{ title: 'The Plattsburgh sentinel. (Plattsburgh, N.Y.) 1861-1902, June 29, 1883, Page 3, Image 3', download_links: [ { link: 'http://www.loc.gov/rss/ndnp/ndnp.xml', label: 'application/rss+xml', meta: 'News about NYS Historic Newspapers - RSS Feed', }, { link: '/lccn/sn85026976/1883-06-29/ed-1/seq-3/png/', label: 'image/png', meta: '', }, { link: '/lccn/sn85026976/1883-06-29/ed-1/seq-3.pdf', label: 'application/pdf', meta: '', }, { link: '/lccn/sn85026976/1883-06-29/ed-1/seq-3/ocr.xml', label: 'application/xml', meta: '', }, { link: '/lccn/sn85026976/1883-06-29/ed-1/seq-3/ocr.txt', label: 'text/plain', meta: '', }, ] }
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BY XHB BBV. PLATO JOHNSON. „ . JS ter get hold /'tot nobody wants n\ Lass Sunday my frsttmfln' out ob de con- n box, an'.ashe ^rears a very large glove, . am (MB week Is pretty sittb. if I spe&k ' like in de^ltoes, plea^ember de^fie p. J. ob \work Bf a glorious soul is Wat youse after, You caitft revcfive* It from 'dtemeat an' latter, You mus&tai&e your set ez you'd tame a boss An' afcov?dedebbll you la de boss; An' den you muss keep from grabbin 1 . An' w»earyoii>ve.'rove at sixty an' leven, »Et you tspecte to go froo de gate ob heven, Jess carry a armful o' good deeds done, It may toe a poon', it may be a ton,t An' you cant git dem by grabbin'. rab, you must leave benin', xt'bar, , D _. _h!war! r was de use ob grabbin' ?\ •DIs \revolve\ ia borrered from a Mr. Darwin. t Dls is a poetical 'zaggeratlon for de sakeob de rnyme. 1 would hev made it less dan a ton ef I could: fart stall dere ain't no fear ob your bavin' somucntocarry. HUGH KENRICK'S WILL, THE STOKY OF A POSY RING. BY MARGARET HUNT. Gasket/* \ThenA- cntfti Mm/' <&c. <6c CHAPTBH I. \After all, Lucy, it is not such a very difficult journey. It is only a hundred miles or eo, and there is no change; and if you only sit still and take care not to set your fingers jammed in the doorway, I really cannot Bee what harm can happen «Ha*h, Aaatfe! Do, please? I am not qult« a baby!*' And as she said this, the speaker, a pretty, shy-lookiyg girl of 18, glt&qo$ anxiously at an old gentleman who was Kitting in the far corner of the earring*, to see if he had heard her aunt's counsels and fears, and if he thought thezn tkb eSly women not fit to travel, aHE£ not very well able to take care of them- Bfilve*. The old gentleman had his Times, hie Saturday Review, and Spectator on his knee and looked placidly benignant. It waa doubtful if he had heard Aunt Es- ther's hints—if he had, they did not ap- pear to stir any emotions o£ contempt.-— Luoy turned back to the window apd Aunt Esther, who was now gazing earn- estly and anxiously in her face. \Dear child,\ said she, \I am feel- . ing very uncomfortable, I do so wish I bad just left everything and gone with you. I shall not know a happy moment tffl I bear the train has got safely to Litch- field. And, Luoy, have you got the stamp- ed envelope I gave you T—the one I ad- dressed for you, you knowf recommenc- ed Aunt Esther, and then she sighed her . 'relief as Lucy produced it. \Ah yes, you hare itg but Lucy, dailiag—here—give a porter this shilling to put the envelope in the post for you. There is sure to be a letter-box in the station, but mind you . watch him do it; stand and watch him, dear, and see the letter drop in.\ *Tes, yes, Aunt,\ whispered Lucy. \But how can you be so anxious? Everyone will think \ \I am anxious, I can't help it; and, Lu- cy, you promise me faithfully you will write every M \The train is going,\ cried Lucy. \Oh do take care! Good-bye! Yes, I will write.\ And in a minute more it started, and all that Aunt Esther could do was. to stand and look after the great iron mon- ster as it shrieked and tore away with her treasure. Lucy looked down, and for sometime she thought of no one but '•poor, dear Aunt Eatherf then she enjoyed the pros- pect of the happy days and weeks which lay before her; and then, before settling down to her railway novel, she glanced at her companion, but to her horror and amazement his eyes were fixed on her Cue and they were full of kindness and interest. Lucy blushed. She felt as if she had heen detected in trying to espy some secret of his. He did not turn away —he looked encouraging. **You have not made many journeys alone, lady!\ said he. \No not even one until to-day.\ **If I can be of any service to you, you must command me,\ he continued. Lucy looked at his white hair, and thought it would not be quite fair if she in her bright youth were to impose many tasks on his seventy and odd years. «*I am even older than you perhaps think, 1 * said he, \but still I am not too old to do anything you may ask me.\ \But how do you know what 1 was thinkingr inquired Lucy, very simply. *Tou were thinking 'poor, old man, he is seventy, at least] 1 but, lady, I am sev- enty-eight; and the reason that I know wha* you are thinking is because you are the kind of person whose thoughts I do understand a little—I mean better than I understand the thoughts of most peo- ple.