The Montrose Democrat. (Montrose, Pa.) 1849-1876, October 28, 1874, Image 1

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    E. B. Hawley,
Vont rose, Susquehanna County, Pa
Orrice—Weet Side of Public Avenue
I,:.Ate I n Drugs, Medicines, Chemical. Dye.
Paha...olls, Varnish, Liquors. Spice•.FaucY
/CP : Patent Medicines. Perfumer and
r fri.rescriptlons carefully compounded.—
k. ROWS,.
rsaloste of the University of 'Michigan, Ana Arbor
15.5. sod also of Jefferson Lcdical Colle of Phila.
delph:a, INI4, has returned to Priendsvillee, sehere he
:11 attend to all calls in his profession no usual.:—
Residence In Jessie Llosford's house. Office the same
so heretofore.
Fri,ndsville. Pa., April MM., 1874--43 m.
No. 17D Broadway, Now York City.
A tt,tidx to all kinds of Attorney Business, and eon.
di/..1. 111 nil the Courts of both the State and the
ut,ed Staler.
Feb ‘l.
1./s wrier. Rooms at Ale dwelling, next door north of Dr.
Halsey's, on Old Foundry street, where he would be
happy to see all those in want of Dental Work. Ile
b.cls confident that he can pleltse all. both in quality of
work and In price. Office hours from 98. M. to 4
M ots n 0... Feb. 11, 1811—tf
s., BEND, Ps. Situated near the Erie Railway De
p.d Is s large and commodious house, has undergone
thorough repair. Newly funilsbed rooms and sleep.
uwAoartmettte,spleudid tablcca !Wall thloo comprie•
st class hotel. HENRY ACKERT,
!Ott, 1873.-lt. Proprietor.
B. 7" ce E. B. C.ASB,
IiARNESS-MAKERS. Oak Harness, light and heavy
At lowest cash prices. Also. Blankets, Breast 8i613
ket!, Whips. and everything portal/3111g to the line
cheaper than the cheapest. Repairing done prompt
y and lc good style.
Niont.oer, Pa.. Oct. 28. ISM
Ptin..u. Mazur, Proprietor.
and Salted 31eate, Bums, Pork, Bologna S.
..etc. of the neat qoallty, constantly on hand, a
pr 0..., to eon.
onttore, Pa,, Jan. 14. liMl.-ty
'IIr,IVIAN & SURGEON, tendon his professions
.er.ce, to the citizens of Dimock, Pa. Odle at Lb.
lureka Hoare. will attend to all calls to his prole ,
'lon with which heje favored.
austneer attended to promptly, on fair terms. Offle,
drat door east of the bank of Wm. U. Cooper a Cs
?Odic Avenue, Montrose, Pa. [Aug .1,1869
aly 17.18711 BILLIAtre tiTIIOCD.
TILE HAYTI BAMBER, has moved his Eton to th
budding occupied by E. McKenzie A Co., where he
prepared to du all kinds of work In Ws Ilneouch tams
ling switches, puffs, etc. All work done on abort
notice and prieo.. low. Please call and see toe.
ATTCHNETS &T LAW, have removed to their A'
Cqk, opposite the Tarbell House.
R. B. Lrrn.z,
Geo. P. Urns,
Sloutrope,t/cL 15, 1873. E. L. /3/..mixszsx
DEALER in Books. Ftstiooery, Wall Paper, N'ewejs
pt.rf. rocket Cntlery. Stereimeopic Views, Yank°
otions, etc. Next door to the Post Otto, Montruse
Ps. Or . B. B.E.S.NS.
• pt 30, Itr,'L
11. 11AIIRLNI3TV't wisher, to Lnform the public the
having rented* e xchange Hotel In lion trope, h
le now prepare commodate the traveling pobl!.•
to fi r Pt-class pty
Montrose, Mtg. tt. 1813.
l••aler An Staple and Fancy Drs Goode, Crockery, Ilard
waie, Iron, Stoves, Drugs. Oils, and Paint.. Boots
and Shoes, flats and Caps, Fare, Buffalo Robes, Gro
ceries. Provisions, de.
Now-Edillord, I a., Nov, 6, '79—tf.
DR D. A. LATHh'OP, ulster. Flans° TIIIIIIIAL BAWLS, • :le Foot 0
4211estrint street. Call and consul to a.l Chrool
Montrone. Jan. 17. '71.—003—..f.
il YSICIAN & SURGEON, tenders his services to
t tte citheue of Great Rend and vicinity. Office at til*
~,,[dens, apposite Bantam Manse, G't Bend - village.
