HAWLEY & CRUSER, Editors and Proprietors.
101,131 E 32.
T HE
Iffiontrot (R'mocrat
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Business Cards
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LILNItY ACK
PrODriut or
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MAMA- , out Linrneee.lighl and het,'
pnce, Alec, lintnnetv.. Rtes. t Rls
e‘ erythlng pertalding to thy line
tsteheupra. iicpulf flg done prompt
. Wil t 29. 1,-tti
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1•1111.1.11. f 1 AIL... pri
..1011lanol, Pork Ptolorna ono
'hr De.t qu. l3 nY• r'ok , t.orly on hand. at
BILLISG.t.;.4.:7I:ci CL
ILE AND LIFE 1: 1 / 1 ,:r/ANCI, AUK T. Ate
,tended toprumplly.ol:l fair terME Ulfle.
.••• 0... ea, 01 :11e.Imml: 01 Wm. 11. Cooper ..t Co
t.n u Mourrope, Pa ;Aug 1.180.
I..•TnouP
! 11.i1,11Eft. 11,1, moved hie chop to tbc
. • z •,tep.ed by E Sic KC/17./C Gt. co.. where he le
.Klll.olwork in hie Immeuch seam.
_ pude. etc. All wort. done on abort
• - l'ltmee coil and ere me.
LITTLE, d" BL.fIiESLEE
i;NEN , Al' LA W. Buse removed to their Neer
tbt TorME Home
It. B LITTLE,
tieo I' LITTLE.
E L.BLAKEew.tc.
=ME
iT 71 Di :AY:,
tel c.e •rr, 61: Paper, Neu, pa
:..tereerr , qar \ I ewe, Yanlet
o Nt-0 door to the Peel office. M oral eta,
. DEANS.
EXI'II.INGE LINTEL.
w,-1.• to inform thepublictbai
_ lilt Eletlatife Hotel in Montrone. be
p 10 UCCullatoodutt the travelingpubfli
II DURRIT7.
and Fancy Lkry teoods.Cruckery.
•Lto . Druz, Ode. lont Palate. Book,
• - ee
ISuffnit. Hobe., (ire,
SEEM
;il: 1, A. LATILIWP,
TIILIIIO.I BAILS, a lae Foot of
lull •.I Chronic
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DI:. W. DA 3 - Tf .121,
. tenth,e hie service,
..! t,rmit Bend and sit luity. ("nice at pit.
• Barnum llom,e, Bend
LE K.vuLL,
;: : N 4. AND RAM DRESSING.
• 1-1.. w l'ortoffice haildimt, where he wil,
10 attend all who may want ahythltit
Montrose I'a. Oct. 13 ledl9.
T0h.09 RD,
11,1 ne. Hat. and Cap• Leutber and
',I a: attn
lnt door below ii 07114
and repairing dour neatly.
t
tr L. RI , ILIR.D.,(LN
t N s •l• Itt,E,N. tender. hie profeesl.n•
Ititenr of Montrose and vicinity.—
•-,oldet• ,on the eonicreaeiof Sap,
i do [Ape. I. 1[469.
oFILL & DEWITT
-L • unel SoltcltArrr In Bankruptcy. Office
,rt.et Cu} National Bank, Bing
il.ScovlLL.
ABEL T U.1:11 ELL.
M rinrr • ( i . Oily
. . • ,
'loco, Varicy lioodA. Jewelry, Per
Mani crone, Pe. Eatablished
[Jan. 1. 1875.
1. 1-* 111(11,
FA AND CA , U NSF:LLCM-AT-LAW, Mont,
'''-• , :t. 14,4 of the CiAirt Honie.
)1 .I..,Ludry 27. 1 , 37:1.-3yl •
e) WARREN
•.
• L . —A W . Bounty. Bag/P.7. PenolOL
r. attended to. Ofiler fir..
"•' •= ts , •d'e st•e, M0nt5...p..1 . a. [Au. 3.'69
W A CROSSMON,
Loo Oflo.v at UAL Court licollSe, le the
Whte. W. A. Cuobexurt.
,t.t 11.
J C. IFUEATON,
ENt.IVE.C.V AND LAND hLtVttOL,
P. U addrure. Franklin Forko,
itne.quubanna Cu., Pa
If' „5'31.1711,
AND CHAIR .11.ANtiFACTURER13.—Voot
Mularutc, Pll. 1881:. I. 1869.
M. C. 4WITON,
EER tal INSUIt•NCY. 4OZICT,
Eriondsville. Pa.
L. W. HEARLE,
A 1 1 ., JRN El AT LAW. °Mee over the Store of M.
iu the Itriektflock..Montrove PA. Lan Cfi
J A. H. Mei:lUL LUM
‘ l,, hgr.l r •T LAW Office avec the liank o hiontrete
Yumrua•, May 10, I§7a. tf
AM) EL Y,
1-111 0,,1F.E11.
uc 1, Ilea, • Andreae, Brooklyn, PS
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County Business Directory
Two lines in this Directory, one year. SIN: each ad
MONTROSE
WM. HA LOIIWOUT, Slater, Wholesale and hetet
dealer In all kinds of slate rooting, slate paint, etc.
Roofs repaired with slate paint to order. Also, slate
paint for sale by the gallon or barrel. Montrose. Pa.
BILLINGS STROUD. Genera Fire and Life term.
ance Agents ; also,sell Rallroau and AccideutTicki t
to New - York and Philadelphia. (Mee one dooreast
ofthe Bank.
BURNS d NICHOLS. the place to ..-et Drugsand Mcdi
ones. Cigars, Tobacco, Pipes, Pocket-Books • Specta
cies Yankee Notions...tc. Brick Block.