\ Lucy drew back. She thought this was an odd way to talk, and that it was not v*rjp nice to be shut up in a railway- carriage for more than a hundred miles with a person who talked in an odd way. **No, lady/ said he, \do not think amiss of what I say. I will explain. When I was young I saw a great deal of—I mean I was very intimate with—a young lady of your age, and you are much more like her than anyone I have met during my whole long Hfe.\ Lucy was interested, much interested, but had the uncomfortable feeling that it was wrong to be so—that this old gentle- man was \very strange and rude, and talked in a way that no one who was not an old, old friend, or a relation ought to talk, and that if Aunt Esther did but know;' 1 but here she was interrupted. \You are wrong again,\ said he. \I speak in a way you perhaps think strange but it is only because I talk frankly and naturally. I do not mean to ehock or an- noy you.\ \Oh no,\ began Lucy. \Would you like to see the Spectator?' asked the stranger, a^l Lucy felt herself put in her place as a good little girl who was not quite ftpwn up enough to be en- fittefl t9 talk for any length of time to •gentleintin, especially to very old ones, but who was not on that account*to be cut off from all the tender charities of life. So she took her Spectator meekly, and turned its pages one by one, and tried to make herself think she liked the polit- ical articles, and was interested in the middles, and did not dislike the reviews; but being at that time not very fond of reading, she had but poor success. After about an hour, and not till then, she again looked up, and again saw the old gentle- man'e eyes scanning her face with an ex- pression of intense but most melancholy pleasure, \j beg your pardon,\ said he, \I do, indeed, but I cannot help it; you really are BO like her.\ \Like whom r said Lucy, rather impa- tiently. 'Like the young lady we were speak- ing of just now,\ said he, as if that were quite enough. \But who was she V* inquired Lucy with increased, but on the whole well-concealed impatience. \I was engaged to her,\ he replied. Lucy was silent. She did not like to say, \Then why in the name of all that is sensible did you not marry her and leave me in peace?\ but • that, was what she thought. He was quite silent, and as this silence lasted, she looked interrogatively into his face (he was now opposite). \She died,\ he said, and Lucy felt miserable. \I dp eo beg your pardon,\ she stam- mered. ' 'No, no; it is altogether my fault, or would be if there were any fault. It does not hurt me to talk about her. I like it. It does me good—now, I mean. Twenty years ago I did not much like to speak of her j forty years ago I could not have done it for the world; but I can talk well enough now. \Why consider, it won't be long before I «ee her.\ Lucy wondered if he were mad. She was afraid he was—almost sure that he was. \No lady,\ said he, \ I am not mad— don't start, or be vexed. It is because you are so like her—so truly Kke her, that I know what you are thinking—other peo- ple may think what they like, or do what they like, it makes no difference to me. I know and care nothing about it; but old as I am, I know your thoughts—you are of her sort.\ \I do so wish I wex'e not,\ was Lucy's first thought; for he oppressed her j then, she was ashamed of herself. \It musi have been a great grief,\ said she, and then she despised herself for her com- monplace and inadequate sympathy. \A grief! Yes, of course it was a grief, but it happened fifty years ago\ \Fifty years ago! Lucy sighed. Fifty years hence where would she be? Now ihe wa» whirling away to pay a pleasant ^s^a^dlie life had known no *K>if > r6tV. ^en she looked backwards her thoughts iwelt oh happy, tranquil days, unclouded by any Bhadow—when she looked forward there was a prospect of happiness with- out end, for she was going to her sister's at Hazlewood, near Litchfield, and when there she would have two balls, and some picnics and archery meetings, and best of all, she would often see Robert Merivale, and she sometimes ventured to think that Robert Merivale cared very much to see her. While enjoying these anticipations. she remembered the old gentleman oppo- site and his lost love of fifty years ago,and that there was much pain and misery in this world of ours—what if some of it to her? She felt very sorry for him —and said kindly, \Will you tell me some- thing about her?\ Whereupon he told her in perfectly simple words the story of his love and lose. • As he spoke she liked him more and more, and before he had finished she found herself wishing she was his daugh- ter, or anyone who might have the privi- lege of comforting him. She was very si- lent, very quiet, but two or three big tears rolled down her face. He made no apparent demand on her sympathy; he told his story quietly, but he knew that she felt for him. \So said he, \all that was left for me to do, was to go patiently through life, trying to make some other liveB happier than mine had been. I spend most of my time in Cumberland—I like being there.\ Then he described his home there, until Lucy felt as if she had. never seen such scenery before; and then, and by this time they were quite good friends, he said, \Now tell me something about yourself.