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VOL. XII.
NEW BLOOMFIELr), TUESDAY, JUNE 18, 1878.
NO. 25.
THE TIMES. '
An Independent Family Newspaper,
18 PUBLISHED EVERY TUESDAY BT
F. MOllTIMElt & CO.
0
SUBSCRIPTION 1 It I V E .
(WIT1IIK TUB COUNTY.
One Year fl 2
Six Months,.... 75
(OUT Of THE COUNTY.
One Year. (PtwtaRO Included) (1 N)
Six Months, (Postage lucluded) H5
Invariably la Advance I
- Advertising rates furnished upon application.
$eledt 'Poeti'v.
OLD MEMORIES.
How many Aprils have I roamed beside thee
O'er the brown hills where now alone I
tread T
And though far realms of wonder now divide
thee
From our dim world, I cannot deem thee
dead.
And held thee In my arms while life was
failing,
Close in my arms and watched thy fluttering
breath,
Till the red sunset In the west was paling
And twilight veiled the awful calm of death.
In that white calm I saw then and forever
The grandcnr of thy spirit and Us power j
E'en as Its mortal vestment seemed to sever,
I saw the Immortal bursting Into flower.
That soul, so lofty In its Isolation ;
So strong In weakness, resolute In pain;
So self-reliant in its reprobation
Of servile arts and custom's Iron reign ;
Mid alien crowds alone, with none to know
thee,
With nothing left behind to regret,
Save one sad heart that love's sweet debt doth
owe thee,
One lonely heart that never can forget.
A LIFEJSTAKE.
A STORY OF THE GOLD DIGGINGS.
IHAUNCEY DISBROWE was the
J most reckless, dare-devil sort of fel-
qw I ever saw. It is necessary that you
tnderstand that, else the story I am
ibout to relate will seem incredible.
IMany a man beside myself remembers
iow one day, when he and I were in the
lontana gold-fields together, and Sac-
imento Jem (otherwise known as the
alifomia Qiant) came along, and, puli
ng up one of our stakes, put it down
gain to suit himself, how Chauncey
oked up at him coolly, and requested
ita to put it back where he took it
rom. J em laughed coarsely.
"Not much, my bantam," said he.
Who's boss o' this yere ranche, I eh'd
keterknow?" 4
Whereupon Chauncey answered, care-
ssly :
"Very well: suit yourself." And
"diking away a few steps, turned sud-
enly, drew a pistol as quick as light
ing, and shot the bully dead. Then he
ent back, quite unconcernedly, and re-
laced the stake. That was just the
kind of man" Chauncey was, only
t me add, that in spite of it all, he was
thoroughly good fellow, one of those
len whom you can " tie to," as we say
ut there. .There was not a man in the
imp but respected him all the more
fter he shot that fellow.
But Dlsbrowe had other accompllsh
lents besides his shooting. He was the
iost perfect gambler I ever knew.
.osing or winning was apparently the
i me to him." Let the cards turn as they
ould, he never showed in his face that
e cared a pioayune either way. Only
. who knew him best, always could tell
hen he was losing, by his extreme
tyety and unconcern, I saw him once,
an hour's time,lose what it had taken
m two years of hard work to get,
me thirty thousand dollars' worth of
ld; and yet he laughed as merrily
Y er it as though It had heea the best
ke in the world. , And once I saw him
lay for a still higher stake than that,
thing less than ' his pwn life. And,
hen be found that he had lost, he stood
to pay the forfeit, with a smile so
relesa and genuine that there was not
man In that crowd of lookers-on,
ughs and gamblers though they were,1
it worshipped him for it. It Is of this
desperate stake I am going to tell you
now.
We were down at " Frisco" one day.
last winter, Chauncey and I, when all
at once he stopped Just, before the office
of the " Life-nnd-Death Insurance Com
pany." " Reddy," said he (my name is Red
wood, but I've always been "Reddy" to
him), " Reddy, I'm going in for a
policy."
"What have you to get insured?" I
Inquired, wonderingly. I knew that he
had not a thousand dollars in the world
just then. Only a week before he had
borrowed five thousand of me, which
he had at once deposited in a flourishing
faro bank down town, and from which
he was not likely to soon draw it out
again.
" I have myself to insure," he replied.
" I don't feel just right about that five
thousand dollars. If anything should
happen to me you'd lose it sure."
" If anything should happen to you,
old boy, I shouldn't care whether I lost
it or not."
" I know it, Reddy ; but I should.
You are the nearest to me of anybody
now. I'm going to take out a policy for
twenty thousand dollars, and in your
favor.k Then, if I go under at any time,
you'll be all right."
