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VOL. XL
THE TIMES.
In Independent Family Newspaper,
13 PUBLISHED EVEItT TUESDAY 1.1
F. MOltTlMKli & CO.
Subscription Price.
Within the County 1 2S
" " ' Bl I months 76
Out of the County, Including postage, 1 W)
" " " six months " 85
Invariably in Advance I
JW Advertising rates furnished upon appli
cation. For The Timet.
WILLIAM AND MARY.
11 T JAMES HUMES.
Written during the late War but never pub
liihcd. In a town that shall be nameless, I
Lived two lovers voting and blameless ;
lie of lofty mien and bearing,
8he of nature's flneBt mold.
As the bright and ruddy morning,
Or the rose that decks the garden ;
Was the face of this fair maiden
This fair maid of finished mold.
Round her neck of milky whiteness, 1
Hung her auburn hair In ringlets,
Whilst her eyes of witching beauty
Kindled love in all who saw.
At all places In all weather,
These two lovers were together j
For the food of love Is ever,
Naught but love arid love alone.
Though they had at love's bright altar,
Sworn that not but death could sever j
Yet the cry, "to arms all hasten,"
William leaves bis Mary dear.
Mary now in deepest anguish
Thus employs endearing language
Crying, " oh my dearest William l
Can you, can you leave me so."
But the trump of war now blowing,
William must at once be going ;
So adieu 1 my dearest Mary,
I will live or die for you.
For " The Times.'
THE DOCTOR'S PLOT.
RICHARD BltADLEY, at the age of
twenty-one had come into posses
sion of an immense fortune, and at the
age of twenty-five he found himself one
of the most miserable fellows in exist
ence. Every source of amusement that
New York could afford, had been drain
ed to its dregs, and even the gaming
table had begun to draw its fatal shroud
around the youthful millionaire ; but all
could not arouse his spirits from the deep
lough of despond into which they hod
become plunged. In his bosom he had
cherished the feeling that he was doom
id to irredeemable melancholy, and
though he endeavored by all the means
in his power to throw off or submerge
the complaint, yet it stuck to him with
the tenacity of a leech. Day by day did
he grow more and more melancholy,
the bloom had faded from his cheek
the blood began to course sluggishly
through his veins, and he actually en
tertained the idea that the gates of the
grave alone could shut out his wasting
malady. The gaudy butterflies of fash
ion fluttered around him, but he derived
no pleasure in their company. The
scheming misses and the flashing belles
hovered about him with their flatteries
and their smiles, but he turned from
them with loathing.
It was in the middle of the forenoon,
that young Bradley was stretched out
upon his damask lounge, gazing vacant
ly at a spider that was industriously at
work over his bead, while in his right
hand he held a volume of Byron's works,
open, and turned bottom-side up. He
was in this position when old Dr. Potts
dam entered, but in a moment more he
arose lazily to a sitting position, and lan
guidly held out his left hand for the vis
itor to shake.
" Doctor, I'm glad to see you," said
the young man, "and I hope you'll be
able to do something for me. I shan't
Jive long in this way."
" Then why do you stay here in the
city V" asked the doctor.
" Because I've nowhere else to go."
" But why don't you travel ?"
" I've traveled all over the country,
what more could you ask 5"'
" Go to Europe."
" A voyage across the Atlantic would
kill me outright."
" Then go into business."
NEW BLOOMFIELD, 1-.A.., TUESDAY,
" There's no need of It and 1 enn't
bear It."
" Then there's only one resource."
" Ah, name it."
" Marry."
" Bah I Why, Pottsdam, the sight of
a woman is perfectly hateful to me."
" Such women as you have associated
with, I grant. I don't mean for you to
marry a load of silks, satins, jewelry and
red paint, go and find a real woman."
" That would be wicked, to curse a
lovely female with my deadening pres
ence. No, doctor, I won't marry."
" Then," said the doctor, In a some
what peevish tone, "what in heaven's
name would you do V"
" Give me something to cure me."
"I'll physio you."
" I don't care for that, so that you can
cure me. The tooth-ache, the ear-ache,
the cholera anything, would be prcfer
oble to this everlasting deluge of dark
ness that's rolling over my heart."
For Ave minutes Dr. Pottsdam sat and
reflected. At the end of that, a half
hidden smile passed over his fuce, and a
peculiar twinkle played In his sharp
gray eyes.
" Bradley," said he, "I can't cure
you."
" Then go to the ."
" Stop," Interrupted the doctor. " I
know of a man who can, though."
" Egad I that's good. Send him along."
" But you'll have to go to him." '
"Where is hey
" A hundred miles from here, just be
yond the Catskill mountain."
