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VOL. XIV
N"EW BLOOMFIELD, IPA., TUESDAY, MARCH 10, 1880.
NO. 12.
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A STRANGE MISTAKE.
CONCLUDED.
SHE made no answer; Indeed, he gave
her no time, but went on :
" I have been all the week at Milford,
attending court, and have gained my
case. My farm la my own at last, and I
am an Independent man."
Bhe murmured some half Inaudible
expression of pleasure at the result.
41 Lizzie," he said, stopping suddenly
and taking her hand In his, " there is
only one thing I want to make me the
happiest man in Bayfield. I want you to
come and share my home with me."
Here Lizzie drew her hand hastily
from him, and said in a frightened tone,
"Don't Mark! You must not talk to
me so."
"What do you mean, Lizzie? Why
may I not tell you that I love you better
than all the world ? I think you must
have known It without my telling."
Poor Lizzie burst into a passion of
tears, but could not speak. Mark drew
her gently out of the path and seated her
upon a stone, placing himself beside her.
He waited some minutes for an answer,
but she remained silent.
" Dear Lizzie," he said at last, " you
must know that I love you. Can I be
mistaken in thinking you care for
me?"
He drew away the hands with which
she had covered her face, and begged
her to speak to him.
"Oh Mark!" she gasped out In a kind
of desperation. "I have promised to
marry Robert Jocelyn."
Mark Boynton flung away the hands
he held with an angry gesture, and
sprang to his feet.
" Lizzie !" he cried Indignantly, " you
are not, you cannot be iu earnest."
No answer from Lizzie. Her voice
was choked with sobs. Poor Mark broke
out In bitter reproaches. He accused
her of cruel trifling with him and de
clared his belief that she had accepted
Jocelyn because he was the richer man,
and his own case a doubtful one. Lizzie
had but one answer to his reproaches;
she cried as if her heart were broken ;
and the strong, tender hearted fellow,
soon grew pitiful of her grief, and
soothed her, and begged forgiveness for
his harshness. After a while he drew
from her the whole story. He under
stood the pressure which had been
brought to bear upon her, and how
powerless she had been to resist, it. He
saw that if she had felt sure of his affec
tion she would have stood out against
them all. If he had but spoken before!
But his own pride had been to blame.
Though he argued long and earnestly,
he could not convince Lizzie that she
had any right to draw back. She had
given her word, and she held herself
bound by it, persistently declaring that
he must not talk, or she listen. So at
last he gave up in despair and the two
walked home in gloomy silence.
In Bayfield everybody's affairs are
known to everybody else ; and so it was
but a few days before the whole neigh
borhood was informed of Lizzie's en
gagement to Robert Jocelyn, and by
some mysterious agency, know only to
rural communities, the secret of Mark
Boynton's love and disappointment was
also generally understood. The circum
stances created a kind of excitement.
The general opinion was that the two
young people were baing sacrificed to
the wishes of their elders ; and sympa
thy was with them, as always, where
true love is crossed. The young people
blamed Lizzie for her want of firmness ;
but parents, Interested perhaps in the
cause of authority, exonerated her and
censured those who were taking advan
tage of her filial duty. 'Robert, too, came
in for his share of sympathy. The sad
story of his love for Phabe wns well
remembered ; and there was not want,
ing some romantic souls who thought
it fitting that the daughter should com
pensate him for the pain her mother
caused.
Of course all the neighborhood gosBip
was known to Mrs. Ezra, but she took
good care that very little of It should
come to Robert's ears. She had miule
up her mind that she knew what was
best for Lizzie, and she did not mean to
let her plans fall.
And Robert! Was he Ignorant of the
state of things ? He might have seen
but he would not. He heard it said that
Lizzie loved loved Mark Boynton, and
he would not believe it. Had he not
loved her all her life as no young man
could V Had he not a right? He had
missed happiness once, and now it was
again within his grasp, who should say
that he ought to give It up ? Lizzie
would be happy. Bhe loved him al
ready ; she would love him wholly when
she was his wife. The other was a pass
ing fancy. He shut his eyes to the
evidence of her pale and sorrowful face,
silenced all inward remonstrance, and
held his way.
The preparations for the marriage
were rather hurried forward, for Mrs.
Ezra thought the sooner it was over the
better. Lizzie made no objection. Since
it was to be, all times were alike to her.'
The day for the wedding was fixed, and
they only waited for the regular three
week's " punishment," one of the legal
forms essential in those days. They
were to be " cried" for the first time on
that pleasant Sunday afternoon on
which this story opens. And Mr. Sea
man, whose duty it was to perform that
office, stood up before the congregation
and published the banns of marriage
between Elizabeth Heath and Mark
Boynton ! No wonder that the people
were thunder-struck, and that they
moved in silent amazement out of the
church.
But once the crowd was fairly outside
the sacred ediflce,comment and question
were free. Mr. Beaman was beset by
inquiries. Ezra Jocelyn was there,
angrily accusing him of wantonly in
sulting his daughter and his brother.
The poor man was completely bewilder
ed. He did not understand that any
thing was wrong. He had been called
upon by Robert Jocelyn to publish the
intention of marriage between himself
and Lizzie Heath, and he had done it.
" Why, man alive !" exclaimed a by
stander, "It was not Robert Jocelyn 's
name that you called, but Mark Boyn
ton's." The unlucky clerk could not believe
it possible that he had committed such a
mistake, until the reiterated assertions of
all his neighbors convinced him. He
could only explain it by the fact that he
had thought a good deal of the peculiar
circumstances of the case he had heard,
he said, the woman talk it over and
had pitied the adverse fate of the two
young people crossed in love ; and he
must have had Mark Boynton so much
in his mind that he had spoken the
latter'8 name unconsciously. A flue
commotion his blunder had made.
Mrs. Jocelyn, with a flushed and
angry face, took Lizzie's arm and hur
ried her away. She believed the whole
thing was a trick of Mark's; and she
suspected that Lizzie might be privy to
it. But she prudently repressed her
anger until they reached home, where
Lizzie quickly escaped to her own room
and locked herself in ; so the good wom
an's lecture had to be postponed.
As for Mark Boynton, the last sala
ble of the benediction was hardly spoken
before he was out of the house. Curious
eyes followed htm, but no one had time
to speak to him, for be Bprang over a
stile leading from the churchyard to a
foot path across the fields, and disap
peared in the woods beyond.
But doubtless the saddest, the most
pitying sympathy of the crowd went
after Robert Jocelyn, as, with a face
white and immovable as that of the
dead, he moved through the throng,
which divided to let him pass, and went
away to his home. He sat down by the
open window, through which the pen
sive autumn sunshine streamed in warm
and sweet, and burying his face in his
bands, remained for a long time lost in
gloomy thought. Bitter memories
crowded thick upon him. The struggle
In his soul was a cruel one, but It was
the better part of him which conquered.
After a long time he lifted his head,
and drawing out his watch, took from
the inner part of the old-fashioned silver
case a lock of hair, faded now, but once
a bright warm brown. Over It lay a
little watch-paper on which was painted
in water colors a wreath of forget-me-nots
encircling two clasping hands.
Uuderneath the whole was the name
" Phousbe." He gazed at these treas
ures long and steadily, while the hard
look of suffering went out of his face
and hi9 eyes grew tender and moist with
tears. He leaned his albow on the win
dow sill and looked out across the happy
autumn field to the church yard where
for so many years poor Phoube had
rested from sorrows. Then his eyes
went on to his brother's house, from the
door of which he presently saw little
Lizzie pass out and take the path to the
orchard. At sight of her his lip quiver
ed slightly ; he heaved one great sigh
and then said, as If summoning strength
for some final resolutions, " yes, I will
go and tell her."
Poor Lizzie had thought her cup was
full before; but this day she was sure
she could bear no more ; and escaping
as soon as possible from her mother, she
sought the only place where she would
be likely to be uninterrupted, that she
might cry her heart out alone. She
hurried along till she reached her favor
ite seat beneath an ancient apple tree
whose long branches drooped so low as
to almost touch the ground. On one
side was the wall, and on the other a
huge barberry bush, so that she was
almost entirely shut from view, and any
one approaching could not be seen until
close upon her.
Now, not far distant from the Jocelyn
orchard, and separated from It only by a
small field, was a pleasant strip of
woodland. It was a part of Mark Boyn
ton's farm ; and up and down Its shaded
paths their owner had been recklessly
walking ever since he left the church.
He alone, of all present that day, had
understood In a flash the old man's
blunder and its cause. In that moment
when he drew himself up proudly In the
face of all who looked at him, he was
saylug to himself, " She belongs to me,
and Bhe shall be mine. That notice
shall be repeated here, and it Bhnll be no
blunder."
Now, as he restlessly paced to and fro,
quite convinced that affairs had reached
a crisis, and could never stay as they
were, he was fully resolved to make a
good fight for his rights. He was just
making up his mind to go to Robert
Jocelyn and have it out with him at
once, when he chanced to glance across
the field to the orchard beyond, and his
eyes caught the flutter of a pink dress
among the trees. Well he knew who
had worn that pink muslin at church ;
he knew, too, the nook under the apple
tree, for he had sat there more than
once with LiZfele Heath. Without a
moment's hesitation he sprang over the
low stone wall and went straight across
the field to the old tree, There, as he
expected, he found Lizzie. It is unnes
sessary to relate all the arguments he
used to bring her to his way of thinking;
at least they were not immediately
effective, Cor the poor girl's conscience
and sense of duty were unfortunately
arrayed on the wrong Bide. . They had
been thus occupied for perhaps half an
hour and were on the verge of a genuine
quarrel. Lizzie, with tear-stained face,
sat pulling nervously at the long grass.
Mark stood before her talking earnestly.
She had Bald something about repairing
her mother's wrong. He interrupted
her almost angrily :
" How can you repair one . wrong by
doing another ? That your mother fail
ed to keep faith with Robert Jocelyn is
nothing to you. A girl is not bound to
marry every man her mother jilts. If
she did wrong by him you cannot make
it right by doing me the same wrong. I
tell you my claim is better than his.
That be loves you I have no doubt
bow could be help it ?t-but I love you
as well as he, and you love me, for you
have admitted it with your own Hps.
Oh, Lizzie! don't you know that love
has some rights as well as duty ?"
What answer Lizzie might have made
I cannot tell, for Just then the sound of
a step in the grass made them both turn,
and there stood Robert Jocelyn. Mark
straightened himself with a defiant
look, but Lizzie sat silent and trembling.
It was to her the new comer spoke.
"I thought to find you alone," he
said, " but perhaps it Is better as it is.
I have heard a part of your conversa
tion, and what Mark says is right. I
have thought It all out myself to-day,
aud came to tell you so. I have made a
great mistake, but thank God, I have
found it out before it was too late. I
hope you will forgive me, Lizzie. I
have not been faithful to your mother,
for I promised her upon her dying bed
that I would watch over the happiness
of her child ; and I have not kept my
word, but selfishly sought my own hap
piness, forgetting yours. Long ago I
regarded you as my child ; It was pre
sumption in rue to think that you could
be anything else. But my eyes are for
tunately opened. It will be all right
between us, for I have found my child
again."
He stooped and kissed ber twice upon
the lips so like her mother's. Then,
taking Mark's hand, he said :
" This child has promised to be mine.
I give her to you. Be good to her, and
may God bless you both."
Then he walked slowly away in the
direction of his brother's house. The
young people looked after him in
silence, their own great Joy forgotten In
their sorrowful sympathy for him who
had resigned to them so much.
Robert Jocelyn made it his care to
reconcile Ezra and his wife to the
change in Lizzie's destiny. By what
arguments he did so, and how things
were explained to the public If explain
ed at all I am unable to relate. It is
sufficient to say that on the two Sun
days immediately following, old Mr.
Beaman again announced to the deeply
interested congregation the intention of
marriage between Mark Boynton and
Elizabeth Heath, and the intention was
carried out at no distant day.
It was many years ago that those
things happened, during which the
Boyntons have been a happy and a
prosperous couple, with no reason to
regret Mr. Beaman 's mistake. Strong
sons and pretty daughters have grown
up around them. One of these, a gentle,
blue-eyed girl, bears the name of Phoebe.
With her Is often seen au aged man
who leans upon her arm, or follows her
movements with eyes full of tenderness
and love. " Uncle Robert," is the
object of affection and reverence from
all, but Phoebe is his own Bpecial dar
ling. It is her gentle ministry which
sheds life and beauty on the evening of
his days. He is only waiting now,
serenely waiting for the happiness which
shall soon be his. And " grace, mercy
and peace, the love of God, and the
communion of His Holy Spirit," do
abide with him now, aud shall forever.
'Rah for the United States.
THE civil war has not yet wiped out
patriotism from the American heart.
It may lie slumbering and unseen upon
our own shores, but when we strike
abroad the fitful spark Is breathed into
fiery existence that frightens as it
shines. A typical wild eagle of this
sort was recently met with. Among a
party of young American tourists on
the Continent was one who would have
proved chief sachem to the doubting
Thomases of the Innocents Abroad. He
was so thoroughly patriotlo that be
could see no excellence in anything in
the Old World as compared with his
own country. Mountains, waterfall,
churches, monuments, scenery, and all
other objects of lntere st, were inferior to
what the United States could show. Ills
companions became somewhat tired of
his overweening boastfulness, and de
termined to give him one startling
novelty at any rate, and witness the fall
of his boasting greatness. They spent
lost winter in Rome, and one night, on
a drinking bout, they got the enthusias
tic young Yankee under the table, but
kept sober themselves. He got glorious
ly drunk, intoxication kissed his eyelids
down In sleep, and they carefully carried
him into the catacombs, laid him care
fully down, with a candle within reach,
and retired a short distance out of sight
to wait for developments. After a while
their friend roused up, having slept off
the first drunken stupor, and, in a state
of some astonishment, began endeavor
ing to locate himself, at the same time
muttering: "Well (hlc!) this's little
strange. Wonner (hlc I) where I am,
anyway ?" He got out a match, lighted
his candle, and began to study his sur
roundings. On each side were shelves
piled with grinning skulls, and niches
filled with skeletons, while all about
were piled legs, arms, ribs, and vertebrm
a ghastly array, and altogether new to
him. He nodded to the skulls on one
side with a drunken " How de do (hlc!)"
and on the other with " How d'ye feel
(hie t) anyway?" took a look at his
watch and Once more at his surround
ings, got on his feet, took off his hat,
and holding it above his head, shrieked
gleefully and proudly: "'S'all right!
(hlc!) all right! Morning of the resur
rection (hie!) First man on the ground !
'Rah for the United States! 'Alers
ahead I 'Rah for me 'specially !"
The Czar's Winter Palace.
Some of the customs that have gather
ed around the old dynasties of the old
world are curious in their character,
and sometimes inconvenient to those in
authority.
A despatch from St. Petersburg says:
"It may be unintelligible to many per
sons abroad how the Nihilists succeeded
in doing their work in the very resi
dence of the imperial family. Probably
no other building in St. Petersburg is
less safe than the Winter Palace. It
has always been the refuge for number
less vagabonds, workmen, friends of
servants and others, many without pass
ports, who would not live with impu
nity anywhere else. The Imperial ukase
of last April gave full power to General
Gourkho to search the buildings of the
palace, but even that severe Governor
General could hardly venture, such is
the Russian Administration, to interfere
with the special authorities of the Im
perial residence. There is an old Rus
sian law which gives the right of sanc
tuary to criminals taking refuge within
the buildings of the Imperial palaces as
far as concerns the ordinary police, who
have no jurisdiction in such cases. No
fewer than five thousand persons have
been living in the Winter Palace, and
nobody ever knew the precise duties
of one-half of them.
Cheerful Women.
In marrying, men should seek happy
women. They make a terrible mistake
when they marry for beauty, for talent,
or for style. The sweetest wives are
those who possess the magic secret of
being happy under any and every cir
cumstance. Rich or poor, high or low,
it makes no difference, the bright little
fountain of joy bubbles up just as mu
sically in their hearts. ' Nothing ever
goes wrong with them no trouble is too
serious for " to make the best of it."
Was ever the stream of calamity so dark
and deep that the sunlight of a happy
face falling across its turbid tide would
not awake an answering gleam ? Why,
then, joyous-tempered people don't
know half the good they do.
No matter how cross aud crabbed you
feel, no matter if your brain is full of
meditations on "afflicting dispensa
tion," and your stomach with medicines
pills and tonics ; just set one of those
cherry little women talking to you, and
we are not afraid to wager anything she
can cure you. The long-drawn line
about you mouth will relax the cloud
of settled gloom will vanish, nobody
knows where, and the first you know
you will be laughing ! Ah, what bless
ings are these happy women ! How of
ten their little hands guide the ponder
ous machinery of life, with almost an
invisible touch ! How we look forward
through the weary day to their fire-side
smiles ! No one knows, no one will
ever know, until the day of judgment
reveals, how much we owe to these help
ful, hopeful, uncomplaining, happy
women !
Roman Glass Ware.
A feature peculiar to Roman glass
ware was the production of " double"
glass ware. This was composed of sev
eral layers of glass of different colors.
The innermost layer was either quite
dark or very light, and was covered by a
layer formed of various figures and dec
orations in different colors, and covered
by a third transparent layer. In this
way very beautiful effects were obtained.
The precise way in which these goods
were produced is not known.
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