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"Wyoming County, Pa. %J ( \ U—I J
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|_> ,R. lATTIiE, ATTORNEY AT LAW
it Office on Tioga street, Tunklnmnot-k Pa
H" S. COOPER, : IIYSU i AN 4 SI EG EON
. Newton Centre. Luzerne County Pa.
"YI7"M. N. PIATT, ATTORNEY AT L \ W,' t
\\ "in Sceßriek St ark'Blockga St., Tunk
uunock, I'a
pEO. S. TUT TOM, ATTORNEY AT LAW,
V.T Pa. Ulfiee in stark, s Biiek
lock, Ttoga street.
DR. .T. C- BECKKR .
PHYSICIAN & SURGEON,
Would respectfully rn unce to the eijizcns.of Wy
jning. that he hai located at TvokhSnnock wiiero
he will promptly attend to all Calls tn the liue of
his profe s : n.
[/if U ill b found at home on f-aturdays of
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Sllfjllft >)OUSS,
(j 'Wo L
11AII HI S1 HI!! T, 1' !•: NN A.
The undersigned having lately purchased the
" BUEHI.ER HOUSE " property, has already m
ineneed such alterations and improvements as will
render this old an 1 popular II ,use equal, i: not supe
rior, to any Hotel in the City of Harris'.urg.
A continuance of the public patronage is refpcct
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GEO. J. BOLTON
WALL'S HO EL,
LATE AMERICAN IIOh &E,
TUN KHAN NO( K, U YOMI \ G CO.. PA.
TIIIS establishment has recently beer, refitted an
furnished in the Lite?" style Every attention
will be given to th comfort and convenience of those
who patronize the llou->e.
T. B. WALL, Owner and Proprietor .
Tunkhanneck, September 11, 1861.
NORTH BRANCH HOTEL,
MESHOPPEN, WYOMING COU NTY, l'A
IVm. 11. COUTRIGHT, Prup'r
HAYING resumed the proprietorship of the above
Hotel, the uudersigned will spare no effort to
render the house an agreeable place of - b urn for
all who may favor it with their custom.
# \Vm. H CCRTRIIIiIT.
June, 3rd, 1863
■X , <E>X7T7 , T"JT3^_,
D. B t BART LET,
[Late of the Bbraixard House, Eljiiiia, N. Y.
PHOPUIETOK.
The MEANS HOTEL, Bono of the LARGEST
and BEST ARRANGED Houses in the country—lt
is fitted up in the most modern and improve! style,
and no pains are spared to make it a pleasant and
agreeable atoppipg-plaeo for all,
v 3, n'2i, ly,
M. GILMAN, "
/ A /
DENTIST. ;
w' y *• V
-jr pV* - "
I T OILMAN, hasp crmanontly located in Tunk-
IM. hantc •> k B
professional services to the citizens ot . - [faco and
urrounding country.
ALL WORK WARRANTED, TO GIVE SATIS
FACTION.
otfico over Tutlon's Law Omce, tear t:. e I'os
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Dee. 11, IS6I.
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onso experience and close proximity to, and daily
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reknotvledge, acquired by them, of the decisions
ayquently being made, enables them to prosecute
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laprssibly do All persons outitlei to claims of the
aivelestrip'.iia em u-ive them properly attended
fclnobbyling on me and entru<tin" thorn to mv care
HARVEY SICKLER,
r _ ~ -AgU fur Harvy A Collins,
fnkh9Enock,Pa.
MANHOOD.
Third Edition, Fifiy Thousand, 96 pages
cloth covers,
By ROBT. 15, RELL, M. I).,
Member of the Royal College of Surgeons. London,
addressed to youth, tho married, and those
CON TEMP LA TING MA RE I AGE.
Sent by mail, post paid, on reeeipt of TEN CENT*
A careful perusal of this small book has been a
BOON TO THE AFFLICTED ! !
and has saved thousands from a life of misery and
AN UNTIMELY GRAVE ,
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OBLIGATIONS OF MARRIAGE.
and illustrates the means of euro by the use of
IMPORTANT
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msmKi
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which
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YOUTIIF UL IN DISC RE TlO N.
