Wyoming democrat. (Tunkhannock, Wyoming Co., Pa.) 1867-1940, December 23, 1868, Image 1

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    113 no nii n g icmonat.
illijomiitg fJmiitrat
A Democratic weekly _
•voted to Poit -
lin New?, the Arts j
u j >eienees.te. I'uli- *1 lTT"" r-' /
iiiiei -very W e lues- ilogjggt.
j it funkhannock
I'crai* -i ""py I y e ar, in adv.inre) >2,00 ; if
a paid within six mouths, #2.50 will be charged
V 0 paper will be DISCONTINUED, until all are
rearajtiwe paid; unless at the option of puldi
"ue -quare one or three insertions 51.50
livery Mt'osequt nt insertion lew than 9 50
ADVERTISING, as mav he agreed upon.
PATENT MEDICINES and other advertisements i>y
the column :
One column, 1 year,
Half column, I year j™
"lhird column, 1 year,
Fourth column, I year, 20
ilusilitss Cards of one square or less, per year
ith paper, *9
R >F EDITORIAL or LOCAL ITEM advertising—with
uYAdvertisement—ls els. per tine. Liberal terms
n i.de with permnncnt advertisers.
TOR'S NOTICES, of the usual length, $2,30
OBITUARIES,-exceeding fen lines, each; RELI
GIOUS and LITERARY NOTICES, not of general
uteres!, or.e half tne regular rates.
* :s?* Advertisements must be banded in BV TUES
AY Noes, to insure insertion the same week.
tali kinds netly executed aftd at prices to suit
tie time?.
WORK must he paid fur, when ordered
Business Notices.
I i LAW Office on Tioga Street Tunkhanuoek i'a
i L. Newton Centre. LuzernoCounty i'a.
V/• Offi-e at the Court House, in Tunkhauoek
b. vt.iuing Co. Fa. i
U T >i. Fia'lt, ATTORNEY ATLAW of-1
tec in Stark's Lrie k Block Tioga St., Tunk
r. i: nock, I'a.
i ? LOU AT LAW, Nicholson, Wyoming Co-, Pa
L-j e rial attention given to settlement of deco
ari.i's estates
.?, m Pa., Dec.s. ISfi"— v7nl9yl
Al • iecting and Real Lotate Agent. lowa Lands :
i . sale. SciunO'U, Pin. 1011. I
. SrERIIOCT A DEWITT, Attorneys' at Law—j
v> Office, opposite the Bank, Tunkhannock, Pa. I
J. will at.end promptly to ail calls in his pro
:c. -.on. May he found at his Office at tho Drug
.re, or at his residence on l'utmau Sroct, formerly
c tipieJ hy A. K. Peckham Esq.
f| R. L. T. BURNS
' U has pcrmanent
— . V lj located in Tunk
Hsnock Borough
E' • ' "gSp and respectfully
~&t $$ t-'jr tender? hi? profes
\ TJi i jj. ~~ir sional services to
0.-flce en second floor of NEW JEWELRY STORE, on
TIOGA St. vS-nIS-6ra.
17J, 172, 174 X 170 Greenwich Street
The unpersigned takes pleasure in annonncing to i
- nuincnuts friends and patrons that from this
the charge of the Pacific will tie
$.2.50 PER DAY.
E>-.ne M.le Proprietor of this house, and therefore |
fr. ir .ai tiie too common exaction of an inordinate i
-••• \ ! i- tit7l > able to meet the downward tenilen- ;
-i . i prices without any tailing oft'of service. :
It will now. us heretofoie, be his aim to maintain ,
i.iimished the favorable reputation of the Pacific,
*lii< i. it ha? enjoyed tor many years, as one of the
b-.-t of travelers' hotels.
.Hi: 1 ABLE will be bountifully supplied with
n- r. delicacy of the season.
nil ATTENDANCE will be found efficient and ;
THE LOCATION will be toiin.l convenient for
■l. business calls them in the lower part of
" ■ iiy. and of ready access to all Kail Koajl and
v- tin boat Line?.
Oct loth 1868. nIS fim.
1 i.een refilled and furnished in the latest style,
i icry attention will be given to the comfort and
' Tivenience of those who putronire the House.
11, HUFFORD. Proprietor. '
T U! niioek, I'a., Juue 17, 1368—v7n1l .
