wore it and wept over it when I was far away, trying to forget her—trying, but never succeeding ; for the love I had for Nellie Brodie was part of my life, and will be, I believe, part of the Eternity, where, when death severs us here, we shall be reunited. The Elopement. Five years had elapsed since Lydia's disappearance. But she looked older even than that. The agony of that day, the horrible night afterwards, the constant fear of discovery, and lastly, the struggle for bread combined with the never end ' ing heart-ache, had begun to cut wrink• lea in her still fair face. In all this time she had never heard of her husband, nor of her early home. She was too proud to return to her father. "I will starve first," she often said,clenching her hands. Whether Leonard was alive or dead, whether he had remained in Italy or had gone hoine,she did not know. Sometimes she said to herself,moaning on her pillow at night, "Ile is with Mrs. Dorchester," and the thought went through her heart with actual physical pain,like the stab of a knife. She and her, faithful Dorcas were set tled in Pars wow, in an obscure corner, as the least likely place to be discovered. She earned a scanty living, and it was of the scantiest, by coloring photographs.— into the more fashionable parts of Paris she never ventured, except when she had to go to the shops to sell her sketches, or to get orders. On one of those occasions at the head of the Rho do la Pair, she suddenly came face to face with MraDor chester. She turned and fled immediate ly, regardless of her errand, fled down side streets and close alleys ' • fled across the Seine, and only stopped to breathe when she had reached her humble lodg ing, in one of the most secluded parts of the Luxembourg quarter. But hardly had she closed the door, hardly had she begun to tell Dorcas that they must fly from Paris, when Mis. Dorchester, unan nounced, forced herself into the room. "I have followed you," said the latter, unceremoniously, as Lydia rose, angrily. "I will speak, Mrs. Drake." "Have the goodness to leave my room," answered Lydia, tottering to her feet.— "I do not know you nor the name by which you have addressed me." "You have been rued long enough," sternly exclaimed her visitor, sitting down. "Try to come back to your senses I shall not go until I have explained. A few words will do it. Your husband and I, instead of being, what you thought, were trying to keep a great misfortune from you, or if that could not be done, to break it to you carefully." There was an air of truth about the speaker, that staggered Lydia. She sank nerveless into the chair. "I must tell the whole story in order to exculpate ourselves," said Mrs. Dor cheater, "Your father got into difficulties forged my husband's name to a large amount, and was on the point of expos. are when Mr. Dorchester died. The af fairs then came into my hands to settle." Lydia sat leaning both elbows on the table before her,her face supported on her hands, listening, and looking as if at her doomster. "I could have prosecuted your father, but it would have sent him to die in gaol" continued Mrs. Dorchester, "and would have publicly disgraced all his family.-- Yon. I know by name. as the wife of my cousin, with whom I had been brought up in the country as a child, and whom I loved as a brother—as a brother, noth ing more, she added, empbatibally. "Be sides, I was a woman, and I hope not a cruel one. So I refused to prosecute, suffered the loss of the money, and hush ed the matter up." A groan burst from Lydia. Mrs. Dorchester went on : "Then I came abroad. At Lausanne I met your husband unexpectedly. He had received some hints about your father, and he in sisted on knowing the truth. He then said you ought to be told. But I replied that it would only pain you needlessly; if you continued to live abroad you might never hear the story. He answer ed that it would come to your ears soon er or later. This is why you saw us talk ing so much together, and why on sever. al occasions, he sought private interviews with me. One evening he nearly won my consent. But hardly bad he gone,ho• fore I repented—l shrank from it yoh see, as a woman—and I wrote to him,tel ling him he must still keep our secret.