e. 3. Hail/ley, E. B. HAWLEY & CO., PL BLISLIERS OF THE MONTROSE DEMOCRAT AND GENERAL JOB PRINTERS, dwilroNe, Sa.wurlialina Cott nly, Pa Orricz—Wceit tilde of Public Avenue. Business Cards J. B. d A. 11. MreO,(.l,UM, ,vennncrs •7 Law 0171ce or the Bank, klontrore Mont yore. May 10, 1071. tf D. W. S.E.',ARLE, rrtol:NEY AT LAW, office over the Store of M. ,),•opnner, In the Brick Block, SI ontroe.,Pa. [66169 w Tr. Arirri, HINET 40.1 CHAIR. MANUFACTI.III..ItS of Main etre,. l:nt.tr.•sc. Pa. la kg. 1. Imiti if. C. SUTTON, AUcTIONSER,and Iveimaxec Aucwr, Priem:bovine, Pa 3.111 EL .7 ,VCTIONEEI .lung 1, ie; Add.esn, Brooklyn. Ya J. C. Wilg.lY'uN L Y . -Nor':ELIA ♦ LAND brisre,oll. I'. 0. zoldre*s. Frooldlo Fork e, Sorquohnoun Co., PA JOIIY GROVES, •.1 i u,AOL6 TAILDIt, Stuntmen Pa. Shop over b andl Gr . 0. Store. AP orders tilled In Orat-ratestyl, i. I lug done on snort notice. and warranted Lu .4. 0. WARREN, Bounty, lioct Cmy. Yentotot n Claims attended to. Unice 111,1 r r,eiow Boyd'. 'Store. ldontro•t.Yn. Dia. 1,'09 Ir A. CROSSMO.,V, nt Law. ()race at the Court Louse, ir the 01line. W. A. CROPsIOO,I. \hadn't , . next LAW ()FFICE. Tl'll .1 WATNON, Attorneys at Law, s t the old ollice !lustros, Ps. : v PITCH '71.1 w. w. In Druz. Medicines, CI ulc In, Faints, Oils, etude, T., Spices. Fancy Goode. Jewelry, Per. . Brick Block. Month ea, Pa Establzened [Feb. I. ler73. SCO VILL Jo DEWITT. Ail ontry. at Law and Solicitors in Bankruptcy. OHleo N.J. 49 Court struct, over City National Book, Bing . N S AV at. B Scot . ILL, 1,1,1171. rooms Dirwrrr. hit. IV. L. ILICILIRDSU.A I' , ISIt lAN S ::1 7 LIGEON. tendert , hie , eroferoluta, ices to be Cal.!. of Montrute and vicluity.— olic,at blerualder,o, on the tomer eatet of Nay. tt. 13:oe. Found!, I Aug. 2. lvG'J. CHARLES STODDARD ru Kant, and Shoat, list. and Caps, Leather anta Fladta, Main street, let door below Boyd's Store. ge Work made to order, and repairing done neatly. MoLtrose Jan. 1 Is7o. LEWIS KNOLL, SHAVING AND HAIR DILF-SSENG. sot, In the new Rustoffice braiding, where be will tont,d ready to attend all who may want anything Montrose Pe. Lint. 13 Irbil. DIL S. IV. DAYTON ,11's1 CLAN S SURGEON, tenders his cervices to elOsenr of Great Bend and vicinity. Ocoee at •• .1 cuce• opposite Barnum House, G•t Bend village. ~ .pt let•ls69.—it DR. D. A. LATHROP, . [ll,r:re BATH!. a Foot Of •leatallt street. Call consul' rn st.l Cttrook Niootrose..l4... 17, MMMO D..aler .12 Staple and Fancy Dry Goode. Crockery. Bard trate. Iron. Stoves, Drug, 01le, and Palate. Boot. and Sheer. Bata and Cape, Furs, Buffalo Hobe, tiro curie., Pruett...lnv, d.c. New.Mtlturd, 1 a.. Nur, G. • 72—t f. EXCILINGE HOTEL it J. gIARRINGTON wittien to inform the public that ha tug rented the Exchange Hotel in Montrone. hr it now prepared to accommodate the traveling public fir,t-clasp le ontrot•e. Aug. 2e, vn3. LITTLE'S ct BLAKESLEE ATTORNEYS AT LAW. have removed to their S,. Offitt, opposite the Torben Rouse. BILLINGS STROUD. IHE AND LIFE INKIAANCIC ACBNT. Al' toe.. attended to prumptl7.on fair terms Office r"t Goo' east of the ban". o. Wm. LI. Cooper d Ca. hltr Avenue, Montrose, Pa. [Aeg. I. ISO. 4 . r 17.17 , 721 BILLING' braovn. Pin"sICIAN it. SURGEON. ti odors his professional ssrvict sto the citizens of Mooch_ Ps 011ie at the fureks !loose. will attend to all calls to hie proles . ith which he is 'scored Aug 19..7.1 —tf. B. 7'. & E. IL CASE HAHN Esit.MAKEES. Oak Rarnesii,light end heavy at vr. cavil pneee. Alen, Blanket, firenet Blau Whip, and everything pertalaing to :ha line c!.eaper than the cheapen. Repairing done prompt rood etyle. il“ut nee. Pa.. Oct. 2J'. 11573. uziARLET moraus lIAYTI BARBER, has moved hi• shop to the • ~:Idiog occupied by E. McKenzie 6 Co., where be Is i•plrrd to d. nil kind.: of work in his Ilne,such an ma k I.:: W 110.10., pod', etc. All work done on short n od K w... low. Please call and see me. THE PEOPLE - 5 MARKET. Puul.rr Anus. Propirtor. -h rand ,rtlt 11leatK. Ilame. Pork, Bologna Snn rte . °I the boot qualay, constantly on twarttl, at t-, nu ult M•outr.mtt, Pa,. Jan It. la:3-lv VALLEY HOUSE. p.c,r Beau. Pa. Sit anted near the Erie Railway De •. . . 1. u !•rte 1.1.1./d ommodion• dense. has Undergone rtra4b rep.... Newly famished re 01216 and weep tablet.and all [hinge cornprht tit ctruES boLel. ILLNItr ACKEIST, Prnprietor. DR. IL W. U,rt, Room, at his dwelling, next door north of Dr. Maker 6, oo Old Foundry street, where he would he aggn t•• Mee all there in want of Dental Work. He t• • L. , notldeut taut he can pielee all, both in quality of , Lod in prier littler hoar* from 9 a. to 47. It. I 44 —lf APGAR A. 71111:ELL No. VW Broadway, New York City. to.titit. to all kiwis of Attorney Snob-lest, and con , • eta..