Tli? undersigned having lately purchased the
BUEHLER HOUSE " property, has already com
menced such alterations and improvements as will
leader this old and popular House equal, if not supe
rior, to any Hotel in the City of Harrisburg.
\ continuance of the public patronage is refpeet
faiiy solicited.
Till- 1 establishment has recently been refitteJ an
4 furnished in tbe latest style Every attention
,( i to the comfort itnd convenience of those
patronise the Houe.
T 1J \VA LL, Owner an<l Proprietor-:
Yuakhinnock, September 11, IS6I.
Towantda, r/v
Late ; T "BRAINARP Hoi st, ELMIRA, N Y
t!) V$ MEAN- HOTEL, i- one ot tne LARGEST
' ARRANGED Houses in the country—lt
~ J ' :i E P in the most modern and improved style
'"" 3 * re spared to make it a pleasantand
.j H nce tot all,
Latent Jf*ews.
Late arrival of New Goods,
Great Bargains at the New Store of
C. Detriclt,
in S. Stark's Bri;k Block
Having just returned from the City, J am now
opening an entire New Stock of
; a til one of the lorgest and richest assortments ever
ofiered in this community. Consisting of
of Best Manufactures and Latest Styles,
Ladies Cloths and Saoqueings, Cloths,
Cassimeres, Vestings
Satenctt®. Tweeds,
Jeans, Cottonades,
Drills, Denims,
Ticks. Checks,
Shirtings, Bleached
A Brown. Shawls,
Sontags, Hoods.
Furs, Ladies' Reticules, Shopping Bags and Baskets.
Latest ;Styles,
Kid, Silk, Lisle Thread, Cotton
Gloves, Hosiery, Notions,
Toilet and Fancy
\c., ire-, Sr.,
Black and Colored Velvets,
Beads, Ball and Bugle Trimmings
A Large Quantity of BEST STVLE HOOP SKIRTS j
and CORSETTS, seleect from Manufacturers, nt
greatly redu od prices,
FLANNELS all Colors and Qualities.
Clo tiling",
Furnishing Goods.
of Latest Styles,
Ladies'. Misses', and Children's Kid Prunelle Mo
rocco an 1 Calf Gaiters, Shoes, and Slippers,
Wall and (V'imlow Pape Window
Curtains. A Curtain Fix
tures, Carpets A
0 il -
Go tbs. Chini,
Glass, and Stone Ware.
Tinware, — made expressly for this
Trade, ar.d warranted to give satisfaction,
20 per cent. Cheaper than the usual rates in tbi*
Horse Shoes.
] lor so Shoe Nails,
Nail Rods,
Paint Oils,
Painter i
Material, Putty, fViudoie Glass, Kerosene O
Hail, 'Barlor. Stand, and //and
Lanterns, Lamp Chimnies, Shades,
and '/turners.
and FISH.
BRUSHES, ot all kinds.
These goods have been selected
with great care to suit the wants of
this community, and will be sold as
heretofore, at the lowest living rates
for cash or exchanged for country,
produce at market prices. Thankful
for the past liberal patronage, I shal
endeavor by strict attention to my
business, to merit a continuance ol
the same, and will try to make the
future still more attractive and ben
eficial to customers.
When Is the time for prayer 1
With the first beams that light the morning sky,
Ere ior the toils of day thou dost prepare,
Lift up thy thoughts on high ;
Commend thy loved ones to His watchful care !
Morn is the time for prayer !
And in the noontide hour,
If worn by toil or by sad cares opprest,
Then unto God thy spirit's sorrow pour,
And He will give thee rest ;
Thy voice shall reach Him thro' the fields of air :
Noon is the time for prayer !
When the bright suu hath set—
Whilst yet eve's glowing colors deck the skies—
When with the loved, at home, again thou'st met,
Then let thy prayer arise
For those who in thy joys and sorrows share-
Eve is the time for prayer !
And when the stars come forth —
When to the trusting heart sweet hopes are given,
And the deep stillness of the hour gives birth
To purc"bright dreams of heaven-
Kneel to thj God—ask strength, life's ills to bear-
Night is the time Tor prayer !
When is the time for prayer ?
In every hour while life is spared thee —
In crowds or solitude—in joy or care—
Thy thoughts should heavenward flee ;
At home—at morn anil eve—with loved ones there
Bend thou the knee in prayer !
Blow, ye stormy winds of winter,
Drive the chilly, drifting snow,
Clojely housed, the busy printer
Heeds not how the winds may blow.
