E. B. Hawley, E. B. HAWLEY & CO., 111= THE MONTROSE DEMOGIi ANO GENERAL JOB PRINTERS, If .N'ti.soitichatilla ('utintil Business Cards. .1. It d. I IL I 7 - 011“1 , AT Law OM, orar the Bank. Mourn.. Muutrose, May In, 1871. if D. Ir. SE. I EI.E I N.ItNEY AT LAW, ultre weer the Store of M. I O the Brick Block, Montrose, Pa [tut GO o'. 5.111711, cliAltt kIANUFA('TI Ittilts -}' Altmtr.ve. lan. I. 181.11). .If SUTToN, Si I IL/NEER. and Idan/Lidc. !WO,. Prlendeville, Pa (MI EL Y, Addret, Brod10)u. FA ET= J. C. 1$ 11E4 I'O.N CIVIL ENUIVICILIt ♦ND LAI. SrµvaTolt, Y. U adSreas , Fratikth.. Forte, 6 .lorhanna Co.. Pa ✓WIN G !WV EN 'lll oN A ISLE Tal.LUkt, Atuntrove, Pa. Shop ova, ib•ndler'g Store. Al' orders gilled to fleet-rate otylt.. uug dune on abort notice. and warranted to dt. 4. 0. WARREN, I . TO RN t. LAM. Bounty. Beet, e ny. Pernik. IA Eneal on Clain• attended to. °thee dr, below Boyd'. Store, Montto•e.Pa. [An. 1.'69 CitOSS.IIO-V, kltorury at Lae . , Orrice at the Court House, Ir the Map.n;trrlonrev Omce. W A. Cuousion. Iron. Seel t.t lu7l.—tr. LAW OFFICE. l't 'II S W AMON. Attoroepe at Law. •l the old oßlcu ~t lit ntley 11'114. Monitore, P. L. r FITCH. [J.. 11, '7l. [ 4 BEL T cuirELL tu Brut., Mutltclneu, Chemßala. Patato, 1.., ,tuffy, Tea*. uplcuu, Fancy Good., Jewelry Par . tic . Brick Block, Moutroau, Pa. Eatabllkhed tom` [Feb. 1,1819. .SC'uVILI. & REWITT. . Law and Solicitor' , in Bankruptcy. Oftlre 4S"'ourt street ,o' et' City National Bank, Bing ',a N I. %VII. H.:it:urn-1, .; ut.r I,"tn, lvia. Jcnolrk DEMIST. DR. W. L, RICHARDS(LN Y 4 1 4.1101 & Stint/EON, Loaders his erolcsaiona •ernrc. w the citizens of Montrose and vicinity.— "P, at h I srssidor .le, on the corner east of Sayre & os Found, 1 . /tog 1. Mr& (71ARLE:: S. SI'uLDARD .seerin Boot. and Shows, Rata and Caps. Leather and r.urllng., Slain Street. tat door below Boyd's Store. S era trade to order, and repairing done neatly. S ehtruse Jan. 1 1870. LEWIS K 501.1., )3H. VINO AND HAIR DRESSINta. n WC new Postothen baildine, where he will lound reedy to attend all Who may want anything lure. Montrose Pa. Oct. 13 1003. IL-I YTQA" 11 Y SURGEWS, tenders bin seniees to u,• citizen. of Great Bend and vicinity. Office at els • ,idence, opposite Barnum House, G't Bend village. s,•pt.lst, DR. D. A. L.ITHIWP, 1. 111.tri, hlurno TI MM*, BATHS, • Pool o chestnut street. Call and consul in a.I Caroni ~,.cases. 1=1!BSEII II RCIIRITT. Dealer .n Stapl• And Fancy Drx Good.. Crockery, Hard r. Ituo, Stow., Itrults. OtIA. matt Paints Hoot nod Shoe•, 11.8.. and t'ap•. Pun, Buffalo Itobe, Uro en es, Proroottn, New..3llltord. I a , Nut, C. 'l'.2—tf EXt'LLISHE HOTEL Y J HARRINGTON wothes to Intorm thepubllc the having rented the Enehause Hotel In lilontrove, h. is now plrspared to accommodate the traveling pub!: la nrst-tlass style kl•strose, Aug. thi. Isl 3 ATTORNSTS AT LAW, knee removed to their Nev. i4Ace. •ppeette the Tarbell Hoc, BILLISG:SSTINCD. NE AND LIPS INSUrLANCE AGENT Al* saltiness attended to promptly, ou fair terms Office (reit d.ar east of the bank or Wm. H. Cooper & C.. s Mir Avenue, Montrose, Pa. [Aug.1.1869. C., 17.1972.1 ilnAirissis 806060. B. T. & E. B. CASE LI Alt N ESS- MAKERS. Usk Hartle., light .d hravy , •I Kosiest cash prices Alpo, Bleutkets, It/ImA Blasi krtn. Whip.. and evecyththe pertaining to :he chesper than the cheapest. Repairing done prompt. ly sod to good .tyre out.me, P... Oct tr. I t. 73. =3l SEE HAYTI BARBER, has moved his shop to the budding occupied by E. McKenzie A Co., where he is prepared to do all kinds of work in his ilne.such eyeba h:lg switches, pun, etc All work done a short bocce and price. low. Please coal sod Bee me. THE PEOPLE'S MARKET. PHILLIP Hine. Proprietor. Fresh sod Salted Teas, Hams, Pork. Ilologna Sao .etc of the best quality. constantly on hand, at prices to suit Montrose, Pa„ Jan 14.1 , 471 -Ir VALLE)" MOUSE, V Harr Demi, P.. Militated near the Brie Railway De. pin le a large and commodious house, has undergone • tooraingh repair. Newly furnished room, and steep ing apnrtmentkeplendid tables,and all things cOuriti ing it Met class hotel. HENRY ACKER , dept Proprietor. DR. W. W. SMITH, Ue aro, Roman st hin dwelling, next door north of Dr. Rainey', on Old Foundry .treat, where be would be happy to *ee el i those to want of Dental Murk. Ile confident that be can plea.ne all. boat in quality of ,ark end in-price. Oglce hoar. from 9 ♦. a. to IP. ■. Montrone, Feb. 11, 1474—U EDGAR A. TERRELL I=l tio. r,l) Broadway, N York (it, Attend• to ad kind. of AttuibC3 lthedoesc and cote the t. cthkses to all the Court. of both the State and the Cal ted butt.. Yet .1.1814.-t,. E. I'. ULNAS, M. D. Orsdusie of the tlniversity of Michigan. Ann Arbor. I riOS. , and also of Jefferson Medical College of Phila. Celptos. 1O 4. hos returned to FrienOrelliee, where be atteud w all Calls In his profession or 112.11111. Itr.ldencv in Jessie flosforif s house. Office the same u. IlLrutolore. Pr.rutie, Pa_ April 4Y111.. If C RA'S & LS slo ' -Me In Drugs, Medicines, Chemical. Dye . J., ralute,olls, Varnish. Liquors, dpices,Faney n..,e41.1..ment Medicines. Pertemerrand Toilet A r. 4s. s ell - VrescripLions carefully compounded.