BOYD A CORWIN, Dealers In Stoves, Ilardwar,
and Mannfactorers of Tin and Sheetiron ware. corny
of Main and Turnpike street.
A. N. BOLLARD Dealer to Groceries, Provisions.
Books. Stallone and Yankee Notions, at head of
Public Avenne.•
H COOPER S. CU.. Bankers, sell Foreign Pas•
sage Tickets and Drafts on England, Ireland and Scot.
la n d.'•
WM. L. COX, Harness maker and dealer In all article
usually kept by the trade, opposite the Bank •
.1 A Mlis E. CARMALT. Attorney at Law. Office ove
door below Tarbell House. Public Avenue. •
NEW MILFORD.
L. L LuROY, Denier In all kinns of farming imple
sent., mowing machines, well] curbs. dog power&
etc., etc . Main St., opposite Savings Bank. [Grn•
•AVINGS BANK. NEW MILFORD.—FIo per cent. in
recent on all Deposits. Does a general Banking Bur
nee+. al 1-tf S. B. CHASE d CO.
11.0 ABB ET .1. SON. Dealers In Flour. Feed. Mea
Salt. Lime. Cement. Groceries and Prov'sn to ,
Main Street. opposite the Depot.
kINEY & H AYDEN. Dealers in Drugs andlfedicines
and Manufacturers of Cigars; on Main Street, near
• he Depot
N F KIM RER. Carmore %later and Undertaker
Main Street. two doors nelow liawley's Store.
CAYUGA PLASTER—NICHOLAS SHOKMAKER.dea
er t n genuine Cayuga Planter. Frock ground
MeCOLLUNI BROTHERS, Dealers :n Groceries and
Provisions. on Main street.•
I. DICKERMAN. Jrt.. Dealer In general merebandin,
and Clothing. Brick Store. on Main Street.
GREAT BEND.
R P. DORAN. Merchant Tatlnr and dealer In Rentl
Made Clothing, Dry Goods.GrocertesandProvlsione
Mole vtreet.•
MEEMI
Banking, kc.
BANKING HOUSE
111, H. COOPER & CO.,
7VLON=LOSE, PA_
GENEIL BANKING BUSINESS DONE
COLLECTIONS MADE ON ALL
POINTS AND PROMPTLY ACCOUN
TED FOR AS HERETOFORE.
DOMESTIC AND FOREIGN EXCHANGE FOR
UNITED STATES & OTHER BONDS
BOUGHT AND SOLD.
COUPON AND CITY AN D COUNTY
BANK CHECKS CASHED AS USUAL.
OCEAN STEAMER PASSAGE TICK
ETS TO AND FROM EUROPE.
INTEREST ALLOWED UN SPECIAL
TIMiT3E3 DEPOSITS,
As PER AGREEMENT, WHEN THE
DEPOSIT IS MADE.
In the future, ss in the past, we shall endeav
or to transact all money business to the satin
faction of our patrons and correspondents.
WTI. IL COOPER ac CO.,
Montrose, March 10, '75.--tf. Bankers.
Authorized Capital, - $500,000 00
Present Capital, - - 100,000 00
FIRST NATIONAL BANK,
MONTROSE, PA.
WILLIAM J. TERRELL, Presicknt
D. D. SEARLE, lice President
N. L. LENH ELM, - - Cashier.
Directors.
WM. J. TrRRELL. D. D. SEARLE.
A. J. GERRITSON, M. S. DESSAFER.
ABEL TURRELL, G. V. BENTLEY.
G. B. ELDRED, Montrose, Pa.
E. A. CLARK, Binghamton, N. Y.
E. A. PRATT. N-w Milford, Pa.
M. B. WRIGHT, Susqnehaona Depot, Pa.
L. •!,. LEN HEIM, Uri at Bend. Pa.
DRAFTS SOLI) ON EUROPE.
COLLECTIONS MADE ON ALL POINTS
SPECIAL DEPOSITS SOLICITED
Montrose, March 3, 1875.—tf
SCRANTON WES SINK,
120 Wyoming Avenue,
RECEIVES MONEY ON DEPOSIT
FROM COMPANIES AND INDIVID
UALS, AND RE I - URNS THE SAME
ON DEMAND WI ['ROUT PREVI
OUS NOTICE, ALLOWING INTER
EST AT SIX PER CENT. PER AN
NUM, PAYABLE HALF YEARLY,
ON THE FIRST DAYS OF JANU
ARY AND JULY. A SAFE AND RE
LIABLE PLACE OF DEPOSIT FOR
LABORING MEN, MINERS, ME
CHANICS, AND MACHINISTS, AND
FOR WOMEN AND CHILDREN AS
WELL. MONEY DEPOSITED ON
OR BEFORE THE TENTH WILL
DRAW INTEREST FROM THE
FIRST DAY OF THE MONTH.. THIS
IS IN ALL RESPECTS A HOME IN
STITUTION, AND ONE WHICH IS
NOW RECEIVING THE SAVED
EARNINGS OF THOUSANDS UPON
THOUSANDS OF SCRANTON MIN
ERS AND MECHANICS.
DIRECTORS ; JAMES BLAIR,
SANFORD GRANT, GEORGE . FISH
ER, JAS. S. SLOCUM, J. H. SUTPHIN,
C. P. MATTHEWS, DANIEL HOW.
ELI, A. E. HUNT, T. F. HUNT
JAMES BLAIR, PRESIDENT ; 0. C.
MOORE, CASHIER.
OPEN DAILY FROM NINE A. M.
UNTIL FOUR P. M., AND ON WED.
NESDAY- AND SATURDAY EVE
NINGS UNTIL EIGHT O'CLOCrs
Feb. J. 1874.
MIT=
Binghamton marble Works !
