IIARVEY SlCJliljErLfrrorrictor.l NEW SERIES, A weekly Democratic _____ paper, devoted to Pol ice, News, the Arts . Tfc and Sciences Ac. Pub- | _ u?z. =? ished every Wednes day, at Tunkhannock, $ ' prr-. Wyoming County, Pa. f x tj [ ■ BY HARVEY SICKLER. " Terms —1 copy 1 year, (in advance) $2.00. not pain within six months, $2.50 will be charged NO paper will be DISCONTINUED, until all av rearages are paid; unless at the option of publisher. 10 lines ori j > > less, make three \ four\ tico \three six j one one square weeks'treeks^mo'th| mo'th'.mo'th \jear 1 Square l,Ooi 1.25; 2,20 l 2,87; 3,00 5.0 2 Jo. 2,001 2,50( 3,251 3.50! 4.50 { 6,0 3 do. 3,00 375 4,75 5,50? 7,00; 9.0 I Column. 4,00' 4 50s 6.50; B.oo' 10,00 15,0 i do. 6.00! 9 50j 10,00! 12,00! 17,00 25,0 i do. B'oo{ 7,0 l l,ooj 18,00,25,00 35,0 1 do. 10,00! 12,001 17,001 22,00; 28,00 40,0 EXECUTORS, ADMINISTRATORS and AUDI TOR'S NOTICES, of the usual length, $2,50 OBITUARIES.-exceeding ten lines, each ; KELI GIOUS and LITERARY NOTICES, not of genera interest, one half tne aegular rut es. Business Cards of one square, with paper, $3. JOB WOUIi of all kinds neatly executed, and at prices to suit the times. All TRANSIENT ADVERTISEMENTS and JOB WORE must be paid f<-r, when ordered. jßusiiuss fjjrficfg. R.R. LITTLE, ATTORNEY AT LAW Office on Tioga street, Tunkhannock Pa G~~l CO. S. TLiTTON , AT TORN E t AT LAW, r Tunkhonnock, Pa. Odice in Stark's Brick lock, Ttoga street. JUM. M. PIATT, ATTORNEY AT LAW, Of YV See in Stark's Brick Biock, Tioga St., Tunk aunock, Pa. HS. COOPER, PHYSICIAN Jt SURGEON • Newton Centre, Luzerne County Pa % I>R. ,T. O- 111 ;< 'KER . PHYSICIAN A; SURGEON, Would respectfuiiy announce to the ciiizcnsof Wy niing, that tic has located at Tunkhannock where he will promptly attend to all calls in tlic line of his profession. l if' Will be found at hume or. Saturdays of each week Ciie UitdiliT jilousf, o o (J • IIARIIISBURG, I'ENNA. The undersigned having lately pun based the " BUEHLEII HOUSE" property, has ulrerol.l - su-h alterations and iiaprovemen- as will render this ol 1 and popular House equal, if not supe rior, to any Hotel in the City of Harjisburg. A continuance of the public patronage is rcfpcct fully solicited. GEO. J. BOLTON WALL'S HOTEL, LA TE AMERICAN IIQUSE/ TUNKIIANNOCKj WYOMING CO., PA. rlllS establishment has recently been refitted an furnished in the latest style Every attention will be given to the comfort and convenience of those who patronize the House. T. B. WALL, Owner and Proprietor ; Tunkhannock, September 11, 1861. raOBTH SB A?]DTI HOTEL, MESUOPPKN, WYOMING COUNTY, PA Wm. 11. CORTRIGIIT, PropT H AYING resumed the proprietorship of the above llotel, the undersigned will spare no clfort to render the house an agreeable place of sojourn for ail who may favor it with their custom. Wm. 11 CCKTRIIIIIT. Jane, 3rd, 1863 JJtos Hotel, TOWANDA., PA. D- B- BARTLET , [Late ol the BunAisAnn HOUSE, ELMIP.A. N. Y. PROPRIETOR. The MEANS HOTEL, is one of the LARGEST and BEST ARRANGED Houses in the country—lt is Stted up in the most modern and improved style, and no pains are spared to make it a pleasant and agreeable stopping-place for all, v 3, n2l, ly. M. GILMAN, DENTIST, M GILMAN, has permanently located in Tnnk • hannock Borough, and respectfully tenders his professional services to the citizens of this place and unrounding country. ALL WORK WARRANTED, TO GIVE SATIS FACTION. C-3T Office over Tutton's Law Office, near th o Pos I Office. Dec. 11, 1861. HTIfIIH CLAIM A&EIGY ONDUCTED BY IIARVY AND COFFINS?. WASHINGTON, J>, C- In order to faciliate the prompt ad ustment of Bountv, arrears of pay, Pensions and otheT Claims, due* sosdiers and other persous from tihoGovemment o r the United States. The nnder- has mode a.-rangements with the above firm honso experience and close proximity to, and daily n ereourse with the department; as well as the ear reknowledge, acquired by them, of the decisions ayquently being made, enables them to prosecute taims more effieiantly than Atiorneys at a distance, InpHsibly do All parsons entitled to claims ofthe aivtle.Tip'iin can hive them propirly attenlod aiaobbyling on me and entrusting them to my care HARVEY SICKLER, - ~ , „ Agt- for Harvy ie Collins. xußkhminook,Pa. Select >■>lortj. THE FREAIt FARM. A gray horse and a yellow wheeled chaise stood under the poplais which shaded a brown farin-bouse. "Marg'ret!" Ms. Frear's voice went ringing up the stairway to the east chamber. "Yes'in." It was a cherry voice that replied, and a trim little figure came tripping down after the voice. . "Aunt Mary has come, and I want you to go[a:id shell the peas for diuner while I visit with her." "Ycs'm," again, as the worthy Mrs. Frear