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SOI 1> FY It 1. 1 titil.-IS GENERALLY, in boxes
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It you need the Rook or tho Pills, cut out this
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cure them of your drugg.st, do not he imposed on
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DIl. J. DRY. IS. F()X 5079,
76 CEDAR STREET, N. Y.
I who will take all risk if |roperfy directed, and will
sen i the Pills, secured from observation, by return
mail, post Paid.
SOLD BY DRUGGIST* GENERALLY.
DEMAS BARNES A CO , NKVV Youk,
AVi. tsale Agents.
IMPORTANT 10 LADIES.
| The Private Medical Al\i-?r.
An invaluable treatise of 64 pages, by
JDR. JOHN HARVEY.
|
j üblished for the benefit of tho sex.
On receipt of TEN CENTS, it will beser t
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! for it.
J It gives a concise description of all the diseaseses
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Each box contains sixty pills and fuil direction"
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Price One Dollar.
iW Cut this notice out if you desire Dr Har
! ret/s Pitts or Book, and if you cannot ir ,-e
them of your druggists, do not take any r. /or
some dealers ulio are unprincipled irdl rccomend
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on— but enclose the money and send direct to
Dr. J. BYILAN, General Agent,
] Box 5079 . 7< Ceder Street, N,Y,
j Who will take all risk if properly directed ; and
i you will receive them post paid, securely sealed
from observation, by return mail,
SOLD BY DRUGGISTS GENERALLY.
DEMAS BARNES & CO., New YORK,
Wholesale Agents,
v 4 n29-Iy.
"TO SPEAK HIS THOUGHTS IS EVERY FREEMAN'S RlGHT."—Thomas Jefferson*
i.
TUNKHANNOCK, PA., WEDNESDAY, MARCH 8, 1865.
Select lorn,
BX CLARA AUGUSTA.
CHAPTER I.
A long stretch of dull, lured sky—the fie
ry sun sinking from view behind a ridge of
gray, blue hills—a dark—musky vapor
hanging over the waste, which was bounded
on one side by a line of rank willows, and on
the other by the sluggish waters of a shal
low river. The south-east wind blew up
sickly and cbill from the distant sea, and sent
a shudder through tho leafless branches of
the woodbine s*ill clinging to the casement,
Francis Ilaley closed the window, letdown
the curtain, and turned inward to the scant
fire burning on the brick hearth. The red
glow lit up her face, but the warm light cc'd
not make that face other than it was- -plain
and hopelessly ugly, save for tho sweet eyes
and heavy masses of golden hair.
"It's time to go to mil ling, Frank," said
a queielous voice from the depths of the
great arm-chair in tho corner. "In my days
gals didn't stand stargazing-, and the cows
waiting to be milked."
Francis put some more fuel on the fire,
took down the wooden pails from the -'dress
er," and went out. The cows were not in
the yard ; she had to go down into the pas
ture, through the damp grass and across the
swamp, and drive them up.
Ino, her little gray and white kitten fol
lowed her. She stooped to pat the silken
head, lifted for its accustomed caress. "You
are all I have now, Ino. There are only you
and T, she said, half sadly.
Ino climed to her shoulder and laid his
soft head against her cheek. After all, there
is more sympathy in the brute creation than
we dream of. God knows we all see through
a glass so darkly that our wise judgment is a
tiling of error.
Francis hugged him tight, then put him
down and went to her work. She had fin
ished , and was putting up the bars—slopped
to listen to a bi'ated whippoorwill, that foiv
getting his natal June bad long passed, was
disturbing the silence of the October twi
light.
A quick step crushed the crisp grass be
hind her, Squire Evelyn took the foaming
pails from her hands.
"They are heavy for you, Frank; Ist me
can y them."
