. • •-' — .*-..?-' 7---- - 71-7- " mayYlls ' l 4 " .f-! -I f-L; T3'' ' - 4, A' ' L o iltriiii:. l .. ..trielitftsrer2t o "r . :: ' '' '''." ' 9- -- .....st-t&irizti3OA _ r , . . . ',-,-• .' .- - 6.;i0. • • 0 , . , . , - • . 1- . ' il ii : \ - . . . • ~ . '. . . ~ • . . .. ,-. „....,,•', -1• - :- ': ::::: - '..0, .1 - ~ , f .'..- ' - , , ,..;ic.'.. .1.. - :-;',.„ . . . .. , . • ' . i ~, ~ -, -,- ' ',. , y1: - ,.., ,, , • , ~, , J . ‘,..• , ~.. -.' , ; 1 :•-• - ~. ~H''', i - ' • . , . . I • ,' • . . . . _ . . . . . . . . BY • 'HAVILAY ' 84 .- C. RVS E Ft'. FAREWELL TO LOVE. gars.well to love's last golden dream, The sweetest that my life has ever . known! • Farewell to Hope, Whtise radient beam Made bright a. path eo dark and lone i 'Twits sweet to hope that thou would'st Prize The undivided' love I gave;- • That hope in dark, death ruin lies, ' And Loveltinst elitly grave.. I •, 'Twas sweet e'en lor a day to-feel That thOu were allot earth to me, ' ivoixiates pr,ideoouid nptitonceal My heart's devotedness to thee.- 'Twits sweet to think an arm like thine, T As man tan shield,W.Ould shleld'my form, Protect me when thesunlvohld shine, pi'is the thickly 'gtithering` starlit.' 'Twits sweet tObOtie that' I` might Stand,' eto strong in' Love; by thee when th/ Would'ashed.a tear, loving hand To swoOth thy'T pillow, tan thy brow. 'Thas sweet to dream, e'en foe a day', Together we 'night ,tread Life's 'road, Walk hand "in hand the upward way, And help each 'Gther on'to God. . . In. rain 'heath Heaven's vault of blue, I built for Earth and Time once more The Father saw ;—Ah, weill lie knew My heart's Idolatry before. Yet thou perchance: may's ' t live to see A day when thou 'would'st glacay hold The.wealth long treasured, offered thee, 'Bove honor, tame, or glittering gold. The dream is past ! beneath a yoke I shunned before, I bow again; And bless the Hand which . dealt a stroke That gave my-heart the keenest pain: The dream is past—"l might have been;" When earth looks dark 'tis bright above, The pain is past,—all calm, serene, bul a last Farewell to Love I-- THE BETTER WAY. One evening, arthe twilight was dusk ing into deeper shades, Farmer Welton stood in his dooryaid with a gun in his hands, and, saw a , dog coming out from his shed. It was not hie dog, for his was of a light color, while this was a surly black. The shed alluded to was open in front, with double doors, . for the -passage of carts ; and this shed was part of 'a con tinuous structure connecting the barn with the house.. Around back of this she'd was the sheep fold. ' There had been trouble upon Farmer Welton's place. Dogs had been killing his sheep—and some' of the 'very best at that. He bad declared in his wrath that he would shoot ,the first stray dog he found prowling about the pretnises. On this evening, by chance, he had been car rying his gin, from the house to the barn, when the canine intruder appeared.— Aye, and in the barn he had been taking the skin AVM a valuable sheep, which iiii h been Billed and mangled With tiger ish erocity. o when be saw the strange dog nom- . ing through' his shed, : he brought the gun to his shoulder, and,' ; with' quick, sure aim, 4red. 'The dog gaps n leap and. bowl, and having whisked around .in a circle two or three; tones, he . bounded 4* jp a tangent, yelping painfully and was soon lost to sight. , . "Hallo`! what's to pay now, Welton ?" "Ah---is that you Frost ?" `.!Yes. Ye been shootin' something, haven't yer ?" , • ' ---, "I've sbot-a' - dog, I think." , "Y -e-s I. teed him scootin' <ff. It was Braarett's, I reckon." Before the' farmer could say any fur therP : his , wife called him from the porch, and he went in. • • Very 4hortly afterward a boy and girl eame'l3llC through the 'shed as ;the dog i had eolith: nowt back of Welt9ef's farm :distant half. a mile of so, Saw and grist milli, with quite a little settlement around 4t, and the people having occasion to go on foot from that , section to the farms on the hill could cut offs leng,dis taut:* hycerossing Welton's lot. __lle boy . and girl - were children 'of Mi. - Brackett. When they reached 'heme they were met by a. =scene, of dire confusion. -Old. ptkio, th e : grand old Newfonndland dog —the loviog and the loved—thetrne and the faithful—bad come boine shot thro' the litadottid was dying. The .chddren threw themselves upon the Ahaggy 'mate and Wept and Moaned in agony.. 