Wm. 0 eraser.
E. B. HAWLEY & CO.,
E. B. Hawley,
PUBLISHERS OF
TILE MONTROSE DEMOCRAT,
AND GENERAL JOBCPRINTERS,
Itentrose, Susquehanna County, Pa
Orrin—West Side of Public Avenue
Business Oard&
J. R. cf: A. H. AfeCOLLUM,
ATTORELTS AT LAW °Mee over tho Bank, Montt . °so
Ps. Montrose, May 10. 1071.
D. IV. SEARL
11013248 Y AT LAW. ofllOo ove r Store of 1!.
DClls6l3er.ln the Brick Block ohto role.BC fool GO
W. W. SMITH,
BINET AND CHAIR MANMPACTURERS,—Noot
of Main street. Montrose. Pa. lan. 1. Ma.
M. C. SUTTON,
CCTIONEER, and Isimnasca Adam.,
sal Ott Frlendsvllle, Pa
AMI ELY,
Address, Brooklyn, Pa
A 11CTIO NEER
Juui• 1, lel4,
Exaotaki aim Lairn SUISTETOn,
P. 0. 1411drm. Franklin Forte.
Susquehanna Co., Pa
JOHN GROVES,
Y to MO NA BLS TAILOR, Montrose, P. Shop Dyer
Chandler's Store. Al) orders ailed lo Enderlin style..
,•atting done on shod notice. and warranted to St.
Al. 0. WARREN,
TTORNE 1 . LAW. Bounty, Back Pay, Pension
and Enema on Claims attended to. Office dr.i
~00r below Boyd'. Store, Ildontrose.Pa. [An. 1.'69
W A. CROSSMON,
Attorney at Law. °nice at the Court House, In the
comtninetoneen Office. W. A. Cuoshuon.
Itentrooe. Sent.htl.
LAW OFFICE.
r ITCH S WATSON, Attorneys at Lags, nt the °Mc/taco
of Bentley dt . Fitch, liontroge, Pe.
L F. PITCH. [Jan.ll.ll.[ w. w. wAroos.
ABEL TURRELL
Denier la Drugs Medicines, Chemicals, Paints, Oils,
Dye.staffs, Tens, Spices, Fancy Goods, Jewelry, Per
fumery, Brick Block, Montrose, Pa. Established
18/8 IFeb. 1,1873.
SCOVILL d• DEWITT.
Attorneys at Law and Solicitors In Bankruptcy. Omen
No. 49 Court Street,over City National Bank, Ding
aunton,.N, Y, W. ticormu,
=OM
DR. W. L. RICILARDSON,
II reICIAN & BURGEON, tenders hisprofessions
services to the citizens of Montrose and vicinity.—
Odlce si sisr.sideree, on the corner castor Sayre &
tiros. Foundry. i/inc.l, 1869.
CHARLES STODD.d.RD,
)ogler in Boots and Shoes, Hats and Caps. Leatherand
Findings, Stain Street, Ist door below Boyd's Store.
Work made to order, and repairing done neatly.
Mo,troso Jan. 1 1570.
LEWIS KNOLL,
SHAVING AND HAIR DRESSING.
‘non in the new Porto:Dee buildina, where he will
ue found ready to attend all who may want anything
in hie line. Montrose Pa. Oct. 13 /569.
DR. S. W. DA 1702/,
& St RGEON. tenders his eervicee to
tee citizen. of Cheat Bend end vicinity. Omen at nis
reeidence, opposite Barnum House, .Bend
Sept. Ist. 1569.—ti
DR. D. A. LATHROP,
♦dm I rki sten EL Crap TIIIIMIAL BATIKS, X Ste Foot of
chestnut street. Call and consul to a.l Cbronle
Diseases.
Montrose. Jan. 17. "12.—n01--I.f.
H. BURRPTT.
Dealer in Staple and Fancy Dry Goods, Crockery, Hard
ware, Iron, Stoves, Dross. Oils, and Paints, Boots
and Oboes, Rats and Caps, Fore, Buffalo Robes, Gro
ceries, Provisions, &e.
New-Ittllord,tri.. Nov, 0, '72—tl.
EiCW 4 WE HOTEL
g.. 1. H.AItiIECGTOZS wishes to inform the public that
having rented the Exchange Hotel in Montrose, he
Is now prepared to accommodate the traveling publlc.
In first-class style.
Montrose. Aug. 2 9 , 1873.
LITTLER tE BLAKESLEE
A.TTOHNLTS AT LAW, have removed to their Sew
Office, opposite the Tarbell Ileum
Montrof c. Ott. 15, 1873.
BILLINGS STRO VD.
?IRE AND LIFE 11181 GLANCE AGENT. AL
brtettlese attended to promptly, on fair terms. Offie -
drat door east of the bank or Wm. 11. Cooper A, C.
Public Avenue, Montrose. Pa. [Ang.1,1869
aly 17,187.1 BILLINGS BISOLTD.