Ino ran away, and s >ught refuge in the
old oak b f rn the door. Francis foil jived
ihe Squire into the dairy. He set the pails
u wn and touch- U her arm,
"(J rue out a moment, 1 wish to speak with
you."
"\Yiil you not go into the house ?"
"No, it is a freer atmosphere outside."
He drew her to a seat beneatfs the oak,
decayed and old—her dead father had placed
it there for her when she was a mere child.
Squire Evelyn took her hand in his, and
his naturally stern voice Softened as bespoke
—"Francis, have you ever heard aught against
my character ?"
•She looked at him with surprtec.
"Never, The whole town knows your
upi ightness.
"Thank you. I asked you the question,
because I want to ask you another of far
greater moment to me. Francis Haley will
you be my wife ?"
She started back from him, flushing to
the very edge of her hair, Even in the dim
light he saw the swift rush of color.
"Do not decide hastily, as I see you are
about to do. I want your answer only after
mature reflection. Understand mc fully
I am forty-five and you are twenty-four—
twenty-one years'difference. I am rich and
you arc poor ; and you are killing yourself
with hard work, while I, a strong man, live
at my ease. Yet, do not think I would inar
ry you because I pity you. Far from it. T
am not so unselfish. I want a wife. 1
know no other woman for whom I could
feel sufficient respect to give her that place
—none save you. You know something of
my early life. , You know that I have lived
single until middle age, because she whom I
loved in youth fled from me to the arms of
another. And last of all, Francis, I love you.
Not with a young mau's passion, but with
the strength of riper years—you only utteily
and entirely. And now I give you a week
to decide. Think of the life that lies before
you—think of the helpless woman you will
care for so nobly to the end—think of all the
burdens your slight shoulders must bear, and
remember how more thar, willingly I would
carry them all for you. Next Saturday night
1 shall be here for my answer.
lie pressed the he held, almost shud
deting at its iciness ; folded the shawl she
was leting slip to the ground, over the pas
sive form of Francis, and loft her to herself.
She leaned back against the tree, her eyes
looking straight forward into tho gathering
gloom, but seeing only inward. Ino came
down and purred around her now that the
stranger was gone, but he gA no answering
caress from bis mistress. Francis was
thinking—thinking deeply .
She took in the subject fully. She was
weighing jit in all its bearings, just as he had
told her to do.
Poor; ye 6, so she was, her only heritage
the few acres of barren land, and the dilapi
dated old homestead, where the brief, happy
life of'her parents had been spent. She
thanked God sincerely that they had died
before the evil days had come. The proper
ty her lather left was ample ; but his only
6on, and her brother, was a reckless spend
thrift, and at the early age of twenty he had
squandered everything save this poor home,
and that had been bequeathed to Francis
solely.
Five years previously—Francis shivered as
she recalled it—George Haley had boon miss
el from his home. Three weary days—oh,
6uch desolate, fearful days!—the 6earch
went on, and then—they found him early
one Novembor morning, stark and dead—
drowned in the sluggish stream that skirted
the farm. Whether he met death accident
ally, or whether he took his wretched life
into his own hands and sacrificed it, God
only knew !
After that, Francis led a dreary life. Iler
grandmother—so 6he called her always,
though she was in fact only the step mother
of Francis' mother, was a sour tempered
woman, given to fault-finding; and, being
nearly helpless from a paralytic shock, was
a sad burden on the feeble strength of the
girl.
True, Francis might have renounced her,
and let the town look after its poor, but
such a thought never entered her mind.—
The sense of duty was strong with her. She
must meet that old Woman, one day, before
the face of G d and the angels, and she wait
t-d to be able to stand up with unshrinking
eyes and tell them that she had done what
she could.
To night she reviewed tho painful pan
a nd then she looked into the future. Oh.
how gaunt and grim it appoarod to her;
She was beyond her first girlhood. Care
had made her old before her time. Already
the gay, rosy village girls called her an old
maid. She looked still a little beyond, and
raw her life going down to the grave—alone,
uncheered, uncared for. No voice of kindred
to soot lie her, no pitying hand of affection to
smooth the cold forehead which death had
touched with hi> frozen lips.
