Rensselaer Republican, Volume 26, Number 43, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 21 June 1894 — Page 2

SHIPS THAT PASS IN THE NIGHT.

“Ships that pass In the night, and speak each ! other in passing. Only a signal shewn, and a distant voice in the darkness: So, on. the ocean of life we pass and speak one another. Only a look and a voice, then darkness again A NEW-COMER. “Yes, indeed,” remarked one of the guests at the English table, “yes, indeed, we start life thinking that we shall build a great cathedral, a crowning glory to architecture,, and we end by contriving a mud hut." “I am glad you think so well of human nature,” said the Disagreeable Man, suddenly looking up from I the paper which he always read dur- I iug mealtime. 'Tshouldbeinore | inclined to say that we end by being i content to dig a hole, and get into it, like the earth men.” A silence followed these words; ; the English community at that end of the table was struck with aston-; ishment at hearing the Disagreeable! Man.speak. The few sentences he i had spoken during the last four, years at Petershof were on record;] this was decidedly the longest on ; record. “He is going to speak again,”, whispered beautiful Mrs. Reffold to her neighbor. The Disagreeable Man 1 once more looked up from his newspaper. “Please pass me the Yorkshire relish,” he said in his rough way to a girl sitting next to him. The spell wjis-broken, .and the conversation started afrqsh. But the girl who had passed the Yorkshire relish sat silent and listless, her food untouched and her wine untasted. She was small and thin; her face locked haggard. She was a new-comer, and had, indeed, arrived at Petershof only two hours before the table-d’hote bell rang. But there did not seem to be any nervous shrinking in her manner, nor any shyness at having to face the two hundred and fifty guests of the Kurhaus. She seemed rather to be unaware of their presence; or, if aware of, certainly indifferent to, the scrutinyto which she was being She was recalled to reality by the voice of the Disagreeable Man. She did not hear what he said, but she mechanically stretched out her hand and passed him the mustard pot. “Is that what you asked for?” she said, half dreamily, “or was it the water bottle?” “You are rather deaf, x should think,” said the Disagreeable Man placidly. “I only remarked that it was a pitv you were not eating your dinner. Perhaps the scrutiny of the two hundred guests in this civilized place is a vexation to you.” “I did not know they wore scrutinizing,” she answered, “and even if they are, what does it matter to me? J am sure I am quite too tired to care.” “Why have come here?” asked the Disagreeable Man, suddenly. “Probably for the same reason as yourself,” she said, “to get better or well.” “You won’t get better,” he answered cruelly; “I know your type ■well; you burn yourselves out quickly. And —my God! —how I envy you!” “So you have pronounced my doom,” she said, looking at him intently. Then she laughed; but there was no merriment in the laughter. “Listen,” she said, as she bent nearer to him; “because you are hopeless, it does not follow that you should try to make others hopeless, too. You have drunk deep of the hand the cup on to others is the part of a coward." She walked past the English table, and the Polish table, and so out of the Kurhaus dining hall. CHAPTER 11. CONTAINS A FEW DETAILS. In an old second-hand bookshop in London an old man sat reading Gibbon’s “History of Rome”. He did not put down his Ipok when the postman brought in a letter. He just glanced indifferently al the letter and impatiently at the postman. Zerviah Holme did not like to be interrupted when be was reading Gibbon; and as he was always reading Gibbon, an interruption was always regarded by’ him as an insult. About two hours afterward he opened the letter and learnt that his niece, Bernardine, had arrived safely in Petershof, and that she intended to get better and come home strong. He tore up the letter and instinctively turned to the photograph on the mantelpiece. It was the picture of a face young and yet old, sad and yet with possibilities of merriment, thin and drawn and almost wrinkled, and with piercing eyes which, even in the dull lifelessness of the photograph. seemed to be burning themselves away. Not a pleasing or a good face, yet intensely pathetic because of its undisguised harassment. Zerviah looked at It for a moment. “She has never been much to either of us,” he said to himself. “And yet when Malvina was alive I used to think that she was hard on Bernardino. I believe I said so once or twice. But Malvina had her own way of looking at things. Well, that Is over now.” > He then, with characteristic speed, dismissed all thoughts, that did not relate to Boman history; and the remembrance of Malvina, his wife,

BY BEATRICE HARRADEN.