B. T. d: E. II CASE,
HARNESS-MAKERS. Oak Barnes', light and heavy
lowest cash prices. Alm, Blankets, Breast Blan
ka;s, Whipe, and everything pertaining to Ms line
cheaper than the cheapest. Repairing done prompt
and In good style.
liont....ose, Pa:. Oct. 21, 1573.
CILCRLEY MORRIS
HAITI BARDER,_ bas moved his shop to the
building occupied by HrKenzie & Co.. where he Is
prepared to do all kinds of work In his Ilne,ench as ma
king ewitchee. pals. etc. All work done on short
notice end price. tow. Plcaec call sedate me.
TEE PEOPLE'S MARKET.
Pttua.n. Liam:, Proprietor.
Preeti and &kited Meats, name, Pork, Bologna Sati
ng, etc , of the beat quality, conetantly on hand, at
prlcts to suit
Montrose, Pa,. Jan. It. 1873.-Ir
VALLEY HOUSE.
one,. Bann, Pa. Slumlord near the Erie Railway De
pot. le a large and cornmadiona house, has underone
a taoroagn repair. Newly famished rooms and sleep
tag apartments,aplendidtables..andallthin,,,es compria-
Jag a at et eine. hotel. HENRY ACKERT,
,pt lath. 1,',73.-tf. Proprietor.
DR. YI E.111T.11,
Drsrler Rooms at hie dwelling, next door nortbef Dr.
Ilalrey e, on Old Foundry etreet, where be would be
happy to gee all those In want of Dental Work. Ile
!stn. confident that he can
,please all, both in qoality of
work and in price. Office noon from 9 .1.11.t0 4 P. M.
Moctree, Feb. 11, 1.414—tf
EDGAR A. TURBELL
1!111:1
No. ITO Broadway, New York City.
attends to all klnda of ALLOCOCy BUFWEES, and con
do to cauaet in all the Courts of both the State and the
i"nic.•d State,..
Yth 11, lb-74.-+y.
E. P. RISES, M. D.
fl refloat. of the Calve:nifty or Inchlgan, Ann Arbor.
Isar, and al. ot Jtdlemon bledical College of PhHa
delphte. 1074. boa returned to Frienflarlllee, when be
.11 attend to all calls In lila profession as nattal.—
Ileaidenee Jeeele lloeford's home. Office the same
as heretofore.
Friel:astille. Pa. April 27th., 174.—dm.
B URNS 4 NICHOLS,
jet, aSes in Drugs, Medicines, Chemicals. Dye.
, sslists,olls, Varnish, Liquors, Spices,Faney
PiazotliedlcLoes, Perfameryand ToiletAr•
, i a rrreserinnons carefully compounded.—
find, Esi c .ck, Me utilise, re,
&.Eicess.
°ob. 21. 11:2
F=MT2EI
rßrAirvite
Xlkc.coosaleal
marriage, my dear.
"My marriage, sister !
"Your father certainly
yon that you are to marr]
replied Ellen, looking inti
"Oh ! yes, he Enid so,"
"but I cannot believe be
3 ‘Why not," asked Ellei
'Z'ry l eye•browi.
aT TEEN OFFICE. CUEAP.
ONTROSE DEMOCRAT.
TWO DOLLARS PER YEAR IN ADVANCE.
VOLUME 31.
L
How vastly different in man's estate •
Prom that of boyhood's gay unheeding time!
His mind dotb now the eheck'rlng world de
bate—
Its fashions, foibles, virtues, and its crime,
His life becomes one everchanging scene
Wherein be hopes for some loved place to
rest,
That ho may all his days enjoy serene
Nor wearied be with Ills which life infest.
It.
With heart now ill at ease he hopes still on
This guerdon to achieve—he wills no more ;
To-day exults, he thinks the object won ;
To-morrow, sees it distant as befbre ;
Thus lives he on: with Intermittent sway
Despair and Hope alternate shake Ids breast,
Till, quite bewilder'd in this dubious fray,
He sighs for death to be aye at rest.
AL t how unlike this stage of dife appears
To that when young and gay he careless
strayed
Where'er his fancy led him, and no fears
01 good or ill his little breast once swayed ;
His cheerful brow, with sweet content aglow,
Discloses a heart from every care secure ;
His mornings brought no gloom, Lis nights no
woe,
Naught from his pastimes could his thoughts
allure.
Yes ! then it was his heart's true Joy had
known,
All things seemed destined to impart delight,
The pebbly brook, the hillock mossy grown,
The mazy woodland, and the lakelet bright ;
The morn's approach in him new life•inspired
Awhile the merry songbirds charmed his
car; •
While pastimes novel his lithe fancy fired
By which to total up his day's career.
And let me say that gallantry sublime
Held ample space - within his boyish s,ml;
As yet young Prudence scarce could mark the
time
To place impellant rashness 'Death control ;
And wild Ambition, in its fancied state,
Descanted glowingly of far off bliss,
Pointed with Jewelled hand to stations great
01 which his stirring votaries ne'er could
miss.
JmoxE Davin
Oh ! vain, delusive dream of life's bright morn!