— Br, 4 Week, Muutruse , loses. 111..1M2 JQ ritraertsvG MaLocmatec:a A'r ti OFFICE. CH EA P 't'ry laas. MONTROSE DEMOCRAT. Wm, C Cruller. I TWO DOLLARS PER YEAR IN - ADVANCK 'a. VOLUME 31. (Did Longfellow ever write anything that is I appiwiated and understood in more house-holds than the following ?) There is Do flock,however watched and tended, But one-dead lamb is there! There is no fireside howsn'er defended. But has one vacant chair ! The air is full of farewells to the dying, Anti 11101111illgis for the dead ; The heart of Rachel, for her children crying, Will not be comforted ! Let us be patient ! These severe afflictions, Not from the ground arise, But oftentimes celestial benedictions Assume the dark. disguise. We set but dimly through the mists and va pors Amid these earthly damps What seem to us but sad, funereal tapers, May be heaven's distant lamps. Th re is no death ! What seems to us tzarist lion ; This life of mortal breath Is but a suburb of the life elysian, Whose portal we call Death. • She is not dead—the child of our affection— But gone into that school Where she no longer needs nor poor protection, And Christ himselt (loth rule. In that great closier's stillness and seclusion, By guardian angels led. Sale from temptation, safe front sin's pollution, She lives whom we call dead. Day after day we think what she is doing In those bright realms of air ; Year after year, her tender steps pursuing, Behold her grown wore lair. Thus do we walk with her, and keep unbroken The bond which nature gives. Thinking that our remembrance, though un spoken, May reach her where she lives. MEZZO Not as a child shall we again behold her ; For when with rupturm wild In our embraces we again enfold her, She will not be a child ; ' But a fair maiden, in her father's mansion, Clothed with celestial grace ; And beautiful with all the soul's expansion Shall we behold her Nee. Ind though at time's, impetuous with emotion, And anguish long suppressed, The swelling heart heaves, moaning like an ocean, That cannot be at rest— We will he patient, and assuage the feeling We may not wholly stay By silence sanctifying, not concealing, The grief that must have way. MISCELLANEOUS READING MRS. GRAY'S SPARE ROOM -0- "Are you sure this is the place?" asked Charles Velitnor,giving a lock of surprise at the handsome brown-stone front be fore which the carriage stopped, "neetr knew there was a boarding-house in this block." “This must be the house,” said his sis ter glancing at the card she held in her hand: —2B-t —yes, that is the number Mrs. Duval gave Me ; and, Charley, I believe I will gu iii with you, and then, it the rooms suit Inc, I can engage them at "nee." And, as she said this, Mrs. bor ing desceuded from the carriage and fol lowed'her brother up the long flight of steps. Their ring was answered by a servant in livery, and the were ushered int a small reception-room, much was so per fret in all its appointments that Mrs. Loring gave a little sigh of satisfaction as she glanced around saying. It. B. LITTLE, 6. I' LITTLE. E L, at-AK/ALEX beliv.ve, Charley, that I have at last found a place which will just 8U It lase." "You ought indeed to he suited, if all the house is like this." replied her br,ther "for this is certainly charming." It was indeed a very pretty room. The floor was covered with a carpet of pale drab,dotted over with forget-me nuts; the windows were hung with draperies, over satin hangings of a perfect target-me-not hue ; the chairs and ottomans were of the same color, and the few exquisite paint ings on the wall were framed in guilt, with border of pale blue velvet: costly bronze adorned the mantle ; a curiously carved table, in the centre of the room, held a golden vase tilled with rare hot house flowers, and a little gleam of Octo ber sunshine that stole in at the window, lingered lovingly on an exquisite marble cupid which rested on a gilt stand. Scarcely had Charley Ventuorcomplet ed his survey of the room, when the door opened, and a voting girl entered who looked as if she might lie the presiding genius of the Mace, for her dress was soft drab material, relieved by knots of pale blue at her throat and in her hair. She was very attractive, though there was not a singnlar feature in her face ; but it was so bright and intelligent, and she had that graceful, dainty alr,wlucb is often as pleasing as real beauty. Her hair was really beautiful, of that golden shade which is often described and so seldom area. She advanced with graceful ease, and said in a very sweet voice : "I believe you wish to see my sister ; but as she is unfortunately not at home,l thought that perhaps you could leave your message with me." Mrs. Loring at once proceeded to bust lees, came at Mrs. Duval's suggus tion,to look at your spare suit of rooms." she said; "but if it is not convenient for you to show them to me, I will come in again when your sister is at home." "There is no . need of troubling you to do that," the young lady replied. "If you have heard of the rooms through Mrs. Duval, and would like to see them, I shall be very happy to show them,though they are not at