E. B. Hawley,
E. B. HAWLEY & CO.,
PUBLISHERS OF
THE MONTROSE DI ii OCRAT,
AND GENERAL JOB PRINTERS,
Itentrose, Susquehanna County, Pa
Oreccu—West Side of Public Avenua
Business Cards
BURNS & NICHOLS,
t ARS In Drop, Medlelnea, Chemins!' Dye•
•c Ada, Ostia...olla, Varnish. Liquors, dpiere.FmmY
.r:.cies,Patent dettleines. Perfumery and Monate,
ems. lir' ereseriptlona cart:tinily compounded.—
Beet Klock, Montrose • Pa
a, B. Runes.
ees. rt. MI
H. P. EINES. M. D.
Grsdeate of the University of Michigan, Alin Arbor,
lit3,sed also of Jefferson Medical Ca11, , ,e of Phila.
delphls. 1874. has retemed to FrteoesslLee„ where he
will .vend co all calls to hts profession as nsnal..—
R,,,,,lrece in Jessie thoeford's house. Office the same
is brretotore.
Frieedssille. Pa., Aprfl 49th., 1974.-6ZII.
EDGAR A. TURRELL
No. no Broadway, New York City.
Attend. to all kinds of Attorney Bwilnesa, and eon.
ducts canoes in all the Courta of both the State and ill
United States.
Feb '.1.1811
DR. 11. W. SMITH,
DrATIST. Rooms at his derailing, next door north of Dr.
Halsey s. on Old Foundry street. where he would be
tosopy toffee all those In want of Dental Hark, He
feels conu„lpt that he can pivot° all. both In guality of
work and on price. Office hones from 9 A.X.10 4 P. al.
Montrose. Yet). 11, 1874-11
VALLES' SOURS.
el near Berm. Pa. Sttnated near the Erie Hallway De
pot. la a large and commodiona bourse. ha. undergone
• thorough repair. Newly forme:led rooms sad sleep
og aparuneute.aplendidtablet.sodsNthlegs compris
ing a Mat eitaa hotel. LINNET AClLlail;
Bent. lOrti. 1er13.-tr. Proprietor.
11=
LIARNESS.MAKEILS. Oak liarness.light and heavy.
at lowest cash price.. also, Blankets, Breast Blau
acts, Welpa, and everything penal:dug to the One,
cheaper than the cbcapeat. Repairing done prompt.
ty and In good style.
Mont:ore. Pa.. Oct. 119.1873.
THE PEOPLE'S MARKET.
Pamir Llama, Proprietor.
Fresh and balled Heats, Hama , Pork. Bologna San
sago. C.C., 01 the bait quality, constantly on hand. at
prices to snit.
Montrose, Pa„ Jan. 14. 18721.-Iy
BILLINGSSTROUD.
r 1 Ng AND LIPS L:tB3a.a.Neic ACSNT. Ale
baldness attandea to promptly,on fair terms. Offla
drat door oast of the batik o. Wm. 11. Cooper & Ca
Public Avenue, Montrose, Pa. [Aug. 1.1869.
a ly 17,1877.7 Br:Antos oramaa.
CILAMLEY MORRIS
THE HAYTI BehBER, has moved his shop to the
halldlog occupier! by E. lleKenzto a Co., wbere he Is
prepared to do ail kinds of work to his Itneenek a. ma
king switch., puffs. etc. all work ,done qa short
notice sod per.. low. Please call and see me.
LITTLES et BLAKESLEE
ATTORNSYB AT LAW, he moved to tbeir New
Office, opposite the Tarbell
B. B. Llen..A,
Xontrose.Oct. 15, Aria.
DEALER in Books. Ptationery, Wall Paper. Nears pa
pen. Pocket Cutlery. Stereosc"pie Views. Yankee
Notions. etc. Next duos to the PostOtace, Idontruse,
Pa. A . B. REARS.
dept. 50, 184.
EXCHANGE HOTEL.
K. J. MiIoMIIINGITON wishes to Inform tbepubllethal
Using reated the Seaborne hotel la Montrose, be
Is no. prepared co accommodate the travellogpablfc
Orst-elasa style
Montrose. Aug. IS. 1873.
H. BURRIT7
Dealer &Ws . ZaaC3' 66,7 Goods.Crockers;Hard
wars, Iron, Stoves, Drags. Ono, and 'Paints. Mans
and Bboe., Hats and Cap., Fars, BOW° Hobe*. Gro
ceries, Ilvvisioss, (te.
N..-M, turd, t a.. NUT, 6, •i4—tr.
DR D. A. LATHROP,
Administers &Ammo Turn..,. Barns, a tie Foot of
Cfl.lll.oof, street. Call and cosmni to a_l Chronic
Jimmies.
Montrose, Jan. 17. '74.—no3—.f.
DR R TV: DA FTON,
HYSWIAN & BURGEON, tenders hi■ service• to
the citizens of Great Bend and vicinity. Odies , at nis
residence, opposite Barnum House, Grt Bend village.