How thou did'at mock me! laugh me in dis
dain,
As forth stalked Disappointment, grim, forlorn,
Shatt'ring the hopes I labored to attain !
And yet I pause—nonchalant for a while
To the heart-witlering ills I needs must
brave,
Ma3 - hap these cares, while seeming to beguile,
Are only meant soy erring soul to save.
Oh bright conceit in Booth truly so ;
No more I'll yearn for life's swift passing
joys ;
Too long they've lured me with deceitful glow
From the one pathway where true rapture
lies.
Come, bless'd Contentment! light my turbid
breast,
Dispel from thence all shades of rayless
Be mine! e'en till my soul has sought its rest,
Its careworn temple laid within the tomb.
THE UNWILLING BRIDE
-o
The mother of Ruth MU - twain died
while she was an infant, and her father
remained, a widower for ten years, and
then married a lady who had a daughter
b a former husband. The second Mrs.
Mcllwain was a woman of plausible
manners, but a selfish and artful disposi
tion, and her daughter Ellen resembled
her exactly.
OEo. P. Lrrrr.s,
EA. Bz-traza..zr
One day, when Ruth had just entered
her seventeenth year, a gentleman whom
she never had seen before came to tea
with the family. He was a widower,about
forty years of age, of good figure and fine
manners, but plain even to ugliness. He
was silent and reserved. Ruth paid little
attention to him,and would have thought
no more about him had not her father
said when he was gone : "Well, Ruth,
what did you think of him ?"
"I think he is extremely ugly," replied
his daughter.
"Humph !" responded her father, "that
is unlucky, for he is to be your husband."
"My husband,father ?" said Ruth rais
ing her blue eyes and gazing at her pa
rent with a look of astonishment. •'Oh !
you are jesting ; that is impossible."
"Not at all," answered Mr. Mcllwain.
"Yon will find it very true, I assure you,
that I am serious?'
"I will never marry him," replied Ruth,
"and I scarcely think he will desire an
unwilling bride."
"But you will not be an unwilling
bride,"
presisted her father.
"Don't mistake me father," continued
Ruth firmly, but kindly. "In this matter
I must consult my feelings. I cannot
commit so peat a sin."
"Well, we shall see," coolly responded
Mr. Mcllwain, and the conversation was
dropped.
Caleb Walker was a man of immense
wealth. in early life he had emigrated to
Louisiana, when the city of New Orleans
was scarcely more than, a village, and by
judiciously investing the means be pos
sessed, he amassed r great wealth. No
mai had a kinder or more sympathizing
nature than Caleb Walker. Re was very
charitable, but as he shrunk from obser.
vation, and was so utiobstructive, the
I
knowledge of his benev fence was almost
invariably confined to himself and the
recipients of
,iris bounty
Mr. Walker continue his visits to Mr.
Mcllwain's, and Ruth :mule it a point to
'iti
keep out of his way as nth as possible.
She had little difficulty n doing this, as
he paid no particular ttention to her.
She perceived, however that her step
mother and sister were c ose together.and
that their minds seemed ways occupied
with something that she uld not discov
er. They sometimes 100 - ed at him in a
peculiar manner.
One day when she was a one with Ellen,
she said :
"What Is it that o :pies you and
mother so much ?"
Her step-sister answere ,
liberation : "The prepay
/Laos Nzcnoza
POETRY.
A CONTRAST
BY JOHN GAFFNEY
THE STORY TELLER
with gnat de
tion for your
with whom ?"
has informed
Mr. Walker,"
flu th'e,face.
repliediltttth,
lane it."
, elevating her
MONTROSE, PA., WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 26, 1874
"Because it is a very summary way of
disposing of my affections, and I think I
am entitled to a say in the matter ; " re
plied Ruth.
Ellen laid her hand on Ruth's shoul
der. "My dear," she said, "don't be silly.
You certainly will marry Mr. Caleb Walk
er. He is agentleman of immense wealth
and will make you au excellent husband.
Besides, he is fond of pu, though you
will not give him a chance of making you
sensible of the fact. There is not a girl
in the community but what *bald dance
at your chance. 7am sure I woculd."
"Then take him," said Ruth.
"But I can't take him," said Ellen ;
"he don't want me. Besides, my dear,
everything is settled in your case ; even
your wedding wardrobe is purchased.'
Ruth took her step-sister by the baud,
"Is it tine ?" she asked solemnly.
"It is true," replied the other.
Mr. McElwain was absent in the coun
try. Ruth, therefore, went to her step
mother, who listened to her suplicatioos
with a countenance as 'immovable as
steel.
"I am surprised at your nonsense," she
cried. "I expected to find you a reason
able girl. Are you going mad ? Do you
really know what you are refusiag ?
This is preposterous. There is scarcely
a young lady in the country who would
refuse Mr. \Volker. What are your ob
jections to him, pray ?"
"I don't love him,' sobbed Ruth.
"Well, who snit' you did," cried her
step-mother. "But you can do so ;
you will have plenty of time, and he is a
kind man and will teach you to do so."