all remarkable." "I assure you," replied Mrs. Loring, "that I do not cure for anything remark able. All I with is to hod a pleasant home for the winter." Aso• NICHOLS A little surprised look came into the girl's face as MrB. Loring said this; but elle immediately ruse, and saying. "Come with me, then, if you please," led the way from the room. When they reappeared again after a few minutes, Chathe Vellum anew in the ex2ression of his sister's face, that she was much pleasA with what she had seen: but said nothing till they had hid den, the young lady good morning, and were in the carriage once more. Then she begun: '0 Charley, the rooms up-stairs are lovely, even prettier than the one you saw ! The two which she shower me are POETRY RESIONATWN It is needless to say that Charley Vent nor was one of the earliest guests to ar rive at Mrs. Duval's on the following evening, but that lady's promise was dis tined never to be fulfilled. for it chanted that one of the first persons he met ,m entering the room was the 'ye,low haired lassie' She held out her hand to him in a most cordial manner, saying: I 'am very much obliged to Mrs. Duval for giv ing me an opportunity of making my apoligies to you again, Mr. Ventnor. The more I think about my codnct the more ashamed I feel of it ; but really I cannot help laughing when I remember what a distressed expression you all wore yester day when I came into the room.' There was no resisting this girl, for she had such a frank, unaffected way about her, that it was impossible to feel like a stranger with her very long, and before the evening was over, she and Charley lelt almost like old friends. Late in the evening, Mrs. Duval re membered her promise, but when, after much search, she discovered them in the conservatory, a single glance assured her that their acquaintance would probably progress favorably without any assistance from her. With Charlie it was clearly a case of love at first sight.. All through winter he was her loyal and devoted knight ; the colors of his shield hence forth were blue and %olden, , ind the scene of tournaments was the little blue room. So one morning in spring, when he came in and found Bessie decking the marble c•rpid with forget-me-nots, blue as her own eves. it seemed the most natural thin , ' in the world for him to tell -how a little winged arrow from the little god had entered into his heart ; and when, a few months later, the golden hair rested MONTROSE, PA., WEDNESDAY, JULY 29, 1874 fur••tyh.•d in crimson,and are in the, most perfeot taste. I tlo hope I shall be able to secure them; •I only wonder that such a reinarksi.l, boarding house is not better known. Did you ever hear of it before ?• asked her brother.. 'No" replied Mrs. Loring; ,but then• that is not at Al strange. f.ir Drs. Duval told me that It had litiluiit-4.41 open a short time. But will you go with rot. to imwrow ? I am to be tilt:re at ten o'oh,ek, 10 We Mrs. Gray, when we are to mak , all the anutg••meuta' •l'ertaunly. I a ill with pleasore. lam anxioui to see tmtrt...l this hour , •. which I hegin to think is an enenunied plitc,,or winch 0118 'yellow haired lassie' is the pewees. So the next morning found them ut Stra Gray'a door,panctually at ten o'clock The lady of the house prov d as charm- ing in Manner as tier sister; but when,u ter a few c‘maotiments, Mrs. Loring ex plained the object of her call, Mrs. Gray seemed so touch astonished, that in spite of her efforts to conceal her amazement. Mrs. Lorilig litweeived II sufficient to rouse a suspicion in her mind, as she went On With: 'Perhaps yonr sister did not tell you that we were here yesterday looking at Your suit of spars rooms, of which I had heard through Mrs• Duval, and with which I was so much pleased tAiat I will take them at almost any price.' 'There most be some very great mis take about this matter.' Mrs. Gray said. And with that she rose, rung the hell, and when the servant came in answer to the summons, said: 'Tell Miss Bessie I would like to see her a moment,' A most awkward silence fall on the trio after this, and it was a great relief to all when the young lady at length made her appearance. She came into the room in such a hesitating way, and with such a mingled look of shame and fun in her face, that Chatlev Ventnor thought her more attractive than ever. 'Bessie,' said her sister in rather a grave tone. 'can you explain this extraordinary proceeding to me ?' The girl blnshed, hesitatingly a mo ment, and then said frankly: 'Yes, sister Kate, I can. It was all my fault, and I am perfectly ashamed of my• self ; but you see when this gentleman and lady called yesterday,l did not under- stand at first what they wanted, and though I thought it very strange or Mrs. Duval to send any one to look at our spare rooms,yet still as she had sent them, I did not like to refuse them, and it was not till the lady said something about wishing to find a pleasant home for the winter that I began to understand the matter. Then the spirit of fun possesed me, and I showed her the rooms, talking all the while as if we had kept boarding house for the last twenty five years. •R•allv,Bessie,lam