All kinds of Monuments. Headstones, and Warble
Mautlee, made to order. also. Scotch Granites on
hand. 1. PICKERING & CO.,
I. PICKER:BO. } 126 Court Street.
G. W. NEBSEE.EAtf,
11. P. EWAN. Binkbatuton, N. T.
Oct. 2S, 1874. S
JOB WORK
LT TWO 0.67/CE,CHELP 1
dit tonal line, 60 cent.
E 3 .eIL L El .
MONTROSE, SUSQ'A COUNTY, PA., WEDNESDAY, MARCH 24, 1875.
*tett Nottrp.
A CHARMING WOMAN
A charming woman, I've heard it said
By other women as light as she ;
But all in vain I puzzle my head
To find wherein the charm may be.
tier face, indeed, is pretty enough,
And her form is quite as good at the best,
Where nature has given the bony stuff,
And a clever milliner all the rest.
Intelligent? Yes, in a certain way ;
With the feminine gift of ready speech
And knows very well what rot to say
Whenever the theme transcends her reach.
But turn the topic on things to wear,
From an opera cloak to a robe de n nit—
Hats, barques, or bonnets—'twill make you
To see how fluent the lady can be
Her laugh is hardly a thing to please ;
For an honest laugh must always start
From a gleesome mood, like a sudden breeze
And her's is purely a matter of art—
A muscular motion made to show
What nature designed to lie beneath
The liner mouth ; but what can she do,
If that is ruined to show the teeth
To her seat in church—a good hall tniit
When the day is due she is sure to go,
Arrayed, of course, in the latest style
,sate d Parts has got to show
And she puts her hands on the velvet pew
(Can hands so white have a taint of sin Pi
And thinks now her prayer book's tint of
blue
Must harmonize with her milky skin
h ! what shall we say of one who walks
In fields of flowers to chow• the weeds
Heads authors whom she never talks,
And talks of authors she never reads
She's a charming woman, I've heard it said
By other women as nett IV I she ;
But all in vain I puzzle my head
To find wherein the charm may be.
c g.clected ffitorg.
MARIAN WORTH'S BATTLE
BY OLIVE BELL
The night was coming on. The dark.
dreary twilight of a winter night, ;11 the
up country of a sastern country, was
211thering slowly, and shadow 3 were set—
ting down over the hills and vale, wierd
forerunners of the glocm that was to fol
low.
"What a dismal evening," s,glied Ma
rian Worth, a tall, slender woman,with
dark, pl , asant faee,large luminous black
eyes. and hair of the same somber color,
us she stood at the west window of the
Elmhill library, watching the purple
shadows creeping up the narrow valley,
that in summer always reminded Marian
of a wide emarald ribbon. She was toy
ing with the hair chain of her watch,
thinking more of the gloom without than
of the warmth within, her ruby colored
merino, sloe-black hair and dusky face
harmonized swell with the rich colors of
the library, a gem of a room ni the way
of pictures, books and works of taste,
mice the delight of her dead relative's
heart.
What good taste CncleJoho had," she
said at last, turning from the window
with a contented light in her great black
eyes. She was all alone in this grand old
room, and moving out before the fire,
stood on the soft velvet rug, a warm, trop
ru.,...pi”g 1.• 1103 rl. by checks,
and a shining light flashing out of the
eyes that swept over the crimson tinted
walls, warm, sunny pictures, soft, rich
carpets, and rosewood hook cases, with a
glance of admiration.
She dropped into a large easy chair,
with a sigh of intense relief; and the firer
tears that had wet the long lashes for
many a day, rolled down the flushed
heek . s. and splashed down among the '
(olds of the ruby colored dress. Fot her
days of toil and ceaseless economy and
worry were over, although the few short
weeks ste had been mistress of Elmhill
seemed like a dream, a waking delusion
that would vanish some day, like some
mist formed picture that had given her a
a moment's delight.
Nearly thirty years before, the Worth
brothers, John and Edmond, had inherit
ed one of the largest and richest estates
in the county of —. John, the eldest,
never married, and occupied the old fain
tly mansion, which he enlarged and mod
ernized ; while Edmond married young
and converted his real estate into money
—an act the elder brother condemned as
unwise, and which was the basis of a
standing feud between time parties. After
a few 'ears, John's predictions were yeti—
fled ; for the money had been carelessly
invested and was swept away in a finan
cial crisis. Xothing was lett but a few
hundred, with which he purchased a cot
rage in the little village of Worthington.
He did not survive the loss of his fortune
many years, and died without a reconcil
iation with the elder brother. His widow
soon followed him to the ewe, and Mar•
ian, their only child, was left to the tend
er mercies of the world.
But Marian was a girl of strong will
and dauntless courage, and read and stud
ied anu turned every meagre favor Into a
ben-tit. After many struggles she obtain
el the village school, and acquitted her
self so well that she was elected teacher
for an unlimited term of years. Her
salary was not large,but it amply supplied
tier simple wants, and at twenty-tive she
had settled down into the dull routine of
school duties, like a woman who never
hopes or expects any pleasanter or better
Late. She was quiet and unassuming ;
yet as proud and determined as the haugh
ty old man who daily whirled past the
little red brick school house in his ele
gant carriage, and who never noticed Ma
rian by word or look, although his blood
med in her veins. And Illarian's head
would uplift haughtily when she chanced
to glance up at the Etmhill mansion,with
its vine wteathed 'porticoes and calm,
peaceful grandeur, where her father had
been born, and where she, his orphan
child, had not even the right of entrance
The fetid between the brothers had
made John a cold, misanthropic man;
who looked unkindly on all the world,
and Marian felt little respect for the man
who had suffered his only brother to be
borne away out of human sight and
sound without once looking at ilia dead
face, and feigned no hypocritical sorrow
"Stand by the Right though the Heavens Sall"
when his sudden death broke the quiet ot
Worthington.