" I should die on the way."
" No, you won't. There lives one old
Doctor Forbush there, and I sincerely
believe he can cure you. In short, I'll
warrant a cure. Say you'll go, and in
six months from now, you shall be a
well man."
" Just tell me how I shall have to
travel."
" Take the steamer as far as Catskill,
and from there you'll take a first-rate
stage-coach."
" Doctor Pottsdam," exclaimed young
Bradley, in a like manner as a drown
ing man would catch at a straw, " I'll
go. But remember, you say this For
bush can cure me."
" I'll stake my reputation on it."
" Then I'll start to-morrow."
" Not till day after to-morrow, and
then I will give you letters to him. Just
make yourself as comfortable as possible
till that time, and then you shall lie
off."
" Comfortable at a dying convict."
uttered Bradley, sl'iklng back once more
at full length upon his lounge. " But
I'll try to live through it. Good day
doctor." .
In due time, the poor fellow found
himself sullinr; up the Hudson. The
journey was tedious and monotonous
enough to one like him ; but by spread
ing himself in his berth on board the
steamboat, and securing a seat in the
stage where he could lay out at full
length, he managed to reach the dwell
ing of Dr. Forbush in a living condition.
The old doctor was expecting his patient
and with a volume of smiles he assisted
him into the house, where everything
was prepared for his reception.
'Anything in particular that you'd
like for supper V" asked the doctor, after
Bradley had disposed of himself on three
chairs and a pillow. '
" I saw some little chickens running
around in the yard. I wish you'd catch
one of them and broil it. Butter it well,
and let me have a dry toast with it."
A smile passed over the old doctor's
face, but without any remark, he went
to obey the wish of his patient, and in
half an hour he was, seated before the
dish he had named. Traveling had
somewhat sharpened his appetite, and
he ate more heartily than he hud done
before for months. ,
When Bradley expressed his desire to
retire, the doctor took a lamp and led the
way up stairs. . The room into which
the young man was ushered, was at the
front of the house; a plain carpet cover
ed the floor, the furniture waasimple and
neat, a small book-case hung against the
wall, and the bed, covered with its
snowy clothing, was canopied by light
dimity curtains, and bore a tempting as
pect to the weary traveler. ..,;..;,;
The next morning Richard Bradley
arose from his bed, but he fult weak and
sick, and at noon he retired again, and
on the morning following thnt, he felt
utterly unable to get up.
"Doctor," snidhe, "I'm worse."
"Your constitution Is wenker, I ad
mit," returned Forbush, " but you'll
soon get over that, and at the same time
you'll be recovering from your strange
malady. Your Journey hither has some
what upset you."
" I knew It would, and I told Pottsdum
so," uttered Bradley, ns he turned heav
ily on his pillow. " But I won't die If I
can help it."
Another day passed, and he was utter
ly unable to sit up In bed. There was
no pain in his system, nor did he feci
much sickness at the stomach but a
general debility, a total weakness, and
utter want of appetite had possessed
him. The doctor examined his tongue,'
felt his pulse, and then told him that he
should have a nurse, and that with care
he would soon be well. Had the invalid
been stronger, he might have cursed the
doctor and cursed the journey, but he
was too weak to feel any such emotions,
and with a commendable docility he re
reslgned himself to his fate.
That forenoon the promised nurse was
Introduced to him, under the simple,
musical name of Mary Holworth. She
was Bomewhere about nineteen, light
and graceful as a fairy, with a fuce radi
ant and lovely, all beaming with smiles
and roguish dimples, her hair flowing in
soft, sunlit curls, and her eyes of that
peculiarly rich hazel that seems a bot
tomless fount of melting, sparkling
light. The patient was startled to new
life for a moment by this lovely presence,
but he soon sank back upon his pillow,
and gazed at her with a half-vacant
meaningless look, as she moved about
the room. Itlchard was directed to re
quest the presence of the doctor or one
of his students whenever he desired, and
thus were matters arranged for his treat
ment. A week passed away, but the invalid
grew no stronger. Mary almost antici
pated hlB every wish, as with the care
and tenderness of a sister she hovered
about his couch. The light of her happy
smiles, and the music of her sweet voice
mode a paradise of the sick chamber ,and
at length Richard seemed to notice It.for
when, after an absence of half an hour,
she would re-enter the room, his coun
tenance would brighten up, and a soft
look of gratitude would beam forth from
his eyes.
" Mary," said he one day, after he hud
become able, by the aid of a bolster and
two pillows, to retain a sitting position,
" methinks one with such a sweet voice
as yours should be able to sing."
" O, I can sing, sir. Would it please
you to hear me?"
"By heavens I" exclaimed the inva
lid, with more earnestness than he had
evinced for weeks, "you are the first
woman I ever saw who didn't have a
cold when music was on the docket."
" It must be a strange fatality indeed
that Imparts colda so easily," returned
Mary, with a smile. " It appears to me
that I should not wish to hear one sing
who had a very bad cold ; and, on the
other hand, if they pretended to ha've
colds when they had them not, the pal
pable falsehood would make their music
distasteful. But if you would like a lit
tle music, sir, I will get my harp."
"Get It, and sing to me," said Rich
ard, and after she had gone, he murmur
ed to himself :
" May I never get off from this bed, if
that isn't the first sensible girl I ever
saw," and so saying he fell Into a fit of
deep meditation. - , . .
In a few minutes Mary returned with
her hacp, and having swept her 'fingers
over the strings for a moment, shebegan
to warble forth a sweet song.. The rich
melody of her voice filled the room with
its melting cadence, until it seemed to
the sick man as though he dwelt iu an
atmosphere of celestial music.
" More! more! Sing again," he mur
mured, as the maiden ended her song.
Again and again she sang, and when
at length she laid her harp aside, Rich
ard regarded her with such a strange
look, that she blushed and turned awuy
towards the window.
" Mary," said the young man, "you
must sing to me often. You will, won't
you?" , . . .
" Yes," she replied, in a half-hushed
voice, "I will either sing for you or
read to you, for Doctor Forbush says it
would help to relieve your mind."
JANUAEY 8(), 1877.
" Never mind Doctor Forbush. You
must sing and read because want you
to. Now sit you down by my side and
resd to ine. Let it be from Byron."
" I will rend to you from Gray, or
Beattle, or Burns, but I don't like By
ron." " Don't like Byron V And why not ?"
" Simply because he falsifies humani
ty, and maligns the better principles of
human action. He does not write of the
human heart as it- beats In love and
sympathy, but he portrays it as it beat
in his own unfortunate bosom. I will
readj'ou something better."
Mary went to the book-case and re-'
turned with a volume of Goldsmith's
works, from which she read that beauti
ful gem ' of literature, " The Deserted
Village." The same voice that had sang
so sweetly, read equally as well, and
Richard drank In every word, as it fell
from her lips, and a feeling, such as he
had never before experienced, began to
creep over his soul.
Thus passed the time foranother week.
Richard was not yet able to get out of
his room, nor could he sit up for any
length of time. Mary sang and read
then read and sang, and when she
would read or sing no more, she would
laugh and talk, or talk and look serious,
just as the case might be, for she pos
sessed a most happy faculty of sympa
thizing with all her patient's moods.
Nearly a month had elapsed since
Richard Bradley had been confined to
his bed, when he found himself able to
sit up in his chair all the day long, and
at length old Doctor Forbush told him
that he might walk out in the garden.
He received the permission with pleas
ure, but he first made Mary Holworth
consent to accompany him. The sweet
flowers and the fragrant air lent an in
vigorating influence to his system and to
his mind, and nature had never before
appeared so attractive and so lovely. Ills
strength was not sufficient for a long
walk, and at the end of half an hour he
returned to his room. Mary arranged a
few things about the apartment, replac
ed the books in the case, and then turn
ing to the Invalid she said, in a tone
made tremulous by some emotion she
could not suppress :
" Mr. Bradley, you are now so far re
covered that my services will be of, o
further need, and I will return to my
own dwelling., Since I have been with
you, I have endeavored to do all that lay
in my power for your comfort, and I
trust that I have so far succeeded that
when you call my image to your mind
it may be with a grateful remembrance.
Adieu, sir, and may health soon give
you all its blessings."
" But you are not surely going to leave
me," uttered Richard, to whose mind
such a result of his returning strength
had not occurred.
" Certainly, I must, sir. I can help
you nmore.V
" Walt a moment," said the young
man, as the maiden turned towards the
door, and as he spoke he bent his head
in earnest thought. .At length he raised
his eyes, and a change had come over his
pale face.
" Mary," said be, in a soft, low tone,
"-come here and sit for a moiuent by my
side." . . , , r
Tremblingly she obeyed, ami Richard
took one of her fair hands in his own.
" You say you can be of uo service- to
me," he continued, gazing ardently into
her sweet face. " You caa be of service
tome through life. Now be honest.
Mary, tell me the truth. My heart has
learned to live a new life in your pres
ence, and I fear that in your absence it
would sink back again to its former
darkness. Mary, I cannot part with you
now, for you are the first earthly thing
I have loved for years. I do love you,
and if you can lov me in return, and be
my wife, be honest, and tell me so."