perfectly surprised,' began Mrs. Gray; but there was no use endeavoring to reprove the girl, for she looked so pretty as she stood there before them, and the deep Look of contrition she had assumed,blendeil with the amuse ment she could not disguise, was so irre instable, Iliat Mrs. Gray's reproof ended in a laugh in which they all joined. But in a moment Bessie grew serious again, and turning to Mrs. Loring. said : •1 can not tell yon how ashamed I am of my unladylike conduct. I only wish 1 conk' do somethii4 to make amends for ii.' .Pray do pot think any more about IC replied Mrs. Loring; 'though von do not know what a disappoinim-nt it is to me to give up my elegant suit of rooms,' she added laughingly; 'for I am afraid I shall tind great difficulty in being suited now.' After a little more desultory conversa tion, the lirottirr and Plater left the house but not without promises to continue the acquaintanceship so unpropitionsly be. gun. and by way of finding out more about these enchanting people,t hey drove to Mrs. Duval's. The lady's merrim-•nt was very great when she heard the story. 'Oh, my dear said she to Mrs. Loring 'I told you the number was 384, not 284. Only think of your going there to look for rooms. Mr. Gray has only re cently come here, but he is said to be one of the richest men in New York ; his wife belongs to one of the oldest families in the country, and her sister is heiress to an immense estate. But then- is no harm done after all,' she continued; 'you will find them charmingactinaintaces,and Charlie, if you can come to my musialle to-morrow evening, I will lake cure that you have a formal introduction to Miss Bessie.' Devoted to the Interests of our Town and °minty upon his shoulder, an fl the sweet bine eves looking up so lovingly at him. h.• Itnew that the 'yellow haired lassie' was his forever. THIS WAY SECB DID IT -0 - A liberal educatou,a handsome person, laud a wealthy and indulgent father were among the agreeable things that were vouchsafed Hobert Anson by Smiling for tune. His mother had died in his early youth,and the father and son—the only members of the family left—had after wards been more like brothers. They had made a European tour, and bud traversed every nook and corner of America Gaged). er, seeking in rational amusement the legitimate- enjoyment of a colossal for tone. But at last "here came a sepera tion of a year. Anson desired to nett, visit Europe, and his father preferred a trip across the continent to the Pantie coast ; therefore each went his way, fol. rowed by the good wishes of the other. Mr. Anson, senior, spent six months on the plains and in California,and made a discovery on the return trip. Stopping a few days in Chicago, he accidentally learned of the evistance of a distant rel• ative of lig deceased wife's—a girl whose parents had not long before died, leaving the daughter dependent upon her own ex. ertions for support. Mr. Anson sought her out finding in Flora Mightmay a pretty, intelligent girl of eighteen, hold ing a position as teacher in one of the public school. He was charmed with he: !old at once offered her a home. 'But I should dislike to be a burden to anybody,' interposed the independent young lady. "Phe obligation would be on the oth er side,' replied Mr. Anson ; 'I am rich and hate only one relative—a son who is in Europe. He will be home soon. Both of us have had our traveling, and will want to settle down in a home. liv mak ing your home with us you will add to it a social attraction, relieve it of being a bachelor's hall, and we'll be as happy as larks together.' '['he outlook was certainly alluring to the lonely orphan, and the accepted the offer, returning to New York with Mr. Anson. Thereupon the old mansion was reno vated. refurnished, and soon become the headquarters of brilliant social clique. Flora at once took her place as a favorite, and Mr. Anson was proud of hi. pro tage. As the return of Robert Anson was Crow daily ezriected, it may be well to fol low hail on his transatlantic voyage. He was burly embarked at Liverpool before his eyes fell upon a form of a decidedly handsome and dashing woman. A wid ow—anybody could have told that by her air of independence. Not much past thirty, and at the zenith of her charms, she was a really bewildering creature. So Robert thought at first sight, and so he found her upon acquaintance. A Mrs. Morrow she proved to be, and she was alone and unprotected on her voyage, which had been made to visit some dis tant relatives in England. The steamer consumed nine days in passage. On the first day Robert managed to gain a speak ing acquaintance. On the second he had improved it so Mr as to be on easy oily.