took her basket of mending, walked briskly down the path, and climbed to a seat be hind her sister. You see she was a cripple, this Aunt Mary and in her weekly visits never thought of alighting from the chaise in which she came. Consequently that vehicle has stowed away in its old chinks more general information than ever crammed the cranium of any mor tal carriage since the flood, It was, in fact, a perfect moving ecysclopedia if births, mar riages, and deaths, past, present, and pros pective, fur the little town of Ileathe. In it they were seited, this June morning, two white-haired women ; their backs were turned to the sun, while Dobbin cropped the lilac twigs, munching them after a solemn, rtfiectiv2 fashion, quite cognizant the while of the movement of tongues behind him. Within doors a tidy kitchen, great squares of sunlight lying out on the unpainted floor, and Margaret humming a slow song to her sell' ever the basket of peas. "Guess who !" rang out a merry voice be hind her, and two brown hands drew her backward blindfold. "Anson ! But what will father say ?" "Nothing to me, I imagine. I left him down in the two-acre lot with Tarson Sykcs. They'd just begun with original sin, and they've got to get through tin decrees yet, to say nothing of the probaLle fato of the heathen world. They're safe enough for the next two hours," said the vouig man throwing his straw hat upon the floor. A broad shouldered, straight limbed fel low was Anron Boise, and so tall that, as he stood there in the low kitchen, his curls just rrissed brushing the cross-beam over head. "But mother ?" again suggested the girl. "Oh. I knew what wouid become of her when I -aw Aunt Mary's Dobbin coming up j he ; id. They're having a rich timeout there. I heard my name just as I leaped over the fence. So now, if you please, I'll sit down, though you hadu't asked ine to, and shell peas as propitiation or penance, or whatever you choose to call it, for my transgression." He drew up a low chair, and sat down beside her. "But, Anson," she still remonstratod, I'm afraid this isn't right." "Of course you are, and of course I know 'tisn't ! But I know of something that's worse; and that is, for your father to insist upon separating us when he knows how fond wo are of each other, and for no reasou under heaven than that I'm an orphan and poor. [ say Ids a burning shame, begging your par don, Margaret." And the youDg man's face flushed indignantly, Margaret said nothing and he went on : "However, it's the last time I shall trouble him. or cross your scruples again for the present." "The last time ?" Margaret pressed one of the pods with her thumb, and looked up inquiringly. "Yer. the very lsst time ! I'm going away —going to Calilornia." The flush had gone out of his face, and instead was a look of tierce determnin"tion. "California !" The pod was opened, and a sound d ;Zen peas rolled across the kitchen floor. California was a long way off to her, little girl, sitting in that Vermont farm house. "But, Anson isn't it a dreadful wicked place ? Ain't they heathens, and cannibals, and bad as the Hottentots' most ?" "Don't know I'm sure, Maggie. I only know that there's gold, and that it's a great country out there. Oh, you ought to hear Jim Bartletto talk. You'd think 'twas mightly slow work getting a living off these rocks," he said. "I know—but, Anson' seems to me 'two'd be better to stay in a Christian country," said she, hesitatinglj'. "I declare, Margaret, you're well nigh as bad as Uncle John. Ho says I'd better steal a horse, and get sent down to Windsor to making scythe swaths." Anson lai.ghed his old laugh. Margaret remembered it. It was years before she heard that laugh again. . Then there was a pause. The cat dozed upon the settle, and the tea-kettle sang up on the hearth. "And when will you eVer come back, An son ? asked the girl. "When I can bring something with which to make a home of my own,"ho said ; and then there was another silence. The peas were shelled and Margaret was "TO SPEAK HIS THOUGHTS IS EVERY FREEMAN'S RlGHT."— Thomas Jefferson. TUNKHANNOCK, PA., WEDNESDAY, FEB.