Ist, ISlZ.—tf
In the LIVW Postailice buildLne, where he will
oe found ready to attend all who may Want . anythirl
B llbe. Montrose Pa. Oct. ID 1869.
r to Boole and Shoes, Hats and Caps. Leather ano
Fiathoga, Hain street, tat door below kloyd's Store.
era made to order, and repairing done neatly.
S uLltalle Jan. 11870.
P.I YSICIAN & SURGEON, tenders ht. protegolot,
•rvicft. to the aliens. of Montrose end vicinity.—
omee hien:elder ;a, on the corner mot of Sayre d
gron Foundry (Atm. 1, 1569.
at , rnry. at Law .d Solicitors In Bankruptcy. °Mee
ao 49 Court Street, over City National Bank, Bing-
Latatuu , N. T. Wx.ll.Bcoru-L,
I= =!
Dealer Is paw, Medicines, Chemicals, Paints, 011 s.
Bye staffs, Teas. Spices, Fancy Choods, Jewelry Per
ru:ncry, (c.c., Brick Block, Slontruse, Pa. Established
[Feb. 1, WM...
'ITCH Jr. WATSON, Attorneys at Law, at the old odic
or Bentley rt. Fitch, Idontr.e. Pa.
P rrroa. Pan. IL "11.1 W. W. WATSON.
IiNEI e . LAW. Bounty, Back Pay, Pension
-Itd Excl.,' on Claims attended to. (Mee Oro
...,rt.eloa , Boyd's Store, Montrose .Pa. [An. 1.'69
Ittorney at Lair, °Mee at the Collet Haase, the
n. , mmiesioneem °face. W. A. Caosmas.
Mon truAr. Sent. . 187 L —LE
J. C. 1171E21 TON,
es.t. P.Norszzu ma. Lass Bamaron,
P. 0. address, Pranklln Porky.
8 tisquelyinva Co., Pa
+•tS I uNa.IILE CANOE, Montrose, Pa. shop over
~ .71,1,11,11er's Store. AI , ordere tilled to drstrateatyla.
done on abort notice. and warranted to Ct.
ut Yalu street. iloatr.a. Pa. Lang. 1. 1669.
Ar, , 191.1 Frielld•yille, Pa.
r ruitNET AT LAW. office over the Store of M.
J , elieuer,i o the Brick illock—Montreee ,Pa. Oita 69
.1 B. cE A. 11. MeCOLLUM,
irreaarve sr Law Office over the Bank, Mantras
P• Montrose, May 10, 1071. 11
Address, Brooklyn, Pa
Juue 1. 1e,74,
Try trer.
Wm. 0 Omer
Apo• Naottouo
I think that was the play ;
The house was packed from pit to dome
With the gallant and the gay,
Who had come to see the tragedy,
And while the hours away.
There was the ruined spendthrift,
And beauty in her prime;
There was the grave Historian,
And there was the man of Rhyme,
And the surly critic front to front,
To see the play of crime,
And there was pompous Ignorance,
And Vice in flowers and lace ;
Sir Crcesus and Sir Pandarna,
And the music played apace.
But of all that crowd I only saw
A single, single face.
That or a girl who I had known
In the summers long ago,
When her breath was like the new mown
Or the sweetest flowers that grow ;
When her heart was light and her soul
was white
As the winter's driven snow
And there she sat with her great brown
eyes ;
They wore a troubled look
And 1 read the history of her life
As it were an open book;
And saw her soul, like a slinky thing
Irt the bottom of a brook.
There she sat in her rustling silk,
With diamonds on her wrist,
And on her brow a gleaming thread
Of pearl and amethyst,
"A cheat, a glided grief!" 1 said,
And my eyes were filled with mist.
I could not see the players play!
I 'heard the music moan;
It moaned like a dismal Autumn wind
That dies in the woods alone;
And when it stopped I heard it still—
The mournful monotone !
What it the Count were true or Wee?
I did not care, not I;
What if Camille for Armand died?
I did not see her die.
There sat a woman opposite
With piteous lip and eye !
The great green curtain fell on all,
On laugh, and wine, and woe,
Just as death some day will fall
'Twixt us and life, I know !
The play was done, the bitter play
The people turned to go.
And did they see the tragedy !
They saw the painted scene
They saw Armand, the Jealous fool
And the sick Parisian queen ;
But they did not see the tragedy—
The one I saw I mean !
They did not see that cold cut face,
That furtive look of care;
Or, seeing her jewels, only said,
"The lady's rich and fair,"
But I tell Ton, 'twas the play of life,
And that woman played Despair I
"Rather a hfavy burden, isn't it, my
boy ?"