Sept. Ist, Itinil.--tr
LEWIS KNOLL,
; SHAVING AND HAIR DRESSING.
ahoy In the new Poe:ogles betiding. where he will
ea found ready to attend all who may want anything
In ltla line. alontroee Pa. Oct. U 100.
CHARLES N. STODDARD,
kelerin Boots sod Snows, Hata and Cap*. Leather Rue
Finding*, Hain Street, let door below Boyd'e Store.
Work made to order, and repairing done neatly.
Montroee Jan. 1 1570.
DIL W. L. RICIL&RDSON,
P4YBIOI2IN & :413RUSON, tenders hie professions
•emcee to the citizens of Montrose and vicinity.—
°Mee at hien:alder ;e, on the cornereast of Bsyrt &
Bros. Foundry Rl:m.l. 1869.
BCOVILL dt• DEWITT.
Attorneys at Law sod Solicitors in Bankruptcy. Office
sin. 49 COP,/ eltreci,oVer City hatione Back, Bing.
Wm. IL BCovr• •
M=M3
Dealer In Drags Medicines, Chemicals, Paints, Oil..
Dyektuffe, Teas, Spices, Fancy Goods, Jewelry, Per
fumery, Brick Block, .11notrues, P.. Batabliphed
1118. [Feb. 1,
LAW OFFICE.
MOH 6 WATSON, Attorneys at lA.. • t the old office
al Bentley it Fitch. alontrame. Pa.
P. MCC [Jan. It. 11.1 ar. w. W.TWX.
A. 0. WARREN,
♦ TTORNBY A. LAW. Bounty, Back Pay, Pensloll
and Bum, on Claims attended to. °dice dr. i
.1 °or balow Boyd's Store, Montrose-P.. (An. 1.'09
W. A. CROMION,
Attorney at Law, Office at the Court House, Iv the
Cenunleslotter's oMce. W. A. Caossacut.
Montrose.. Sent. . kilt.—tl.
J. G. WHEATON,
Cou. Excusxma Aso LLD SraTzroa,
P. 0. addre... PrankMr Park...
Onaquettanzu Co.. Ps
0120F1L9 & YOOOO
P tsitIoNABLICTAILORS, Montrose, Pa. Shop over
Chandler's Store. All orders filled In thateratestylt.
"u Wog done OP short notice. and warranted to St.
W. W. SMITH,
ZLBINICT AND CHAIR MANUFACTURERB.—Moot
of Main woes. Montrose, Pa. ling. 1. 1869.
M. C. SUTTON,
•CCTIONE6II, and limanuacs AGENT,
aul mut Prlendsvllle, Pa.
D. W. SEARLE,
ATTORNEY AT LAW. °Rice over the Store of
Desasoer.lo the Brick Block, Montrose .Pa. Last
J. B. cE A_ H. AfeCOLLUX
A TTORAWAS AV LAW Office WAG/ the AN*. I A
Pa Moutrom May 10. 1811.
AEI EL
AUCTIONEER -0- •.. - stuirreu. Brooklyt.Pa.
lifu•Aame,
f '"F4~`t `~~
JOB PRINTING
Elarsosstect
LT THIS OFFICE. CHEAP.
916111 V
ONTROSE DEMOCRAT.
Win. 0 °tuner
TWO DOLLARS PER YEAR IN ADVANCE
VOLUME 31
SORE CRUEL THAN WAR.
A correspondent of the Kansas City num
revives a atriking poem, of which this is the
history : A Southern prisoner of war at Camp
Chase, In Ohio, after pining of sickness In the
hospital of that station for some time, and con
tiding to his friend and fellow captive, Colonel
W. S. Hawkins, of Tennessee, that he was
heavy of heart because his affianced bride in
Nashville did not write to him, died Just before
the arrival of a letter in which the lady curtly
broke the engagement. Colonel Hawkins had
been requested by his dying comrade to open
any epistle which should come for him thereat
ttr, and, upon reading the letter in question,
penned the following versified answer. The
lines were imperfectly given by the Southern
press Just after the war, and deserve revival it
only for the sake of the corrections requisite to
do Justice to their sentiment end win fur them
a wider appreciation :
Your letter, lady, came too late,
For Heaven had claimed its own ;
Ah, sudden change—lrons prison-bars
Unto the great white throne
And yet 1 think he would have stayed,
To live for his disdain,
Could he have read the careless words
Which you have sent In vain.
So full of patience did he wait,
Though many a weary hour,
That o'er his simple soldier faith
Not even death had pow'r;
And you—did others whisper low
Their homage in your ear,
As though amongst their shallow throng
His spirit had a peer 4
I would that you were by me now,
To draw the sheet aside
And see how pure the look he wore
The moment when he died.
The sorrow that you gave to hlm
Had left its weary trace,
As 'twere the shadow of the Cross
Upon his palid face.
"Her love," he said, "could change for me
The winter's cold to spring;'
Ah, trust of fickle maiden's love,
Thou art a bitter thing !
For when these valleys, bright in May,
Once more with blossoms wave,
The northern violets shall blow
Above his bumble grave.
