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VOL. Xtll.
NEW BLOOMFIELD, 1., TUESDAY, JUNE 17, 1870.
NO. 25.
THE TIMES.
An Indcpemleut Family Newspaper,
IS PCBLISBBD EVERT TUESDAY BY
F. MORTIMER & CO.
SUBSCRIPTION l'UICK.
(WITHIN THE COUHTT.)
One Year, II 2
Hlx Months 75
(OUT OF Tn COUNTT.)
One Year. (Postage included) fl en
Six Months, (Postage included) 85
Invariably lu Advance I
Advertising rates furnished upon appli
cation. geledt Poctiy.
WHERE IS YOUR BOY TO-NIGHT?
Life Is teeming with evil snares,
The gates of sin are wide,
The rosy fingers of pleasure wave
And beckon the young inside.
Man of tho world with open purse,
Seeking your own delight,
Pause, ere reason is wholly gone
Where is your boy to-night 1
Sirens are singing on every hand,
Luring the ear of youth,
Gilded falsehood with sliver notes
Drowneth the voice of truth.
Dainty lady In costly robes,
Your parlors gleam with light,
Fate and beauty your senses steep
Where is your boy to-night t
Tempting whispers of royal spoil
Flatter the youthful soul
Eagerly entering into life,
Restive of all control.
Needs are many, and duties stern
Crowd on the weary sight ;
Father, buried in business cares,
Where is your boy to-night ?
Fitfalls lurk in the flowery way,
Vice has a golden gate;
Who shall guide the unwary feet
Into the highway straight (
Patient worker with willing hand
Keeping the home hearth bright,
Tired mother with tender eyes
Where is your boy to-night ?
Turn his feet from the evil paths
Ere they have entered in,
Keep him unspotted while yet ye may,
Earth Is so stained with sin.
Ere he has learned to follow wrong,
Teach him to love the right,
Watch, ere watching is wholly vain
Where is your boy to-night 1
A FAMILY SECRET
CONTINUED.
( QHALL I V that will be a novelty
O then," said Morley, smiling down
at the tear-stained face raised to his.
Although her friends gave Dora credit
for unlimited self possession ,she was at a
complete loss for words in which to
clothe the thoughts that chased each
other through her mind.
" Mrs. East says I am her daughter,
Morley," she said at length ; " and that
papa, I mean Mr. Lynton, only adopted
me for fear some one ho disliked should
have the property ; and it all seems so
very miserable, not to have any home,
any friends, or anything."
With this vague conclusion Dora
broke down again, and Morley, who
considering the strange nature of the in
formation did not seem so surprised as
might have been expected, took up the
thread of the discourse.
" And even supposing this wildly Im
probable tale were true, what difference
would it makel"' he asked. "I have
often heard you say, Dora, that a great
deal of money would be a great deal of
trouble ; and though of course the es
tate and bulk of the fortune would not
be yours, yet Mr. Lynton might leave
you what would seem a considerable
sum to many ; and Dora, I am really so
rich that it would save me trouble if you
were not burdened with so much."
" Save you trouble 1"' she stammered
out.
" Yes," said Morley ; "don't you un
derstand mer I had better tell you
what I know now, for when, you l elapse
into your old self, I am afraid you would
not give me the opportunity," he added
mischievously. 'I don't care a pin
whose daughter you are, and I don't
want any money with my wife. I am
more content, Dora, to take you as you
are, for your own dear sake ; and rich or
poor, humbly or highly born, the heiress
of Lynton Hall or the daughter of its
housekeeper, I shall hold you now, and
to my life's end, the greatest blessing
with which the Almighty has endowed
me."
" Morley, you are not jesting 5 you
could not be so cruel V" she said.
" I could not, my darling," he re
plied. " I was never more serious In
my life. I have wanted to tell you this,
Dora, for some time ; but, somehow,you
have managed to keep me at such a dis
tance,aud have been so cold and strange,
that you effectually prevented my do
ing so. However, perhaps it is best as
it is. Had I put my wish into execution
before, you are such a proud little skep
tic that you might have been Inclined to
break off our engagement, and might
have thought my opposition to your
wish arose from Bcruples of honor.
Now, you cannot think so."
" Oh, I have been very wicked very,
very wicked!" exclaimed Dora, in a
burst of penitent tears, through which
a little of the Miss Lynton of old was
beginning to peep. It was difficult to
forget at once the teaching of years,that
had served to impress on her mind the
two facts that the least confession of a
fault was certain to ensure forgiveness,
aud was just a little bit of condescen
sion on her own part, which Morley
noticed.