"It will be committing a sin it I mar
ry him," continued Ruth, still weeping.
"I can't see bow that is," replied Mrs.
Mcllwain, as if speaking to herself. "Peo
ple have a variety of ideas on the subject
of particular violations of religious dog
mas. Yours and mine perhaps, are not
alike. I don't think you will be guilty
of any sin at all."
"But I can't and won't n.arry a man
that I scarcely know and do not love,"
said Ruth.
"Yon may alter your opinion," replied
Mrs. McDwain. "It is to your father you
must say that."
"Will you not appeal to him for .ne ?
sobbed Ruth.
"No," replied her step-mother sternly,
as she went out of the room. "Fool,"
she muttered, "but she shall yield, and
that right speedily too."
Several days elapsed without Ruth see
ing either her father or Mr. Walker,when
one bright morning, as she was reclining
upon her bed, her father entered the
chamber, and commanded her instant
ly to marry Caleb Walker.
"All is prepared," he said harshly, "get
up instantly and dress yourself. Let me
hear no murmur."
;At this moment a couple of servants
entered the apartment, bearing a number
of box's, while Mcllwain placed a mag
nificent necklace of pearles upon her
dressing-case.
"There," said be, "is a present from
your future husband."
Half stupified, Ruth attempted to re
monstrate.
"Don't speak," said the father, "marry
Caleb Walker or leave my house, and
take my eorse along with you."
He turned on h's heel as he spoke, and
quitted his daughter's presence.
Overwhelmed with grief and dispair,
the unhappy girl could not maintain the
resolution she had expected to command
in the moment of her need. Passively
submitting to the fate that overtook her,
she was docile under the hands of the
waiting-maids, who began to array her
for the bridal.
During the performance of the cere
mony she appeared more dead than alive;
And it was only when Walker saluted her
as his bride, that she started as if from a
dream. They proceeded direct from the
church to the house of the bridegroom,
where a splendid dinner awaited them.
Ruth desired to be conducted to ber
chamber, locked herself in and left Ca
leb Walker to entertain the bridal party
as best he could. In vain did her step
mother and sister solicit admission.
She refused to suffer them to come into
ner presence. Suddenly indisposition
served as a pretext for her leaving the
company, and her husband bad presence
of mind enough to put the beet face up
on the matter.
When the guests had.gone Caleb Walk
er ascended the stairs with a low step and
thoughtful mien, and tapped at his wife's
door.
"Let me in," he said in a low tone, "I
have something to say to you that will
not displease you."
Ruth opened the door and averted her
eyes. Her husband divined what was in
her mind. Seating himself near her, he
spoke in the tune of a man whose soul is
penetrated with sorrow.
"Don't make yourself unhappy," he
said. "Hear me patiently. If I tell you
that I repent having married you, you
will not perhaps believe, yet it is true. I
was made to believe by your father and
eb p-mother that your affections were dis
engaged, and that you had no aversion
to me—that you would dispense with
those attentions customary from a lover to
his betrothed, but which the difference in
our ages, and my consciousness that na
ture, had dealt hardly with me rendered
me adverse from offerirg. Too late I
have discovered the cruel deception your
father has practised upon me. Still it is
in my power th render your fate less
wretched Chan you anticipate. Bear the
name of my wife, command in my house,
and dispose of me and my fortune as you
please. Before heaven, I promise to live
with you only as a brother, and never to
approach you until you can receive me as
the husband of your choice."
He ceased speaking, and sat gazing at
her, awaiting her reply. The force of
truth is always terrible. Ruth dried her
tears and extended her hand to him.
"I accept your offer, and thank you
for your generosity ; I will try and repay
your kindness. You have a daughter;
that child shall be my care. Bat from
this hour I will see my father's face no
more. I forgive him the wrong he has
done me,but I can never willingly behold
his face. As to my step-mother and her
daughter, as your wife, I forbid for ask
Devoted to the Interests of our Town and County.
stunt their presence under this roof."
"Your wishes shall be the law of my
house," replied her husband, "fear not,
you shall be implicitly obeyed. Good
night l" and without shaking hands, or
even looking at her, Caleb Walker left
his young wife atone, and descended the
stairs.
The following day she met him with a
cheerful countenance, and a few days
later, his daughter, an interesting child
about four years old, was brought home.
Ruth was naturally a very affectionate
woman. Estranged from her nearest
connections by the base deception they
had practiced upon her, she needed an
object upon which •to lavish her tender
ness, and soon found it in little Effie,who.
become passionately fond of her.
Time flew by, and Caleb Walker kept
his word strictly with his beautiful wife.
He did more, he was incessant in his en
deavors to render her happy. Two years
passed away, with scarcely any change in
his domestic relations except perhaps that
Ruth was more confidential with him,and
at times evinced more tenderness towards
him than she had hitherto done. Effie
was her darling,and she appeared to love
the child with so strong and passionate
an attachment, that Mr. Walker often
marvelled at it.