PART I.—CHAPTER I.

land Bernardine, bis niece, took up] an accustomed position in the background of his mind. Bernardine had suffered a cheerless childhood in which dolls and toys took no leading part. She had no affection to bestow on any doll, nor any woolly lamb, nor apparently on any human berson; unless, per-, haps, there was the possibility of a friendly inclination toward Uncle. Zerviah, who would not have understood the value of any deeper feeling and did not therefore call the child cold* hearted and unresponsive, as lie might have done. This she certainly was, judged by I the standard of other children; but j then nosofteninginfluences had been lat work during her tenderest years.,, I Aunt Malvina knew as much about ' sympathy as she did about the prop-; I erties of an ellipse, and even the ] fairies had failed to win little Bern- : ardine. At first they tried with loving patience what they mightdo for her; they came out of their books, and danced and sang for her, and whispered sweet stories to her, at | twilight, the fairies’ own time. But 1 she. would have none of them, for all j their gentle persuasion. So they . gave up trying to please her and ' left her, as they had found her, love.less. What can be said of a childhood which even the fairies had failed to touch with the warm glow of affection? Such.a littlerestless spirit, striving to express itself now in this direction, now in that; yet always actuated by the same constant force, the desire for work. Bernardine seemed to have no special wish to be useful to others; she seemed just to. have a natural tendency to work, •even as others have a natural tendency to play. She was always in earnest; life for little Bernardine meant something serious. Then the yearswent by. She grew up and filled her life with many interests and ambitions. She was' at least a worker, if nothing else; she hud always been a diligent scholar, and now she took her place as an 1 able teacher. She was self-reliant, I and, perhaps, somewhat conceited. But, at least, Bernardine the young woman, had learnt something which Bernardine the young child had not been able to learn; she learpt how to smile. It took her about six and twenty years to learn; still some people take longer than* that; in fact, many never learn. This is a brief summary of Bernardine Holme’s past. Then one day, when she was in full swing of her many occupations: teaching, writing articles for newspapers. attending socialistic meetings and taking part in political discussions—-she was essentially a ] “modern product,” this Bernardine —one day she" fell ill., She lingered in London for some time and then she went Petershof.

CHAPTER 111. MRS. REFFOLD LEARNS HER LESSON. Petershof was a winter resort for consumptive patients, though, inindeed many people who simply needed the change of a bracing climate went there to spend a few months and came away wonderfully better for the mountain air. This is what Barnardine Holme hoped to do; she was broken down in every way, but it was thought that a prolonged stay in Petershof might help her back to a reasonable amount of health, or, at least, prevent her from slipping into further decline. She had come alone, because she had no relations except that old uncle, and no money to pay any friend who might have been willing to come with her. But she probably cared very little, and the morning after her arrival, she strolled out by herself, investigating the place where she was about to spend six months. She was dragging hbrself along, when she met the Disagreeable Man. She stopped him. He was not accustomed to be stopped by anyone, and he looked rather astonished. “You were not very cheering last night," she said to him. “I believe I am not generally considered to be lively,’’ Ite answered, as he knocked the snow off his boot. “Still, I am sorry I spoke to you as I did,” she went on frankly. ‘Mt was foolish of me to mind what you said." He made no reference to his own remark, and was passing on his way again, when he turned back and walked with her. “1 have been here nearly seven years,” he*said, and there was a ring of sadness in his voice as he spoke, which he immediately corrected. “If you want to know anything about the place, I can tell you. If you are able to walk, I can show you some lovely spots, where you will not bO bothered with people. I i can take you to a snow fairy-land. If you are sad and disappointed, you will find shining comfort there. It is not all sadness in Petershof. In the silent snow forests, if you dig the snow away, you will find the tiny butis nestling in their white nursery. If the sun does not dazzle your eyes, you may al ways see the great mountains piercing the sky. These wonders have been a happiness to me. You are not too ill but that they may be a happiness to you also." “Nothing can be much of a happiness to me,” she said, half to herself, and her lips quivered. “I have bad to give up so much; all my work, all my ambitions.” J■'' '■ ' ; T

■ ■ —v ■■**"*- 1 . —. “You are not the only one who has had to do that,” he said sharply. “Why make a fuss? Things arrange themselves, and eventually we adjust ourselves to the new arrangement. A great deal of caring and grieving, phaseone: still more caring and gr ieving, phase two; less caring and grieving, phase three; no furth- [ er feeling whatsoever, phase four. Mercifully lam at phase four. You are at phase one. Make a quick journey over the stages.” He turned and left her, and she strolled along, thinking of his words, wondering how long it would take her to ar rive at his ind iffere nce. She had always looked upon -indifference as paralysis of the soul, and paralysis meant death. Nay, worse than death. And here was this man who had obviously suffered both mentally and physically, telling her that the only sensible course was to learn not to care? All her life long she had studied and worked and cultivated herself in every direction in the hope of being able to take a high place in literature, or. in any case, to do something in life distinctly better than what other-people did. When everything was coming near to her grasp, when there seemed a fair chance of realizing her ambitions, she had suddenly fallen ill, broken up so entirely in every wa'y, that those who knew her when she was well, could scarcely recognize her now that she was ill. The doctors spoke of an overstrained nervous system; the pestilence of these modern days; they spoke of rest, change of work and scene, bracing air. She might regain her vitality; she might not. Those who had played themselves out must pay the penalty. She was chinking of her history, nitying herself profoundly, coming to the conclusion, after true human fashion, that she was the worst used person on earth, and. that no one but herself knew what disappointed ambitions were; she was thinking of al! this, and looking profoundly miserable and martyrlike, when some one called her by her name. She looked around and saw one of the English ladies belonging to the Kurhaus; Bernardine had noticed her the previous night. She seemed in capital spirits, and had three or four admirers waiting on her very words. She was a tall, handsome woman, dressed in a superb fur-trimmed cloak, a woman of splendid bearing and address. Bernardine looked a contemptible little piece of humanity beside her. Some such impression conveyed itself to the two men who were walking with Mrs. Reffold. They looked at the one woman, and then jjt the other, and smiled at each other, as men do smile on such occasions. “I am going to speak to this little thing.” Mrs. Refforld had said to her two companions before they came near Bernardine. “I must find out who she is, and where she comes from. And, -fancy, she has come quite alone. I have inquired. How hopelessly out of fashion she dresses. 2 And what a hat!” “I should not take the trouble to speak to her,” said one of the men. “She may fasten herself on you. You know what a bore that is.” “Oh, I can easily snub any one if I wish,” replied Mrs. Reffold, rather disdainfully. So she hastened up to Bernardine, and held out her well-gloved hand. “I had not a chance of speaking to you last night, Miss Holme,” she said. “You retired so early. I hope you have rested after your journey, you seemed quite worn out.” “Thank you,” said Bernardine, looking admiringly at the beautiful woman, and envying her, just as all plain women envy their handsome sisters. “You are not alone, I suppose?” continued Mrs. Reffold. “Yes, quite alone,” answered Bernardine. —, “But you are evidently acquainted with Mr. Allitsen, your neighbor at table,” said Mrs. Reffold; “so you I will not feel quite lonely here. It is a great advantage to have a friend ] at a place like this.” | “I never saw him before last night,” said Bernardine. “Is it possible?" said Mrs. Reffold. in her pleasantest voice. “Then you have made a triumph of the Disagreeable Man. He very rarely deigns to talk with any of us. He does not even appear to see us. He sits quietly and reads. It would be interesting to hear what his conversation is like. I should be quite amused to know what you did talk about.” “I dare say you would,” said Bernardine quietly. Then Mrs. Reffold, wishing to screen her inquisitiveness, plunged into a description of Petershof life, speaking enthusiastically about everything, except, the scenery which she did not mention. After a time she ventured to begin once more taking soundings. But somehow or other, those bright eyes of Bernardine, which looked at her so searchingly, made her a little nervous, and, perhaps, a little indiscreet. “Your father will miss you," she said tentatively. “I should think probably not," answered Bernardine, “One is not easily missed, you know." There was a twinkle in Bernardino’s eye as added: “He is probably occupied with other things." “What is your father?” asked Mrs. Reffold, in her most coaxing tones. “I don’t know what he is now," answered Bernardine placidly. “But he was a genius. He is dead.” Mrs. Reffold gave a slight start, for she began to feel that this insignificant little person was making fun of her. This would never do, and before witnesses, too. So she gath-

ered together her best resources and said: “Dear me, how very unfortunate; a genius too. Death is indeed cruel. And here one sees so much of it, that unless one learns to steel cue’s heart, one becomes melancholy. Ah. it is indeed sad to see all this suffering!” (Mrs, Refford herself had quite succeeded in steeling her heart against her own invalid husband.) She then gave an accoun tof several bad cases of consumption, not forgetting to mention two instances of suicide which had lately taken place in Petershof. “One gentleman was a Russian sKeZSaiaL’ZlTancyZlCpming all the way. from Russia to this little out-of-the-world place! But people come from the uttermost ends of the earth, though of course there are many Londoners here. I suppose you are from London?” “I am not living in London now,” said Bernardine cautiously. “But you know it, without doubt,” continued Mrs. Reffold. “There are several Kensington people here. You may meet some friends; indeed in our hotel there are two or three families from Lexham Gardens.” Bernardine smiled a little viciously; looked first at Mrs. Reffold’s two companions with an amused sortof indulgence, and then at the lady herself. She paused a moment and then sai d: ‘ 1 “Have you asked all the questions you wished to ask? And, if so, may I ask one of you? Where does one get the best tea?" Mrs. Reffold gave an inward gasp, but pointed gracefully to a small confectionery shop on the other side of the road. Mrs. Reffold did everything graces ally. Bernardine thanked her, crossed the road and passed into the shop. “Now I have taught her a lesson not to interfere with me,” said Bernardine to herself. “How beautiful she is!” Mrs. Reffold and her two companions went silently on their way. At last the silence was broken. “Well. I’m blest,” said the taller of the two, lighting a cigar. “So am I," said the other, lighting his cigar, too. “Those are precisely my own feelings,” remarked Mrs. Reffold. But she had learned her lesson.

CHAPTER IV. CONCERNING WARLI AMD MARIE. Warli, the little hunchback postman, a cheery soul, came whistling up the Kurhaus stairs, carrying with him that precious parcel of registered letters, which gave him the position of being the most important person in Petershof. He was a linguist, too. was Warli, and could speak broken English in a most fascinating way, agreeable to every one, but intelligible only to himself. Well, he came whistling up the stairs, when heheard Marie’s blithe voice humming her favorite spinning song. “Ei, ei,".he said to himself; “Marie is in a good temper to-day. I will give her a call as I pass.” Marie heard a knock, and, looking up from her work, saw Warli. “Good day, Warli," she said, glancing hurriedly at a tiny broken mirror suspended on the wall. “I suppose you have a letter for me. How delightful!” “Never mind about the letter just now," he said, waving, his hand as though wishing to dismiss the subject. “How nice to hear you singing so sweetlv! Dear me, in the old days at Grusch, how often I have heard that song of the spinning wheels. You have forgotten the old 'days, Marie, though you remember the song." “Give me my letter, Warli, and go about your work,” said Marie, pretending to be impatient. But all the same her eyes looked extremely friendly. There was something very winning about the-hunchback’s face. “Ah, ah! Marie,” he said, shaking his curly head, “I know how it is with you; you only like people in fine binding. They have not al ways'fine hearts.” “What nonsense you talk, Warli!” said Marie. “There, just hand me the oil can. You can fill this lamp for me. ’ Not too full, you goose! And this one also; ah, you’re letting the oil trickle down! Why, you’re not fit for anything except carrying letters! Here, give me my letter.” “What pretty flowers,” said Warli. “Novy if there is one thing 1 do like, it is a flower. Can you spare me one, Marie? Put one in my buttonhole, do!” “You are a nuisance this afternoon,” said Marie, smiling and pinning a flower on Warli’s blue coat. Just then a bell rang violently. “Those Portuguese ladies will drive me quite mad,” said Marie. “They always ring just when I am enjoying myself.” “When you are enjoying yourself!” said Warli triumphantly. “Of course.” returned Marie; “I always do enjoy cleaning the oil lamps; I always did." “Ah, I’d forgotten the oil lamps.” “And so had I,” laughed Marie. “Na, na, there goes that bell again! Won’t they be angry! Won’t they scold at me! Here, Warli, give me my letter, and I’ll be off.” “I never told you T had any letter for you,” remarked Warli. “It was entirely you own idea. Good afternoon, Fraulein Marie." The Portuguese ladies’ bell rang again, still more passionately this time;' but Marie did not seem to hear nor care. She wished to be revenged on that impudent postman. t She went to the top of the stairs and called after Warli in her most coaxing tones: r. “Do step down one moment; 1 want to show you something."