-e-• .1.1.1 the Coons of both the State and the E P. LILNES, M. D. ethertity of Alicbignn, Ann Arbor, 0 of Jedterton Medical College of r-blitt ,pt,a I tt,. returoed to Friendtviller, whiny be !.. toteoti to all cull. fu bin protestion at antral: -:a, for it, Jetvie ilosfurd • at bonne. °Mee the Caine t vtoat.l Pa., April Zlth., ILIT-L—Gta B CUSS Q MC/10LS 1c Drugs, Medicines, Chemical. Dye tad i le, Varnish, Liquors, tipices • Fancy eo Patent Medicines. Yerfuniespend TolletAr , .re'rescrlptions carefully compounded.— nr,,e Work. Montrose, YR. FINE ,fOO EFTA' riAG sooultoct rfls. OFFICE. CHEAP. ./..rir Uwe. M_ONTROSE DEMOCRAT. Wm, 0 Griner TWO DOLLARS PER YEAR IN ADVANCE. VOLUME 31 TICE CHURCH OF TUE HOLY SEPULCHRE. --o Is it not told in legends old Of Saracen:le lore— That long ago in the olden time, When the knights went forth to Palestine To shed their blood as the ruby wine, A dazzling light, by day and night, Beamed o'er the holy, sacred spot Where the Saviour's holy grave is made, the arches deep In the gloomy shade, Where ages on ages their prayers have said, And ayes muttered o'er ? 'When rung on high the warrior's cry, And brave opponents met ; When hand to hand in the battle hour The Christian strove with the Moslem pow er, And dusty clouds o'er the conflict lower, If In battle Tray the cross gave way And Christian courage want‘i ; This glorious flame began to Gail ; Elm lambent flackeringo, faint and pale, Seemesi glancing upon the coats of mail Aral the Christian helms to fret. Wearied in strife they gained new life, Refreshed in heart and limb ; Their battle-cry echoed on again From India's mounts o'er the sandy plain, For God they battle not in vain ; The infidels fly at the battle-cry And leave the half won field, When the night, coming down serene and clear, Dropped in starry curtains o'er far and near ; From the vine-clad hills the olives hear The Templar's evening hymn. Servant of God whn alone has trod A weary way, and striven— In vain, perchance, 'panel a whelming host, On the battle's stormy surges tossed— Fight on, lin the victory Is not hill In the hour of night thou shalt know the light, A smile from Heaven's throne : And when evening comes with starry store The victory won, the conflict tier,— In sweet accord shall rise once more The victor's hymn to Heaven. In thejpretty little morning room at Upton Grange breakfast was laid for two persons. Mrs. Eliersleigh, a tit.e, bener,,lent looking uld lady, with gray hair, combed (low:: smoothly on her high, w hit*/ f,,r e . head, sat there, waiting for her son, who was nor yet down. "Good morning, mother!' ho said, presently entering the nom. "Any b., tars ?" be added, glancing at the table. "Sot yet, my boy. Ah, here is John with the post bag. Open it Gerald, while I pour out the coffee." "One for you, mother mine," said her son, examining the foreign post-mark on a thin sort letter, and then passing it to Mrs. Ellersleigh, "and two for myself." lie proceeded to open his own letters, bet from time io time cast anxious glan ces at the one his mother was reading, and totally neglected his breakfast, which unheeded, was fast growing cold. "Is it from Edith, mother What do, she say ? When is she coming home ?" he asked, his patience at length worn out by the slow arid deliberate way nn which the old lady perused the closely-written lines. It. B. Ltrrt.e. E. L Gco f• Lrr-rt.e, L. "How eau you expect me to answer questions at one. ?" said Mrs. Ellersleigh. laughing. "Listen," she proceeded, read ing from the letter. "We kart. Paris ear ly on Wednesday morning, and shall ar rive in London late in the evening, and remain there all night. On Thursday my friends, Colonel and Mrs. ',Jameson, will set- me safely into the train, which leaves Enstou Square for Upton at two o'clock, so that I shall be home just in time for dinner. Geraki can meet me at the station—dear, kind Gerald, how long to be with you and him again !" There, my buy; that ie all. The first part of the letter conta'ns only an account of farewell visits." "She w ill bd here on Thursday even ing, and now it is Monday. Only three more da)si to wait." repeated Gerald half to himself'. "Blot her, will it not be nice to have her back again ?" he added aloud "Yes niY son." said Mrs. Ellerdleigh, slowly—• siery." Gerald relapsed into silence, and ap peared to he totally absorbed in a happy reverie, wOle his mother glanced at him rather anxiously. Mrs. Eill-rdleigh was a widow, her hus band having died eight years ago. when Gerald, thOr only child, was eighteen years old. Since then Mrs. Ellersleigh had las idled all her affections on her son. 'the young Squire," he was called ; and well lie m - erited all her love and care. Look at him as be stands there, one arm leaning mi l the mantel-piece, tall. broad shouldered, handsome, clusters of thick brown curl's stealing over his broad, high forehead. 