22 Slo3aHLtEHl.jTProprletor PfFW SERIES, weekly Demo cratic - -r --piper, devoted to Poll - aj. tioß News, the Arts 'lt and Sciences Ac. Pub- ~ ~j> 1 ished every Wednes- " pay, at Tunkhannock j Wyoming County,Pa *V Yy4;r> tfteg jJ—I BY HARVEY SICKLERa Terms—l copy 1 year, (in advance) $2.00. •t paid witbin six month*, $2.50 will he charged NO paper will be DISCONTINUFD, unlil all ar rearages are paid; unless at the option of publisher. A TVTTEILTLSITJQ^ lioliieror ( < j j . i lets, make three' Jour two ,three) ix one ont square xcctksxcctks rno th mo 1 tit yzav RZZ'RE 1~00 ; 1,25 2.25 *2,8? 3,0 < 5,00 t Vo 200 ! 2,50 3,25, 3,50 4 5 6,00 \ I°- 3'QO 3J5 4,75 C 5,50 7,00 9,00 I Column 4'oo 4.50 6,50 8,00 10,00 15,00 J Column. 4,00 G _ Y JO()|J 17(00 25 00 £■ O'(U)> 7,00 14.00 18,00 25,00 35,00 1 dS'. LOIOOI 12,°0< 17,00 22,00 23,00 10,00 LTXECL R TOR3 " ADMIN ISTB ATURS and AUDI TOR'S NOTICES, of the usual length, $2,50 OBITUARIES- exceeding ten lin°s, each ; LLELI GlOt'S and LITERARY NOTICES, not of genera interest, one half tne regular rutes. Business Cards of one square, with paper, $5. JOB WOIIIv of all kinds neatly executed, and at pr.ces to suit he times. All TRANSIENT ADVERT I SEMENTS and JOB WORK must be paid for, when ordered. 2Justo HS. COOPER, PHYSICIAN A SURGEON • Newton Centre. Luzerne County PA. R R.&iV E liITTI.E, ATTORNEYS AT LAW Office on Tioga street, Tunkhannock Ua. ITTM. M. PIATT, ATTORNEY AT LAW, 0 \ ? fice in Stark's Brick Block Tioga St., Tuuk Bannock, Pa. fcjfif Suflrlet |)ousf, o O JJARIIISBtJRO, PKNNA. The undersigned having lately purchased the •' BUEHLEK HOUSE " property, has already com menced such alterations as UMRRELLAS. BUFFALO AND FANCY F.08E3, 349 BROADWAY, CORNER OF LEONARD STREET, ■M. . CLARK, 1 A. • KEBNEV, V B. LEKKSEY. 3 M7GILMAN, DENTIST. A T OILMAN, has permanently located in Tunk I* L* hannock Borough, and respectfully tenderhi professional services to the citizens of this placeand aarrounding country. ALL WORK WARRANTED, TO GIVE SATIT IION. Office over Tutton's Law Office near the Pos Office NEW TAILORING SHOP Tfe* Subscriber having had a sixteen years prao Usaf experience in cutting and making clothing ase effers his services in this line to the citizens o SicaoLßOH and vicinity. Those wishing to get Fits will find hia shop the •ee to get them. JCCL, R. SMITH -aM-4aae § fleet § tortj. HE AYE I. " Candidly, do you bdicve in love at first sight, Amy ?" A loung man a ' q icstion. 'ook ing up from the nu*el he was reading.— And a young girl, probably his cousin, blushed as she replied, "she did not know." I forgot what else passed. They were only fellow travelers in a railway-carriage. My friend, Mrs. Murray, who was taking roe to her home, called my attention to some place of interest we were passing,and the young man resumed his book. But the question recurred to me ; and as I leaned back in my corner I tried to answer it for myself, and to solve a little mystery that puzzled me. Three times had 1 met a gentleman, a handsome young man, tall, dark and list less. We had never spoken, but hi-- no tice of me had attracted my attention. At a ball he followed me about, changed color when our eyes met, but did not seek an tioduciion. At a concert he had stared me almost out of countenance, yet gravely,almost respect fully. At a picnic—the last time I had seen him—he was happy, laughing and talking till he saw me, when his manner became constrained, and in a lew* minutes he left the party. There was a strange fascination in his large Jark eyes, and i wondered if I should ever meet him again. He must have had some reason for no ticing me so strangely, for I was not pretty No, no ! It could not be love at first sight, could it ? We arrived a: The Meadows late in the evening. Mrs. Murray introduced me to her daughter, Lydia, a lady some fifteen years older than myself. She was the on ly child at home. Mr. John was married and had the rectory. George, the eldest son, was traveling abroad. Mrs. Murray and my mother had been school friends, hut had been separated for years, and so were comparative strangers u"'i! they met again in society, and Mrs, Murray asked me to spend two or three months with iier i;; the country, \9 recruit my strength after the fatigue of a Lon lon season. The da)* afier our arrival Lydia showed inc over the house an 1 grounds. Harold, Mr. John's eldest child, eight yeais eld came with us. The conscivatorv door was locked. Mi*s Murray left us to letch the key. Harold remaining talking. "I shall have this horrid old place pull ed down!" he said, pulling at some ivy that clustered round the turret. He looked at me as though expecting an answer then resumed: "pa says, if HE has it he sha'nt stay at the church. He shall pull this down ; if HE don't, I shall." "But this is your uncle's place," said I. "Mv uncle! lie won't live long. My mn says Uncle George is a bad man, a wicked man. Don't you think lie is a wicked man ?" " No," said I, though I know nothing of him. "Little boys—" I impress ively; but his aunt returned, and the con versation ended. # "The place would be very diffeicnt if poor George were lu re," said Lydia sadly. "Doe* he never live here ?" I inquired. M.