“I must deliver the registerered letters,” said Warli, with official haughtiness. “1 have already wasted too much of my time.” “Won't you waste a few more minutes on me?” pleaded Marie, pathetically. “It is not often I see you now." Warli came down again, looking very happy. “I want to show you such a beautiful photograph I’ve had taken," said Marie. “Ach, it is beautiful!” “You must give one to me,” said Warli, eagerly. “Oh, I can’t do that,” replied Marie, as she opened the" drawer and took out a small packet. “It was a present to me from the Polish gentleman himself. Hesawme the other day here in the pantry. I was so tired and I had fallen asleep, with my broom, just as you see me here. So he made a photograph of me. He admires me very much. Isn’t it nice? and isn’t the Polish gentleman clever? and isn’t it nice to have so much attention paid to one? Oh, there’s that horrid bell again! Good afternoon, Herr Warli. That is all I have to say to you, thank you.” Warli’s feelings toward the Polish gentleman were not of the friendliest that day. (TO DE CONTINUED.)

MISCELLANEOUS NOTES. Tuberoses came from Ceylon to Europe in lfe(). Trumpet flowers grew wild in all North America. An anti cigarette league is being formed in New York. Smooth taper fingers are generally in the highest degree artistic. The aggregate copies of American papers issued in 1880 were 2,077,650,675. In the space of one minute the polypus can change its form one hundred times. .. . . .. • Drummers are said to spend $175,000,000 in railroad traveling in this country every year. The fitness of things is happily illustrated in the name of Mr. Chinook Whiskers, of Oregon; In Chinese the letter “i” has 145 ways of being pronounced, and each pronunciation has a different meaning. Last year no fewer than 2,378 children were taken up drunk in Liverpool, 113 being under ten years of age. Near New Orleans a woman acted the part of a highwayman and secured S2OO from two travelers at the point of a pistol. The harbor of Rio de Janeiro is one of the finest on the globe. It has fifty miles of anchorage,sufficient to float the navies of the world. A party of Princeton College students will visit the lands near Chadron, Neb., this summer, for the purpose of searching for petrifactions.

Too Aristocratic.

Chicago. Tribune. A man with a serious countenance went into an 8-cent lodginghouseon West Madison street, Thursday night. He deposited a nickel, a 2cent stamp, and a penny on the counter and said: “Your rates are reasonable enough if your accommodations are good. Has my room a south window?” “It hasn’t any window " “Well, well; that’s bad; I suppose though that the transom admits plenty of air?” “It hasn’t a transom." “No transom? I do hope it has the incandescent light instead ol gas. I despise gas.” “So do I, and you’re giving me too much of it,” said the clerk. “Why don’t you go to your stall and put your jaw to bed?” “I will go to my couch in good time,” rejoined the guest, with dignity. “I want to know how the room I am to occupy is furnished. Does it contain a desk that I may attend to my correspondence? Does the carpet harmonize with the wall paper? Does —” “See here, partner,” cried the clerk, handing over the nickel and postage stamp, and pennv, “there’s a ten-cent lodging house across the street. Go over there and perhaps they'll give you electric bells and scented soap and send your breakfast to your room in the morning. Your blood is a trifle too aristocratic for an eight-cent house. Citi” He got.

Ram’s Horn Wrinkles.

A lost opportunity never finds its way back. Crooked steps are the most apt to be noticed. Death only changes the surroundings, not the eternity. Most people believe in the total depravity of somebody else. A drop of dew tries to do God’s will as hard as a thunderstorm. Too many Christians pay the Lord in promises, and the devil in spot cash. Philosophy may keep a man from doing wrong, but it cannot make him better. Keeping right with God is the surest way ever yet discovered ol keeping bread in the house. There is no promise in the Bible for the man who wants to eat bread without earning it. If all the devils were cast out ol some folks, there wouldn’t be hardly enough left to look at. Begin the day with a Bible promise in your heart, and you will still be rich if the bank breaks. It often looks as though the devil’s first choice of places in the church is to bo on the music committee.

A VEXED QUESTION.