- - That letter, it seems, or a portion of it, found you. He was tearing it up, when you came into the room,and he put what was left of it hastily into a book that lay nigh, as lie afterwards remembered. As ifoon as lie could, he hurried to consult me. You were, he said, getting jealous ; you evidently misunderstood us ; and be must tell the whole story now in justice to himself. I was engaged with a party to Vevay, and the room was full ; so he joined me in order to have an opportuni ty to say all this. Of course in this cri sis my scruples gave way. My reward is that you believe me a vile woman. There that's the whole. I've told my story, per haps in a hard way ; I'm sorry for you all the same. Thank God, I've found you 1" She had risen while speaking, and caught Lydia's gaze, which at first had been fixed on her so angrily, bad fallen before her; she had buried her face in her bands, and now, as Mrs. Dorchester ceas-. ed, the wretched listener sank senseless to the floor. When Lydia revived, Mrs. Dorchester finished. Leonard Drake had spent three years in looking for his wife, and had subsequently emigrated to America be lieving her dead. The last time Mrs. Do rchester heard from him be was settled at Morristown, near New York. The next morning saw Lydia and Dor cas once more on their way; and when . the sun set they watched it from the deck of a Havre steamer bound Tor New York It was late in November when she sail ed; but the voyage was a pleasant one, notwithstanding the season. Lydia felt however, that she could have better en dured storm and tempest than the mo notony of those days, which left her nothing to do but think. She could not throw off the past. If she had only spok en word,only shown her husband a shad ow of the horrible insanity in her mind, everything would have been set straight, and sue would have been happy in his pardon. But now five years gone forever and perhaps worse; perhaps (for he thought her dead—which would be worse than all—dead, and too late even to hear one last word of forgiveness They were in sight of land at last, had left the vessel,were driving away through the busy streets of the great city of the New World. Lydia would not hear of resting or waiting, and old Dorcas knew that it would be cruel to urge her. It had been snowing when they landed New York, and by the time they bad left the the railway train which they had tak en, it had settled into a heavy storm.— Lydia warted to walk ; so Dorcas wrap pad a waterproof cloak ebont her, drew the hood over her head, and did the best to shelter her. "Ask how we go ?" was all her mistress said. "Be quick—l want to start; but I must balk—l should go mad?' Dorcas stepped into a hotel near the station, and made her inquiries. The road was straight enough. Mr. Leonard Drake, she was told,lived out beyond the town a little she well knew the place by such and such directiona They were lees than half an hour on the way, They reached the mansion, a handsome dwelling, half town-honao,half villa, with a long garden attached. They mounted the steps, and Domes rang the bell. "Yon ask," she heard her mistress whisper. She caught sight. of her face. It was lined and seamed with pain ; the dark eyes fairly strained and dilated with suspense he door opened. A man servant ap peared. "Is Mr. Leonard Drake in ?" Dorcas asked. "No, he is in New York, Mrs. Drake is at home," answered the man. Instinctively DorCas reached out her arm to support Lydia, as she asked, "who is that—his mother ?" "'No Hie. wife. Do you want to see her?" asked the man rather curtly, begin ing to think them people in search of charity, and not liking to encounter the cold air. "No" Doran said. "How long has he been married "About six mouths." .A low choked whisper from her mis trestreached Dorcas. It said, Come away I Qpick i Come 1" Dorcas turned, without s word, and suported her mistress down the steps. Lydia did not speak. Dorcas could not She put her arm about her mistress, and drew her on as Dot as she could, hoping to llnd a caariage near, The !musk stood in a plot of ground by itself. They ruin ed the corner, where the garden lea down a side street, • • • • • • "Wait,"sa id Lydia, soddenly. "1 cau't go any farther, let me rest a little. Only don't speak to me —don't say, a word." They sat on the little jutted pf stone that supportailthe iron fence!,Dorcas half sustaining her saiiires4 ito crouch., ed forward, hiding her face with one band. Dorcas bent over to see the fate it was distorted by ari anguish. ' - • "Mistress, dear I', she sobbed, "only speak—only-=' - "Hush I" muttered Lydia. "Come SWIM I can walk new. Let me alone ; don't' talk yet. Help me up I canlvalk." . Dorcas was assisting her to . :rise; iben, a gentleman stepped into the street,:a tie down, and walked' rapidly--toward them. ' IliuMed though be was in his great. coat, Dorcas knew him and uttered-a cry of terror. "It's his step"' whispered Lydia. "Sit down—he'll. not , know us '! 