MM=I
Your dole of scanty words had been
But one more pang to bear,
For him who kissed unto the last
Your tress of golden hair ;
I did not put it where be said,
For, when the =gels come,
I would not have them find the sign
01 falsehood in the tomb.
I've read your letter, and I know
The wiles that you had wrought
To win that noble heart of his,
And anined it—cruel thought!
What lavish wealth men sometimes give
Fnr what is worthless all
What manik,bosAnns bent for truth
In folley's falsest thrall;
Ybu shall not pity him, for now
His sorrow has an en.l;
Yet would that you could stand with me
Beside my fallen friend ;
And I torgive you for his sake,
As he—it It be given—
May e'en be pleading grace for you
Before the court of Heaven.
To nlgbt the cold winds whistle by,
As I my vigil keep
Within the prison dead-house, where
Few mourners come to weep.
A rude plank coffin holds his form ;
Yet death exalts his face,
And I would rather see him thus
Than clasped in your embrace.
To-night your home may shine with lights,
And ring with merry song,
And you be smiling • as your soul
Had done no deadly wrong;
Your hand so fair that none would think
It penned these words of pain ;
Your skin so white—would God, your heart
Were hall as free lrom stain.
/1. JCOTILL,
Jzsons I.lrwarr.
I'd rather be my comrade dead,
Than you in life supreme;
For yours the sinner's waking dread,
And his the martyr's dream.
Whom serve we in th.s lite, we serve
In that which is to come ;
Be chose his way ; you, yours; let God
Pronounce the fitting doom.
JOT HATFIELD'S COURTSHIP.
It was towards the end of August when
I received a long, loving letter, from
Cousin Joy, inviting me to spend the
t
hula 'ce of my vacation with her at her
, 's country•house in Pecosylvania.
lk, acation had already lasted three
wet ''':and as the school did not open
untilAiii end of September. I had still
aboat-I4e weeks, in which I might re
cruiCniyself after my long and weary
perttkol teaching, broken only by these
I fi
tkr it;W:ieks of hot, dusty New York.
*kg wearied oat, body and .soul ;
a ,V.T. .Gould hardly express sufficient
thinkfnlness at the prospect which now
00ened before me,of country air and tare,
Mountain streams and rural rambles,
health and relaxation.
Of course I accepied the invitation at
once, and equally of course I old Char
lVe'•,C,artWright all about it that mine
eves tog.;',:
C itirtiktind I had been engaged now
for e.ftttsi year, after a courtship which
I o il **ad only as long. We were to
b e griietl in the winter, when Charlie's
uncl " . *stiTto take
.Irm into partnership ;
and 1 deafly wish an opportunity to
gainAS:le health, and a little flesh on
m y b o titiOnd not give him such a skele
ton f. KtOfire as I looked then, after my
season - :Orinding at the daily routine of
teaciii ;.:.! .ir though I would go buck to
the s v ' it would be only for two
r
month I then good bye to it forever !
Hot ::: - .rlie mine to care for me I
could .f.. agine.
I w ' : . i a little freckled thing; an
diflide .. •• hen out of my daily walk of
life; • . new so little that seemed to
is •
~ t m. Yee he cat G 144 prxestal
...
POETRY
STORY TELLER
MONTROSE, PA., WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 30, 1874.
to lore me very devotedly; and hisattene
tion to me had been unremitting. He
was such a great, handsome, stalwart fel
low, that I supose he mistook the protec
tive interest he felt in me for love; any
way. I did.
Well I told of my invitation, and he
Was delighted at the opportunity it gave
me to reciprocate. He delighted me, too
by promising to come up and pay me a
visit after I had got fully settled ; and so
I started off—watching him from the
carriage wind iw as h« waved his hand-
kerchief after me—and wondered if coos
in Joy w a s as much of a flirt as ever, and
whether Charlie would run any risk if he
really kept his promise and came to see
me at "Mouittainside"—as Joy Hatfield's
rather had prettily named the summer
home in the country.
Mr. Hatfield was a wealthy city met..
chant who had married my aunt,aud Joy
was nis only child.
She and I had .been playmates together
years before, awl been close correspond
ents ever since ; and both from my per•
sonal knowledge of her, had from her
miiny letters, I knew she was, as I said
before, a big flirt.
Indeed she detested the summer,
because, instead of being taken to the
watering-places,where her coquet
tish instincts could have had full swing.
she was, as she insisted on putting it
"dragged off into the Pennsylvania wil
derness, to vegetate with the ground hogs
and chipmunks."
It did seem rather hard, for she has a
lively, giddy creature,only eighteen pears
old, and seemed only fitted for the gos
samer life of the ball-room. But Mr.
Hatfie:d insisted that she had enough of
that through the long winter, and that
in summer she must retire to the moon•
talus and "build herself np"—a favorite
ex iression of her father's, "Just as if I
were a church, or a barn, or some other
edifice." she would say.
However her father always had his why
and a very pretty, sensible way I consid
ered it, when on that dry. uusty evening
the wagon from the town of Sarsfield
stopped before the low-roofed house he
C£ lied °•Mountainside."