-> Murray h. h >. k. - nly, "1 ive here! No, never. He STAYS lor a week or two sometimes." "Perhaps some day he will marry and settle." "Never!" said Lydia, stooping to pick up a flower. " Have you not heard about him ?" " Heard what!" said I. " I shall not be a raven, and tell you You will learn soon enough." Harold was standing in the doorway looking back at us. lie had large brown eyes, and something in tlu in made me fan cy I had seen him before, though I knew I had not. So there was a secret in the family, some mystery about the eldest son. Perhaps I was wrong, but 1 <1 id wish to find it out. I had been at The Meadows nearly a month before an opportunity occurred. — Then I paid a visit to the rectory, taking my work, that I niiglitspend the day there. Mrs. Murray. I fancied, got tired of hav ing to entertain ine, and Lydia liked to have some time to herself, Mrs. John jind I were friends, so could speak freely to each other. "Are you engaged ?" said Mrs John. "No.' said 1, fancying she alluded to an opal and diamond ring 1 always wore. " Some girls are, so young. How old are you f "Eighteen. Not o vEßT.young. " No, not so very young," said Mrs. John, meditatvely. " I was only seven teen when I was engaged." "That was very young to marry." "O, I was more than that when I mar ried. Mamma could not bear ;he idea of a second son, you know. It was NOT a good match then; but I always said I would marry for love. Now they a;e pleased enough; for poor George is really nobody only lie keeps John out of the (dace at pres ent. Eventually Harold must have the estate. It is entailed." " But there is an older brother ?" said I. '•To my husband? Yes; but since that | affair of his he will never marry,* and John; he comes next. Sad affair that! I always j pit) poor George." ' Mrs. John said this very comfortably* in ••TO SPEAK HIS THOUGHTS IS EVERY FREEMAN'S RIGHT. " —Thomas Jefferson. TUNKHANNOCK, PA., WEDNESDAY, DEC. 19. 1866 the same way one pities a tradesman for having to reduce the price of his goods, while rejoicing in the oppoituiiity ofbuy ing them cheaply. " Is be very unhappy?" As I saiil that I hated myself for asking it. I know if I had been right (as some would say, "commonly honest") I should have declined to hear anything Lydia wo'd not tell inc. Like a good child I shonld have said, "Thank you, I must not listen. He would not like itbut " mime !' as a French friend of mine used to exclaim, 1 am one of Eve's true daughters, and the temptation was irrcsisistble. I yielded to curiosity. " Well, yes," said Mrs. John, "for the world is not charitable Of course WE know the truth, and we don't really con condemn him. But he takes it to heait (perhaps to conscience, and that is as bad,) though it may be a shadow after all, it may be." Mrs. John emphasized the last three words, and her straight lips again made a corresponding line to the faint straight.eye brows that met over her nose, and disap peared behind the set curls arianged on either side of her face. " It is a pity he should mind a shadow— I spoke awkwardly, conscious of trespass ing ou a forbidden subject. Mrs. John looked up at me. "I thought all the world knew iiis history," she said ; 'quite romantic it is, and sad. You know lie wa a surgeon. Before his father had tliis property left him by his brothi r, the boys were brought up to professions. My huAiand to the church, to take this living. George chose to be a surgeon, so he he came one; and clever, too, I believe, very clever. Well, he had good expectations, so was iri a good deal of society ; and in the course of his practice met a young lady whom lie liked; in fact, fell in love with. I supposed she returned the affection, for the) were engaged (this was before I was n-arried.) Well, Miss Chester, Colonel Chester's daughter, was rich; at least, her father was rich ; the estates were left by will in this way : if Colonel Chester died without hoys, hut leaving h daughter, that daughter might inherit ; but if tbeie was a son, all landed property war. to go to the son, however young; arid only some dow er to be paid to Miss Chester. An un lucky kind of arrangement, wasn't it?— Well, Colonel Chester hid hut this one daughter !i." he married again; then he had one AOR. WY7/, that child was from after George was engaged to MLs Ch.st T \ •1 " | and when it was a year, or perhaps cigG* teen months old, it become ill—some child- j isli illness, and— thr child died.'' ] echoed Mrs. John's interjcction,"wcli?" " Well I dou't you see. George had attendei it, was it not awkward? George had never been a favorite with the Colo nel, and he became suspicions, and had his prescriptions looked at. and the matter judged by other physicians; ior Colonel Clu-ster was an old man, a..d mad at losing the child. They said it was right enough, quite right, medical men always hang to gether, vou know, but the child had not died of any acute disease ; it had died of an over-cose of medicine. It w as, of course the chemist's fault, but—you see how it stands —awkward for poor George." " lie could not help it," said 1. "My dear, he was there three timps a day to see the child (and Miss Chester,) and the child died ; the little child died.— The world i* not aharitable !" "Nor are von," thought I; but I only sai l, "And M:ss Chester?" " Her father told George what he sus pected of him. He, of course, gave ln r up on the spot- I don't know what be came of her. George will never tnar**y, impossible; but he wanders about like a ghost, and Ipo pitv him. It was a temp tation for a young man without means.— He had not succeeded to The Meadows then, you know. It was a great tempta lion." "A little child.!" saiJ I. M rs. John seemed surprised and half- | alaimed at the distress I could not help feeling, probably betraying, so injuitifica tion of herself, she added : "It was awk ward for him, very, and people will judge ; and, my dear, the fact remains, whether it was the chemist or not," said Mrs. John, before taking up her baby from tho sofa where it had been seeping. "The fact re mains," said Mrs. John, stroking baby's ruddy cheek and fat arm, "though babies live through a good deal, this little child died !" Two shadows fell across the window. — Mrs. John had turned to take her baby to the nursery, and did not observe them till she was just leaving the room. Then she said, "Talk of an angel, and you are sure to see its wings !" She stood in the doorway a moment, and nodded and smiled befqre closing the door and retiring. Her band entered the room by the window that opened to the lawn. After Jjim came an other gentleman. I looked up, and recog nized the mvsterious gentleman of the con cert, the ball, and the picnic. "Ah ! Miss Christensen!" said Mr. John; "let me introduce you to my brother George Tins young lady is at your house, George, with your mother." Mr. Murray bowed,and his color chang ed as lie watched m collect my work and materials, and prepare to leave the room, "Pray, don't let rr.e frighten you away," he said. shall be home soon." They were such commonplace words.bnt nty face cimsomed, and I was glad when Mrs. John came in. She was smiling most affectionately, and apparentiv had forgotten the conversation that I would have given anything not to have shared, She noticed mv confusion, but did not know I had met him before ; nor did she notice that his hand trembled when at parting he touched mine, .ut it did. 1 know now whose eyes I had recognized when 1 saw Harold, When 1 returned honde, Mrs. Murray was expecting her son, for his man and luggage were there already. "It is just like him," said Lydia ; "he comes and goes like Will-o-the- Wist ; per haps you may induce him to stay a little longer this time."' Again I blushed "Diu I offend you, dear !" said Lydia kindly, as she passed her arm round my shoulders, and we walked up and down the terrace together. "No," said I, 'not ii the least; if I in fluence Mr. Murray at all, it w ill be to d' ivc him away." Then I told h- rof our meetings, but of course 1 was careful what I said. "He is very stiange and moody at .itnes, my dear; you must not notice him." In the-evening lie came home.bnt he was not strange or moody, and during the whole six weeks lie stayed I found him rather the reverse, pl< a-ant, kind, consid erate. He was always waiting on his mother, going about with Lvdia, and rath avoiding me, still in a kind, gentlemanly way. So matters went on, till one evening I stood on the lawn with baby in mv arms. II was a glorious sunset ; the brothers re turned from their walk, and came to my i side. Mr. George Murray had a rose bud in his band, and held it to the child. The little thing laughed ar.d talked to it in ba bv fashion, and stretched out her little hand to take it from him. Her hand touched his. He trembled, dropped the bud, and turned away, Mr. John was good-natured and, I believe, sincerely fond of his broth er ; he took the child from my arms,smil ed sympathizingly at George, end ran into the house to his Wile, who had been spend ing the whole day with u-i. Mr. George looked very handsome with the sunshine lurking in h's soft glossy beard, the rest ol his lace in deep sh .dow from the broad brim of the felt hat he wore pressed close on his brow. I was Sorry for him, but 1 did not dare break the silence, though it was awkward, and we were quite alone.— We came back to the house side by side ; HS we passed the drawing room window we heard Mrs. Jobu's cold voice say pre cisely— "Any one would think they were, lov ers !" lie looked keenly in my face, lam afraid a blush was tin re. He passed on to the library ; and ivli?n I rose the next morning he was gone. Lydi. fvas dis tressed and out of spirits. We wandered together over the house and grounds, and walked with Mrs, Murray to the rectory, where she always spent the first days of George's absence. When we returned, I went with Lydia to her brother's room to put away the many pretty tilings she had arranged to welcome him when he came home. "Me had not stayed so long for years,'" said Lydia, a< she disconsolately collected the pipes that had been scattered on a Mde-table. "I can't think what sent him aw.iy again so suddenly poor fellow !" I did not speak ; I dared not tell her Mrs. John's reinaik then. Sol sat, idly looking from th * window, and Lydia bu- ' sied herself with the dressing table. There j were some papers there, left ail together just as tliev had been sorted out to take. Mr. George must have gone off in a hurry at la-t, and so have forgotten them. Lydia ► looked through them listlessly, saving, "Perhaps I must send them on ?'* Sud denly her hand stored turning the crisp leaves, and an exclamation burst from her lips. I rose and looked over her shoulder In her baud she held a small square pa per, that might once have been a leaf in a sketch-book. On girl's head itad been mugUlv drawn in pencil. The hair waved off the temples, the eyes look d up anx iously, pleadingly. The lips were silently apart. Bound the throat a little, ribbon was tied, and oil the ribbon bung a small locket. Beneath the drawing t'e letters D, C. weie written, and thete two words, ' Kyrie Eleison." It was not an artist's sketch; it was a drawing of a hand that loved. Lydia held up the sketch, and placed her finger on the looking-glass be fore us. The reflection was reproduced in the sketch. I turned away, for it was not my own reflection that I saw, and I was sorrv to have stumbled on another ot his secrets. But my heart bounded, and a new life seemed to come to my soul. Lydia put her arm around me and kissed me. "My dear, a red rose; mi.nl, a full, rich, crimson rose, from the second staddord in the large conservatory, and your long while dress." It was Lydia that spoke; she bad come to bid me good by for the afternoon. She was called from hoiue, -he said. I must excuse her and try t<> amuse myself. A j bright bloom was on her cheek, and she looked quilt young again, though she was dressed soberly in black with only a violet ribhoa to relieve it. Those d< licious hours of solitude, if solitude it coulu be called! ; No, no ; it was life ! new life ! a happi ness too great to realize,' luxurious; aho ly future, in a sweet uncertainty and shad- O-vy brightness. One figure, one face, in a thousand reflections, precluded the idea of solitude. I was companioned by the future. The evening came, so quickly. 1 must dress for Lydia's return. The rose was plucked. 1 was fastening it in my hair when she oarae softly to my room. She had been crying, though evidently she tried to compose herself. "My dear," she said, drawing me down TSfcRMB, 2,00 P Xin AKTITUM to the sofa at her side ; "do von think wc arc responsible for the evil we unconscious ly bring cn others V' not," said I, my mind going back to George and bis mistake. She leaned her head upon my shoulder, and a tear dropped on my hand, as she whispered: "1 have done you a real wrong, I have been a Judas to you. and betrayed vou bv a kiss!" I did not know myself or my weakness ; actually I was ill. Mrs. Murray and Mrs. John thought I had taken cold. Lydia knew differently. She kept my secret and nursed me kindly. When 1 was recover-' ing she told me it was Miss Chester's por trait I had seen. D. C was not Dora Christcnsen, but Delicia Chester. It was my resemblance to Miss Chester that had brought me so much notice fiom Mr. Murray. I hated myse'f for the mistake, and my hatred only increased the evil.— For weeks I lay ill at the Meadows. Lydia would blame herself for showing me the portrait. But we both felt that there is a mystery in sequence—circum stance must lollow circumstance. One link cannot be severed in the chain of fate. And the weary days of illness and conval esence passed on, and after a time my mother took me across the Channel to Di eppe, We were en route for Geneva, but I was weak, and we waited at Dieppe tor a few days to rest. We used to watch the steamers come in. It was the autumn, and there were not a great many passengers. As the boat neared the shore the day be fore we intended to leave, I recognized a pair of dark eyes looking up at me. Mr. George Murray was on board. I fainted. /Chen I recovered Lydia was bending over me, and though we were in an open carriage in the public road, she kissed me as she said: ">illy girl!" We did not leave Dieppe that day. In the evening Lydia and I walked out together, to have a chat, she said, about old times ; but I hat seemed scarcely her intention, for w hen we were alone together she was unusually silent. We were on the pier,— I down to rest, and Lydia, with some unintelligible excuse, left me I leaned against the parapet, watching a boat come in. The tide was dead ahead ; the wind only a cross wind, so the task of bringing her in was not an easy one. It was only a fishing boat; four men were in it; each had an oar : still, as they 'bp rrnpi— fix at cither side, CHCII raised his hat and signed the cross upon his breast, and seemed to breathe a prayer. "Do they lose or gain by that Set ?" I started so when I heard the question. It wilS Mr- Murray who put it. "They lose a wave,' said I. "It is a question/' "They believe they gain. It may be suprrstition; still I think, there is some reality in their idea. The loss is a gain. The boat is a trifle longer i.i getting in ; each man is nearer to his home.'' I did not under.-tand, lor my brain wa< stupid, and I felt ashamed at seeing again ; but lie said no more aboui the boat or the men, tho. gh we watched them out of sight. Then he sat down at my side. I felt his brown eyes on me ; but what came next I can never write. It is only tor him and me. The minutes pased on, each bearing away a pain from my heart. lie told me he had come to Dieppe on purpose to see me, and with the remainder of Iris life endeavor to banish the remembrance of the mistake that had cost me so much. And 1 could only weep and weep, till Lydia came back to put his hand in mine, and ask if I would be her sister. It is all told now. A month after, we left Dieppe ; and were manied by special license before he took me home to The i Meadows as his wife. Mrs. Murray was glad to welcome me, and have her eldest boy near her. happy, though Mrs. John was not so pleased as she might have . been. — And George and I talk freely of the pas' ; and I, too, have learnt to sympathize in Miss Chester's sorrow, when she wrote those two sad words, beneath the sketch Colonel Chester permitted him to make from her a few days before her death. Son e day lam to travel, and stop in Maderia, to visit the English cemetery and see her grave. Still he carries the sketch ; but the mystery is gone between us, and we are very strangely happy, he and I. He does at my baby, though often I see the little fing< rs twine round his ; in deed, I think he likes to feel the strange soft touch of baby's cheek against his own. A wise man will desire no more than he may get justly, use soberly, dis tribute cheerfully, and live contentedly upon. Should like to see that wise man. — ILnryWard Beecher is tt) furnish a story for the New York Ledger. The first chapter w ill be published early next year, _? a.. Women should always set good exam ples, for the men are alwiys following after them. _ • * The influx of immigration into Texas at I the present time is reported very great, | Prentice says Butler makes war as a boy sleeps in oold weather —spoon fash i ion. Opportunities like eggs, must be hatch ed when they freah. VDL. 6 NO. 20, HOW YOUNG PERSONS ARE CAUGH? A friend of the writer had a young man in his office that was very fond of doing just what other persons did, not thinking of the difference in age and circumstances between himself and the men around him. One day the gentleman went into his bar ber's shop to be shaved, just as bis clerk was coming out of the same place. The barber did not know that the merchant was acquainted with this boy, so he said to him, "'Did you notice that lad that went I out as you came in ?" "Oh ! yes," said the j merchant. "Well," remarked the barber, "that boy has his shaving-pot and razor I here, and he comes in every day to be shaved, although he has not a hair upon his face !" lie Wanted to do as others did no matter what it cost him, or how silly it appeared; and this and other thing* came very near proving the boy's ruin. Now, boys will make themselves sick learning to smoke or chew tobacco; they will bring upon themselves a most expen sive habit, and one that may seriously, if not fatally injure their health, in order to* do as others do. This is the way the monkeys were caught! Many fall into the habit of Sabbath breaking, because they see others seeming to take pleasure in such a course, and without thinking of the sad consequences that may follow they do as others do, This is the way the young man falls in to the temptation of drinking. The com pany around hint sip the wine. lie dreads to be singular, although to stand alone is often to stand with God ! Apparently very respectable people drink wine. The evil consequences do not appear at once. They must do as other people do, so they begin to draw on the dreadful boots ! How much misery follows in the traint when one seeks to do as others do. The young man has made the acquaintance of gay young fellows of his own -age. Their parents are rich, and he is flattered bv their notice. He is invited to their homes and is offered wine at their tables. He . must do, he thinks, as other people do. —• The lads take him to a billiard room, and of course he must play with them. They then give him a treat of oysters and wine before he leaves for his home. Now he must do as they do. In his tarn lie mast order tlieiu a fine supper at some no:ed restaurant. This continues month after month lie, by and by, conies home to his Christian mother, lat© at night so excited by liquor that he is almost "be side himself. O, the agony of that home I But this only the beginning. He has drawn the boots on, hut how shall he re move them ! JI is parents are neither able nor willing to supply him with money to he expended for such purposes. But he is so intuited in the round of dissipation upon which he has entered that lie cannot tear himself away from it. As he cannot obtain money enough honestly, he now falls into the temptation of taking it dis honestly. liuin does not wait long for him then. He is discovered; he is ar rested, and some place of restraint or pun ishment closes its door upon him. This is the history of many bright boys that have, and are still, in the llonse of Refnge. Never follow another unless you know he is in the right path; and never fear to stand up alone for the right. TWENTY YEARS. —OnIy think of it, a young man ; t 1 enty years in prison. A poung man commits a desperate deed agarnst the law. which not only destroys property but endangers life ; he is arrested tiierl and convicted ; the judge sentences him, to a long imprisonment—hot for life,, hut for twenty years, the hest part of his life. How changed will all things appear to the old man, the man who entered those walls full ot life and vigor, hut with a down cast look and broken hopes—when he emerges onee more into the busy world, with wcinkled features and silvery hair and feeble frame. Which way will he turn to meet the friends of his youth, or who will remember in him—ihe old man. of forty five or fifty years—the young and active man of twenty years of age ? Young men, you whose acts occasionally lead you into errors against the peace ot the neigh borhood and into the breaking of the law, stop and think of twenty years in prison— twenty years of hopeless toil for the State — twenty years of incarceration awav from the bright fields of the outer world. Is it not dreadful to think about it even ? How much more so is the reality "Tell me, angelic host, ye messengers of love, shall swindled printers here below have no redress above ?' The shining an gel band replied ; To us is knowledge giv en ; delinquents on the printer's books can never enter Ileaven." If ladies appreciated the beautv of thei< tert as thov do that of their necks and shoulders, they would probably go to balls barefooted, J&T What air does the young mouse sing to the old mouse,while biting his way through the scenery at the opera f "Hear ine gnaw, ma." Have courage to prefer comfort and propriety to fashion in all thing*. A German paper states that a young man recently married a widow twice hi* age, and he ascertained subsequently that his wife had once been his wet miree*.