1' promised never to trould fiin 1 • I mast _ FIFTY CTS. EXTRA IF NOT IN ADVANCE. word. Don't look np , Dorcas. Sit down I say l" The very act attracted the attention of the gentleman. He halted in front of thOm. saying. "Why do you sit here in this storm ?" teither answered. Dorcas felt Lydia's hand press her arm like a hand of stone. "Can't either. .of.you speak ?" he con thingd rather impatient ?. "This is no weather for two women to be sitting out of doors. 14111 no answer I Some mad idea that she: could pull Dorcas away, and run from him, seized Lydia. She attempted it. The hood fell from her face. He knew her and cried, "Lydia, Lydia' She felt that she was fainting—that he hati.eaught her in his arms; then an aw fuljblackness closed over her. When consciousness came back, she thonght at Srst she must be dead. Then she, knew she was in a bright warm room She saw Dorcas, a young, pretty lady, near the bed, then Leonard, and shrieked She was held fast in his arms again.— His: voice sounded close to her ear. "Lie still, darling t it's all clear! My cousin's house—my cotisin's wife. Don't you - remember that I told yon I had .a cousin with the towie Christian name as myself, who emigrated to America ?" Eto Lydia knew that God bad forgiven her great sin, and mercifully allowed her another trial of the happiness she had recklessly thrown away. SUNDAY NOILNTNO --co-- _THOUGHTS DUBIN° =TIC/ —o— TocOrarly, of course I How provoking I I told Its pat how It would be. I might as well have on a wrapper, For there's not a soul here yet to see, There I Sue Delaplaine's pew is empty,— ' declare if it Isn't too bad I I know any suit cost more than her's did, Aird I-wanted to see her look mad, 1 dd think that satiate:nee stupid— He's put some one else In our pew— Arid the girl's dresajuat kills mine completely : How what am I going to do Thelpsalter, and Sue isn't here yet! 'don't care, I think it's a sin Forpeople to get late to service, Just to make a grand phow coming in. Perhaps she is sick, and can't ger here— She said she'd a head ache last night. How mad she'll be after her hissing I I declare it would serve her just right, Oh, you've got here at last, my dear, have you? Wall, I don't think you need be so proud Ot that bonnet, if Virot did make it, - ICS horrid fast-tookth r F and loud. What a dress I-for a girl In her senses Ti.) go on the street in light blue— And! those coat-sleeves—they wore them last i !rummer— Don't doubt, though, that she thinks they're new. Itia'3ray's polonaise was imported— So drew:Mil—a minister's wife, And:thinking so much about fashion I Alnetty example of life? The Altar's dressed sweetly—l wonder Who sent those white newels for the Mutt— Sortie girl who's gone on the assistant— Don't doubt it was Beside Lamont. Just lookat her now, little humbugl— So devout—l suppose she don't know That she's bending her head too thr over And the ends 01 her vwithhes all show, Whit a sight Mrs. Ward is this morning I That woman will kill me some day. With her horrible lilacs and crimsons, Why will these ohl anddress BO EV? Andthere's Jenny Welles Fred Tram:— Sire's engaged to him now—horrid thing I Dear me! I'd keep on my glove 'sometimes, lt," didn't have a solitaire ring! Hovr can this girl next to me act so— The way she turns round and stares, And then makes remarks about people ; She'd better be saying her prayers. Oh dear, what a dreadful long sermon I He must lova to hear himself talk I And-It's alter twelve now—how provoking ? I want to have a nice walk. ThrOugh at last. Well it isn't so dreadfig Atjer all, for we don't dine till one How can people say church 13 poky ? SO wickedl-1 think it's real fan. ABOUT PIER -o If'we have a national dish, we suppose Its . oaths is "Pie." At the unfrequent stations sled; the railways, where an official bolcs his bead in at the door of the ear to about, "Ten minutes for refreshments," the ataple•rofreah= meat Is always pie. The line betwoM winter and Spring is accurately defined in the minds of half the house-wives in the country as the "time when there le nothing to make pies of." Dried apples are used up, prunes are too expensive, and rhubarb has not yet made Its impearanee,so that- the inventive. and - economical faculthw of wuinenkind are sorely tried to All up the va.. COMM. Frery other .women. among us, It may be said, without exaggeratien: has lost her 'biome