- ting terms, and before the close of the third he was enslaved. They walked the deck by moonlight on the fourth and fifth ; and before the seventh their billing and cooing had attracted the attention of the passengers. On the eighth, Robert proposed and was accepted, and on the ninth they reached New York. Mrs. Morrow owned a little house in Brooklyn.aad had a modest income from property left by her husband. To her home Robert saw her safely conveyed, and then sought his own. The changes there witonished him, for his father had kept it all an aggreable surprise. "Robert," said Mr. Anson, as he wel comed him. -do you recognize the old dingy house ?" "Searcely,father," was the reply; "every. thing is new, bright, and ebeerful. IVhat does it mean ?" "A woman." "Married ?' "No, no ; but hush ! There comes the cause of it. Clara, this is my son Rob ert" Possibly the widow, had she seen the impression that Clara produced on her lover, would have felt less secure in t er conquest For Clara had improved it spirits since her residence with Mr. An• son,and was even prettier than when she first came there. That night,over a social bottle of wine, the father explained to his sou the mari ner in which tie found Clara, and the light and happiness she had brought to their home. "And I have formed a plan in reference to her," concluded Mr. Wilson. "What is it ?" asked Robert. "That you shall marry her." "Impossible." "Why ?" Thus brought to the point,Robert con fessed nis engagement to Mrs. Morrow. "How old is she ?" asked Mr. Anson. "Thirt)." "And you are twenty-six—bow absurd. People will laugh at you. Clara is young, pretty, and I know she will love you." "But I love the widow." "Nonesense." "Father !" "There, my boy don't take offence. I only mean you have mistaken admira tion for lore. That you really love a woman four yeiirs your senior, and a wid ow at that, but you don't. Now, I will tell you what I will do. Nut another word shalt be said ou the subject for one month. At the end of that time, if you presist in marrying Mrs. Morrow. I shall marry Clara myself." "I agree," replied Robert, The month passed quickly. and at its close the situation was alxmt like this : Robert wag fenced between h•s love for Clara and his duty to the widow ; Clara is deeply in love with Robert ; Mrs. Mar row was troubled by a certain falling-off in her lover's ardor, and Mr. Anson, who had steadily refused to see th- widow, hoped for the best of his plan. The father and ion met after supper "Well, Robert," said the former, "the month is up. What have you decided on doing." "We have made confidents of each oth er," began Robert. "Certaihly," “And I shall not hide anything from von now. I love Clara, and believe she loves me, but I am engaged to Mrs. Mor row, and cannot honorably break the en gagemen L” "Then leave the matter entirely to me." "What will you do ?" "1 will secure your release by the wid ow." "By fair means ?" "By her free consent." Auld eo the interview, closed -. • . On the following day Mr. Anson sought the hom e of the widow. She was in, and upon teal fling who he was welcomed him cordially. She asked him to be stated on the sofa, upon whit] she also gracefully sank. Mr Anson had made up his mind to be brief and business like ; but the gorgeous widow quite upset him before he even broached the subject of his eon's engagement. They came to speak of him naturally at last, nowever, and the wid ower saw his oppertunity. "You love my son ?" "What a question Mr. Anson," she re. plied showing her perfect teeth in a be witchinr,smile ; "am 1 not going to mar ry him. "I hope not." "Sir !' and even the widow's pretty frown captivated him. "I beg your pardon," he added, crest fallen, "I mean that I came to talk the matter over with you. Do you think the match is altogether a good one ?" "I see," and her eyes dropped appropri ately, "you object because I am compar atively poor." "Indeed 11u not. The financial aspect of affairs has never been considered by me." The widow here pierced him with a look of grumnde. "It was the difference in, in—"he stammered. "In social position ?" sugested the wid "Ah ! I see. You mean iu age ?" "Yes," he replied, sheepishly. "Yon divined the reason, and I will be perfectly frank with yon. My son is very dear to me, and it has been the dream of my life to see him happily married to some beau tiful and loving' woman." - . "Here the widow turned her glorious eyes full upon Mr. Arisen, and managed to show her arm, which happened:to be enclosed in a louse sleave. It was a par ticularly round, smooth arm, cud as white as possible. ••I beg your pardon," hastily contin ued Mr. Anson ; "I know that you are good. beautiful. and lovable. but—" "But lam too old—l am thirty. Not so very old either, although I do feel old. er than Robert. My love for him has been largely of the guardian sort—l have pet ted and admired him as a mother might. And he loves me—" "But not exactly as he should a wile. Re loves another woman—not a hand somer. or better woman, my dear madam but younger and better enited to be his The widow burst into tears—presum ably, at least, as she buried her eves in her handkercheil, and her bosom rose and fell tumultuously. The widower's courage quite forsook him at this un expected crisis. A pretty woman in tears is a melting object, and the effect upon the widower was all that Mrs, Morrow could have desired. She sank down on the sofa in her grief, very close to him. llr wanted to consi,le her, and so he took her hand. It was white, soft, and warm. "Please don't cry," be said ; "I have offended and grieved you. Pray