Click, click, his type go dropping.
Here and there upon his case,
As he stands for hour? popping
Every letter In its place.
Heaven send the useful printer
Every comfort mortals need,
For our nights were dull in winter
Ilad we not the "news to read.
Sad would be the world's condition
If no printer boys were found ;
Ignorance and su[>erstition,
Sin and suffering would übound.
Yea, it is the busy printer
Rolls the ear of knowledge on,
And a gloomy metal winter
Soon would reign if he were gone.
Money's useful, yet the winters
Fill not half so high a place
As tbe busy, toiling printers.
Fingering typo before the case.
Yet while tho typo they're busy setting,
Oft some thankless popinjay,
Leaves the country, kindly letting
Printers whistle for their lmy.
Oh ! ingratitude ungracious ! •
Are there on enlightened soil—
Men with minds so incapacious
As to slight the printer's toll t
Sec him ! how extremely busy,
Fingering type before the case,
Toiling, till he's almost dliiy,
To exalt the human race.
STRONGER.— After the election of LStH
the Democrats had the Governor of but a
single State in the Union, Delaware.—
Bramlette, of Kentucky, was not then a
Democrat, having been elected by what
was called the "Union" party. After the
election of ISGB, w have the Governors of
Connecticut, New York, New Jersey, Dela
ware, Maryland, Kentucky and California.
Me have also recovered the State of Oregon
which cast its vote for Seymour, and the
States of Georgia and Louisiana, by im
mense majorities. These three States will
have Democratic Governors in auotlier
year, which w ill give us the control of the
executive power in ten States. This shows
the recuperative energy of the Democracy.
Next year we shall defeat Geary, which
will bring Pennsylvania once more into
line. M'e are growing stronger. Courage,
Democrats! Forward in the good cause !
Now is the time for effective work. Your
neigbors" heads are cool nt present. Talk
with them.— Ex.
A FAIR TUBS*. — "I understand, Mr.
Jones, that you can turn anytningeater
than any other man in tow n. "
"Yes, Mr. Smith. 1 think so."
"Ahem ! Mr. Jones, I don't like to brag,
but there is nobody on earth can turn a
thing as well as I can whittle."
"Pooh ! nonsense, Mr. Smith ! Talk
about whittling—what can you whittle as
nice as I can turn ?"
"Anything—every tiling, Mr. Jones. You
just name the article that I can't whittle
that you can turn, and I will give this dol
lar if I do not do it to the satisfaction of
these gentlemen present. " { Here Mr.
Smith tables the dollar.)
"Ahem ! Well, then, Mr. Smith, suppose
we take two grindstones, just for a trial,
you know—you whittle the one while I
turn the other."
A fair "sell." Mr. Smith started a mo
ment, and vamosed. The forfeited dollar
was quickly disposed of by those present,
with great glee and satisfaction.
*aTAt one time a woman coultl Larilly
walk through the streets of San Francisco
without having every one pause and gaze
on her, and a child was so rare, that
once in a theatre in that city where a wo
man had taken her infant, when it be
gan to cry, just as the orchestra commen
ced to play, a man ia the pit cried, "Stop
those tiddles and let the baby cry. I have
not heard such a sound in ten years." The
audience applauded the sentiment, the or
chestra stopped and the baby continued its
performance, amid unbounded enthusiasm.
" To Speak his Thoughts is Every Freeman's Right. "
All my life-long I had known J{ury
Moore. All my life hud loved her.
Our mothers were playmates and first
cousins. My first recollections of u boy, in
a red frock and inorrocco shoes, rocking a
cradle in which reposed sunny-haired blue
eyed baby, not quite a year old. That boy
was myself—Harry Church ; that blessed
baby was Mary Moore.
Later still, I see myself at the little school
house, drawing my little chair up to the
door that Mary might ride home. Many a
beating have I gained on such occassions
for other boys besides me liked her, and
she, I fear was something of a flirt, even in
her pinafore. How elegantly she came
tripping down the steps when I called her
name ! How sweetly her blue eyes looked
at me ! • How gaily rang out her merry
laugh ! No one but Marry could ever bring
her heart so soon to her lips. I followed
that laugh from the days of my chilhood
till I grew an awkward, blushing youth—l
followed it though the heated noon of man-,
hood—and now, when the frosts of ago are j
silvering my hair , and muuy children .
climb upon my knee and call me "father," i
I tiud that the memories of youth are yet,
strong, and that, even in gray hairs, 1 am i
following the music still.
When I was fifteen the first great sorrow
of my life came upon my heart. 1 was
sent to school, and was obliged to part with
Mary. We were not to see etu-h otln-r for
three long years. This, to me, was like a
sentence of death, for Mary was like life it
self to me. IJtit hearts are tough tilings
nfter all.
1 left college in all the flush and vigor of
my nineteenth t ear. L had grown into a
tall, slender strippling, with a very good
opinion of myself, both in general and par
ticular. If I thought of Mary Moore it was
to image how I could dazzle and bewilder
her with my good looks and wouderful
mental attainments, and never thinking
sin- might dazzle me still more. I was a
coxcomb, I knew but as youth and good
looks liavc fled, I trust that I i s be be,
lieved when 1 say, that self-conceit has left
me also.
An advantageous proposal was made me
at'tliat time, and accepting it, !. gave up
all idea of a profession, and prepared to go
t>> Imba. In my hurried visit home for
two days, I saw nothing of Mary Moore.—
She had gone to a boarding-school at some
distance, and was not expected home until
the following May. 1 uttered out a sigh to
the memory of my little blue-eyed play
mate, and then called myself a man
In a year, I thought, as the vehicle
whirled away from our door, iu a year, or
three years at the very most, I will return
and if Mary is as pretty as she used to be
why, then, perhaps, I may marry her.
And thus I settled tho future of a young
lady whom I had not seen for four years.—
I never thought of the possibility of Iter re
fusing me—never dreamed that she would
not condescend to accept mv offer.
But now I know that, had Mary *uot me
then site would have dispised me. Perhaps
in the scented stud nt she might have found
plenty of sport; but as for loving me, I
should perhaps have found myself mista
ken. India was my salvation, not merely
because of my success, but because my la
borious industry had counteracted the evil
in my nature, and has made me a better
man. M'heu at tin- end of three years I
prepared to return. I said nothing of the
reformation of myself wlTieli I knew had
taken place.
They loved me as I was, I murmured to
myself, and they find out for themselves
whether lam better worth loving than for
I packed up many a token from that land
of romance and gold, for the friends I had
hoped to meet; the gift for Mary Moore, I
selected with a beating heart; it was a ring
of virgin gold, with my name and Iter's
engraved inside—that was all, and yet tin
sight of the little toy strangely thrilled inc
as I balanced it upon the tip of my linger.
To the eyes of others it was but a small,
plain circlet suggesting some thoughts,
perhaps by its elegance, of the beautiful
white hand that was to wear it. But not
to me—how much was embodied there —all
these delights were hidden within that lit
tle ring of gold.
Tall, bearded and sun-bronzed, I knock
ed at the door of my father's house. The
lights in the parlor window, and the hum
of conversation and clieeful laughter show
ed me that company was assembled tnere.
I hoped that sister Lizzie would come to
the door, and I might greet my family
when no strange eye was looking careless
ly on.
But uo—a servant answered my summons.
Tliey were too merry iu the parlor to heed
the long absent one who asked for admit
tance. A bitter thought like this ran
through my mind as I heard the sound
from the parlor and saw the half-suppress
ed smile on the servant's face.
I hesitated a moment before making my
self known or asking for any of the family.
And while I stood silent a stranger appa
rently grew up before me ; from behind ;
the servant peered out a small golden head
a tiny delicate form followed and a sweet |
childish face, with blue eyes was lifted to
mine—so like those of one who had bright
ened my boyhood, that I started with a
sudden feeling of pain.
"What is your name, my pretty?" I
asked, while the wondering servant held
the door.
"Mary Moore."
"And what else ? " I asked quickly.
She lifted her hands to shade her eyes.—
! I had seen that very attitude in another, in
my boyhood, many and many a time—and
: she answered in a sweet, birdlike voice :
"Mary Moore Chester," lisped the child.
My heart sunk down like lead. Here
| was an end to all the bright hopes of my
; youth and manhood. Frank Chester, my
I boyish rival, who often tried in vain to
usurp my place beside the girl, had suc
! eeeded at last, and had won her away from
me. Tins was the child—his child and
I sank, body and soul, beneath this blow
, and hiding my face in my hands, leaning
against the door, while my heart wept tears
|or blood. The little one gazed at me,
! grieved and amazed, and put up her pretty
lips as if about to cry, while the |>erpleied
: servant stepped to the parlor door, and
called my sister out to see who it was that !
j conducted himself so strangely. I heard
I a slight step and a pleasant voice say- I
"Did you wish to see my father, sir ?"
I looked up. There stood a pretty sweet i
! faced maiden of twenty, and much chang- i
oil front the dear little sister I had loved so !
well. T looked at her for a moment, and j
then stilling the tempest of my heart, by a
mighty effort, I opened mv arms and
said :
* "Lizzie, don't vou know me ?"
"Harry! oh, my brother Harry!"she
cried, and threw herself upon my breast.
Sin- weft as if her heart would break.
I could not weep. I drew her gently in
to t lie lighted parlor, and stood with her
before them all.
There was a rush and cry of joy, and
then my father and my mother sprang to
ward-? mi-, and welcomed me home with
heartfelt tears. Oh. how sweet such a
greeting to the way-worn traveler' And
as I held my dear old mother to my breast
and grasped my father's hand while Lizzie
clung beside. 1 felt that all was not yet
lost, and although another had secured
life's eho'e st blessing many a joy remained
for iu" in tic dear sanctuary of home.
Tin re were four other inmates of the
room, who had risen on my sudden en
trance. One was the blue-eyed child whom
i had already seen, and who stood beside
Frank Chester, clinging to his hand. Near
by stood Lizzie Moore, Mary's eldest sister
and in a distant corner, to which she had
hurriedly retreated, when my name was
spoken, stood a tall and slender figure,
half hidden by the heavy window curtains
that fell to the floor.
Mlien the flrst rapturous greeting was
over. Lizzie led me forward with a timid
grace, and Frank Chester grasped my
"M'elcomct home my boy !" he said with
loud oheeful tones I remember it well.—
"You have changed so that I would have
never known you, but no matter about
that—your heart is in the right place I
know." "How can you say he is changed?"
said my mother, gently, "to lie sure, lie
looks older, and graver and more like a man
than when he went away; but his smiles
aitd eyes are the same as ever. It is a
heavy heart that changes him. He is mv
liov still."
Heaven help me ! At that moment I
felt like a boy, and it would have been a
blessed relief to have wept ou her bosom,
tts I had done in infancy. But I kept down
the Is-ating of my heart and the tremor of
my lip, and answered quietly as I looked
full in his handsome face.—
"Quit have changed, too, Frank, but I
think for the better."
"Oh, yes, —thank you for the compli
ment," he answered with a hearty laugh.—
"My wife tells me I grow handsomer ev
ery day."
His wife. Could I hear that name and
keep silence still V
"And have you seen my little girl ?" he
added, lifting the infant in his arms, and
kissing her crimson cheek. "I tell you,
Harry, there is not such another in the
world. Don't you think she looks very
much like her mother used to ? "
"Very much ! " I faltered.
"Hallo !" cried Frank with a suddenness
which made me start violently. "I have
forgotten to introduce you to my wife ;I
believe she and you used to be playmates
in your younger days—yes Harry !" and
he slapped me on the back, "for the sake
of old times and because you were not at
the wedding, 1 will give you leave to kiss
her once—but mind old fellow you are not
to repeat tlie ceremony. Come, here she
is, and I for one want to see how you will
manage the operation."
He pushed Lizzie, laughing and blushing
towards me. A gleam of light and hope,
almost too dazzling to bear, came "over me,
and I cried out before I thought. "Not
I must have betrayed my secret to every
one in the room. But nothing was said,
even Frank, in general so obtuse, was this
time silent. I kissed the fair cheek of the
young wife, and hurried to the silent figure
looking out of the window.
"Mary—Mary Moore," I said in a low,
eager tone, "have you no welcome to give
to a wanderer ? "
She turned and laid her hand in mine,
and said hurriedly—
. | "I am glad to see you here, Harry."
Simple words, and yet how blessed they
made me. I would not have yielded her
| ui) that moment for an emperor's crown.—
! For there was the happy home group and
! the dear fire-side with sweet Mary Moore,
i The eyes I had dreamed of by day and
night, were fallen beneath the ardent gaze
i of mine, and the sweet face I had so long
j prayed to see was there beside me. I never
- knew the meaning of happiness, until that
: moment.
Many years have passed since that happy
night, and the hair that was dark and
glossy then, is fast turning gray. I am now
grown to be an old man, and c-an look back
to a happy, and I hope well-spent life.—
i And yet, sweet as it has been, I would not
recall a single day, for the love that made
jmy manhood so bright, shines also upon
i my white hairs.
An old man ? Can this be so? At heart
11 am as young as ever. And Mary, with
j her bright hair parted smoothly from a
i brow that has a slight furrow upon it. is
j still the Mary of other days. To me she
t can never grow old or changed. The heart
! that held her infancy, and sheltered her in
! the flush and beauty of womanhood, can
j never cast her out until life shall cease to
j warm it. Not even then, for love still lives
The following adroit trick was recently
played upon the frequenters of an English
\ illage inn :
A genteelly dressed man walked in and
professed to be tired. Having taken re
freshments, lie said he would like to take a
nap for an hour. To sleep he went, and in
a very business-like way, in a chair, and a
sound nap he seemed to enjoy. Before it
expired the usual somke-pipe company be
gan to drop in, and, among the rest, two
strangers made their appearance. One of
the company remarked that it was un
pleasant to have a man sleeping in a pu! .li<-
room with valuable property about him.
such as the sleeper, who had a fine-looking
gold chain displayed on his waistcoat, and
apparently connected with a watch in one
of his pockets. To this remark one of the
strangers replied :
"Pooh ! that's no gentleman, I'm sure ;
he's one ov them ere swell snobs as is al
ways a takin' ov the people in. I dare say
he has no watch at all ; but I'll soon see."
Suiting the action to the word, the stran
ger softly drew from the sleeping man's
pocket a piece of wood, round and about
the size of a watch.
"I thought so," said he ; "there's a pret
ty watoli for you," holding it up so that the
company might see it. and then returned
it to the owner's pocket.
By-and-by the sleeper awoke, and called
briskly for a glass of brandy and water.
He assumed a patronizing way with the
farmers, which soon raised a desire to put
him down. Accordingly one of the seni
ors required to lie informed tfce time of day.
"MTiv," said the gentleman, "the fact is,
I had a drop too much last night, and for
got to wind up my watch."
"Just so !" ejaculated the senior, "you
forgot to wind it up ? You'd lie puzzled to
do that. I should say : wouldn't you now ?"
"M'ell, sir, you seem to take more no
tice of such a trifle than there is any call
for ; but the truth is. I have not a watch
key about me, and mine is rather a peculi
ar watch."
Here a burst of Laughter ensued, and a
number of jokes were passed nbout the pe
culiar style of the watch. At last one ol
the company loudly told him that he had
no watch at all about him ; whereupon the
amazed individual hastily clapped his hand
to his waistcoat pocket, declaring that, un
less the watch had been stolen since he had
been in the room, he had one. Satisfied,
apparently, by the external application to
his pocket, he said :
"It's all right; my watch is here; I
thought you had been playing a trick with
"IU bet you five pounds you have no
watch," bawled out one of his tormentors.
Another offered to bet liim ten pounds;
and one of the strangers said he hadn't five,
but there were two sovereigns which he
would like to double by betting in the same
The awakened looked at them in appar
ent surprise, and asked if they were seri-
They all stuck to it that he had no watch,
and then he took out his purse and pro
duced five and ten-pound notes to the
amount of bets offered him. The stakes
were posti-d, and then the thoroughly awa
kened sleeper coolly pulled out the piece of
wood, at which a hoarse laugh arose again.
The laughter was soon on the other side,
when, touching a spring in the bit of wood,
it flew open and disclosed a very handsome
gold watch enclosed within it.
The gentleman gave a very plausible rea
son for preferring so odd-looking a ease
for lii's watch, with which his dupes might
feel satisfied or not. He had received
their money to the extent of £4O ; and they
had bought their knowledge of the "time
of day."
TERMS, $2.00 Per. ANNUM, in Advance
10. 21.
LOVE.—The strongest passion of the hu
nian heart, is the one most lightly regard
ed and most stoutly denied. How many
, thousands of beings are victims of the pow
, er of love ! The current of how many lives
have been changed for better or for worse
by that subtle power, which the whole
world pretends to scoff at, to deny, and to
j ridicule ! The shallowness, superficiality,
and hypocrisy of the age cannot be better
. illusted, than by its claim to a sort of stoi
. cal indifference on the subject of love. - -
Speak of a young gentleman as being prob
ably in love with a certain lady, and he re
plies with some coarse, unfeeling remark,
the effect of which is to impress his hearer
with the idea of his contempt for a senti
ment wliieh may even then be shaping the
course of his future life. He is ashamed,
indeed, of being even suppected of enjoy -
i ing that dearest feeling of the human heart.
| A< soon would he be charged with the <sJin
j mission of a crime, as to be even suspected
of fining. This he learns from earliest
youth to regard as a weakness, to make
light of it. and to study to be a stoic. Why
all this duplicity V Why deny the laws of
j nature, and mock the purest and holiest
sentiment- vhieli God gave to mankind ?
Why lower the estimate of that Heaven,
from theb'. -soi and joys escaped from
who :- p-avly sates, mankind gets its first
realization in loving and being loved?—
Why risouM pure woman blush for the
loving of a worthy and true man ? Why
'-peak lightly and frivoluslv to her compan
ions o; the love or loving of others? In
of i i- v. : T, why be ashamed to be a nat
ural woman or a natural man ! .
HOME. SWEET HOME. —How few of those
blest with good and happy homes are com
petenl to appreciate the trials and suffer
ings of the homeless wanderer on earth's
barren and cheerless highway! He who
ha - I o home, who enjoys not the fragrance
< ? t! >1 -art's summer flowers of the hearth,
who is alone, without wife, or child, or
is indeed a - tranger in a strange land ; and
yet how many such wanderers roam about
ov< :• the earth, seeking, but never finding,
that rest and sweet peace for which the
soul cries aloud in its sadness ! Paine, the
author of that beautiful song, "Homo,
Sweet Home," was one such. No home's
happy door op ued its welcome invitation
to receive the sad spirit which pined for its
rest, and its loving, and its cares. Ho was
a liomch -.s wanderer in the world, and
died ultimately in a strange land, unknown
and uucarctl for : but his soul cries aloud
for "home, sweet home," and thousands
of hearts feel the yearning and answer his
sad spirit, by intuitive responses, wliero
ever his sweet song is sung.
YorxHFt i. MAIUUAGE.—There is a great
diversity of opinion on the subjeet of
youthful or early marriages ; but we think
this difference i* attributable to a want of
sufficient knowledge' of philosophy, the
character of the races, climatic influence,
and other matters upon which theubject
rests. We d; not believe that in the Uni
ted States early marriages are best, partic
ularly in the Northern, Eastern, or West
ern States : while in tropical countries,
there can be no surer moral code invoked
than that of youthful or early marriages.
In all cold cimates, it is well known that
mankind • develop less rapidly but enjoy
greater longevity than in tropical climates,
where all nature is luxuriant, of rapid de
velopment. and where life-time is confined
to a briefer period than elsewhere. A girl
of sixteen, fifteen, fourteen, thirteen, or
even twelve years (if age, is a ripe woman
in the tropic*. In the States, at sixteen
young lodic-, are only contemplating mar
riage ; while at twelve, tlioy ore but chil
dren : in the tropics they arc mothers with
one or more ehildrc n. In the States, the
woman of thirty is in the prime of life ;in
the tropics she is past middle age. or re
garded as veil advancing. Yet the climate
rule is not absolute; for there are, no
doubt, hundreds of girls fully developed in
our land, competent to make good mothers
at fifteen, but they are rare cases compared
with poplation, and may oftenest be found
in the Southern portion of the Union. But
the question of early marriage is not con
fined to this country, but has elicited com
ment and critical examination in England
and elsewhere. In Scotland marriages of
tliis kind are unusually rare, although in
that happy kingdom minors are not re
quired to obtain the consent of their guar
dians before slipping on'the matrimonial
noose. The census returns of 1861 show
that in Byston -US husbands and 175 wives
were married at the age of 15 and under.
Bromley 51 husbands and 117 wives of the
same precocious age. Stockport, as a local
journal wrote, "assorted its proud pre-emi
nence" by contributing to the census re
turns 59 husbands and 179 wives who were
united before birth-day had
passed. We believe, however, that it is
best for wojaen not to take the responsibil
ity of becoming mothers until eighteen uud
past, and experience proves that the heal
thiest and happiest mothers and grand
mothers are those who, as a general tiling,
married long past twenty. But we do not
believe that girls will approve of this ad