. -jjr . mil' m..v n. k. ae i i ii - i ik- x v v
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VOL. XIV.
NEW Br.OOMFI333Xir, iP.A.., TUESDAY, MA.HOII i), 1880.
NO. 11.
UOttl fca I I I lift C:
THE TIMES.
in Independent Family Newspaper,
IB P0BLI8HHD BVBRT TUESDAY BT
F. MORTIMER & 00.
INVARIABLY IN ADVANCE.
One year (Postage Free) l 80
Hlx Mouths " " 80
To Subscribers in this County
Who pay In Advance. a discount of 25 Cents will
be made from the above terms, making
subscription within the County,
When raid In Advance, $1.25 Per Year,
Advertising rates furnished uponappll
cation. fteledt Poetry.
MARY'S GOAT.
Mary bad a William goat,
And he was black as Jet
He followed Mary 'round all day,
And liked hert you Just bet!
He went with ber to school one day
The teacher kicked him out
It made the children grin, you know,
To have that goat about.
But though old Whack'em kicked him out,
Yet still he lingered near ;
He waited Just outside the door
Till Whack'em did appear.
Then William ran to meet that man
He ran his level best t
And met him Just behind, you know
Down Just below his vest.
Old Whack'em turned asommersault j
The goat stood on bis head,
And Mary laughed herself so sick
She had to go to bed.
A STRANGE MISTAKE,
IT WAS the close of the afternoon
services in the village church of
Bayfield. The last notes of the doxology
were still echoing from the singing
gallery, and the congregation, with a
rustle and a stir, turned their faces
toward the minister for the benediction.
In the brief pause before it was spoken,
old Mr. Beaman, the town clerk of Bay
field, stepped in front of the pulpit, and
raising his hand, said in a loud clear
voice, " Know all whom it may con
cern, that Mark Boynton, of this town,
and Elizabeth Heath, of the same, in
tend marriage."
There was a . movement throughout
the whole congregation as If it were
pervaded by an electric shock, and
looks of surprise passed from eye to eye.
But there were three persons present on
whom the clerk's announcement fell
like a thunderbolt. One of these was a
young girl with a pale face and down
cast eye. When Mr. Beaman began to
speak she listened with a kind of patient
composure; but as the names were
announced, a wild, startled look came
into her eyes, she sank back upon her
seat, and buried her now burning face
in her hands.
Not many steps removed stood a man
of perhaps forty a grave and sober per
son with hair slightly turning to gray.
His face, habitually a somewhat sad
one, had worn throughout the service
that day, a look of cheerful content ; but
as Mr.Beaman made his announcement,
it took the paleness of death. His head
dropped upon his breast, and he stood
like one paralyzed, clasping the railing
of the pew for support.
Very different was the effect produced
upon a young man, the solitary occu
pant of a pew not far away. He had
been standing with a drooping head and
downcast, heavy look ; but as he heard
the words of the old clerk he started
visibly, the blood mounted in a crimson
flush to his forehead, while bis eye
flashed with a blended look of triumph
and defiance, and bis Hps closed with an
xpresslon of stern resolve.
There was a painful hush over all the
house, as if every one present were
strangely moved to sympathy with one
or another of those so deeply and vari
ously affected by what had been said. It
was broken by the voice of the minister
saying solemnly, "and now may the
grace of God, and the communion of
His Holy Spirit, be and abide with you
all for ever. Amen." And the people
moved silently out of the church.
The pale and stricken mau upon
whom the old clerk's most unexpected
words lind fallen so like the stroke of
doom, was Robert Jocelyn. He had
listened that day to hear his own name
coupled with that of the lovely girl who
had promised to be his wife, and the
voice of the clerk had joined with liers
that of another and a younger man I
To understand the full force of the blow
which had fallen on him, it is necessary
to go back at a time, nearly twenty
years before, when as a youth lie had
won the love of his pretty and gentle
cousin Phoebe Jocelyn. Phoebe was the
loveliest girl in all the country round,
and had admirers by the score, but Rob
ert Jocelyn was the choice of her heart,
and to him she was tenderly attached.
But though capable of loving with devo
tion, poor Phoebe was weak-willed and
timid, and quite powerless to resist a
resolute and domineering mother, who
had chosen a different person to be her
daughter's husband. William Heath
had more money than Robert, and was
a showy, plausible fellow, in whom the
ambitious mother fancied she saw a
more brilliant match for her daughter.