Right on the side of the mountain it
was, too ; and behind it the gloomy for
est rose up thick and green, extending
high up in the distance. while beside it
trickled d,wn the slope a ripling brook,
that bec,ime a mountain tomtit before it
wandered down to the big river.
Such a welcome as I got from Joy, and
emit Hatfield, and even silent Mr. Hat
field himself! I felt at home at oner,and
drew iu each inspiration of the fresh
mountain air which renewed thankful.
and blest my fortunate stars that
had brought me to the "Pe.insylvania
wi &mess."
What we did in those happy days I
could not remember even if I now eared
to. Jo7'was brighter, more beautiful,
more like a fairy in gossamer than ever.
'rhe woods around were presently noisy
enough with our wild shouts of laughter,
and the babbling little brook where we
fished for trout—and caught them, too—
seemed to echo our enjoyment, and keep
measure with its music to the songs we
sang.
Then we went pony riding up the wild
mountain road, starting the squirrels and
rabbits; or we gathered loses and ferns
for our scrap books. and lune .ed luxuri
antly beneath the shad° vy gloom of the
huge forest monsters. Sometimes we
astonished the neighboriog towns by can.
tering on the prmies through the single
trey-embowered streets on our way to the
-store," while the country beau! gossiped
and tooked askance at us, as being from
another world. I forgot that I was a
homely little New York school teacher,
ui the reflection of Joy's wonderous beau
ty seemed to shine upon poor me, and
rendered even my freckled phiz attract
ive.
Of course If wrote Charlie long letters,
describing the various doings.and equally
of co - it-se—like the witless thing I was—
I pictured Joy in all her radiant beauty
as something it was a doily delight to be
associated with. And Charlies letters
were quite as long as mine, and m a d e
especially charming by rrequert mention
of Joy, and an occasional message to her,
'o which she was nowise slow to respond,
and that so wittily that I could not but
duly lorward them, as half jestingly de
sired. And so, by the time that Charlie
wrote that he was actually com'ag, these
two people were as well acquainted as two
young folics could well be who had never
seen each other.
And when the station-wagon drove up.
and Charlie leaped out of it, and shook
me warmly by the hand—he didn't kiss
me—Joy received him as an old acquain
tance, and we were pretty soon all happy
and friendly as possible.
Now our rambles aril mountain rides
obtained a new zeal.since we had a cava
lier and though Charlie treated me as
kindly as ever, I could see easily enough
that Joy found great satisfaction in his
society, and he in her's—which, after all,
was not wondeaful.
In the evenings and on rainy days we
played Bezique, or had music., or played
billiards—that is. Joy and Charlie did,
for I couldn't play silliarde ; wr had fac
ulties for all sorts of indoor umnsemuse
ment, and time never hung heavily on
our hands. Only now and again I had a
little heart-twinge, when Joy settned.,a
little more tender with Charlie than I
thonzht quite neeeseary ; bat it did not
disturb me much.
One day, though, I did have a real
sharp pang, which might have taught
me a lesson—if I had not been each a
confident goose. What so•t of beauty
was I to retain such a magnificent fellow
as Charlie !—but this is nonesense.
That day I had felt a little ill—a head
ache, or somethil.g—ant I lay down after
lunch, to try and sleep it off'. By-and-by
I woke up, and started to find Charlie
and cousin Joy, but could see nothing of
them about the house or grounds. Fin•
ally a servant told me, in answer to my
inquiry, that she thought they were stroll
ing up the road, so I followed in that di
rection. About a quarter of a mile from
the house I heard their voices, a little off
the road, and turning into tho wood in
the direction of the sound 1 ram! upon
them suddenly. They made a pretty
pioutnt-.4 VIM lay Web for the%
Devoted to the Interests of our• Town and County,
Charlie was lying lazily at the foot of
a great tree,readin,g Owen Meredith aloud
and Joy, reeving one hand upon hie
should,r, over which she glanced, now at
the book, now at his handsome eyes,
seemed hardly to be certain whether she
was most interested in the author or the
mailer. I gave a low "Hem I" after with
drawing a little ; and when I loitered
slowly toward them she was knitted quite
o distance from him, and evidently quite
abs irbeil in hie reading of “Luceille."
I confess I was a hit disheartened at
this little scene; but `I did not think
much or it, partimil irly as Charlie was to
leave us in a few days.
He had been- with as a week, which
was all the time could be spared him ;
and though Joy begged harder than I
did for a few extra days, he was not nue
to let pleasure, however sweet, interfere
with hie real interest.
I was, however, to receive a shock be.
fore his departure which should teach me
how little one can rely upon that which
is not exactly in one's posession. The
Irmo was a severe one, but I fancy I
have beneficed by it, after all.
The morning Charlie was to leave us I
rose early, as the wagon would cull tor
him at eight o'clock to take hint to the
station, But, early as I was, I was pre.
ceeded by Joy, fur I heard her soft, inn
s:cal voice on the piazza as 1 went to my
window. I never was a listener, and I
don't think I should ever be one after
what I heard there. The morning was
till so that I could hear every word , - and
ihis is what Joy was saying : "No, Mr.