One day in early spring, Caleb Walker
informed Ruth that he had taken a coun
try house for the summer. This was
welcome news to Ruth, and she began
to prepare for the removal. Three weeks
later they were comfortably installed in
their country residence. It was a moder
ate sized farm house having an abun
dance of shade trees and fruit surround.
ing it., and Ruth began to busy herself
among the flowers and plants as soon as
the weather permitted. The place was
near enough to the city for Caleb Walker
to make daily visits thereto, if he had
occasion to do so.
It was in the month ofJuly, the weath
er was intensely warm, when one mor
ning Caleb Walker set out for the city to
be absent for the day. Late in the after
noon Ruth took Etlie by the hand and
wandered into the adjacent woods to
seek for some roots she desired. So intent
was she upon the object of her search,
that she did not observe the heavens
growing overcast until the storm was
nearly upon them. When it was she,
catching the child by the hand, hurried
onward, hoping to reach the house before
the rain fell.
She was yet halt a mile distant when
the storm burst upon them in all its fury
and the rain descended to torrents,drench
ing them i o the skin. She had passed
beyond all shelter, and could find no
?lice nearer than her home where she
could gain a refuge. It therefore became
a matter of sheer necessity to go for
ward. When she arrived at the house,as
Melt have been expected, she was in a
very exhausted condition , but Effie did
not seem much the worse for the accident
save her wet clothing. The first thing
Mrs. Walker did was to attend to the
child, and it was not until her step
daughter had her wet clothing changed,
that Ruth pulled off her own drenched
garments.
The following morning Ruth was so ill
that she could not leave her bed, and her
husband immediately summoned a phy
sician. Two or three more days and Ruth
lay prostrate in bed with typhoid lever.
Days and nights Caleb Walker sat by
the bedside of hie wife, who lay uncon
scious, her mind wandering, and raging
fever wrecked her frame. He would not
be satisfied with the attention of her
nurse, but watched every roovemen Labe
made. For a long time it was doubtful
whether she would recover. But at last
the disease took a favorable turn, and
she gradually began to mend. But what
a wreck she presented, when contrasted
with her former self ! Her first inquires
were for Effie, aed when the child was I
'brought she hugged her passionately to'
her ematciated form.
Dunng the progress of her recovery,
she was one day lying on a couch beside
husband, who had been reading to amuse
her. Effie was seated near and prattling
a great deal. Mr. Walker laid down his
book and gazed at his wife. Effie began
to talk again.
"Mamma," she said, "you love me very
much don't you ?"
"Certainly," replied Ruth, "why do
you ask ?"
"I don't know," answered the child,
except that it makes me very happy to
know that you love me so dearly.
Ruth pressed the little one nearer to
her heart.
"You love me better than you love any
one in the world ?". continued the child.
Ruth did not reply ; the color faded
and can't' to her cheeks as she looked in
quiringly into the child's face.
"Is it not so, mamma ?"continued Effie
"You love me better than you do papa,
don't you ?" And she took her step
mothers baud and looked into her eyes.
Caleb Walker sat breathless and mo
tionless.
Ruth hesitated for a moment only, and
then she answered in a low but distinct
tone—
"No, Effie, I do not."
The next instant Caleb Walker was on
his knees beside his wife.
"My own darling !" he exclaimed,
„now I feel that you are my own indeed;"
and he fervently kissed her pale brow.
And so, hi truth, she was. His cease
less tenderness and unwearied attentions
had won her heart, unknown even to her
self. krom that time forward a joy en
tered the hearts of Ruth and her hus
band. Two lovely bhildren blest their
union, but their births did not diminish
Ruth's affections for her step-daughter.
She Always treated that charming girl
with the same tenderness as her own off
spring, and received from her a filial love.
4 married lady who was in the habit
of spending moat of bee time.in the soci
ety of her neighbors, happened to be ta
ken ill, end sent her buidaand in great
haste for_a physician. The husband ran
a short distance, and then returned, ex
claiming, "My dear, where shall I find
yon when I come back ?"
Why should a magistrate be very cold?
Because he represents just•ice.
Enoch Arden Reversed.
——o—
A Mrs. Newell, with her little girl,pas
sed along the Kansas Pacific a few days
ago,who had a very dreary story to tell.
She said she belonged to New York, and
about a year ago had left that city to join
her husband, who had taken Horace
Greeley's advice and gone West, but
where she knew not. She hardly knew
indeed, whether he was in the land of the
living, and had a long search before she
found him, and then it was a case of
Enoch Arden reserved. Her tmunt hus
band was found in Caribou, Colorado,
living with another woman as his wife.
But this was not all. When she went to
prove her prior right to her truant hus
band, he disclaimed all knowledge of her
and declared that his then wife:was the
only one he had ever had. He further
had the impudence to give her what he
called good advice, which was not to go
gadding about the country claiming
strange men for her husband, but to go
back to her home in New York. The
unfortunate wife did not attempt to an
swer him, but tried to seek solace for her
misery in death by poison. She was,
however, prevented from carrying out her
design, and when she made known her
story of her wrongs to the people of Car
ibou, as she had exhausted all her finan
ces in finding her husband,who disowned
her, they made up a purse to carry her
and her more than fatherless daughter
back to whence they came. And, too, it
was only to her earnest pursuasion that
her alleged lord owned his life, as a good
many Caribonians were very anxious to
tie him to a tree.