\ \I seem to have so little to tell,\ said Lucy. \I live with the aunt you saw.— We live at High gate. I have neither fa- ther nor mother, nor anyone but aunt Es- ther and one sister. My father and my mother died in India when we were ba- bies and aunt Esther brought us up. Let- tice married three years ago. She is very nice; not exactly as you would expect though, for she says such very odd things, just when you think she is looking on ev- erything just as you do.\ \What kind of things, lady? I like to have everything explained\ \I hardly know—worldly things, or worldly-wise things—she has what she calls, tact, too; but she is older than I am, and knows all about what the world or so- ciety, or whatever it is which makes itself so disagreeable sometimes, expects you to do on all occasions. I like her husband immensely.\ 'And does he know all about the world?\ asked the old gentleman, smiling. \I daresay he does, but he does not go on about it so, and he is always trying to be kind to everyone. He knows I am dull at home, so he has been planning all kinds of pleasures for me.\ \But are you dull at home?*' he asked, for this was the very first sign of dissatis- faction with the world as it was that Miss Lucy had showm \I dull! Certainly not! Lettice and ner husband are always telling me I must be dull, and when I stay with them and find dances and picnics and- garden pai-ties going on every day, I begin to think myself I must have had a very dull life at home, but when I go back I have no time to think of such a thing.\ \But what do you do!\ \I draw and paint and garden—for we have a great big garden, three times the size of our drawing-room—and I practice and work, and we have books from Mu- die's—I can't tell you what I do, but I am very happy.\ \And you have no anxieties, no disap- pointments ?\ \I waa very anxious a week or two since when we lost our dog, but it came home three days afterward with a bit of rope tied round its neck; that is the only anx- iety I ever had; but I have plenty of die* appointment e, for nearly everything I plant in the' garden dies I\ Lucy was becoming more and more con- fidential, when all at once she caught sight of a large country house about a mile from the railway, with trees behind it, and gardens and shrubberies in front, and on this she fixed her gaze so earnestly that she entirely forgot to finish one of her sentences. \We are veiy near Litchfield now,\ eaid she, when this place was out of sight, \for that house is only six miles off.\ The old- gentleman had been watching her eager little face all the while with an amused smile. \Whose property is that!\ he asked. Simple Miss Lucy looked up quite sur- prised that he had noticed her interest in it and said—\Sir Richard Merivale's.\ \And he is one of your 'best' partners, then, is he?\ 'Sir Richard Merivale! Why he is old and gouty and the crossest man in the world!\ \Then his son or his nephew is ?\ i Lncy blushed-^this old man was too clever by half! \But he continued, \if we are eo near Litchfield I am afraid I shall Boon lose the pleasure of your com- pany. How long did you say you were going to stay here ?\ 'Exactly three months—in just three months from this very day, I am, if all t goes well; to return home to Aunt Es- ther.\ \This is the 15th of June.\ ;t Yes, and I am to go back on the 15th of September. The time is fixed eo ex- actly, because Katie Williams—a friend of mine—is to be married on the 17th, and I am to be one of the bridesmaids.\ \The 15th of September\—repeated the old gentleman. \Well it is quite possible that I maybe returning from Cumberland about that very time—if so, I'll remem- ber the day and come then. We should no doubt travel by the same train. What time do you start?\ \At three o'clock in the afternoon, gen- erally.\ \Keep to your day, lady. I'll remember it, and if your sister is with you it will be so much the better. I should like to see her too.\ \She is almost certain to be with me— she and Katie are great friends.\ The old gentleman took out his note- book and wrote \September 15.\ Then he said \My name is Hugh Kenrick; I have the disadvantage of having two homes, one in London, which I have just left, and the other at Calderwater. That's where I am going—go where I will, though, I am alone.\ Lucy looked up—she did not like to say it, but she was thinking, \It is odd that you should be so much alone when you are so very free about making acquaint- ances.\ \No he said, \I am always alone. If I have spoken to you I do hot speak to ev- eryone. I've told you why I was drawn you. Now, while I have my pencil ready, tell me your name—I have told you mine.\ \My name is Luey Ilderton.\ \Daughter of—\ \Daughter of Major-General Lewis Il- derton, who died when I was a baby—oh, I told you that before.\ And you live w \At No. 6 Beatrice Villas, Highgate, with my aunt, Miss Esther Moore.\ All that went down in the note-book.— l Well, said he, if we do not travel home together tins day three months, perhaps I may some day see you in London—that ia if good Miss Esther Moore will permit it —but who knows what may happen in three months?\ \Who indeed?