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VOL. XtW
THE TIMES.
in Independent Family Newspaper,
IB PBBUBHID IVIRT TUBSDAT BT
F. MORTIMER & CO.
TKHMH t
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eatlon.
LOST AND FOUND.
" "TOUR village, dear ount, Is cer
X taluly a most picturesque and
beautiful place," said Qeorge Murray, a
young collegian, to hla aunt, with whom
be was spending a vacation. It wan a
bright summer morn, and George had
loitered In the breakfast-room to have a
chat with Aunt Mary, while she was
"clearing away the breakfast things,"
aided by her little handmaid Rose,
whose sable face and thick lips bright
ened with many a grin at "Masea
George's fun."
The little village of B. was situated in
a most picturesque portion of one of our
Northern States. George had always
resided far South, and the mountainous,
beautiful scenery of his aunt's northern
home, united to the high state of culti
vation and air of comfort spread over
the numerous surrounding farms, caused
from him constant expressions of admi
ration. He stood at the window of the
breakfast-room gazing on the romantic,
beautiful view before him. All at once
he exclaimed, "Come here, dear aunt,
who is this beautiful girl V I met her
yesterday as I was riding in the forest ;
she is now coming through the grove
toward the back part of the house."
"That is little Ally Ray," said his
aunt, "a great favorite with us. She is
the village shoemaker's daughter, and a
good, nice, industrious little girl is
she."
"A shoemaker's daughter," cried the
southern-bred youth, "you are jesting,
dearest Aunt Mary, surely." "
" Not at all, said his mint, laughing
merrily at his manner. " She is most
truly the daughter of Job Ray, and a
very excellent shoemaker is he, as Rose
and I can testify, but your aristocratic
notions are quite shocked, are they not,
dear George ? Is she not pretty there
she has stopped to caress Carlo see,
that little plump hand and well rounded
arm the delicate little foot and ankle.
Father Job has fitted the foot well if the
Hhoe is heavy ; and her form is pretty
so nicely proportioned. The morning
breeze has blown down some little
rebellious curls from the comb with
which she so carefully confines them
see them 'stealing' as Irish Mary says,
from under the bonnet and that rosy
cheek, George, and bright eye. Foolish
fellow 1 I suppose you think a shoe
maker's daughter should be coarse,
rough, and uncouth.' Why Ally or
Alice, as is her real name is as gentle
as a town bred girl, and infinitely better
bred, for kinduess and love have nur
tured her. She is a notable little house
woman likewise, for her mother died
some years past, and her poor father Is
an Invalid. '
" She takes care of the little garden,
which produces most of their simple
food, and your uncle sends, one of the
farm meu once in a while 'to give,' as
they gay, 'little Ally a lift.' Job is able
at times to work at his . trade, "and his
work ia so well done that he meets with
a ready sale for bis shoes that money
buys the few things economical little
Ally and her father need. That plump
little hand scrubs, washes, bakes and
sews. - She. is a notable, industrious
little body. And she is not Ignorant
either during the winter she attends
. the country school, and when I visit the
city I know that the most acceptable
present I can bring to little Ally, will
be some addition to her small collection
of books. She does a great deal of sew-
ing for me all Rose' clothing lb pre
pared by her neat hand, and my com
mon dresses are witnesses of Ally's
Industry and excelleut workmanship
in that way she assists her father, who
N"E W BLOOMFIELD, 1JA.., TUESDAY,
Is so 'tilling. ' But I must not stop here
chattering. Ally has come to bring
home some work, undoubtedly, and
Rose's new Sunday dress pattern came
from the storekeeper's yesterday, aud
Ally must make it quickly. Come,
Rose." And the lively, light-hearted
Mrs. Mills hastened form the room, fol
lowed by the happy Rose, who, as she
passed out of the door with the waiter
and its etceteras, laughed outright at
the prospect of a new Sunday dress.
The youth leaned agalust the window
long after the pretty Alice had disap
pearedthen suddenly recalling his
thoughts, he rang the bell for a servant,
ordered his horse, and shortly after
galloped oft' on his morning ride.
Two months had rolled by, and the
coutry surrounding the little village of
B. was even more beautiful than it had
been during the summer. A slight
frost had touched the foliage, giving it a
rich autumnal hue. George Murray
and sweet Ally Ray were wandering In
the woods together. The boy lover
gazed with passionate earnestness on the
Innocent face of the lovely child, while
her bright eyes were cast down, that he
might not see the tears which dimmed
their violet beauty.