She plied the yielding girl with argu
ments, reproaches and appeals to filial
duty till she was quite bewildered ; and
almost before she was aware of it she
had given up hercousin,and was plight
ed to William Heath. Her married life
was fortunately brief, for she knew no
happiness in the three weary years she
lived with her husband. At the end of
that time he left her in poverty, and no
one in Bayfield ever saw him again.
Poor Phoebe sinking under the pressure
of grief, neglect and privation, lived but
a few months after his desertion. Dur
ing that time she was tenderly cared for
by her cousin Robert, who supplied all
the wants of her and her infant daugh
ter, and found for them a serene asylum
under the roof of his brother Ezra and
his wife. This kind couple had no
children, and when her mother was
gone the little Lizzie was adopted by
them as their own.
Robert Jocelyn had never married.
He lived on, a sad and silent man, old
before his time, but he had no heart to
offer to another woman. He had loved
Phoebe so unselfishly that he could have
borne to lose her if she had been happy;
but to have her taken from him to sutler
neglect and cruelty was hard indeed. It
was with solemn thankfulness that he
saw the Bod laid over her faded beauty
and broken heart.
Years passed, and Phoebe's daughter
was a charming, bright-eyed girl of
eighteen. Under the fostering care of
Ezra and his wife, she had grown up
cheerful and happy, loving and dutiful,
a favorite with all. Like her mother,
she had many admirers ; but it could
not be positively determined that she
favored any. Still, there were shrewd
suspicions, and more than one young
fellow would have been glad to stand in
Mark Boynton's place, and would have
felt rich Indeed with but a portion of
the smiles which shone on that fortunate
youth.
Mark was a neighbor of the Jocelyns.
He had inherited from his father a fine,
well-stocked farm; but unfortunately
there had been discovered a flaw In his
title ; and ever since his majority he had
been involved in a tiresome law suit,
which it was now generally believed
would go against him. Should it so
result he would be a poor man, if a
young man with a strong hand and
courageous heart can be poor. With all
the strength of an earnest manly nature
Mark loved Lizzie Heath ; but his pride
withheld him from saying so until he
should know whether, indeed, he had a
home to offer her. If he won his case,
he would ask her to share the wealth
which would then be his. If he lost, he
must no, he could not resign her ; but
if she loved him, she would wait for
him. He was not a vain man, but his
hopes rose high. He had seen how
Lizzie's eye would brighten and her
color glow at his approach, and had
marked the Innocent arts by which she
sought to avoid the attentions of others
while his own were gladly received. .
As for Lizzie, her Ideal of manly
beauty and excellence was embodied In
Mark Boynton ; but maiden like she
would not admit the idea of love. She
knew that she was perfectly happy only
when he was by ; but she would not
own even to herself the reason. Of late,
too, she fancied that he avoided her, and
Interpreting the fact backward, felt no
pique, but Just enough uncertainty
about his sentiments to be resolute in
concealing her own.
And so matters stood when one pleas
ant afternoon In summer Lizzie sat sew
ing with her mother, as she always
called Mrs. Ezra. There was an un
usual shade of pensiveness on the young
girl's face, and her mother watched her
narrowly. At length the latter said :
" You seem very sober, to-day, for
you, Lizzie. Has anything happened to
make you so V"
A blush and some low, Inaudible
words were the ouly reply. Mrs. Jocelyn
went on :
" Are you thinking of anything that
brother Robert.sald to you Inst night as
you walked in the orchard together 5"'
"Why, mother, did you knowr""
asked Lizzie, looking up in surprise.
Yes, dear: your father and I have
known all along that Robert was fond
of you. What did you say to him ?"
"What could I suy," replied Lizzie
iu a broken voice, " but that such a
thing Is Impossible V"
" I don't see, dear, why it should be
impossible. You are surprised because
you have not thought about it ; but
when you come to reflect 1 hope your
answer will be different.' If your father
and I have a wish in the world it is that
you should marry Robert."
" Oh, mother, how can I ?" exclaimed
Lizzie, looking up in astonishment.
" Why not pray V I am sure it is not
every girl has such an opportunity a
man of character and position, and so
good and kind as he is. Then you know
he is well off; you would have every
thing that money could buy. And I
always thought you were fond of Rob.
ert."
" Yes, mother, but not that way. He
Is my uncle."
" I know you have called him bo, but
you knew all the time he was only your
second cousin. There is no reason why
you should love him in 'that way,' as
you say, unless you like somebody else.
Is that it V" '
"No indeed,no," poor Lizzie faltered
hastily, turning away her fuce, now
burning with blushes. The eyes of
Mark Boynton rose up before her with
a glance of reproach at this denial ;
but how could she confess a love for one
who perhaps did not care for her.
"Iam glad to hear it," Mrs. Ezra
went on, "for I am sure you will in
time return Robert's affection. He loves
you dearly and you have it in your
power to make up to him in part for
what he Buffered through your moth
er." Lizzie looked up with startled eyes.
" What do you mean, mother V" she
asked in astonishment.
Then Mrs. Ezra told all the story of
Robert's love and blighted hopes, of his
delicate kindness to poor Phoebe during
the sad years of. her married life, and
how in her last distress he had succored
her and her child. She reminded the
young girl of his generous and watchful
care over her childhood and growing
youth. And then, though the good
woman had no idea of taking a mean
advantage, she was yet so anxious to
win Lizzie's consent to the match she
thought best for her, that she did work
upon the gill's gratitude to herself and
husband, though, ordinarily it would
not have occurred to her to think
whether or not she had conferred favors
on one who was almost like her own
daughter.
Their talk was long, protracted and
often renewed, and Robert added his
pleadings. He told of the years during
which he had watched her growing
beauty, loving her first for her mother's
sake, but as she bloomed into woman
hood so like that mother, he found him
self renewing the dreams of his youth,
daring to hope that happiness might yet
be his. The strongest, the best fortified
woman's heart must ever be more or
less moved by the evidence of a deep
and earnest affection ; and poor Lizzie
had the yielding, pliant nature of her
mother, and Mark Boynton was away
she had not seen him for weeks; and
not knowing that he was occupied at
the county town with the final trial
of.hls case, she felt herself neglected by
him.
Why, if he really loved her, was he
not here to say so, and to stand by her
in this time of tiial Y So it came about
that, hopeless in the hands of affection
ate but ill-Judging friends, she yielded,
and promised to marry Robert Jocelyn.
It was a day or two after she had
formally given her word, that she was
returning one evening alone from a
neighbor's. She had not walked far
when she heard a quick step behind her,
aud turning saw Mark Boynton. He
greeted her gaily, and the dim light
prevented his observing her pale and
troubled face. He took her hand, drew
it through his arm with an air almost
of ownership, saying as he did so, " This
Is Just what I wanted, Lizzie, to meet
you. 1 was going to your House, i am
Buch a happy fellow to-night that I
want to tell you about it." Concluded
next week.
An Odd Couple.
SHE WAS a little thing, says the
Leadvllle Herald, with a large lu
minous eyes, that lighting up her fea
tures, rendered positively attractive a
face that would have otherwise passed
in a crowd without a second glance, and
a wealth of coal black hair neatly arrang
ed, except a single heavy lock that had
by its own weight escaped from Its fast
enings. She seemed half frightened at
her position, and her dark cheeks and
forehead flushed to the roots of her hair
as she stepped into the little room where
the squire sat, dispensing justice. She
seemed not over sixteen, and modesty
was apparent in her very attitude, as
she stood with folded) hands awaiting
the commencement of further proceed
ings. Her companion was an awkward,
grizzled looking man, apparently fifty
years of age, with an ugly scar stretch
ing from the inner point of his left eye,
across his cheek to nearly the point of
his chin, describing an arc, which had
left a wide track bare of an otherwise
luxuriant growth of gray whiskers.
Hair matted, and growing low down on
his forehead, together with the distor
tion of an eye, occasioned by the scar,
gave his countenance a sinister look, pos
itively repulsive.
The ill-assorted pair stood for a mo
ment, while his honor disposed of some
papers before him, the man fumbling a
worn-out felt hat.while the girl nervous
ly twisted her fingers. As the justice
turned toward them expectantly, the
man stepped to the desk and leaning to
ward his honor, said in a confidential
husky whisper :
"Squire, you marry people, I sup
pose." The official nodded.
"Well, I reckon I can give you a little
job this morning."
" Who are the parties Y"
" This little gal here an' me."
His honor pushed back his chair,
put on his spectacles, and deliberately
surveyed the man from head to foot,
His inspection finished,he turned to the
girl, whose blushes under his earnest,
Inquiring gaze, chased each other over
her neck, cheeks, and furehead,until she
was one glow of burning color.
" See here, my man," said the squire
" come into my private room, for a mo
ment. Take a seat, miss."
Leading the way to the inner room
his honor closed the door, and turned
fiercely upon his companion. "Ain'l
you ashamed of yourself,you old scound
rel, to come here, expecting me to mar
ry you to a child like that 1"'
" Now don't get hot, squire. I know
that I ain't much to look at. I've been
told that ever since I was a kid, and
this beauty spot," touching the scar,
"ain't an improvement. An' its all
along o' this scar, that this 'ere circum
stance has come about 1 This was the
way of it : You see, what with being
so ugly, and awkward, and all of that,
ain't been the best man in the world.
never harmed anybody, but I generally
kept pretty full, and if I got ahead any
why it all went In a few days for liquor
and so I traveled round, aud was never
anything but a vagabond. Well, last
spring I struck the camp, an' saw men
making money, an' after a big drunk-
found myself without a red cent.
This ain't no place for a man when
he's dead broke, and I tumbled to my
self, and chopped short. I worked
month on the Little Pittsburg, and nev
er goi urunK once, an' then took my
money an' laid in a two months' grub
stake, and went up to South Evans an
took up a claim. There's where I first
met Kitty out there. Her father had
the next claim to mine, an' she kept
house for him and we got kinder neigh
borly like. When I got broke I was
down forty feet, an' the hole looked
good. I worked for the Little Chief, a
month then, and then went at it again.
All that time I didn't drink a drop.
The second day after I went back to the
hole, Kitty's father sickened, and in
three days he was dead. Me an' two or
three others did all we could for the girl,
but there wasn't many of us up there,
an' we was all as poor, as church mice,
an' she had no money to get away with.
So I just moved my grub over to her
cabin, an' told her that if she'd do my
cookin' and I struck it, I'd share even
with her. She couldn't do anything else
poor thing, and so I went on working
and in a month got it. Of course I felt
good, an' If I'd been broke it would have
been all right. But I had a couple of
dollars, an' I came to town, and when
the money was all gone, I was too drunk
to go to that little gal, and because I
knew she'd come over to my cabin to
call me to supper, I thought I'd go down
the shaft an' Bleep it off. But a drunk
en man can't calculate, you know, and
after I'd let the rope down an' fastened
it, I went to slide down the rope aud
touched the bucket, which was on the
edge of the hole, and it came down on
my face an' left this scar.
Don't know how I got down the rope,
but I know that when I got down I
couldn't get up, an' I laid there without
knowin' nothing, and when I come to,
it was mornin', and there was that lit
tle girl's face looking down the shaft. I
thought it was an angel, and kinder
swooned off again, and the next thing I
knew some one was tying the rope
around my arm, and blessed if it wasn't
that little girl. When she got through
she just shinned up the rope and histed
me up herself. I don't know how she
did it, but she got me out and nussed
me, an' I'm well. I sold my hole yes
terday and got enough to keep us both
comfortable, and I've got used to her,
and don't know how to get along with
out her, and so we want to get married,
and that's the long and short of it."
" But there's such a difference in your
ages."
" Not so much, squire," said the man
with a movement of his eye that would
have been a wink, had a wink been pos
sible. "She's 25, and I'm 52, the same
figures, you know."
" But is the girl entirely willing ?" '
" You can ask her," and as the old
man spoke the door opened, and the
girl, who had become impatient at the
long conference, walked in.
"There's nothing wrong about this,
Judge," she broke out. "I'm turning
25, and my own mistress; and Jim is the -kindest,
best man in the world, and I
love him, and though he don't say
much I know he loves me, ' and we've
got $20,000, and we're going to get mar
ried, unless," and here she broke down
in a sob, " be changes his mind."
" I'll never change my mind, Kitty,"
said the old man, drawing her toward
him.
In a few minutes, man and wife went
out of the office, and the squire, with a
gratified smile, pocketed the best fee he
had received for a month.
Her Preference.
One of the assistants at the post-office
happened to be standing at one of the
delivery-windows the other day, when a
buxom damsel of about eighteen sum
mers stepped up and asked if stamps
were sold here. Upon being told that
they were she said she wanted to buy
one dollar's worth.
" One dollar's worth," repeated the
smiling assistant; "of what denomina
tion f "
The damsel showed symytoms of em
barrassment and hesitated to reply. She
twirled her shawl-fringe nervously, cast
ber eyes about to see if any one was
near, moved a little closer to the window
and finally asked in a timorous voice :
" Do you hef to write it down Y"
" By no means," answered the courte
ous assistant; " that Is not necessary,
but I presume you have some preference
as to the denomination Y"
" Ah well yes," replied the stran
ger, her face turning scarlet, " I hev
some. I generally go to the 'Piscopal
Methodist myself, but the fellow I'm
buyin' the stamps for he's a Universal
Orthodox."