No one was more astonished than Ma
rian ly:raelf, to find that he had left no
will, and that she had cot..e into posses
sion of hia property as heir•at-law. Her
old friends and neighbors were delighted
for the morose owner of Elmhill had
never been beloved by his fellow men,
and managed the business 80 expedit
iously that almost before Marian could
realize the fact,she was enstalled mistress
ot the home of her forefathers, and toil,
care, and weary,joyless life, were done for.
ever. Bank stocks,whose value astonish
ed Marian, had been transferred to her,
while her rent roll was a fortune in itself,
for John Worth had been a sharp finan—
cier, or a man who never lost a dollar by
speculation or unwise investment.
His home was furnished with a taste
and elegance that surprised Marian ; his
servants, which =be still employed, were
thoroughly trained, and had been well
used and well paid, although they confes
sed too little love for their late master.
Niarian, half buried in her easy chair,
contentedly at and dreamed the evening
hours away, never stirring hand or foot—
! for the blissful feeling of rest seemed too
delicious to be brJken by sound or mo—
tion--until her eves happened to fall on
a picture nail its lace turned toward the
wall, in u shadowy corner of the room,
I and half concealed by the heavy crimson
tirup ry of the window.
A rosewood writing dest stood beneath
it, and Marian eagerly mounted the high
stool at its side and turned the picture,
!uttering an exclamation of surprise at
the pictured lace on the canvas. It was
a woman's face, a woman young and
handsome, with mournful gray eves that
seemed to look besceechingly at Marian.
,The dark b:own hair fell about the white
throat in shining curls, and a half sad
,•xpres,ion rested on the young fact-whose
chief beauty lay not so much in perfect
non of eokr or regularity of features,
but in the mournful sweetness of coon•
tenanre. Her dress was some crimson
material, which seemed to match the pre
vailing tints of the room, and Marian
could only gaze spellbound, and wonder
who she was. She climbed upon the
rosewood desk and examined the portrait
more closely, but no sign of name or date
wit
-The desk may hold the secret," she
as she clambered down again, •`or
perhaps some of the servants may know."
A moment later William, a servant
who had been in her uncle's household
for )ears, entered the library to close the
heavy shutters.
"William,did you ever see that before,"
said his misress, pointing to the portrait.
William stared up at the pictured face.
"les, ma'am, often ; though the mas
ter turned the face to the wall more than
twenty years ago." repli,d he.
"Who is she ?"
William shook his head dubiously
"Nobody but the master knew. He
brought the picture over from England
more than thirty years ago."
“Did it always hang there?" Malian
said, fingering her watch chain nervous—
Iv.
"Always, ma'am. But for the last
twenty years the face has bap turned to
the wall, and I doubt if the master ever
looked at it."
"Ah ! there's a story connected with it.
The desk may contain something that
will unravel the mystery."
Where are the keye, William ?"
William took down a hunch of keys
from a gilt knob on the wall, and Marian
fitted one into the lock of the rosewood
d,-sk. closed th., abutters, lit
the lamps, stirred the glowing coals into
a ruddier blaze, just as Marian was div
ing into the musty de l the of the desk.—
But it contained nothing but useless pa
pers, cast off memorandum books con
!aining business statistics that did not
interest her. Every secret drawer was
searched in vain for some sign of a wo•
man's love or kindness; and after gazing
abstractedly at the green silk lining for a
moment or two, Marian closed the desk
and*crept back to her easy chair by the
fire, the dove like eyes in the picture
seemed to follow her yearningly.
Marian had decidedly refused to put
on-mourning, because she was too con
-mentions to pretend a grief that she did
not feel. But,out of respect for her dead
fa: her's memory, she determined to re•
c. ire no company for a year after her nn•
de's death ; and many a cheerless day
and evening were whiled away gazing at
the portrait above the rosewood desk.
The library was her favorite hannt,and
the lovely face possessed a strange fasci—
nation for her ; and somehow, in gazing
at it, a vague feeling of unrest crept into
her heart—a foreboding of ill that was
Ito come to her through this harmless pie
tore on the wall.
As the winter wore on, Marian grew
aecustomed to her luxurious home and
bountiful income, and made her thank
fulness for heaven's gifts to herself felt
in many an impoverisned home, and by
many an invalid's humble bedside. One
at ,rmy day in March she had been out
for hours on some charitable errand, and
as the night set in, dark end bleak, Ma
rian felt unusually depressed, and nestled
down before the library fire with a dull
pain at her heart and a sorrowful look in
the luminous black eyes that sought her
old friend—the picture, which, like its
history seemed always in shadow.
"I wish I knew who she was," sighed
she dreamily, going over to the rosewood
desk and standing beneath the picture
with her hands locked closely together.—
She took down the key of the desk, and
lighting a wax taper sat down to rum.
mage among the old papers and compli
cat , d compartments, every hick and
spring yielded the touch as if by magic.
"I think I'll burn all this rubbish. and
use the desk for keeping my worsted work
in. Those pigeon holes will be splendid
for my colored wools."
She gathered up the waste papers and
laid them on the glowing coals in the
grate, then returned to the desk and
gan rubbing the green silk lining with a
bit of linen to remove the dust and some
spots of mould. Her fingers seemed to
touch something rough under the linen,
and in rubbing harder a corner of the
'ilk rubbed loose. and Marisn's eyes dila
ted, for it looked as if it had been cut
loose, and. then pasted down, in a way
that seemed to defy detection. Taking a
paper knife she - cut a slit lengthwise in
the thick silk, and disclosed some papers,
folded flat and smooth, which she drew
out with trembling fingers, for she in-
stinctively felt the} were in some way
connected with the portrait above.
