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VOL. XV.
NEW BLOOMFIELD, 1
A.., TUESDAY, AUGUST J), 1B81.
ISO. 32.
V I Ml, K 1 -1 I 1 I a 1 1 i If J v v
THE TIMES.
Ati Independent Family Newspaper,
ISPUBLlsnillSVERTTUBSDATBT
R MORTIMER & CO.
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Bclcdt Poetry.
A DISTRACTED PARENT.
Five daughters four of them engaged
Good heavens ! I shall go mad !
For Buch a surfeiting of love
No parent ever had.
The very atmosphere Is clmrged
AVlth It) no matter where
I go about the bouse I trip
Upon some whispering pair.
At evening, when I lake my pipe
And seek a quiet nook
To read the Evening Timet, or else
8oiue new aud tempting book,
I ope, perhaps, the parlor door,
When a familiar sound,
Quite unmistakable, suggests
It Is forbidden grouud.
So then more cautiously X turn
To our reception room i
But lo I again upon my car,
From Its romantic gloom,
Comes softly, yet with emphasis,
That warning, when I start
And leave, as Lady Macbeth wished
Her guests would all depart.
My next resort Is then the porch,
Where roses trail and bloom i
Ila I is it echo that betrays
The joys of yonder room ?
Ah, no ! a startled " change of base"
Koveals the presence there
Of Cupid's votaries, aud, alas!
There's still another pair.
' But sure," I think, "my library
Will be a safe retreat."
So there at once, with quickened step,
I take my weary feet.
Vain hope that warnlug sound again
Breaks on my listening ear ;
Thank Hcaveu, my youngest has not yet
Attained her thirteenth yer I
Hark I there Bhe is I and, bless my heart,
That popinjay, young Luun,
Is at her slclo I do believe
That she, too, has begun.
Oh, ye who love to sit and dream
Of future married Joys,
Pray Heaven with honest fervor that
Your girls may all be boys.
. Alan Sinclair's Surprise.
MR. ALAN SINCLAIR knitted Lis
brows vory perplexedly, as per
haps for the half-dozenth time he read
the long, closely-written sheet of paper
that lay open before him on the desk.
men ue waiKeu up ana uown ills
library several times, that perplexed
frown gradually clearing oil" his hand
some forehead, aud finally he sent word
to his housekeeper, Mrs. Vlney, to at
teud to the matter he had mentioned to
her an hour or so before.
Which order given Mr. Sinclair re
sumed his chair again to think over
aud definitely decide the plans for the
future, which this long, well-filled letter
.had made necessary.
And the origin of the necessity was
that, dying, his old friend aud chum,
Edward Mayne, had left him Implor
ing him not to refuse the legacy his
daughter Winnie, a delicate solemn llt
being, ten years old, utterly friendless,
utterly homeless, unless in heaven's
mercy, Alan Sinclair's heart was turned
in pity towards her.
But to bring a girl, a delicate, sickly,
awkward, silent child into the house,
J" C -ft r a . i a
-lor Air. juayne naa written piamiy ana
frankly about little Winnie. If it had
been a boy a wide-awake active boy
who could have been his companion as
he grew older, in whose sports and les
sons he could have taken a decent share
of guardian-like interest, and who
might have sometimes, with his tutor,
accompanied him on tho?e tours abroad
he was so fond of taking.
Rut a girl, " not at all pretty, or very
Interesting, uliy and old fashioned,"
Mayne had said, " but good as gold,"
and he (Sinclair) on the eve of another
three years' tour over foreign countries.
Well, he philosophized himself Into
making the best of It. lie telegraphed
that Miss Winnie should be ready to
accompany the escort he would send to
bring her home to Roseleigh, lit three
that afternoon ; and then after u long,
serious talk with good motherly Mrs.
Viney, who had been housekeeper for
ills father before him, this highly-favored
youui; gentleman considered the
momentous ullUir nettled, dismissed it
from his mind as much as possible, and
went on with his urrangements for leav
ing home (nuly on the morrow for that
wandering abroad, in which having un
limited means at ready command, he so
much delighted.
When his dead friend's child arrived
ho went to her at once, and the instant
he crossed the threshold he met her eyes
great, mournful dark eyes, deep set
and blstre-clrcled, witli a look in them
that was a strangely mingled one of
utter friendliness and sorrow, and neces
sitious resignation.
