THE ELK ADVOCATE, LOCAL ANO (jENIEAL KEWBPAPEH, H M'ublUlittl Brtrtt ThuraJay. BY JOHN P. MO'JRlS Per Year in advance f 1 50 Rates of Advertising. Adm'rs nnd lit eetor'i Notices, eni'h 0 times, ,.,.. J r!) rVudilor's ISulii'CS, euoii 1' t Transient advertising, per square of 10 lines or less, 3 times or lets....!. S M For each subsequent insertion, IA tSa?AU subscriptions lo be paid in ad vance. Orders for Job Work respectfully elicited. ISUOfflce on Main Street, in tbe second story of Houk & Oillls Store. Address JOHNO. BALL, EDITOR & PROPRIETOR . Professional cards, 1 year 6 Cfl Special notices, tier line It WW Obituirr and Mairinge Notices, rrcli 1 00 rcarijr Advertising, one square. 10 W Yearly Advertising, two Bauam lfif0 Yeai'y Adver'ing three square. "0 00 Yearly Advertising, column 25 0 Yearly Advertising, I column ?,f Ml Yearly Advertising, 1 column.......;, TO 00 JOHN G. HALL, Editor. VOLUME 7JrVJTtBEn 30. J. P. MOORE, Publisher. Advertisements displayed more than hid a war, PEjrjr., july nth, i860. TEn.VSl SO Per l'ear in Advance. ordinarily will be charged for at the rate (per column) of. 6d 64 SELECT STORY. From the Phil'a Tress. tmie jnAitKED jnojrEW. A Story of Love and Law. John Gordon kept the " Village Tav ern." Gordon was a hard.headod, tout bodied, red-faced, jolly, humorous Scotchman. He was liberal, with an eye to the main chanoe. lie was proud of his position as landlord ; proud that his house should be Lnown and spoken of in the great city of London, and par. ticularly proud that so many connois. seurs thought it well worth their whilo to drive out to the " Village Tavern," that they might drink Gordon's inimi table punch, made from the pecul iar whiskey of which the landlord had trace from the moment it came from the still, just close to the foot ot Ben Nevis, to the hour it went gurgling down the drinker's throat. Of all these things was John Gordon proud. This was the pride ot his pro fession ; but there was ono thing more of which he was proud, and to which all other things were but as accessories. This was his daughter Letty. Letty Gordon was the landlord's only child. He had married an English wife, and ten years after tnis marriage there came to John Gordon this one child. On tbe day that little Letty could count eight years, Mrs. Letty Gordon, senior, was called to another and a better world, leaving little Letty heiress of all the goods, chattels, and real estate of which he died possessed, tho last item being Tho Village Tavern," with its furni. ture and belongings : a comfortable set ting out which, with true Scotch thrift, her good father bad settled upon her the day she was married, and from which John Gordon had garnered soa,o olid wealth, which lay stretched out in various farms in tbe country round. T ... nnfln. nA VliiA .DM If.rV blue, very large, and sparkling with suppressed mischief. Letty Gordon had light brown hair that danced about her head, laughing all combs to scorn, and almost repudiating a ribbon. She had the whitest ekin, and the whitest teeth, and the oh ! this sounds too much like an auctioneer's summary. I shall end it by saying that she was just the merriest, sweetest and most enticing little fairy I have ever seen, and I am oot alone in so believing. There were a few of the favored guests of " The Village Tavern " who could occasionally see Letty Gordon ; but to the mass who went and came like shadows, Letty was herself a shadow. They had heard of the landlord's beautiful daughter ; once in a long while some one more fortunate than the rest would catch a glimpse of the little maiden, but from whence she came or whither she went tho glimpser oou'.d never tell. They drank the health quietly of the mysterious beauty of whom they heard so much, of whom they knew she breathed the same at mosphere with themselves, and jet to them was a sealed book. This was the treasure that John Gordon watched and guarded she who, already an heiress in her own right, was to inherit all the acies that he bad been adding year by year from the overflow of" Tho Village Tavern." Letty was not tho only ad miration of tho gay groups who came .from the city, but she was the ambition of every rustio beau, who looked w ith covetous eyes upon the fair face and the broad acres of the landlord's daughter. They looked, but they looked in vain ; .for John Gordon had long resolved that whoever came wooing to his Letty should be no common man, but should out-double her in wealth. Letty Gordon was not tbe only !air attraction that brought tbe gallants to "The Village Tavern." There mi another bright face, another comely ahape, in the person of Martha Field. Martha and Letty were or an age oom eighteen. Martha was an orphan, and tad been taken when a child by the t T . aJam 4j i a fit nr. HfV. tV riryht hind Ot " 106 4ei usj w 'o "Villago Tavarn '," she was here, there and everywhere, as John Gordon ex. pressed it If extra company came, and aid was wanted in the kitohen, Martha was able and willing. Whether Mar. tia'e y.sid iat4 in tbe t el-rooms, in the ptrlors to wait on the guests, to attend in the bar, it was always the same, she was there. Whatever she did was well done. Many a smart far mer's son, who came as suitor to the mistress, made a desperate effort to am. end the' hopelessness of tho case by fall ing in love with the maid, only to find out that his fate was the same in either quarter. - Martha Field had already disposed of the little beating heart that lay beneath her trim, well-fitting bodice. She had given it, subject to certain con. ditions, into the keeping of David Bige low, a smart and promising carpenter, who, by some special art lurking under hia tongue, had managed to secure the little girl to himself in tho face of the most startling opposition. Under these circumstances there can be no wonder that Martha should be given to reading romances, and sympathizing generally with lovers, and particularly those in distress. There were some who said that when Martha Field mar ried, John Gordon would come down " warm " with a trifle for the couple to start with. But those who knew the landlord better declared that as long as life was in John Gordon's body he would not part with a pound of all he had so carefully hoarded, and now as strictly watched. In proof of this they pointed to Letty and Martha, upon whom he never lavished a peony, putting off their desires for showy dress, so inherent in the sex, by telling them that their faces would make their fortunes without rib bobs and silk. This was John Gordon's household, save only Aunt Judy, who reigned su preme in the kitchen department. One bright day in June when the leaves Hut. tered with more than ordinary gladness, and the sun glanced over the waters of the ri7er, lending its light to the clear, pruvollj bottom till it showed tbe lazy fish in their very homes, the Paterson stage rattled through the village and dropped one passenger at," The Village Tavern." He was a tall, daik complex. ioned man, somewhere about thirty, with a quiet, assured manner, that told the crowd of idlers who stood always ready to stare at the stage passengers, if they were capable of receiving any ini pression, that the new eomer was not one easily stared down, and well accus tomed to all the attentions that could be thrust upon him. He told John Gordon, who stood rea dp to receive turn, tbat bis name ws Philip Conger, and his intention was to speud a week with him, and try his hand at tho fish. John was pleased at the announcement, and told bis guest so ; more pleased as he noticed that the young man's luggage bespoke that mon ey wat plentiful ; and still more pleased when he found that his liberal orders did full justice to his looks. Philip Conger fished until the venerable old trout and pickerel trembled in their watery beds.- He shot with such success that he awak ened the jealousy of the stereotyped sportsmen of the place. He walked, he rode, and drove, and so the week passed away, ana yet ne remainea a guest 01 " Tho Village Tavern." Another week, and Philip Conger was still there ; but he no longer fished, no longer hunted, his walks and rides were shorter, and the house had more attrac tion. In a few words, he had seen Let. ty Gordon, and spoke with her, and from that moment all things that carried him away from where he could feel that she was near had lost their charm. And stranger still than this, Letty, who had been so invisible to all other eyes, now went flitting uneasily about the bouse If Philip sat upon tbe settee, there were larce chances but he would seo her within an hour. If be walked roaming ly about the garden, Letty had a boquet to make up, some berries to pick, or something to do which he always could take a band in. Thoea about the vil lage who always see everything told John Gordon occasionally that Letty was at tbat moment under the charge of the stranger, being paddled leisurely along the shore in the skiff, or had been seen at some past time walking with the stranger in some near lane, or sitting in soma half secluded spot earnestly talk ing. They could m that tha landlord's faee erew dark whenever sueb intelli. - geoce was brought him, and thoso who were most about tbe house could observe that he no longer treated his guest with the same attention as formerly ; there was a lack of that welcome and greeting that John Gordon had always for well paying guests; and then the gossips foretold a Btorm' They said that when Gordon's face darkened thero would be honing flashes whioh would strike somewhere, There were no other signs sides these foretelling this coming storm. Letty was seen once, twice, perhaps three times, in tears, and Mar. tha Field bad been heard openly to de clare all fathers tyrants. One day John Gordon, with a redder face than usual, and a quioker step, went from bar to stable, and from parlor to cellar. Something thcie was in the wind moic than common. The busy, bodies looked around and abroad for the cause, and were not long in finding it out. There, almost opposito the house, and in full view, lay the littlo skiff fast at anchor, while Philip Conger, with Letty Gordon as his pupil, was back at bis old employment of fishing. Now they said the long gathered storm would burst ; but they were to be wofully mis. taken when they believed it would break with violence over the head of Philip Conger. In their own good time the couple came back ; they were too happy to hasten much ; and then John Gor don, with his vials of wrath all charged, sought Philip. For an hour they were togother in the room of Philip, but those who listened for the thunder of the storm heard nothing. There wes only the confused sound of the two voi cts, sometimes that of Gordon above the other, then as instantly calming down What the mesmerism was that held the usually violent man was a mystery, but at the end of the hour John Gordon uawa una paie ana Mieot, and in ano ther hour Philip Conger had turned his back on " The Village Tavern " never to be its guest again. It was for his daughter all his harsh. ness was reserved, and poor Letty had now not only to bear with her father's dark looks and stern words, but, what was worse, with a curtailment of her liberty. How she would have borne this it would be hard to tell, but that Martha had brought to her a letter from Philip, written within that hour before he left tbe house, filled with his promis. es of love, and his declarations that he would not depart from the vicinity, and Would find means to correspond with her. How Well thedo declarations were kept she knew the next day, when Martha brought her intelligence that Philip Conger Was within a mile, having found quarters at a farm house scarcely that distance away, on the opposite side of the river. It may be held as a certain ty that John Gordon was not long in knowing this; and further, be knew that not many days would elapso before the lovers would find means of corre poudence. Nor was John Gordon wrong in this. lo Maitha field Letty had eonOdea everything, and Martha was now the mercury that managed, if she did not carry, the correspondence be tween Letty Gordon and Philip Congtr. and David Bigelow, the worker, who, at the bidding of Martha, performed the postman. Without actually knowing this, John Gordon suspected, and with him suspicion generated active measures. David Bigelow was at once forbidden the house, and the full weight of his displeasure rained down upon the head of Martha. For weeks things remained in this uncertain state. Whatever measures John Gordon intended to take were locked within his own breast. There was a mystery in progress through which none could fathom, and to whioh Letty Gordon bent her ear seriously and tremblingly when Martha Field brought her the gossip she had heard stirring. John Gosdon had been known to have asveral , private interviews with old Brown the village constable. Tha old man had been seen llrking round the village suspiciously, as if smelling out some trouble. He spent a great deal of the time at the tavern in talks with the landlord, or sitting and watching tvery thine under bis lowered brows. The gossips were bast again. They declsr ed that between John Gordon and old Brown there was something that would bring trouble to Philip Conger or David Bigelow. They bad heard the landlord declare his intention of driving them both out of the village, and of turning Martha Fielb into the road to seek a home whero she would. Perhaps he would not go so far j but every one who knew John Gordou knew that he Would not stop half in his efforts to reach any end upon which he started. Of late he had talked much about ingratitude bout those he had fed turning from him about conspiracy about nursing vipers in his bosom that turned and stung him ; and for a long time these pickeis.up of unconsidered domestic tri fles were divided in opinion as to wheth. er the old man made allusion to bis daughter or to Martha Fiele. They were soon satisfied when they perceived that he ceased to speak to Martha un. less forced by necessity to do so, and then only with an expression that be. trayed his unwillingness. Martha laugh ed at the threats of John Gordon to ex pel her from his house. She knew that she was essential to tbe success of " The Village Tavern," and that if its landlord did not understand when he had a good and faithful servitor, she knew enough that would, and to these she would go. Martha Field set him at defiance, and still contiuued, with the aid of David Bigelow, to carry the let ters of the lovers. It was one evening in tbe early au- w a tum, following a day that John Gordon and old Brown had been engaged in numberless consultations. The plot seemed to thicken, andthose who had been peering about until they knew more of the matter than the actors them. Belves, said that it was near its catas trophe. The habitual redness had do serted John Gordon's face ; it was pale instead very pale for John Gordon He stepped more quickly that night than was his custom from tbe bar to the parlor, and so up stairs to where Letty and Martha sat. Those who spoke of it afterward said that many things passed that evening that were strange, but were not thought of ia that way until the next day. They said that soon after dark a rower in a skiff, looking very like the one Philip Conger was some' times seen in, camo slowly up the river, and lay for some minutes under the great willow that grew at the foot of the garden ; and one of these gossips living on the opposite side, says he saw this single rower leave bis skiff and stand under the willow, where in a few mo. ments he was joined by one in a light dress ; that stood together for a short space, and parted the skiff and its sin gle rower returning the same way that it came. Another, equally as veritable, two hours later, saw a carriage and hor. scs, entirely unknown in that part of tbe country, travelling at a great speed on tho road towards London, and declafed this carriage to contain a lady and gen tleman, who with corroborating circutn stances, wer belived to be Philip Con ger and Letty Gordon. Those who were nearer borne saw that same evening a cart drawn up in front of" The Village Tavern," with old Brown as its driver. They saw him and John Gordon go together to the vacant carlor. where, after a talk. Martha Field was sent for. Within a few min utes the more inquiring, who pressed out of the bar.room for that purpose saw Martha Field, John Gordon, and old Brown drive away together from The Village Tavern," Martha without bonnet or shawl, and with a calm, sdoro ful look J John Gordon with white face, and pale, tight-shut lips ; and old Brown with a complacent expression of face, that would leave tbe impression with all who did not know him, that be had just performed one of the most benevo lent and praiseworthy of anions. The next day the village was startled from its sleep with the intelligence that Philip Conger had carried away Letty Gordon, and they were believed to be in London J that Martha Field, at al most the same moment that the runaway couple were commencing their flight, had been arrested on a charge ot steaL ing money at various times from John Gordon, and was now In tbe county jail, entirely refusing to confess that the sto len money bad been directly traced to her by a plan of John Gordon and old Brown, the different coins having been marked to lead to detection, and spent by Martha Field at diffcrnt places in the village ; and that John Gordon, up on his return from tho squire's, whero Martha was committed, and finding that Letty had fled, started in pursuit, and was brought in halt an hour aftcawards with a broken arm, having been thrown from his cart. This was news Indeed for gossips, and great capital they made of it. The stories that flew from mouth to mouth did not lose in telling. Some had it that Martha had robbed John Gordon of many hundreds of pounds, in revenge for his refusal to bestow a marriage portion on hersel f and David Bigelow ; others that Martha was thrown into prison by the landlord in revenge for assisting Letty in a marriage that would surely throw him out of the tav ern Stand. These cried ehatne, add ask ed each other if John was not rich enough to give Letty her little propert y, and if he was not old enough to give up to younger men. It was strange then how many had seen and foretold all these things to themselves long ago; how many knew it would be so, and were not surprised in the least; and how many were ready with the charitable hope it would be a lesson to John Gor don, and lead him to see that there was an instability in wealth, and nothing re ally true bur their advice. A week rolled by, and John Gordon left his room, with his broken limb in splints hanging by a sling. He had al tered, people said, in that week to be at least ten years older. Uis lace was drawn and haggard, and the rosy, heal thy hue bad gone out of his cheeks His eyes Were dim, and there was no loud hearty laugh ringing through the bouse as in the old days. The loungers and gossips watched the old msn as he went vacantly about the place with something like awe. Thep watched him as he was confronted in his own bar. tbat spot which one short week before was his stronghold, by another face as pale and haggard as bis own, who asked for justice on behalf of Martha Field and was refused. Then this man, who was none other than David Bigelow, stood up before the landlord and the cu rious crowd, and told how Martha Field was guililess, and that John Gordon knew it, when in his base anger and de sire to remove the means ot commuoic'a tion between his daughter and Philip Conger, he sent an innocent girl, who should have been as dear to him as child, to a ci iminal prison. John Gor. don trembled with the rago he wan obli ged to suppress, and David Biqelow went on Yes! he knew that the money whizh he had marked as a trap was ta ken by his daughter Letty, as she had a perfect right to do ; for was not the houBo and all within it ay, and all its profits, even to the last penny, even the lands he bad bought with thoso profits hers ? Yes. And he, John Gor don, knew this and more. He knew that Letty Gordon had taken this mon ey as she would take Hoy other thin that was her own, and had given it to Martha Field to purchase such articles as her father wrongfully denied her paper, pens and ink, that she might write to the man to whom she had be trothed hersel r, and such things as were oecessary to have when aho fled from the home wbere she was a prisoner'. This he said and more. Tbat Mar tha Field had refused to say anything on tbe night of her arrest, knowing that Letty would step forward for her pro tection at the proper time ; that it was Letty 's intention to have left her home with Philip Conger within a few days of the one on which Martha was arrested ; but why the flight should have occurred on that evening, so prematurely was an Unexplained mystery- One thing was certain, that when Letty Gordon left home she did not, nor did she now, know of the arrest of Martha Field, or she would come forward at any risk and show her entire innocence. The old man sneered at David's story. There was law, be said, and justice tor all If tha girl waa innocent, let her show it and all would be welL Sit had chosen silence when she was examined before the squire ; bow let her wait un til her trial. There was law and justice for all, and protection for him, too, and he would have it. John Gordon ac companied this last declaration by a blow upon the table with his clenched, uninjured hand, that brought back td to tho listeners some memory of the week pefore, when it would have been dangerous to have provoked bis wrath i David Bigelow drew himself up to bis full height, aud speaking as calmly to the maimed man before him as though his address were the commonest topic, he told from that time forth no appeal should be made to him again for mercy that he Would go forth, abd if Letty Gordon was alive, be would find her and bring her there to do Martha Field j us tice, and to confonnd his villainy. From that time forward John Gordon could look upon bim as bis deadly enemy, and remember that, as be had denied mercy, so would it be denied to him. David Bigelow strode out of the room, while the old man glared fiercely at the group, who murmured their admiration of tbo carpenter, and one by one followed hint out. David Bigelow bad left the village, none knew exactly where, but tbo sur mise was that he had gone to London j Days and weeks slipped by, and noth ing was beard of him. Martha Field was still a prisoner awaiting trial. John Gordon was gaining strength in his arm, the bone was knitting finely, the doctor said, but bo wis not gaining strength in "The Village Tavern." The neighbors came less and gossiped less. The story crept about. Even those who drove up from the city knew something about it. There was one thing they could all see, which was that John Gordon's face was pale and the strength of his welcome gone. The day for Martha Field's trial came. There was great sympathy for her through all the country. Her story was believed, but there was no evidence. Tbe prose, cution made its case very clearly and distinctly. The loss of the money was proved, the marking, the tracing of the marked money to the village shops, where it had been passed by Martha. There was no defence; the very able Counsel, who had volunteered for her said that he could only make tho state ment on behalf of the prisoner ; and then be gave Martha's story of how sho had become possessed of tbe marked money. There was a dead silence in the court-room as he closed a beautiful appeal for merey for tbe prisoner. In its midst came a loud groan, and, in a moment after, a shuffling of feet, and several persons were straining to lift a man who had slipped from one of the benehes, and lay prostrate upon the the floor. It was John Gordon, the strong man. Weak enough now be was, as they strove to raise him to his feet, (lis eyes were wide open, and looking eagerly toward the judge i " Acquit her! " he said, " I am sorry. I know she tells the truth." " Put that man baok upon the stand," tbe judge says sternly. The man was put back upon the stand, only tbat his heart had softened, and he could sec the truth in the story the prisoner had told now, when he would not see it betore. And so they carried him away to his cart, and drove home. As they bore tho old broken-down man out by one door, there were eyes met Martha's from the other that made her heart leap. EJach of that jury said, when speaking of the case afterward, that they would have acquitted tbe pris oner through sympathy, without any evidence for the defence. When the eyes of David Bigelow and Letty Gor don met Martha's she knew that she wanted no sympathy now to send her out upon the world with a stain upon her name forever. The truth had come, and when Letty Gordon, now Mrs. Philip Conger, threw her arms about tbe prisoner's neck and kiteed her, whiie she cried and laughed by turns, everybody knew the story as well aa though it had been told. As a f jrm tbe evidence must be given, and before the tears had dried upon Letty's cheeks, tbe verdict was rendered : "Not guilty I" How tbe people shouted, until the judge was obliged to adjourn tbe court for an hour to allow tbe eotbu3ia.-.u time to cool I How tbe news spread like wild-fire through the country town, and the ladies looked out ot their win. dow and waved their handkerchief to Martha as she passed up the street from the eourt-houM ! And. how tUe Utd
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