I
ill '
W1
rcr;! ;;:::i;A NEWSPAPER, w ; jt''
Voi;:vi. "' 1 : iVo. is.
' ', ' ' ; j .
&ht Sloomfitlb Sinus.
1Jy a? J .
IS PUBL1H11SD KVMlT TUEftUAT MOKNINQ, BT
i FRANK MOSTIMEB & CO.,
At New Moomfleld, Terry Co., Ta.
Bclnir provided
mi Ktpum Tower, and lame
i.yi
.'ylinder nil Job-Presses, we are prepared
to do all kinds of Jub-1'rlntlng in
.,, good style auu at iw rncea.
ADVERTISING 11ATK8I ,
Trtntitnt 8 Cents per line for one Insertion.
19 " , . , two insertions
i 15 , " three Insertions.
Bnstness Notices in Local Column 10 Cents
Mr line. .
Notices of Marriages or Deaths Inserted free.
Tributes of Respect, fcc, Ten cents per line.
TBAn.LT ADVKIITI8E1IEIIT8.
Ten Lines Nonpareil one year $10.00
Twenty lines " " " 118.00
. For longer yearly adv'ts terms will be given
upou application.
Says that are no More.
When many years have rolled away
Whsn we no more are young;
When many voices may repeat
The songs that we have sung;
When all thy youthful beauty pales,
Which time will not restore,
Home tender thoughts may come again
Of days that are no more.
The soul but slumbers to awake
' Alike to Joy and pain;
And every holy thought and dream
Are sure to come again;
The youthful heart, un marred by care,
But dreams of days before;
The old heart lives on memories
i Of days that are no more. ,
There Is a phantom world to conic,
Whose gateway Is the tomb,
Where voices will be heard again
. Beyond the hidden gloom.
Where shapes and shadows of the past
Within the soul will stay
When human hearts and human plans
Have crumbled to decay..
And then when years hajye rolled away,
And we no more are young;
. When other voices may repeat
The songs that we have sung;
When heavenly sunshine on the soul
The beauty may restore,
Soma tender thoughts, perchanc, will come
Of days that are no more.
Two Broken Promises.
T
HUE first remembrance I have or my
mother must have been when I was
about three years old, of romping and
h basing butterflies through the beautiful
grounds surrouudiug our home, with
young c-iil, my constant companion and
playmate.
I can perfectly remember the old nurse,
who seemed to have as much care of her
as myself, trying to make me call my pretty
playmate "Mamma," Instead of "Rosie,"
us I always did.
Of my fathor nothing is clear.
Indeed, 1 do not remember ever having
. one, until I was led into the great drawing
room one day, and lifted up to gaze on " my
father."
Very well, even now, long years as it has
been, can I remember the fueling of awe
and fright which possessed me when, as
they bade me, I pressed , my lips on that
pale, cold brow.
"Dead," they said ho was.
I was very lonesome for some time after
that, for my pretty mamma no longer play
rd with me.
She was quiet and her voice was hushed,
To this day I have a horror of black.
My Hist thoughts or care or sorrow
were commenced then, and seemed to me
entirely attributable to tho black garb.
Out gradually the gloom wore away, and
again Itosie and I were happy.
I did uot and would not cull her mamma,
' or mother, until I grew to be a big boy
und then only before tho other boys or
strangers. The idea of that beautiful young
girl being my mother, I could not under
stand. ' '
My grandmother was with us. She was
the mother. I claimed. I loved her dearly
ami was proud of her.
Her mutronly beauty aud gentle dignity
fully siitl tided my ideas of what a boy'
mother should be.
When I became old enough to under
stand, 1 learned 'much from my old nurse,
Sho told me my mother was a child when
her parents gave her to my father, who was
many, many years older than her.
But he was immensely rich and loved the
jiretty child, and to they were well ('leased
when General Newvllle wooed their daugh
ter. ' " ' 1 ' ' '
And she, the child wife, was happy in the
old man's love, and afterward with her
babe.
She never had cause to regret her mar
riage, and sincerely mourned my father's
loss.
She was only a littlo more than twenty
when he died, and I about Ave years old. '
I was never separated from her for one
day until I was eighteen. ' '
I attended a preparatory school near home
up to that time, and then came the separ
ation. I was sent to college. ' '
It was a severe trial for me to leave her
mother,' friend, companion, all to me.
Often I had heard friends laugh, and say
something about another love coming to
both, and separating us; that mother was
young, and wotild Burely marry again.
I did not feel very uneasy; for knowing
she hod been a widow thirteen years, I
thought if, during that time, she had never
known love for any other than her boy, I
might rest easy about tho future. How
ever. I concluded to liive her a word of
wnrnino- when parting, and received her
promise.
No, no, my boy; do not fear. Never will
my heart wander from you. And you,
Marcy, will be constant to your mother.
We will live for each other, and spend our
days here, in the old homestead, after your
college life is over."
And so pledged to each other, I went
away satisfied.
At my vacation I returned home, aud
found my mother more beautiful than ever,
and had no cause to feel at all uneasy about
any one winning her love from me.
No gentleman visited the bouse but the
family physician and the old lawyer, neitli
er of whom could I regard with any bub
picion, as they were both married men. i
Returning home at the close of the sec
ond year, I found things a little different.
Indeed no lady in the neighborhood enter
tained so much company as my mother.
She said to me:
" My dear Marcy, now that you are about
entering society, it is uccessary that I
should secure the bent friends for you, and
surround you by such as your dear father's
wealth and his former position entitled you
to. A year more, and you will leave your
college and take your proper place among
your fellow-men."
She made no allusion to our mutual
pledge, and seemed to have forgotten it.
Still I had no real cause then, even, to be
uneasy.
lint among her guests was one 1 fancied
my mother was a little more attentive to j
a vory handsome lawyer.. I
Aud I felt perfectly sure he admired her
very much.
Bock again, for the last term, I went to
my college.
The months rolled swiftly by.
Again was vacation near, when I receiv
ed a lotter from my mother (which not only
surprised me dreadfully, but completely put
to flight any ideas of objecting, remonstra
ting or pleading against what had been a
dread during the last year, for it was then
a reality.
Thus sho wrote
"Dear Maiicv. Believing tho time
will come when you will think, with me,
that a bad promise had better be broken
than kept, 1 take some comlort in the re
gret I feel in giving you sorrow even for a
little while.
"This morning I was married to one you
have met. I have thought it bettor to give
you so great a surprise, than the chance of
objecting and remonstrating, which would
not only be very unpleasant, but all in vain.
" Now, my dear son, do not worry. Be
perfectly sure, when your mother gave her
heart to the one whose wife she is, her love
lor her boy was not invaded. Nothing can
change that, which is the purest, most last
ing emotion of a woman's heart her
mother's love.
" We are coins for a little trip probably
shall be absent two months. My husband's
sister, your maiden aunt, will help your
grandma to make your time pass liappil
until our return; when, I trust, you wi
welcome me without any regrets, fueling
sure your mother lias secured happiness.
I wish you would try and do likewise.
" Lovingly yours,
. Yen, it was tho mail I feared. In a
storm of rage and disappointment I strode
up aud down the floor.
I took my mother's picture from my
bosom, and vowed never again to look on
the face of her who, I thought, had treated
me so cruelly.
resolved to write immediately to my
lawyer, and have him demand a settlement
of my father's estate and when in posses
sion of my portion, to leave the country.
I would never again visit the " old home
stead," then no longer homo to me.
Not only had my mother cruelly injured
me, I thought, but added really insult, by
spanking of iny being entertained by her
husband's sister, an old maid, my perfect
abomination ! '
I, that had nil those years kept myself
aloof from society, refused the numberless
invitations to become acquainted with beau
tiful girls, to bo left in the care of a spinster!
Ugh 1 1 could seo her in my "mind's eye"
then, with her sharp, little black eyes, long
hooked nose, and corkscrew curls 1
Every day of forty years, I was sure. Go
where sho was 1 Not I to be enticed into
sewing-circlo meetings, charity fairs, dona
tion parties, and all such gatherings, where
maiden ladies generally flourished 1
After a few days I grew calmer, and de
cided to return to my homo, wait there my
mother's coining, settle up my business,
and then commence my travels.
I did not write to apprise my grandmother
of my coming, and so my arrival was unex
pected. No one but the servants were home.
I was disappointed at not being welcomed
by my grandmother, but very much pleased
to know I should be spared, at least for a
few hours the infliction I dreaded so much
my maiden aunt's efforts to entertain
mo.
After making myself comfortable and
presentable, I entered the drawing-room,
drew a lounging chair to tho window, and
seated myself in a position to command
the road and see my grandmother when she
would be coming home, which would be
soon, the servants said.
I bad watched possibly a half hour, when
I beheld, some considerable distance off,
and coming at an almost flying rate, a fe
male on herseback.
Not my grandmother I felt sure, or iny
aunt. Neither of them could, or would
ride like that. As sho came nearer, I be
held the most beautiful girl I had ever seen.
Very young she seemed, with an abun
dance of long golden curls, blown back
from her fair face.
On she came, up to the gate, and over,
without seeming aware that such an obsta
cle had been iu her way.
. I was so completely lost in admiration of
the beautiful girl and her fine riding, that
I did not hasten out and assist her to
alight.
When I remembered my duty she was in
the hall.
I drew back into the recess of the win
dow as she entered the drawing room.
Tossing off her hat, she sank on the sofa
saying
." Dear me 1 it is awfully dull out here I
I wonder when that young man is coming !
I've been here a week now, and not a beau
has crossed the threshold 1 But it is not
likely that young gentlemen would find
their way where they only expect to meet
a grandma and a spinster of uncertain
age."
Already in those few moments, I had
found some little excuse for my mother
loving some one besides hor son.
In fact, I was beginning to be reconciled
to that.
Indeed, I might say I was rather glad
than otherwise, for it gave me the right to
go and do likewise, which I would have no
objection to, if I could win that vision of
loveliness.
It is no use to go around tho truth ; I was
in love at first sight.
I thought, then, it was not just the thing
to be hidden there and hearing what she
thought was only heard by herself; so I
made a little noise, advanced into the room
and moved a chair.
A half-suppressed scream fell on my cur,
and then she seemed about to fly, when I
explained to her who I was, and so on.
With a beautiful smile, she held out her
hand find said:
" I feel as if I knew you very well, from
your mother and grandmother I have beard
so much of you. It is too bad you should
have found no one here."
" I am very well reconciled now to that,"
I said, aud meant it too. " You spoke of
my mother. Then you are a friend of hers
and visiting here, I hope?" I continued.
A bright flush mantled her face, as she
answered.
" Yes, I am staying with your grand
mother and"
"My aunt," I suid, finishing her reply,
"Are you acquainted with that worthy
lady, my mother's maiden sister ?" I asked
" Slightly, J met her here this week,'
she returned with an arch smile.
Just as 1 thought. 15y that smiio 1 was
convinced that Miss Jorusha, or Patience,
whatever ber namo was, was uot a very de
sirable acquisition td any family.
' Waiting tho return of my grandmother,
we became very well acquainted, Annie
she toll! me that was her uuiue aud I.
, Indeed, I soon felt if I had known hor all
my life, she was so confiding and kind.
We laughed merrily about my maiden aunt
and I plainly spoke my footings with re
gard to that dreaded individual. , ,
Soon my grandmother came, and formal
ly presented me to my young friend, Miss
Bell. ,. , .
. During the : evening, grandmother in
formed me I should hot be annoyed with
society of Miss Morton that was the maid
en auut's name for several days, as she
had gone to make a little visit in the neigh
borhood that day, not expecting my arrival,
and it was probable she would not present
herself to me perhaps for a week. . . ,
" How I rejoiced I :', , ,
I would make good ur of the time dur
ing her absence.
Nearly two weeks had passed, when, one
morning entering the breakfast room, I be
held the long dreaded person, I felt sure
with her back to me, the very picture of
magiuation tho brown stuff dress, tho
very same cap yes, my maiden aunt.
For a fortnight nearly, I had been living
too happy to expect it could last such was
not for earth riding, walking, singing and
reading with sweet Annie Bell. Day and
night was my heart filled with thoughts of
her, and echoing the words my lips were
continually whispering, " I love thee, I love
thee, sweet Annie I"
That morning I had determined to whis-
to myself no longer, but to speak out to her
the dearest hope of my heart.
No chance of another day's happiness
then. ' '
She would be always prying about, and
coming in just when I wished her in the
moon.
Well, 1 might as well face the cannon's
mouth at once I had a great deal rather;
so, forward I went. I was glad Annie was
not near, for one glance of hor merry eyes
would have upset my decorous conduct.
My Grandmother arose to present me.
I dared not raise my eyes.
The introduction through, Miss Moreton
said " 1 was dreadful sorry I was not homo
to welcome you. It is against my princi
ples to disappoint anybody."
There was something iu the voice that
caused me to look up.
I looked again, longer and nearer.
What did I see?
There was a clear, ringing laugh followed
by a low one from grandma, a chuckle
from the servant, then by tho removal of
the cap, spectacles and false front hair, I
was soon convinced that I had been the ob
ject of an excellent joke.
" Your maiden aunt, young man Miss
Moreton t Are you not glad to make her
acquaintance? asked the laughing Annie.
There was no breakfast fur me that morn,
ing; for as often as I was about to get I
taste of anything, Annie's glance of mis
chief, or some of my remarks repeated in
reference to the maiden aunt, would set me
off iu such a fit of laughter, that eating was
impossible.
After teasing mo to her heart's content,
sho fled to the garden.
I followed; told her my love, and wooed
hor to be mine.
" What, would you marry your maiden
aunt?" she laughingly asked.
All I answered I will not write here.
And she as it was "against her princi
ples to disappoint any one," made me hap
py. Soon my mother returned.
I welcomed her without one regret.
During the evening of her return I no
ticed she watched Annie and me closely;
and then she came, and putting her arms
around mo whispered:
'You can forgive mo now Marcy. And
now know, that although, we both have
learned to love one onother, we are still as
duar to each othor. It is not so my boy ?"
in my eyes she read the answer.
She told me afterwards that sho had in
tended a pleasant little joke, and hoped for
just such an ending.
She wanted that I should be as happy as
she was.
"And now you think a bad promise had
letter be broken than kept, do you not
Marcy?" asked my mother?"
"I think I do," I answered, and clasped
mother and maiden aunt ill one loving em
brace, i
A few months after our relative positions
were changed; und every hour since, I have
blessed the day that mother gave , me iu
charge of my maiden aunt, and broke that
foolish promise. , ,
tW "Mamma," cried a little girl, rush
ing into the room, " why am I like a tree ?"
Mamma could uot guess, whou tho little one
exclaimed, " Because I have, liwbt, mam
MEAN MEN
'VK known some very mean men in my
time. There was Deacon Overreach,
now he was so mean that he always carried
a hen in his gig-box when he traveled, to
pick up the oats his horse wasted in the
manger, and lay an egg for his breakfast in
the morning. And then theie was Hugo
Himmelman, who made his wife dig pota
toes to pay for tho marriage license. 1
must tell you that story of Hugo, for it's
not a bad ono; and good stories, like good
potatoes, am t as plenty as they used to be
when I was a boy. Hugo is a neighbor of
mine, though considerable older than I be,
and a mean neighlnir ho is, too. Well.
when he was going to get married to Gretch-
en Kolp, he goes down to Parson Rogers, at
Digby, to get license.
"Parson," said he, "what's the price of
a license?"
"Six dollars," said he.
"Six dollars" "aid Hugo, "that's a
dreadful sight ' of money. Couldn't you
take no less ?" '
No," said he, " that's what they cost
me to tho Secretary's office at Halifax."
" Well, how much do you ax for publish
ing in church, then ?"
'Nothing," says tho parson.
' Well," says Hugo, " that's so cheap 1
can't expect you to give no change back.
I think I'll be published. How long does
it take?"
' Two Sundays."
' Two Sundays !" said Hugo, " well
that's a long time, too. But two Sundays
only make a fortnight after all; two for the
covers, and one for the inside like; and six
dollars is a great sum of money for a poor
man to throw away. I must wait.'
So off he went, a jogging towards home,
feeling as mean as a new sheared sheep,
when all at once a bright thought came iu
to his head, and back he went as fast as
his horso could carry him.
' " Parson," says he, "I've changed my
mind. Here's the six dollars; I'll tie the
knot to-night with my tongue, that I can't
untie with my teeth."
"Why, what in 'natur'is the roeanin'
of all this ?" says the parson.
"Why," says Hugo, " I've been cipherin"
itoutiumy head, and it's cheaper than
publishin' bans after all. You see, sir, it's
potatoe diggin' time; if I wait to be called
in church her father will have her work for
nothing; and as hands are scarce and wages
big, if I marry her to-night, she can begin
to dig our own to-morrow, and that will
pay for the license, and just seven shilling!,
over; for there ain't a man in Cloments
that can dig and carry as many bushels in a
day as Gretchen can. And, besides fresh
wives, like fresh servants, work like smoke
at first, but they get sarcy and lazy arter a
while.
The Carpenter's Dream. '
A poor man wasa carpenter; and he ol'leu
said to himself and others: " If I was only
rich, I would show people how to give."
In his dream lie saw a pyramid of silver
dollars all new bright aud beautiful. Just
then a voice reached him saying: " Now is
your time. You are rich at last; let us see
your generosity !" So lie rose from his seat
and went to the pile to take some money
for charitable purposes. But the pyramid-
was so perfect that he could not bear to
break it. He walked all around it, but
found no place where he could take a dol
lar without spoiling the heap. Se he deci
ded that the pytamid should not be broken!
. and then awoke. He awoke to know
himself, and to see thut he would be gener
ous only while comparatively poor.
tW " A place for everything and every
thing in its place," said an old man to his
daughter. "Select not a wife, my son, '
who will ever step over a broomstick."
The son was obedient to the lesson..
"Now," said he, pleasantly, on a May
day, to one of bis companions, " I appoint
this broomstick to choose me a wife. The
young lady who will not step over it shall
have the offer of my hand."
They passed from the splendid saloon to
the grove. Some tumbled over the broom
stick, others jumped over it. At length u
young lady stooped aud put it iu its place.
The promise was fultlllhd. She became
the wife of an educated and wealthy young
man, and he tho husband of a prudent and
industrious loving wife. He brought a for
tune to her, and sho know how to save one.
It is not easy to ducido which was under
the greatest obligations, both were rich,
and each enriched the other.