1"Bless him !" was the heart felt prayer'nf many a heart sick and suf fering creature, whose burden of pain bad been lightened by his kindness and generosity pi the hour of need. .Edith Stanton was Mrs. Ellersleigh's ward and adopted child. She was the daughterof a schoolfellow of the •3ld Squire's, who, being a widower, and him self dying When his little gtrl was only nine years Old, left her and her•stnall for. tune of trividi thousand pounds to the cure of his early ) friend. The parentless girl was welcome to her new tome,and found a second father and mother in fier kind guardian and his wife. She was a, winning little creature, and a warm friend.hip soon sprung up be tween her Ind her now constant compan ion. Gerald With the latter, however, as they grew older, and .ith changed from a pretty child to a p etty woman, this feeling be came stron!er and deeper ; and when, nearly two ears ego, Edith went to fin ish her edo,atlon in France, Gerald felt that the w ,ole happiness of his future life depend d upon her answer to the question wl ich had so often trembled on his has, " ith,darling, I love yon—will yon be my ife ?" POETRY. THE STORY TELLER BETRAYED —cy-- MONTROSE, PA., WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 16. 1874 It still remained unasked, however, when the went away. Not without anxiety and mis g iving f'r her eun'S happiness had Mrs. Eller sleigh watched his growing love fur her adopted child, fur though she loved the latter almost as well as if indeed she had Leen her own daughter, yet she could not hide from herself the fact that tiers was not the nature or disposition to fi:el the depth and unchangeaLleness of hive which would characterize that of her son. His, she knew, would be the one love of his lile. And now Edith, after an absence of two years iu a foreign land, was coming hone for good. What would be Gerald's fate ? Ab he had only known, not SJ calm and happy would have been the upon his lace as he stood th e r e , thinking of the absent one, and dream ing happy dreams of the future, in which she was always by his side. "No, mother ; no need to keep the dinner back ; we ehall be back in time," exclaimed Gerald on the day of Edith's expected arrival. "1 will make 'Old i;rownie' exert himself a little more than usual," he continued, laughing. "Adiou my mother,' • he called out gaily, uud jumping into the pony carriage he start ed fur tee station, fully half uu hour too —How happy he is," said his mother, gazing fondly after him. "I pray he may always be so ! So handsome and so good surely she cannot help loving him." Yes, happy and contented was the young Squire, ag he sped gaily along. Wits he not going to meet the idol of his soul, th.:, girl whom he hoped one day to make his wile ? But as he neaued the station his heart began to heat a little taster. What if residence in a foreign land had changed the loving girl he remembered ? What if—But no ; banish the thought. She would be just the same ; nothing would change her. Gerald paced the platform impatiently. How slowly the time passed. Would the train ever come ? Yes, here it is at last ; puffing and snorting, it labored slowly into the station..as ii tired of its journey stops, and from a first-class carriage steps a young girl, who looks about her fur a few moments, espies Gerald, and rushes up to him with her hands outstretched. "Cernhi, Gerald ! how giud I am to see you it ' .gain Have you welcome for me ?', main niql, for Gerald. all his courage flown, remained mute before the nuzzling vision presented to his view. Beautiful she had been when last he saw her, hut now—ah ! h o w sh a ll I de scribe that lovely face, rendered the more bewitching by the French bur net, perch ed coquettishly on her rich brown hair ; while her rosy, pouting lips looked as if made expressly to ha. kissed ; and Gerald, awakening from his stupor, feels sorely tempted, and— " Shall I attend to the lady's quggage, sir 1' said a porter, touching his cap "Yes yes ; see that it is sent to the Grange at once.' answered the Squire, hastily. "Alt right, sir," answered the man walking away. "You have not yrt said that you werp vlad to see me, Gerald. liow silent you are sir r exclaimed Edith, saucily. - My pleasure is too deel• fur words," he replied gazing earnestly at her glow ing features. "Rut comp•, Edy ; mother is trotting to welcome you home." • How delightful to hare at last es caped from Madame Murtigny's strict rayinie."' said Edith, leaning back in the puny carriage. "How nice to be at home once more ! Alt! here is the dear old Grange, Look, Gerald ; is not the view splendid from here ?" "Lovely r' be answered, seeing nod:tibia but the face before him. "Welt. me :.owe my dear..' exclaimed Tire. Ellereleigh, taking her adopted. daughter in her arms, and kissing her affectionately. ••Welcome to Upton Grange." "And now, (Jerald," exclaimed Edith, when half an hour later. they were seated at dinner, "you