14.i.13rtuikett arrived_just- as the dog, breathed his last. One-of the,blder boys stood.hy with a lighted lantern, Jet it had gr9wn quite - dark now,u.nd the farm er saw 'what had , happened. "Who did this.?" be asked, groaningly.,, "John Welton did it," Said Toni -Free, coming:up at,that moment. "He's been basin' sheep r and I guess- he's got kind of wrathy °' "But my dog never killed a sheep— never lie's been reared to care for sheep. How came he down there ?" "He went over to the mill with Sue and me," said the to. -boy, sobbing as he spoke, - "and he- was running ahead' of us toward .home. heard a; gun - just before we got to' Mr. Welton's, but, oh ! I did. not think be could havi shot poor Carlo. ' Kr.,Braokett was fairly hold° himself. To fay be was angry. would not. express it:: had loved tbat 9 , dote.- - ,it had been', the chief 'pet' nt bie household tOr years.- lie was not a man ; in the : habit Pint profane language, but on the present oc casion a fierce oath escaped him ; and in that frame of mind—literally boiling with hOt wrath and indignation—he ,star ed for Welton's: . _ John Welton and . Peter. Biackett had been neighbors from -their earliest_ days, andfAhey had 'been friends, too. Between theltwo families there. bad been a bond `of luve;and good will, apdltspirit of frater. natAinduesS Hand regard and marked thAr.intercuurso. Both the. farmers we , hardworking- men, ‘ with Strong feel, WO' and positive characteristic& They be Tinged -to the same - religious society ana sympathized in 'politics.' Ther had warm discus,iiont, but newer, yet a direct falling-out. Of the two Welton woe ‘ the More intelleatual, and perhaps a little more tinged with pride .thu was 1 his neighbor. But they were both hearty men, enjoying life ter the good it gave them. Mr.Welton entered his ; kitchen, and stood the empty gun up behind • the door. ..,•"•What's: the mattet,• .John asked, as . she saw bis troubled face.. - "I'm afraid I've done a bad thing," he replied, regrAfally. "I -fesr Lhave shot Brackett's dog." . "Oh; John 1" • . "But I didn'cicnoW . whose dog it was. I saw him coining - out. frorn..the ; ehed--4t was too dark to see more than that it was a dog. I only theught of the sheep I had loit and rfired." • • "I am sorry, John. Oh, how Mrs. Brackett and the children will fed.' They set everything by old Carlo. But you Can explain it." "Yes,l can, explain it." Half an hour later Mr. Welton was go ing to his barn with a lighted lantern in 'his hand. He was thinking of the re cent unfortnnate occurrence, and was sorely worried and perplexed. What would his neighbor say . ? He' hoped there might be no trouble. He reflecting tnus 'when Mr..Brackett appeared before him, coming up quickly. and stopping with an angry stamp of the foot. Now, there may be a volume of electric inflnence even in the stamp of the foot, and there was such an influence in the stamp which Brackett gave; and Welton felt it, and braced himself against it; There was, moreover, an atmosphere ex haling from the presence of the irate man -at once repellant and aggravating. "John Welton, you have shot my dog I" The words were hissed forth hotly. "Yes;" said Welton, icily. "How dare you do it ?" - "I dare shoot any dog that comes prowling about my buildings, especially . `when have had my sheep killed by L-them." "But,my dot never troubled your sheep, and you know it !" "How Should I know it ?" "You know that he , never did harm to a sheep. It wasn't in his nature. It was a mean cowardly act, an (an oath) you shall suffer for it," "Brackett, you dory-'t know to whom you are talking." - "Oh We'll find out (another oath). Don't put on , airs,, john- Welton.: Yon ain't a Saint. I'll have satisfactioti if I have 'to take it out yodr hide 1" "Peter, you'd befier go home and cool off. `Y'a 'are making yourielf ridicu lous." , • • - Now; really, this was the unkindest cut of all. All the mad words' of Brackett put together were not so hard as this single sentence; and Jolla Welton put all the bitter sarcasm in his command into it. • Brackett broke forth into a torrent of invectives, and theti turned away. Half an hour later John Welton ac knowledged to himself tkat he had not: exactly right. If he had, in the outset,in answer to Brackett's first outburst, told the simple truth—that he bad shot the dog in Mistake ;that be , was :sorry, and that he was'willing to do anything in his power to; make amends---had he done this his"neighbor would probably have softened at once. But it:was too late. now. the blow thad'been" struck; he had been grossly insulted, and, he -.would not back down. Mr. Braekett was patio reflective, Ile only;felt' his Wrath, and - 11 e, n urbed it to keep it warm. That night isebitched his horse to a job wagon, and • 'went to the 71111(ge for a 'barrel of Our. Raving transacted his - store . - baiinees, he -nail ed upon &than Pepper, a rawyfi, to whiim he narrated - We facts of the shooting of his dog. . Pepper was a man anxious. for fees. Be had no sympathy'or soul above that. 'You say. your dog. was in 6mpany with two of .your children?" - "Yee' "And this passage over Mr. Welton's land :and through his shed has been freely yielded ,by him.as a right, of way.to his neighbors ?" ."Yew sir, ever since.l' can remember." ` . "Then, my . dear'sir, Welton is' clearly li a ble, you will come with me we will step intii Dir.:,Gartield's and have a salt commenced at once!? -. 3 - . 3 Mr. Garfield - Was the tustici? tiiiihisOpen4 Oaf Friday elyeAing, MONTROSE, PA., DEC. 6, 1876. On Sattirday itfliad become noised abroad!. in the larmipgdistrier. that there was not;. only serious !trf..qible between the neigh bors Welton and Brackett, but that they - were going to.law abotwit.- . on-. Sunday morning_John Weltiati told his - Wife that he should not attend Onto)]. She 11 . 0 ucifieed to ask her husband Why he ,would •ttot go out. :She - kaiew he was unhappy, and, that he:could not bear 'to meet his.old,neighbor in, the house ot, God While thOltirk cloud was upon him. Nor did she wish' to meet 'either - Mr:or. Mrs. Brackett. - 'So they both stayed at. hoMe. .i.Peteri. , Brackett • was: ?Bien more , miser eble than .John Welton,- Ihough•perhaps he did not know it. He 'held close ceinpaiiiiiSmp . the very worst demon niiiiiicauentibrace—the demon of wrath: ftilivengeance—and in order to,Maiiitain • himself at•the,straiii •.to...which.he htid set his- feelings,_ he was obliged to nurse - the monster. ! He did . not .attend church that _day, 'nor did his wife. Two or three times during the -calm, 'beadriful Sabbath, as he glanced over toward his neighbor's dwelling, be found;beginning to wish that he - . had not gone. to see John Welton in such a heat .of anger ; but he put the wish -away, and nursed back his wrath. • . • - • On Monday toward. noon. the constable came up from the village and read to John Welton an imposing legal docu ment. it was a AunitnOns issued by Wil liam Garfield, Esq.,.a justice of the peace and ouorutn,ordering the said John Wei ton to appear before . him \ at,two o'clock Wednegday, at his office,.then and there to answer to the complaint of. Peter Brackett, etc. The officer read the sum mon, and left with the dorenda,nt a copy. It was the first time John Welton had ever been called upon to face the law.