But it was not so much dying alone—for
God would hi, there—it was living without
love that she dreaded. Years ago, in her
shy, girlish heart, she had dreamed of the
time when she should have a lover. That
time had just come to her, b it oh, now sadly
different fn in what she had pictured. She
had received her fir-1 offer, probably her last.
Sie looked at the decaying, glo -my old
house before her, an i th -u At of Evelyn lid!
with its snnny {• rti -.s i; s spacious cham
bers, the gran inao rial trees around it, and
lastly of its generous ma-ter,
Francis knew Evelyn for more than kind.
She reinembeicd whose hand had put flow
ers on the Coffin of her erring brother, and
had drawn her away from the new
made grave to remind her that life still had
duties for her, and still claimed of her exer
tion.
Do not blame her if she thought of ail
these things, if they influenced her decision.
She was a woman, with a woman's hunger
for love and care, and if she sinned, it was.
only because nature craved it for her. She
went into the house fully decided, and when,
a week afterwards, Squire Evelyn came for
hea reply, she met him at the door.
"I will marry you," she said quietly, but
do not ask tne yet for love. I, wbo know so
little of it must wait to learn."
"God help you in the lesson !" he said,
fervently, and kissed her. So they were bo
trothed.
CHAPTER 11.
Squire Evelyn listened to the expressed
wishes of Francis, and the wedding-day was
deferred to tho first of May. She wanted to
get familiar with the thought of the now
life she wa- to begin, she said.
She had very little care now, thanks to
the oversight of her lover. A trusty woman
managed the household affairs, and laborers
from the Hall kept the farm in good order.
The Squire catne down daily, directing Fran
cis' reading, walking with her, or taking licr
to ride over the wild, bleak country. II >w
very kind and tender lie was she hardly dar
ed to think, when she remembered that her
heart never beat quicker at its approach, nev
er her pulse thrilled when his hand touched
hers. She was too old for such manifestata
tions, she said, guiltily.
Early in March, a visitor came to tlie Hall,
Max Chesney, from New York the Squire's
nephew. Max was a physician of great
promise; and too severe attention to the du
ties of his profession and ■somewhat disturbed
his health. He had come down for a breath
of the fresh aif of Eveh n, and a month's rec
reation.
As a matter of course, the Squire brought
him to see Francis, his aunt that was to be.
He wanted the two to be very goods friends.
Max was his favorite nephew, and his tastes
were much like those of Francis'; he was
6ure they woulj get on together
So it happened that the two young people
were almost constantly in each others society.
Max wasjbut one year her senior, gay, hand
some, generous, and high sorf'ed. Before
she had been a week in his presence, Francis
found out whether she- was to old and grave
to love. Kis step would crimson hor face
with blushes, the touch of his fingers on hers
thrilled her for hours afterwards with a sub
tic sense of delight. She awoke with a sort
of helpless horror. She coul'd not speak and
send him away, for her lightest word would
reveal that 6he had given her heart unsougnt.
So the farce went on. The Squire still
played the generous lover, and was genial and
hippy ; Francis grew pale and wretched and
Chesney was never at ease. They mutually
avoided each, Francis Chesney but one day
in April they met on the fieles, a couple of
miles from home, Francis had been search
ing for blue violets, Chesuey had been down
ints the coal mine to look at the operations
of the miners. ,
He had just emerged from the shaft when
Francis paused. Ho spoke to her,telling her
something of the gloomy darkness below.
Some impulse moved her to go and look down
the shafl.
1 1 should like to look up at this," she said
inadvertently.
The miners had just come up to dinner
One of them overheard her. £ 'Nothing easi
er, Miss," he said, touching his cap, "we let
down dozens of ladies every week. Just
step into the basket, and you can go down
and back again i n a moment."