and her strenuth'in making plc-crust, and as 'a not unnatural result, every other man has , a touch of dyspepsia In . conaequencirof eating It The mother spends Saturday morning lila, borions effort between the table find the oven, and tits down in her rocking chair for a breath of eise and rest. proudly surveying ihe'reeelts of her skill. Ales t nothing is so ephemeral:— Father and the boys soon , make an!end of them Given three or four growingboys • and the ordi. nary gilts on their part of appreciation for toothsome viands, and it takes s cast amount of pie to itittsty 'their dementia. The `mere delicate and dainty the corripoaltion of the dish' the fighter and flakier the upper crag; and' the more pleasantly spiced the materials that tom. pose its lining, the quicker it, fades from view. We all know how long 11 takes to use up that Which, for any reaeon, is tenet or napslauittle; or which has lost Its delicacy of ilavOr-4uf, the instance, , the breed 'that' is tour, or 'the better that to too salt:-end with what' astonishing ease-and celerity the.good bread and fresh ba ts. Sy from the table. It is precisely so with pies The"golden cocoannt, creamy lemon, the nubile' mince, and the satie4tlng 'aPple, each in ltettus, if success; Is sure of Mini eaten.— iteledy whose pies are not a. names, who makes tough, leathery, inedible crusts, and who knows not, the secret .ol proportioning het sa ger and her spice to her frult,feelo that In whatever other direction she ineyhda example, yet 'when the crowning' atiatomplhth mesi of feminine handiwork Is • dir. ,, i.ntlothe 'mwst. with a blush,. retire, , • • : Yet we almost all are agreed in the opinion. thekof much . pie-trust comes much sick head. sate Site nerionsness mud nenialgle. We are snrithateur children' Would have - blighter eyes and cheeks if .they lived On plainer foods and Miles • unwholesome . pastry • and Conroe+ , 'briery. We are oure beyqnd I doubt, that Abe time spent by the pie makers in compounding ,theiides,atlthe plot:niers gettitkg them di , THE MONTROSE DEMOCRAT Cootal ns all tbo Local and General Heirs, Poetry,Bto : rte., Anecdote., Mleeellaneous Readlog,Corrcipm.a. came, and a reliable elan ofadvertliementa. or One Kama. (X clan Inch apacej3 week', or leen, E. month, $1.23; 3 months, $3.60; I mont hs. $4.20; I year. pito. A Ilbenal dliconnt on advertisements of • center length. Dulness Lotalm,lo cts. a line for Ana Insertion. and IS eta . a line each subeepaent notertlon.. Ifnalagelt and deaths, tree; obituaries, 10 cli, a IWO, NUMBER 28. geared, might be utilized by both parties in much better way. Imagine yourself "dearmad for the next six weeks absolutely enutncl pated from an your obligations in the way of pies, and the Duiciful cookery of which plo Is the representative I How many books you could read I How much sewing you could got out of the way l flow much time you would have for visiting and for repose I And how much better off your husband and • children would be without the appetizing dainties "But we can't keep house without pies r-, Not it you eschew the frying pan and its at tendant horrors, and depend upon healthful roasts and broils ? Not If you make puddings, easily mixed and deliciously flavored, of rice,br tapioca, sago, or Indian meal ? Try fbr a little while, and see whether the change will not be a grcatful ono.—Hear:A and Hone. One sharp lesson of the autuMn's panic, and indeed of our shifting American fortunes with out any panic at all, Is the wasteful folly and cruelty of the old education of women. ' It is folly, in an. economic sense, that Ignores the sharp possibilities of the future of our girls, while w e send-Our boys outinto life fhlly Arm ed pad equipped for the fray. The young man, returned from college or the scientific school, in the bright glow of dawning powers, nntrammled as yet by care, and under the shelter of his father's root decides upon his Caner. Admiring aunts and sisters waft thels prayers and hopes upon the winds that wing his sail : the father's exoerience and counsel pi lot the boat through the shallow waters near the shore. Everything aids his start—youth, . freshness and special training. He has no re sponsibility upon him save for his own health and good behavior. When does a woman choose her career ? In middle age ; broken down by sorrow ; when she has seen her life's hopes go down ono by one in the horizon. As a girl, she has waited in her father's house for the lover who never came. All of youth has gone by in vague dreams. In the