Clazence Spencer, to whom the words
had been aidresed, turned from the ledg
er, and looked towards the speaker.—
Clarence was a young man—not more
than five and twenty—and he was book
keeper to Mr. Solomon Wardle. It was
Solomon Mira", a pleasant-faced, keen
eyed man of fifty, who had spoken.
"A heavy burden, isn't it, Charley ?"
the merchant repeated.
And still the young man was silent.—
His looks indicated that be did not com-
prebend. He had been for some time
bending over the ledger with his thoughts
far away ; and that his thoughts were
not pleasant ones was evident enough
from the gloom on his handsome face.
"My deur boy. the harden id not only
heavy now, but it will 2row heavier, and
heavier, the longer You carry it."
"Mr. Wardle, I do not comprehend
"Ah. Charley !"
"I certainly do not."
"Didn't, I call at your house for you
this morning r
Charley nodded assent.
"And did't I see and hear enough to
reveal to me the burden that you took
with you when yowl& 1 You must re•
member, my boy, that I am older than
you are, and that I have been through
the mill. Yon find your burden heavy ;
and I naye no dpubt that Sarah's heart
is as heavily ladened as your own."
And theii Charley Spencer understood;
and the morning's scene was present
krath him, as it had been present with
him since leaving home. On that morn
ing he had a dispute with his wife. ft
had occnred at the breakfast table. There
is no need of reproducing the scene.—
Suffice it to say that it had come of a
mere nothing. and had grown to a cause
of anger. The first had been a look and
a tone ; Olen a flash of impatieace ; then
a rising or the voice ; then another look;
the voice grew higher ; reason was un
hinged ; passions gained sway ; and the
twain lost! sight of the warm, enduring
love that (ay smitten and aching deep
down in their hearts, and left fur the
time only; the passion Ornado. And
Charley remembered that Mr, Wardle
bad entered the house and caught sight
of the storm.
And Carley Spencer thought of one
thing more:--he thought him miserably
unhappy be had been ail the morning;
and he knew not how long his bnrden of
unhappiness was to be borne.
"Hones ly, Charley, isn't it a hery
and thank ess burden ?"
The boo -keeper knew that his employ
'er was his ftiend, and that be was a true
hearted christian man • ard'after a brief
pause he answered i "fee, Mr. Wardle, it'
is a heavy ;harden."
" 'My bcy, I am going to venture upon a
bit of fatherly counsel. I hope I shall!
1111 T. B. ALDRICH.
not oflend.'
'Not at all,' said Charley. He winced
a little, as it the probing gave him new
'ln the first place, you love your wife ?'
said the old men, with a quiver of emo
tion in hie voice.
'Love her ? Yes, passionately.'
'And do you thinkl she loves you in re-
turn ?'
'I don't think anything about it—l
know !'
•You know she loves you ?'
• Yes.'
'rheu you must admit that the trouble
of this morning ciuriefiom no ill feeling
at heart ?'
•O 1 coursemot:'
qt was but a surface squall, for which
you, at least, are very sorry
A moment's hesitation, and then—
'Yes, yes; I am heartily sorry.'
'Now, mark me, Charley, and answer
honestly : Don't you think your wife is
as sorry as you are 1°
• 1 cannot doubt it.'
'And don't you think she is suffering
all this time ?'
'Very well. Let that pass. You know
she is bearing ner part of the burden ?'
'Yes—l know that.'
'And now, my boy, do you comprehend
where the heaviest part of this burden is
lodged ?'
Charley looked upon his interlocutor
'll the storm had al! blown over and
you knew that the sun would shine when
you next entered your home, you would
not feel so unhappy ?'
Charley assented.
'But,' continued Mr. Wanl:e, 'you fear
that there will be a gloom in your home
when you return ?'
The young man bowed his head as he
muttered an affirmative.
•Because you are resolved to carry it
there,' udded the merchant, with a touch
of parental tenderness in his tone.
Charley looked up in surprise.
carry it ?'
'Aye—you have the burden in your
heart, and you mean to carry it home.—
Remember my boy, I have been there,
and I know all about it. I have been
very foolish in my lifetime, and I have
suffered. I suffered until I discovered my
folly, and then I resolved I would suffer
no mole. Upon looking the matter
squarely in the face,' found that the bur
dens which had au galled me bad been
self-imposed. Of course such burdens
I can be thrown off. Now you have re.
solved that you will go home to your din
ner with a heavy heart and a dark face.