must take me to see all our old haunts. I long to renew my ae gnattitance with the familiar spots." Thus, walks and drives were arranged together, mid, for a fottnight, Gerald hved in a ita l tpy dream. At the end of that lone he asked Edith to he his wife. "My darling," he said, ••I have loved you for years—ever since the first day I saw you, a little, delicate child. Oh turn not away from me. give the a little hope; 83y that you will try to love me, acd I will be content. without your affection, life to au- will be worthless. Speak dearest, one little word, yes or no. Will you be my wife ?" And she —true she only loved him as a brother,but he was so good, so handsome; and then she had never seen any one she liked better. "Edith speak to me—keep me not in suspense. Or have I offended you ?" he continued, tortured by her silence. "No,no—not that; I was surprised,that is all. Yes, Gerald, I will hie your wife.' "My darling you do not know how happy you have made me !" he said, his voice trembling with emotion. Then he took her in his arms, and kissed her ten derly and reverently. "Now,let us go and tell my mother." he observed. "Mother," he said leading the blushing girl up to her, "wish me joy ; Edith is to be my wife, and I am the happiest man in England !" "Bless you, my dear children !" said Mrs. Ellersleigh, the emotion of joy and thankfulness suffusing her matronly face, now that the question was settled. s • s s s « "Mamma," said Edith(she always call ed Mrs. Ellersleigh mamma,) one morn ing at breakfast, about a week later "Gerald has promised to take me to the Abbey this morning." "Very well, my dear; you will go in the pony carriage, of bourse, arid I will tell cook to put up some nice sandwiches ; you will furl hungry with the drive. Do not stay too long." The little carriage was soon brought round at the door. and the lc vent started careless and happy as children, little thinking that thceventa of that morning Devoted to the Interests of our Town and County were to decide the fate of both. I Middletown Abbe) was situated about three miles from Upton Grunge. Before the lime of bluff King Hale, it had been a noble structure, but when the came-et ; ous "Defender of the Faith" destruyed all the religious houses. and seized upon the lands belonging to them, it suffered with the rest. Now it but added one to the picturesque mine which are to be seen in almost every part of England. 'flier wandering among the remains of former splendor, tbinkitm of the time when the monks of iald hatrtrod that very spot ; then, when, at length tired out, I they seated themselves on some loose. moss-covered stones, and Gerald read in his rich, deep voice the "Idyls of Kings," which he brought with him. Ab, love's you lig dream is sweet—enjoy it while you nay' Suddenly Edith trembled, and started to b-•.r feet. "What was that, Gerald ? Did you hear anything ?" "No, my darling." `Hush ! Listen There it is again ; moan, as if of some one in pain. What can it be ?" It was plain to be heard when Gerald had ceased readirig, and seemed to come from behind the wall against which they had been leaning. "We must go and see what it is," said Gerald. "Perhaps some one is hurt!" Quickly they went round to the other side of the Abbey, where the wall was loher, and having found a - place where the stows had fallen away until they were almost level with the ground, they proceeded to the spot whence seemed to conic the sound. There among the stories, rubbish and tangled grass. lay a man, apparently dy- Mg. His features were ghastly pale, and his thick, dark hair matted with the blood which flowed from a deep gash in his right temple. "Poor fellow," said Gerald trying to force into his mouth a little of the wine which he carried in a flask. "Who is he. I wonder? Dearest you remain hers with him while Igo and procure help, We must take him home and see if anything can be done for him." He started off at once, while the half frightened but pitying girl took her handkerchief and tenderly and carefully bou.id up the wound upon the sufferer's head. Then she placed his head on her kuce, and waited for her lover's return. Tarryin g thus, she had time to examine the strangers appearance. In spite of his unnatural pallor, how nanditurne he looked as he lay there, his hair tumbled, the rich dark lashes resting on his cheeks. Ile was evidently a genticman—an artist for his sketch-book and pencils lay scat tered around. Wee he dying—emir t he be dead he fore help could be procured ? llow slow• ly the time seemed to pass. Would Ger ald never come ? Yes ; here he comes at lust, accompanied by two farm laborers currying a plank. "He do look mortal bad, your honor," said one of the men. Gently they laid him On the plunk, the young Squire telling them to bear him to the Grange. "My darling," he then said, "will you take