" Besides," he continued with a
smile, " you are making yourself miser
able without any just cause for so doing.
Does it not seem strange to you that
Mrs. East has lived with you all these
years, only to tell it at the last V I am
inclined to think the story is without
foundation."
"But she wouldn't dare to tell such a
deliberate falsehood," said Dora ; " she
seems to feel sure that she is dying."
" I do not accuse her of trying to de
ceive you," said Morley; "she may
have been delirious."
" I do not think so," said Dora ; but
at the same time her belief in the story
she had heard from Mrs. East began to
waver. It is so pleasant to be argued
into doubting when We wish to doubt ;
and, tso after a very short time, Dora
dried her tears,and in spite of all the he
roic resolutions she had made, that after
telling Morley she would at least avoid
him till the truth was discovered, she
listened, with heightened color and a
beating heart, to bis tale of love, the
evening breeze meanwhile playing a
soft obligato accompaniment among the
the leaves of the old elm trees ; and
ever after, through all the years to come,
she felt that in some way the sound of
the rustling branches would have a
pleasant music in her ears.
Thus Dora promised to be Morley Os
borne's wife, and so happy was she in
the present, that as they walked home
in the gloaming, it seemed as though
she had been suddenly expelled from
fairyland when Morley asked for more
particulars of her interview with Mrs.
East, which she gave him as briefly as
possible.
"And what do you intend to do V" he
asked, when her recital came to an
end.
"Ask papa if it is true," said Dora,
decidedly.
"I do not think that is exactly the
best course," said Morley, after a mo
ment's thought. " For myself, I don't
believe the story ; and, supposing it to
be false, your father would be reason
ably angry at so unjust a suspicion.
You know I have little right now, my
darling, to give an opinion. I think it
will be best to wait until we see these pa
persif, indeed, their existence be not a
myth and then we shall know how to
act."
" You are the best judge, Morley,"
said Dora.
" I hope you think so, love," was the
laughing rejoinder. " But what did
you mean, Dora, Just now by saying
you have been very wicked ? Does your
conscleuce accuse you of any mladeeds V
or was that only a pretty little figure
of speech ?"
"No, indeed; dou't think nie very
inconsistent, Morley," she replied. " I
have funded lately that you did love
me; but everything went on so smooth
ly, and it so different from all I had
read, that I wondered if we knew what
we were about, or whether it was only
because we were so much together, and
had grown used to each other, that we
faucied we were in love and and some
time I used to wish that something
would happen, that it might be put to
the test."
" Well, if you indulge lu such ultra
romantic notions, I think I must inter
dict novels in the future," said Morley,
laughing. "You shall go through a
course of Bolliu and Adam Smith, and
light literature of that description. Put
to the test, indeed I And now I am put
to the test, what do you think of me V
Are you satisfied P"
" Perfectly," said Dora, looking up
with a smile that endorsed her words ;
" how could I be otherwise P I shall
always feel proud and glad when I think
how true and noble you have been.
But, oh, Morley, if it should prove
true!"
" Never fear, my darling," said he;
" depend upon it my solution of the af
fair is the right one. Mrs. East was
not in her right senses when she told
you this tale. Don't you trouble your
little head about it auy more. I cannot
bear to see you looking so grave."
Dora tried to smile, and being very much
interested, soon succeeded, and looking
back after she had dismissed her maid
for the night, she thought that alto
gether the day had been an impor
tant and pleasant one. Bhe had had
some very keen suffering, but it had
been of short duration. Morley had
proved himself equal to any hero she
had ever read, and she was inclined to
consider her own share in the little dra
ma they had acted a satisfactory perfor
mance. A very egotistical, romantic, unprofita
ble sort of heroine is this Dora Lynton,
we hear some one exclaim true to some
extent, but her character was a genuine
one. As yet Bhe was wandering about,
unable to find her place in the battle of
life; but, depend upon it, that place
once found, Dora would fill it well, for
the girl possessed those qualities that in
their appointed season must always end
by making their owner types of the
noblest class of womanhood.
Dora was not sleepy that night ; so
she lay for a long time looking up at the
stars that peeped through the muslin
mrlalns, and, as a natural consequence,
it, was very late before she awoke on the
following morning.
Her maid was seated by the window
mending lace, an employment for which
Dora plentifully provided. Her young
mistress looked at her idly, thinking it
must be very dreadful for any one to be
obliged to be so industrious, and then
asked if it were not very late.
" Yes, miss, half-past ten," was the
reply.