-22, 1860. sitting with her two hands folded upon the top of the basket- Anson sat gazing at her with a hungry look in her eyes. That little figure in its brown dress, the small head with its heavy coil of hair at ttie back, the long-lashed downcast eyes—he took them all in with a look, How uhny nights in the years that came after did he see in the dark ness that little figure parting the shadows come and go before him. '•Here's something I found for yoo,' he said at length, lying in her hand a small gold cross. "You'll wear it sometimes, and re member me, I know." She did not move. Only her fingers were like ice as he touched the#, face was pale. "I must go now,'' he ssid rising. Margaret stood leaning against the deal ta ble. She raised her eyes now, and Anson stood looki og dowu into them—those clear, brown eyes—and holding her two bands in bis. "Don't you think you can wait for me lit tle girl?" he said. "It'll be a long while We shall be an old man and woman by that time perhaps," trying to smile. "Will you wait for me until I come back ?" "I will wait for you forever!" The words were low and her lips were very white. "Bless you, child ! But, please Heaven, yon shan't have to wait as long as that;" — and he drew her close to him. "Good-bye, and God bless you Marga ret !' She felt bis arm drawn tightly around her knew that his lips touched her cheek, and then she sank down upon the floor, her face buried in the cushions of the old chair. "Why, Margaret, what air yo doin ?" cried good old Mr 9. Frear. "Here 'tis twelve o'clock this blessed minute, and the fire all out ! What will your father say ? Mrs. Frear had begun a vigorous attack upon the cooking-stove, but stopped short as Margaret, rising wearily, stood before her with blanched, bewildered face. "YV by what ails, the child ! Bless me, she looks as ef she'd had a stroke !'' A stroke, indeed, but not exactly of the kind to which her mother referred. Margaret passed her hand across her eyes heavily, as with an effort. k I t's nothing,' she said. "I must have been a little faint. That's all." 'All ? enough, I should think. Y'ou just come into iny room and lie down on my bed, and I'll make you a bowl of sage tea. Mercy tome! T hope'tisn't the black tongue,— Your Aunt Mary told me that was prevailin , Birnet. Jest let me look go' yer tongue ;' and tie good won an bustled about, bringing blankets and brewing herbs in her solicitude f t her child, quite cblftnous of dinner and all other minor considerations. And Margaret buried her eyes in the snowy pi hows, while Anson, all his worldly efleets packed in one valise, took his way on foot to the next stage-town. And the next week a tall man stood upon the ship's deck and watched the blue New England hills grow dim, and a little figure, in its brown dress, sat still in the Yiwmont farmhouse and worked on as before— only her cheek was a trifle whiter, and instead of her old song there was silence. Ten years! Long to look forward—l<> long back, only the brief dreatn of a summer nighr. But time enough to create many new joys, to forget many old ones. Had Margaret Frear forgotten ? Why we will see. The same tidy kitchen ; the same old chair, and seated therein a pa'e woman in mourning dress. She had sat down in the kitchen; she could not stay in the sitting room to day. They had carried out from there yesterday a coffin—her mother's and in that place between the windows, where the table was standing now, it had stood She seemed to see the black pall there yet. There was a knocking at the inner door, followed by the entrance of a tall woman in a dark gingham gown. It was Mrs. Ki t tredge. She lived next door, which next door was a good half mile away ; but they were all called in Ileathe near neighbors. "I told my husband," she sard, laying down her sun-bonnet—"l told him Marg'ret, that I'd just come over and sit down 'long with vou spell. I know't must be lonesome like." ''l am very glad to see yoQ,"said Marga* ret ; and she rose,.shaking the cushions of her rocking chair, and setting it out for her visitor. "No, no: you just keep your sittin.'— You're tired- I'll fetch a chair for myself out of the keepin' room," And Mrs. Kit tredge opened the door softlyjnto that room. The old clock ticked in the corner, and the two sat silent for a little. Mrs. Kittredge was knitting very fast. The tears wouid keep coming, and she was choking them down under that string of gold beads about her neck. She had come over purposely to "cheer up" Margaret, and here she was cry ing herself. She had never heard, good wo man that she is, what some one has said: "Be not consistent, but simply true and so consistency and truth are having a sore battle of it. The former conquers, however, and 6he says : "Well, Marg'ret, she was a good mother to you ; and now't she's gone, you'd ought to bo grateful that she was spared so long." "I know it, Mrs, Mrs, Kittredge. but it is very hard to be grateful always;" and Mar garet's bp begins to tremble. "Bless your dear soul ! I know it's hard ; but, as my husband says, "We'd ought to thank the Lord that it's as well with us as it is-" "I suppose you'll Fell the place, roost like ly?" said Mrs. Krittredge, presently, "It was well enough," she said to herself, "for Margaret to begin to think of those things. 