the carriage and gu home to prepare my mother, and tell the servants to get ready a room and everythini necessary ? In the meantime I will fetch the nearest doctor." "My dear, what is the matter ?" ex claimed Mrs. Ellersleigh, as Edith, pale • and excited, entered the room where she was sitting. "What has happened ? Ger ald—" - "No, mamma. nothing is the matter with Gerald ; but there has been en acci dent. We have found a stranger lying in the Abbey ruins, with a deep cut in the forehead. They are bringing him here." Mrs. Ellersleigh gave a sigh of relief. "Poor fellow." she said ; will go and tell the servants to prepare for him." Presently they brought him in,and laid him gently on the bed. The doctor came, looked at him, and shook his head, but finally pronounced that, though his waned was severe, with care be might recover. "The brain, is not injured," he said. "Everything shall be dune for him," interrupted Mrs. Ellersleigh. "No doubt of it. madam—no doubt et ail. Ile is in good hands. Good day. I will call again this evening." • • * * * Carefully and- tenderly they nursed him, but for a week he lay utterly uncon scious of all that passed armed. and se vere was the struggle between life and death, but at length the former conquer. ed. Every day Edith paid a visit to the sick chamber, and one morning she stood questioning the faithfid old servant who had been constituted head nurse. "He has passed a very quiet night, Miss Edith, and this morning he seems much—" ' Where am I," said a feeble voice from behind the bed-curtains. Edith started, and approached the bed. "Hush !" she said softly. "you must not talk. You have been ill, but arc with friends." The invalid fixed his gaze wonderingly and inquiringly on her face, and it thril led through her with a power she never felt before. From that time his progress was rapid, and Edith's visits became more frequent and of longer duration. Nothing had the powet to lull him to sleep like her soft, sweet voice reading to him front -hie favorite author. Then he Was able to come down stairs and lie upon the sofa, and Edith would play and sing, or read to him, for hours, as his fancy prompted, for was he not an invalid, and therefore, a privileged per son ? And to Edith these interviews were' becoming dangerously sweet. He talked to her, as no ore had ever done befare, of his wanderings in foreign lands--of per. done adventures among the Alps, of balmy days passed in sunny Italy, untill Edith felt that the greatest joy in life would be to 'mit them with him. And then he, knowing her to-be the promised! wife of Gerald, told-her of his love ; and she, forgetful of duty, or her plighted troth, of everything but her mad passion for this man, promised to be his wife—to fly with him. At first, Gerald had remarked upon her changed manner to himself, and pro tested against her spending so much time with the stranger, hut she met his com plaints with a reproach. "You are too exacting, Gerald, and you know Le is our guest ; we must pay him some attention," she said, rather m patiently. G-raid sighed. "Forgive me, dearest, if I do seem ex acting," he said. "It is caused by my great love fur you. I cannot bear the thoughts of any one else monopolizing your time. If you only tell me," he con chum', earnestly, "when I may hope to call yott my own ! Dearest, wl.rti shall our weddin be ? Say, shall it be 'next month ?" "Next month ? No, no; that is much to.) soon. We are very happy as we 11:r ; why do you wish to change ? Next slimmer will be quite soon enough ; or— or - p•rhaps in the springy" And with that he was compelled to be satisfied. Thu invalid was almost well now, would, indeed, soon be able to leave them and then, Gerald thought, things would soon resume their old course, and he, would be happy again. The stranger's name, he had told them, was Edward Vane. Ile was au artist, end had been sketching the Abbey at the time of the accident. Climbing upon the broken crumbling wall, to get a better view, his lot slipped, and iu falling, he must have struck his head against a saarp corner of a projecting stone. Five weeks more have passed. All is confusion and terror at the Grunge.— FAith Stanton. the Squire's promised bride, and Edward Vane have gone— fled together, it is whispered in the ser vants hall. TLey had missed them at breakfast and on going to Edith's room, had found the bed unslept, in. and a note for Gerald lying on the dressing-table. Hastily he tore it open and read : "Gerald I do not ask yun to forgive me ; my Bin has been too great for that. All I desire is that you msy forget me. I was never worthy of your love and trust. Seek not to find me ; before you could find me, I shoald be Edward's wife. EDITH." Gone Edith ! It could not be true ! Yet here was her handwriting to prove it. A deep groan escaped the young Squire's pallid lips. -False i heartless!" he muttered, be tween his clenched teeth. "This is the way he repays our kinduess !