\ thought Lucy; but her wonders were sent in a brighter direction than his. They bade each other farewell. The train stopped, a pretty young matron of one-aud-twenty clasped Lucy in a sister- ly embrace, and when, after a minute or BO devoted to the joy of this meeting, Lu- cy remembered Mr. Kenrick, and said— \Oh Lettice, I should so like to introduce you to an old gentleman I have traveled with from London.\ Mrs. Lettice only said hurriedly—\But your luggage, Lu«y—ought we not to think of that?\ \Indeed yes,\ cried Lucy, and with a glance at that venerable white head, and a smile of farewell, she hastened to the van. CHAPTER II. Lucy's three month's leave of absence was almost over. The 14th of September had come, and on the 15th she was to re- turn to London and Aunt Esther. Her visit had been a very happy one, a very gay one, too, and even the gayety\#as not quite at end, for this very night there was to be a large ball at Hazelwood, her broth- er's house. Robert Merivale was coming to it. He had been constantly at Hazle- wood since Lucy's arrival, so constantly that there was no difficulty in guessing that his visits had a definite object. But no guessing was needed, for his'courtship was conducted so openly that it was quite an understood thing that he was very fond of Lucy, and Lucy did not attempt to con- ceal the. pleasure that his society gave her. No one had said anything to her about his frequent visits. She was young and shy, and not like other girls, her elster, Mrs. Mostyn, said; other girls liked being teased about such things, Lu- cy did not. Still as this is the last day of her visit, and as this night must settle all, for Robert Merivale would certainly propose to her before she went, Mrs. Mos- tyn thought she might be allowed to say one little word to her own sister, and dashed into the subject at once. \Well Miss Lucy, you know best, but I cannot help thinking that your faithful Robert Merivale ia very fond of you.\ Lucy had humbly hoped the same for a longtime. She hung her head; she did not know, she said, she had often won- dered. \You need not wonder much about a thing that is clear as daylight, cried her brisk sister. \I know all about affairs of this kind—of course I do. I tell you once for all, he is as fond of you as a man can be, and that he is certain to pro- pose to you. There can be no doubt about that, and I Bhould say that he intends to do it this very night.\ \Oh do hush, Lettice!\ cried Lucy. \It is so horrible to talk in that way, or even to think—\ \Don't you think?\ said the irrepressible married lady. \Who can help thinking? If people do not want you to think they should not behave in such a very marked manner. Why only last Tuesday I heard him \ But Lucy ran away, to do something to her ball dress, she said, but in reality to escape from the outspoken lady down- stairs, who put her own timid, half- thought-out thoughts into plain straight- forward words. Her dross, a very vaporous white' one, was lying on her bed. She had never had a prettier. It wanted nothing— nothing wanted any attention but her thoughts, which were in a very bewilder- ed state. \He must care for met\ said ihe to herself. I do believe I am the hap- piest girl in the world!\ It was quite true that ever since Lucy came to Hazlewood, Robert Mciivale had showed her such attention that no one could misunderstand it. He had told her that he cared more for her good opinion than for that of anyone else ,in the world'; that he could only be said to live when in her pi-esence; that at other times he merely waited in dull impatience un- til his next period of real life came. Did people feel in this way about people, un- less they loved them? If all he said nay, if half he said—were true, would he not always try to keep her with him?— He was his own master—he had neither father nor mother, but when not staying with his uncle lived on his own little prop- erty some twenty miles further to the north. She was poor, she knew, but he was not, and he had no hard-hearted fa- ther to remind him sf her short-comings In the way of fortune, and she was a lady by birth and education. There was noth- ing to prevent them from being happy, and Aunt Esther should come to live with them and be happy too. While Lucy was sitting thus in her own room, dreaming away the afternoon, a note was put in her sister's hand. It was from Mr. Robert Merivale, and ran as fol- lows :— \DEAR MKS. MOSTYN ; —I cannot bring my- self to leave this neighborhood without a word or tTro of farewell, apology, and explanation to you. I fully intended when last I saw you to avail myself of your kind invitation for this evening. I looked forward to the ball with the greatest pleasure. You know, dear Mrs. Mos- tyn, how much your sister has been to me. I have never seen anyone I admire so much. I feel that I never shall. I dare not come to- night, for If I did I could not answer for my- self. I should be certain to say things which in my position, I ought not. The truth is, that though I seem to be independent, I am not,— My own property, though sufficient for anyone of limited ambition, is not large enough to en- able me to take the position I ought, and I can- not afford to offend my uncle. He wishes me to marry some lady whose fortune will strength- en my influence in the county. He has repeat- edly spoken of this to me, especially of late. I have listened, feeling all the time if I searched the universe I could find no one so suitable or dear to me as your sister; but my uncle Is a man of such decided views and such unbend- ing temper, that I have never so much as ven- tured to hint at my affection for her. He would probably drive me away from his house if I did. I dare not oome, therefore, for I know I should say things I ought not, and pledge my- self to more than I should be able to fulfil. Per- force, and most unwillingly, I stay away. I am going to Baden for a week or two; when 1 re- turn, your sister will be gone. I shall never see anyone I admire so much as 1 admire her—nev- er really care for any other woman. Tell her the miserable plight In which I find myself, and how wretched I'am. \Yours faithfully, .\ \ROBERT MERIVAU!.\ \Philip! Philip!\ cried Mrs. Moetyn. 'Where are you? Oh, do come here, dear.\ Her husband came. She thrust the letter into his hand, but would hardly give him a chance of reading it, for she exclaimed, \We have this ball to-night, and all the people will be here in no time, md there are no end of things we ought to think about; but never mind, let ev- erything take its chance, and just you ride over to Foxtown and horsewhip this creature! I never read such an abomin- able letter in my life!\ Milder counsels prevailed. Silence and life-long contempt were considered sufficient punishment for Robert Merivale. It was a bad case. For three months he had done everything in his power to con- vince Lucy that he loved her, and now he wrote this letter. •You must not tell her about it to-day,\ eaid Mr. Mostyn, hastily. \Be very care- ful not to let her even imagine 'ha.t you have heai-d from him. You may be quite sure of one thing. Sooner or later all this will be talked about, and people will re- gard Lucy's behavior to-night as the measure of her affection for him. If she is despondent and dull, as she will be, if she thinks there is anything amiss, ev- eryone will credit her with being in love with him!\ 'And if that were true, it is his fault!\ 'Never mind, Lettice. It shall not be said! He shall not have the satisfaction of knowing it. Let me manage the busi- ness. She is going away to-morx'ow. It will be easy to hide everything from the gossips here. She must not hear this till to-morrow. She is a tender, delicate little thing; she would not be able to go through with it.\ \Go through with what? Not to be told what!\ said Lucy appearing sud- denly. \Are you two talking about me ?\ Mr. and Mrs. Mostyn both looked dis- concerted, especially the gentleman, who the moment before was going to manage everything. 'You had better tell me if it is any- thing} bad. X am not so weak as you think; and besides, I shall only make myaelf unhappy by imagining something a thousand times worse than it really is,\ \Perhaps Lucy is right,\ said Mr. Mos- tyn. \Tell her, Lettice—kindly and care- ftilly though,\ he whispered, and went away. Lettice was much too excited to study style or expression. \It is this,\ she cried —\Robert Merivale whom we all liked so much, is a mean half-hearted fortune- hunter ! He wants his uncle's money, and dares not so much as call his soul his own lest the cross old man should say that it is not!\ \I do not know what you mean, Let- tice,\ gasped poor Lucy, who had no clue to her sister's change of tone. \Read this letter—there—it has just come.\ She gave Lucy the letter, and watched her face, poor child, as she read it. \There!\ said Mrs. Mostyn, \now you see what he is; I wish we had time to talk; and were'going to be alone, but there is no time to lose. The only thing to do is to show that you are perfectly indifferent to anything that he chooses to say or do; in fact, do not care a pin for him.\ \But Lettice,\ said Lucy, faintly, \if I am not quite indifferent f I do feel this, I cannot help it. You see he has been do- ing everything he could to \make me be- lieve that he liked me all this time.\ \I know, dear; he is a sneak, and I hate him! Of course, he has tried to make you like him; but do not let him or anyone else think you do. You must look your best to-night, and dance your best as well.\ \You are sure I must come down? Sure I must pretend all this?\ \Quite sure! certain! You must obey me. I am your elder sister, and know best.\ \Very well, Lettice I will do what you say—but tell me why I must ?\ \Because of the people who are coming. Some of them may know about it already —all of them -will do so soon—and they will notice how you look, and make their remarks.\ Lucy winced visibly; it was very pain- ful to her to be discussed in this way.— \And I shall be more respected, shall I,\ she said with a strong touch of scorn in her voice, \if I can bear cruel treatment like this, and appear as if it did not affect met\ 'It hurts a girl dreadfully to be sup- poBed to have had a disappointment. No one must be able to see any difference in you. I only wish there was none. I wish you could make up your mind not to feel it.