Beauties of liVashoo Buller
— 0 -
It was our good fortune a day or two
since to hear the following dialogue in
one of our principal "hash-houses." The
interlocutors were a dandified looking,
side-whiskered, lisping, middle-aged man
from California, and a burlj, round-head
ed, merry-eyed, Comstocker, who were
seated at opposite sides of the table. The
men were evidently strangers to each
other. The conversation ( pened as fol
lows :
Dundreary—Dear me, this is disgust
ing 1 (Holding np his knife and gazing
fixedly at its point,) This is eithaw the
second or third hair—l think it's the
third—that I've found in this buttah 1
Comstocker—You've not been here
long,l judge ?
Dundreary—No, sir ; I arrived hero
yesterday morning.
Corostocker—l though so, otherwise
you would• not have complained of hairs
in your butter
Dundreary—Not complain of hairs in
buttah You suppwiss rue, sir. How
could I do otherwise ?
Comstocker—These hairs sir, are just
as natural as Wahsoe butter as butter is
the natural product of milk. They afe
just as good and just as clean as the
butter.
Du ndreary—lmpossible !
Comstucker—Not at all, sir, All our
butter comes from the great valleys of
our State where flourishes that moat nu
tritous and truly wonderful plant, the
white sage. On this our cattle feed and
fatten. This white sage has many vir
tues. Strange as it may appear to you,
sir, for the white sage is manufactured a
most wonderful liad popular hair renew
er.
Dandaery—Ah, yes ; I've heard of it
--in fact I may say that on the occasiou,
when I thought I observed my hair grow
a little thin, I used some of the preps.
wation.
Comstsocker—Well, then, sir, in a
country where all the cows feed on white
sage do you think it likely that the but
ter will be bald-headed ?
Dundreary turned red, pushed back
his chair and left without dey,nieg to
answer the conundrum.—Virgtnia City
Enterprise.
Moses' Wile.
—o—
A clerical gentleman from whom the
Drawer is always pleased to hear, sends
the following:
As I was paying pastoral visits some
years ago in the state of Tennessee a lady
said to me:
"I am very glad you've come. I was
reading in the Bible the other day about
Moses marrying a nigger, and I wish you
would explain the matter."
"It don't read that way in my Bible," I
repliad ; it reads that Moses married an
Ethiopean woman ."
"Well dosen't that mean nigger ?"
"I will tell you now it was,' I answered
"There was a terrible war waged by
Ethiopians against the Egyptians, and
two great armies sent from Egypt against
them bad been destroyed. The Ethio
pians wPxo governed by a magnificent
ilueendike Semiramais. who led out her
own armies, and knew how to gain a
victroy' But when Moses was sent with
a third Egyptian army against her, he
aked help of God, and managed so wise
ly that the queen agreed to surrender all
her forces to him and become tributary
to Fgypt, provided he would marry her."
"Well said the old lady, "I was sure it
wasn't any common nigger:'—Harper's
Magazine for August.
•A Sunday-school teacher wishing his
pupils to have a clear idea of faith, illma
trated it thus : "Here is an apple—you
see it, and therefore know that it is there
but when I place it under this tea-cup
you have faith that it is there, though
you no longer see it." The lads seemed
to understand it perfectly.; and the next
time the teacher asked them, "What is
faith ?" they answered with one accord,
"Au apple under a tea-cup."
In a Sabbath-school class, in which the
lesson touched upon the promise of Her-
Od to the daughter of Herodias, the
teacher asked whether it was true that
Herod was obliged to keep his vow when
it would lead to the beheading of John
the Baptist. "I guess if she had asked
Or his own bead, Herod would not have
felt himself obliged to keep it," replied a
bright, boy of ten or twelve.
The Drat of Jaae—Zi. capital J.
FIFTY CTS. EXTRA IF NOT IN ADVANCE.
MISCELLANEOUS READING.
LOVE'S OITOIOE.
Do you remember, dear, my love, .
Our parting in the twilight•lane,
When brighter than the stars above
Your eyes shone through the dewy rain,
And made me say good-bye again,
And held me, that I could not move ?
Too fond to grieve, too sad to smile,
I yielded to their silent power ;
And was it but a breathing while,
Or was it through a spell-bound hour,
I kissed your lace, an upturned flower,
Whose sweetness did my soul beguile?
And then I said, "Farewell, my sweet
The hour has come and we must part.;
But, through the long years ere we meet,
Which will yon bear within your heart
To comfort you when I depart—
Remembrance, or oblivfon fleet ?
"—A memory of all thddiss
That made the flying hours so bright,
From the first timid, tumbling kiss
I dared to give you one dear night,
Lost in a vision of delight,
Down to the perfect joy of this?