— At first be was awe•stricken, and then he was wroth. He told himself that he would fight to the bitter end. AA now he tried to nurse his 'wrath, and became more unhappy than before. On Tuesday evening Parson Surely called Upon Mr. Welton. The good 'man had heard of the trouble and was exceed ingly exercised in spirit Both the ,men were of his:look, and he loved and re spected, them, He sat down alone with Welton, and asked him what it' meant. "Tell me calmly and candidly all about it," he , said. After a little reflection Mr. Welton told the story. Ile krieW the old clergy man for a true man and . a whole-hearted friend, and he told everything just as he understood it. "And neighbor Brackett thinks, even now, that you shot the dog, knowing that it was his ?" suppose so." "If you had told him - the exact facts in .thE. beginning. do you think he would 'have held his auger ?" This wait a hard question for John Welton but he answered it manfully. "Truly,. parson, 1, think .he would?' "Were you ever more 'unhappy in your life than you have been since this trouble came ?" I think not." "And, if possible; neighbor Btackett is more unhappy than you." "Do you think so ?" "Yes. He is the most vengful and an- -, gry." brief - pause, and Mien the parson re sumed : - "Brother, Welton, with you are needed hilt' few words. You are a stronger man than' i giuther Brackett. . Do you' not be lieve he has a good heart ?" "Yea." • - a - "I wish you could show him how true and good your heart is." 'Parson !" wish you could Show himiliat you posseis true Christian Courage."' "Parion, what'do you , mean ?" "I• wish you had. the courage - to meet and conquer him." , "Hbw, would you have me do it ?" "First Conquer yourself. You me not offended ?" ' - ' - „ "No., Go on." And thereupon the good-old clergyman' drew up his chair and laid his hand upon his friend's arm and' told, him whit he would have him do: He spoke earnestly, and with tears in his eyea'' "Brother" Welton, have yoU the heart and courage -to do this" 'The farmer arose' and, took . two .: or three turns across the, floor, ,and finally said "I will do it." * On the following day, toward - the mid dle of the forenoon, Peter Brackett stood in the doorway with his head bent. ,He was thinking whether ; .be should harness his horae and be off 'before, dinner, or whether he would wait, until. afternoon. He could nut even put his mind to or dinary chores. "I wonder," he said to himself,,"how the trial will come out . l I epose Wel- WWII hire old Whiteman to take . his case. Of course the officell be crowded. Tom Frost east it's, noised ; everywhere, and everybody'll, be there. - Plague take it I I wish—" ' Etts meditations were interriptect by approtithibg sOpou4 on lookiog up'be f.f• ...I beheld neighbor Wehot,: "Good tuurtiltig, Peler." , • - Branket gasped, • and finally answer • ed : 'Good morning," though - rather arasti f ly. Welton went.,on,'frankly and pleasant- -.. . . "You willgoto the village today -?" aliose • • • : "I 'have . been summoned .14"Jtuitiee Garfield to: be •there; also,bu t_reallyi Peter', Iden't, want to go. .One -of us.. ,will-be enoue,lf. ~,Garfield fis .a • fair : . one, =and Oen .knoWa 11m-facts he wi11.d0.•,-Oat is,, right. :Now. 'you: can -istate. tbem l as well .as can, and :whatever: his Aicision is I will ab.id.e.bv.it. , .Xou- cad -.tell him that 1. shot your 7 dog, , and that.your dog had done me,no harm,:' "Do. you acknowledge that :.014.0ar10 never harmed-you—that he' never. troubled your. sheep,.?"inquired °Brackett,-. with startled surprise. !. "It was not - his : nature' to. do Jiartii . to anything., 1 am ..sure hewould...sootier haVe saved one of my,, sheep' than have killed • • " • ' • • • "Then what did you shoot him for'?" -. ."That is what. Lain coming at,:Pet - er. You. Will tell the :Justice that I had lost several:of- my beat sheep—killed .by dogs —that Thad just been , •'•taking the' don from a fat, valuable wether that • had been so killed and mangled:; that I was on my way hominy house, withi my gun in my hand, when 11- . saw a dog-come-out froth my „shed. • 'My -.first. -thought was that, he had come frOm my sheep: fold. It was almostdark,; 'and I. could not see plainlyc ;Tell, 'the Justice - that I had no idea it was your dog.:: L never dreained tbati had fired th:WCruel. shot ',at, old Carlo until Toin tolcl;ttie.'' • ••' ; • "How ?: You didn't know it, was•my dog?" ,• : . • I - "Teter, have yod. lhotight so hard-Of me at to think that I , could knowingly and willingly have"Aiarmect that . , graud . .old.dog;? . I would sooner:have. shot one of. my oxen." . . • "But you didn't tell 'me so at first.