\ \You want me to be as bad as he is—1 should not be very nice if I did not feel it.\ l I suppose, dear, it is impossible for you not to feel something; only whatever you do, promise me to come down to-night as usual, and show nothing. It is of the highest consequence.\ \I promise,\ said Lucy. Slowly she made her way back to her own room, where her pretty dress was lying, and on her way she encountered everywhere signs of preparations for the ball—the ball at which she was to have been so happy. Lucy went through the ordeal bravely. She looked very well, a trifle pale and haughty perhaps, and there was much difference of opinion about her next day, for some of her partners said she had hardly a word to say for herself, while others declared she was full of conversa- tion and spirit; but no one divined that she was bearing- the first shock of the cru- ellest blow which had been dealt her du- ring the course of her life. Her sister Lettice \could not make her out at all,— Lucy was so odd. She openly said she was wretchedly unhappy, but she would permit no expression of sympathy, and listen to no conversation on the subject.\ \I can't speak of it,\ she said, when Mrs. Mostyn came to her l-ooru after the ball, and so she said next morning when the same lady went to help her to pack. At three o'clock Lucy was to return to London, and alone, for one of Lettice's children was ill. \And you really persist in leaving us ?\ she said. \Stay a little longer, Lucy, you will be far happier here with me.\ Lucy shook her head. \And I am sure it is not a good thing for you to go to a wedding; it will only make you fret about this odious affair.\ \No it won't—one thing will not hurt aie more than another. I don't want Katie' Williams to remain unmarried because I io.\ \You will not stay unmarried—you are juite sure to marry.\ 'I marry! No, never! If I am sure jf anything it is of that.\ \I hate Robert Merivale!\ cried Lettice; I hate and despise him—I always shall —a miserable contemptible \ \Oh please, Lettice, don't—you do give ae such pain.\ \It is my belief you love him still!\ \Of course I do,\ said Lucy simply; ( one can't give up a thing like that in a aioment.\ \You love him still! Then, Lucy, if jver—I don't think it at all likely—but .f ever, at any future time, he were to tsk you to many him—you would say yes.\ \I say yes!\ cried Lucy, \after that .etter! Is it possible you can think sot— [ give him up quietly, but I give him up forever.\ \And yet you say you are miserable?\ \Yes I am miserable—I shall not say jiuch about it though.\ >We«, I hope it won't last long,\ replied Lettice. \I was very fond of him; Ihave been ter- ribly deceived; I shall get used to it some day, no doubt.\ She spoke very bitterly, but her eyes were full of tears. Lettice was going to Ispeak, but her sister said, 'Let us name him no more.\ The time for departure came—away drove Lucy and her boxes. \Of course we have half an hour to spare,\ said Mrs. Mostyn. \That is Phil- ip's idea of punctuality.\ \Ten minutes, ma'am,\ said the station master in answer to her inquiry. \That's a blessing,\ said Mrs. Mostyn. \Now Lucy, if a lot of odious Litchfield people come on the platform, mind you laugh and talk to me. You behaved splendidly last night; carry it through to the end. You were brave! I did so ad- mire you and wish that he had been there to see you.\ \Hush said Lucy, earnestly. \By the bye,\ continued Mrs. Mostyn, \what about that odd old gentleman of yours? He will be in the train, perhaps. I hope he will. He would amuse you.\ \Poor man,\ said Lucy, sympathetically. \Talking about being unhappy, Mrs. Mostyn exclaimed, \Now I do consider he has had a bad life of it. Losing the girl he was engaged to in that way—and she so young!\ \I begin to think his life a very happy one,\ said Lucy bitterly. \He has.been able to love her, and believe in her for fif- ty years.\ \There is the chemist's wife! Put on a smile, Lucy; be quick.\ \Oh dear, Lettice, you worry me! Why should I smile because a chemist's wife is there?' \People of that kind gossip far 'more than we do, and know far more about us than we imagine. Stop, here is the train. Give a look, as it passes, for your old gen- tleman—but I suppose he would be at the window.\ No one waa looking out. The train was not crowded, and as it passed .Lucy as- certained that her fellow-traveler of three months before was not there now. She had no time to be disappointed; ;her sister hurried her into an empty car- riage gave five shillings to the guard to keep it so, and was just going away when she suddenly remembered somethiug and ran back to the window by which Lucy was sitting. \Lucy! Lucy!\ cried she, \I all but for- got to give you this letter. It came last night, and must have been mislaid in the scrimmage. It is from Aunt Esther.— What a thick one it is! but there is no time for me io hear anything she says.— Kisa the blessed old lady for me. Good- bye!\ and hardly had she said the words when the train started. :\**.. Poor Aunt Esther's letter dropped from Lucy's impassive hand. She was going tc be so wise and ^o sensible, and to do hei best to i-oot out Robert Merivale from hei heart when once she was back in London but for this one day, when once more go- ing over the very ground which she had traversed exactly three months before, when she believed herself the happiest girl in the world, she must think a little —and in a few minutes more, too, she would pass Sir Richard Merivale's house She knew that Robert Merivale was no* there, and yet could not dismiss the idea that somewhere in garden or meadow she might catch one last glimpse of him. She passed Foxtown. Its smooth, squared stones shone grey in the autumn sun- shine, gay flower-beds spotted the closely- shaven green lawn, orderly shrubs ranged themselves pi-otectingly around, and by whizzed the iron engine which was bear- ing her along the straight lines of its road, while lines as bard, and forces as DELAWARE & HUDSON (A\AL €0, •ORTHERI RAILROAD DEPARTMENT. 5:35 A. M.-EXPBESS, arrives Beekmantown 5:43; West Chazy 5:63; Ohazy6:«5; Coopersville 6:12; Bouses Point 6:29, connecting with Grand Trunk By.! arriving Montreal 8:25. Connecting 6:10 A* OT.-MIXED, arrives Beekmantown 6:25; strong parted her from him she loved. He was unworthy of her love I She in- terrupted herself by this thought; but still he had been so charming-and lovable for three months that it was difficult to believe tbat the note written in a few minutes was the one by which his charac- ter was to be judged, rather than his be- havior during all that time. \This is fol- ly,\ cried poor Lucy. I must not allow myself much time for thinking if this is what it comes to. When I go home I shall set to work hard. I will study and im- prove myself in the mornings, and in the afternoons I will try to be of some use to my fellow-creatures. Oh! I shall soon get this nonsense out of my head!\ And then she had \a cry,\ and then she open- ed Aunt Esther's letter. [COSTINTJEB NEXT WEEK LINES OF TRAVEL. 0t43 A . M—MIXED, arrives Beekmantown 7:05; These engines are made of the very best material, -y flrBt-cIasB workmen, and are just what we'guar* anfcee them to be—safe, simple in arrangement of parts, durable and cemplete in every particular, Thus they are adapted to th« wants of t tt«—MAIL, arrives Beekmantown 8:08' West Ohazy 8:18; Ohszy 8:30; Ooopl ersvilte 3:38; Bouses Point 8:45, con- necting with Grand Trunk By., ar- riving Montreal 10:57 p. -- SOUTH. arrives 'po kroagh ii : 38; Wei^Srtlllw; Henry 12:22 j Grown Poinl lfcSSp.M. AddiaonJnnotionlifcM; Whitehall 1:37; Btjtland 6:80; Fori Edward 2:35; Glen's Falls 3-S5- Saratoga 2:56; Scheaectady 3*0; Troy 4:20; All«ny4:80 **u. Con! neeting at Albany wltti». Y. 0 . & H. B. B. B., arriving Ponh i 1 New York 9:30 p/S T _ connects with Citineas' Line Steam- en at Troy, and People's Line at Albany, arriving Haw York 7 A. H. b, arrivess Vatoourr a^OPr t &; Wi&bhh MXBb, arrive Vatoou a^OrPort Kent £& Wi&bonrag 8:8«; Whal- lbh 4:00; Westoort 4:90; Pert ap^ Grown Point 7:40 Ad H. B. B. B., arrlvnig P atoSSO, and New Twk 6:«XT going West arrives Utica 6:06; e*taco» 7:06 A. U. AIBO connects «I>^ with T. 4 B., aad Albany with B. ft A. R. By»., arriving Bc*- toa 92)0 A. v . AU8ABLE BRANCH. Trains leave Platteburgh at 3:00 P.M. SSSJi? 1 t 5:00 *•\\ \ D. M.gBNPBldK, Gen. Pass. Igt., Albany. W. B. OHATTEBTON, Ticket Agt., ibnrgh.N.Y. «V LAKE CflAMFLAIH R. R. T»O A* BBU— KAIL, arrive at Champlain 7:80: at Mooen Junction, 7:50; Mooers Fork*, 7:58; Altona, 8:11; Ellen burgh, 8$1; Gherubusco, 8:51 CtaSmro, 9:07; Malone, 9:32 Norwood, 10:48 ; Ogdensburf, ll-M AM. Drawing room and sleepini car attached to Syracuse via Nor wood. Connection at Ogdensburg witt Grind Trunk By.; at Norwood \* - L W.i O. £ . B., for all .arrive Ohamplain 9:00; — Junction, 9:15; Mooers mn, 9:28; Altona 9:35; EJlen- bttrgh, 9:62; Oherubusco, lOria;\ OhaSeangay, I<h28; Malone 10:55; Norwood,liie A. M.; Ogdensburg! •On Signal. _„ strain, leaves Malone at &50 K., arriving at OgdensBurg at 6:00. GOING EAST. &YX OGDXKBBtJBG* 6:OO A. H1.--BXPBK8S, for all stations on O. & L 0. B. B.; arrive Bouses Point, 9-.S5; A, M.: connects at Mooers Junction for Plattaburgh, Troy, Atbany, New York. Arrive Plattsburgh 1034 A. i:OO P. M.-MAIL train for all stations on O. & L. O. B. B ; arrive Bouses Point 5:05 connects at Bouses Point with D. & H. O. Co.; arrive Pittsburgh A Local Passenger train leaves Qgdenaburg at 7:80 p. K., arriving atlBalone att 9:45 p. M. WvI^MJHo.t Clearingg toasesa Pointt att 7:400 a 9:4ft p. Way Freigh N. 4, evin Beaae Poin a 7:4 A. M., and Through Freight No. 9, leaving Ogdena-a burg at fcOS P. K., have pacsenger car attached be tween Malone and Boo*« Point. B Ti li Plttb vg Ogden car attached be- t Ogdensburg withG BallwayforallpoinU W«t. P. L. POKEKOY, General Past, j A. A. QADBXB, Gen. Manager. CEffTBAL VERMONT RAILROAD. Comu«ncinf Dec. 4th, 18sa. All A A H MXXBD, connecting at St. AlbanB 4»1V ew m« ^th the Mail train lor Boston and New York and all points ia New England. Leaves Burlington i gaewwie., at 7:85 a. m. j via %5SgS3& t £i ESE Atoo for »ew York via Springfield and New London. Leaves BurliBg- toa at 11:80 a.m.. arriving in Bos- ton at 7:00 pm Pullman Drawing m. Sleeping car. attached. Leave* Burlington via Butland, Troy and Albany at 7:06 p.m. VI* Essex Jo. for Boston and Hew YoA vi» Springfield at9:35p.m. Pullman Bleeping can attached ior Boston and Springfield. Alxed Timl n for Rutland. Tioosdenea intermediate stations leaves Burlington at 1:40 p. m. 8. W. 0UMMING8, Genl Passenger Agent. J. W. HOBABT, Goal Snpt. IBATEACOA I B * ». CO* I to take effect Monday, Nov. M, 1880. TBAIN8 MOVING WEST. No. 1.—Leave Pittsburgh 8.00 A. u. t Morrisonvflle «.», Oadyville 7.iO, Sannemora 7.40, Saranao 8.00, Ghaay Lake 8.90, Coal Kiln Junction 8.30, arriving at .... S.—Leave Pittsburgh 3.00 p. M.,MorrisonvUle 9.8ft, Oadyville 3.00, Dannemon 8,40. Saranao 4.10, Chaay Lake 4.85, Coal E0n Janet. 4.45, arriving it Lyon Mountain 5.20. TBAINS MOVING BAST. No. 2.—Leave Lyon Mountain 6.10 A. U.. Goal Kiln Junot., &8S, Ohasy Lake 8.50, Baranao 7.M, Danne- moraTUo, QadyvjUle 8.35, Mtrriaoaville 8.80, arriv- . , Mountain 2.W p. M., Oeal Kiln Juaot.2.36.Cha*y Lake 3.60, SaranacS.lO, Danaemc- ra 8.40, OadyviUe 4.20, MorrlBonville 4.60, arriving at Plattsburgh 9M ^^ imsAS g^^, Manager. J. M. DAVIE8, Superintendent. M. L. FBENOH. Asst 8upt. BAN D ISL E STEAMBOA T CO. On and after Monday, May 7th, the STEAMER \REINDEER CAPT. B. B. BOOKWKLL, will run aa follows:—Leave North Island Oity at 6:30A.M.,atLadds6:45,Adams'7:00,and Gordon's 7:80; leave Plattsburgh 8:10, Port Kent 9:00, Will*. bo*o (Wednesdays and Saturdays only) 0:30. arriv- ing at Burlington at 10:15, and connecting with fast Express trains on the Central Vt. B. B. leaving Burlington at 10:40 A. M., via Rutland, also limited express leaving at lfcW via W. B. Junction for BOB. ton and all New England points. Returning, leave Burlington at 5:30 p. M. on ar- rival of train* from Boston, Springfield, &>., via W.B.Junction\orButland land- ings, arriving at Pittsburgh 7:00, North Island Will touch at Port Jackson on signal or to land SS at lowest rates. A. r. OONANT.Sapt. riattabargh, Dec. 18,1881. KEPT OON- 4 00. Bookwalter Engine CAN BE 8EEN AT WOBK AT The Plattsburgh Sentinel OFFICE. For Driving Small Machinery* * THE FARMER, Doing almost anything requiring Power-such as Wood Saws, Threshers, corn and Feed mills. NO PRINTING OFFICE I S COMPLBTB WITHOUT A BOOKWALTER ENGINE. The simplicity of their construction enables any one with ordinary intelligence to operate one Sftftr/. They are made for dm-ability-yet every pu t Itebja to get tot of repair can be easily replaced by any mechanic, or duplicates can be secured at reason- able rates. We quote the following Extra Low Prices FOB FIRST-CLASS ENGINES. 3 horse power Engine and Boiler, $340 S \ S Each engine is fully warranted to have fully tbr power given above. We give the purchaser W days for a satisfactory trial, or money refunded. *WSend for a fully illustrated descriptWe cata- logue. JAMES LEFrEL & €0,, Springfield. OM* Or 110 Liberty St.. iv«w York CitT. n LUMBER YARDS, Plattsburgh, N. Y. DEALER8 AT WHOLESALE AND RETAIL IN LUMBER OF ALL KINDS—MILLS FOR DRESSING AT THE WHARF. The works are situated at the termi- nus of the Delaware & Hudson, and Mooers & Ogdensburgb, and Auaable and Chateaugay railroads, with water front on the Plattsbnrgh Dock Go.'a wharf; the office is one blcofc east of the Fouquet Houee. Every description of Dressed and Roag]> LUMBER constantly on hand. Dry House for Kiln Drying - Lumber. MTOrders by Mail will be promptly flUed. BAKER BROTHERS. Plattsburgh, May Mth, 1883. DAUCHYft CO. DROWNED IN DEER. Concerning: thi s Popula r Bever a Two itlen Express* thei r Aftinda. \The fact is sir, and you may stlcc a pin there, that the people of this country are lately to b» drowned In a flood of lager beer,\ shouted an es. thuaiaetio teetotaler the other day Into the ear of your cornered correspondent. That German drink has struck us hard. It is the second deluge. ••Yes, and the worst of this Beer-drinking Iwu*. nen ia that It gets no kidney troubles, u a heavy wind raises the waves, added a city physician, who had » knowledge of the times and a tendency to metaphor. \The midnight 'sohooner' leaves behind it a wake of furred tongues, headaches, torpid liv- ers, nausea, and all that, and lays the foundation of Brjght's Disease.\ This melancholy fact accounts in oreasing sales of BBNSON'S PLASTBB, which atonoe ' Price 25 cents. ' ' 60w4 Seabui dch atonoe mitigates these symptoms. Ask your phyaiolan about it. iryfc Johnson, Chemists, New Tork. . Secure Healthy action to the livsc and relieve all bil- ious troubles. GARGET CUBE urea Gararet in —ttle in 3 or 4 I>nyw. Farmers and Herdsmen: Tour atten- tion is called to this val- uable medicine. War- ranted to cure theTworst of (Jnrget, Ker- airothcrdiseuties DnjRKlsts and Country Rrores. _. counterfeits. Ue RIUM you get r AiuifGFOBD'B, which is patented. W. W. WHIPPLE & CO., Proprietors, Portland, Me. CARD COLLECTIONS!^ forS6 0hromo and AdverUsinir Cards, 16 < 7 9 styles, 20 cents; 10 3 styles 80 cents. W. H. MOOBE, Card, Magazine and Newspaper Agenci *7<) A WKKK. Ili a day at horn* essay made, » / f Costly outfit free. Address TavafrOo., An. [flirts, Maine. 40$**
