Jasper Republican, Volume 1, Number 8, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 6 November 1874 — DOLLY. [ARTICLE]

DOLLY.

Just before young Fanning went to Rome six or seven years ago—.he showed me his sketch-book. “ I have been up among the Moravians all summer in Bethlehem, Pa.,” he said. “ It’s the only place where one can ’catch a flavor of age in this cursedly new country.” The little fellow, from his yellow Dundreary’ whiskers to his dainty gaiters, was, a mere exaggeration of his mother’s aesthetic sensibilities. If nature had thrown in to boot.a little back-bone or stomach or passions it would have been better; but, no matter. As things were, one was not surprised the country jarred on him. The old Moravian town had apparently contented him; he had made studiaa of the- , and the quaint Eagle Hotel and the fortress-like Brother and Sister and Gemein Houses, which the first settlers built in the wilderness of solid stone and which stand now unaltered in the village street, solid enough to last for ages. He had the gray, massive piles in crayons and in water colors and in oils, with the yellow harvest sky behind them,. or a thunder-cloud, or the pale pink of spring dawn. Here was a bit of the buttress with wild ivy flaming red*over it; there was a dim interior of a stone corridor and an old woman, cloaked, with velvet slippers, and a blue handkerchief on her head, sat on a highbacked bench, fingering the dusty strings of an old violin which she had just taken from its case. “ That,” he said, “is one of the old. Sisters, Frau Baum. The Moravian missionaries come home to these houses when their work is done, and find shelter and repose. Life in them is but «long, calm twilight. That violin was unearthed one day from some closet where it had been buried almost one hundred years I If it had been knocking about the world in that time just think of the thousands of waltzes and dances and song tunes it would have given to people! It would have been worn out, or at least have been common and unclean. But there it lay, with all its music, Bacred and dumb, unwakened within it.' I like to think of that.” I could not follow the young man’s fantastic talk. M These houses seem to have had a secret enchantment of some kind for you,” I said, turning over the sheets; and just as I spoke I guessed that I had found .the enchantment- Ttook up a carefullyfinished picture of the door of the Sister House, a deep-arched cut in the stone. In it, as in a frame, was a young girl looking back with a laughing good-by before she disappeared in the darkness. There was another sketch of the same young woman standing in the graveyard, her hands clasped, her eyes bent thoughtfully on the rows of flat, gray stones at her feet. ** - Vs “A portrait, George?” , “Yes.” He hesitated. “The niece of (fid Sister Banm. She is nothing hut a' child—has JJved her sixteen years in that old house, just as pure as a flower that never felt the oatside air. Did you ever see innocence or unselfishness shine so transparent in any face? Dolly—that is her That is a poor picture enough; the real Dolly, with the shimmer of yellow hair about her face, is fairer than one of Correggio’s Madonnas.” N , I . thought Dplly much less inspired than any ot these virgins, who, surely, were only immaculate from sheer lack of ideas. There were inexhaustible resources of honesty and friendliness and sweet temper in this soft, pink-tinted face. " " “

a Your Dorothea coold bear the outside air,® I suggested. M “ Bhe witt never be tried, I hope,” suddenly shutting the portfolio, with a scowl., “ Surroundings make a life, as a background a picture. This little girl will not leave the Sister House until — until I comeback for her.” He went on to convince m$ and bun self of the wisdom of marrying her. The ordinary run of American girls Were necessarily tainted by the publicity of their training and free manners. The girl ad been reared in a equal to that of a; French convent, etc., etc. The Fannings, mother and son, belonged to that class of Bostonian swho stood on a level above consideration of wealth, conventionality, or even birth. I thought that there was every probability that Dolly’s history, as it Rad begun like a story in a cheap magazine, would end in the same romantic groove. Mrs. Fanning was precisely the woman to in her daughter-jn-law’s picturesque antecedents, more than in a dower of Pennsylvania Central stock, and would go through society making out of Moravians, and old Sisters, and Gemein Houses a halo for this, glorified Madonna. George Fanning had been gone for a ydar, however, when, being on a visit to Bethlehem, I heard mention of an auction sale of some old chairs and, crockery belonging to a Sister Baum* who had died the week before; certain lovers of rococo furniture bewailing an ancient clock which had brought twentyfive cents, and a priceless harpsichord sold for firewood. Dolly* I learned, had been carried off by a cousin living in Pennsylvania, who “ charged herself with the girl’s keep.” She was, they assured me, “ a helpful young woman, a good housekeeper, and the best hand with children!”—which is more than could be predicated on sight Of any pictured Madonna of Southern Europe. Dolly and her fortunes had died out of my remembrance when, a couple of years later, I landed from an old-fashioned stage-coach with a dozen other passengers, late at night, at the door of a pretentious inn in a country town in the Alleghenies. It was raining hard outside; cross women in water-proofs, whining little boys in knickerbockers, lunch-bas-kets, screaming babies in crushed, whiteplumed hats, umbrellas and gaping leather valises were huddled in one damp mass in the whitewashed parlor, a kerosene lamp flaring on the mantle-shelf, and a lady-boarder, with red chignon, calmly playing Twilight Dews” on the piano. Suddenly, enter to Her marvelous hair was not in a frouzy halo, bnt tucked up in a comb. She was ready, bright-eyed, low-voiced ; she wore ah apron with the pocket full of keys. I knew her the mombnt she opened the door. She Went quickly, %ufotty, to one and another." Yes, madam, the rooms are ready. Yes, the fire is burning quite clear. And you are all back already ? Where are the dear children? Let the baby come to Dolly. I shall have time to* *put her to sleep presently. Ah, how wet you are!” loading herself with dripping cloaks and overshoes. “ Come up-stairs at once,"it is so comfortable—it is almost too warm there. I shall bring your supper up my ‘ self as soon as you are dry.” One of the men asked if she were the chambermaid. She might have been the chambermaid —these were all mehial things that she did. Bat she carried quiet and comfort about - With her, and we were wet and shivering. What Polly’s social rank was did nqt matlerfQ p nor her. Fanning had not overdrawn the rarity or fine quality of her beauty. Her eyes were dark and blue, and as full of light as any mediaeval saint’s —but I protest they seemed most beautiful to me when she brought me a cup of hot tea or went tugging up the stairs with the driver’s lame and dirty boy in her arms. George Fanning was of our party; he had come up to the mountains for the tront-fishing. He happened to enter the hall, dripping, in his oil-skin coat* as she came down again, a tray of dishes in her hand. Ido not believe he really ever wo&Id have gone hack to Bethlehem to find his Madonna; t but thi£ was not - the less terrible shock to him. She Reid out one hand eagerly. Many people had been kind to Dolly, and-George Was only one of the many. He hiad'been well? Sh# had been well, and was very comfortable —oh, as comfortable as could be! There was a good deal to do. She had not time to be idle or melancholy—and she went on to see that his chocolate was properly made. • George looked ghastly —nauseated. He went to the other hotel that night, bat said nothing. He was too well-bred to make his moan over his dead illusions for the benefit of the public. One conld not but wish maliciously that he would come back to see “how many tunes, waltzes, dances and lullabies” his musical instrument was giving to the very common world about her. The landlord and his wife had adopted her—she took the part of the daughter of the house. “ Dolly” was known to the public of three counties. Nobody called her a heroine or a mediaeval the public—teamsters, and traders, and tourists—were only so many human befogs whom the modest, friendly girl had fed or cared for when they were hungry or tired. Each man and Woman fancied they alone had discovered how bine and soft was her eye,R6w delicate and gehtle her voice; their thought of the little Moravian was always modest and friendly. .. There was deal of gossip in the inn about ayoung farmer whom Dolly was going to marry, but'George Farming was scared that. Hfl-went up the mountains

the next day through the pelting storm, - “aftertrout,” he said. Two winters later P. T. Baraum brought his traveling museum to Philadelphia. Attached to the show was a hippodrome, in which young girls ran chariot and hurdle races, driving three or four spirited hQrses abreast. George,Fanning took my Roys and their mother to look at the horses and audience, a queer phase of American life. In the midst of a headlong race I heard the little man give a groan and mutter*“Good God! has she fallen to that?” . < , Following, his eye to the arena )L saw Dolly in flowing robes of spangled bine, standing in a gilt ch&riot, driving three horses abreast *t a frightful speed. Her eyes were flashing, her soft cheeks burning; her yellow hafr floated behind her. It was for the moment Moanargesjushing to victory; the next the poor creature had disappeared behind the curtain. With some confused thoughts of the best w»y to" appeal to unrepentant erring ones, £ followed her there when the crowd had dispersed. She Rad taken off her butterfly attire, and in a gray suit and sober bonnet was walking composedly toward her cheap boarding-house, holding a little boy by the hand. She turned on me, beantfog. r-*— lii *« “To think of meeting me! Every day some old friend found her out. It was so pleasant! This was Joe, her boy, and the baby whs at home. A girl—yes. So good to have it a girl. Me was in Nebraska —had gone out to And them a Rome. This riding was a little trick of hers. He had written wonderful bit of ground to be had for S4OO, and Mr. Barnum just then offered fifty dollars a week for chariot drivers. In two months—there was the moneyryou see. Bach a surprise for him 1” All this with flushes . and wet eyes, and a thousand little bursts and thyills of delighted laughter. The appeal to poor lost creatures seemed strangely inappropriate jnst then. Yet George Fanning’s brain.was full of just* such thoughts as he went night after night to watch her drive her horses. What the angels’ thoughts were, keeping record overhead —how can We tell? .Yet they surely would keep watch ovfer .hippodromes and country sons as well as over the saintly seclusion of ancient nunneries or Bister Houses. But Dolly, flashing by, probably never thought of men or angels; she only felt she was doing the natural and right thing for her to do, just as she had felt when she had served the guests with hot tea in the country inn. JShe only saw “ him,” away off in Nebraska, and little Joe, and the baby in its cradle, and plenty of friendly people ajl jiboijt hear. I heard of Dolly's husband the other day. He is a Judge—governor, for aught I know—in Nebraska. “ Hlb wife,’’says my informant, “is a lovely, genuine woman, of singularly quiet, gentle man-, ners. , Husband and children and. the people about her fill up every moment o ' her life.” George Fanning heard the story and said nothing, but I observed hup showing a picture that evening to his; wife of a fa,ded old woman in the Moravian Sister House, and heard him tell her of some instrument of marvelous sweetness that lay buried toe re until it crumbled to pieces—“ died with ail its music in it.” Something in the picture and the story seemed to please his esthetic sensibilities.—Rcribner’a Monthly.