Rensselaer Union and Jasper Republican, Volume 8, Number 32, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 27 April 1876 — WHAT HAPPENED. [ARTICLE]

WHAT HAPPENED.

It was on a tranquil summer evening, just like many that had preceded it, that the Widow Anderson sat at her wheel, spinning flax, just as she had sat on many a summer, autumn, winter and spring evening. All waa stiri; flowers and insects seemed dropping asleep; little birds peeped drowsily in their nests, and the whole world seemed as quiet and steadygoing as the old dock in the corner—when something happened. But this is not the good, old-fashioned, regular way of beginning a story. I will start again. In a little post-town, among the Highlands of Scotland, far away from any great city, there lived, a few years ago, a woman much respected and well-beloved, though of lowly birth and humble fortunes - -one Mrs. Jean Anderson. She had been left a widow, with one son, the youngest and Just of several promising children. She was poor, and her industry and economy were taxed to the utmost to keep herself and son, who was a fine, clever lad, and to give him the education he ardently desired. At the early age of sixteen, Malcom Anderson resolved to seek his fortune in the wide world, and became a sailor. He made several voyages to India and China, and always, like the good boy he was, brought home some useful present to his mother, to whom he gave also a large portion of his earnings. But he never liked a seafaring life, though he grew strong and stalwart in it; and when about nineteen he obtained a humble position in a large mercantile house inCalcutta, where, being shrewd, enterprising and honest, like most of his countrymen, he gradually rose to a place of trurft and importance, and finally to a partnership. As his fortunes improved, his mother’s circumstances were made easier. He remitted money enough to secure the old cottage home, repaired and enlarged, with a garden and lawn; and placed at her command, annually, a sum sufficient to meet all her wants, and to nay the wages of a faithful servant, or rataercomnanion; for the brisk, independent old lacy stoutly refused to be served by any one. Entangled in business cares, Mr. Anderson never found time and freedom for the lons t voyage and*« visit home; till at last, failing health, and the necessity of educating his children, compelled him to abruptly wind up his affairs, and return to Scotland. He was then a man somewhat over forty, but looking far older than his years, showing all the usual ill effects or the trying climate oi 1 [ndia. His complexion was a wallow brown; he was gray and somewhat bald, with herb and there a dash of White in his dark auburn beard; he wm thin and a little bent, but his youthfol smile remained foil of quiet drollery, and hi* W not lost itß oltl glerfol sparkle, by poring over ledgers * nt Ht biut marrimi a country-woman, the daughter of a bcotch surgeon; had two . children, a and a daughter He did not write to hi* a<»d mother that he was coming homo, as lit wished to surprise ■HMriier memory of her sailor

’ * town Putting np al the little inn, he proceeded to areas hlmaelf in a suit of sailor cloth*, and then walked out alone. By a by-path he well knew, and then through a shady lane , dear to his young, haae|-nutting days, all strangely unchanged, he approached his mother's cottage. He stopped for a few momenta on the lawn outside, to curb down the heart that was bounding to meet that mother, and to clear bis eyes of a sudden mist of happy tears. Through the open window he caught a glimpse of her sitting alone at her spinning-wheel, as in the old time. But alas, how changed! Bowed was the dear form, once so erect, and silvered the locks once so brown, and dimmed the eyes once so frill of tender brightness, like dew-stained violets. But the vo:ce, with which she was crooning softly to herself, was still sweet, and there was on her cheek the same lovely peachbloom of twenty years ago. At length he knocked, and the dear remembered voice called to him in the sim pie, old-fashioned way: “ Coom ben!” (Come in). The widow rose at sight of a stranger, and courteously offered him a chair. Thanking her in an assumed voice, somewhat gruff, he sank down, as though wearied, saying that he was a wayfarer, strange to the country, and asking the way to the next town. The twilight favored him in his little ruse; he saw that she did not recognize him, even as one she had ever seen. But after giv ing him the information he desired, she asked him if he was a Scotchman by birth. “ Yes, madam,” he replied; “ but I have been away in foreign parts many years. 1 doubt if my own mother would know me now, though she was very fond of me before I went to sea." ‘‘Ah, mon! it’s little ye ken aboot mithers, gin ye think sae. I can tell ye there is no iqortal memory like theirs,” the widow somewhat warmly replied; then added: “And where hae ye been for sae lang a time that ye hae lost a’ the Scotch fra your speech?" t “In India—in Calcutta, madam.” “ Ah, then it’s likely ye ken something o’ my son, Mr. Malcom Anderson.” “Anderson?” repeated the visitor, as though striving to remember. “There be many of that name in Calcutta; but is your son a rich merchant, and a man about my age and size, with something such a figure-head ?” “ My son is a rich merchant,” replied the widow,., proudly, “ but he is younger than you by many a long year, ana, begging your pardon, sir, far bonnier. He is tall and straight, wi’ hands and feet like a lassie’s; he had brown, curling hair, sae thick and glossy! and cheeks like the rose, and a brow like the snaw, and big blue een, wi’ a glint in them like the light of the evening star! Na, na, ye are no like my Malcom, though ye are a guic enough body, I dinna doubt, and a decent woman’s son.”