" My goodness !" cried Dora, springing
out of bed, " how could you let me
sleep till such a time, Myers 1 Papa
has bad his breakfast, of course."
"An hour ago, miss," was the reply.
" He and Osborne are both out now, I
think."
"Oh, dear!" said Dora, " papa has
had to pour out his coffee. himself, and
I know'he detests that ; and Morley will
think I shall make a nice sort of wife,"
she added, mentally, "for last night it
was only half-past ten when I said
good-night."
Bhe proceeded to dress with a haste
that was not expedition, pausing in a
few moments to ask if Mrs. Hunt had
sent any message for her that morn
ing.
"Yes, miss!" was the hesitating re
ply, as the girl bent over the morning
dress she was unfolding.
Dora noticed her manner, and rightly
imagined that it presaged bad news.
" What is it, Myers P" she said,quick.
ly. "Tell me."
"She sent to say that Mrs. East died
this morning at half-past four, miss."
Dora's grief was genuine, and the
tears she shed for the loss of her old
friend were very bitter ; she mingled
with her sorrow were feelings of won.
der, nearly aklu to fear, lest she to whom
she had fondly given the name of sec
ond mother, should prove to have the
exclusive right to that title; tho test
had been applied, and Morley had stood
it bravely. But, oh, it would be so
hard to go to him, not only compara
tively poor, but nameless ! for Dora
had imbibed all the Lyntons notions,
and in her opinion such a plebeian cog.
nomen as East was little better than no
name at all.
However, she had it iu her xwer to
put an end to this suspense, and after a
vigorous application of cold' water to
her face, and drinking a cup of coffee,
she left a message for Mr. Lynton, to the
effect that she had gone into the village
and at the latest would be back for
luncheon.
In half-an-hour Dora stood by the
bedside of one, if not her mother, had
always, even in Mrs. Lynton's lifetime,
filled the place of one. Dora looked
down upon the placid face, so calm and
peaceful in the repose of death, and she
was only dimly conscious that the still
features bore out the words she heard
the previous night, and that she would
find similar features reflected In her
glass ; but the silence of the darkened
room quieted her. In the presence of
the dead her resentment died out, and
Bhe murmured a heartfelt prayer for
guidance through whatever paths the
future might lead her.
Dora found no tangible proofs of Mrs.
East's etory. The box of letters of
which she had spoken, had either never
existed, or had mysteriously disappear
ed, for tho most careful search failed to
discover it. Mrs. East had had a weak
ness for collecting all sorts of fancy
boxes, but none of them contained the
letters; bo, as the days went by, Dora
came to the conclusion that Morley was
right lu asserting that the whole tale had
been the delusion of a wandering mind,
though it was a long time before the
idea of being Mrs. East's child quite
ceased to haunt her.
,
Six years had passed since the events
recorded above and these years had
wrought the usual amount of change.
There had been births, and marriages,
and deaths, and great political changes ;
but these did not much affect the inhab
itants of the quiet country village with
which we have to do. They were too
far removed from the arena In which tho
changes were wrought to take more
than a passing notice, and were, as a
rule,on the whole more concerned about
more immediate claims to attention.
So Nutbourne remained very much
the same, except that there were two or
three new shops, a few more cottages
built, a few more graves in the yew.
shadowed churcbyard,and another coffin
added to those in the Lynton vault, the
plate on which bore the inscription :
" John Lynton, aged 09."
The Lyntons thought the simple fain
ily name too weighty to need any affix
or prefix on their colli n plates.
At Lynton Hall a few alterations and
improvements had been made. Some
time before the death of her father,Dora
had assumed the dignities and responsi
bilities of married life, and, as Morley
Osborne, had delighted the entire coun
ty, first by her trousseau and then by
her behavior ; for some way, strange as
it may seem, Dora Osborne was infinite.
ly more fascinating than Dora Lynton
had been, being held up to wives, and
in due course of time to mothers, as a
pattern of every feminine virtue.
And we think the fcoi iple were
right, for as the ' tl;.u'i' ''sea, and
we catch a glimpa" i our i odine, we
too consider that 'ut womanhood more
than fulfilled the promise of her girl
hood. The same sweet face, wearing
the same untroubled expression ; the
same graceful figure, looking very pic
turesque in the looped-up dress and the
scarlet cloak, meets our view. Dora is
little changed, except there is an air of
gentle dignity about her that has gradu
ally become part and parcel of her na
ture, and has supplied that one grace
that had been wanting in her girl
hood.
Master Lynton Osborne, a young gen
tleman of four summers, clad in a won
derful combination of black velvet and
blue Cashmere, walks, or rather trots.by
her side, and imagines his help in find
ing the violets, of which his mamma is
in search, to be far more efficient than it
really is. The spirit of the bright spring
morning is with mother and child ; they
are both very happy, and altogether
form a very pretty picture.
However, the search was brought to
an abrupt conclusion, for before the lit
tle basket was half filled, a servan
brought the information that man in.
slated on seeing Mrs. Osborne,and Dora
studiously courteous to high and low
took Master Lynton by the hand and
walked back towards the house.
Something in the visitor's manner or
appearance had made an unfavorable
impression in the servants' hall, aud he
was somewbftt superciliously shown luto
the break fast-room, where Dora awaited
his apearance.
Dora felt an unpleasant feeling creep
over her as the man entered. She had
expected to see a countryman, probably
one of her own tenoats; instead of
which he was a tall, gaunt man, shab
bily dressed,and whose face bore the un
mistakable marks of o wandering and
dissipated life.
As the servant closed the door, the
man looked at Dora in a fixed, imperti
nent manner, that sent the blood to her
cheeks, and then said, as he laid his hat
and Btick on the table, and coolly seated
himself in an easy chair :
1 You and I must have a long talk to
gether, Mrs. Osborne ; so we may as well
set about it comfortably."
" I am not aware that I have ever
seen you before, and therefore do not
understand what business you can have
with me," replied Dora, haughtily.
" My husband "
"Pshaw! "said he, "If I wanted your
husband, Mrs. Osborne, I should have
asked for him. What I have to say is
for you. It rest swith yourself whether
I afterwards apply to him."
" Then perhaps you will let me know
your business at once," said Dora, " for
I have other claims upon my time."
"They will have to wait, then, until
I have been attended to," was the inso
lent reply. " But I'm not in the habit
of wasting time; and, to begin, I sup
pose you guess I have Just come over
from Australia V" Concluded next
week.
EXCEEDINGLY POLITE.
ON a certain occasion Lord Norbury
was holding Criminal Court In Long,
ford, on the docket, of which much
business had been foroed by a series of
labor and rent riots, during the progress
of which many lives had been sacrificed.
On the occasion referred to, and on the
second day of the sessions, six men were
arraigned in a lump for iiot, arson and
murder. They had attacked the dwel
ing of a wealthy laud-owner at night ;
bad Bet fire to it, and had shot down
several of the inmates who had tried
to prevent the incendiary act. The trial '
was brief. The acts committed had been
done openly, and the prisoners at the
bar were connected with them beyond
dispute. Either his lordship forgot, or
else he labored under the impression
that he had but five prisoners before
him; and, in his rendering of judgment,
he called only five names and sentenced
only five men, entirely overlooking Mr.
Martin O'Bourke, who crouched away
in a corner of the pen. Whether the
sheriff was equally oblivious,or whether
he thought the judge had purposely
omitted one of the culprits, we cannot
say ; enough that, at a sign from the
Court, he opened the iron spiked door
and led the prisoners forth.
And then it was that the clerk of the
Court, Just aroused to a full sense of the
error, leaped to his feet, and called his
Lordship's attention to the omission.
" There were six of them, Your
Honor, and you sentenced but five. The
man O'Bourke you did not condemn at
all."
Lord Norbury was aroused iu a mo
ment. He shouted for the crier ; and
the crlrr houted for the sheriff; and
when i li.tter officer appeared he was
directed to I 'ring Martin O'Bourke back
into Court nd place him in the prison
ers' box. .' ; ' the thing was done as or
dered. The prisoner looked sad and de
jected as he stepped again into the box,
for he knew that he was not to be
spared.
" My very good friend," said the judge,
bowing most politely to the prisoner,
" I made a sad mistake regarding your
self, and I beg your pardon from the
bottom of my heart. You should have
been sentenced with your companions,
but, somehow, the duty slipped my
mind entirely. You will excuse me, I
am sure. The requirements of the law
and the sentence ot the Court is, that
you, Martin O'Rourke how I could
have made such an omission is surpris
ing that you be taken hence tojthe com
mon jail, there kept Iu solitary confine
ment until the day of execution, when
you will be takeu forth to the gallows,
aud hanged by the neck until you are
dead. And may the Lord have mercy
on your soul 1 You will pardon me for
this delay 1 It was a mistake, I assure
you ; but it is all right now, aud you
should be content.
A strange road to coutentment,surely I