The first slip of paper was a marriage
certificate. She read it through, a chill
w dread creeping into her heart, as she
unfolded the next paper and read the
last will and testament of John Worth,
bequestiqg all his worldly goods,land and
money to his son, Tracy Winston Worth
burn to him by Lucia, his beloved wife,
Lancaster, England, more than thirty
years ago. Marian dropped the papers
froth her nerveless fingers, and land her
forehead down upon the carved desk,feel
ing sick and faint.
"AM" she moaned, "I might have
known my happiness was too . bright to
last."
For this face above her was the face of
John Worth's dead wife. This luxurious
home, with its wealth and . comfort, was
the property of her son—a man she had
never seen
Then a feeling of defiance took posses
ion of her, like some evil spirit, and she
raised her head with a feverish glitter in
her dark eves, determined to probe the
mystery to the bottom.
In looking over the will, Marian found
that the lawyer who had written it, and
the witnesses had been resider.ts of Worih
ington, but now dead, a fact which Out
a curious thrill through Marian's heart.
The third paper• was a curiously writ•
ten manuscript, in her uncle's cramped
hand writing, telling the story of his ear
ly love and secret marriage with Lucia
Winston, in such a tender, pathetic way,
that Marian's eyes were full of tears at
its close. For Lucia had been the child
of a rich Catholic gentleman, who abso
lutely refused to sanction John Worth's
suit, owing to the difference in creeds ;
and the young couple, following the dic
tates of their own hearts, married in se—
cret ; Lucia promising to follow her
husband to America, after her fathers
death, which promised to be not far dis—
tant. John lirgor..d around Lancaster
for weeks after the marriage, stealing
clandestine interviews with Lucia, hut
was finally called home to the death bed
of his father.
And before a year John knew that
Lucia was a mother, and that the father,
furious with wrath, had separated mother
and child, sending the mother to a con
vent arid the son to Germany ro be reared
and educated. Aftei ten years of patient
waiting John learned that Lucia's father
was dead, and that his wife,repented her
early folly, had renounced her husband
and the world and entered the convent
for life. He turned her pictured face to
the wall then, and was a changed man
from thenceforth. Yet he loved her un—
til the breath left his body, and earnestly
desired 'that whoever might find these
hidden papers might search for his son,
who had been reared a Protestant at some
German ihstitute, ignorant of his father's
existence, or of the wealth and pr )perty
that was his birthright. Marian laid the
papers back in the desk, tier brain in a
whirl,her face blanched to a deadly white
'less, and her slim fingers twitched ner—
vously' as she turn-d the key in the lock,
and Chen threw it into a bronze vase on a
bracket at her side. She ;lanced up at
the picture on the wall, and then fled
from the room as if a legion of fiends
were efter her. Her past life had been so
spotless, so unsullied by wicked thoughts
or deeds that the unholy scheme that was
dimly growing into appalling proportions
in her mind, seeming like some hideous
phantom, dogging her footsteps andrag
ing her on to a life whose torments would
be worse than deaths bitterest pangs.
"I will keep Elmhill . " said she pacing
her room, her red lips compressed, and
liar hlaek eyes bright with feverish ex—
citement. "The heir'. existence is a dead
secret,and until he comes to claim it, it is
mine.''
Ard Marian's battle with conscience
commenced. For het conscience urged
her to search for the rightfnll owner of
Elmhill, while her evil angel suggested
silence. So Marian kept at peace, and
endeavored to feel at ease in her elegant
home. Bat rest or peace was never to be
hers again ; for days after, she turned
Lucia's face to the wall, that the mourn—
ful eyes might not fill her with a remorse
she could not conquor.
The warm, sunny days of April cloth—
ed Elmhill with a pale green verdure,
beautiful to see, and Marian wandered up
and down the sunny slopes, gathering
violets that lacked the fragrance of the
blossoms she had gathered in olde i days,
for then the modest little flowers seemed
but types of purity and humility of her
own heart, now their dewy eyes were a
constant reproach of her selfishness. She
sad everything that human hands or
money could furnish her—everything but
a clear conscience and a contented mind,
and her dusky face grew thin and worn
looking, and a troubled look settled in
her large eyes as weeks wore on and found
her still enjoying Trace Winston Worth's
inheritance.
Where was he ? Marian was strolling
along a narrow woodland path one gold
en summer day, wondering idly if her
aimless dissatisfied life was to go on for
ever. Where was he ? she thought. Was
he rich or poor, happy or miserable ? Ah,•
she did not know, she sighed, as she al
most tumbled over the body of a man
lying at the foot of a high cliff. She
started back, but instantly recovered her
presence of mind when she saw an artists
portfolio and materials scattered around
and became conscious that a pair of sad
gray eyes were fixed on her startle.' face.
"'Are you hurt, or ill ?" she inquired,
noticing that he did not move.
"My uncle is sprained, and my left arm
is broken, I think," replied the stranger,
struggling to arise. But the effort gave I
him great pain, and he fell back again,
saving faintly, as he handed Marian a!
card, on which was ritten a line or two,
signed 'W. W. Tracy.' "please send that
to the village fur help."
-No, no," replied Marian,looking eager
ly at the pale taco before her—a face that
seemed familiar to her, though when or
where she had seen it before she could
not tell. "Lie here, and I will hasten to
Elml ill for assistance."
"Elmhill !" excluitned the-stranger, "am
I in the vicinity of Elmhill ?"
"Only a few pods from the gate," replied
3larian with a Emilie, "why do you - ask I"
"Oh, I have long. wished to Jtketeh it."
said he earnestly, "I was trying to get
a view of the surrounding country when
I fell off the cliff."
Re showed signs of faintness, and Mar
ian hastened homeward, returning in a
few moments with the men servants and
a stretcher. They lifted him carefully
and fitarted toward Elmbill, 'Paving Mar
ian to gather up the unfinished sketches.
Some of them showed touches of rare
beauty, and one a drawing tee little
brown cottage where Marian had spent so
many peaceful but lonesome years of her
life, stirred up the latent atffect,on in her
heart, and brought tears or sorrow in her
eyes. "My dear old home!" she said as
she laid the sketch back into the portfolio
'All the wealth on earth could not give'
me back the innocent hours I spent there.
When Marian reached home the artist
had been made comfortable, and a servant
had been dispatched for a physician, who
came and set the fractured arm and band
aged the sprained ankh:, charging Marian
when he left to see that Mr. Tracy did
use his injured limbs too Boon. So the
artist was forced to accept Marian's hos
pitality for a few days. But the sprained
ankle grew worse and a nervous feyer set
in ; itwas weeks before the artist wits able
to walk about his room ; Marian had
been often at his beds i de, and found her
interest in him steadily increasing. He
was a scholar, a courteous gentleman
apparently thirty-five years of age, who
evidently followed sketching more for
love than gain. As the summer days
wore on he grew stronger, and Marian
often found his sad eyes fixed on her face
when she red to him, with a curious
yearning expre ssion in their clear depths
that sent a thrill of pleasure through her
veins, and a deeper flush into her dark
cheeks. rie was able to be down stairs at
last, very thankful, very gentle and gra
cious, and Marian thought very sad, as
she stood on the portico and watched him
pacing up and down, under the elms on
the lawn, gray eyes roaming over the
beautiful grounds.
"You love Elmhill ?" he said to Mar—
ian, when she joned him, looking her
in a grenadine, shot with golden stars.—
Something Caine up into Marian's throat.
"Yes," she replied, huskily "there is no
place in the world as dear to me us Elm•
"It is a b.autiful place," he said reflect.
ivelv. I wonder if the late owner—your
unce, I think yuu said—was happy in it.
"Doudtless he was," Marian replied
carelessly, thinking of the will in• the
rosewood desk.
"I must leave you in the morning," he
said, after u silence cf a few minutes. "I
have trespassed on your kindness to lor.g
al ready."
"No, no," exclaimed Marian impulsive
ly. "You do not know how much I will
miss you."
"And I will miss you,Miss Worth,"was
the reply, "For I have felt as if I were
among familiar scenes, and you were an
old friend since I came here. You are
growing chilly," he added, noticing that
Marian shivered as if with cold. "Let
us go into the library."
•Marian went very reluctantly, for of
late she had avoided the room. The last
rays of the setting sun were flooding the
room as they entered it, and one bright,
shininc , bar fell across the back of Lucia
h t"
Worth s picture.
"What Is this"' exclaimed Mr. Tracy,
"a picture with Its lace toward the wallf"
Marian explained that her uncle had
kept it that way for years. The artist
turned it and grew as white as death.
"My mother !' His voice was full of
suppressed feeling.
"Your mother ?" Marian cried, and
then the truth burst upon her, W. W.
Tracy was the heir of Elmhill. She lean
ed heavily against the rosewood desk,
struggling with her feelings.
"Where is she ?" she said at last,hardly
knowing what to say.
"Dead ! how her picture happens to be
here is a mystery to me," said the artist,
as he turned away. and a moment after
complained of fatigue and went up to
his room with a puzzled expression on
his face.
Marian's resolution was soon taken.—
She had coveted health, luxury and ease,
thinking that through these benefits hap
hiness might come, but they had brought
her nothing but misery, nothing but har
assing thoughts, and restless nights, and
troubled days. She would give it up—
Elmhill. with all its comforts and charms
—and go hack to poverty and toil,thank
ful that this man, whom she had planned
to keep out of his birth -right, had re
ceived some little kindness at her hands.
He might despise her it he choose—
might hate her—and the thought gave
her untold pain ; but she was determined
to confess her weakness and sin,and leave
Elmhill forever. She did not steep that
night until her confession was written
aad laid on the rosewood desk, beside the
papers she had intended never should
come to light. When the morning dawn
ed she was in her old cottage home at
Worthington. her heart lighter than it
had been for months.
"Prosperity would ruin me," sie said,
as she busied herself in setting the plain
furniture in order. 'God knows what is
best for us all."
"Marian—cousin !"
She turned and stood taco to face with
the artist, who stood in the low doorway,
flushed and eager.
Marian," he went on,"I know all. Elm
hill would not be home without you."
"Ob !"Marian dropped into a charr,and
covered her crimson face with her hands.
"How can you ever forgive me ?"
"There is nyne of us faultless," he said
very gently. "Will you come back to
Marian ?"
"No. It has been a temptation to me
from the first. 'lt is yours, keep it."
"Not without you share it with me. if
knew from the firNt Eithhtll was mine.—
Mother told me all before she died."
"How you must despise me," burst on
Marian.
llis lace was lit up w:th a loving smile
fur the weeks he had lain under Marian's
roof nod been like a happy dream. For
he felt in his heart, he could give Marian
more thun a love.
••We Ivan b , rget the past, Marian, come
home to
"No," Marian said, and obstinately re-:-
fused to leave iter humble. home until the
heir's clams were established,and he con
vinced her that .Elathill needed a mis•
tress and Tilley Winston Worth a wife.
A rich but parsimonious old gentleman
on being taken to task for his uncharit•
ableoest, said, "True, I don't give much
but it you only knew how it hurts. when
I give anything, you wouidn't vonder.'.
He that is never 141 e will not often be
vicious.
TERMS :—Two Dollars Per Year in Advance.
'Stint fottrg.
TWENTY FROGS
Twenty Buggies went to school,
Down beside a rushy pool ;
Twenty little coats of green,
Twenty vests all white and clean.
"We must be in time," said they ;
"First we study, then we play ;
That is how we keep the rule
W hen we froggies go to schooL"
Master Bullfrog, grave and stern,
Called the classes in their turn ;
Taught them how to nobly strive,
Likewise how to leap and dive ;
From his seat upon the log,
Taught them how to say, "Kenchog
Als:, how to dodge a blow
From the sticks which bad boys throw
Twenty froggies grew up fast ;
Bullfrogs they became at last ;
Not one dunce among the lot,
Not one lesson they forgot ;
Polished in a high degree,
As each Iroggie ought to be ;
Now they sit on other logs,
Teaching other little frogs.
THE FARMER'S HEARTH
Around the fire, one wintry night,
The farmer's fogy children sat ;
The fagot lent its blazing light,
And mirth went round and harmless chat
When, hark I a gentle hand they bear
Low tapping at the bolted door,
And thus to gain their willing ear,
A feeble voice was beard implore :
"Cold blows the blast across the moor,
The sleet drives hissing in the wind ;
Yon toilsome mountain lies before,
A dreary tireless waste behind.
"My ayes are weak and dim with age ;
No road, no path can I descry ;
And these poor rags ill stand the rage
Of such a keen inclement sky.
"So faint I am, these tottering feet
No more my palsied frame can bear ;
My freezing heart forgets to beat,
And drifting en/we my tomb prepare
"Open your hospitable door,
And shield me from the biting blast
Cold, cold it blows acrom the moor,
The weary moor that I have passed."
With hasty steps the farmer ran,
And close beside the fire they plsce
The poor, half-frozen beggar man,
With shaking limbs and pale-blue face.
The little children flocking came,
And chafed his frozen hands in theirs ;
And busily the good old dame
A comfortable mess prepares.
Their kindness cheered his drooping soul,
And slowly down his wrinkled cheek
The big round tear was seen to roll,
And told the thanks he could not speak
The children then began to sigh,
And all their merry chat was o'er ;
And yet they felt, they knew not why,
More glad than they had telt before.
Nome folding.
For the “De.,ocrat
GHOSTS.
BY BETTIE BLUE-STOCKING
1 have always believed in ghosts I Why P
Because (a woman's reason) from infancy to
maturer years, I oflened listened for hours, eve
ning after evening to the fireside tale of hob
goblins, ghosts, mysterious visitants and Indt
ens until bed-time ; then mounted the narrow
winding stair-way with starting eyes and pal
pitating heart, and in sheer desperation jump
ed beneath the icy bed-clothes, drawing them
tightly over my head to shut out visional white
spectres, and tomahawking savages, who al
ways carried little children away to the dark
woods a /a Francis Slocum.
In my rational moments, when free from the
infatuating influence of a new ghost sensation,
my wiser self would condemn a belief in the
supernatural exerted In bodily form ; and as
my ghosts all terminated like Mrs. Partington's
in white curtains, or night caps on rose bushes;
still I believed Implicitly and emphatically In
ghosts.
Years have not decreased my instinctive fan
cy for ethers' visitors ; and like Irving's head
less horseman, ghosts with and without beads
rush olter Lite's bridges, until Time's pathway
appears hedged with spectral realities, some of
pain and many more of pleasure.
Ghosts of "Might have beens" often haunt
the restless hours of leisure woettilly—
"For of all sad words of tongue or pen,
The saddest are these—'lt might have
been. "
At morn, at noon and at night, the spectres
of joy, success and high attainments which
might have been mine, had certain opportuni
ties been properly and earnestly improved, peer
sadly into the face and pathetically chide the
negligence of "Long ago."
Disappointed hopes are also ghosts arrayed
In the most ghostly habiliments of the dear
departed.
Hopes cherished and nursed with the deep
est solicitude and the most brilliant expecta
tions, strew thickly my pathway, like autumn
leaves crushed and dying.
Their former beauty is distorted, their pleas
ant associations are deth . roned, yea—" Dying,
Egypt, dying f'
Unfinished duties are ghosts of still more
startling import in the present and future of
life. Mount= 1 It requires courage of
small magnitude to undertake a herculean task
with myriads of air-castles filling the sunshine
of expectation, with scintillating rainbows of
brightest hues. Intricate patterns wrought in ,
patchworks of chintz. worsteds and silks ;'rare
paintings of exquisite scenery but of slow exe•
cotton ; drawings unhung, choice quotations
uneopied and wise sayings for the scrap-book
'Unfastened, all indidale the hhurs, days, weeks
of patient toil yet to be wrought, In the com
pletion so hopefully and eagerly commenced.
Like Herne, the 'bitter's Ghost, unfinished
tasks have formidab leantlers to push our wake
ful hours ; nod clanking, chains ever tugging at
our wrists to . complete neglected duties and
triumph over preerastination.
On the grave of Trims MUMS —1 et he man
place the ghost of an epitaph
Ghosts of plemsure,minglo their , mid-day or
gies with those of pain, and render life more
endurahlo and time more desirable. ~.
Anticipation looks mit from the windows or
the' saddened heart; scattering aunablne and
health over the troubled waters. "
Thoughts of loved ones far away who for
t:.:~,.
NUMBER 12.
years have cherished and loved us are ghost!
of a brighter generation.
Hidden hopes of a "better time coming" are
ghosts which buoy up the sinking ship that
alms valiantly for a desired and distant harbor,
and like Herne's Oak, withstands the battling
storms of opposition for years. Pleasure's
ghosts also flitting upon the noiseless wings of
the Press.
From hence, gush founts of richest enjoy
ment : from the least to the greatest of the
popular journals of the day, a rich freightage
of good thoughts conies to re-animate and re
instate the living Instincts of the human fami
ly.
But that which lies beyond, the grave turn- '
isbes most material for spiritual manifestation.
From.the savage to the sage, all have a mita- !
ble ghost of a belief from the famous Hunting
Grounds and phantom bride of the Indian
brave, to the Eternal City and final restora
tion of materiality of more modern thinkers.
As selfishness preponderates in individuals, so
their ghosts flatter them with the rich fruition t
of conceited self.
All have an army of ghosts at their elbow'
and It is well to make as good company
them as possible.
It is an old adage that "Every house has its
skeleton," and we aver that every heart has its
awn ghosts which sometimes goad to despera-
The news of the day teem with unaccount
able suicides. Only an Omniscient . Power
can reveal the ghosts real or unreal, who have
driven their wretched victims to destruction.
Cherish, 0, ye readers, goodly, kindly ghosts
which cheer, enlighten and Invigorate your
natures ; rather than base, sensual and degrad
ing ghosts who rob the soul of all that is beau
tiful, and plunge it into the darkest depths of
woe and perdition.
ORIGIN OF ICEBERGS
In the diary of the Challenger's voyage to the
Antarctic regions very accurate descriptions of
icebergs are given. At the beginning of -an
iceberg's independent existence it does not Pbs
gess those fantastic forms which are so often
described. Near the pole they are all huge,
flat-topped cubes of ice, from a quarter to half
a mile across and 150 to 250 feet above water.
This corresponds to submersion atuunnting to
nine times that height. This is the leeberg as
it appears just after breaking away from the
glacier, where it was formed, and before the
sun begins to affect it. As it floats into warm
er regions it slowly melts and assumes the al
most unimaginable forms so often seen. But
an iceberg is by no means short-lived. In the
Southern ocean, south of 64 degrees latitude,
the temperature of the water, except for a few
feet at the surface, where it is warmed by the
sun, is 29 degrees Fahrenheit. This is 3 de•
grees below the freezing point. Even the sur
face water close to the ice is of this tempers- ;
ture, so that the iceberg moves in a bath of •
this low temperature. Only in Summer is the
water warm enough to melt a notch around it
at the sea level This notch is never more 1 . 1
than thirty feet deep, and the waves striking t
in break down the overhanging cliff and the
iceberg rises somewhat, the notch deepening.
This action is most vigorous on the weather
side, which accordingly becomes the lightest,
causing the iceberg to turn slowly around. It
is to the cavities thus formed, surrounded by
ice of various thickness and containing more
or less water, that the rich colors of Icebergs
are due. "Where the crevasses," says the dia.
ry, "or other weak parts in the upper surface
of the parent glacier extend down to the water
line of the floating iceberg the sea, having a
less solid part to withstand it; soon excavates a
most , beautitully-deflned and picturesque caye,
the sides of which, reflecting light, color the
interior with an exquisite cobalt bine, the tint
of which increases in warmth and richness as
the depth extends. When these occur on the
sides that arc afterwards raised no description
can do justice to the picturesque appearance of
this line of fairy grottoes." The glaciers from
which icebergs are broken off reach tar out to
sea. A glacier of 2,000 feet in thickness will
have to push its way out to a depth of 1,800 i
and more feet before its front can be broken by •
the floating force of the water Such a glacier
pushing its way over an ocean bed haiing the e
' same slope as the Atlantic basin off the coast •
of .Now Jersey, would touch bottom for more
than 240 miles beyond the land, and for the •
whole of this distance glacier markings would •
be found. The observations on the tempera
tura above spoken of show that the glacier
does not break of by overweight due to under. •
mining, but is broken by the buoyant pressure
of the water.
THOUGHTS FOR SATURDAY NIGHT
The beginning of things is in our own pow
er, but the end thereof resteth st pod's dispos
ing. .
There is a transcendent power in example.
We reform others unconsciously when we walk
uprightly.
It requires less piety to speak and hour on •
convention platform than to visit the tenement
house of the poor man from cellar to garret.
It was the cry of a dying man, whose life
had been poorly spent : "Oh, that my ban•
once could be gathered up and buried with
me I"
A beautiful answer was given by - a- little
Scotch girl. When her class in school was ex
amined, she replied to the question, "What is
patience 7" "Wait a wee, and &ma weary."
Slander is a poison which extinguishes chari
ty, both in the slanderer and in the person who
listens to it ; so that a single calumny. May
prove fatal to an infinite number of souls, since
it kills not only those who circulate It, but also
all those who do not reject It —.St./krnard,
The first years_ol every man's Weimar or
professioaal life arc years of education. They
are intended to be in the order of nature and
Providence. Doors do not open to a man until
he Is prepared to enter them. The man with
out a wedding garment may get In surrepti
tiously, but he Immediately goes out with . ll,
Ilea in his car: We think it is the experience
of most suCceistul men who have watched the
course of their lives in retrospect, that when
ever they have arrived at a point where they
were thoroughly prepared to go up higher, the
door to a higher place has swung back of itself,
and they have heard the call to enter. The old
die; or voluntarily retire liar rest. The best
men who stand ready to take' their places
will succeed to their position and and its bott
ors and emoluments.—Dr, Holland.
Celia Burlclgli says ; "I see no reason why a
girl should not be taught the use of the Jack-,
knife, the !winer and saw, to drive a nail;
tightent arrow, or put up stuttf-lit tier room.
She should, it possible, have a garden, and . be
taught to takes pride ht her acquaintance with
nature." -
A green grocer—one who trusts. •