'Twould take up her mind." Sel 1 the old place ! Margaret had never thought of such a thing before. And yet, why not ? She could not manage the farm herself. Besides, it was all she had—its val ue might be more available in some other form. So she replied, quietly enough : "I don't know that there will be any other ) j way. "Yes ; I was telliu' him n —(for good Mrs. Kittredge there seemed to be but one sub stantitive possible to this personal pronoun) 'l was tellin' bun this mornin' that there'd be enough that would be glad to buy the Frear Farm. It's under good cultivation, and the buildn's all in good repair. There's Squire Varrum now, he'd be glad to take the ten acre lot 'long side o' his mowin' ; and for the rest on't, there's my brother IIa!l lookin' roundfor a farm for Zimri. He's layin' out to be married this fall, you know." "Oh, J'ra sure there would be no difficulty in disposing of it," for the sake of making some reply. Iler thoughts were too busy just then for her to talk. It wis sudden this plan of selling the old homestead. A little like taking the ground from beneath her feet, it seemed to her, and she hardly knew what would become of her afterwards. Mrs. Kittridge's thoughts must have been nearly in the same place, for she asked. "And what are you intendiu' to do, Mar g'ret ?" "Indeed I hardly had thought yet, Mrs. Kittredge. Perhaps I might take a room somewhere and board myself, and teach the district school," she said. ".Now that sounds sensible; and as for a room you're welcome to come to our house. "Thank you," said Margaret, and Mrs. Kitlndge went on ; "I can't help thin kin' Marg'ret, how most any giri situated as you are would be think in' o' getting married, and having a home of their own. But that ain't your way."— This was said in a deprecatory tone, and Mrs Kittredge gave .Margaret's face a searching look. The face told no ta'.es which she could read. There was only a little twitch ing about the month ; so the good woman shuttling a litilc in her chair, and kniuing with a speed perfectly incredible, proceeded as shu would have said, to "free her mind." "Now, Marg'ret, I suppose you'll think like enough I,in meddlin' with what don't concern me ; but I must tell you't we al ways wondered, my husband and I. that you couldn't, a sten yer way clear not to take up with Squire Varnum's offers." Margaret's white face reddened, Mrs Kittridge noted it, and took courage. "He's a professor, and, so fur's I lyjow a consistent man. Be sure he's a gooJ deal older'n you, but after a woman's twenty-five that don't signify, And mebbe his children, eight of'm, might be an objection with some folks. But you're good „pered.— You'd get along well enough. _ i' then, another thing, whoever goes there'll have enough to do -with, for tbe Squire's Jpioperty, an, there ain't a mean streak about the man. 'Tain't too late to think, on't row. The Squire, ho said as much to him the other day. Hadn't you better now, Marg'ret ?" "Mrs. Kittredge !" Six conscctive stitches were let down upon Mrs. Kittredge's stocking that instant, so startled was she by the tone in which her name was spoken. Margarst was sitting forward in her chair, a bright red spot burn ed upon either cheek, and her eyes had a little flashing light iu them. "Mrs. Kittridge, you must never speak to to me about this again—this, or anything like it." And she began counting her stitch es in a quick, nervous way. "Well, well, child, I won't then I'm sure. I only wanted ye to do what's fer yer own good about it. You won't think hard o' mo for sp;akiu'out?" she aJ lei apologeti cally. "Hard of yon ! Indeed I won't," replted Margaret; and then, comprehending sudden ly that she might have wounded her good old friend by her quick manner, the girl left her chair and crossed over her, and smoothing the woman's gray hair, said, "I should be an ingratc to lay up any thing against the best friend I have in the whole world." " No, no, dear heart,; then we won't say another word. But here, 'tis four, o'clock, and 1 must go. And, Marg'ret, supposing you just walk along with me, and sit down an' have a cup o' tea with my husband an me. Mebbe 'twould do you good to talk ov er matters with him. You know your mo-* ther was in the habit o' consultin' him about her affairs." And the two walked out under a gray sky and over the 6hort brown grass ; and when Margaret came back it was settled that the old homestead should be sold. It was tbe night before the sale. It bad been with Margaret a busy day. Her room at Mrs. Kittredge's had been taken, and fur nished with artie'es from the old house, ma ny of which she had carried carefully with her own hands. And now, in the gathering