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