"—Forgetllilness of all the pain
That happiest lovers learn to know—
The doubts that come and come again,
The haunting fears that will not go,
The vague, faint chill presaginir woe,
Unconquered by love's proud disdain ?
"—Which would you have, sweet ? Now do
cide,
Forgotten pain, remembered joy ?"
"Ah, dearest I" then you said, and sighed,
Love's pain is but a brief annoy,
But rich delights that never cloy
Are to his msmories allied.
Then bid my heart love's joy retain,
And sum felicity in this.
That all Its treasures still remain ;
And till we meet and live again,
You shall forget love's passing pain,
And I'll remember all Its bliss.
THE RESPECTABILITY OF LABOR.
A great deal of distinction is made be
tween the different trades, arising from a
silly prejudice which concedes more res
pectability to one trade than another.—
Labor is labor all the world over, and the
only difference consists in the various
modes of its application. The shoemak
er plies his awl and hammer, the tailor
his needle and shears, the carpenter his
jack-plane, the moulder his rammer, and
so on, through the whole catalogue of
mechanism. - Each and-all give brain and
muscle to these several occupations; and,
for the life of us, we cannot see the claim
to superiority of a single one over anoth
er. The grubbing hoe, the hod, or the
spade, are equally honorable implements
of industry, althou"h, coming under the
class of unskilled labor ; but should all
receive equal compensation, where shall
the higher grade of respectability begin ?
If we except the difference justly existing
tetween a mechanical trade which takes
years of apprenticeship to acquire, and
that species of labor which depends more
up& physical than-mental capacity, we
see nothing at variance with a common
interest and a common destiny..
We look upon every kind of labor as
respectable, because necessary ; and no
man, should he reach the most exalted
position in life, could possibly lessen the
dignity of himself, or compromise the
sphere in which he moved, by resuming
the humble occupation from which he
sprung, for either pastime or convenience
so long as he faithfully discharged the
duties of that position. 'Would Abraham
Lincoln, while president, have degraded
himself or his office,had he "took a turn"
at spliting rails, or grasped the helm of a
flat-boat? - Could Andrew have done the
same by patching his coat, or sewing up
a rip in his pantaloons? On the contra
ry, the one felt a glow of honnt pride
when living, as the other dues now, while
alluding to their past occupations. Then,
if prom to boast, as Presidents, of the
trade they followed in poverty, why
should they got, with - equal pride and
satisfaction, split a rail or mend a coat,as
Presidents?
It is evident that neither of these great
men recognized a distinction between the
labor of the mechanic or workman,-and
that of a President, ln fact, while free
to boast of their performance as laborers,
they were by no means vain-glorious
while occupying the highest position in
the country. It is the wide difference of
compensation which create the distinc•
Lion, and not the occupittion. We have
often read sneering criticisms of both,
whenever they made allusions to their
past history ; but while the occupation of
either may stink in aristocratic nostrils,
one had, and the other has, the moral
courage to throw the mantle of respecta
bility around the the humblest calling.
THE TELEPHONE.
- •
This is a now inst:ument recently in
vented by Mr. Elisha Grey, of Chicago,
for the transmission of sounds. Noted
electricians say that they believe the time
will come whin the operator will trans
mit the sounds of their own voices over
the wires. The novel instrument called
the telephone has been set at work, and
has played music ou a piano key board,
transmitting it through an unbroken cir
cuit of two thousand four hundred miles
and reproduced on a violin attached to
the receiving end of the wire. Mr. Grey
played "Hail Columbia,' "The Star
Spangled Banner," God Save the Queen,"
"Yankee Doodle," and many other well
known airs, and they were unmistakably
repeated, note for note, on the violin
which lay on a table near at hand. Even
an accidental false note was immediately
detected on the violin. Mr. Grey exhibi
ted many other experiments with tin
cans, small paper drums, etc, which were
attached to the receiving end of the wire
in the place of the violin. The paper
drum gave to the musical sounds just
that peculiar buzzing twang which is
produced by boys placing a piece of thin
paper over a hair comb an 4 then blow
irg on it. What this will lead to, and
where it will all end, is one of the most
extraordinary problems of the day.
Oilcloths, if well rubbed with a wool
en cloth and warm water, with the addi
tion of a little skimmed milk, if con
venient, will look nearly as treat as new,
Scrubbing brushes and strong soap are
ruinous to them.
The wise end prudent conquer difficul
ties by daring to attempt them.—Rowe.
TAB MoNTROiE DE3IO6IIAT
Contains all the Local and 0 cncrallicate, roach Sto.
ries, Anecdotes, Iflecallancona llesdlog,Corrcapocd•
ence,and o Tellable class of adverthetainta. .
Ons square. (X Min inch stmer,)s weeks, or len, $1
I month. $1.25• S months , 05.50; 0 mont hs, 114.50 ;
year, UAL A liberal Merolla' On advertisement* of f
greater length. Business Locals,lo Ms. le lice for fir
Insertion, and 5 eta. aline nett subsequent tatertlonst
Marriages and deaths, tree; obituari es t i° els. a line...—.