She stepped in; Chesney followed her
quickly. She would have stopped him, but
it was too lute. The cord was being rapidly
unwound. They were descending swiftly.—
They touched the bottom, and, looking up.
s.w only the minute circular hole filled with
daylight.
Chesney spoke to his companion. "Will
you get out and look lather."
"No, no ! she said with a shuer. Let us
go back instantly."
He put up his hand to giie the signal of
return to those above, but it fell back pow
erless to his 6ide. A pale blue flash of light
illuminated the blackness—there was a noi-e
as if the solid universe were rent—a fearful
sense of suffocation li led the air, and then
afar off they heard the rush and gurgle of
water.
"G od God !"' cried Chesney—"the fire
damp."
Frances clung to liitn blindly—she forgot
in that terrible moment of peril,the existence
of John Evelyn—forgot ever3*thing but that
she loved better than life or hope Max Ches
ney. Max realized everything at a glance,—
To hope for aid from above was futile.—
The whole shait had been filled up. The
only avenue to safety wa- cut off. The best
he coul i do was to labor f r a lew in re in >—
mc-nts of life. It would end in lcatheven
t ually.
He lined Francis some feet above to a shell
of rock, anu climbed up besido her. She
clung to him like a child—he took her into
his arms and soothed her as if he had been a
very babe.
She spoke at last, quietly ho started to
hear her.
"1 am not afraid, Max. I am only hap
py,"
He clasped her convulsively.
"Francis, darling ! May I speak now ?
Oh, I have loved you from the very first, but
1 tried to be honorable for his sake. lie is to
noble, and 60 generous. But now il is no
wrong to him to understand each other, Ki>s
me, Ftankie."
"On the other siJe," she said simply. "In
this worl dmy lips belong only to bim. (Have
patience a little longer.
He acquiesed, and restraining the impulse
that ci aved her close against bis breast, he
only sat with his arm around her, her bauds
in his.
It seemed ages to them, but it was only a
few moments, ere the terrible stillness that
had come upon the place was broken by a
dull thud. The very darkness quivered and
danced before them ; a second and a third
stroke, and a mass of earth fell over them
from above, stunning and blinding ibern, and
then a breath of heaven's own air swept in
a ray of sunshine dropped its gold into the
gloom.
The miners had broken in the top of the
mine, and they were saved. A rope was let
down—Chesney fastened it around the
waist of Francis—she was drawn up, and he
speedily followed. But when full of joy, he
sprang forward to lift her up. she sank a dead
weight-in his arms—without life or mo
tion.
Long weeks of anxious watching elap.-ed
before Francis Haley rallied, and they knew
that she would live. All through the spring
months she lay in the grout guest chamber,
at the hall, whither they had carried her—lay
quietly, taking no notice, and uttering no
word of complaint or recognition.
Squire Evelyn watched over with the ten
derness of mother for her child. Ilis face
was tho first togreet her return to conscious
ness—and his eyes the first to drop on her
wan face the tears of gratitue. She turned
uneasily.
"The mine, Max !" She whispered faint
iy-
" You are safe with me, Frankie, dear.
And Max has been here all the time. He
will come 6OOQ-"
~ :
TEIXI-IVISts S2-00 3PZEXI. UAC
Obedient to his uncle's eager summons,
Max did come in. lie took the hand of
Francis, muttered a few incoherent .words
intended for a congratulation—fled from the
room,mounted a horse, aud was abseut all
day.
"There's no accounting for the conduct of
such a hot headed fellow as Max, said the'
Squire, meditatively. "Why, Frankie, dear,
when we thought you would die, it seemed
as it the boy would go wild, and now you are
better, he takes it a8 coolly as an iceberg.
Well,well, Max's heart is right."
Francis mended slowly. She remained at
the Hall. There was nothing to call her home
now,for her grandmother died while Francis
was lost to the world.
June came, mild, and rich in clou dies skies
Francis went down stairs for the first time
one soft bright morning. The Squire was
undr the necessity of going to the next town
od buiness, and he exacted a promiße, unwill
ingly enough giving, from Max, not to leave
her during his absence.