Cartwright; I shall not accept you. Not
because I do not like you, for I do, very
much ; but I really could not give myself
away after such a short courtship." And
here I heard her oleur ringing !nigh,
which always had soinething of the arti i
finial into it. "I will make the courtship
as long as you like, Joy, but have you I
will some time."
This was Charlie's answer, delivered in
the intense accents I knew so well ; and
I knew, too, that hewould have her after
tAI
that, if he had move heaven and earth
get her. She aughed again still more
constrainedly, I. bought ; and then left
the window and I presently went down
and joined them.
lam quite sure there was no sign in
my face or manner that could have old
anything of what I knew, for I possessed
considers:3le power of seltrestraint,heing
a pra3tical lit'le lady. But the truth
was, my heart was just broken, and that's
the whole truth of it. When I Joined
them they were talking about the tire in
the woods—we had seen their distant
light for a week now, and the smell of
the smoke was this morning very precep
table. Charlie had to hurry, however,
and after snatching a cup of coffee and a
roll the wagon had arrived, and he said
"Quod-bye !" hastily and was gone.
Joy and I stood site i for a-momentp
and then—what possessed me I can't
said : "Let's have out the po•
aka and go for a ride up the Mountain."
Joy assent-d, the ponies were saddled,
and we started.
. We set off at a sharp canter, and about
two miles from the house turned into it
wood-road,and, I should think,rode about
five or six miles bi-fore we hardly spok- a
word or noticed anything. I was immers
ed in my own thoughts, and I suppose
Joy was in tier's.
Suddenly I pulled up short,with a sense
of t-uffovition, and then I discovered that
we were in the midst of a dense mass or
6moke, while not a breath of air seemed
stirring.
"Joy r said I, "what a terrible smoke !
the tires must be near us !"
I turned to-look at her as I spoke, and
was startled at her ghastly paleness.—
She answered cot a word, but pointed
hack in vhe direction we had just come.
I turned and looked, and never shall I
forget the horror and fear that rushed
upon me. All behind us the woods were
one roaring, seething masa of flames.—
The fires bad come down upon us, and
bud cut us off. The wood-roan ended
where we were ; dense forest and under
brush lay all around us, through which
we could never hope to struggle, even
had we known our way. Death compass
ed ns. Joy was cooler than I. and her
pony was rearing, scared at the terrible
scene, she threw herself to the ground,
and I followed her ...:ample. The ponies
finding tnemselves free. dashed into the
brush and were soon out of sight. We
seiz d each other's hands and hurried up
the mountain, in a direction away from
the flames.
How long we were struggling through
the thick foliage, I have no idea, bet we
found ourseives at length, bleeding, torn
with our clothed in ribbons, and our faces
and haude scratched, and our bones
bruised, on the main road. On both
aides of us, and awify op the mountain,
the blazine trees seethed And hissed. We
hurried, with weak and faltering steps,
down the steep declevity, in the only di
rection where there did not seem to be
fire.
We were completely exhausted, and
after going but a few rods we both tripped
and fell—Joy fainting, and senseless, and
I but little better. I tried to lift her ; I
called her by name ; I begged and pray
ed her to make an effort to go on, for I
saw the flames were about crossing the
road in front of us, and the little sense-I
had lett told me plainly that now was
our only chance. ft was no use; I could
not rouse her, and I was sinking helpless
at her side, when-I heard loud shouts ; a
pair of horses and wagon burst through
the smoke, and in an instant halted be
side us.
From the wazon Charlie sprang to the
ground and seized Joy—not me—in his
arms and bore her to the seat. Then he
turned to me, but I helped myself in ;
he followed me, took the reins, turned
the horses, and in a moment we were
tearing down the bill throngh the flames
and smoke that nearly blinded me as I
buried my face in my dress.
When I raised my head we had passed
safely through.and Charlie sat. with Joy's
head resting on his shoulder. She had
recovered her sense; and, low us they
whispered. I heard her say in answer to a
question from Charlie : "You have saved
my lite, it is yours 1"
Charlie had missed the train ; and re-
Pining to the Waft founntsti awned
at t h n news he •got of the fires from the
towns people, had learned or oar absence
and followed as.
U
returned home the day following,
only saying to me as we parted : "I have
something important to say to you when
we meet in New York."
- .
Did I:e take m. fur a fool 1
I wrote him that very night in spite of
my scratches, and told all that I had
seen, heard and divined.
Tom endvd our acquaintance.
Cousin Joy and I parted on excellent
terms. Y.,/ don't suppose I was going
to let her know I cared anything about
it
They were married in December ; and
am a poor school teacher yet, as freck
led and homely as ever.