NUMBER 34,
OUR DISREGAGD OF GOOD BREEDI2PG
This is a grace of which I think Amer
ican women are becoming very careless.
They are so beautiful as a race, so.accus
tomed to conquest, that perhaps they aro
getting to believe that. Pope's line,
"Look In her face and you forget them
applies to manners; but a beautiful wo
man without good manners is a flower
without:fragrance. She is worse; as sum
ing on her beauty and abusing one of
God's great gifts. You ,must look at her,
but you look to regret, to disapprove ;
instead of being chained for life to sweet
looks married to graceful action, you
grow to despise and hate her. In a coun
try like ours we must expect to find a
frequent coupling of ignorance with
wealth, of official station with awkward
ness,' of high social position with bad
manners—combinations more rarely re
marked in the older and more settled
States of the world. Kings and queens
must be decently well bred and well edu
cated. They cannot well help knowing
the proper way to eat a dinner they can
not help observing the -proprieties of dress
and etiquette, and the people immediate
ly about them must follow their exam
ple. No such necessity exists here. We
have a Governor or a Mayor who is en
tirely untrammelled by the laws of gram
mar and of spelling. who uses his own
sweet will in regard to his knife and fork
and who is still the proper person to re
ceive the representative of a foreign pow
er.
In our cities how sickening it is to see
the potentiality of some vulgar rich man
who can buy the crowd in more senses
than one—how mournful to note the ab
sence of good manners in some of our
prominent literary and religions celebri-
ties—men whom yon hesitate to ask to
your house, although their talents are
exercising so much influence on the
world, and their; names are on everybo
dy's lips. The trouble lies in a deficien•
cy of respect, a lack of training, and ab
sence of something to look up to.
The best bred men in America are the
officers of the regular army and navy.—
They have been taught to look up to, to
reverence authority, and to be respectful.
It never leaves them ; they become the
most dignified and the most simple men
in the community.
When women reach a larger grasp of
the subject, and observe this great rule,
"that the possession of power is better
than the show of it," they *jl have ad
vanced far beyond their present status.—
The end and aim of the weak and un
certain is to appear strong and well pos-
Eesed at whateter cost. It has apparently
struck some women in the society of our
new country, which must be a shifting
wale, that they appear to stand well by
being Oisagreeable,that au airsif haut
eur and rudeness is becoming and aristo
cratic. It is the mistake of ignorance,
and would soon be cared by a careful
study of the best models in Europe.
A French lady writes thus of the girls
of the period :
I was at a reunion the other evening
where I saw a young American girl, not
more than sixteen years old, who had just
arrived in Paris. She had come all the
way from San Francisco, accompanied
only by a brother two years younger than
herself, and seemed quite incapable of
understanding the Astonishment of the
ladies who questioned her regarding her
journey.
"What ! you traveled six thousand
miles alone with your little brother ?"
"Yes, madam.'
"And you were not afraid ?"
"Afraid I of what ?"
And there was that in her manner
that showed that she was already quite
capable of taking care of herself.
Where is the Parisienne who would ven
ture to go from Paris to St. Cloud alone ?
English women have the same temper
ament and the same education as the
American. It is not rare to see English
girls who have been alone to the Indies
and back. I once met in England a
young girl, who, when I\ asked her what
she went to the Indies tor, replied with
the greatest naivete :
"I went to find a husband, and did not
succeed."
These young girls are much better
armed against danger from libertines
than are ours. While still quite young,
they are taught to protect themselves.—
British manners allow young girls to have
recourse to a thousand little insinuating
ways to win a husband; but they know
full well that to attain their ends they
must make themselves respected, which
they find it easy to do by confining their
innocent rogueries within the limits pre
scribed by true feminine modesty.
But, once married, good-by to stolen
glances, to gentle but expressive pressures
of the hand, and all the rest. All their
arrows are immediately quivered, never
again to be withdrawn ; the flirt of yes
terday is to-day a staid matron.. Her pe
riod of romance is passed. She immures
herself within her own interior as in a
fortress, just at the time when French
women begin to throw off restraint, and
to feel that they are their own mistresses.
In England coquetry ceases at the time
when it begins in France,which accounts
for its being double the age on one side.
of the channel that it is on the other.
The more light admitted to apartments
the better for those who occupy them.—
Light is as necessary to sound, health as
it is to vegetable life. Exclude it from
plants, and the consequences are disast
rous. They cannot be perfect without
its vivifying influence: , It is • a fearful
mistake to curtain and blind windows so
closely for fear of injuring the furniture
by exposing to the suns' rays; such
rooms postively engender disease. Lot
in the light often, and fresh air, too, or
suffer the penalty of aches and pains and
long doctor's bills which might have been
avoided.
The love of glory can only create a
hero ; the contempt of it creates a wire
man.—Tallsyrand.
Oilacksmitit is always striking for
wages.
liPersurazo Enn' Wrosirssay llorxrio
Advertising notes:
GIRLS OF THE PERIOD