frivolous business of fashion able society her strength has spent itselL Her hands are skilless save in delicate em broidery ; her brain is sluggish, though It aches with new anxiety and despair. Heavily weight ed with responsibility, it may be, with the broken down father or the always Invalid mother now suddenly dependent upon her, she sets out upon this now path with weak, uncer tain steps. Beginning a career at forty, ail un trained. The daullit i er of her washerwoman can dis tance her ; e girl who used to bring home her shoes hniadrauly shot far alma She scarce used to notice these girls, save when they were thinly clad or looked hungrier than usual. It was easy to loosen her pursa strings or send them into the servant's room to bo warmed or fed. Where are they now, while the is halting, timorous, on the 'Sharp stones of the highway f The washer-woman's girl is a . salaried. teacher in the model school house yonder the other is book-keeper hi her father's shop and it pays her well. . Ah I that artisan father, that mother tolling early and late, had a deeper wisdom In their need than the Merchant,the clergymatt,the rail way king, in his hour of power. • What cruelty like to their indulgence now T- The unreasoning fondness which, reared their girls in luxurious helplessness, which assumed the Moire as cer- tain hilts golden round, has its parallel In oth er lands. There are Asiatic fathers who put out the eyes of a girl tlutt %she may be a more pathetic beggar. •To the study of this Chinese prototype, we commend the American...father, who, choosing a career for his boys in the Ann freshness of early manhood, leaves his - darling daughter helpless amidst the buffets of the changing tide.—Barper's Magazine for July. It Is net to sweep the house, and make the and dam the socks, and cook the meals, chiefly, theta man wants a wife. If this la all he needs, hired help can do it cheaper thaws wife. If this 6 all, when a young emu calls to deo 'a young lady, sena him into the pantry, to taste the bread and cakes she has made. Bend him to Inspect the needle-work and bed-maihtg or put a bsoom into her hands and send hint to witness Its use. Sucluthings ate important and die VlBO 'young man. will quietly look. after them. , But what a true man most wants of a true wife is hei companionship, sympathy, courage, ;Ind lOVe. 'lle way of life has many dreary places hi it and a man 'needs a companion to go With him. A man is sometimes overtaken with Misfortunes ; he meets with failure and defeat; trials and temptations beset him, atid.he noeda one to stand by and sythpathize lie has some Stem battles to fight with poverty, with eno• mles, and with sin, and he needi a woman that While he puts'lls 'aim arcamd ter and 034' he hits something to fight for, will help 'him fight ; that will put her lips to his ears and whisper wbrds of counsel; and her hands to his heartand impart new inspiration. All through tiro—through storm and through sunshine, con 7 diet and victory, through adverse and divoridg winds—man needs n woman's love: The heart hearns for IL , A sister's or a mother's love will ey supply the need. yet many imek for nothing further than sun. &Nis in housework. Justly enough, halt of those get tidthlng more ; the other half, serprise beyond measure, have gotten: More • than they sought. Their wives surprise them by brinzing a noblerklea of marriage and disclosing a trass-: by of coerage i sympathy, and love.—:,:keriter, one'S ageibould be tranquil, eur one's ebrbl: hand ehuuld be playtbl ; hard wont;' at either extremity of human-existence. seems"to me out • of. place f -tho morning and the ravening should be alike cool !aid peaccild ; at midday %beim , may buns, and men may , -labor and 11,—Pr When you kayo fousilout-theprevalltog pal 'goo of any Pito, rutuotp*.novur to trot hull 7boro that wagon is concerned. Work upon blm by 'lt; it you . please Vbta be upon" your guard youruelt against it; vhatover proloartall' be may make :y00..: -:: t.: • •• . , , Dfaed - rietteil of borax in Calif Ora and Nevada have been 'nude to web an eitent as :to -war• rant tbabelier that from them source, the mar. Meta In ttio out of the 'Ametlcan continent.wild. at no distant limo. bo ablo to ? ratv chief 11°P9P0' last scene otall,that ends this strange,eveat, tyl platory, a second childishness, and were ob. . &ion ; sans teeth, sans eyes, tun taste r sane everythiag.-81takespeare. is PUEUUIED EVERT IVZDNIEDAT IfOICIIN4, AdverthOng Rates: CIIOOEINO A CAREER --o-- WHAT MEN NEED. WIVES IVli.