"Max will stay with you, and don't get
lonesome, dear. He stooped over and kissed
her. Max colored hotly. Francis gave no
sign.
T.he Squire withdrew, and for little time
there was silence. Then the girl spoke—
"Max you are an honorable roan"-
"Oh, Frankie !" he begin, passionately,
"Ilush ! do not tempt tne. God knows l I
want to do my duty. But lam weak, and
you must help uie with your strength. Max
you must go away from here. At once. I
cannot k-?ep up this wretched disguise before
him, so generously unsuspecting. Go away,
Max,where I shallnot see you again,and with
Heaven's help I will be true to him to whom
ray plighted word is given."
Max came forward and touched? her hand.
"God Liess you Frankie, and pity us both
Good by."
He was opening the door, when the Squire
stepped out from the folds of a curtain, and
drew him back. Evelyn's face was pale but
his fine eyes glowed with the light of a gen
crous purpose.
"XJ, my boy," lie said, his deep voice bro
ken by emotion, "you are not going away.
Unwittingly I have been a listener. 3-came
brek fir some papers, but you did not ob
serve my presence. Many things that I did
not hitherto understand are now clear to tnei
I have been an old fool ! Frankie, you ldvo
him. aud he loves you, and your two lives
shall not be wrecked by the selfishness of an
old fellow like me. I have lived without love
forty-five years—it will only a little while
longer.
Max put 1 :s arms around his uncle's neck.
The old man's eyes grew moist.
"There, there, M.x ! dou't offer to kiss
uk 1 Kss i\ auk,r. an 1 remember, no fool
ish pride. I give her to you.
He w•. at out of the room and left them
together. Went out ii;to the bright sunshine
ami thought it neverhad seemed so goldenly
bright as then. lie was a little sad, but his
heart there fell a gieat calm of peace.
He went down the flower bordered path to
the honeysuckle arbor at the foot of the gar
den, The tall, graceful form of a lady in
half mourning, stopped his progress. She
threw back her veil revealing a face pale and
worn, yet singularly sweet Johu Evelyn
shook like an aspen as he saw that face, and
shrank back against the trellis for support.
"John, said a soft voice wiih an undertone
of infinite sadness, "do yon know use?"
"Annie— Annie Brest, why have you su—
turned to torture me ? Is it not enough that
you have made my life loveless—my"
"I have come back to tell you how deeply
you wronged me. Sit down and listen."
He yielded to her touch, and there in the
warm sunshine of that June day, he heard
the story of her life, of letters intercepted by
a wily rival suitor—of cuuuing forgering,
stinging he r womanly pride to madness—of
maiden pique which had, in a moment of de
spair,driven her to be the wife of a man she
did not love. He listened like one iu a dream
—listened while she cleared herself from all
spot or blemish ; and he anew it, at last, that
the young Anuie he had so deeply loved, was
never false to him.
"And where is your husband ?" he asked
when she had done.
"Two years dead."
He gathered her up in his arms.
"My Annie as of old ?"
"If you will take her," she said softly.
So at the end of that bright summer there
was a double wedding at Evelyn Hall—the
Squire rejoiced in the yonng love of his youth
and Dr Chcsnry married the woman who
was to have been his aunt.
1 correspondent qf a Boston pa
per says he has visited the great falls on the
Snake river, the southern folk of the Oregon.
A breadth of water of 2 500 feet falls a dis
-1
tant of 200 feet iu one sheet, above whichis a
minor fall of 25 or 30 fjut. IJe has many
times visited Niagara, but pronounces these
falls far more grand. Unfortunately thej
are too far away for a summer trip,
ffry "I'll pay your bill at sight,"said the
blind man to the doctor, who in vain attempt
ed to cure him of blindness.
- -7 .
car You should never w ink at faults,
I and not too often at the ladies.
.llli u
VOL. 4 NO. 30