Here the masquerading merchant, eonsiaerably taken down, made a movement as though to leave, but the hospitable dame stayed him, saying: “Gin ye hae traveled a’ the way fra India, ye maun be tired and hungiy. Bide a bit, and eat and drink wi’ us. Margdry! come down, and let us set on the supper.” The two women soon provided quite a tempting repast, and they all three sat down to it—Mrs. Anderson reverently asking a blessing. But the merchant could not eat. He was only hungry for his mother’s kisses—only thirsty for her joyful recognition; yet he could not bring himself to say to her — ,f I am yourson." He asked himself, half grieved,' half amused—“ Where are the unerring, natural instincts I have read about in poetry and novels?" His hostess seeing he did not eat, kindly asked if he could suggest anything he would be likely to relish. “I thank you, madam,” he answered; “it does seem to me that I should like some oatmeal porridge, such as my mother used to make, if so be you have any.” “Porridge?” repeated the widow. “Ah, ye mean parritch. Yes, we hae a little left frae our dinner. Gie it to him, Margery. But, mon, it is canid.” “Never mind; I know I shall like it.” he rejoined, taking the bowl, and beginning to stir the porridge with his spoon. As he did so, Mrs. Anderson gave a slight start, and bent eagerly toward him. Then she sank back in her chair with a sigh, saying in answer to his questioning look “Ye minded me o’ my Malcom, then —just in that way he used to stir his parritch—gieing it a whirl and a flirt. Ah! gin’ ye were niy Malcom, my poor laddie!” “ Weel then, gin I were your Malcom,” said the merchant, speaking for the first time in the Scottish dialect, and in his own voice; “ or gin you braw young Malcom were as brown, and bald, and gray, and bent and old, as I am, could you welcome him to your arms, and love him as in the dear auld lang syne? Could you, mitlier?”

All through this touching little speech the widow’s eyes had been glistening, and her breath coming fast; but at that word ” thither,” she sprang up with a glad cry, and tottering to her son, fell almost fainting on his breast. He kissed her again and again—kissed her brow, and her lips, and her hands, while the big tears slid down bis bronzed cheeks; while she clung about his neck and called him by all the dear old pet names, and tried to see in him all the dear old young looks. By and by they came back—<}r the ghosts of them came back. The form in her embrace grew cornel ier ; love and joy gave to it a second youth, stately and gracious; the first she then and there buried deep in her heart—a sweet, beautiful, peculiar memory. It was a moment of solemn renunciation, in which she gave up the fond maternal illusion she had cherished so long. Then looking up steadily into the face of the middle aged man, who had taken its place, she asked, “ Where hae ye left the wife and bairns?” , “At the inn, mother. Have you room for us all at the cottage ?” “ Indeed I have—twa good spare rooms wi’ large closets, weel stocked wi’ linin’, Thaebeen spinning or weaving a’ these lang years for ye baith, and the weans.” “Well, mother dear, now you must' rest,” rejoined the merchant tenderly. “ Na, na, I dinna cate to rest till ye lay me down to tak’ my lang rest. There’ll be time enough between that day and the resurrection to fauld my hands in idleness. New ’twquld be unco irksome. But go, my son, and bring me the wife—l hope I shall like her; and the bairns—l hope they will like me.” I have only to say, that both the good woman’s hopes were realized. A very happy family knelt down in prayer that night, and many nights after, in the widow’s cottage, whose climbing roses and woodbine were but outward signs and types of the sweetness and blessedness of the love and peace within.— Grace wood, in Chrittian Standard.

Wallace & Sons, of Ansonia, Conn., occasionally astonish the people by producing a magnet capable of lifting a locomotive from the track. The last one made has a lifting capacity of 30,000 poupds. .One is now in process of construction which will surpass all preceding ones. Humor has it that it is intended for the Centennial Exhibition.— American Manufacturer. » Cuanbkhry Roll.—Stew v quart of cranberries in sufficient water to keep them from burning. Make.it very sweet, strain and cool. Makena paste, and when the cranberry is cold, spread it on the paste about an inch , thick, roll it, tie it close tn a flannel cloth, boil two hours, and serve with a sweet sauce.