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inrclr"! AN INDEPENDENT FAMILY NEWSPAPER, T'iS?'
Vol. VI. Now 331ooiii field, X Tuesday, September 24, 1872. IVo. 39.
tfoomfitltr flints.
.18 PUW.I311KD BVKRT TrjESDAY MOBKIHO, BT
PRANK IdOETIMES & CO.,
At New Bloomfleld, Terry Co., Y&.
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goud atyle and at Low Prices.
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YEARLY ADVERTISEMENTS.
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.VFor longer yearly adv'ts terms will be glveu
Hpou application.
BETTER THAN GOLD.
Jietter than grandoar, better than gold,
Than rank and titles a thousand fold,
Is a healthy body, a mind at ease,
And simple pleasures that always please
A heart that can feel for another's woe
And share his joys with a genial glow,
"With sympathies large enough to enfold ,
All men as brothers, Is better than gold.
Setter than gold Is a conscience clear,
Though tolllug for bread In an humble sphere.
Doubly blest with content and health,
Untried by the lust of cares or wealth j
Lowly living and lofty thought
Adorn and ennoble a poor man's cot,
For mind and morals In nature's plan
Are the genuine test of a gentleman.
Better than gold Is a thinking mind,
That In the realm of books can find .
A treasure surpassing Australian ore,
.And like with the great and good of yore,
The sage's lord and the poet's lay,
The glories of empire passed away,
The world's great drama will thus enfold
And yield a pleasure better than gold.
Setter than gold Is a peaceful home,
Where all the fireside charities come,
The shrine of lore the heaven of life,
Hallowed by mother or sister or wife,
However humble the home may be,
Or tried with sorrow by heaven's decree,
The blessings that never were bought or sold
And centre there are better than gold.
The Purse of Gold.
BY FRISK DJXACY.
TTOW do you find yourself this eve
XI slog my boy?" asked Zeph
Hogers, a young wheelwright, of his friend
Gilbert Bummers who had just set up as a
oarpenter and house wright in a small New
England Tillage. . . -
"As well as a man can find himself with
precious little money and no work," re
plied Summers, a handsome young fellow
of two-and-twenty, who was seated list
lessly on his woik bench, engaged in the
very profitable occupation of whittling a
shingle with a jacknife. One would think
his profession had given him a surfeit of
whittling, but it must be remembered that
.he was a Yankee.
"Little money 1" repeated Zeph, as he
leisurely mounted a woodon horse and fol
ded his arms. , " Well, the old verse hat
it 'man wants but little here below ;' and
as for work, that will come in time. You
have skill, youth, strength, and a good
location."
" Very true," roplied Summers, with a
half sigh. " But what, at best, is the pros
pect before me but toil toll toll from the
beginning to the end?"
"Merely the lot of humanity," replied
Zeph. "All men are workers." t
"No not all.' Look at our ministers,
for instance, he doesn't work. Look at
.his delicate white bands." '
" Yes," repliod Zeph, " And look at
his pale face and hollow cheek. He not
work f lie works harder than any of us.
Bis brain is never Idle.' When I have had
occasion to pass his house late in the eve
sing, I have seen the twinkle of his lamp
that showed him at his studies ; and the
neighbors toll me It often burns till morn
ing.. If he is not at his books, he is to be
found at the bedside of the sick and dying,
or dispensing charity and consolation in
the houses of the poor; thank Heaven,
there are few of them in our thriving town.
You have ohosen an unfortunate example.
Mr. Princeton is the very hardest working
man among us. ' And head-work has this
disadvantage the greater its diligence the
less the capacity for labor. The mind wears
out the body, whereas our business har
dens and improves the physical condition."
" Well, let the clergy pass then. I give
it up on the minister," said Summers, re
luctantly. " You surely wont Bay Dr. Brickers is no
worker," pursued Zeph. "Ills practice
breaks him of his rest four nights out of
seven, and keeps him as thin as that skele
ton of his you made the box for. And as
for lawyer Gibbs "
" Well, well, I give them up for the
sake of argument," said Summers, im
patiently. "But you said all mankind
were workers. This is untrue ; you know
there are plenty of rich peoplo in the world
who do nothing."
" They work harder than any of us,"
said Zeph, Broiling.
"That sounds rather paradoxical," an
swered Summers, shaking his head.
"They work bardor than any of us, and
for less pay," I persisted Zeph. . ' ' Some of
them keep horses and dogs, and undergo
fatigue enough to kill a United States dra
goon for the sake of a little animal not
worth sixpence. I've seen a poor rich man
wading up to his waist in mud and water
in pursuit of a little fish six inches long,
and he didn't get him after all. There
may be a very few of these fortunate peo
ple who do no work ; but ask Dr. Brickers
what their montal and physical condition
is."
" I don't envy them that ; but I do envy
them their money," said Summers, en
ergetically, and making a huge gash in his
shingle by way of emphasis.
" All wrong," said his friend, shaking
his head. ,
" I don't see why some sudden piece of
good luck can't turn up for me as well as
other folks," said Gilbert " Why can't I
turn up a pot of gold In my gardon, or why
can't some relative of mine iu England
that I never heard of die and leave me his
estate ? I want a big heap of money right
off." ,
" What would you do with it?" asked
Zeph.
" Why, the first thing, I'd many Han
nah Martin we've been engaged long
enough ; then I'd build me a fine new house
not a little shanty like the one I occupy ;
I'd furnish it in tip-top style ; and I'd buy
me a nice horse and carryall. Well that's
what I'd begin with."
" You think so," said Zeph.
" I know so," said Summers, " if I could
command cash as readily as Squire Belden."
" Good evening, Squire Bolden," said
Zeph, as that gentleman enteiad the shop,
Summers, whose back was to the door, not
noticing him so soon. The animal mag.
netizers would have attributed Summer's
thought of Mr. Belden just at the moment
of his appearance, to the magnetlo influ
ence preceding the worthy squire ; but the
young carpenter was no believer in the
doctrine, and he merely thought of an old
adage respecting his satanio majesty, not
at all complimentary to his worthy visitor.
"Mr. Summers," said the squire1, "have
you got the stuff out to repair that floor
you took the measure of the other day ?"
"Yes, sir, it's all ready." ,
" Very well ; if you can do the job to
morrow I should like it ; my wife has got a
new carpet ready for that room."
"I'll be there at seven o'clock to morrow
morning."
"Very good i I shall look for you," said
Mr. Beldon, and bowing politely he took
his leavo.'
"A two-penny job?" said Summers,
disdainfully. " I was in hopes he would
want me to build a block of housos for
him." , . '
" Don't despise small things, Gilbert,"
said Zeph, as he rose to go. "Remember
'many a little makes a mickle.'
"Despise thou not the smallest thing
Created by divinity,
For grains of sand the mountains make,
And atomies Infinity I"
Good evening. Keep , up a good hoart
The wheel is always turning. . I can vouch
for that professionally." ,
The young wheelwright closed the door
with a laugh. ,
" Yes," muttered Summers, "the wheel
is always turning ; but I'm like the axle.
Well, well, I'll try it on a little longer ;and
If patient striving doesn't prosper, then hoy
for California 1" ,
The old Bolden mansion, whither Gilbert
Summers repaired at an early hour on the
following day, was a stately edifice of old
colonial period, facing a fine lawn, and ac
cessible through a sweeping avenue of Im
memorial button woods.
Summers, after a brief interview with
the squire, was loft alone in the scene of
his labors large chamber in the upper
story, the flooring of which had been worn
by the footsteps of several generations, and
stood sadly in need of repair. The small
paned windows were set in deep embrasures
showing the ponderous thickness of the
walla ; huge oaken beams traversed the low
celling, and the room was wainsootted with
pannelled oak. It was hung with very old
portraits of members of the Belden family,
including two or three" from the hand of
Copley. There was a grim old bearded
puritan in iron casque and cuirass, leaning
on a ponderous sword, the counterfeit pre
sentment of one of Cromwell's godly fol
lowers who had helped to smite the troopers
of the "man Charles," at Mareton Moor.
There was an immediate ancestor of the
present head of the family in the squire
archal costume of his day a powdered
bag-wig, ruffles and rapier with sword knot
with a silk brocade waistcoat, and a claret
colored velvet coat with gold buttons, and
brilliant knee-buckles, represented in the
act of taking a pinch of rappee from an
historical snuff-box a sublime and touch
ing achievement. There were several
awfully fancy shepherdesses in powder and
brocade, settled on very uncomfortable re
doubts of turf, guarded by belligerent
spaniels of the warlike breed of King
Charles ; and all these gentlemen and ladies
stared very Intently at the carpenter, as if
they wanted to know bow iu the deuoe a
plebeian in a green baize jacket dared in
trude upon the privacy of the state chamber
of the old ancestral mansion, and why he
was taking liberties with the floor that had
been trodden by the armed heels of puritan
warriors, and the dainty slippers of colonial
belles. But our friend, who was not the
sort of man to be daunted by the eyes of
the living, cared nothing for the imperti
nent glances of these shadows of the dead.
It was hard work to extract the ponder
ous nails profusely employed in fastening
the old oaken planks, and the drops of per
spiration stood on the brow of the mechan
ic When ' he ruised the flooring, he dis
turbed the venerable dust of years. As he
lifted with dlflloulty a particular plank, he
perceived a dull metallio glimmer iu some
object shrouded in dust and cob webs, which
attracted his attention. He raised it. It
was a large purse of silk net filled with
guineas of the coinage of George the id's
reign. '
His first impulse was to summon Mr.
Belden, and communicate the discovery.
His second, to conceal it in the breastpock
et of his jacket. Ashe stood a moment,
irresolute, glancing quietly around the
apartment, his fancy imparted a strange
life and expression to the portraits on the
wall. The eyes of the old puritan seemed
to flash vengeance from beneath the shad
ow of his iron head-piece. Tlp fine gen
tleman with the snuff-box seemed to regard
him with infinite contempt and loathing.
And for a moment he thought that the lit
tle King Charles's spaniels were about to
bark at the robber. But this fancy passed,
ne smiled at the absurdity of his no
tions and resumed his work. Before dinner-time
he had completed his task, and he
gathered up his tools and left the house.
Under ordinary circumstances he would
have waited on Mr. Belden before leaving ;
but now, with a stolen treasure conooaled
in his breast, be felt as if he could not face
the mild eye of the squire. He was cross
ing the lawn, however, when he heard the
squire calling him.
He baited and turned back trembling
and confused. ,.R .
" When will you finish that job Sum
mers?" asked the squire.
" I have finished it, sir."
"So soon? You have worked hard too
hard, my friend. You seem quite exhaust-.
ed. Won't you stop and take dinner with
us?" ;
"No, I thank you," replied Summers
"I have got another job that must be done
directly." '
This was a falsehood his first falsehood;
for up to this time Gilbert Summers had
been the soul of truth. ' 1 '
"Very well ; if that is the case," said
the squire, gravely, " I will not detain you.
You have got to work your way In life, and
you must attend strictly to your business.
Diligence and honesty will parry you
through," . ,
Summers thought the squire laid a strong
emphasis on the word " honesty," as if Im
plying suspicion, and he hated hint for it.
He paused a moment, and mechanically
grappled the handle of his heavy hammer.
He would have struck the old m an, but he
controlled himself and hastened home. .
He ate no dinner that day, but shut him
self up and examined the contents of the
purse. It contained two hundred guineas.
Two hundred gulnoas I It was a fortune.
Then he began to consider what he would
do with this sura. Two hundred guineas
would give any man a start in the world.
He had a good common school education,
and an agreeable address and figure ; why
should he toil like a serf all his life at a la
borious employment? There must be
plenty of openings in cities like Boston and
New York for a young man with fair tal
ents and education, a handsome person and
good address and two hundred guineas.
In his native place, the only way he could
employ his capital without suspicion,
would be by gradually introducing it in his
business, and that he was resolved to quit.
No 1 ho would go to Boston, or rather to
New York, and seize some of the numerous
chances for speculation offered to small
capitalists. Ho remembered reading a
whole column of advertisements in a New
York paper, where fifty inducements were
hold out for the luorative investment of
five hundred, a thousand and fifteen hun
dred dollars. Now York was the place
then.
But he had promised to marry Hannah.
Well, Hannah could wait. After he had
made a fortune fifty thousand dollars
no, that was not enough two hundred
thousand dollars he would come back and
marry her. But would Hannah suit a man
with two hundred thousand dollars ? He
began to doubt. He had a cheap litho
graphto print called the Now York belle,
where a very tall young lady, with bird's
claws and Chinese feet, was represented in
a carmine satin gown with a blue velvet
mantilla, and a gold watoh banging at her
girdle ; and he now perceived that Hannah
was not at all that style of young woman.
" Her waist was not invisible,
And her feet were made to use."
Hannah' would hardly do, he was afraid.
Decidedly she had quite an underbred air,
whereas he now perceived on consulting
his glass that he hacl a very diitingue air
a sort of hybrid between Count d'Orsay
and Lord Byron. i
He consulted another print he had pur
chased of a pedler the beau ideal of a New
York gentleman. This remarkable in
dividual was tall and slender, with a head
of curling hair like that possessed by the
illustrious Edward Pepper. A mus
tache and beard adorned his upper lip and
chin. In the midst of a cloudy mass of
silk neckerohiof gleamed, what was sup
posed to be a diamond pin. An embroi
dered vest, - very fully padded, descended
below his hips. A faultless coat of blue
broadcloth fitted him affectionately. Pan
taloons with huge checks encased his neth
er limbs ; and slender boots with very high
heels supported the elegant superstructure.
This attire Summers resolved to follow aa
the model of his future costume. ' A
Perhaps the speediest means of ' cen
tupling his fortuno was to trust to lotteries
and faro-banks. At all events, Summers
resolved to cut a dash.
O fatal power of gold ! The illeglmate
possession of two hundred guineas has
given birth, in the heart of this young man
to fear, hatred, revenge, falsehood, in
gratitude, idleness, vanity, and luxury.
That night Summers laid his head upon his
pillow without a prayer, and unholy visions
visited his slumbers. He rose on the mor
row feverish and unre freshed, and then
opened his window to bathe his throbbing
temples in the oool morning breeze.
It was a glorious day. The mists had
risen from the meandering river, and were
stealing swiftly up the mountain sides, like
gathering folds of silvery gauze, changing
to gold and purple as they swept into the
sunlight. The white houses of the village
gleamed among the green trees, where
foliage glittered with the diamond dew
drops. Birds were soaring on free wing,
filling the sunny air with molody. A calm
settled on the young man's spirit as he re
tired from the window. His eyes fell upon
a small Bible the last gift of his dying
mother, her only and yet prloeloss legacy.
Summers opened it and read, as was his
wont, a portion of the Scriptures. The
influence of those sacred words affected
and subdued him. ' He knelt and ' prayed
long and fervently, and as be rose from bis
devotions, it seemed as if the morning air,
that lifted his dark curls from his forehead
was impregnated with blessings.
Dressing himself, and still clasping tho
treasure of yesterday close to his breast, he
took his bat and stick, and went forth In
the direction of the Belden manor house.
His pace, though as rapid, was very dif
ferent from that whioh bore him' from the
mansion ' on the preceding day.- His step
was firm and elastic, and the glance of his
eye, though anxious, was yet fearless.
At the ball door he inquired for Mr.
Bolden, and was shown into bis library,
where the ola gentleman sat at his desk in
his dressing gown, poring over some vol
ume, .ue rose and welcomed bis visitor,
hogging him to be seated.
"Mr. Summers," said he, "you finished
that floor at such short notice that I was
fearful you had slighted your work ; but I
find you did it in the most workmanlike
manner. I suppose you would like the
money for it. ' Short accounts make long
friendships.1 "
" I did not come for the money, sir,"
answered Summers, with some hesitation.
No ; woll, I am very glad to see you in
fact, you have saved me the trouble of cal
ling on you. But your business before
mine."
" I came to pay you money iustoad of to
receive it sir."
" To pay me money 1 On whose ac
count? You owe me nothing."
" Rather, sir," said Summers, mustering
resolution, " to restore you a sum I stole
from you yosterday."
" You are mad, Gilbert. I had no mon
ey by me ; I have missed none."
"And you never would have missed it.
You were richer than you thought sir."
"Explain yourself, young man."
"There, then sir," said Summers, and
and while tears rushed to his eyse, he
threw the purse of gold upon the table.
" Take it, sir, it is yours two hundred
guineas I have not touched one of them."
"I am yet in the dark," said the squire,
gazing on tire purse.
"Yesterday, in removing the flooring,
sir, I found that purse, which was probably
placed there by some of your ancestors
many years ago."
" And you have restored it the first
thing in the morning. Well, I am a lit
tle richer than I thought. But half of this
certainly belongs to you as a reward for
your honesty."
"Do not say so, Mr. Belden j you over
whelm me," cried Summers. "No, sir,
not a farthing of that sum belongs to me.
I took it with the intention of keeping it."
"That was wrong, but you meant to in
vest it in your business you meant to re
pay me at your leisure," said the squire.
"Such were not my intentions, sir. I
meant to employ It in speculation or gam
bling. I meant to leave my native place,
to abandon my friends, the girl I had sworn
to protect and cherish in short sir I meant
to be a villain."
He could say no more ; his tongue refused
its offloe ; he became deadly pale, and cold
drops of perspiration stood upon his brow.
The squire rose and placed his hand kindly
on his shoulder.
"God forbid I" said ho, solemnly, " that
I ahoAild condemn you. ' Judge not lest ye
be judged,' said One, who spake as no mor
tal ever spoke. No man knows of what he
is capable till he has undergone temptation
and happy are those whose evil designs
perish In the conception and bear no fruit.
You must permit me to present you with
half of this sum ; I do not fear you will
misuse it now."
"I cannot take it," said the young man,
shuddering. " There isji spell upon that
gold. Let my peace of conscience reward
me for the restoration ; may Heaven par- .
don my evil purposes."
Mr. Belden respected the young man's
scruples, and forbore to press him. He
did better. He soon gave him an Important
contract for building, and had the satisfac
tion of establishing him in business. The
first payment of money the housewright
had laboriously earned, was made In gold,
of American ooiuage however, but con
tained in the Identical silk purse found in
tho old oaken chamber.
Summers employed it in purchasing ma-"
terial for a small cottage he was building
on bis own account, n hen it was finished
and furnished, he waited on the good squire
in company with the fair Hannah, and af-'
ter a certain ceremony performed by the
magistrate, they took possession of the
new house as man and wife, to the great
Joy of the town's people, and particularly
of Zeph Rogers, the honest wheelwright.
Sometime during the honeymoon, while
Mrs. Summers was setting their kitchen
to rights," she came across the portraits
of the New York dandy and the New York
belle.
" What shall I do with these ?" she ask
ed. Summers colored deeply ; and snatch
ing the prints thrust them in the cooking
stove, where the flue lady and gentleman
soon suffered martyrdom. Summers never
wore checked pantaloons and a broastplu '
for a reason best known to himself, and he
saw that Hannah looked as little as possible
like the Broadway bolle.