ILIADDiED LIFE IN NEVADA
After having been married for some
weeks it came into the head of a young
husband in this city, one Sunday, when
h.- had but little to occupy his mind, to
suggest to his wife that they should plain
ly and honestly state tho faults that each
had discovered in the other since they
had been man and wife. After some hes
itation, but stipulated that the r.hearsal
should be made in all sincerity and with
an honest view to the b.-ttering of each
other, as otherwise it would be of no use
to speak of the faiths to which marriage
had opened their eyes. The husband was
of the same mind, and his wife asked
him to begin with her faults. He was
somewhat reluctant, but his wins insisted
that he was the first to propose the mat
ter, stud as he was at the head of the
house it was his place to take the lead.—
„le said:
"Mv dear. one of the first faults I oh.
served in you after we began keeping
house was that von a good deal neglected
the tinware. Yoi didn't keep it scoured
as bright us it should be. My mother al•
wtlys took great pride in her tinware, and
kept it as bright as a dollar."
am glad that you have mentioned it
dear," said the wife, blushing a little ;
hereafter you shall see no speck on cup
or ; lan. Pray proceed."
"I have also observed," said the hus
band, "that you use your dish rage a
long time without washing them, and
then filially throw them away. Now,
when at home, I remetaber that my
mother always used to wash out her dish
rags when she was done using them, and
then hang them up where they would
drv, ready for the next time she would
need them."
Blushing as before, the young wife
promised to amend this fault.
The husband continued with a most
formidable lie of similar fatilu3,many more
than we have space to enumerate, when
he declared that he could think of noth
ing more that wts worth! of mention.
.
"Now," frald he,.."my dear, you begin
and tell me all the faults you have observe
ed :n me since we have been married."
'file young housewife sat in silence ;
her face flushed the temples, and a
great lump came in her throat, which she
seemed to be striving hard to swallow,
Proceed. my dear, tell me all the
thoughts you have observed in me, spar
ing none !"
Rising suddenly front her seat, the lit
tle wife bursting into teary, anti throwing
both arms about her husband's neck,
"Sly dear husband.you have not a fault
in the world. If you have e'en one, my
eyes have been so b!iuded by my love for
lion that so long as we have been married
I have never once observed IL In my
eyes you are perfect, and all that you do
seems to be (Line in the beat manner and
just what should be done."
"But my dear," said the husband, his
face reddening and tus voice growing
husky with emotion, "just think, 1
have gone and found all manner of fault
with you. Now, du tell me some of my
faults; I know I have many—ten times
as many as yon ever had or will have:
me hear th-m."
"fiked husband, it is as I tell you,
von have not a single fault that I can see.
Whatever von do seems right in my eyes.
and now that I know what a good-for
nothing little wretch I am, I shall atones
begin the work of reform, and try to
make myself worth' of you."
"Nonsense, my dear, you know some
times I go away and leave you without
any wood •cut ; I stay up town when I
might to be at home ; I spend my money
for drinks and cigars when I ought to
bring it home to you ; I—"
"No you don't," cried his wife; "you
do r °thing of the kind. I like to see
enjoy yourself ; I should be unhappy you
were 3ou to do otherwise than just Exact
ly as your do !"
"God bless you, little wife l" cried the
now thoroughly subjugated husband;
from this moment you have not a fault
in the world ! Indeed you never had a
fault ; I was but joking—don't remem
ber a word I said," and he kissed away
the tare that still trembled in the little
woman's eyes.
Never again did the husband scrutinize
the tinware nor examine the dish rug—
never a much as mention one of the
faults he had enumerated ; but soon utter
the neighbor women were wont to saw:
"It is wonderful how neat Mrs.
keep+ every thing about her house. Her
tinware is always as bright as a new dol
lar, and I do believe she not only washes,
but irons. her dish rag." And the neigh
bor men were heard to saw : "What a
steady fellow M—bas got to be of
late ; he don't spend a dime where he
used to dollars, and can never be kept
from home half an hour when be is not
at work. He seems to worship that wife
of his."
We cannot commend the Minnesota
girl who did it, and yet it was pretty
sharp after all. The girl was- good look;
ing and stylish, but wit rich of hand.
somely housed. S.), when a young man
who had just been introduced to her,and
to whom she had been talking rather pre
tentiously, asked to see her home. acced
ed, and let him leave her just inside of a
splendid place on the road. Of course
he went off' happy and hopeful—and she
waited until he was out of her sight, and
than escorted bend( to her own dingy
little nest
FIFTY CTS. EXTRA IF NOT IN ADVANCE.
MISCELLANEOUS READING.
SOLILOQUY OF A ;MULE HAMLET.
BY axe CABY.
To wed or not to wed, that It the question
Whether 'tis nobler iu a girl to suffer
The slings and arrows of an old maid's for-
tune,
Or married be, and so plunge !xi' it set o
troubles,
From which naught saves her t To wed—to
flirt—
No more ; and by a husband say, we end,
The heartache, and the thousand natura
shocks
That nerves are heir to—'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wished—a maid—a wife;
A. wife! perchance t' obey; ay, there's the
rub
For in that married sesta what orders come,
When we have ahufflee on domestic bliss,
Must give its pause ; there's the respect,
That makes our innings in a lonely life.