Of course 1 objected to this squarely,
though to no effect. We entered the
office, and Disbrowe announced his er
rand. He was well known in the city,
and much respected notwithstanding
his wild life. No one ever spoke of him
but as a man of honor. He had no dif
ficulty at all now in obtaining a policy.
They knew that he carried " his
life in his hand," and who was careless
of any peril; but they knew too that he
was a hard man to kill. He had been
hard-hit more than once, and came out
all right. It was a common supersti
tion West of the mountains that Chaun
cey Disbrowe was not born to be Bhot.
And as for his health, it was simply per
fect. A more splendid specimen of phys
ical manhood did not live.
So a policy was made out, a policy
for twenty thousand dollars ; and, pay
ing his first premium at once, Chauncey
handed the document to me. I declined
to take charge of it. Had I foreseen
what was to come of that bit of paper, I
would have torn it to atoms on the
spot.
" All right," said he, coolly, when I
shook my head ; "I suppose it's just as
well for me to keep it. We're always
together." And he buttoned it up in his
pocket.
It was not long after this that we went
East as far as Denver City ; and, as ill
luck would have it, there we fell in with
Richmond again. Richmond was a
cold-blooded, out-and-out rascal. Chaun
cey knew that as well as I did,and there
fore I never could understand why my
friend did not cut the man dead, and
have nothing more to do with him. It
came out, however, this night we met
Richmond at Denver, that Chauncey
had lost money to him at cards some
time before; and, though the debt
ground him a good deal, still.as he could
not pay the money, he was to a certain
extent in Richmond's power. The latter
was a smooth, oily kind of fellow, one
with whom it would be difficult to
quarrel.
It was at a rather low place I think
it was a den known asBuckner's Bower
that we met Richmond that evening.
As a general thing, I tried to keep my
friend away from such places ; for, as I
have said,he was an inveterate gamester
and the very sight of play always gave
edge to his appetite. But ou this night
I did not take much thought on the mat
ter, and I knew he had very little mon
ey about him, and I myself had still
less. ' ,
At most of the tables " sell pitch" ap
peared to be the chief occupation.
There was one, however, in the middle
of the room, where, from the large num
ber of lookers-on, we concluded that
" bluff" must be the attraction ; and to
this table we made our way. True
enough, bluff was the game; and, sit
ting there, coolly shuffling his cards,
and betting with unwavering confidence
on his own hand, with apparent reck
lessness, but, really with consummate
cunning and calculation, was Rich-
mond. He nodded to us, and his eye
sought Chauncey 's with a peculiar
gleam as we drew near.
Disbrowe stood for a long while be.
hind Richmond's chair, looking over
that gentleman's hand, and watching
his play. As for me, I took little inter
est in the game, and most .of the time
was watching Chauncey himself. I
could see by his eyes that the demon of
play was again awake In his bosom.
Moreover, he despised Richmond, and it
provoked him to Bee how the fellow was
fleecing his opponent, a drover from up
country. Not that Richmond was play
ing an unfair game, but his superior
skill and discernment enabled him to
judge his hand much more certainly
than the other. Chauncey felt that if
he could only be in the countryman's
place the thing would be a trifle more
equal.
Onoe he looked over at me with an
imploring glance, as much as to say,
"Old fellow, haven't you got any cash
about you 'i I know I could win to
night." But I shook my head; and I
was glad too that I could do so honestly.
Then I saw Chauncey more than once
look wistfully at the diamond on his
finger, a valuable stone, worth some
thing like a thousand dollars. I knew
that he prized that ring very highly,
and had never allowed himself to
risk it.
Presently the drover pushed back his
chair, and arose.
" I've had enough, I ealkerlate," he
said, rather crestfallen. "What col
latyral I've got I'm ruther disposed to
hold on to. Anybody want to take my
place V" ' And he looked around in
quiringly. Chauncey stepped quickly forward to
the empty chair.
" I'll take it," said he, without hesi
tation. "I'll give you a chance to win
what little I have, Rich." And he took
out about fifty dollars, and laid them on
the table. Richmond did not answer a
word, but went on shuffling the pack.
On the very first hand Chauncey risked
his whole " pile," and lost it.
"Is that the way ofltV" he said,
pleasantly. " Well, well ; let's see what
this will do." And he drew the dia
mond from his finger and flung it on the
table. " You know the ring, Rich. Of
course you'll go me a thousand for It V"
Richmond simply bowed, and the
game went on. Disbrowe evidently
meant to " put it to the test to win or
lose it all." Again he kept on betting,
with perfect assurance, and staked the
entire value of the ring. Then he
" called" his opponent's hand,and,upon
its'being shown, I was surprised and de
lighted (for I was really feeling anxious
about it) to find that my friend had won.