"Indeed," replied Mary, while her
hand trembled violently in its voluntaiy
prison," I. should have time to thiuk of
this."
"No, no, Mary, the htarl does not
take its impulses of love from long
thought. You can toll me now, and
then I shall be happier. O, I know you
love me. You would not have been so
kind, so faithful, you would not have
chained my heart with your muslo and
year pure thoughts -and your hand
would not tremble so, nor would your
cheek burn with that bright glow, nor
would that tear stand thus upon your
NO. 5.
eyelid, If you"dld not love me. You do
love me, Mary, come, tell me so at
once."
" You have guessed my secret,"' mur
murmured Mary, and as she epofce, she
laid her head upon young Bradley's
bosom.
" And you will not leave me fT
" I must go now, but I will comeback
again."
"Mr. Bradley, here are two letters
from New York," said Dr. Forbush, as
he entered the room where Richard and
Mary were sitting.
The young man took them, 'and break
ing the seal ot the first, read as follows-:
" Mr. Riciiaiid Bhadey :&, Ex
cuse me for the painful Intelligence V
have to communicate. The banker i
whose hands your funds were placed,
has failed. The late panic caused a run '
upon his banking house, and ere he
could redeem himself he had sunk all.
Not a cent has he to pay over, it would
hardly pay the trouble of gettingit. You
have of course learned ere this of the
fearful conflagration that has visited our
city, and you probably know that your
extensive block of buildings is in ashes.
The insurance policies expired a month
ago, so that there is a total loss. The
land, is still left, and I await your orders
with respect to the matter, or, if you de
sire it, I will come on and see you.
Yours truly,
James Fessenhon, Agent.
New York, June, 18 ."
"Well," uttered the young man, after
he had read the letter through the third
time, " that's a good beginning, at all
events. Read it, Mary, while I see what
old Pottsdam has to say, for this super
scription looks wonderfully like his
scrawling."
Mary took the proffered letter, while
Richard opened the second, and read as
follows :
" New York, June,, 18.
Dear Richard: You will see by
your agent's letter how you are situated.
I have made all necessary examinations,
and you will come out in the end the
owner of about eight thousand dollars,
which can be sent to on to you, for, if
you take my advice, you will not throw
yourself Into the whirl of city life for
the present. There is a splendid farm
ana accompanying mansion in t lie town
where you are stopping, that can be pur
chased for six or seven thousand dollars,
and if yonr fancy would lead you to like
it, Dr. Forbush will aid you in obtaining .
it. Yo had better send for Mr. Fessen
don, however, and consult with him, for.
in yonr present state you would not rnn
the risk of coming here.
Yours, as ever, .
Jotham Pottsdam."
" Well, what do you think of tht,.
Mary ?" asked the young man, as he saw
that she had read the letter.
" 'Tis surely a heavy loss," returned .
she, not a little surprised at the utterr
coolness of her companion.
" D&you feel its loss, Mary?" asked
Richard, in a meaning tone.
- " In so far as it may make ' you un
happy, no farther, for now I can prove
my love by helping you on through
life.'.' ,
" Then, thank God 'tis gone," exchvi su
ed the young man, as he clasped tbe fair
girl to his bosom. " I never derived one
moment's happiness from its possession, ;
and I shall not mourn now that, it is '
gone. Dr. Pottsdam tells me in Ills letr
ter that I have yet some eight thousand
dollars, left, and that there is a. good
place here which I can buy. Th crowd
ed city has been the scene of al'imy mis
eries, and this quiet village has-been the
scene of all my happiness. Here will 1
stay. You are an orphan, and l am the
same, and together we will choose us.
home and be happy ; wi'J. we not,
Mary'f"
"Yes yes."
Mr. Fessendon came on, and deposited
in the hands of Richard Bradlev eltrht
thousand three hundred dollars, the full
amount he held in his hands, ami with
it the young man purchased the plaoe to
which reference lias bees. made. It was
a pretty spot, located uyoti the banks of
a lovely stream, and wUhlu the walls of
its neat dwelling, young Bradly was
united to his sweet Mary.
A year had passed away, and to RLulu
ard and Mary hud been given a dear
child a little blue-eyed boy. It was at
the cloe of a pleasant day., Bradley and
his young wife were seated in their com-,
fortable parlor, when the door of the
apartment was unceremoniously pushed
open, and the jolly face of old Dr. Potts
dam appeared at the entrance- Both
Richard and his wife sprang forward to
bid the old man a welcome, and ere long
he was seated and engaged in a spirited
conversation. . .
" Mary," wild Richard, us alcgitfnwUa