She certainly was not pretty in the
least, and In her thin, angular figure,
propped soawkwardly In a big-cushioned
easy chair in the sallow, peaked face,
and short-cut, stubborn light hair, of a
nondescript color, and perfectly st might
there was scarcely a promise of future
attractiveness.
She arose and courteseyed gravely as
Mr. Sinclair advanced, scanning her
curiously, and swiftly deciding that she
was a hopelessly ugly little soul even
homelier than her father had said but
all alone In the world but for him. And
the thought unconsciously lent a bright,
sympathetic smile to his greeting.
"And so this is little Winnie who
hus come to live at Roselelgh, is it ?"
I hope they look good care of you ou
the way, and did not allow you to become
very tired. You shall have famous
times here at Roselelgh," he enthusias
tically continued, as he smiled at her
solemn, forlorn face. "You know I go
abroad to-morrow for awhile, and
during my absence I shall want you
to enjoy yourself all yo u can. You will
have a nice little pouy-carrlage, and
some big dolls, and lots of fairy tales to
read, and some money to buy candies.
Then, after you get stronger, and feel
perfectly at home you can have your
lessons to learn to be a nice, accomplish
ed youug lady. Won'tyoul"'
But instead of an answering smile,
the tears gushed from her eyes, and her
pale Tips quivered piteously.
" Oh, please, Mr. Alan, I don't waut
anything at all. I don't wish to be any
trouble or expense. I think I would
rather please I would rather die and
see papa man any tiling. And I pray
every night I may soon I"
And then the smile died out of Mr.
Sinclair's handsome eyes, and his man's
heart felt a pang of pitiful consideration
for this patient, odd little waif.
"My child you must not talk like
that. If it Is heaven's will that you
live, you should not repine. You have
been sent to me perhaps to be a very
great comfort to us all. Why not try
why not decide you will be 1 Why not
make up your mind you will accept the
advantages offered you to grow up into
a lovable, lovely, accomplished womau
a blessing wherever you go V"
And not till then was there a particle
of animation in the child's face. Then
her eyes began, to sparkle, and a painful
flush struggled with a sallowuess in her
thin cheeks.
" Could I ? Could I be that ? And,
Mr. Alan, would it please you V Would
it repay you '
Her eagerness was something almost
distressing.
"It certainly would, Winnie," he
said gravely.
"Then, sir, I'll do it. I'd do anything
I can for you ; pupa made me promise.
I'll do it."
And when Mr. Sinclair bade her good
bye that night, her strange, wierd eyes
were glowing eagerly, impatiently.
" I shall begin to-morrow, sir," she
said, as he shook hands with her. " :
" Very well," he laughed ; " aud send
me a letter once a month. And when I
come back, in two years, I shall expect
to receive a very pleasant welcome from
my good little Winnie."
Iiut he did not comeback in two years
nor In twice two, nor In four times
two.
He had delayed his return, now for
one reason, now for another; once for
o three years' tour to the Holy Land,
once to accompany some friends to Aus
tralia, and the last two years because he
had met his fate at last, and was tnodelir
lously happy with sweet Aura Brian to
ever think of coming home.
But eight, nine years after he said
good-bye, lie was on his own shores
again, after such experience as he would
rather have died a thousand deaths thau
have sude red again, and all because of
.Aura Brian the fairest, most gracious
woman the sun ever shone upon, aud the
only woman who had ever taught him
the dillerence between fancy und pas
sion. He had met her at Purls with a party
of friends with whom she was traveling
abroad a charming little lady, with
eyes like brown diamonds, whose very
first glances had their effect upon him.
She was accomplished and' refilled,
and carried just a trifle of gracious
haughtiness in her high-bred air that
was the one charm Sinclair thought
most bewitching in woman. She was
very beautiful, fuir as a lily-leaf, with
bright, golden hair, and
Alan Sinclair lost his head, his heart,
his will, and worshipped Aura Brian as
only those men can worship who have
lived till middle age with no serious
damage previously done their affections.
And Aura Brian reciprocated, and
there ensued an engagement, when it
seemed to them both that there was
heaven on earth whenever they met, so
perfectly contented and happy were they
in each other days when Sinclair would
wonder if such bliss could last In human
hearts, and wondering and half fearing,
send up a breathless prayer that he
might never fail in keeping his darling's
love.
And at lust a half dozen or so of the
English colony In gay Paris' returned
home, Sluclalr and Aura among them
he eager to show her the home to which
he would take her, she equally glad to
go with him.