Richmond merely bit his Hp disdainful
ly, and motioned Chauncey to cut.
It was Richmond who was leading the
betting this time. He ran the stake up
to two thousand dollars, the exact
amount In Chauncey's possession reck
oning the ring; and then the hands were
again dropped. I could hardly retain
myself. Chauncey had again won, and
had now three thousand dollars, still re
talaing his ring. I stepped forward and
begged him to leave off before he became
himself the loser ; but at that Richmond
spoke up In his cold, sneering way,
" Mr. Disbrowe will certainly not
think of going without giving me satis
faction ; especially since ho is already In
my debt to the amount of sixteen thou
sand dollars."
Disbrowe sprang to his feet, his eyes
fairly blazing.
" Sir," he cried, " none but a coward
and blackguard would 6peak like that.
You shall never fling that debt into my
face again, sir. I'll play it out with you
to-night If I die for it. Then he unbot
toned his coat, and drew out a paper,
which I at once recognized as the in
surance policy. "Here," he went on,
excitedly, "is a policy on my life for
twenty thousand dollars. It is payable
to Redwood. He shall assign It to you,
all but five thousand dollars, which give
him. Then I will put another thousand
to it, and play it against the sixteen
thousaud which I owe you. If I win, I
am clear of you forever ; if I lose, then"
Disbrowe lifted his hand solemnly in
the air, and the whole room was breath
less, hanging on his words, which rang
out loud and clear" then, upon my
honor as a gentleman, uiW shoot my.
self dead at thin table, and the money
will be yours. You know me, Gaunt
Richmond, audyou kuow that I will do
as I say."
He drew his revolver from his pocket,
cocked it, and laid it significantly ou the
table. Then he sat down again, and
looked inquiringly at his adversary.
" In which case I can merely get the
sixteen thousand already due me," Rich
mond answered, with a sneer. " How
ever, inasmuch as the debt was good
for Just nothing, I accept. Send for a
lawyer."
While we were waiting for the notary's
appearance, I, with many others in the
room, tried to dissuade Chauncey from
his desperate purpose; but I knew well
we might as well have tried to soften a
rock. I offered to raise the sixteen
thousand dollars, and pay the debt; but
in vain. Nothing would satisfy him
but to play out the stake he had pro
posed. "It's no use, gentlemen. I
know what I'm about," was all we could
get out of him. One thing I managed
to do, unnoticed by Chauncey or Rich
mond, and, as far as I knew, by any one
else present. I took my revolver, whose
chambers had recently been emptied,
though the " dead cartridges" were still
there, and substituted it for Disbrowe's
on the table.
Presently the notary public made his
appearance, and the policy was duly as
signed to Richmond. Of course I had
no choice but to sign the paper. I really
felt a good deal as Chauncey did about
the debt, that it must bo paid. But,
standing there, with Disbrowe's loaded
revolver in my breast, I made up my
mind that, If Chauncey's life was for
feited Richmond should not long out
live him.
The cards were now dealt. I looked
over Chauncey's hand. He certainly had
an unusually good one, one that It
would have been safe to bet on nine
times out of ten. There was indeed but
one combination could beat it. The
drover looked a moment, and then
turned to me.
" Look here, Mr. Redwood" (I was
well known In Denver) " I'd like to bet
sixteen thousand dollars on that hand
myself. What d' ye say I've got the
money right here."
" But I haven't," I answered.
" Wal," said he, " yer friend thar,he's
a winnin' man ter-nght. You see, he's
put that thar ring on again for ther ex
try thousand. I'm superstitious, I am.
I'll make ther bet with yer, an' then, ef
you lose, why, I know all about yer.
I'll take your note for the money."
I looked Into the man's honest, kindly
face as he made this proposal, and I saw
that he was in earnest. If Chauncey
lost, he meant for me to win enough to
pay the stake and save his life. I made
up my mind at once of course.
"All right; I'll takeyourbet,"Isald.
Richmond had merely glanced at his
hand, and then laid it, face down, upon
the table. " Well," asked he, careless
ly, " are you prepared to back your
hand V"
" YeSjBir," Chauncey answered .curtly.
"For how much."
"Sixteen thousand dollars."
" Richmond raised his eyebrows just
a trifle at this. " Very well," said he,
quietly ; " I call you, and showed his
hand. It was the one combination to be
dreaded. Chauncey had lost.
There was an awful stillness all
through the room. Chauncey just
glanced at the other's hand, and per
ceived that he had lost ; but nota muscle
of his face changed.