—the treach erous Gillian! She, too, must have been false—utterly false! Forget her 1 Yes, it I can.,, And this ended the romance of his Nine long years have been added to the past. In a small, poorly furnished room, in a narrow London street, a woman lies dy ing, her only companion a little girl. Her face is thin and haggard; but the hair which strays over the pillow is long thick, and glosAy, and her bright orbs, which horn wan the fever of expectation, are large and glaring, and shaded by long lashes, telling of much former beau :v. lle will not come," she murmurs,— "Ah, no! Why should he? He cannot forget the past." But there Is 11 step upon the stairs, the door opens, some one enters. "Gerald !" cried the dying woman, strogelog to rats,. herself ; "you have comet ' "Yes, Edith, I have. Alas that I should find you thus." "I feared that you bad not got my let ter ; or—or chat you could not forgive the past," she said, falling back upon her pillow. "I forgave Von Elith, long ago." "I have beer. surely punished for my sin," she answered. "My husband, after spending all my money, left me, to earn as best I might, a living for myself and little girL It was a just punishment and I do not repine. But Mabel, my Innocent darling, it was of her I wished to speak.— Promised, Gerald, for the sake of the old love, that you will take her and cherish her when I am gone. She will have no ow else, she continued, feverishly.— "Promise me, Gerald, and I shall die hap- Pt'. Faithfully he gave the desired promise and well he kept his word. He stayed with her until the last, and then he took the sorrowing orphan borne to his moth er. Under their loving care Mabel grew tip a better and nobler woman than her mother had been. In the after years, she loved and married her guardian, and so he was happy at last. "Peace cotneth after retribution." John's Share. "Pad," said a hopeful sprig, "how man/ fowls are there on the table ?" -Why, said the old gentleman, as he looked complacently on a pair of finely roasted chickens that were smoking on the dinner table—why, my son; there are two." "Two I" replied the smartness, "there are three, sir, and I'll prove ii." "Three !" replied the old gentleman, who was a plain mutter of fact man, and understood things aS he saw them : "I'd like to see you prove that." "Easily done sir—easily done ! Ain't that Ot. e ?" laying his knife on the first. " Yes, 't ha t's cer 7 tailk," said dad "And ain't that two ?" pointing to the second ; "and don't one and two make three ?" "Really, said the father, turning to the old lady, who was ill amazement at the immense learning of her son, really wife, this boy is a genius and deserves to be encouraged for it. Here old lady do you take one fowl, and I'll take the second, and John may have the third for his learning." Pructicill cremationists : The Mexi can witch-burners. FIFTY CTS. EXTRA IF NOT IN ADVANCE MISCELLANEOUS READING. CITY ORPHANS Fatherless—motherless— Pity our tears, Think of our loneliness all thro' the years Shelterless—comfortless— Out In the cold ; Open your hearts to us, Toilers of gold. Lilt your robes daintily, 'Tis here we dwell— Close on the confines of death and of bell Narrow and damp With the 'mold of a vault.— Look not so loathingly, Is it our fault Y Once we were innocent, Long, long ago— Only to think of it adds to our woe, For vainly we lift up Our eyes to the light; We dwell In the shadow Of sin and of night. Born to be buffeted— Hunger and scorn Are but our daily bread—children for lorn ; All who e'er loved us Are under the sod ; Pity us; pray for us, People of God. A Touching Incident. The world is full of mournful incidents How little do we know of the poignant sorrow myriads of our fellow-creatures are compelled to suffer. '[he following event we take from the Boston Journal: An express man, upon reaching his of fice early one cold morning in January, observed on the sidewalk a long, heavy box, which his practiced eye at once idea titled as containing a corpse. Upon the end of the box, shivering with cold, sat a little half-clad boy. about seven of eight years of age. Addressing him kindly, he said: "My lad,don't sit there,you will freeze; come'in and sit by the stove." Bursting into tears, the little fellow re plied : "No, I can't come; my mother is in this box.,and I promised her that I would not leave her until we got home." Deeply affected with the touching de votion of this brave little fellow, he flinti ly succeeded in convincing him of the entire safety of his precious charge, and taking him to a neighboring restaurant gave him a warm breakfast, and then learned the particulars of his story. His father died about a year previousiy, in a remote village in Minnesota, leaving his mother in