For who would bear the whips and scorns of
time,
Mrs. Grundy's sneer, the mean man's con
tumely,
The pangs of repressed love a woman's
wrong,
The insolence of striplings, and the spurns
The spiteful spinster of the old matrons take
When she herself might sirs and graces get
With a rich husband ? Who would men for
swear,
To have hysterics in single-blessedness ;
But that they dread love, honor and obey,
The unbearable control, from whose bourne
The spinster may escape, puzzles the will,
And makes us rather bear those ills wo have
Than fly to others that we know not of;
Thus liberty makes martyrs of us all,
And thus the native bne of revolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale fear of man,
And marriages of great pith and brilllency,
With this regard, are often brought to
naught
And lose the chance of binding. Soft you
now
The rich senator—Jones In my meditation,
Be all thy mines remembered.
Washington Capita
A REVERIE.
BY MERNDr. J. OWRZT.
We then were children, blithe and gay,
And she had heir of sunny gold ;
Her eyes of blue, that laughed all day,
Could ne'er a single secret hold,
For as we wandered, hand in hand,
She Mien turned and said to me ;
"I like you best of all the boys,
Perhaps because your name Is Lee."
And oft when school had been dismissed,
We went together dawn the lane,
Wirers son-bearing origin the roses kissed,
Then tell upon the window pane.
Thereon some airy grape-vine swing,
We'd pass the golden summer hours,
And smile to think that all was joy:—
Our lives were spent with birds and flowers
Years rolled along ; in manhood's prime
I met her by the road side well,
And just as In the olden time,
Her eyes would all tneir secrets telL
And there, we plighted loving vows,
The roses 'round their fragrance shed,
I wove a wreath, and to her said :
"Our love shall last when these are dead."
And now we're aged, wort. and old ;
Her sunny hair is silver gray ;
Her eyes of blue, that shone on me,
Are not so bright, as once, to-day.
But then our faith shall ne'er grow dim,
She is as dearly fair to me,
As in the childhood days of yore.
CLOTHING FOR WINTER.
The usual dress is sufficient quan City,
and often good in quality, but it 18 very
badly diertibuted. There is too much
about the trunk, and too little about the
lower estremiti-s. If one quarter of the
heavy woolen overcoat or shawl were tak
en from the trunk, and wrapped about
the lege, it would prove a great gain.—
Wheu we men ride in the cars, or in the
sleighs, where do we suffer? About the
lege and feet When women suffer from
the cold, where is it? About the legs
and feet I
The legs sad feet are down near the
floor,where the cold currents of air move.
The air is so cold near the floor that all
prudent mothers say, "Don't he there,
Peter ; get up, Jertudia Ann : play; play
on the sofa ; you will take your death
cold lying there on the floor." And they
are quite right.
During the damp and cold season. the
legs should be encased in very thick knit
woolen drawers, the feet in thick woolen
stockings (which must be changed every
day,) and the shoe soles must be as broad
as the feet when fully spread, so that the
blood shall have free passage. If the feet
are squeezed in the least, the circa:aloft
is checked, and-coldness is inevitable.—
This free circulation cannot be secured
by a loose upper with a narrow sole. 11
when the foot ;lands naked ou a sheet of
paper it measures three and a half inches
the sole must measure three and a half.
I mill atippoae,saya Dio Lewie,you have
done all th;a faithfully, and yet your feet
and legs are cold. Irow add more woolen
or if you are to travel much iu the cars.
or in a sleigh, procure a pair of chamois
skin or wash-1.-other drawers, which I
have found to he moat satisfactory.
I have known a number of lakes afilio•
ted with hot and aching head, and other
evidence of congestion about the upper
parts, who were completely relieved by a
chamois-skin drawers and broad-soled
shoes. Three ladies in every four suffer
from some congestion in the upper part
of the body. It is felt in a fulness of the
head, in sore throat, in palpitation of the
heart, torpid liver, and in many other
ways. rt is well known that a hot !oot
bath will relieve for the time being any
and all of these difficulties. This bath
draws the blood into the lefts and feet,re
begin the congestion above. What the
hot foot•huth does far an hour, the broad
soled shoes with thick woolen stocking,
and a pair of flannel drawers, with a pair
of wash leather drawers added, will do
permanently; of coarse I am speaking
of cold weather. No °as hesitates to
THE MONTROSE DEMOCRAT
Contains all the Local and General Ness, Postr7.fito•
ries, Anecdotal!, Miscellaneous flcading.Correepocd•
enee, and a reliable Blau of advertisements.
One square. (X of an Inch ion ce.)3 weeks. or lean. SI
I month. $1.25; a monthe, .2410; 0 month,. 1110; 1
year. 65.50. A liberal diacoont on adrerthiemeats co a
renter length. Bantam. Locila.lo cm& line for ant
Insertion. and 6 eta. a line each imbstiqacnt 'oration,—
Illartlagea and deaths, tree; obltuarlea, 10 ell. aline.
NUMBER 52.
multiply the clothing about the trunk.—
Why hesitate to increase the clothing
about the legs ? As a preventive of many
common affections about the chest,throat
and head, including nasal catarrh,' know
aotbing so effective as the dress of the
lower extremities which I am advocating.
The bath is a good thing, exercise is a
good thing, friction is a good thing, but,
after all, our main dependence in this cli.
mate must ever be, during the cold sea
son.warm clothing. Already we overdo
this about our trunks,hut not one person
in ten wears clothing enough shunt the
legs and feet.