" I am quite satisfied, sir," he said, to
Richmond. "You will let me redeem
the ringl"' And he took up the dia
mond, putting down a thousand dollars
in its place. " Reddy, old fellow, you'll
wear the ring for the sake of old times V
And here are a couple of thousands you
had better take. I shan't want it, you
know." Then he turned to Richmond
again, and, saying, " I am glad that you
and I are quits, sir," he suddenly, be
fore any one could lift a hand, seized the
revolver, placed it close to his temple,
and pulled the trigger. Of course no re
port followed.
He glanced at the weapon in surprise ;
and,undertandingat once the deception,
he looked around at me. It was the first
time I had ever met that angry flash in
his eyes that others had felt so often.
" You had no right to do that, Red
wood," he said sternly. " Nor was it
kind. It would have been all over now.
Where is my revolver V
But now the drover came forward.
"Here's suthlu' better'n that," he
said, hastily. Yer friend here hes jest
won what you hev lost. Yer'd better
take back yer life, and let him pay ther
debt."
Disbrowe looked at me again ; and,
taking the money, I explained just how
I had " hedged" his bet by backing
Richmond's hand. Chauncey's look
did not change in the least.
" Very well," he said. "I do not see
but that is perfectly fair. You'll lend
me the money, of course?"
Then he turned to the table and pick
ed up the policy again, puttlngdown the
money in exchange, acting all the while
as though life and death were one and
the same thing to him.
" Wal, by Mustapha I" ejaculated the
drover, admiringly. " That feller's game
every time. He's wuth savin', he is."
All this while Richmond sat there
with a sneer. " Hold on, sir !" he said,
as Chauncey took up the policy. " I
don't want your money. I prefer the
original stake, your life. I have a right
to that, I think."
Chauncey looked at him, deliberating
coolly with himself. "Well," said he
at length, "perhaps you are right. How,
Is it gentlemen V
And he looked around upon the faces
about him.
"No, no, no!" burst forth in a kind
of Indignant roar from the crowd. "Put
out the blackguard ! Throw him into
the street 1"
Then Chauncey's voice rang out again.
"No, no, gentlemen; let him alone.
May be it is his right. If so, if my life
belongs to him, let him come and take
it!" And he drew a big bowie-knife
from his breast, and stood there looking
so fierce and defiant that it would have,
taken a braver man than Gaunt Rich
mond to claim his blood.
Badly Mixed Up.
THERE is a young lady In this city
who says she has more parents and
step-parents living than any one she
ever heard tell of. This is the way she
tells the story :
" You know papa and mamma never
could agree, and so finally they got di
vorced. I don't say whose fault it was,
but mamma really did behave ugly some
times, and even I could not get along
with her. So when the separation came
I went to live with papa. Shortly after
wards mamma married again, and papa
was not long in following suit. I did
not like it very well at first, but my step
mother turned out to be first-rate and I
got to like her splendid. Then papa
seemed to get infatuated with another
woman that he got acquainted with, and
she wheedled around him until she made
trouble, and the result was another di
vorce, and papa soon married the woman
that made the trouble. When the sec-:
ond separation took place T went with
my stepmother, because I loved her and
because my services were necessary to
help take care of the baby. Then what
does she do but go and get married. I
declare I never saw so much marrying
in my life. It only happend a little while
ago, and my step-stepfather I suppose
he is treats me in a very kindly sort of
way, as if he felt he couldn't help him
self, but didn't exactly likeltj and I don't
like it a bit. I can't go back to mamma,
because she la mail with me for going
with pa in the first instance, and I can't
go with pa because of that wheedling
woman, and I can't bear to stay where
lam. It is too bad that a girl should
have a father and a mother and two step
fathers and two stepmothers.all living at
once, and not a home that she can feel
at home in." St. Louis Republican.
63" A good wife is to a man wisdom,
strength and courage. A bad one con
fusion, weakness and despair. No con
dition is hopeless to a man where the
wife possesses firmness, decision and
economy. There is no outward proprie
ty that can counteract indolence.extrav
agance and folly at home. No spirit can "
long endure bad Influences. Man is
strong, but his heart is not iron. He
needs a tranquil home, and if he is an
intelligent man, he needs its moral force
in the couflict of life. To recover hia
composure, home must be a place of
of peace and comfort There his soul
renews its strength and he goes forth
with renewed vigor to encounter the
labor aud troubles of life. But if at
home he finds no rest, aud there is met
with bad temper, jealousy and gloom, or
assailed with complaints and censure,
hopes vanishes and he sinks to despair.