Democratic Sentinel, Volume 14, Number 22, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 20 June 1890 — Page 8

THE OLD HOME.

1 stood, & atniifar, ‘ntifl tta qviet wara And life teamed totMWba* harder than es A wears stretoh of bare end toiling dayt Sear heart! I vowed to tee it never more, aM weakness, fust a longing once to pass ♦art the meadfe, knee deep in elover gsnee. To- night I passed from oot its precincts dim and quaint, ; And all my heart grew fall of yearning, dear, For those sweet days; I saddened was, and faint, Ay, as I have not been fer many a year. Clasp close my hand, beloved, in thine own,' I thought of thee, 'twas bard to pass alone.

DOWN BRAKES.

“We were delayed at White River junction a&d we were booming right along across the lower meadows to make up time. I did not like the looks of the black river along both Bides of the track. You know how high the water is, stranger? Well, I tell you it looked wrathy last night.” Carlyle stopped speaking and lighted a fresh match, but I observed he let it burn out in his fingers as the intensity of his strange experience assumed 6way over him. -‘Well,” he resumed, “we were just thundering down grade on the big flats this side of Russell’s cut The steam was screaming right out of the safety valve the moment I shut her off. 1 did not ask for brakes, but let her buzz. As soon as I saw the straight stretch, all clear, as I thought, 1 even clapped heron again and let her run as if she was climbing for grade a mile and a half away. I tell you we just flew. Now, there is a stone culvert running right out of the bottom of the straight mile just as you begin to climb. lam always afraid of it Suddenly, as sure as I’m telling it, I saw a woman, as if in her night clothes, just this side of the little bridge. Jim saw her. too, and shouted to me, “Shut off, for God’s sake!’ But I did not, though I blew, for the woman had no signal lantern. The next moment I found myself shutting off, because it would be just like a woman not to take a lantern to wave to us even if she wanted to stop us, and as true as heaven if she was not lifting her hand up t.hi» way. She never stirred at the whistle or the belL” Here the man sprang from his chair and raised his right arm on high in a tragic attitude to show me the gesture that the figure on the track had assumed. I will confess that it rather chilled my blood to see him so realistic. Poor wretch, it was all real to him. His wife got clear out of her chair and caught hold of his upraised arm, and his pretty little daughter, who sat on the other side of the table, her brown eyes wide open, came and clung to the other arm, crying, “Papa, papa" and kissed the horny member cheeringly. “You may be surp of a shut-off then,” he said, and he remained standing, “and Iwhistled down brakes, and God help us, the woman did not move! Jim and I shut our eyes; I threw the lever clean back, and the old engine fairly slid over the damp rails. On we went straight •ver the spot where the woman stood. The last thing I saw in the flash of the headlight before I shut my eyes, and I shall always say it to my dying day that I did see it, was the pretty face of the woman all in white, kind of pleading with us as she held her hand up, so. A kind face it was, too, as if it meant to do us good, and, my God. we had killed her!” The man was so overcome for a moment that the tears started in his eyes- . We all sat in a sort of spell waiting for him to recover himself. After a time he resumed: “Well, after about an age, as it seemed to us, the old train stopped, Jim and I got down and looked all over the engine, but there was nothing, not a rag and no blood. We searched everywhere. The water was within four feet of the rail on both sides of the embankment, and though we held our lanterns and torches along out over the black and hateful flood to see if she had been tossed into the water, there was not a sign of her. When got back to the bridge the water was boiling to get through. So we gave up looking and climbed aboard the • train, and clapped steam to her and came home all right. That was last Friday night.” “No, it was JatuMay, ” said his wife. “It was Friday, ” reasserted the engineer. “Saturday night I saw it again at the same place.” “You did not tell me that you had seen this apparition twice,” cried his wife. “You shall never go over the road again until the floods are over, ” and her arms were about him in a minute. “Now, what do you say to that?” he demanded of toe. “And you went through the performance, stopping and going back on Saturday, tip same as on Friday night?” I asked. “Just the same.” “And you found *fl|hing?” “Nothing and nobody, only the bridge was in a worse condition, and the river roared worse than on Friday, and it will be worse every day from now until the White mountains have shed * their snows. • <Father, ” said the wife. * 'promise me you’ll not go over the road again. ” * ‘But I must go my next run. I have told the superintendent that I was able to go, and I have got my living to earn.” Then there followed a long altercation of love. I said nothing, but left the family to settle It among themselves. The upshot of the matter wap that he p.-om; hsed his wife h i would Hue Lb- ::e. : -un, and after that he would “*ioo ;

off,” as he expressed it, until the floods were over. I well remember the Monday night when this conscientious fellow took his engine. His wife and little daughter walked to the depot with him. They clung to him and kissed him. “This is the last, Mary,” he said. “Now, don't make such a fool of yourself. Why, if you feel this way after I have taken this run, 1 will give up my place. My health has not been very good, and my kidneys are kind of shaken up, and I will take what little money I’ve got and we will go and buy a farm.” That night the train rumbled on its way toward that fateful bridge. There was no wan figure, but there were the angry waters, then there was a crash! The bridge had gone. Poor Tom Carlyle under his engine, and on top of it was a freight car loaded with salt and the debris of splintered box cars beside it Carlyle’s face was in front of the furnace, He was uninjured, but was roasting alive. Every effort was made to extract him, but in vain. I well remember the boards we tore from a neighboring fence to thrust between his face and that furnace, But the boards in front were soon aflame, The last words we heard him say were: “Good-by. Give them my love. I’m going to buy a farm,” I, who write these facts, know them to be true, but what the explanation is Ido not know. The fireman escaped uninjured, and I presume is in the service to this day and can testify to these facts.

AN EDITOR’S PASS.

Ail In Not Sunshine In Being a Deadhead. One of the beauties and charms of an editor’s life is his deadheading it on all occasions. No one who has never feasted on the sweet® of that bliss can begin to take in the glory of its happiness, He does SIOO worth of advertising for a railroad, gets a “pass” for a year, rides $25 worth, and then he is looked upon as a deadhead, or a half-blown deadhead. He puffs a concert troupe $lO worth and gets $1 in complimentaries, and is thus passed “free.” If the hall is crowded he is begrudged the room he occupies, for if his complimentaries were paying tickets the troupe would be so much in pocket He blows and puffs a church festival free to any desired extent, and does the poster printing at half rates, and rarely gets a thank you for It It goes as part of his duty as an editor. He does more work gratuitously for the town and community than all the rest of the population put together, and gets cursed for it all, while in many instances where a man who donates a few dollars to a Fourth of July celebration, base ball club, or church, is gratefully remembered. Oh, it is a sweet thing to be an editor! He passes “free,” you know.

TWELVE DOLLARS A WEEK.

Hundreds of Applications for Positions at Those Figures. A good many stories of misfortune and trouble were revealed unexpectedly by an advertisement which a prominent business man inserted in a recent New York paper for a clerk. The advertisement stated that a business man of experience was wanted to begin at a salary of sl2 a week. There were over 200 answers, and many of them wtere long letters from men who had formerly held positions of unquestionable importance and influence in the commercial world of New York. Some of them had been the heads of great dry goods houses, while other applications were signed by the names of firms that were once well-known throughout the country. They were all willing, and indeed anxious to get a position at the salary stated. One of them had been cashier in a New York bank, and once possessed a good deal of property, but he wrote that everything had gone against him for the past ten years, and that he was absolutely in need of the necessaries of life. Among the answers were several letters from young men who had a collegiate education and a knowledge of several foreign languages.

A Porter Who Sees the Seamy Side.

“It was dat bald-headed ole man wid de yaller chin-whiskers,” said the colored porter of the i’ullman car with regretful cadence as he leaned against the water cooler and fanned his heated brow with a soiled towel. “What was?” asked a sympathetic passenger. “De ol« wretch wot guv me fo 1 cents. He’s gwine to git off at Ro’way, and I see’d him dally in’ wid seben quo’ters a few minutes ago and done gib him a harf-dollar brush. ’Deed I did. Brushed his hat and coat and scratched nine mud spots off his oberooat, and den he pulls out dem fo’ cents and says he: ‘Sorry, po’ter, I ain’t got no more change.’ I kin tell you,” added the porter with a soulweary look, “dey talk about de po’ters, but we all cert’nally sees de seamy side. Yo’ git yo’ hope ’way up and youse gwine shore nut! to get it squashed.” And then, says the New York Tribune, with the air of a man whose reward is uot in this world, the saddened porter went back Into the ear and told a little mar , 1 whV.rers t'jtLv.u.; tip and be v 18$. • »

in d hft-fam Tras Parties wishing Fruit Trees will do w*ll to examine my Nursery Stock at Luther Ponsler’s farm, 2 miles north and one-half mMe east of Rensselaer. • 1 have over 5,000 Apple, 1,000 Cherry, and 400 Pear—all choice varieties. These trees are in a thrifty and healthy condition. I also have the agency for the Greening Bros • Nursery at Monroe, one of the best Nurseries in the State. All stock bought of me guaranteed true to name, and insured for one year where properly taken care of at the following prices: Apples—Home Trees—2oc. “ Michigan 30c. Crebs, 30c.; Cherry, 30c., Ac. H. B. MURRAY. Loose's Ked Clover Pile Re medv, is a positive speoifle for a forms of the disease. Blind. Bleeding,ltching, Ulcerated, andProtrud* ing| Piles. Pi ice 50c. For sale by Long & Eger J. E, Spitler, at the P. O. book store takes,subscription? for standard magazines and papers, without extra charge.

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