Dr. Allan McLane Hamilton, of Belle
vue Hospital; New York, and lecturer on
nervous diereses in the Long Island Col.
b'ge Hospital, read before the American
Health Council a paper upon "Suicide in
Large Cities, with Reference to Certain
Sanitary Conditions which Tends to Pre
vent its Moral and Physical Causes."—
The doctor said that his observatioue up
on the subject had been made for the
most part in New York city. Compari-
Boos have ken made between that city
and London and Paris. In all larger cit
ies the number of cases is governed, to a
great extent, by the habits, torte and
mend culture of the people, and back of
national characteristics. The French peo
ple,noted for their indifference to life and
exaggerated morbid sentimentality, are
celebrated for the propensity to end life
with their own hands. Paris has been,
and always will be, celebrat-d for the pre
valence of this crime. The Parisians
pursue it as an agreeable mode of secur
ing relief from their troubles. It has
been asserted that foggy weather induces
suieides,although statistics go to disprove
this, especially in New York. The
months of April, May, June, July and
August, the most pleasant months of the
year, are those in which more persons
take their lives than at any other in the
year. The gravity and stolidity of the
English people rather shows in their fav
our, as regards this crime. In the city of
New York, between 1866 and 1872, there
were 678 suicides, the mules predomina
ting. For the three years, 1870, '7l, and
12, there were 359 suicides, 132 being
Germans. As regards conditions, 171
were married, 118 single, 43 widows and
widowers. and 27 whose condition was
not stated. The age of the oldest was 84
and that of the you:.gest 10. The cause
for the suicide of the latter was remarka
ble. She was .detected in the theft cf
fifty cents from her mother, and seeking
to escape from her shame she resorted to
Paris peen. Pnison is the most popular
mode of suicide, the preference being by
arsenic, Paris green, opium, carbolic acid
and other irritants. Insanity causes the
largest ',umber of suicides. both men and
women; drunkenness comes next, and
disease third. "The ages at which suicide •
seems to be most often rezoned to are be• -
tweet] forty and fifty among men, and
forty five and fifty five among women.—
Since the greatest number of deaths in
New York is by poisoning,it is important
to inquire into the causes why it should
be so. When we take unto consideration
the looseness of the present laws regard
ing the sale of poisons, there appears to
be no trouble for persons who, wish these
drugs to obtain them. It is needless to
say that the opium habit, like alcoholism
leads to self destruction in a number
t.f instances. A form of suicide, which
figures largely in American statistics. is
jumping from an elevation. This is of
tentimes the result of momentary impulse
produced by the surroundings. In New
York city there were twenty one victims
of this mode between the years 1866 and
1872. A most important duty in con•
nectinn with this subject is the influence
of the mode of life of the poorer classes.
He alluded more pArt , cularly to the tene
ment house eyste.n. The vices attending
the colonization °Nile working classes,
are spread by the contact of the vicious
with the pnre, and the depression of the
tone, are powerful inducers of euicide.—
The prevalence of strikes and trades'
unions, with their dangerous restrictions
and foolish oaths of alleigance, are fruit-
lul causes of suicides. Men are afraid to
work in opposition to the threats of their
lellow tradesmen, and when poverty
stares them in the' face they become des
perate and commit suicide. A'great per
centage of the suicides in large cities tiro
attributable to nunatnral vices, caused by
a state of hypochondriasis or monomania
by the carefully written advertisements
of the many quacks. The prevalence of
seduction In large cities i 3 perhaps great
er mom;, the lower classes, the large !an
tories being the places where the crime
is mostly committed and where suicide
often follows. To diminish the number
of suicides the doctor favored regular
meals and habits, the al.wliiion of im
moral entertainments, advertising quacks
so called anatomical musenms,ol obscene
and sensational literature. Legislation
should strictly regulate the sale of pois
onous drugs.
What spectacle more pleasing doth the
earth afford than a happy woman, con
tented in her sphere, ready at all times to
benefit her little world by her exertions,
and transforming the briers and thorns
of lite into the roses of paradise by the
magic of a touch ? There are those thus
happy because they cannot help it—no
misfortunes dampen their sweet smiles,
and they diffuse a cheerful glow around
them, as they pursue the even tenor of
their way. They have the secret of con
tentment, whose value is above the phi
losopher's stone; for,without eeeking.the
baser exchange of gold, which may buy
some sorts of pleasure, they convert ev
erything they touch into joy. What their
condition is mania no difference. They
may be rich or poorigh orlow, admire
or forsaken by the is world, but the
sparkling fountain of happiness buhtles
np in their hearts, and makes them radi
antly beautiful, Though they live in a
log house, they make it shine with a lus
tre that kings and queens may covet, and
they make wealth a fountain of blessings
to the children of poverty.
Glob is worth a thoasiud stattnuooto.
111 PVILLIIIEND ETEIT IVIDTIAVAT MOUNING
Advertising Rates:
CAUSE OF 867CVDES.
A HAPPY WOMAN.