Rensselaer Republican, Volume 14, Number 49, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 24 August 1882 — THE LEVEL CROSSING. [ARTICLE]

THE LEVEL CROSSING.

I don’t mind talking about it now, though the time was [couldn’t speak it without a big lump coming in my tSiroat! We hadn’t been married long, Jane amd I, -when it happened. Jane was a ■trim, bright-eyed slip of a girl as ever you' fl wash to see. and the very first time I ewer set eyes on her I made up ■jqgy mind .to make that girl my wife. So, when the Company raised my wages—l was pointsman at Fairfield Junction, I abon d tell you—l took heart and asked ker if she’d halve them with me, with a •Wedding ring thrown into the bargain. •“Doyon really mean it, Will?” said abe. "I do really mean it, Jane,” said I. •‘''Then,” said she, putting both her .hands in mine, “I’ll trust you. I’ve no Jiving relation to advise with me, so I can only take counsel with my own Jaeart.” So we were married, And everything went smooth until Jane began to object lo my mates at the “Railway Arms,” *ud the Saturday evenings I spent with kny m ates. -“Why, Jane, girl,” said I, “where’s "the harm? A man can’t live by himwelf, like an oyster in its shell, and a social glass never yet harmed anyone.” 1 *‘No,” says Jane, “not a social glass, TWill, but the habit. And if you would only—” •‘■‘Pshaw,” said I. “I’m not a drunkard, and I never mean to be one. And no one likes to be preached to by his wife, Jane. Remember that and you’ll •ave yourself a deal of trouble.” jI .kissed her and went away. But that was the beginning of the little Save shadow that grew on my Jane’s ■?e. It was a sore point between us. I felt that Jane was always watching xne; and I didn’t choose to be put »n leading strings by a woman. So—l shame to say it—l went to the “Railway Arms” oftener than ever; and I ’didn’t always count the glasses of beer that I drank; and once or twice, of a ■particularly cold night, I let myself be persuaded into drinking something stronger than beer! and Jane cried, and I lost my temper; well, I don’t like to Ihink of all these things now. But one afternoon I looked my own life in the face. I made up my mind Shat I had been behaving like a brute. ■* ‘What are those senseless fellows at 'the ‘Railway Arms’ to me?” muttered X “as compared with one of Jane’s sweet bright looks? I’ll give the whole thing up. I’ll draw the line just here And now. We shall be off duty early to-night; Til go home and astonish Jane?’ But, as the night fell, the blinding 'drift of a great storm came with it. The last train was kept later than usual by the snow which collected on the rails, And when it reached the Junction there -was a litLe girl who bad been sent on in the care of the guard, Who must neither wait till morning in the cold and cheerless station, or be taken home Acmes ttye snowy fields by some one who anew the way. % 4 TU take her,’ f said I, and lifting her XI gathered my coarse, warm coat ut- her, and started on the long, * cold v slk along the edge of the xiver. I knew what Jane would be uneasy at any unexplained absence, and made the best of my way home, only to find the afloor was shut and locked. I went

round to tfie back. Hera I effected an entrance, and little Willie, my eldest boy. called out: is that you?” “Where is mamina?” said L , ’ “Gone out with baby to look you,” said ha, “Didn’t you meet her, papa?” I stood a moment inJllence. “Lie still, Willie,” said I, in a that sounded strange and husky even to myself.*, “1 will go and bring her back,” I thought with dismay of the blinding show storm outside, ana—worst of all—the level crossing over which an express shot like a meteor at a few minutes befoie midnight. Oh, heaven! A clock, sounding dim and muffled through the storm, struck eleven as 1 hurried down the hill! As steadily as I could. I hurried onward, but more than once I became bewildered, and, when, at length, I came out close to the line, I knew that I was half a mile below the crossing. And in the distance I heard the long, shrill shriek of the midnight train. Some one else had heard it, too, foi as I stood thus, I saw, faintly visible through the blinding snow, a shadowy figure, looking with a bewildered, uncertain air up and down—the form of Jane, my wife, with the little baby ir her arms! I hurried down to her, and was only just in time to drag her from the place of peril, and stand, breathlessly holding her back, while, the fiery-eyed monster of steam swept by with a rush and a rattle and a roar. “Jane,” 1 cried. “Jane, speak to me'” She turned her wandering gaze toward rue, with eyes that seemed scarcely to recognize me. “Have you seen my husband?” said she. “Jane! little woman, don’t you know me?” I gasped. “Andi thought, perhaps,” she added, vacantly, “you might have met him. It’s very cold here, and—and—” And then she fainted in my arms. The long, long brain fever that followed was a sort of death. There was a time when they told me she would never know me again, but, thank Heaven, she did. She recovered at last And since that night I never have tasted a drop of liquor, and, please Heaven, I never will again. The baby, bless its dear little heart, wasn’t harmed at all. It lay snug and warm on its mother’s breast all the while.