dusk of the summer night, she closed the door, locking it behind her, and sat down up on the gray stone. llow quiet the night was! Only the croaking of frogs in the marshes, and the shrill notes ofthe whip-poor will, weird and far off, borne by the night winjjl across the jowl and. An odor of Mignonnette came up from the little bower border at her feet,— That border—who would tend it now ? And the odor mignonnette—how it carried her back to that morning, ten years before, when Anson went awaj' ! She remembered that a spray of it was in her dress that day. She had never smelled mignonnette since without living the parting over again. • Ten years ! And Margaret, sitting alone in the gloaming, half wondered she were, the same girl that she was then. He looked at her hands folded on her knee. How thin they were! They used to be round and and plump, she remembered. But whatever else they had lost they had kept the firm pressure'Oj Anson's Eood by. they had al ways seemed, they always would seetn, a lit tle better to her, remembring that. Ten years ! She had promised to wait for him forever. It seemed likely now that she wou'.d. It was long to wait. Would he never come back to claim her promise ? If he were alive. But what if he was dead ? They all supposed he was. Perhaps he was. Every one she loved had died. Why not tins one ? And if he were dead was her promise binding ? Something outside of her self seemed to suggest this. She looked away through the darksess. A bright light glanced from among the maples on the hill. .It came from the bow-window of Squire Var num's library. Margaret watched it a mo ment, thinking then of her own little room at Mrs. Kittredge's. It was a contrast certainly. A word of hers would place her under the cheery lamplight of that library,with all those old books looking down,and Squire Varrmtn's genial face looking across at her. Should she speak that word. But between her and any such answer there came her own voice of old, promising to "Wait fofever." And she re membered to well Anson's "Please Heaven you shall never have to wait to long," to for it now. And so she would trust God.— Wait and hope still, though it should hoping against hope. And then the shadows deepened, and the flames of sunset burned to ashes down the west, and the figure of the lonely girl was lost in the gloom of the porch. She started suldeuly. Something brush ed against her foot. Only the cat ; she had forgotten her until that moment. "Come pussy," she said, "Y'ou shall go too ;" and taking the old creature in her arms she went down the walk, the creaking gate swung behind her, as she passed out in to the night. "The Frear Farm to be sold to-day." they said. An auction was an event to the dwell ers in this quiet land of farms. Early in the afternoon the old vendue-master was upon the stand, shouting and gesticulating in a way which would have done justice to a more hotly contested sale. There were, in fact, but two competitors for the farm, Squier Var num and Deacon Hall. The latter had just risen twenty-five dollars above the price set by his opponent. "The Deacon's got it now," said a voice in the crowd, but just then there appeared a new figure upon the scene. On the street, in front of the house, just under the poplars, a wagon had stopped and a tall man, bronzed and brown-bearded stood erect in it, looking down upon the crowd with a keen, steady eye. "Twenty-five hundred dollars !" shouted the auctioneer, "I'm offered twenty-five hun dred dollars for Frear Farm ! Who bids again ? Going, gentlemen ! Too cheap by half. Going!" Every ear awaited the final "Gone," when a voice sung out, deep and clear as a bell. "Twenty-six hundred dollars !" The astonished farmers faced about to a man, and scanned the new comer. "Twenty-six hundred and twenty-five !" vociferated Deacon Hall, beholding his sup posed possession suddenly taking to itself wings. "Twenty seven hundred 1" shouted the stranger, leaping from his wagon with a bound, add striding through the crowd. He reached the stand just as the hammer came down. "Gone for twenty-seven hundred to—. YYhat name, Sir ?" and the vendue-master turned to the stranger. "My fellow townsman ought to do me the honor to remember that, Sir," he replied with a merry twinkle in his eyes. "By all the powers ! I believe it's Anson Boise 1" exclaimed the old man, taking the stranger by the arm, and turning him to* wards the light. "The same, Sir ;" and Anson extended his hand cordially. "Well done, boy, and well grown too ! Why, what a giant you are! Might a ben one o' the sons of Anak the Soriptur tells about," said Deacon Hall, looking up at him . a ■ TERMB: 82.00 PEH A.XKTTJM "And so you've come back to settle down among us. That's right, that' 6 right;"— and they pressed round to shake hands with him. •'Where's your wife, Anson ?" asked one. * "Haven't found her yet," was the laughing rejoinder. But he did find her, alone-in the dusk, heard a step coming down the walk, "The auction* eer," she said. Well, she was ready for him. She had been schooling herself all day. She would be brave and not falter when he told her that the old homestead was gone. To whom ? she wondered ; and then the light before her eyes was darkened, and then rang out again the merry challenge. "Guess who cftmcs now !" Poor Margaret, she had been ready tor tho auctioneer—ready for almost anything, she thought, but not for this. So sho gave a little cry, and would have fallen to the floor. Then you know what happened ; how Anson took her up in his strong arms and carried her to the air, and how Mrs. Kittredge ran for water and the "camfire bottle and the hosehold generally was throws in a state of confusion. "Poor little creetur ''twas all so sudden !" said Mrs. Kittridge, soothingly, as she bath ed Margaret's white face. "But she'! 1 come out in a minute." And Anson held the light form so' easily, as though it had been a child ; and when Margaret came to herself again, there he was. looking down at her with the eanie old look in his eyes. "I've waited for you," she said, and sho smiled a little, bright, happy smile. "She's had a hard time of it, poor thing !" said Mrs. Kitfredge, stooping to take off her spectacles and wipe thetn. Anson turned his head aside. There was a mist before his eyes just then. And so it came to pass on Sunday evening that the minister walked over to Frear Farm, and there wrs a quiet little wedding in the old parlor. And now, while lam telling you this, I can just catch the gleam of their lamp through the lilac bushes ; and I know that within there is love, and peace and plenty. PETROLEUM MII.LIONARRE. — A great ma ny stories are told of persons who have sud denly become rich by dealing and specula ting in oil, but the following will illustrate the way some of them spend their money. A somewhat rustic heir of one of the for tunate of the oil regions, whose income i# several thousand a day,concluded to see won ders of the East. So, putting a few necessa ries into a travelling bag he set off for Phila i delphia. Stopping at the Girard and asking for a good room, the landlordsaid : " You can have a room ; bnt we shall bo obliged to demand pay in advance." "Well sir, I think I can not only pay for my room," replied Petroleum, but buy out your entire hotel. What's your price?"— So saying he posted elsewhere. After driving and luxuriating to his heart's content in Philadelphia and making a present of a fine span of horses to a liverjman who had treated him well, he proceeded to New York. One of his first calls there was on Boil & Black. "Have you any diamond rings ?" "Yes," said the clerk and showed him one of two hundred dollars value. "Fretty," said Petroleum : "haven't you any finer ?" "Yes—here's one, at five hundred dol lars," "That's better—that shines ; but is it tho highest-priced one you ha *e ?" The clerk looked amazed and suspicious, but-brought another at two thousand dol lars. "Oh !" said Petroleum, "that's brilliant— that suits me better. I like that. But ain't there any thing more stylish yet ?" The clerk dumbfounded, displayed the six thousand dollar diamond ring, the most val uable in the store, and his customer exhibit ing great wonder and joy in surveying it, asked : "Now han't you nothing higher, better ?" "No" said the clerk; that's the best in the country," never dreaming the fellow could buy it. "Well," said Petroleum, "I'll take that," and forked over the six thousand dollars. THE TREASURY HOMICIDE CASE, —Mary Harris the young woman from Chicago, who shot to death Andrew J. Burroughs, a clerk in the office of tho Comptroller of the Cur rency, yesterday afternoon, in the Treasury Buildings, has been lodged in jail. It appears from the testimony that she stated to Mr McCullough, the Comptroller, that the die eased had violated his marriage engagement with her. He had done her no harm, but was engaged to her for many years, even from her childhood, and had continued a cor-i respondence until within a month of his marriage. She said to the officer who con veyed her to jail, she asked no sympathy for herself. Tho only sorrow to be felt was for her aged parents. She charged that the decased had betrayed her, taken her from hep homo and friends, and had placed her in a house of ill-fame, in Chicago, and that therefore sho had determined upon the deed. VOL. 4 NO. 28
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