You have no hope that your wife will
meet you with a smile. And why ? Be
cause you know that she has no particu
lar cause for smiling. You know that
her heart is burdened with the anlietion
which gives you so much unrest. And so
you are fully assured that you are to find
your house shrouded in gloom. And,
furthermore, you don't know when the
gloom will depart, and when the blessed
sunshine of love will burst in again.—
And why don't you know ? Because it
is not now in your heart to sweep the
cloud away. You say to yourself, I can
bear it as long as she can ! Am I not
rig'i t ?'
Charley did not answer in words.
.1 . know I am right, and very likely
your wife is saying the same to herself.—
So your hope of sunshine does not
rest upon the willingness to forgive, but
upon the inability to bear the burden.—
By.and-by it will happen, ILA kilns hap
pened before, that our of the ('scam will
surrender from exhaustion ; and it will
be likely to be the weaker party. Then
there will be a collapse, and a reconsola
tion. Generally the wife fails first be
neath the galling burden, because her
love is keenest and most sensitive. The
husband, in such cases, acts the part of
a coward. When he m ight, with a breath,
blow the cloud away, he cringe and cow
ers, until his wife is forced to let the sun
light in through her breaking heart:
Charley listened, and was troubled.—
He saw t i ruth, and he felt its weight.
He was not out, nor was he a liar.—
During the si ence that followed he re
flected upon the past, and he called to
his mind scenes just such as Mr. 'Wardle
had depicted. And this brought to his
remembrance of how he had seen his wife
weep when she had failed and sank be
neath the heavy burden, and how often
she had sobbed upon his bosom in grief
for the error.
The merchant read the young man's
thoughts ; and after a time he arose and
touched him upon the arm.
'Charley, suppose you were to pat on
your hat and go home now. Suppose you
should think, an your way, only of the
love and blessing that might Le ; "and, !
mitt) this thought, you should enter your
abode with a smile upon your face ; and
you should put your arms around your
wife's neck, and kiss her, and softly say
t) her, My darling, I have come home to
throw down the burden I took away with
me this morning. It is greater than I
can bear. Suppose you were to db this,
would your wife repulse you ?'
"Repulse me ?"
"Ah, my boy, you echo my words with
an amazement which shows that you un•
derstand me. Now, sir, s have you the
courage to try the experiment? Dare
you be so much of a man ? Or, do you
fear to let your dear wife know how much
.you love her? Do you fear she would
respect and esteem you less for the deed?
Tell me—do you, think the cloud of un
happiness might thus be banished? Oh,
Charley if you wontd but try it!"
Sarah Spencer had finished her work
in the kitchen, and in the bed-chamber
and had sat down with her work in her,
hip. • But•she could not ply her needle.
Her heart was heavy and sad, and tears I
were in her eyes.
Presently she heard the front door
open, and a step in the passage. Cer
tainly she knew that step! Yes—her
husband entered. And . a smile upon his
face. She sew it through her gathering
tears, and her heavy heart leaped up.—
And he came and put his arms ribround
her neck, :mid kissed her; and he said to
her. in broken accents, "Darling, 1 have
come borne to throw down the burden I
took away with me this trioruipg. It is
Devoted to the Interests of our Town and County
greater than I can bear
And she, trying to speak, pdlo wed her
head ni.on his bosom, and sobbed and
wept like a child. Oh, could he forgive
her ? His coming with the blessed offer.
ing had thrown the burden of reproach
back upon herself. She saw him noble
and generous, and She worshipped him.
But Charley would not allow her to take
all the blame. He must share that.
"%Ve will share it so evenly, that its
weight shall be felt no more. And now
my darling ‘ we will be happy."
"Always !"
Mr. Wardle had uo need, when Charley
returned to the counting house, to ask
the result. He could rend it in the young
man's brimming eye, and. 43 hi joy- in
spired face.
It was a year after this—and Charley
Spencer had become a partner in the
house—that Wardle, by accident, re
ferred to the events of that gloomy morn
"Ah said Charley, with a swelling
bosom, 'that was the most blessed lesson
I ever received. My wife knows who
gave it to me."
"And it serves you yet, my boy ?"