He eager, she glad, until the very last
night of the voyage when they were
promenading the deck arm-in-arm, talk
ing as lovers talk.
" There is just one thing I am anxious
to speak to you about, my darling
something I have heretofore neglected
to tell you and that is, little Winnie
Mayne, who lives at Roselelgh, our
home. I want to bespeak your kind
ness and sympathy for her a plain, re
served, little thing, too old for her years,
and entirely friendless but for me but
you and me, Aura. You will help me
to be good to her, dear V"
He put the question somewhat anx
iously, for there had come a look of
surprise and was It distastefulness on
her lovely face V"
" Winnie Mayne ! You never men
tioned her before Alan. And she is to
live at Roselelgh with us V"
Such a grave curious questioning was
in her eyes. Somehow it aroused vague
dismay in his loving heart.
" With us, my darling. She will be
no dc troj) party. She is reserved and
very shy. She has no other home.
You would not wish me turn her
adrift?"
A pause, strangely ominous, follow
ed "Alan," she said, and she lifted her
rare, dark eyes to his eager face. " I do
not wish you to seud her adrift. But.oh,
my love, I want you all to myself all
to myself?" and such a thrill of pulsion
Hashed into ber voice that every nerve
in his body thrilled hotly. " If this
child she is no longer a child, remem
bereight years makes such a difference
she may have grown up into some
thing that will please you better thau I
can oh, Alan, I cannot go to Roselelgh
if any other woman has a right there.
Alan, my darling, I am jealous already
of her. Take me and let her go."
He was astonished beyond all former
experiences of his life. This from Aura
this cold deliberate injustice to a sis
ter woman, aud, In the same breath,
this thrilling passion that was so in
expressibly sweet to him. ,
I t was a supreme momemt' to him,
looking in the eyes of the womau he
loved better than life Itself but not
better than right and duty.
And duty forbade liltn sending the
child of charity back to the cold world.
And he knew, despite the pale an
guish on her face, that it had come to
a choice between this royal woman he
worshipped, without whom his life
would be a dreary desert, and the
grown-up school girl plain, quiet, as
she could ouly ever be.
And her voice, prompt, low, decisive,
rang out like a doom :
" You must chose, Alan. I await
your decision."
While In his reply, you would never
have recognized the voice so shaken a
second before ; for the moment of temp
tation was past, and all Sinclair's grand
manliness and anguish of resolution
was ou his face and in his voice.
" Always remember, in the days to
come, when, perhaps, you may regret it,
that It was of your own will you sent
me from you. For I choose to keep my
vow to my dead friend ; I choose to do
what I know is right, what you know is
right. And this is good-bye, my Jove
my one love my lost love."
He took her in his arms aud kissed
Iier-iiiot passionately, but almost like
one kisses the face that will soon be un
der the coffin lid.
And tweuty-four hours later, In the
glory of a moonlight night, Sinclair
went back alone to Roselelgh after all
those years of absence, after all that
passionate happiness, after the wreck
ing tempest went . back alone, and
when he had expected it would be so
diderent.
There was only the reward he felt
that he had done it all for duty's sake,
for honor's sake, that upheld him in
those agonized minutes when he went
up the familiar entrance and into the
brilliantly illuminated hall, where Mrs.
Viney, and the butler, and the servants,
were in waiting to welcome him.
And then he went silently on to the
library, his own special domain the
room where he had oftenest pictured see
ing Aura, his very soul fuioting with
desperate pain at the sense of utter loneli
ness that could never leave him again.
And a sweet voice came out of the
dimness to bhu that struck to his very
soul, a pair of rare white arms were
clinging about his neck, and the dear
eyes he so loved were smiling through
tears into his face Aura's own blessed
eyes.
" I could not help it," she said, as he
folded her to his heart, "I wanted to
know if you were as good as I have
dreamed you were all these years, since
that night I stood just here and prom
ised I would do whatever you said.
Having done that I wanted to see you
and so got invited to join a party that I
thought would bring me unto your
company. The rest you already know.
Oh, Alan, Alan, don'tyou understand?"
And with sudden, almost startled
wonder in his eyes, he understood then,
for the first time, that it was Winnie
Mayne that the two women were one
who had won him.
"Aud please, we will both stay,
mayn't we ? We both love you, Mr.
Sinclair, and we neither of us will give
you up; and oh my love, I will never be
jealous again."
And Alan Sinclair bowed his head on
her bright hair and thanked heaven for
what bad come to him.
A Quaker io Westminster Abbey.
AT Westminster Abbey Isaac Hopper
paid the customary fee of 2s. Cd.
for admission. The doorkeeper follow
ed him, saying :
" You must uncover yourself, sir."
"Uncover myself!" exclaimed the
Friend, with au affectation of Ignorant
simplicity.
" What dost thou mean? Must I
take off my coat ?"
"Your coat!" responded the man,
6uiiliug ; " no indeed ; I mean you hat."
" And what should I take off my hat
for?" he inquired.
" Because you are in church, sir,"
answered the door-keeper.
" I see no church here," rejoined the
Quaker ; " perhaps thou meanest the
house where the church assembles? I
suppose thou art aware that It Is the
people, and not the building, that con
stitute a church ?"
The idea seemed new to the niau, but
he merely repeated,
" You must take off your hat, sir."
Butithe Friend again inquired " What .
for t on account of these Images ? Thou
knowest Scripture commands us not to
worship graven Images."
The man persisted in saying that no
person could be allowed to pass through
the church without uncovering bis
head.
" Well, friend," rejoined Isaac, "I.
have some conscientious scruples on the
subject ; so give me back my money,
and I will go out."
'l'be reverential habits of. the door
keeper were not strong enough to com
pel him to that sacrifice, and he walked
away without saying anything more on
the subject.
Do Your Work Well.
Judge M-
-, a well known jurist
living near Cincinnati, was fond of re
lating this anecdote. He had on one occa
sion to send to the village after a carpen
ter, and a sturdy young fellow appeared
with his tools.
" I want this fence mended to keep
out the cattle. There are some un
planed boards use them. It is out of
sight from the house, so you need not
take time to make it a neat job. I will
only give you a dollar and a half."
The Judge went to dinner and coming
out, found the man carefully planing
each board. Supposing that he was try
ing to make a costly job of it ,he ordered
him to nail them on at once just as they
were, and continued his walk. When
he returned the boards were all planed
and a number ready for nailing.
" I told you this fence was to be cov
ered with vines," he said angrily, " I do
not care how it looks." -
" I do," said the carpenter, gruffly,
carefully measuring his work. When
it was finished there was no part of the
fence as thorough in finish.
" How much do you charge ? asked
the judge'
"A dollar and a half," said the man,
shouldering his tools.
The judge started. " Why did you
spend ail that labor on the job, if not
for money ?"
" For the job, sir."
" Nobody would have seen the poor
work on it."
" But I should have known it was
there. No ; I'll take only a dollar and s
half." And he took it and went away.
Ten years afterwards, the judge bad
the contract to give for the building of
several magnificent public buildings.
rhere were many applicants among
masterbuilders, but the face of one
caught bis eye.
"It was my man of the fence," he
said. "I knew we should have only
good, genuine work from him. I gave
him the contract and it made a rich
man of him."
. It is a a pity that boys were not
taught in their earliest years that the
highest success belongsonly to the man,
be he carpenter, farmer, author or artist,
whose work is most sincerely and
thoroughly done.
A " Naught" would Improve It.
It is related of Dr. Holmes that at a
country charitable fair one day he was
entreated to furnish a letter for the post
office. He seized a sheet of paper and
between its folds placed a $1 bank note :
turning to the first page he wrote the
following :
Dear lady, wbosoa'er toon art.
Turn this poor page with trembling care,
But hush, oh hnshlh; beating heart,
The one thou lovest best will be there.
In obedience to the poet's injunction
the page turned disclosed the attractive
greenback of the value of one dollar,
and to prove the truth of this assertion,
he made the following appeal on the op
posite page from the bank deposit :
Fair lady, lift thine eyes and tell,
If this It not a truthful letter,
This is the one toon lovest well,
And naught (0) wouldmake thte love It
better.
C3 Life is going fas: ; each day we are
more surely leaving youth behind us.
Yet men spend their lives in anticipa
tions, determining to be vastly happy at
scune period when they have time. The
present has the advantage over every
other it is our own. Past opportunities
are gone, future ones are not yet come.
We may lay in a stock of pleasures as
we would a stock of luxuries, but if wo
defer the tasting of them too long, we
shall find that both are soured by age.
Let us enjoy to-day, for to-morrow may
uever dawn.