MA mi mw IS II y. WWW -Mffl i miZT?IZrcJrr- AN INDEPENDENT FAMILY NEWSPAPEK. "JTZZTJSZ' Vol. "VI. IVevv J31oomilell, Tuesday, TVovemler 153, 1873. IVo. 40. IB PUBLISHED EVERT TUESDAY MOUNIKO, BT FRANK MORTIMER & CO., At New Bloomfleld, Terry Co., Ta. Being provided with Steam Power, and large Cylinder and Job-Presses, we are prepared to do all kinds of Job-Printing In good style and at iow Prices. ADVKHTISINU KATES t TramientH Cents per line for one Insertion. J 3 " " two Insertions 15 " ' " "three Insertions. Business Notices In Local Column 10 Cents per line. Notices of Marriages or Deaths Inserted free. Tributes of Respect, &c, Ten cents per line. YBABXY ADVERTISEMENTS. One Inch one year Two inches " " 10,00 t 18.00 Fnr lonser yearly adv'ts terms will be given upon application. THE BOYS. How oft I say, " What shall I do To keep these children quiet I" If I could find a good receipt, I certainly should try it. But what to do with these wild boys, And all their din and clatter, Is really qulto a grave affair No laughing, trifling matter. " Boys will be boys" but not for long j Ah could we bear about us This thought how very soon our boys Will learn to do without us I How soon but tall and deep-voiced men Will gravely callus " Mother i" Or we be stretching empty hands From this world to the other. More gently weshonld chide the noise, And when night quells the racket, Stitch in but loving thoughts and prayer, While mending pants and Jacket I THE ADOPTED DAUGHTER. CONCLUDED. A SPLENDID pair of bays, harnessed into tbe daintiest seashell of a sleigh, drove up to the seminary door, and Mr. Caroll, after carefully tucking the fur robes about Madeline, sprang into the seatt her side, and soon they wore speeding away at the merry jingling of the bells. Mr. Caroll bad been somewhat tardy, so that bis sleigh was considerably behind the others, but the horses which had not been used very much of lato, were glad to have the rein given them, and they almost flow over the ttnowy road, so that the school party wore soon in sight. " Perhaps we are riding too fast for your enjoyment, Miss Humphrey." " O no, this is really delightful, and a semewhat novel experience to me, for, al though I have had a great many sleighrides in my life, they have mostly been aftor our old farmhorse, whose motto, if he has one, is, Slow and sure.' " " These horses are quite, remarkable for their speed, and if I had any taste in that direction, I suppose they might become fa mous on the race-course. I shall slacken the speed soon, however, for I ' shouldn't care to have them travel at this rate all the distance we are going." " No, that would be too much of a good thing," replied Madeline, laughing; "and besides, when we are going so fast we can not enjoy the scenery as we pass along. A wintery landscape, although for the most part so desolate, has, I confess, a sort of weird attraction for me, and I have often eeon wintery views so charming that I have longed for the power of sketching them. "I have such a scene in my mind's eye now; and, by the way, I believe it was in Irvington I saw it. I was riding through there one crisp winter morning, and I came upon such a scene from fairy-land that I stopped my horse to gaze upon it I wont attempt to describe it, for I know I should miserably fail in the attempt." " There are many very romantio places in Irvington, and none mete so than a cer tain glen in my father's woods. It is my . favorite place of resort, and I am really homesick for a sight of it now, for it has its attractions even in winter." "You are right, Miss Humphrey, with regard to the beautiful scenery of your birth place, and I do not wonder that you often pine for a sight of it. I wish it were not so far, otherwise we might take our sleighiide there." Madeline felt that the time had come to make her confession, and so, bracing her self for tbe task, she replied: " I am greatly attached to dear old Irv ington, but not because it is my birthplace. That spot, wherever it is upon the wide earth, is unknown to me." "Indeed. You have spoken frequently of your father and mother surely they could tell you where you were born." " I am only their adopted daughter, but I believe they love me as truly as if I were their own child. I can just remember liv ing at one time in a great building, with people of all sorts of ages, and I suppose it was an almshouse. I was treated so cruel ly there that I ran away arid wandered to Irvington, whore my adopted parents took me to their home and hearts, in place of the little ones they had lost. I have an unut terable longing sometimes to know who and what I am, and where my parents aro, if I have any. It is not pleasant to be taunted as I have been sometimes With having been the inmate of an almshouse." " It would no doubt be a great satisfact ion to you to know certainly of your pa rentage and the circumstances of your birth: but as far as contorns your presont station in life, or your future prospects, it can make no differenoo. In oui republican country, whether one is well-born, in the worldly acceptation of the term, or "not, is a matter of very little moment. The an cestors of some families who feel the most arristocratio were shoo-makers, carpenters or masons, men who got an honest living by the labor of their own hands. My own grandfather was a blacksmith, and as stur dy a son of Vulcan, I suppose, as ever ham mered at the anvil. Ho was a man of stern integrity withal, and I honor him as my ancesor quite as much as though be had strutted about in a velvet coat, satin vest, silver knee-buckles, and the other flue things that the gentlemen of his day so much effected. Bo never lot yoursolf get morbid in brooding over this matter, Miss Humphrey you may have been born in tho greatest poverty, or heiress to a coronet, it matters not; yo-t have only to be true to yourself, and the world must and will re spect you." "Thank you," faltered Madeline, as she hastily wiped the tears away from hor eyes, "I cannot tell you, Mr. Caroll, how much your words have helped me. I suppose I have brooded on this subject too much for my own good, for when I am among strang ers where they treat me kindly I won der if they would regard me In the same light if they knew what I know of myself. It wns this feeling that led me to tell you what I have, and I am glad now that I did, for your words have comforted me so much. I shall never let this matter trouble me again as it has done, and shall strive to learn as St. Paul advised, " In whatsoever situation I am therewith to be content.' " " I am glad if I have said anything to comfort or encourage you.for I wish you to be as happy as you can, for your own sake and mine, too," ho added,in a lower tone. Madeline's keen ears detected it, how eve, and it was tho one drop that made her cup of pleasure for that day overflow. "I declare, " exclaimed Mr. Caroll, whip ping up the horses, " Hosmer's Hotel is in full view, and I believe we shall be tho last of tho party to arrive ! My horses must look to their laurels, for they have certain ly been outdone in speed to-day." . The elegant supper at Hosmer's, and the feast of reason that followed, Madelino en joyed with the keenest relish. And then the delightful ride home by moonlight, in which Mr. Caroll and herself found so much to talk about wherein they fully sympathiz ed with each other, would never be forgot ten. The mouths sped on at Lakeside, bring ing at length the spring vacation, and Mad eline joyfully embraced the opportunity of visiting the old home. Mrs. Humphrey was busy with her spring cleaning, and her husband was mending up Ids farm tools, and making timely preparations for planting. Madeline had noticed that her father had worn the old dejected look upon his face almost ever since she had come homo, and so she thought she would visit him out in the barn-shed and do what she dould to cheer him up. " Well, father," said Madeline, as she perched herself upon an old pile of boards, "bow have you got along on the farm since I have been away ?" , " O, after the same old sort. I don't see as my luck has turned yet I sold consid erable many pumpkins, and about twenty five dollars worth of apples lost fall, and then when wo killed our pig I sold consld eaable pork, so that deducting our living, I have saved about fifty dollars." " Why, that's better than nothing, but it's a small sum towards raking tbe money to pay the mortgage. I cut a number of cords of wood last winter, expecting that old Mr. Beaton would buy it; he just as much as engaged it in the fall, but some one else offered hira the wood a little cheaper, and he bought it of them. That Beaton family I learn are a terrible mean set with the exception of Ernest and he really did do a kind act when he lent me the money." Madeline had her own private opinion about the kindnoss of the act but 8U0 kept her thoughts to herself. " Well, father," she exclaimed cheerily, " I think you can dispose of the wood else where before long ; and I want to tell you now that all the hay you make this summer will find a ready market. Mr. Caroll, one of the trustees of the seminary, wished me to engage for him all you have to spare." " I declare that is a streak of luck, sure enough," said Mr. Humphrey, brightening up. " I mean to set about draining that old meadow right away. I see by that agri cultural paper you brought home that such a piece of land may be made vory valuable with very little trouble." " Yes, father, and there are so many good practical ideas about farming found in such papers that I have subscribed for the ouo you spoke of. So cheer up, father; I somehow have faith that tho old farm will renew its youth yet and as for the mort gage, don't let us fret about it; there are some months yet before October. I am go ing to help all I can." "I should think you did help along, child. Haven't you clothed up your moth er and me so fine that we are almost afraid to wear our clothes, for fear that folks will think we are getting extravagant in our old age ?" "O nonsense, father! wear your new clothes and take the good of them. You never noed be afraid that any of the living tons will think you extravagant. And as to what I have given it is a mere nothing, not a tithe of what I would like to do, so say no moie about that." "She's a blcBscd comforter," thought John Humphrey, as Madeline disappeared through the back door into the house. " Somehow this little talk with hor has cheered mo up wonderfully, and put more heart in me than I've had for months. Perhaps may luck my turn yet, who knows?" Tho weeks of her vacation flew swiftly by, and though Madeline fain would have lingered a while longer mid home scenes, she knew it could not be, and so one bright spring morning the old yellow coach came for hor again, and she started on her sec ond journey to Lakeside. A number of her class who had already arrived, met ber at tho station, and escorted her trium phantly to the seminary; and then in the evening Mr. Caroll called, as he said to suggest some new rules in the seminary; but although he staid and chatted pleas antly until nearly ten o'clock, ho went away without having opened his lips about seminary matters. About the middle of tho summer term both teachers and pupils had become wea ried with school duties, and to give them a little recreation, a picnio was proposed over in a splendid pine grove in the western part of the town. It was a beautful day, and everything passed off in the most pleas ant manner, although towards tho close of the afternoon an unlucky accident happen ed Madeline. In leaping over a brook she turned her ankle and sprained it. She thought at first the pain would soon pass away, but instead it grew worse every mo ment and soon her ankle was so badly swollen that she was unable to walk a step. She was'carried to an old farmhouse just a cross tho road from the grove, and who should receive her at the threshold but the fat old lady Madeline had met in the cars? Slio recognized her guest in a moment, for she exclaimed: " Well, I declare, miss, if it isn't you I I told you if you were ever in this part of the town to mako me a call, but I didn't think when you came you'd have to be brought. There, make yoursolf as easy as you can in that rocking-chair, and I'll soon have the swelling down out of the ankle." " I am sorry to have made you so much trouble on my first visit to you. I .am a frald I shall have to claim your hospitality for the night." " Of course you will. Massy sakes alive I I shan't let you stir out of this house till your foot's well, so make yourself at home, Sarah Maria, you just go out into the gar din and got some wormwood, and I'll have it steeping in rum in less than no time. That's a master romedy for taking the swollingrout of a sprain, I can tell." There was no help for it and so Made line was loft-by the rest of the picnio party to the tender mercies of Aunt Polly Til bury, as all the neighbors called ber. Her excellent remedies and careful nurs ing were so efficacious that in three or four days Madeline could get about quite com fortably upon her lame foot She often caught Aunt Polly gazing ber with a puzzled look, which excitedher cu riosity not a little. The old lady saw that Madeline noticed it, and so she said one day: , "I s'poso you think its quoor that I stare at you so sometimes, but I can't help it for tho life of mo. I declare, if you aint tho born image of that pretty woman tnat came along here with her little girl" once. I've thought of her more'n a thousand times since, and I never shall forgot her as long as I live, nover." ' "Do tell me about her," said Madeline, hor dark eyes kindling with interest. " Well, it's nearly eighteen years Bgo now that about sunset one hot day a wo man came to the door loading a little girl that looked to be about two years old. She seeniod all tired out, and the little girl nearly ready to drop. 8he asked me if there was a family in this town by the name of Morris. I told her I never heard of any such peoplo, and I had lived here all my life. "At this she burst out crying, and sat right down on the doorstep. I made her come into the house and have some supper, and then she told me her story. She said her husband always wanted to come to this country, but she wasn't willing to leave England as long as her mother lived. After she died, sho told her husband she was ready to go with him, and on the day the steamer sailed he saw her and hor child safoly aboard, and went on shore to get something they hod left behind. He didn't come back as soon as she expected him, hut she didu't feel uneasy till she felt the mo tion of the steamer and knew they had started. She searched all over the vessel, but he was nowhere to bo found. It seems she wrote to her husband as soon as she ar rived here, but sho had never heard a word from him." "What did the poor woman do?" "She told me she staid a while in the city where Bhe landed, hoping her husband would And her, but it was so expensive living there she thought she would try to And a cousin of hers, who sho said married a man by the name of Allen Morris, and they lived in a town named Lakeside. I made hor stay with me two or three days, till she got rested a little, and then, hearing somebody say there was a town iu New York by the name of Lakeside, she deter mined to try and find it. My son Both carried her to the depot in our old wagon, and I've never heard from her since. She had such a heartbroken look about hor, poor thing, that I've never forgotten her." " Did you know her name, Mrs. Til bury?" "Yes, she said it was Lindsay ; and aftor she was gone I found a handkerchief she had left with Madeline Lindsay on it. That was the name she called the little girl, and it seemed it was her name, too," " O Mrs. Tilbiuy, I do heliove that poor woman was my own dear mother ! Do show me the handkerchief, if you have it in the houso 1" cried Madeline, her face glowing with excitement. "Massy sakes alive ! of course I've kept the handkerchief. Hut how could she have been your mothor, when you're John Hum phrey's daughter, I should like to know?" " I'm not their own daughter. I ran away from an almshouse when I was a lit tle child and wandered to their door. All I could toll them about myself was that my name was Madeline ; and now I cannot help feeling I have a trace of my own mother. I can just dimly remember some one cud dling me up in her arms and crying over me; but she must have died and left me to strangers, or else I wouldn't have wander ed off alone." " Well, miss, I just as much believe that woman was your mother as I believe you're sitting by that window, for there never could be two faces look so much alike if they were no relation. Hero's the hand kerchief, and you may keep It after this, for it belongs to you more than anybody else." '" Madeline took it into hor hands almost reverently, and gazed ytU moistened eyes upon the name. "I do believe you are right Mrs. Tilbury and I look upon the spraining of my aukle in the light of a blessing instead of a mis. fortune, since it brought mo to your home. I shall never forget your kiuduess, nor the good news you have told me, and now if I could only know whore my father is, if he is still living, I should be so happy." " Well, miss, perhaps you may hear of hint yet J things do come round mighty queer sometimes." . ,) . In a few days Mr. Caroll drove over to the Tilbury farm to see how Madoline was, and as she was only slightly lame, she was glad of the opportunity to return to the seminary with him, and resume her duties there. Very busy days followed in the school, as the annual examination approached, and Madeline shared the anxiety of the other teachers, that tho pupils who had been un der her care during the school year should do thomselves credit. Notwithstanding the nervous fears of failure, that are common to both teachers and pupils on such occa sions, everything passed off at the publio examination in the most satisfactory man ner, and the trustees of the seminary de clared thomselves more than pleased with tho progress which the pupils had mado. " On a bright midsummer day, Madoline, having spoken the last good-by, turned her face with a glad heart towards Irvington, giving the dear ones there an agreeable Bur prise by arriving two or three days before she was expected. After an early tea thoyall sat down' in the old kitchen doorway, to have a cosy chat together. Madeline had a great deal to tell about her experience at Lakeside, es pecially of hor stay at the Tilbury farm, and there finding a trace, as she believed, of her mother. " I shouldn't wonder if you had a father living somewhere, now," said Mr. 'Hum phrey. " Perhaps if things happen as I am afraid they will, you may yet find a home with him." " Why, father, you don't want tJ get rid of me, do you ?" " Get rid of you, child ! Why, it would be like drawing my heart's blood to have you leave me. I was only thinking I might have no home to offer you soon. I've got together about a hundred dollars towards the mortgage, and that's all I've been able to raise; in a little more than two months it will be due, and then I suppose young Beaton will take possession." " No, father, he never will; and now let mo set your your heart at rest forever about the mortgago. Three hundred dollars that I have saved from my year's salary" are de posited in the Lakeside Bank, on purpose to meet this paymont when it is duei So please smooth out the wrinkles from your forehead, and cease to worry, both of you; the old farm need never pass from your hands." Both John Humphrey and his wife were unable to speak for a raomont from sheer astonishment. When at length he found bis tongue, Mr. Humphrey exclaimed; "Why, Madeline, child, what do you mean? Three hundred dollars from your salary 1 1 don't understand it." "Nor I," said Mrs. Humphrey "we've both wondered how you could have given us so many clothes as you have, and have had anything loft for yourself." ' " Why, my salary was five hundred dol lars, I supposed, from some remarks you mndo, that you thought I only had a trifle more for teaching at Lakeside than I did when I taught our district school, I thought I wouldn't inform you to the con- -trary, so as to give you an agreeable sur prise." " Well, child, you've had your wish, and made us happier than we ever expected to be Rgain In this' world. You've been a blessing to us ever sinoe you set foot in the old house, and now to think of your ear ning enough in one year to clear the farm from debt ; it is almost too wonderful to boliove." "Ah, John, I told you we could always trust the Lord. We 'cast our bread upon the waters,' , when we took this child into ur home, and you see the Lord has return ed it to us after many days. I can never be thankful enough for bis mercy." Madeline then briefly told her parents of young Beaton's offer, and the penalty he bad fixed for not complying with it. " The cowardly lascal ?" exclaimed Mr. Humphrey, springing to his feet. " It was always a mystery to me why he should have offered to lend me money unasked, and now it is all explained. Ah, Madeline I see now why you were so anxious to go to Lakeside!" " Well, father, it has all turned out Just right ; but please don't give him any reason to believe the monoy is ready for him." ' " Indeed I wont. The blessed secret shall remain safe with me, never fear." The weeks sped on, and the elder Beaton, who bad been failing all summer, . sunk rapidly as the season advanced, and one day in tbe early autumn the tolling bell announced to the villagers that he had breathedhis last. Ernest arrived at home in season for the funeral, whioh was made as imposing as possible, a clergyman of (he Church of England having come from a long distance to read the burial service. ! . COKCLPDHI) OK SECOKD HQS. ins"
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