poor health and nearly desti tute. She died but a few days before the boy's sad journey, charging the little he ro with the sad duty of conveying the re mains to her friends in a distant State, and furnished him (with all she had) a sum of money barely sufficient to carry th..m both by freight cars to their desti nation. The little fellow had actually ridden night and day in a freight cur with his melancholy trust, never for a moment losing sight of it. Be a Ran Foolish spending is the father of pov- erty. Do not be ashamed of work, nor of hard work. Work for the wages you can get, but work for half price rather than be idle. Be your own master, and do not let society or fashion swallow up your individuality—bat, coat, and ' , clots. Do not eat up and wear out all that you earn. Compel your selfish body to spare something for profits saved. Bo stingy to your own appetite, but merciful to others' necessities. Help others, and ask no help for/yourself. See that you are prcud. Let your pride be of the right kind. Be too proud to be lazy ; too proud to give up without conquering ev ery difficulty ; too proud to wear a coat that you cannot afford to buy ; too proud to he in company you cannot keep up with in expenses ; too proud• to lie, or steal, or cheat ; too proud to be stingy. The Happiest Lire. Do you ask me which of all I believe to be the happiest life Then I say, from my heart, a consecrated one. Be it "in the world" (so called) or out of it, in the highway or by-way, as God wills, still a life consecrated to a service 12etter,higher, sweeter than that of self enjoyment or self-success. We all want to be happy.— We all seek personal joy as an instinct.— Surely, God meant it to be than when he made us. Yet no lest He has set the deepest sources of joy out side of self-in dulgence—in love, obedience, devotion and duty. It may be a hard word, the last ;jt has a chill sound. Yet no less it claims and possesses more and more as our days go on. Impulse,desire, idolatry aggressive s.-lfhoed—one by one we go upward. Lo ! the cross that we called Duty changes to a crown.—Exchange. English Bodies. A spicy writer in the Aldine, eihibit ing sonic of the differences between the vernacular of the Americans and the English, states that the waist of a dress is by the latter denominated a body.— "We were much startled," she says ; "on receiving our first washing bills, to find that we were charged with low bodies and loose bodies !" :Not supposing that there were any such questionable shapes in our party, we found they iyere only. high and low necked underwaists. Again she re• laths that a young' American lady, on a visit to a country house, previously occu- pied by one of the family, but which bad the uncanny reputation of being haunt. ed. The young lady had subdued her nervousness sufficiently to fall into a slight slumber, when there came a gentle tap at the door, and a sepulchral' voice whispered through the key hole, "I want to come in and get my body." Mogen! quotation is the parole of lit erary men all over the - world.—Dr. John- SOM. \ - Frugality is founded o the principle that all riches have linai —Burke. . _,., Ti MONTROSE DEITOGRAT Contains ail the Local and Genera I New s, Poetry,lsto - Anecdotes. Miscellaneous Itading,Correspoad• once, and a reliable elan of advertisements. One square, (X of an Inch sbece.)3 weelmor less, $1 I month, $1.2 5; a month., $2.50; 6 monthei *LW t 1 yew . , 311.50. A liberal dlsconnt on gdyertisements oJ a greater length. BUSITICF• Locals, 10 Ct.. S line for Ent Inlertina, and 5 cta. s line each sahic gam Mullen , . and deathe,free ; obltuaries,lo eta. a lino. NUMBER 37. No Gne can settle down in a European city or village, says Dr. Holland, and ob serve the laboring classes, without notic ing a great difference between their as pirations, ambitions, and habits,and those of corresponding chimes in this country. The European expects always to be u ten ant, the American intends before he dies to own the house he lives in.' If city prices forbid this, he goes to the suburbs for hie home. The European knows that life and labor are cheap, and that he can not hope to win by them the wealth which will realize for him the dream of future ease ; the American finds his lab or dear, and its rewards cbmparatively bountiful, so that his dream of wealth is a rational one. He, therefore, denies himself, workb early and late, and bends his energies,and directs those of his fam ily into profitable channels, all for the great good that beckons him on from the far off golden future. • The typical American never lives in the present. If he indulges in a retiree,- tion, it is purely for health's sake, and at long intervals, or in great emergencies.— He does not taste money or pleasure, and does not approve of those who do so. He lives in a constant fever of hope and ex pectation, or grows sour with hope defer red or blank disappointment. Out of it all grows the worship of wealth and that demoralization which results in unscrup- ulousness concerning the methods'of its acquirment. So America presents the anomaly of a laboring class with unpre cedented prosperity and privilege.), and unexampled discontent and discomfort. „ . There is surely something better than this. There is something better than a life lung sacrifice of content and enjoy ment for a possible wealth, which how ever, may never be acquired, and which has not the power when one to yield its holder the boon which ho expects to pur r chase. To withhold from the frugal wife the frugal gown which she desires to de-' ny her the journey which do so niuch to break up the monotony of her home life to rear children in mean ways, to shot away from the family life a thousand so cial pleasures, to relinquish all amuse ments that hare cost attached to them, for wealth which may or may not come when the family life is broken up forever —surely this is neither sound ',nor wee economy. We would not have the Amer ican laborer,tarmer and mechanic become improvider.t,but we would very much like to see them happier than they are, by re sort to the daily social enjoyments which are always at theirhaud. Nature is strong in the young, and they will have society and play of some sort. In should remain strong in the old, and does remain strong in them until it is expelled by the absorb ing and subordinating passion for gain.— Home Journal. At the beginning of that century wages in Philadelphia were said tdbe three times what they were in England. Slaves,con victs, and apprentices from the mother country supplied in a great measure the market for unskilled labor, and degraded it. In 1781 there were seventy thousand slaves in South Carolina, of an average of £4O each. The annual value of`a work• ing slave was th - ought to be about £lo. Thirty slaves, superintended by an over seer, were a suitable number for a rice plantation,raisibg four and a half barrels apiece, besides their own provisions, con sisting chiefly of,lndian corn. Bice, was introduced about 1700: was exported in 1747 to the amount of fifty-five thousand barrels, and in 1760 to the amount of a hundred thousand barrels. If Indigo was raised a slave could produce one hun dred and sixty pounds,worth two or three shillings a pound, from two acres, in ad dition to his own food. His whams were available for sawing lumber. It was re garded at that time "a very lucky circum• stance" that an antipathy existea between Indians and negroes, as slaves were very dangerous domestics. In 1745 Massachu setts had twenty seven hundred slavesoy er fifteen years of age, about a thousand of them living in Boston. When eman cipation took place there at the close of the Revolution, the number of slaves was 4,377. As early as 1769 a decision of the courts declared that a person born in Massachusetts could not be kept in slav ery. Crimes committed by bondmen were severely punished. About the middle of the century a century a negress was burn ed for murder and arson near Bostob,and a negro at Philadelphia fora similar crime The whipping post and the stooks were common instruments of punishment for the freedmen as well us the slave.—The Galaxy. Big words are great favorites with pee- pie of small ideas and weak coaeoptions. They are often employed by men of mind when they use language that may best conceal their thoughts. With few excep tions, however, illiterate and half educa ted persons use more big words than peo ple of thorough education. It is a very common but a very, egregious mistake to suppose that long words aro more genteel than short once—just as the same sort of people imagine high colors and flashy fig ures improve the style of dress. They are the kind of folks who don't begin,but always commence. They don't go to bed but mysteriously retire. They don't eat, and drink, but partake of refreshments. They are never sick, but extremely India.- posed. And instead of dying,at last,they decease. The strength of the English' language is in the short words—chiefly monosyllables of Saxon derivation—and people who are in earnest seldom use any I other. Love, hate, anger, grief, joy, ex press themselves in short words and di yect sentences ; while cunning, falsehood and affectation delight in what Horace calls versa resquipedatia—words "a foot and a half long.' Among the candidates for admission to West Point is one named. Sanerrnilch, from Pennsylvania. Should he graduate he may do for frontier service, but he can never represent the cream of the army 4. In PUES.aIffiLD 817117 WINIZIVAY MOZIIINO Advertising Rides: Postponing Pleasure. Servants In the last Cent Dry. Who nao Long Words. A bad omen—To owe men money.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers