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H 9. COOPER. PHYSICIAN A SURGEON
• Newton Centre, Luzerne County Pa.
Rn.&W E LITTLE, ATTORNEYS AT
LAW Office on Tioga TunkhaiuwckPa
lUM. M. PIATT, ATTORNEY AT LAW O
\\ fiee tu Stark'. Brick Block Tioga'St., Tunk
OL, PARRISn, ATTORNEY AT LAW
• Offi-e at the Court House, in Tuukhann uek
Wyoming Co. l'a.
DR.L T. BURNS has permanently located in
Tuakbur.riix> Borough, anJ respectfully tenders
bis professional services lo its citizens
Office on second floor, formerly occupied by Dr.
£J)F FLUFLJLFR |IOUSE,
The undersigned having lately purchased the
BUKHLER HOUSE " property, has already com
menced such alterations and improvements as will
reader this old and popular House equal, if not supe-
r j -r , to any Hotel in the City of Harrishurg.
A continuance of the public patronage is refpeet
7 GEO. J. BOLTON
LATE AMERICAN HOUSE,
TUNKHAN NOCK. WYOMING CO., PA.
rHTS establishment has recently been refitted an
furnished in toe latest style Everv attention
Will be given to th comfort and convenience of those
whe patronise ibe House.
T. B. WALL, Owner and Proprietor .
Tunkhannock, September 11, 1961.
NORTH BRANCH HOTEL,
MKSUOI'PLN, WYOMING COUNTY, PA
Win. H. CJOKTRIGHT, Prup'r
HAVING resumed the proprietorship of the above
Hotel, the undersigned will spare no eflbris
fender the house an agreeable place ol sojourn to
all who may favor it with their custom.
7 Wrn.H CORTRIGUT.
P. B- BARTLET,
|Lateeft. "IRAIRARIY Horse, ELMIRA, N- Y
The MEANS HOTEL, i one of tne LARGEST
•ad BEST ARR ANGED Houses in the country-It
I fitted up in the most modern and improved style,
a I no pains are spared to make it a pleasant and
ft -reeable itopping-placd for all,
v 3, n2l, ly.
The Subscriber having had a sixteen years pra
Aieal experience in cutting and making clothing
new offers his services in tiis line to the citizens o
nicaoi.SN and vicinity.
Those wishing to get Fits will find his shop the
aea to gat tbein.
JORL, R. SUIT*
vt-ljF.O.f D OF
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A'o. 'Bond Street, ,Yen> York.
Full information, with the highest testimo
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11c. 14 Bonu Street. New York. v6u!slyr,
CtT Our Letter A Family Mewing Ma.
Vhlrie, with all the new improvements, is tbe best,
and cheapest and most beautiful Sewing Machine in
the world, No jther Sewing Machine has go mu/h
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delicate ad iugenious processes of Hemming
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The Branch Offices are well supplied with S
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Send for a Pamphlet,
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mviz sfcviijt! UT STI,EET
BITTF.R AND SWEET.
BT A. P. U'cOMßi.
What is life ? the strangest compound.
All contraries nice.? blent.
Each propelling and controlling,
Through the human finding Tent,
Who says Nature is • failure.
Or her works are incomplete ?
Good and evil hath its uses :
Every bitter bath a sweet.
Every spring raest hare a summer,
Summer will grow sere and bare,
Winter weaves with frosty fingers.
Garments for the ne*t to wear.
Change, decy are written widespread,
Man can fin 1 n<> still retreat,
By this law be only livetb :
Every bitter hath its sweet.
Never would the eye of pity
Gleam with sympathetic tear
But tor misery's broken pleading,
Melting on the human ear.
What wou d be our social structure?
How would man bis brother meet,
It there were no need of usercy,
Nor a bitter tor a sweet 1
If the world were void of danger,
M in no toils, or hopes or fears,
Needing not the >elp or counsel.
Or the flow of friendly tears,
Surely it would be less lovely
For the tread of human feet;
For 'tis sin, and pain, and sorrew,
Brings, through bitter, every sweet.
Treubles all are blessings truly,
With tbe bosi of fleshly ills ;
Richest valley s. robed in beauty,
Could not bloom without tbe bills
So through life, if we l<x>k rightly
On the trials which we meet,
We will see their holy lessons ;
Bless tbe bitter for the sweet.
One but proves the ether's being ;
Each must have its opposite ;
By contracts only are we measured,
Know tbe darkness from the light.
Rest is only for the we-ry,
Cold is requisite as heat ;
Every principle in nature
Hath a bitter and a sweet.
He who'd taste (he bliss of heaven.
Must pass through a fiery hell;
He who drains the cupof sorrow,
Driuketh at the Parian well.
Hunger, want, disease, dispelling,
Are but wisdom's law replete;
'Tis a law of the Eternal ;
Every bitter hath its sweet.
All that's high, and grand, and glorious,
Ce.itre here, an t oetiri'J spring ;
Life without them would be tasteless,
Man a soulless, passive thing
Through tbe ever-ceuseless changing
That our outward senses greet,
Man is ever moving onward,
Through the bitter to tbe sweet.
All that's noble in our manhood,
Everv aspiration high,
Every grand essential feature,
Teaching oinn he cannot iie,
Cometh through this glorious doctrine,
All things everywhere repeat,
Msktug lite quite worth the living,
Having bitter and a sweet.
All this talk, that sin and sorrow
Were not in God's primal plan,
And that toil, disease and suffering
Was the efter-work ef man.
Must give way to light aod reason,
That finds everything complete-
All the work of Neture perfect;
Every bitter with a sweet-
MASTING IN BAVARIA. —The people
in BavHiia are not allowed to marry until
they have what is termed an ''assured
means of subsistence." The law, however
ioes not work well, *a will seen by the
following remarks of a correspondent;
"I have beard of a case of two poor peo
ple having to wail fifteen years for permis
sion to marry, and spending two hundred
Donns on applications. One of the writers
<>n the subject gives the following instance:
•'An operative earning -welve shillings a
week was engaged to a girl earning seven ,
and owner of a house valued at £l2O, and
a cw, They applied for permission to
marry, and were refused ; 'm -ans of sub
sistence not assured. Time went on
They had two children, and still their ap
plication was refused on the same ground.
The owner of the manufactory look up
their cause and pleaded it hitnself with
tbe official, saying that by his retusal was
not what was intended by the Government.
The official replied curtly, "What does
tiiat matter to us; the Government may
have its own ideas on the subject, but wre
have ours, and I in particular am of opin
ion that such marriages are neither right
nor useful.' The author from whom I
quote this adds, "While I am writing, my
serveni girl, aged fifteen years, comes in
dressed for a feast day, and says that her
falhei and mother are to be married to day,
and she mast henceforth be called by her
father's name. Twelve times her father s
application for license to marry was re
jected, and each time he had to pay fees
and expenses, lawyers bills, <fec."
S>PEAK KINDLY. —How much misery
may be abated, how much suffering may be
removed by the .iraple tone and expression
of the human v<*ice! Upon the heart that
is lone and desolate how sweetly falls the
voice of sympathy and consolation! Why
is it, then, since everything proves —and
none are ignorant oft he fact—that all must
lie down in mother earth together, since all
are travelers in this highway to death—'
why is it thai each should be So sparing of
that which costs him nothing, hut which
might raise the drooping spirits of his neigh
bor, and cheer hitn on his journey—a few
kind words and kindly looks.
jg} "I say, Josh, I was going down street
'tother dy and Iseed a bark !"
"Lolly, Sam 1 seed it hollow. I seed the
same oue leave."
" 1 >id it take its trunk with it!"
"No, It left t bat for board."
•*TC SPEAK HIS THOUGHTS IS EVERY FREEMAN'S Jefferson,
TUNKHANNOCK, PA., WEDNESDAY, MAR. 20, 1867-
BY MRS. MARY C. IIAZLBT.
"No, Mary, you shall never be the wife
of George Stanford," said old Mr. Carleton,
with a lowering brow, and a determined
"And why not," said the gentle Mary,
striving to conceal her emotion. "Is he
not of a good family ; is he not regarded
as a high minded, honorable young roan;
are not his business prospects flattering,
and is not his attachment to me as strong
and sincere as you or I would wish ?''
"Thai mav all be very true, my child;
but he has associated himself with a socie
ty which daros not to unfold its secret
workings to the world, and which the
world has never been able to discover as
accomplishing any good. In short, Mary,
Stanford is a Freemason.
"And is that your only objection, fa
"Is not that a sefficient one !" he said
sternly. "Dare you, a mere child, pre
sume to arra> your feeble judgment againet
my age and experience?"
"I do not wish to 'be disrespectful, my
lather, but I cannot help thinking you
judge Masonry unjustly. I have known,
for a long time, that George was a Mason,
and this tact has led me to investigate its
principle. Elder Williams, who lives next
door to ns, is a Mason, and he has atlowed
me to read his Monitor, magazines and
other Msaonic works ; and if Masonry is
what these works describe it to be, it is a
good institution, and the world would suf
fer from its loss."
"You can tell nothing about it by the
books they publish. They arc only print
ed f.r effect, and to conceal the real cor
ruptness of the institution. If there was
anything good about it, it would not be
k*pt secret, The Bible comraauds men
not to bide their light under a bushel."
"But, father, the Bible says also, let r.ot
thy left hand knoweth what thy right hand
doeihand I think I have discovered
some good deeds by Masons. There is
old Mr, Strong, who lives down by the
mill, and who has not beeu able to work
for nearly a year. The Masons have ta
ken care of him for a long time. They
brir.g him provnions and everything elsi
he needs, and every night one or two of
them come to stay with hira—for he is
failing very fast, and it would not be safe
to have him alone."
"Then he is one of their number, and
their caring of him is owing to a species of
honor among thieves," said Mr Carleton.
"No," said Mary," he is not, and never
has been a Mason. He told me so him
self only this morning, when I went to sar
rv hiin some fruit and flowers, and he said
he should have died of want long ago but
for their kindness, and he hoped God
would bless and reward them. And
then," continued Mary, "there is dear Mat
tie Dow, whose father belonged to the so
ciety, the Masons are sending her to the
young ladies' boarding school, and prepar
ing her for a teacher. They are paying
all ber expenses, and she told me they had
cared for bur ever since the death of ber
parents, and that she loved them as much
as if tltey were her ow brothers. Oh,
father !it cannot be that .hose who per
form such good deeds are bad men, for a
tree is known by its fruits."
But old llr. Caileton was not a man to
be turned from his purpose. His preju- |
dice against Masonry had grown older,
and the gentle pleading of his beautiful
daughter only served to irritate him.
"Mary," he said very sternly, "it is of
no ute to talk to me about Masoory ; and
it is worse than folly for you to attempt to
gain my consent to your marriage with
George Stanford. You were eighteen
yea's of age yesterday, and can, of course
do as you please in this matter; bu. if
you dare to disobey uiy wishes you are no
longer my child. I would sooner sink
my wealtn in the depths of the ocean, or
give it to the most miserable beggar in
this great city of New York, than bestow
it upon a daughter who is so ungrateful as
to marry against her lather's will. Choose,
therefore, between your father's wealth and
love, and George Stanford, the Freemason.
I shall expect your decision to morrow
Mary Carleton arose and left her fa
ther's presence; with slow, unsteady step
the sought her own room. She felt that
the crisis of her life had arrived, and she
not how to decide. Her father had en
couraged the attentions of Stanford until
within the last few days. Discovering
that he was a Freemason, Mr. Carleton had
told him haughtily that be must renounce
all connection with the institution nr dis
continue his visits to the house, Tbs
young man had met this unreasonable de
mand with ho proper spirit, and firmly,
but respectfully, asserted his determination
to be a Freemason while he lived He had
been ordered from the house, and told nev
er to enter it again. Such were the cir
cumstances leading to the above conversa
tioa between Mr. Carleton aud bis daugh
Mary knelt at her bedside, and implored
her God to give her strength and wisdom.
She felt that her father was in the wrong,
but could she meet bis frowns and lasting
displeasure? She thought she could not;
but there arose before her the vision of her
affianced husband, the noble, upright, gen
erous George Stauford, and she realized
that his loss would cause her a life of mis
THE LETTER "G.**
1 There came a rap at her doo; a servant
handed her a sealed note, and departed.—
She opened it, and found it to be a few
lines from Stanford, inclosing a ring en
tirely plain, with tbe exception of the small
letter Gon the upper side. The note was
•'MY DEAR MARY :—Your father has
forbidden our further correspondence; but
both duty and inclination prompt rue to
seek acknowledge of your pleasure before
conceding to his wishes. 1 love the Ma
sonic institution, and cannot, consistently
with my feelings, and with my sense of
duty and honor renounce iL The ring I
send you, is ornamented with the letter G
—a Masonic emblem. It you are willing
to become the wife of a Freemason, wear
the ring for my sake, arid I will protect
you while I live; if not, its return will sig
nify to me that we must henceforth be
On the following morning, Mary sought
the presence of her father. Site was very
pale and moved wearily, for sleep had not
visited her eyelids.
"Well, child," said Mr. Carleton, "I
trust a few hours reflection has served to
show you your duty, arid that I have this
morning an obedient daughter."
For reply, she held up her hand upon
which was the ring sent her by Stanford.
"What means that ring ?" eaid tbe old
man starting violently
"It means," said Mary in a Voice low,
but firm, "that I have decided to wear it
while I live, for the sake of Mr. Stanford,
who will soon be my husband.'
Mr. Carleton was dumb with astonish
ment. He had not believed bis daughter
would dare to meet his displeasure.
Mistaking tbe eause of his silence, Mary
advanced to his side, and twining her arms
abont his neck, she kissed his cheek.
"Oh, father!' she said, "do not, I pray
you, turn me from you. You will be lone
ly without me, and I canuot enduru your
frowns. Let me beg ot you to consider
that Washington, Warren, Lafayette,- and
the pious Wesley, were masons. Surely
that cannot be evil which was honored
and loved by so muc't nobleness and tal
Mr. Carleton pushed his daughter from
"Go, foolish child," he exclaimed, "nev
er dare to speak to rae again. You have
no longer a father or a home."
Poor Mary was to wretched to reply ;
but the yearning look she cast upon ber
father, as she glided, ghost-like, from the
room haunted hira years afterwards.
In a week she and Stanford were mar
ried. With a view to remove his wife
from all unpleasant associations, George
eraigiated to a western city, and became a
partner in a mercantile bouse. His busi
ness prospered, and a beautiful house was
purchased on tbe shore of one of those
crystal lakq? so common iu the West
But the tocsin ot war was sounded, and
leaving his business in the care of bis part
ner, Stanford collected a company of vol
unteers, and bidding adieu to bis wife aod
infant son, hastened to Washington.
It was now Mary Stanford's lot, with
thousands of others, to watch eagerly, tor
new* from tbe army, to pray for a hus
band's safety, and wait for his return.
But there came a day when news of a
terrible battle went flashing over tne couu
try, and a telegram reached the eity of
L , stating that Company A had
suffered severely, and that Captain Stan
ford was among the missing. Gently as
possible was Mnrv made to understand
that she was a widow ; but the shock was
too great for her delicate frame, and for
weeks she raved in the delirium of fever.
When at length she slowly recovered, it
was to find that her husband's partner tad
proved recreant to his trust. He had tax
ed the credit of the firm to the utmost, by
borrowing, and with the money thus ob
tained left the country.
"Mary's elegant house was hers no long
er. She now wrote to ber father, acquaint
ing him with her bereavement and mis
fortunes, and begged htm to receive her
again into the home of her childhood. —
Long and anxiously she waited for a re
ply, but none came Then ahe determin
ed to go to her father, and ia pflEaon en
treat him to receive and care for her child,
while she would support herself by teaeh
With what means she had remaining—
only about three hundred dollars —she set
out upon her journey to New York. She
proceeded in safety until she arrived at
the city of B . Htre a brief but
severe illness of her child detained her for
a few days; and when she was ready to
proceed, she found that she had been rob
bed of all the money she possessed. De
prived of the meana of going to her fa
ther, she determined to make one more
effort to communicate with him. She ad
dressed a letter to a gentleman who had
been a friend to her father's asking him to
inform her, whether he still lived, and if he
was iu tbe city.. In a few dajs came a
reply to the effect that Mr. Carleton had
left New Yoik some two montha previous
ly, and that be vas not expected at home
for a year, as business would detain him
in a distant ciL
It now seemed to Mary Stanford that
heaven had indeed deserted ber, and she
oould only caress her child, that
God would interpose in her behalf. There
remained but one course for her to pqrsae.
She sought for and obtained an humble
dwelling in an obscure street; and dispos
iog o.f her jewelry and some few articles of
wearing apparal, discharged ber indebted
ness to the landlord of the W . hotel;
and, taking tbe little Willia bj tbe band,
set out for her new lodgings with a sad
heart. She hoped lo be able to earn a
subsistence by her needle, until her father
should return to bi home, when she firmly
believed he would relieve her sufferings,
if not for her own, for his grand-child's
Bravely she entered upon her new life.
Morning, noon and night found her bend
ing over her sewing or embroidery. ller
form drooped, her cheek grew paler and
Ksler, her eyes were dim with weeping -
fo answers came to the many letters she
addressed to ber father, and hope at length
died out ot her heart To add To her mis
ery the winter was at hand, and she was
forced to the conviction, that the avails of
her needle were not sufficient to supply
her wants. But there was no alternative,
and with a sort of dumb despair, she still
The morning of January Ist, 1864, found
Mrs. Stanford placing in the grate the last
of her little store of fuel. The cold was
intense, and she covered closer the form of
the sleeping Willie, now nearly three
years of age. She knelt by his side, and
imprinted kiss after kiss upon his pallid
btow. Never before bad she felt as now
the meaning of the sunken cheek and blood
less lips. She shuddered with a new fear,
for tbe conviction that he was slowly starv
ing, had fastened itself upon her mind.
"Oh, Gud!" she cried, clasping her
hands in agony, "hast Thou indeed forsa
ken tne ? or art Thou still the widow's
support, and the friend of the fatherless ?
I pray Thee, stretch forth Thine hand and
save my child."
Tenderly she laid her hand upon his
curling locks, and as she did so, her eye
fell upon the ring and the lettei G, which
years before she had placed upon her finger
as the seal of her destiny. She gazed at
it vacantly, as her mind busied itself with
the past. Swiftly the various scenes of her
checkered life passed in revied before her ;
all finely terminating in the misery of the
present. What was to be done ? Willie
would soon awake, and she had no more
bread to appeas his hunger. The fire
would soon die out, and then both must
perish with cold. The ring must be of
some value, and she could sell it and ob
tain enough to preserve them a day or two
at the h-ast. It was the last article she pos
sessed that would procure bread Her'
heart gave a great, painful thiob ; but she
looked at her child, and her decision was
Wrapping a faded shawl around her
emanciatcd form, she stirred the expiring
fire, and closing tbe door softly behind her,
descended into the street, and walked rap
idly in the direction of the hgp. where,
months before, she had disposed of her
jewelrv. Although the distance was short
she reached her destination benumbed and
shivering, and paused for a moment before
tbe glowing grate before making known
her errand. An old gentleman enveloped
in a great, warm cloak, entered, and ad
vanced directly to the counter.
"I wish to purchase a bracelet, M a New
Year's present for my daughter," he said,
The shopman placed a case of jewels be
fore him, and then turned to his poorer
"How much will you g've rae for this
ring ?" she said, with emotion.
"Its actual value ia but trifling," he re
plied ; "it is very old. 1 will give you oue
* Oh, sir ! ia it not worth more than
that ?" she said. "It is very dear to me
for its associations, and nothing but the
most pressing want would induce me to
part with iL I pray you give me all it is
"1 can give no more," he said, dropping
it on tbe counter, carelessly.
Mrs, Stanford grasped it, and pressed it
to her lips ; then she laid it down rever
ently and extended ber hand for tbe tnon
The old gentleman who had come to pur
chase a bracelet, had listened in silence to
this little dialogue between the poor woman
and the shop keeper; but he now moved
to her side and said, respectfully :
"You seem very unwilling to part with
this ring, madam ; will you allow mc to ex
amine it ?"
"Certainly, sir," said Mrs Stanford, pass
ing it to him.
The man started as his eyes fell upon the
letter G. and he asked quickly :
"Where did you obt-in this ?"
"Oh, sir !" said Mary, "tt was a gift from
my husband, previous to our mariiage. 1
prize it very highly, for he is dead, and it
is the last motm nto 1 have. But bis child
is starving, and it must be sold "
"Do you know the meaning of this let
ter ?" he said.
"No, sir, except that ray husband told
me it was a Mason.c emblem, and if I was
willing to become tbe wife of a Freemason,
I was to wear it for his sake."
•'Well, well," said the old man, "I pre
sume yon arc in haste to return to your
child. I have taken a fancy to this ring,
and I will give you more for it than the
shopkeeper can afford to give." and placing
a ten dollar note in ber hand, be deposited
the ring in his vest pocket.
"Oh, sir, a thousand thanks, and may
heaven bless aod reward yon," said Mrs.
"How far is it to your house ?" said the |
"Only two blocks distant," she replied.
"It is rery cold and I will accompany
you, and lend you my cloak," be said kiad
Wrapping it carefully around her, he
walked by her aide io the direotioa ef her
"I must atop here, and purchase some
bread for my child," said Mary.
"Very well ; I will wait her- for you.'
In a few moments she returned, and they
A single glance at the wretched loomr
served to show to the kind hearted old man
the full extent >f Mrs- Stanford's poverty.
Ifillie was awake, and sat shivering upott
his miserable bed. His great hungry eyeff
lighted as they fell upon the package hi*
mother deposited upon the rickety table,
and the only response to her cares* wafey
"bread, mamma ; bread !"
The old man, standing by the door,
waited to hear no more ; and when Marj
turned to thunk hitu for his kindness, b®
had gone, leaving his cloak behind him.
A few moments afterward, Mary opetied
her door in response to a loud rap, and
found a large basket of coal upon the
threshold. The person who brought it
had already reached the foot of the stair
way. But there could he no doubt for
whom the coal wan designed, and Mrs.
Stanford's poor house was soon comforta
A halt honr later, a supply of provisions
arrived in the same mysterious mariner,
and the loving mother wept and smiled by
turns, as the gr--edy Willie, with hands
trembling with excitement, lifted package
after package of wholesome food from the
basket to the table. At the bottom lay a
note which read thus—"Place your trust
in God. and He will supply and guard you."
On the following evening, Humanity
Lodge, No.—, met in regular communica
tion, The usual business of the evening
having been transacted, an old man arose
•'My brethren, you all know a Freema
son's duty toward the widow and orphan,
especially the widow and orphan of a broth
er. At No. 6 E street, lives a poor
woman, who was torc-d to encounter the
intense cold of yesterdry morning, in the
• ffurt to procure food for herself and child,
and fuel to keep them from freezing. I
have placed them above present want by a
sm-dl supply of provisions and coal ; and
her landlady, who describes the poor wo
man as one who is worthy, and has soetk
better days, will care for her until we caa
aid hr further. I first discovered her in
the shop of a J. w, endeavoring to procure
money by the scle of a ring engraved
with the letter G. The Jew wouid give
her hut a trifle tor it. and 1 purchased it
myself. She told me it- was a piesent
from her husband previous to Ler mar
"Have yon the ring with you ?"' said a<
strange voice quivering with emotion.
"Yes," replied the old man searching,
for it in his vest pocket. ' Auy one who
wishes may examine it."
The stranger, who was a tall, fine look
ing man, but very pile, as if from sickness,,
crossed the room quickly and looked ea
gerly at the ring.
"Oh, heaven !" he excla : mcd, it is Ma
ry's ring. Where did you sty, No. 6
E street ? My wife! my poor wife!"
He vanished from the room, but the
followed. When he readied tha
home of Mary, it was to find her Iving in
sensible upon her wretched couch, and her
husband endeavoring to restore conscious
ness by bathing her hrow and chafing the
haods hardened t>y toil.
Captain Stanford, ot Companv A, had
been indeed among the missing, hilt he was
not df-ad He had prcss.-d forward in ad*
dance of his men. a d fallen wlu-re the,
fight as thickest. He had been borne
from the firld as a prisoner, by Confederate
tidier*, and it was many weeks before an
exchange was effected. Then, rewarded
tor his bravery, with a colonel s commis
sion, but still weak from the ffccts of a
severe wound, he obtained a furlough, and
hastened to his western home. His wife •
had left for New York ; his perfidious part
ner had been discovered and arrest?d, and
a large part of the money he had purloin
ed had been recovered Leaving the case
in charge of an attorney, Colon. 1 Stanford
followed his wife Searching New York,
no trace of her could be discovered. Think
ing perhaps she might have ascertained
the locality of her father, and gone to him,
Stanford resigned his commission and went
j again in pursuit, lie finally succeeded in
finding Mr. Carlton in St. L<>ui*, prostrated
vitli fever, which in a few days terminated
fatally. George remained wiih lnm until
the last, and ou his death bed, the old man ,
had repented his unjust treatment of bis
daughter, and instructed George to bear
to her his blessing.
Thinking that perhaps Mary might .
have returned home in his absence, ha
again sought the city of L . But
she was not there, and, half maddened
with grief and anxiety, be renewed bit
But his can<d seemed hopehss, when,
arriving at B , he determined to,
visit the Lodge, and request his hre'hran
to assist in ascertaining d she was in that
city. The result we have already seen,
and it only remains to say. Col. Stanford,
his wife and the boy Willie—now the pic
ture of health and happy childhood—are.
dwelling again in the beautiful home on.
the hanks of the Lake W. .
A half penitent Mongrel editor in,
Ben lis) lvania says ; "We have got about
enough of Sambo." lie inuat have twak
lowe u a nigger whole.
(gr In some part of Maine it is reported
that (he "black lueasie*'' prevail with fear
ful mortality. The whole country ha* bad,
that sickness pretty bad for several yean*
VOL. 6 NO. 32