forgive me' "There don't pity me." said the widow, in a trembling but musical voice; I can bear it. I have only Robert's welfare and happiness at heart—if he can be happy I ought to be contented. "Theo you release him ?" "Certainly." "And loose a fortune—you are a noble woman." "%chat is money to me ? lam Mono and unloved—l shall try to be happy in the consciousness of having sacrificed myself for your son." "We will oppreciate your sacrifice."and Mr. Anson wiped a tear from each eye. Ho* Mrs. Morrow wept aireeh' and her li'r4td sank back upon the widower's shoulder. Her form shook convulsively, and he put his arm around her waist to support her. •My dear madam," lie said. "I cannot find it iu my heart to take Robert from you." "Robert," she sobbed,"l shall never set him again. I have nothing more to desire except your respect and esteem. Without those I should indeed be unhap py" Mr. Anson drew her closer to hm.—so close thut she lay trembling on his breast awl he pressed a kiss on her forehead. "Yoh have both and my deepest admi ml lion." "Then lam content. Let Robert mar ry the girl of his choice. I only claiti the privilege of retaining an interest in his welfare, and a corner of your esteem." Mr. Anson promised, as he bade the widow adieu at the door to call again soon. And he kept his promise so well that the next evening found him there again. "Victory!" murmured the widow, as she heard him enter the hall ; "ho will propose to me before he leaves to-night. Robert is a very pretty fellow, but he is inconstant. The father is handsome, in. (stunted with me already, and the money is all his. I prefer the father." She proved reliable in her prediction.— Before her caller had kissed her good night he had offered her his hand, heart, and fortune, and she had accepted all three. The result was a double wedding, and the subsequent happiness of all concern ed. Mr. Ar.son was a devoted husband, and Mrs. Morrow made him a faithful and affectionate wife; while both paternally watched over the younger couple. Al though so cleverly fooled by the widow, Mr. Anson never suspected it, and never had cause for regret. FIFTY CTS. EXTRA IF NOT IN ADVANCE. OIIR LITTLE 01105 t -0- NY 111E8 LOMB!. Y. ALCOTT. -0-- Oft in the silence of the night, When the lonely moon d i es high, When wintry winds are whistling, And we bear the owl's shrill cry, In the quiet, dusky chamber, By flickering firelight, Rising up between two sleepers, Comes a spirit all In white. A winsome little ghost it is ; Rosy-cbeeked and bright of eye, With yellow curls all breaking loose From a small cap pushed away. Up it climbs among the pillows, For the "big dark" brings no dread ; And a baby's boundless fancy Makes a kingdom of a bed. A fearless little ghost it is, Safe the night seems as the day, The moon Is but a gentle face, And the sighing winds are gay. The solitude is full of friends, And the hour brings no regrets ; For In this happy httle soul Shines a sun that never seta. A merry little ghost It Is ; Dancing gaily b 3 Itself On the flowery counterpane Like a tricksy household elf; Nodding to the fitful shadows, As they flicker on the wall ; Talking to tamillarplctures, Mimicking the owl's shrill call. A thoughtful little ghost It Is ,• And when lonely gambols tire, With chubby hands on chubby knees, It sits winking at the fire. Fancies, innocent and lovely, Shine before those baby eyes— Endless fields ofaandellons; Brooks, and birds, and butterflies. A loving little ghost it Is ; When crept into its nest, Its hand on father's shoulder laid, Its head on mother's breast. It watebeth each familliar face, With its tranquil, trusting eye ; And, like a sleepy little bird, Sings its own suit lullaby. Then those who feigned to sleep before, Lest baby play till dawn, Wake and watch their folded flower— Little rose without a thorn. And in the silence of the night, The hearts that love it most, Pray tenderly above Its sleep, "God bless our little ghost I THE ITRITLILL CONDITION OE OLD /LOB. -0— Dr. Beard says upon the mental condition of 41 age: Moral decline In old age means—take care ; for the brain is giving way. It is very frequently accompanied or preceded by sleep lessness ; decline of the moral diculties,like the decline of other functions, may be relieved, re tarded, and sometimes cured by proper medi cal treatment, and especially by higiene. In youth, middle age, and even in advanced age one may suffer for years from disorders of the nervous. system that cause derangement of some one or many of the mural faculties, and perfect ly recover. The symptoms should be taken early and treated like any other physical disease. Our best managed asylums are now acting upon this principle,aod with good success. 151.slical treat ment is almost powerless without hygiene.— Study the divine art of taking ft easy. Men often die as trees die, slowly, and at the top first. As the reasoning faculties are the high est, most complex, and most delicate develope ment of human nature, they are the first to show signs of cerebral disease. When they-be gin to decay In advanced life we are sale in pre dicting that it these signs are neglected other functions will sooner or later be impaired. When conscience is gone, the constitution Is threatened. Everybody has observed that ill temper, greediness, despondency, are often the first and only symptoms that disease is coming upon us. The moral nature is a delicate barom eter, that foretells long before band the coming storm in the system. Moral decline, as a system of cerebral disease, is, to say the least, as relia ble as are many of the symptoms by which physicians are accustomed to make a diagnosis of various diseases of the bodily organs. When moral is associated with mental decline In ad vanced life, it is almost safe to make a diagnosis of cerebral disease. Let nothing deprive us of our sleep. Early to bed and late to rise make the modern toiler healthy and wise. The problem for the future Is to work hard, and at the came time to take it easy. The more we have to do the more we should sleep. Let it never be forgotten that death in the aged is more frequently a slow proems than an event : and man may begin to die ten or fifteen years before he is buried. FIVE MITS. —o— Five cents each morning—a mere trifle. Thir ty five cents per week—not much; but It would buy coffee and sugar for a whole family. $18.20 a year—and this amount invested in a savings bank at the end of each year, and the interest thereon at six per cent. computed annually, would In twelve years amount to more than I;B7o—enough to buy a good farm in the West. Five rents before breakfast, dinner, and sup pit, you hardly miss it, yet ft is fifteen cents a day—sl.os per week—Enough to buy a small library of book& Invest this as before, and in twenty years you have $9,006. Quite enough to bay a good house and lot. Ten cents each morning—hardly worth a sec ond thought ; yet with it you buy a paper of plus or a spool of thread. Seventy cents per week—it would buy several yards of muslin.— $50.50 in one year—deposit this amount as be fore, and you would have 41,810 In twenty years quite a snug little fortune. Ten cents before each breakfast, dinner, and supper thirty cents a day. It would buy a book for the children. $2.10 a week, enough to pay for a year's sub scription to a good newspaper. $109.20 per year—with it you could buy a good melodeon, on which your wife and daughter could pro duce sweet music to pleasantly while the eve ning hours spay. And tuts amount invested as before, would In forty years produce the de sirable amount of $15,000. Boys learn a lesson. If you would be a hap. piyoutb, lead a sober life, and be a wealthy and influential• man—lnstead of squandering your extra ebange,invest It In a library or a %av loga-baak. you would be a miserable youth, lead * drunken lite, abuse your children, grieve your wife, be a wretched and despicable being while you live, and Bray go down to a dishonored grave—take your extra change and invest It in a drinking salodn. There ere three classes Into which all the women past seventy - years of age, that ever I knew, were to be divided ; 1. That dear old soul ; 2. That old woman ; 3. That old witch. —Celeridge, THE IVIONTROSE DEMOCRAT C oqtarpgAlltUlg'tc4lanllllaleial News. roetri,eto ries, Anecdotes, Illacellaneous Reashng.Cortespond• ease, and a reliable class of advertisements. Advertising Hates: One maitre, (X clan limb epirea,?3_weelea,o . r Iya ! t ip, 1 month *l-211 A Ins ta n t = IT 4 en; itl m 4l th iarchata W ca I grea "u ter ° length. Balinese Locale, 10 eta. • late for Ant !amnion, and eta. a line each sabeetptnit anent/ay. Marriages and deaths, free; o Materna, 10 ctn. a Ilea. 11U11113III 30 The departure of a son from beneath the pa ternal root does not present any spectacle of desolation. Masculine life hen, from its Infancy an individuality, an independence, an egotism, so to say, which is essentially wanting to fe male existence. When a son abandons his par ents to create for himself a separate interest, this separation causes but little interruption in their mutual relations. A man marries, and still maintains his friendship, his habits, and his filial affections. Nothing is changed in his life it is only an additional tie. Ni. depart ure is consequently a mere simple separation while the departure of a young girl, to become a wife Ina few bouts, is a real desertion, a de sertion with all its duties and feelings still fresh about It. In one word, the son is a sapling which has always grown apart from the trunk, while the daughter has, on the contrary, fum ed an essential portion of It, and to detach her from her place is to mutilate the tree itself.