They were on the eve of parting. The
next day and he would be far from her.
His guardian had resolved be should
finish bis studies at a German univer
sity, and years might intervene ere they
should again meet possibly never.
" You must love me, dearest," mur
mured the youth, "believe me always
true in a few years I shall be master
of my own actions, then will I return to
claim my little Alice for my wife.
Remember, my own one, that you
belong to me. Ah ! Alice, do. not, do
not forget me."
The poor child, overcome with the
thoughts of their separation, wept bit
terly, aud be soothed ber grief with
assurances of their happy future. She
gazed with sad pleasure at the little
locket he bad purchased at the village
watchmaker's, and which contained
some of his hair, while he claimed one
little curl in return, and bent over her
to choose the silky lock the sun was at
its setting, and its brilliant rays shot
through the trees, athwart the forest
path, shedding golden light upon the
lovers was It a beam of hope as a type
of the future ?
He left his country with saddened
feelings,' but looked toward the future
with the bright eye of youthful expecta
tion. He never dreamed of bow differ
ently he and poor-Ally might be situated
toward each other in a few years. What
sympathy and companionship could
exist between the high bred, finished
man of the world, that years' residence
abroad might make the now impetuous
youth, and lowly Ally Ray, the shoe
maker's daughter and village seamstress.
Poor Ally I one would almost have
prayed that she might soon forget him
but no, her early training had strength
ened ber in confidence and truth. She
had never met with insincerity.
Brought up in the quiet village, her
little pious oul never dreamed of change
or falsehood hers was not a nature to
forget.
The first letter George received from
bis Aunt Mary told him of poor Job
Ray's dangerous . illness be was near
dying when she wrote, and Ally's uncle,
who lived In the "far west," was to
come on for ber lu case of her father's
death. j
" I would adopt her myself," wrote
the kind-hearted Aunt Mary "dear
little creature, I am exceedingly attached
to ber, and I would bring her up as my
daughter ; my boys already love ber as
a sister, and you, dear George, would
not, I think, object to ber as a cousin
but ber father wishes she should go with
her uncle."
Poor George was almost frantio at the
news.and when he again heard from B.,
Ally's father was dead, and she, poor
girl, had left with her uncle for her new
borne in the then wild west. He could
gain no certain information as to Ally's
residence, She had . promised . to let
Aunt Mary know, when she was settled,
but if she wrote, the letter must have
been lost, for they never lieard from
her. ,
Many changes took place before George
Murray returned from Europe. Sweet
Aunt Mary was dead, and when he
visited B., on his return to this country,
he found many things to sigh over.
Uncle Mill had supplied his gentle,
thrifty wife's place with another spouse
a stately, dignified maiden lady be
had wooed and brought to his home.
The village had much Increased. A
large hotel had sprung up where Father
Job's neat little cottage had stood.
Scarcely a spot remained as in those
happy days when he and Ally wandered
through the forest.
To do him justice he still remained
unchanged in his love for Ally it was
true that be expected to II ml her far
distant from him iu point of mental
culture, but then he comforted himself
with the anticipation of taking her to
a lovely Italian home, aud by patient
love-lessons soon making her a suitable
companion. But no Alice was to be
found the villagers hud even forgotten
her, and he left the place with deeper,
heavier sadness than he had years be
fore. Then hope danced merrily before
him now the future contained no an
ticipations of a Bweet wife, Alice and
home happiness. His uncle, who had
been bis guardian, was a bachelor, and
resided on a large plantation at the
South. He and his nephew were very
much attached to each other, and to his
home did George repair, and so readily
did he fall into the solitary habits of his
uncle's bachelor life, that there seemed
little possibility of his heart ever own
ing another love but who will answer
even for their own constancy t
" I wish you would marry, George,"
said his uncle one day after dinner.
They bad just arrived in Washington,
in which they intended staying a short
time during "the season." "A sweet
little wife," his uncle continued, "would
cheer up our lonely plantation. I won
der you have never married handsome,
wealthy, nothing to prevent you."
"Why, my dear uucle," exclaimed
George laughing, "you should have set
me the example yourself, why did you
never marry t"
" I should have done so, George," re
plied his uncle sadly, "but the only
woman I ever loved died suddenly on
the eve of our marriage. Helghol had
she lived, I should not now be the
lonely creature I am. I visited my
friend Morton this morning, while you
were lazily resting after your journey
the one whose political course you so
much admire he looked so happy be
was stretched out on a lounge reading,
while bis daughter, a beautiful witch,
was singing and playing away merrily,
to cheer her old father how I wished
she belonged to me and then I thought
she would make such a glorious wife for
you."
" What! Miss Mary Morton V" ex
claimed George, "why she is the ac
knowledged belle of Washington, nay,
of every place, and she is noted for re
jecting every one they accuse ber of
possessing neither ambition nor heart..
Young Smiley bored me for au hour
this morning with ber peerless charms
and accomplishments."
But George did not find himself so
bored when he met Miss Morton . He
found her Indeed beautiful and accom
plished, but at the same time there was
an air of frank cordiality in her greeting
that made him forget she was a belle
and a stranger. Her bright eye dauced
most roguishly as she retured bis cere
monious salutation, and noticed his
uncle's gratified look.
He was soon ber favored attendant.
She rode, drove, danced aud waltzed
constantly with him, until every one
pronounced it a match. George was
deeply fascinated with her, but at the
same time felt a keen remorse for his
bad faith to Ally, and a feeling of dis
satisfaction would come over him when
he caught himself contrasting bis high
bred beautiful creature with the lowly
Ally Ray."
" I never could love but once," said
the belle oue evening in a brilliant cir
cle, as one talked of love, and first and
second loves. "A fig for your second
loves there is no such thing as secoud
love," and she extended her hand to
George, with a strange look of mingled
confidence aud mischief combined, as
the band struck up a waltz hla brain
whirled as ber soft breath played on his
cheek during the bewitching measure, of
the music he scarcely knew bow be
NOVEMBEB 3, 18BO.
moved. " I will tell her all," he mur
mured to himself "she may refuse me,
but still she shall know that there can
be a wild, devoted second love." And
he told her all the next morning as she
was arranging some new flowers the
gardener had brought for her tiny con
servatory. George dwelt on the fervency
of his love for Ally he described with
manly sincerity her girlish beauty, and
confessed nobly his deep aflectiou for
even her memory the maiden blushed,
and tears trembled in ber bright eyes
as he dwelt on. the sad years after they
parted.
" But why did you not write to her ?"
she said, in low tones, as she bent over
a fragrant plant.
" I did, over and again, but In utter
desperation, for I knew not even where
she lived."
"She nover received your letters,"
said Miss Morton, turning toward hi in
he gazed at her wildly " George I
George I" whispered she, as she drew
from her breast the little locket, "and
have you not recognized your little
Ally?"
It was indeed sweet Ally Ray. But
we will leave our hero and heroine to
enjoy their delirium of love, while we
explain in sober language how the little
Ally Ray was thus metamophosed into
the brilliant Mary Morton.
Her uncle had become a distinguished
man. The Eastern and Northern States
send many such men as Elder Mortou
out into the far west, to Beek their for
tunes, and the habits of self dependence
they are early taught, make them strong
the strife and struggle of life.
Ally Ray's name at her christening
had been Mary Alice. Uncle Eldred
loved better to call ber Mary, for the
only daughter he ever had, and who
died in ber childhood, bad been named
Mary, after Alice's mother, bis only
sister. Mauy forgot at last that Ally
was not his daughter, and the old man
wished that the world should think her
bis child. Through his Indulgence and
care she bad every opportunity of edu
cation. Keen natural abilities, united
to the earnest desire of fitting herself as
an equal bride for George when they
should meet, accomplished much ; and
at flveand-twenty the brilliant belle
Mary Morton would never have been
taken for the modest, gentle little Ally
Ray. Life has many such changes,
reader.
A Two Cent Christian From Boston.
ONE of the travelers for a new fresh
drygoods bouse recently arrived in
a town in the interior of the State to
find that one of his best customers was
about to transfer his custom to a Boston
house.
" Didn't we always do well by you V
asked the New Yorker, as be at down
for an explanation.
" Yes, I believe so."
" Didn't we ship goods promptly '"
" Yes."
"And did we ever press you iu a
pinch?"
" No."
" Did you get lower prices of the Bos
ton bouse '( "
"No, I can't say as I did."
" Then I can't understand why you
should leave our house all of a sudden
after buying of us for several years."
" I know that some explanation is
due, and I will make one," 'replied the
merchant. " You know that I attend
church."
" Yes, and so do I."
" Do you V I didn't know that. I am
looked upon as a Christian."
" So am I. I have got the date of
my baptism right here in my note
book."
" Is that so V Well, eur church ia in
need of repairs. We were talking it
over the. other day when the Boston
drummer was in here, and be at once
subscribed ten dollars."
" Ten dollars I Why, that's only two
kegs of nails ! Put me down for thirty
dollars cash, a new silk bat for every
season, and a full suit of clothes for the
minister."
" Do you really mean it V"
" Of course I do, aud if that two-cent
Christian from Boston dares sign auoth
er five I'll send you down a $000 church
organ and pay a man $500 per year to
play it. We are a house which never
NO. 41.
makes any great display of gospel
hymns and religious tracts, but when a
Boston drummer blufls we show our
religious hand and rake in the pot every
time." '
The merchant will still continue to
deal with the New York house.
Travel In Old Times.
People who are accustomed to travel
by rail nowadays will read with interest
the following diary of a journey from
New York to New Orleans in the year
1800 : In 1800-Aprll 8, left New York
in a ferryboat for Jersey City. Took a
two horse coach and got to Philadelphia
the fourth day at 4 P. M. Left Phila
delphia next morning in a one horse
chaise, with mail-bag behind, for Lan
caster, where we arrived the third day.
At Lancaster bought a horse, and after
nine days' Journey through the forests,
leached Pittsburgh. Here, with some
others, I bought for $18 a flatboat, in
which we took our departure for New
Orleans, floating with the current.
After diyers adventures and escapes
from great peril by land and water, we
reached Natchez the fifty-seventh day
after leaving Pittsburg, and New Or
leans city In thirteen days thereafter,
having been from New York on the
journey eighty-four days, which our
friends in New Orleans say was an ex
peditious voyage. My own personal
cost on the way was, in sum total, 27,
lls.,41d. (About $130).
The Work of Six Centuries.
That cathedral over in Cologne, which
has just been finished after six or seven
hundred years of building, was the sub
ject of a popular superstition? 'that it
would never be completed. This is the
only way in which the superstition is
accounted for : The legend is that the
plan of the cathedral as it stands to-day
was suggested by the devil, who appear
ed on the bank of the Rhine to a young
architect, who was about to drown
himself because the archbishop wouldn't
accept bis design for the structure. The
devil offered the architect the present
plan in exchange for bis soul. He asked
for twenty-four hours to consider the
proposition, and consulted bis confessor,
who told him when the devil showed
bim the design again the next day, to
snatch it with bis left band, at the same
time drawing a relic of St. Ursula from
under bis robe with his right band, and
striking the devil on the brow with it.
The architect carried out the Instruc
tions, but Satan did not give up the
design so easily, and snatched at It to
get it back, tearing off the upper part of
it, and saying, "that's a cunning trick
of the Church, but the design which you
seize shall never be finished, and your
name shall remain unknown." The
architect got his piece of the design
adopted, but died of a broken heart from
disappointed ambition. This legend
has been firmly believed for centuries,
and may be believed by some yet, though
the cathedral has actually been finished. -
A General Break.
Rev. Mr. Genuflux fell down stairs
last Sunday morning, with a flower
vase in one hand, a pitcher of water in
the other, a lamp globe under his arm,
and a China saucer tucked in his coat "
pocket. He was trying to carry all
these things down stairs and be succeed
ed. But when be got them to the bot
tom and his anxious wife screamed from
the head of the stairs to know if he bad
broken anything, be took an account of
stock and calmly reported that " he bad
broken everything but the Sabbath."
" The only thing," petulently comment
ed his careful and economical wife, "that
we could afford to break.'
Found a Place to Hang 'Em.
A family residing in Greenville hired
a young greenhorn gii t a few days ago.
When she was about to perform the
chamber work on the following morn,
lug she asked her mistress what she
should do with the night clothes, and
was told to bang them up. Seeing
nothing in the room for that purpose,
aud remembering that there was some
thing ia the hall with hooks ou it, she
took the articles down and hung them
upon the bat rack until the attention of
the mistress was called to them by some
lady visitors who dropped in during the
afternoon.