The Company Could Not Agree as to the Cause of DeathNew York Herald. I “I once knevfr a man who could' drink a quart bottle of whisky of an evening and turn up for business next day with a head as clear as a bell,” said the gentleman who was drinking Apollinaris water- “He used to tell a good many famous stories of how he put old-timers under the table. He was a mighty good fellow. Yes, ” added the man m usingly “he’s dead.” “It killed him, of course,” said the man who was drinking beer. “No, he dried of dropsy. They tapped him seven times?" ‘Most men drink too much water with their whisky,” observed the man who was pouring out his fourth drink of red-eye. “A real good article of whisky should be drunk straight. There was a fellow in my = wtonosDd : whisky was like a sensitive flower, apt to be killed with too much watering. He would take from ten to twenty drinks a day and al ways be clear. Never seemed to hurt him a bit.” “He had never been to Coney island,” said, the man who took his in the shape of brandy and soda. “No—he lived and died in Chicago." After a pause, during which somebody called for another round: “Died of pneumonia. He fell in the Chicago river one night and caught cold;his system wasn’t accustomed to water, and it killed him.” “The best friend 1 ever had,” said the beer drinker, was one of the richest brewers in Milwaukee, and his motto was ‘Beer.” He was one of those fat, round, jolly men who could empty an eighth keg at a sitting— I’ve seen him do it many a time, on my sacred honor —and he always said to me “My boy, stick to beer —beer never hurt anybody.’ And I’ve stuck to it.” “Where is he now? Dead?” sarcastically inquired the two whisky drinkers in the same breath, “Died of kidney trouble, I’ll bet the drinks," spoke up the appolinaris water man. “No he didn’t. His pet dog bit him on the finger one day, and a week later he went into convulsions at the sight of a pump. It was hydrophobia.” “Gentlemen, you’ll please excuse me,” said the man who had been sipping mineral water. “I don’t believe I’ll drink anv more to-day. I don’t feel very well, anyhow.”

Astor’s London Newspapcr.

Tom Ochiltree in Washington Post. “Mr. Astor, who has literary tastes, inquired in a casual manner whether any first-class paper was for sale. ‘I want the best there is in the market,’ said Mr. Astor, ‘and I want it quick, too.’ “ ‘The Pall Mall Gazette,’ said the attorney, ‘can be purchased, but’the price is enormous.’ ‘Never mind the price, but go and buy it for me.’ The bargain was struck the same evening. The next morning Mr. Astor sent for several unemployed dukes, earls, marquises and viscounts and offered them jobs as editors and reporters on his paper. They said their prices would be necessarily high owing to their social positions. “Expense cuts no figure with me,’ said Mr. Astor. ‘My object is purely a philanthropic one, which is to relieve the suffering and distress among the nobility of England.’ His managing editor wears a coronet as he uses the blue pencil. His police reporter is a descendant of a family which came over with Billy the Conqueror. The society reporter when off on nis vacation lives in a baronial castle in Yorkshire. No such Staff : is found on any other paper on the globe. When Mr. Astor gets up in the morning and rings for coffee and toast his managing editor is waiting outside the door to receive orders for the day. A tap of his bell summons three earls and a marquis. He tried to get a countess for the ladv cashier of the business office, and was much disappointed at failing to do so, but expects before the season is over to complete a transaction with a dowager duchess, who will lick postage stamps and add dignity to the downstairs depratment of the paper.”

Long Branch has been a summer resort for 116 years. A Philadelphian in 1778 engaged summer boarding for himself and family at the Colonel White House, Long Branch, Upon condition that he provided his own bedding. He provided not only bedding but me it as well, because the landlady could furnish only fish and vegetables. The property in question, including 100 acres, was sold in 1790 for S7OO, and $2,000 having been spent in improvements, a regular summer resort was opened. Two years later the visitors at the place saw the battle between the English frigate Boston and the French frigate Ambuscade, To engrave or write on colored eggs is a very simple tfick. A pen or pointed piece of steel or iron and any kind of thin varnish that will dry quickly are the only articles required. When the tracing on the' egg is finished let the varnish become dry. Then place the egg so treated in a dish containing vinegar, a ten minute’s bath is about all that is necessary to bring out the writing. The Chan-Santa-Cruz Indians in Yucatan have never been conquered. No white man has ever seen their city, which is defended by a swamp.