-- You have surrounded her youth with unspeak able tenderness, the exhaustless tenderness of your paternal and' aternal hearts , and she, in return, has appeared to pour forth upon you both an equally inexhaustible gratitude. You loved her beyond all the world, and she seemed is cling to you with a proportionable affection. But one day,'one ill-omened day, a man ar rives, invited and welcomed by yourselves ; and this man of your own choice carries off to his domestic eyrie your gentle dove, fie fkom the soft nest which your love had made for her, and to which hers had clung. On the morrow you look around you, you listen, you wait, you seek forsomethinz which you cannot find. The cage is empty ; the tuneful linnet bas flown ; silence has succeeded to its melodious warb- Hags ; it does not come es it did on the previ ous morning, fluttering Its perfumed wings about your pillow, and awakening you by its sort caresses. Nothing remains but a painful calm, a painful silenced} painful void. The chamber of the absent darling offers on ly that disorder which is so melancholy for a . mother to contemplate ; not the Joyous and impatient disorder of occupation, but that of abandonmtint.- Maidenly garments scattered here and there ; girlish fancies no longer priz ed ; chairs heaped with half worn dresses ; drawer left partially opened, and ransacked to their remotest corners ; a bed in which no one . has slept ; a crowd of charming trifles, which the young girl loved, but which the young wills despises, and which are Uttered over the carpet Ulm the feathers dropped by the linnet when the hawk made the timid bird its prey. Such is the depressing sight ,which wrings tears from the mother's heart. Nor is this all ; from this day the occupies only the second plane in the affections of her departed idol ; and even that merely until the happiness of maternity shall have taught her whom she weeps, to assign her to one still low er. This man—this stranger—unknown a few months—it may be but a few weeks-l-previoua ly, has assumed a right over those affections width were once almost entirely her own ; a few hours of fleeting, and It may he even of as summed, tenderness, have in a great degree suf ficed to efface twenty long years of watchful ness, of care, and of self-abnegation ; and they have not only rent away her right to the first and best beloved, but they have also deprived her of the filial caresses, and gentle attentions, and the adored presence of the heart's Idol, whom sheltenmlf has given to him for lift. Nothing is left to the mother but the'attach ment of respect. All warmer emotions are en greased by the husband, to whom his young bride owes alike obedience and devotedness.— If she loves him, she leaves her home without regret to follow his fortune to the end of the world ; if she does not love him, she will per form the same duty with resignation. Nature and law alike impose the obligation on her,and her own heart must decide whether it will con stitute her Joy or her trial ; but In either case the result to the mother is the same. Nor can that mother reproach her with this paintul preference, for she has reared her in the conviction of the necessity of marriage; she haa,herseff offered to her its example in her own person ; Heaven itself has pointed it out as a duty whose omission is culpable; and there• fore, far from venturing to wish that the lost one should tutor's to her all the tenderness which time and habit may 'enable her to with praw from her husband, the mother is bound, on the contrary to pray that they may every .‘ daybecome dearer to each other, and by each toher, even at theexpense of her own happiness. This misfortune Is the mother's last blessing —Lady's Journal. We ere emphatically in the age of profanity, and it seems to us that we are on the topmost current - Ono cannot go on the streets any. where withaut having Ms cars offended with the vilest of words, and hLs reverence shocked by the most profane use of sacred names. Nor does it come from the old or middie•aged alone, for it is a act, as ramming ea true, that the younger portion of the community aro moat proficient in the degrading language. Boys have an Idea It is smart to swear ; that it makes them manly ; but there never was a greater mistake In the world. Men, even those who swear themselves, are disgusted with profanity In a young man, because they know bow, of all bad habits, this clings the most closely and increases with years It Is the most inshilona of habits, growing on so invisibly that almost before one is aware he becomes an accomplish ed maser.' Eminent lawyers are not always the safest advisers. Charles O'Connor, of New York, who had charge of the prosecution against Tweed and his family of thieves, advised that suits to recover the money stolen by them, be brought against them in the name of the State, other attorneys leas eminent than O'Connor, advised that the city and county of New York should be made the plaintiff In these cases In stead of the State : but the eminent counsel lers advice was taken,' the State Wei made phdatiff, arid now the Court of Appeals has de cided that the State had no interest in therein' and therefore could not sue. O'Connor la the lawyer by whom every one in New York city swears ; yet hitt' opinions have been very unsafe ones to follow. Though sinking In decrepit ago, be prema turely, &Us whose memory records no beadle conferred on him by man. They only have liv ed long who have lived virtnonsly.-8/ieridan. Newspaper readers do net like to peruse in different poetry by little girls—unless tho little girls ere their own. IJ PITILLISHKD Ear Vi IDNZEDAT Mot THE XAIRIAGE OP A DA110111321. -o
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers