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"Vol. VIIX. Now Ulooiilioltl, Tuesday, October 37, IVo. -43.
IB PUBLISHED EVERT TUESDAY MOKNINS, BT
FRANK MORTIMER & CO.,
At New Bloomfleld, Terry Co., Ta.
Belnff provided with meant Power, and large
Cylinder and JoU-rresses, we are prepared
to do all kinds of Job-l'rlntlnx In ,
good style and at Low Prices.
' For the Bloomfleld Times.
THJPHANTOMS OF ST. MARK.
A Story with an Excellent Moral.
A HUSBAND and wife were having a
violent quarrel and as you passed the
door you would have hoard the lady's voice
in angry tonos, saying :
" Do you hear roe, Sir ?"
No answer.
I have been talking to you for the last
half-hour,, sir." '
" Bless, rno, I thought it was much long
er !". was the reply.
" I understand your sneor, sir, perfectly ;
you are getting tired of me. : I am properly
served ,1 I had no business to marry you
twelve months ago I was my own mis
tress."' !
"I know it, my lady, and now you want
to bo mine." - ' " ' "
"Upon my word, Sir Methusalah, you
improve 1"
"I wish the virtue was infectious ; I
should bo delighted to see my whole family
inoculated with the same disposition.," '
" Sir Methusalah,' your inuendos are un
pardonable ; Bince our wedding-day you
have become a miserably altered man 1"
" Couldn't you favor me with an il be
fore the altered?"
" I could indeed if you had your deserts.
I am yptir wife, sir I" $ .' - i i
"If that's oue of them I willingly dis
pense with the rest." " .
11 Sir Methusalah 1 In one word do you
intend to pass the season ' in London or
not?" '
" Not !"
" What do you mean by replying in that
abrupt and extraordinary manner, sir ?'
You wished an answer in ' one word
I gave it to oblige, but there's no pleasing
you." '
" Very good 1 yery good indeed, sir 1 I
know what you are aiming at ; you want to
make mo 16se my temper I" "
i " I wish you could,' and let my worst
enemy find it. I'd ask no more terrible re
venge 1" ,
"Do you suppose I married you for this,
sir?" ' ' - . ' '
"No." '
"For what then?" '
"To convince me that mouoy could not
ensure happiness, and that ten thousand a
year very frequently buys ten thousand
times more plagues than pleasures. Good
morning my lady.'1! r..
"Good morning, my torment."
The conversation recorded above passed
between a gentleman on the shady side of
fifty, but still possessed of a hale person
and distinguished bearing, and, spite of a
taste of the vixen in her kindling eye, and
rather more than a taste of it in her nimble
tongue, a remarkably pretty woman of
about five and twenty.
Lady Methusalah Rust exchanged her
maiden for her present name more at the
instigation of her friends than from the
warm promptings of her own heart.
Tho uis'p itrity pf years between the par
ties was in bsr prudent mother's opinion
amply compensated by the very handsome
fortune possessed by Sir Methusalah. If he
was old, so was his baronetcy ; so were the
title deeds of his estate, the timber upon it,
and even the very wine in his cellars.
lie had it in his power to dower a wife
eligibly and provide for scampish younger
sons and cousins to the tenth generation.
Besides all this, Sir Methusalah was em
phatically a ' " scholar and a gentleman,"
possessing the esteem of his equals and the
lore and respect of his tenants and de
pendants. His establishment was an extensive one,
kept up after the manner of the "Fine old
English gentleman," His domestics, like a
good landlord, were "a host in themselves,"
but- those whose interests are ' connected
with the present sketch were only three,
viz : John Thomjis, the butke ; ' Con Swee
ny, the groom ; and pretty plump Patty
Pride, My lady's own ladles' maid.
John Thomas was a thorough-bred Eng
ishman and most unadulterated ' cockney.
London with John Thomas was the world ;
those born within the sound of " Bowbells"
the selected-silver spoon-mouth portions of
soanety ; those denied that privilege pitiable
persons indeed. ' John Thomas was a very
- sausage of prejudices ; small portions of
every national liking, or antipathy, must
have been chopped up, blended together
and thrust, even to the risk of bursting it,
into the external cuticle of John Thomas.
John believed there was suoh a place as
Ilireland, or as in his loftier moods he
termed it lbernia, thoreby nullifying by
omission the gratuitous expenditure of the
misapplied " II ;" and he labored under a
dolusion that the British Government sup
ported the Hiiish, who were only fit ior
"excavators" and scavengers, from mo
tives of the purest philanthrophy.
John Thomas father imagined the nat
ural produce of the country was turf, pota
toes and poteen ; , and the paBtimes of the
people burning barns, murdering landlords
and taking an annual tithe of Protestant
parsons with bludgeons and blunderbusses,
instead of allowing them to take their
scriptural dues.
So much as a general outline of John
Thomas's pnblio opinions ; as an individual
demonstration of his more private feelings
we will briefly say John loved pretty.plump
Patty Pride, and, as Bomebow Or other
" Hirishmen" with him were always inter
lopers, he fancied Con Sweeny kept up the
national character, or rather want of it, by
doiftg the same, and, therefore, as far as
he could hate, he hated Con Sweeny.
We say "as far as he could," because,
despite his prejudices, John Thomas had a
magnificent corner in his heart, which, like
a rainbow, that offspring of a shower, still
born if unsmiled on by the genial sun,
wanted but a seasonable opportunity to de-
velope itself in all its glory. .
.i In person John was a model for a butler.
He lived well and his stout proportions,
ponderous calves and rubicund nose, like
honest witnesses as they were, unequivocally
testified tq the fact. - . . . ' -,:
... His Hirish rival, Cou Sweeny Con be
ing a national condensation for Cornelius
was a daro-devil-boyr' of some foul or flve-and-twenty,
with dark curling hair, sauoy
blue eyes, a somewhat wide and laughter
loving mouth, garnished with a row of as
white ' " ivories" as ever furnished the
opening in the head of a Oalway lad.
Liko all his countrymen he was passion
ately fond of horses ; and many were the
bright glances and sweet, smiles bestowed
upon Con Sweeny when mounted on one of
the "Master's" thorough-breda, but no
smile or glance had half the charm for the
good-looking Irishman as the smiles and
glances of pretty, plump Patty Pride ; in
fact to use bis own words, " be was bother
ed intirely by his love for the colleen."
Patty was black-eyed, rosy-cheeked and
although plump, marvellously well-shaped:
" Brisk as a bee and light as a fairy,"
Tripping about on her little feet like a con
ceited young fawn, and Binging as gaily
and swoetly at lior work as the hazel-eyed
robin.
; It has been remarked by a gontleman of
tho name of Shakspoare, that
"The course of true love never did run smooth.
Our tale will prove no exception to this rule
the main cause of which shame upon her
for it was Patty Pride's addiction to co
quetry. ; '
She knew John Thomas loved her, and
she knew Con Sweeny loved her, and she
knew, by reason of certain legal restric
tions, she could not conveniently marry
both of them ; therefore, she knew, "or
ought to have known, the most proper
thing she could do was to make her elec
tion ; and there was the difficulty that puz
zled Patty's brains. . i
The more she argued tho matter with
herself the more she doubted.
The pros and cons were solely conflict
ing. John Thomas had the best place, whilo
Con Sweeny had the best face.
Con could dance like an angel, but John
had money in the bank !
John might be steward, but Con was
thirty years the younger.
Con conld sing like a lark and make
love like an Irishman, but John Thomas
hinted at a marriage settlement a silk
gown and public-bouse.
Under these conflicting circumstances
Patty Pride went on doubting, and the
arrow Of love was converted Into tho shaft
of discord.
Thus precisely similar effect though
from different causes were visible In the
upper and lower portions of the establish
ment ; declining aflootion in the drawing
rooms producing the same uneasiness in
Sir Methusalah and Lady Rust, that Incipi
ent love in the servant's hall caused John
TbomasyConBwoeny and Patty Pride. :
CHAPTER II.
Will our reader bo kind enough to call
to mind the parting of Sir Methusalah and
Lady Rust, described in the conclusion of
our opening chapter ? Each the victim of
ill temper and each brooding over fancied
wrongs and insults. ,, '
Sir Methusalah Bought his library ; my
lady the drawing room.
We will leave my lady gazing listessly
out upon the beautiful lawn in a state ' of
metaphysical wonderment as to what on
earth she was born for, and follow Sir Me
thusalah to the library.
Seated in his luxurious easy chair, after
having given vent to some vehement mut
terings and dissatisfied grumblings, we
find him poring over a large black letter
volume of ancient legends. By degrees the
lines of anger paBS from his face and an ex
pression of doep interest invests every fea
ture. See ! he has raised his head from the
book ; an hour has passed, and the legend
Is concluded. Hark 1 he speaks !
"Pshaw 1 stuff! nonsenso 1 it cannot be ;
I won't believe it 1 Yet it certainly appears
well attested. Strange 1 This very night 1
There can be no harm in making the ex
periment. I am determined I'll watch !"
And now Sir Methusalah has put on his
hat and strolled forth in tho direction of
the village church.
My Lady Rust, tired of hor "own bad
company," has entered the library ; how
listlessly she turns over the splendid vol
umes. She leaves the cases and approaches
the table ; her eyes fall on the quaint old
black letter tome ; in a few seconds they
Beera rivetted upon its open page, and with
difficulty she manages to decipher the ob
solete characters and reads aloud
" Ye Leciende Of Sainte Marks j
which for the benefit of our fair readers wo
render as follows ; ,
''Then wend your way to the church-yard drear.
But epeed not with dread, and xvA not with fear :
Bear ye no taper, no lamp, no P i-clt
To guide your stepa to the mouldering porch.
For the aheetod ghoste will be watching there,
And the dead men's lights will flicker and friar
With pale blua flames through the midnight air.
Sigh not, weep not, scarce breathe aloud.
And touch not a cone, and touch not a abroud :
But solemnly paaa by the ghastly crowd, i- , 1
Cross thyself thrice, neither lues nor more,
And fix thine eyes on the chancel's door.
But speak not as thou dost prise thy soul.
And whon the midnlghthonr shall toll . .
The Doomed ahall pass by the self same grave.
Ere the year be out, they shall surely fill ;
a Aud thus ye may know
Who will moulder low
In tbelr earthy borne, If ye list and will.
For auch is the power sa, all believe.
Of a vigil kepton Sunt Mabkb his Eve!" , .
A fow . hours precedent, the reading of
the ghostly old legend would have exoited
iu the mind of Lady Rust no emotion
stronger than a smile at its extravagance,
or a Bnoor at its absurdity ; now the words
sank deeply into her heart. ;
A few moments were passed in solemn
thought ; the result was a resolution to
test the truth of the saintly legend.
Among the many droppers-in at Rust
nail was grim Master Adam Mould, the
villago sexton.
Adam was always a welcome guest at the
kitchen of Rust Hall ; his tales of strange
sounds, strange sights, and mysterious
tollings of the church bell, were listened to
with breathless attention. As if the whole
household was undor some elecirio influ
ence, tho theme of Adam Mould's conver
sation was nothing more or less than the
Identical legeud of Saint Mark, which oc
cupied the attention of Sir Methusalah and
his Lady.
Now it so happened that the personal
dislikes of John Thomas and Con Sweeny
had been aggravated to the highest possible
pitch. John Thomas having detected Con
Sweeny in the very delightful but improper
act of ravishing a kiss from tho pouting lips
of Patty Pride while Con Sweeny, equally
on tho alert, discovered John Thomas ac
tually offering a new silk dross to the littlo
maid.
John had mentally anathematized Con's
"Hirish hirapudence," and indulged in
sundry revengeful feelings.
The legend of Saint Mark had settled
deeply down into John Thomas's heart, and
he resolved to visit the graveyard, hoping
that a bountiful Providence might in its
mercy indulge him with a view of a certain
"Hirish happaritlon."
Con Sweeny had soliloquized with much
bitterness of feeling,and after the following
fashion, the delinquencies ot John Thomas.
" Bad luck to him 1 early and late, and
all day long ! for tho most onplisaut thafe
of a schamor, that Ivor tried to put his com
ether upon a young crater with his blag-
uaid silk gownds ! the vlllian o' the world I
Why don't he coort her liko a man ! Euro
there's only oue thing I'd do wid pleasure
for him, and that Is to drink success and
long life to his corpse at his wake I Musha 1
but its glad I'd be to attend it at this day t
sorrow a word but truth in thut."
Here a new light seemed to break in on
the exasperated groom. Ho paused for a
moment; then, after along whistle, con
tinued . .-.
"Be dad 1 perhaps its truth ould shovel
and skulls, was telling 1 By the vestments t
it's myself that will watch at the ould
church porch, and if tho villain isn't too
onpleasantly fat for a sporrit, musha 1 who
knows but may be I'll see John Thomas's
dirty ghoBt.
Now it so happened, by some strange
coincidence, that while Patty Pride was
dressing my lady's hair, the mistress and
maid were involuntarily reflecting, deeply
and soriouBly, upon tho same subject, and
that subject was the all-engrossing one,
The Legend of St. Mark," learned by my
lady in the quaint verses of the rare old
volunio, and by Patty with sundry edify
ing and marvelous additions from the grim
looking sexton, Adam Mould.
But Patty made np her mind to havo
ocular demonstrations that very night
being incited thereto by the reflection that
if eithor of her lovers waa fated, she ought
to know it.
It thereforo happened that about half
past eleven that night that tho five persons
mentioned in this story, had thoughts as
follows :
" Now for my great coat !" thought the
baronet, as he left the library. . .
" I am determined," whispered my lady,
as Bhe passed unseen across the terrace.
"Hit his hawful,' but that Hirishman
drives mo to it," stammered John Thomas,
swallowing a reeking tumbler of brandy
and water and thrusting a flask of the un
adulterated fluid into his pocket.
"Be dad 1 I'll take this with me," ejacu
lated Con Sweeny, picking np ' a darllnt of
a twig ;' " who knows faith 1 there may
be a shindy ; if so, I'm convanient." ' '
" I won't wear my thin shoes, and I've
got the catechism in my pocket," pru
dently and piously exclaimed Patty, i
. .. : ' ,.
Both . husband and , wife with, bated
breath had looked upon what each supposed
to be the apparition of the other and fled
from the scene.
A shriek, like the death-scream of hope,
struck upon the ear of poor John Thomas.
It was, to his horror, answered by a yell
whose Irish accent admitted of no doubt.
Struggling with fear and agony, tho but
ler's gaze fell on the excited visage of the
" Hirish" rival. The graves shook beneath
his pondorous fleetuess, and the air was
loaded with his fat breath, which found
vent In the few but emphatic words
" Booked by a fast coach hat a very
hearlyhour."
The shout, impregnated with the Gal-
way accent, had scarcely ceased before a
voice, rich with the same perfection, ex.
claimed
" Come baok, you villain ! eperrit or no
sperrit, I'm your man. Is it gone, he is ?
by this and by that that's John Thomas's
ghost ; and as far as looks and running go,
the moral of himself. Hurrah I Ould Ire
land forever 1 and" here . remembering
where he was, Con commenced repeating
his prayers, and his retreating figure was
soon lost in the distance. .
"Poor fellows ! both doomed," exclaim.
ed Patty, as she came from her hiding
place and hurried away.
CHAPTER III.
Twelve months have passed ! twelve
months? Twelve lettors sum them up,
but oh I what worlds of hopes aud fears,
sorrows and joys, are bounded in the
words!
Twelve months have passed, and how?
The legend of St. Mark seemed strange
ly, awfully ' borne out. Tho "sheeted
dead" had, as they each supposed, appear
ed to the several terrified visitors to the
old church-yard, and the thonght of the
approaching dissolution of the formerly
contending parties had tho most salutary
results. Small acts of kindness, at first
performed from the questionable feeling
"that it couldn't be for long," became in
a short time habitual, positive pleasures.
Oh, how deeply was every past unkind
thought, word and look, regretted I
Sir Methusalah would gaze for hours on
his young and beautiful wife, and brood
over the slightest tone which had formerly
thrilled upon bis heart ; and as tho bitter
conviction that he must lose her rushed to
his mind, the hot tears would gather in his
eyes and a foretaste of his coming desola
tion make him quiver with . exquisite
agony ; and Lady Rust would rivet hor
sweet blue eyes upon his face, and as busy
memory recalled big nobleuess to herself,
his geueroslty to her family, his forbear
ance at her unworthy petulance, and the
justness of his kind remonstrances, a with
ering shudder would rush through her
heart, as she thought on the fatal omen
she bad seen, and she would throw her
self, Bobbing, into his arms, and in tho
deep recesses of her soul, implore Heaven
to spare,
" So good, so noble and so kind a man."
John Thomas' revulsion of feeling was
nothing short of marvellous. He patron
ized his quondam rival to an unheard of
extent never mado the slightest allusion
to White boys, ribbon men or the halion
haot," and desisted entirely from reading
aloud as had been his custom and glory
all paragraphs headed " Another barbarous
murder in Ilireland," and tirades against
Daniel O'ConnclI. '
Con Sweeney was touched to the soul by
this very handsome conduot in what be
believed to be a corpso on short leave of
absence. He nursed John Thomas with
the gentlest assiduity through a long and
severe fit of the gout, and John Thomas
returned the compliment, if possible with
interest, when the vicious Chestnut jam
med Con against the park-wall and broke
his arm, as John Thomas believed merely
by way of practice to perform the same
operation on his neck. ,
If it was, and who doubts it ? a pleasant
sight to see the generous affection of Sir
Methusalah and deep and beautiful devo
tion ot my lady, it was no less delightful
to mark the honest and friendly exchange
of kindness between fat John Thomas and
dating Con Sweeney. '
As tor fatty frido. still plump and pro-
vokingly pretty as ever, thinking both her
beaux doomed to become occupants of
premises only suited for the reception of
single gentlemen, she so subdued her co
quetry, and divided ner attentions,, that
they more added to the happiness than dis
quietude of her admirers.
ilius bad mutters stood for twelve
months ; each dreading but fully expecting
the death of theother. '
On the fatal anniversary all felt convin
ced the prediction would be fulfilled, and
determined to show their respect for. those
about to depart
"To another and a better world."
Sir Methusalah appeared at the breakfast
table with a white face, sable suit, and sad
heart. :-
Lady Rush was in the deepest widow's
weeds. , :
They startled on seeing each other's
costume ; they were speechless, but the
tears burst from my lady's eyes as she
thought, "this is a confirming presenti
ment." ., ,
Sir Methusalah was well nigh choked as
the same idea flashed across his mind.
" You are in black, Patty I darllnt !"
" So are you, Mr. Sweeney, and, bless
my heart, so is Mr. Thomas."
"Who for?" inquired one of the other
servants.
" Ha hexcellent hiudividooal,"' blubber
ed out John Thomas ; " I'd give my right '
and to save him," and as he spoke he
Bhook Con Sweeney's list with a degree of
vigor that could only be exceedod by the
vice-like grasp of the warm-hearted Irish
man, who sobbed out :
" Whatever may happen, long life to
you, John Thomas, darlint ; may the bles
sed angel make your bed asy 1 it's myself
that feels more mourniug in my heart than
a king's funeral could put on my back I"
Here pretty, plump but pale Patty Pride
dashed the fast falling tears from her swol
len eyes, and taking a hand of each almost
whispered : '
" Grief and truth are twins ; speak, in
the name of both, if I have ever ofl'onded
you, and oh ! I know I have often and
often, do you both forgive me?"
- " From my sowl I do by this," said Cou
Sweeney, smacking her right cheek.
" And I by that," gurgled John Thomas
after saluting her left.
" He kisses strong for a dying man,"
thought the butler.
" Bless his owld heart ; he's game to the
last," soliloquized the groom.
" They ought neither of them to die for
twenty years at least," mentally sighed the
lady's maid.
But the time was fast drawing - to a
close I
Sir Methusalah and Lady Rust sat in sad
silence, their hands firmly locked together,
and their hearts so rivetted that certain
death to both would have beon happiness
to their dread of losing each other.
Con Sweeney looked with a wondering '
and watery eye at John Thomas, and blub
bered : "Apoplexy!"
John Thomas shook his head dubiously
and dospondingly as ho gazed on Con Swee
ney's apparently healthy countenance and
whispered with intense feeling, "It will be
sudden."
And pretty Patty, glancing from the one
to the other and thence for a moment at the
looking-glass, sighed, " Love !"
'
"Twelve! and all alive !"
What can bo the moaning of it?
"That's the truth, my own doar wifo."
"Thank God 1 my own loved husband it
was yourself."
"The Heavens look down wid smiles
upon you this blessed night, you fat old
angel! It was meself in the llesh I Give
me another hug, good luck to you !" said
Cou.
" An undrod, my Iborniau friend, and
that's not all I'll give you take Patty's
hand no words I I'm the holdest, and
ought to take the first warning, and John
Thomas can pay with his honest savings if
he is called upou as god-fathor. ,
Musha thin !
But the story's done aud a happier fami
ly never breathed.
Is there not a slight moral lu this light
ness? Would not the thought that the day
mutt corns whon the grave will be the home
of all, soften down our antipathies, human
ize our tempers, and, by its wholesome re
inembi'anue,eO'ect in all our lives great good.