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..^•.••••*~ !hw IBW OPPOSITE THE STEAMBOAT is NT CLOUD DEMOCRAT OFFICE ON THE WESTERN BANK OF THE t«.MII«ES ABOVE THE FALLS OF ST. ANTHONY, TERMS: S E E N I E ATTORNEY A COUNSELLOR AT S OLOTTTD, Lower Town. -Will make collections, invest money, buy, •alt ar loan land Warrants, and enter purchase a* dispose of Real Estate. A E S E Orttca W*mQTON Avaifvn, farmer of Monroe Street—Monti's Building •T.CLOTD ,. Min. OBO. A N O S E (Late at St. Anthony,) ATTIMEY ftHO COUNSELLOR AT LAW, •noa "u McCtviio's (Paawix) BLOCK, Nran THB Bninoa. gTfTAUL, Min. W S. MOORE fttTfilEY AND COUNSELLOR AT •^UB: RAPIDS, Min. train xiiiaa. aaaar SWISSHBLM E A E S A E A E N CLOUD, MINNESOTA. THEi undersigned offer their services to loan money upon best real estate security and te purchase and sell property either real or personal, for a reasonable commission. They have now for sale, at low prices: 20 quarter sections of good land. tO lots, (some improved,) in St. Clou.d 10 Nininger addition te St. Paul. 20 in Nininger eity, 10 in Mound city, Illinois. LAWseemed MILLER A 8WISSHELM ft. aieud, May 13,1868. N. N. SMITH, Doalerin Real Estate Wtt Oalet ea River Street, oppositethe Ferry A I N CLOITD, M. T. ALTows peraanfl desiring to invest in Leads or Property in a part of the country which is oneurpessed in son, and rapidly fining with bona fide settlers, canfindfavorable op fertnaiUei by applyingtothe undersigned. Property for sale in the towns of Hartford, Cloud, Newburg, Brottsburg, Mille Lae and •U the beet..paying towns in this part of the 'oeatirf .vr" -1: .*.-•/ .• N. N. SMITH. Ww I I N THB undersigned takes this method of forming those who may have houses Build mills to frame, or carpentry and joiner* any or all of Hs branches, that he is prepar ed te take contracts, and do all kinds or work la this line, on the most reasonable terms and sa a good, Workmanlike manner. .afXA^/a: J. S-DHQATRHUSSEY. 8T. ANTHONY BOOK STORE WaOlXlAX.1 AITD at TAIL DBA IX BOOKS, STATIONARY, WALL PAPER, FISHINGTACKLE, POCKET CUTLERY, FANCY ARTICLES, TOYS, Ac. Three doors abovi the Tremont Hotel. .,-• fQ »4i .ilv St. Anthony, ifin. Jane 10.1860. vollnol8,l T\EALBR in Clothing, Cloths, Casaimeres, Tastings, and Gentlemen's Furnishing goode, ee the iaepoetieai of which lie friends and the public. ,,,-. doclO 1867-ly hoiatttos Civil Oeleo es Firat Street, Lower St. Cloud Mapo of all ewrvoyed landa, and plaU of all 2 N S E Miansaota, can BKfi aT tfises at mf ofitae Written For The St. Cloud Democrat. E E I N O N -Loa— THE SACRAFICE OF A MOTHER'S A LANDING. MOO *,00 two eopiee, MM year, five eepleev one year, 7,00 fen *r 12,00 twenty 20,00 a»fmaat a laraaiably bemade in advance. EATES OF ADVERTISING eeloma, one /ear, $60,00 Half column, 96,00 One-fourth of a eoluan 20,00 One aquara, (tea lines or less) one week,' -1,00 Baaia«M Cards not over six line*, 5,00 •ver six lines and under ten, 7,00 Legal Advertising: Sixty cents a folio first insertion, 40 cents all subsequent insertions. AM letters of business to be directed to the EDITOR. LAW,centre. ATIORNEI A COUNSELLOR AT LAWwere S OLOTJ3D, Lower Town. Will make collections, invest money, buy, aall erleanLandWarrants, andeater, purchase ar dispose of Real Estate. WM. J, PARSONS, MRS. 8. C. SHAW. CONCLUDED. •iWboistbat girl with those bright flashing eyes? that sparkling brunette, whose color comes and goes with every thought' I could swear she was Bohe mian—so dark, so brilliant, and yet so thoughtful/' exclaimed Henry Moreton to his companion, as they sauntered lies urly through the crowded rooms of Mrs. Ellis, en the evening of herfirstparty. Why, Henry, can it be possible you have been a month in E and not yet met with Ger:rude Clinton Our wit, our charmer, and our poetess? Gome, then, and sue for her pardon for so long, so unusual a delay," and Edward Fenno hurried his companion forward to theGertrude little circle of which Gertrude was the As they approached, and the eye of the fair girl met the admiring gate of the young stranger, the rich blood leaped to her fair brow for a moment, and her dark eyes seemed strangely brilliant. The usual compliments of the evening passed, a few moment's conversation, and they no longer strangers a peculiar sym pathy seemed theirs—the sympathy of thought, the similarity of genius. And as Edward Fenno left them, he could but exclaim how very like they are!" A merry evening passed at Mrs. E—'s. And Gertrude thought time had never flown so swiftly, nor never was there any one half so interesting as her new friend and whispered she to Emily while on their way home "He is to stop in town a year, dear Emily, is not that delightful We shall have at least one who can appreciate much that is beautiful in our lovely village." And as that year arose before the young girl's vision, how full was it of hope and happiness!" And as Henry Moreton sought his couch that night, anew strange emotion to pervade his spirits—a form and face were before his vision, and rich, deep tones and wOrds of thought seemed ring ing in his ears. At length morning dawn ed, and the fine vision left him not but seemed floating constantly before him. And yet she is not beautiful. Oh, no! but so gifted! I could love her soul were she ugly as Colipse" murmered he, as for the fortieth time, he essayed to light his cigar—the companion of his solitude. Days passed, and he strove to banish her image from his heart, for what had he to do with love with such as her He, the son of a proud Carolinian planter, reared in the sunny south, in the lap of luxury and ease and she a simple country maiden—unsophisticated and untaught in the ways of that world which he had been taught to worship. Too noble to trifle with her, he resolved to think no more of her, but again they met It was soft dewy eve. He had stolen from his room and sought a quiet path Where he might wander undisturbed—• where he might for a time eaeape the din of business and hold communion with his own thoughts. He followed the course of a laughing brook until it wound its way around a rugged hill, whose rough rude oaks seemed bending over the stream like a careful mother over the cradle of her slumbering child the full round moon seemed laughing through the trees and coquetting with the bright waters below. Beautiful! Beautiful!" exclaimed Henry, as he paused on the rustic bridge and lifted his hat from his brow, as if it were protaniatton to remain covered in a place so filled with beauty. Please let me pass, sir!" and in a moment Gertrude) Clinton glided by him. One giaaee from her eyes, refulgent with the light of thought, a simple Thank you and she was gone. No, not gone! for her home was henceforth in hu heart, and indelliby was her image there engra ven. He loved—yea, that glance had awakened emotions he deemed were slum- J5 rn \_.^ jtj'j 1 "Speak onto the childrtn of Israel that thty gtfcnrar&»»—BxoDw/CMiplxiv t^s 15. fa a bering—and he loved with all the ardor of his impassioned nature Reason Was no longer his-—he loved—and henceforth the world was to him a widely different book, and life itself had changed I Time passed and not an evening but found Henry Moreton a guest at the hum Lie cottage. And Gertrude, too, seemed strangely changed. The hue on her cheek Was deepened, ahd her eye beamed with a soft light—it was the firat love-light of youth —the prophecy of ill. Hours—long, delicious hours—did they pass together, forgetful of ell save each ether or as he taught her the liquid tones of sweet, chivalrie Spain, her heart would wildly throb and her hand tremble with excess of joy or together with clasped hands they would wander in the realms ef poesy, or pore delightfully overdue pages of some old romance. and voice was love. Often they sought together the rustic bridge and listening to its low sweet music, lingered until the deepning shades warned them of coming night. On a clear bright evening in flowery May, they were stand ing there, and Henry was pouring into her ear a tale of his own fair home to gether they were wandering 'mid its shady isles and deep grottoes, and as he spoke of his mother—of the deep love he bore to her—the hand he clasped trembled in his own, and a single pearly drop glistened in her earnest eyes "Pardon me, dearest Henry, but when you say MY MOTHER,' when you so dwell upon that word I feel so very sad. I never pronounced these words. Ere my infant tongue was taught that dearest earthly name, my mother was an iuhabi tant oi brighter realms than this and oh! -I have so often yearned with my whole soul for one hour of a Mother's love—to pillow my throbbing brow upon her breast—to feel her protecting arms about me, and be permitted to press my lips upon her brow and manner as you do MY MOTHER and oh! I feel so desolate when you with your full heart so touch ingly pronounce that name." Oh, say not you are alone! Oh, no! my own Gertrude. I will betoyou hus band, and mother—my mother—shall be yours, and you shall love her as I do. You must, my Gerty, she is so good, so beauti ful," and he drew from hu vest a minia ture, than which Gertrude had never seen a face more beautiful. Her's was theof beauty of the rich brilliant brunette.— Finely chiselled features eyes black as night, whose depths seemed to tell of other life than this a broad, high brow, above which clustered masses of hair of the most lustrous black full coral lips and two rows of pearls which they half concealed, all combined formed a striking ly beautiful picture. But there was an expression-—a strange stamp ef pride on that beautiful face which filled the heart of Gertrndo with1 a half-defined fear—a half-formed foreboding." And as She gased on the large high brow with its masses of raven hair on the strange mys terious smile which wreathed the finely formed mouth, she murmered id her heart loved," for she had read the stamp of stern ambition on that brow, and perchance deceit lurked inthat smile. 8h* sought ITONPOTA/-•"®raSDATy.V What a world of poetry and beauty is there in the heart's young love what so delightful as the happy consciousness that we love and are beloved? So thought as she dwelt on the glowing pages of her life, and each evening added others and more bright. Everything seemed new to her. Life itself seemed just begun, and as she now penned her glowing thoughts the fire of genius seemed newly kindled, and its burning:. traces beamed from her page. Many wondered and admired as they read with delight the words of fire which she traced, How had thought expanded and the power cf genius strengthened 'neaih the magic touch of love! The world seemed now all sunshine. Even the tall poplars, whose strange motion and low breathed whisper ings had shed a strange melancholly over xv cherished one, and when the ties her early years, now seemed to•fikm*mvti'\*:*:*~'-*:- mew-fced TT .' strongest—when you have felt thousand hands for joy, and their only No, your mother can never be my moth er, she never can love me as I Would bel strangely agitated her eyes so wild and ...» .. ,.: ,. ., „.„ „„/, E to find their likeness in the. youth before Iter, but as she met' his open loving glance her1 heart reproached her that she had one moment judged him false. Months passed, an* fumor aa^t ihey were engaged-^thht the^attgh^, p^sio* lie Southerner had won the heart of the villa^e^:-Aatf now standi was bu5j. spent in revelry-^of strange scenes in the young man's room. Gertrude scorned these to her most idle tales and flung them back as falte: she loved,' she trusted and she knew him true. Yet she often trembled when she thought of his youth, or when she called to mind that mother's strange expression but her love was all too deep to admit of doubt. Yet Emily, her childhood's friend, often strove to restrain heir deep devotion—to whisper to her that he might change. It was useless, ana each attempt always ended like the one With Which we opened our tale: But the time of their parting now drew near—-the year was almost gone, and how much of happiness had been concentrated within that brief space! Worlds would Gertrude have given could she but live over ar few of those delightful months could she again live over those houis which had been bathed in the sunshine of hope and lore! But they parted, and *V wesiae the parting hoar, and what arise 1 Whenlovers pact?—expressive looks,and eyes Tenderandtearful'—many a fond adieu, And many a call the sorrow to renew Sighs',.sweet aa lovers only can explain! And words that they mightundertake invain." A world, of agony seemed concentrated in that yjr\cf space I Those who have worshipe, a form of earthl, mould-who. have bowed in their inmost soul to that strongest—when you have felt that you could live but in their presence—to have those holy cords rudely broken, ahd space —wide space—-interposed between you and that object such can know something of Gertrude's emotions when Henry bade his tearful adieu. A pall seemed settling on her spirits, and when he whisperei her of hope of future happiness, of the bright beautiful Southern home to which he would one day. take her/his gifted bride, a strange, undefined fear pervaded her soul, her mind was filled with grim shad ows which seemed mocking the hopes she dared not cherish. It seemed that her imaginative spirit held converse with her Future and had caught its pall-like sad ness from the darkness there portrayed. •'Alas for the brightpromise of our youth! Howsoonthegolden cords of hopearebroken How soon wefind the dreams wetrusted most Are very shadows." Weeks passed, and yet had Gertrude received no tidings from the absent one. Hope died within her -her eye lost its fire, and her eheex grew paler yet. But no sigh, no word escaped her. With a palpitating heart did she await the arrival of each mail, but when no letters Came, a sickness seised her very heart and she seemed suffocating. No one spoke to her of him, yet how many voices whispered his name to her heart, and how faint, how sick would she become if her eye rested but for a moment on his .simplest, gift. Then a full sense of her loneliness would come over her and she would bow. her head and weep. Oh! this is a bitter lesson—this lesson the heart—when we are taught to doubt in all which we believe, and our trust, our faith in all earthly, good is .shaken!' _. ».. r, .. Gertrude drooped and faded, her stop had lost its elastic tread, and her low, mu sical laughter no more was heard. Yet no one dared mention him. Once Emily, still her dearest friend, ventured to speak of his cruelty, but Gertrude's look terrified her, so sad yet so reproachful. No, she could not bear tohear him blamed^lthough in her own heart she had long since con demned him. Such is women! It was a cold, dark night.. Emily was seated by the bedside of Gertrude- all first time in many weary months, mention ed the name of Henry. .She restless shot beams of fire, and her long, thin hands were wUdly tearing her glori ous hair. «Oh, Henry 1 Henry 1 why 57f lUIU was confusion, and Gertrude now, for she aide. Thins not of him for a moment, for his servants would better fit you— daughter of an obseure northern farmer— than their proud, gifted- end noble master. en lo i": l^-':l«mJ• 1 0 a"£jm :v :^C S( EtTO-'i f^ O 0 1 don't you come? Do not let them sepc-j rate ua., vOh oh come to me, your own faithful Gertrude! How I Have1 suffered waiuhg, longing, praying lor yon, and you hHM neyer eenie! I knew it! I knew it I when I saw that lace! I knew she Would tear yoth from me, my own,. my darUng Henry:I" and her voice became choked with sobs. No one knew the cause of this- outburst in the usually calm and quiet Gertrude but all night she raved, and as the snorning dawned and her friend-became quiet, Emily flung her self on the couch and was in a short time in a troubled sleep. When she. awoke the day was far advanced, and Gertrude lay calmly by her side, her long, black hair completely shading her pale, wan face. Emily raised tenderly to look on the face of her friend, end her. startled gase rested en a corpse! Those eyes, whose light had once, been so glorious, were now closed in death and that wildly-throbbing heart was now silent and street: her weary, worn and struggling soul had at length found its release and gone home to its final rest. To that home where doubt no more could comer—where sorrow could never reach it! CHAPTER HU Months, long, weary months, elapsed after the departure of Henry to his South ern home,. ere Gertrude received any tidings from him. Anxiously she watched the arrival of every mail, and her heart sank within her when no word came from him. At length, long after she had ceased to expect it, a letter came and with an eager hand she seized it and bore it to her room. Oh! how "precious did that mis sive seem, yet she hardly dared open it and assure herself of the reality of her happiness. At length, with trembling hand she brokethe seal but how fearful was the transition! Her eyes seemed balls of fire, and her thin fingers crumpled the paper in their fierce hold, while her panting breath came thick and fast. Love had been to her her life, and this now was as the opening of her tomb! Yet she fainted not, although her very pulse seem ed froren, and her throbbing heart was well nigh broken. Yet she paused not, nor once raised her tearless eyes from the delicately-penned sheet until h*r soul had drank in every word. Then after careful ly folding this ill-omened epistle, with singular calmness she collected little keepsakes which had been so dear to her, and gazing onCe and for the last time on the Shadow of that face which so long had been her very ideal of all that is noble in manhood, she carefully locked the little cabinet which contained them, and burying her face in her hands bowed her heart in mute despair. Days passed, and Gertrude had resumed her usual avocations but the iron had entered her soul and was silently perform ing its work of death. Severe must have been the suffering which could thus crush her usually bouyant spirits and reduce the brilliant, noble Gertrude to the wreck which she hadnow become. For although uncomplaining, her heart was breaking in silence, and her once noble mind was tot tering on its throne. Yet she suffered on, and never once mentioned the cause of this great sorrow Which all saw was wear ing out her life. She suffered all she could, and at length died a sacrifice—to what? That LETTER told the tale! Cold, stern and calculating, it wee penned by the proud Carolinian woman and it (lung bitter scorn on her who had dared to love hereon. Know said she," thai wealth and power are ours, and know that no son of mine shall wed with one beneath him!— No! rather than see you his. bride, I would gladly follow him to the grave and know that hb ashes were with those of his proud ancestors. Think not then to win him he scorns you as do T, and has long since repented the boyish passion which for a moment kept him at your I have taken means that all communica tion between you shall be at an end Hen ry is soon to wed his cousin—beautiful I 55 *W*WS va-.^ •Y-". '. -r-.\', di UlL u& botri Jttrt eiI2 .sctfS} n** and d330¥OJ CJ—s b»a arid -5-.:.v ..-. lyii h'*? IL-L »LG?J-W saaB Trtn^f EDITOR AWD PROPRIETOR. NO. 15 r*z** and wealthy. Seek you a mate among your equals, nor dare cherish one thought of him who ere this reaches you, Will be the husband of another." In her little writing desk Emily sound another not directed to herself, and with it the key to the Utile casket which con tained the tokens of her former happiness and the cause of her late unspoken mis ery. This casket she wished Emily to send at once to Henry—but to make no mention of herself—u for" said she, I am dying—I know it—I feel it, and such is the case—and dying, for what?—love, some may say—but no, it is for the want of it! Oh, Emily! may you never know the blight of wasted affections, the an guish of a heart wrung with such deep, dark despair! Night after night have! laid my weary head on my pillow and prayed that I might never raise it—that I might die. But, alas I could not, al though I know death is not far off, stiU for awhile I must live—must live and bear about a tomb—the sepulchre of all my early hopes 1 Oh, Emily, may you never awake as I have, from.a night of troubled sleep—awake to forgetfulness for a mo ment, and then memory comes back when thought returns—live such moments of soul-torturing bitterness My poor, bieeding heart suffers, oh, how much! and and sometimes I think it may be right, for did I not set up tor myself an idol and worship it? Oh, Emily! let my sad fate be a warning to you, for with all my waywardness, I have loved you truly, and would warn you to shun the paths I have trod. Put not your trust in princes,' but look first to the Great Giver, and through him love -the'creature.. 'Bui: before my *God—before ail things, my soul bowed to him who has forsaken me, and this is my reward." And thus she poured out the tale of her deep sorrow and left it as a legacy to her friend. CHAPTER IV. It was a glad May morning. Two years had elapsed since Henry Moreton bade adieu to the quiet village of E when a dusty post-chaise stopped for a moment at the unfrequented inn, and then drove briskly towards the quiet cottage which had been the home of Gertrude Clinton. Emily Somen on a rustic bench beside the shaded door, watching the motions of of the spring-birds which had just return- all those ed, and were busy with their nests which for years they had built in the branches of those old trees. And as she watched their graceful motions or listened to their merry songs, her mind was busy with the Past, and the form of her who had so often lingered there by her side, seemed with her still. She thought of her mourn ful end, and of him who had so strangely deserted that noble girl—when a startling ly-familiar voice exclaimed "Why, Emily, how sad you look Where is Gerty tell me where'!" and in a moment Henry Moreton, dusty and travel-stained, had ru-hed past her and was calling in his deep, peculiar tones for Gertrude, as he had in happier times.— Emily motioned himtosilence, and lead ing him forth into the garden pointed to a simple enclosure at the foot of the old poplars. "She sleeps there. Your calls are all too late months have passed sii.ee we laid her here. Ere that, your words would have sent a thrill to that heart which is now broken." Henry heard no more, but with a bitter groan he rushed from the spot he scarce knew:whither. He roamed in foreign lands, and strove to banish the sadness which clung to him, but life had lost its charm—his heart was with the dead] After Sassy years he again returned te E -, and purchased the little cottage and the garden where slumbered all his earthly hopes. Emily was now a happy wife and mother, and aa he took hit pet —her little Gertrude—on mn knee and smoothing her clustering curia told all his doubts: of the many long, loving letters he wrote to. Gertrude yeats before, to which no answers came:: of the plans his mother formed for him towed the proud, rich Mary and of hia stern raJntal how his mother died, and in her menta calling himtoJier tadatdty.