— Why didn't you ?" "Beeadse you' came upon me so—so suddenly " -7 • - • ` . .`Oh pshaw !" cried Brackett,. With a stamp of .his.foot. "Why don't you spit it opt as it was'? Say I came down on you so like a hermit that - you. hadn't a' 'charnce to think. • I was a blatited fo01,;-- that's what I was." • ; - . • "And I was another, Peter; if 1 hadn't been I:should have told You the truth at once, instead of- - flaring up.' But we-will understand- it now. ~ ..You 'can see the justice—" • ,• "Justice be hanged ! Juhn—hang it all ! What's the use.? There! Let us end if B°l' From her window - Mrs. Brackett' had seen thetwo men - come' together, and she trembled for the result. By and 'by elle saw her husband, as thougic flushed and excited, put out his hand. Mercy!' svas he going to strike his neighbor ? She was ready to cry out with affright— , the cry was almost upon het lips—when she beheld a seena that forth rejoiding instead. 'And this was what she saw She saw these two strong men grasp one another by the hand', and she-saw big bright.tears rolling down their cheeks l and she knew that the fearful storm was , pass ed, and that' the warm sunshine of love and tranquility•would come again. ' • Her Own _Living. Tall and ilight, with - blue Wistful eyes, lips red and ripe as a wood-berry, and a complexion all carmine and white like-a damask rose in . the . sanshiue. Erminia Hall's was a face that an artist would have fallen down; and worshipped. But it is never as philosophers tell up, there is a compensation in all - things. The pocknianed girl that sat opposite to her in church, was. a. millionaire's daughters and this_ young thing with the' angel face was on the Out-look- :fon an eligible place as-governess. . --• For Ermitna Hall vas penniless, and it Wu necessary for her .to earn , her lire lihoodin, some way or other,- and, the' trade of .goveraelis was at , least genteel.' "Keep . a day schboli" suggested. old Mr.,PrinCe, who 'had been wont, to dine every. Sunday with 'Judge Hall:.during that: eminent': bankrupt's lifetilife, and to consume a quantity -of lobster, salad, phatapagne and boned itirkey,. which: was simply appaling upon thoae festwe,oc °Wong. "Nobody would come to me," said poor: Erminia, with tears in her eyes. She had supposed, .inexperienced child that she was, Mr. Prince would have been ready with a twenty or fifty :dollar: bill in this her necessity. • "'Needlework," suggested Dir. Clay, who had mysteriously .made 'money out of the very speculation that had beggered;the dead man.- "I never learned to etw;7: faltned: Er. rill oia: ' : _'•T could riot-,=earn' I =a- - -.7 bent that Wat..":.. .:_,. .. i • ~.:-..,- ,-;:-......-..,.,:._:'-':: , ! tiol n3' p 7 *gr vint,ed,. „Kr; ', , ylay,,. aThe edatiatitin Ot...itOtnen - in, i,l4o:.oteiletit 'Oiy‘iii Oiitrii4i - -Ois - 4, -- 4610 - oti*e'. - : tkidiotild:lie .:,-i,,T,. - ,J - -, ,4 : ;:, : lf.;i' - ': i' !'1,.;..',.1-1,1•:j.-'i - VOL' . .7-: -- 33.NP:'50 • • N. ,•. • • • — "Do you suppOse," meekly. hazarded E: midis; "that'l. could obtain.any copy ! Mg from your office'? • Madaßoiselle Leferu used to say I wrote an , elegant hand.' 'Here is a speyimen." - "Up itiOkes black, long 'tails tn 'g's and 4'B4—ltalian'. sehoul, 'eh:? ‘Pshaw I Xour,wriong, may do for a young Judy's albuni, but no' lawyer would look twice at it. - But I dare say you'll scratch along soutreauw. -. • • , • Why,..there: are , ways enough. Nobocly needs 0, starve, in ; tlinrcountry : . 1 dare say ir you keep on the 1°0%4 8 oniethittgwill turn " 'And - that was , - Willie- satiafaction that Erminia got; . . • • She went next to lief rich cousin Mrs. Belton. 1 ",1 am, Sorry yon came =this morning ; Erininiit,"said that lady coldly. .