"Aye , and it will serve us while we
live. We have none of those old burdens
of anger to bear now. They cannot find
lodgment with ns. The flash and jar
may come, as in other days—for we are
but human, you know—but the heart,
which has firmly resolved not to give an
abiding place to the ill-feelings, will not
be called upon to entertain it. Some
times we are foolish, but we laugh at our
folly when we see it, and throw it off—
we do not nurse it till it becomes a bur
The Lan Man In a Procession
It is sad that there must be a lust man
in a procession, but it must always be so,
until some one has discovered making up
the procession in a circle, and then giv
ing it motion like a rotary shell, turning
around on its own axis awl going straight
ahead also. This last man is a weary.
worn, pathetic creature, who looks as if
life was a burden to him. He is a rusty,
seedy biped, without. any good.clothes.—
No banner shields him from the fiery
sun. No stars blaze on his breast.. His
ear never hears the inspiring notes of the
baud. He catches all the dust of the pro
cession. By-standers rush in front of hi
with impunity. He has no price at all.—
There is no pomp about him, no majesty
of rnifti. He always looks sick. tired,
disherelled and forlorn. Small boys jeer
at him. Bus drivers contemptuously
order him out of their way. Reckless ,
young men make desperate efforts to drive
over him. He gets mixed up among news
boys,. bootblacks, yellow dogs, advertising
wagons, fan sellers, patint medicine
agents, drays and frantic women rmbing
after erratic cnimren, and looses the - pro- ,
cession, and by the time he regains it he
is a poor, harassed, dejected man and a
The chances are that if he does not go
off with shunstroke, or get run over by
an ice cart, and have to be taken home
on an express wagon, he will, as the re
sult of his pathetic situation, get drunk
with remarkable dispatch before sunset.
So long as there must ben last man in
every procossion there should be some
compensation. lie should be made at
tractive. Let him be handsomely decora
ted and capatisoned. Let him have on
two aprons. Let him curry a banner and
have an an American flag in his hat. Let
hint also have edrawn sword with which
to keep off small boys and yollow dogs
and thus the last man in the procession
will cease to be the most wretched object
in existence.
Mark Twain on Chambermaids
Against all chambermaids of whatso
ever age or nationality,l launch the curse
of Batchelordom.
Because :
They always pat the pillow at the op
posite end of the bed from the gas burn
er, so that while you read and smoke be
fore sleeping (as is the ancient and hon
ored custom of bachelors,) yon have to
hold your book aloft, in au uncomforta
ble position, to keep the light from daz
zling your eyes.
If they cannot get the light in an un
comfortable position any other way, they
move the bed.
If you pull your trunk out six inches
from toe wall, so that the lid will stay up
when von open it, they always shove that
trunk back uzain. They do it on pur-
They also but your boots into ingteessi•
ble places. They chiefly enjoy deposit
ing them as far under the bed as the wall
will permit. It is because this compels
' you to get down in an nadelightful atti
tude and make wild stieews for them in
the dark with the bootjack, and swear.
They always put the match box in some
other place. They bunt up a new place
for it every day, and put a bottle or other
perishable things where the box stood
before. This is to cause you te break
that glass thing, groping about in the
dark, and get yourselt into trouble.
They ore forever moving the furniture.
I When you come in, in the night, you can
calculate on finding the bureau where
the wardrobe stood in the morning. And
when you come in at midnight, or there
about, you will fall over the rocking chair
and you will proceed toward the window set down in the slop tub. This will
disOist yod. They like that.
'No matter where . you put anything,
they won't let it stay there. They will
trove it the first chance they get.
They always save up the old scraps of
printed rubbish you throw,on the floor,
and stack then up carefully on the table,
and then start the fire with your valuable,
man useripts.
And they use more hair oil than any
six men.
They keep always coming to make
your bed before you get up, thus destroy
ing your rest and inflicting agony upon
you, but after you get up they don t come
any more till the next day. •
Out in Wisconsin a horse kicked and
killed o book agent, whereupon the citi•
zens made a donation party for , the bone.
He now has oats enoug to last him a full
horses life time. •
After (ho Confession
There is u man living on Filth street,
says the Burlington 'hickeys, who is a
gout] man endeavorirg to train up his
children is the way they should go, and
us his flock is nnmerous,and too of them
are boys, he is anything but a sinecure
in his training business. Only a day or
two ago, the elder of these male olive
branches, who has lived about fourteen
wicked years, enticed his younger broth
er, who has only ten years experience in
uoyish deviltry, to get out on the river in
a boat, a species of pastime which their
father had many a time tOrbidden. But
the boys went this time, trusting to luck
to conceal their depravity from the
knowledge of their pa, and in due time
they returned, and walked around the
house the two most innocent looking
buys in Burlington. They separated for
a few moments, and at the expiration of
that tuna: the elder was suddenly con
fronted by the father, who reginsted
Et:lrate interview in the usual place, and
the pair adjourned to a woodshed, where
after tniet but high sp,rited performances
in which the boy appeared most success
fully as heavy villain, and his father took
his favorite rule of "first old man," the
curtain went down and the boy consider
ably mystified, sought his brother.
"John," he said, "who do you suppose
told old dad ? Have you been licked ?"
• John's face Hill not look more peace
ful and resigned when it is in its coffin
than it did when he replied
"No. Have you ?"
"Have I? Come down to the cow shed
and look at my back."
John declined, but said:
"Well, Bill, I'll tell you how father
found us out. I am tired of acting hi
this way and I ain't going to run away
and come home and lie about it any more.
I'm going to do better after this, and so
when I saw father I couldn't help it, and
went right to him and confessed."
Bill was touched at
. this manly action
on the part of his younger brother. It
found a tender place in the bad boy's
heart, and he was visibly affected by it.
But he asked :
"How did it happen the old man didn't
lick you ?"
"Well," said the penitent young re
former, "ou see I didn't confess on my
self, I only eJniessed on you', that was
the way of it,"
A etrange cold hght glittered i❑ Bilre
..Only confessed on me," he said.—
"Well, that's all right, but come down
behind the cow shed and look at my
And when they got there *
1 1
II tv , She Proved Too Much.
A l'i entsvdle maid, quite old, becom
ing inixious about her matrimonial
chances, recently concocted a plan , 0 de
ceive a young fellow as to her ag e. This
was the way she tried it; The old
family Bible contained a faithful record
of all births, m trriages and deaths,—
This volume the maiden Mon - to her
chamber, and selecting the birth page,
she managed by dint of scratching and
writing to change the date of her birth
to a period eleven rears later than what it
had legitimately been recorded. 'Then'
the Bible was placed on the sitting room
table in a coospicious manner. That
evening nan' along the lover. He soon
began to finger the Bible pages, and final
ly reached the birth record, where and
when he discov, red, to his surprise, that
this Angelina was just one year younger
than he. he thonght it strange, as she
appeared older. Ile kept his mouth
shut and continued to fumble over the
pages. Next he began reading the death
list, and made the very astonishing dis
covery that the radient maideflACCOrding
to the Bible, had actually been borne ten
years after the decease of her father. Tne
young man quietly arose and bid Ange
lina good bye. and now swears that eter
nal vigilance is hole d the price of liber
ty.—Mificr's Journal.
In the "dark days" of '64 there lived
two well to do Irieh neighbors, each of
whom had a son who had gone west to
seek their fortunes. The old boys meet
ing one day, mutual inquiries were made
about the youngsters.
"Well, Pitt, him is Mickcy making out
wid his trip out West ?"
! tin dollars a week, and
bossin' himself. And how's your boy get
tin' on, Dennis 7"
"Teddy, ye mane ? He's doin' splen
did, the darlint I Why, his lasbt lethyr
was bustin' wid greenbacks, and so asy,
"And what's he doin' ?"
"Fa's, I hardly know. hut it's in the
government employ he Id."
"The divil ve say ? the government !
What's he doin' for the government ?"
"Fah', I hardly know what it is. but I
think it's what he calls laapin' the boun
ty !"
When General Lee was a prisoner at
Albany be dined with at, Irishman. Be•
fore entering upon the wine, the general
remarked to his host that, after drinking ;
he was apt to abuse Irishmen, for which
he hoped the host would excuse him in
advance. "By my soul, general, I will
do that," said the host, you will ex •
case a trifling fault whiclil have myself.
It is this: Whenever I hear a man abus
ing old Ireland, I have a sad• fault of
cracking his head with a.shillaly I" The
general was-civil for the rest of the eve
Mr. Robert Smith (popularly culled
Rats) brother of Sydney, was ready
for all corners, at all times, although he
occasionally got a fall. He was a lawyer
and ex advocate general,und happened to.
be engaged in argument with an eminent
physician touching the merits of their
respective professions. "You mug- ad
mit,' urged Dr.—"that your profession
does not make angels of men. "No,"-
was the retort; "There you have the best
of it; yours certainly gives them the
Brat chance."
Jr thy enemy. wrong thee, buy each of
hie children a drum.
We call it a "gloomy world,"
- A vale of tears and nlgtit ;"
But ourselves have spread tho clouds,
That shut out the heavenly light;
Would we help one another,
Our sky would soon be bright.
Listen, oh brother!
I am speaking unto thee:
Is thy hand always ready,
And thy heart warm and free ?
We can help one another,
However poor we be.
For the kind word helpeth,
And when the heart Is sore,
A kind look often
Has a healing power;
And the "cup of cold water,"
Is blessed as of yore.
sir i i t, vi o n h g s w is i t t e, '
h r thy
Letitd darkaround
thy a l
a ro m a
pburri thee bright;
T. help one another,
Cheers the longest night.
Scatter deeds of kindness,
Even as ye go ;
Plant the good seed freely,
God will watch it grow ;
Soon the fragrant blossoms
Round your feet shall blow.
When the way is steep and rugged,
And sometimes the weary fall ;
When sorrow darkly lleth
On life's bright things like a pall ;
Let us help one another,
And God will help us all.
a , _-
Wou:d I again might see her—
Alt, only once again
But when I then had seen her,
Yet should I long to see her
A thousand times again I
Her band would I might hold now—
Ah, only once again !
But when I then had held it,
Yet should I long to hold it
A thousand times again !
Would I again might kiss her—
Ah, only once again 1
But when I then had kissed her,
Yet should I long to kiss her
A thousand times again!
Having been appointed District Depu
ty for Susquehanna county, with power
... g autx.: Oranges of the Patrionp of
Husbandry in the counties of Wayne and
Susquehanna, I take this method of
culling your attention to the importance
of the urder to you, as farmers. The ob
jects of the order have been so often
clearly stated and defined, that it appears
almost needless, at this time, to refer to
them. I would briefly say that our great
object is co-operation, and through co
operation ae expect to
_advance our inter
,.sts l in every direction. In advancing
the cause of education. In establishing
a place and motive for neighborly meet
ings. The social phase of the order is
one of its greatest benefits.
Establishing friendly ties and associa
tions, that make better; more social and
more harmonious neighbors, thus enab
ling each the better to know and appre
ciate the good qualities of the other. It
enables us to meet and compare ideas
and experiences, to devise means of re
ducing our expenses, and increasing our
incomes, that we may make the farming
business a success. To learn the fallacy
and danger of the credit system with its
consuming interest, and extortionate
costs accompanying it, at all times en
joining upon our members, to buy only
what they can pay for, and de.nanding
cash or ready pay for what they sell. It
will unite the entire farming population
of our country into one family, having
but one purpose,one aim, one desire—the
mutual good of all. It enables us by our'
system to deal direct with the manufact
urer and consumer, thus avoiding useless
percentages. We, in this county, are
now in full working order, and you can
avail yourselves of its benefits at once,
by establishing a Grange in your town
ship. The way is clear and open, and
you have only to decide and act. I will
meet you at any place in the two coun
ties and organize a Grange, on receiving
notice by mail, (or personally,) directed
to Montrose. The smallest number re
quired is thirteen, nine men and four
women, and the largest number that can
be taken as charter members is thirty,
twenty men and ten women. Any in
formation you may need to enable you to
prepare for organizatioc, will be furnish
ed promptly on application. Hoping to
be the means of extending these benefits
to you, I assure you the urder is for
your good
ILS.. SEARLE, Deputy,
Montrose, Pa.
A Loudon correspondent of the Gin
einnatti Enquirer says: "Every day I
meet the most pitiable looking objects;
imploring charity only by their kinks, for
they dare not teach forth a hand. Beg-.
ging seems to be a poor investment here
They don't get rich and retire like they
ao in America. I never saw such squal
or and
. wretchednese in my lifetime in
America as I can see in London streets
in one day. I don't like the extremes
here. Here the papers are howling be
cause the government does not expend
more money in buying paintings for the
National Art Gallery, while under the
very shadows of that magnificent edifice
people are writhing in poverty. Another
thing that strikes me are the innumera
ble chat itable institutions I see on every
hand, all supported by private charity.—
They ha,ve asylums for cripples,the blind,
the aged and the orphans. But there is
no charity in English law like there is in
the Ohio statutes. These people are car
es fur here only when they cannot care
for themselves, and often not then; while
Contains all ttni Localand Genets) Neva, Poett7.B t c
ties, Anecdotes, Miscellaneous IlcatUng,Cotrtspo,
once, and a reliable clays of advertisements.
_titvertlattit, Rates :. •
One square, (1( of an inch aniirti,)ls week ',or less. $1
I month, $1.1*,• 3 months, $2.50; 6 month,. $4 50; 1
year, $5.50. 'A liberal dirtorint on advertisements co a
greater length. Baldness Loeals.lo ay.& One for
Infection, and 5 cis. a line eachaubsepaeat, Invert Intl.-
114niages and deaths, free ; obituaries,lo etc a line.
the broad humanity of our law gathers
the young under shelter —not merely to
shelter, but to educate and nurture into
manhood and womanhood and useful cit.
izenship. Thy suojecte of English chari
ty go from the asylum to the graveyards,
while they in our country go from this
kindly shelter into active and useful life,
and repay an hundred fold the money
expended for their comfort by the State."
An old fireman writes to the New
York Sun as follows, iu regard to the
speed of American locomotives In the
winter of 1855 I was fireman of the Wa
bashaw engine on the Chicago and
Northwestern Railroad. which then only
ran to Fulton, on this side: of the Mis
sissippi river. The engine is a"McQueen,"
built at the Schenectady Locomotive
Works, and was pnt on the road in 1853.
Since then it has been thoroughly rebuilt
and is now u first class machine. I re•
member on ono occasion during' that
winter, when we made some extra time,
and over a much poorer track than .there'
is now. Our usual leaving tiniest Turn
er Junction was 5 p. m., but at the time
In question we started 35 minutes late,
giving ne but 31 minutes to reach Black-
berry station to meet the down train and
make one stop at Geneva. Sam Spear
ran the engine, and though we had three
cars, the meeting was effected, making
the wonderful time of nearly or quite a
mile a minute.
There was another engine running on
the road at that time called the Nebras
ka, built by Rogers, of Paterson, N. J.—
This engine once made the run over two
bridges, one male and eight rods apart, in
56 seconds. These bridges are located
between Cherry Valley and Belvidere, on
the Galena division, and the engitie was
then ran by Harmon Vedder.
In the summer of 18.56 I ran the en
gine Ariel from Turner Junction to
Franklin, sixty miles, in 73 minutes, and
made three stops, but had no cars, and
am quite sure that even more than a mile
a minute was run part of the way.
On the 15th of May, 1872, Mr. James
Wood ran •Ogitie 341 of the New York
Central, from Rochester to Syracuse, 81
miles, ib 82 minutes, drawing one car
containing Mr. Vanderbilt and others of
the Central.
The American locomotive is a most
perfect machine, and with a good track
there is safety in fast time. We are now
using steel rails and fish plate joints,mak
ing ,with proper ballasting, as good a
track as can be had, and there is no dan
ger of derailing the leaders of a locomo
tive, so long as the unevenness of the
surface of the rail does not evercome the
elasticity of the truck springs enough to
throw them ufF, or relieve the vertical
pressure upoirthe rail to so great a de
gree as to be overcome by the side thrust,
us the wheel impinges on the rail, and
produces worming of the rail. This is
very much guarded against by elevating
the outer rail on curves, which is beiter
understood by truck builders now than
twenty years ago, and I have no doubt
but a speed of fifty miles •an hour can
and will be safely made over the new
quadrupled tracks now being pat down
on the line of the New York Central, a
most perfect piece of track work. Our
railway managers are waking up to the;.
economy of steel rails and good road,
bete, and with these the American loco !
motive can answer any dernhnd of the
travelling public for fast time.
1. Loud and boisterous laughing.
2. Reading when others are talking.
3. Reading aloud in company without
being asked.
4. Talking when others are reading.
5. Spitting about the house, smoking
or chewing.
6. Cutting finger rails in company. '
7. Leaving church before worship is
8. Whispering or laughing in the
house of God.
9. Gazing rudely at strangers.
10. Leaving a stranger without a
11. A want of reverence and respect
for seniors.
13. Correcting older persons Op
yourself. especially strangers.
13. Receiving a present wttfiont pn
expression of gratitude,
14, Making yourself hero of your
own story.
15. Laughing at the mistakes of otl.
16. Joking others in company.
17. Commence talking before others
have finished speaking.
18. Answering questions that have
been put to others.
19. Commencing to eat as soon as yon
get to the table.
20. Not listening to what one is Bury
ing in company.
A monse that d lived s
chest, says a fable, ha chanced all
on hi lif
e day ri to n
creep up to the edge, 'and, peeping out,
exclaimed with wonder--"I did not thi”k
the world was so large." The first step
to knowledge is, to knoiv that we are ig
tumult. It is a great point to know our .
place ; for want of this, a man in private
life, instead of attending to the affairs iu
his "chest," is ever peeping oat, and then ,
he becomes a philosopher I he must then
know everything, and presamptiously
pry into the deep and secret councils of
God—not considering that man is finite,
and has no facilities to comprehend and
judge of the great schemes of things.--
We can form no other Idea of the dispen•
sations 7of God. nor can 'we have any
knowledge of spiritual thinga,except what
God has taught us in His word, and,
where He stops, we mnsrstop.—Csetl.
They who once engage in iniquitous
designs miserably deceive themselves
when they. think they will go just so for
and no farther. Ono fault begetkanother;
one crime renders another necessary, "and
thus they are impelled continually down.
ward into a depth , of guilt which, at the,
commencement of \ their career, they
would have died rather than base Incur•