• "I am bttsy with my accounts." ' "I won't detain you an mistant,", said Erminia,-with a sinkiag heart, need something , to do very much." Mrs. 13ellairs Belton shut her 1 . 0 to., geiher, Rs' if bei -mouth were' a new pta eat portiron'aie,' and, penciled down her' figures without looking up. "And I thought," ,went on Erminia; her heart railing her more and more. "I ' could peinaps teach your little children,_ I '.would work for very little, and—" "Quite out of the question," said Mrs.' Bellairs Bektoo: "I have just engaged Swiss bonne, who will give them , the regu lar accent:' And Eirninia turned away, feeling al most desperate: Lunch was nOw process` --she ,perceives the fragrance 'of the chocolate,atd sees the dining room girl,setting rench rolls and spiced sal. : won uu the, table, yet Mrs. Eiellars /3el- . ton never asked her to stay and break. bread with her. "Obi how strange and cruet the world' is !" said Erminia, with a choking sensa, Von in her throat. "I. had so many friends when poor papa was alive, and, `now I have not. one except Majorifiles, but .I will not go to him. , IP waealwaya criticising and carping, even in the days • of our prosperity; now.` he would be* limply intolerable.".., And so poor Erminia Hall crept into a cheap restaurant to appease the gnawing pangs of • hunger. For she had lodged' and boarded-herself, in order to save the greatest possible amount of ready cash. and she, had eaten but tittle the whole day. An,oYster stew and a cup of_ tea 'lt: seemed like boundless extravagance to the girl ;but she was Very faint and hun gry, and- felt the sore necessity of food. She was early yet, there. are few oriato 'mers at , the neat little white draped ta- 4; bles, and the proprieter was leaning against the counter talking to a woman who seethed to be some relative. "Thev'w struck, every one of 'ern" said , he. "The,ungrateful (Allows, after I had ) paid their good regular wages, ,all the , autumn, when 'no one else did I and now, if I have to shut up shop, I' won't have one of 'em back again. I'll employ women, hanged if I don't." ,• "I don't, see why you shouldn'i," said . his interlocCor. ."They'll come for less and work harder. Women always do." "So I've heard," said the restiurant • man. "And I'll advertise' to-morrow 'for ' a lot of girls to , wait here." • Erminia roseand went timidly toward the, red faced.,good natured looking man. "Sir," said the "you sPoke of employ ing girls for waiters. '1 need work. I will comeand work faithfully. Will you employ me ?" The restaurant keeper looked bewildet6 , , ed. "You area lady, Mist!" Stuttered he, "I know that," said &minis, as , if she were making some damaging admisiiOns, - "but ladies muSt live. And - . I am very poor."'" SO the next' day she came in white apron • and a . French print dm* and began her new duties - in the '"Eagle'} eating saloon?! ,; • "Ai least," she told herself,. "I earning my own livlihood. And when , j,_ am. busy I dou't have' timek to thin"' Mr. Bellaire' Belton • came in one day: , for glass of ale an 4 a plate' of oyster& ,;,; yti . l ess m y soul 1 gaevd.he i as)leartia--1 is Efall, quick and neat, looking l as,le she had been •born and bred - to' the tr*, • served - hiai„ "this is'neveryou ?" 4Why not ?" said Erminia, , linghintv sptte ,, nf herself. . 4,31 y. wife's, 'cousin in a cheap restau.,,, rant ?" be exclaimed, "Good heavens i , What is the world' coining to ?" "It's net so disagreeable a business as you might think it," said Erminia, "Atilt must live." "Disgraceful I—perfectly diegracefull" said Mr. Bellaire; &lion, ashe boltea out, leaving his oysters untested: • • Mr.-Prince came in for a sardine and a cup ,of coffee—champaign and truffles were altogether out of the questicti when, he had to. set T tle the bill out of his own pocket - -and be started and grew very . red when he saw But he loCk=' ed itraight into' his cup' of coffee, aii4 pretended not to.know her. , . 7 .444')/r , . 01tiff, dated at her as it, she wow: swat rare, onrositt ;ork. , *, Continueit on 249401,P*
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers