Rensselaer Republican, Volume 26, Number 51, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 16 August 1894 — Page 2

SHIPS THAT PASS IN THE NIGHT.

PART L—CHAPTER XVII- Continued.

“May I ask one little question of you. which shall conclude this interesting subject," he said, ‘‘since we are already at the Gasthaus? To which type of learned woman do you lay claim to belong?" Bernardine laughed. “That l leave to your own powers of discrimination," she said, and then added, “if you have any." 1 And that was the end of the matter, for the word spread about that Herr Allitsen had arrived, and every one turned out to give the two guests greeting. Frau Steinhart smothered Bernardine with motherly tenderness, and whispered in her ear: “You are betrothed now. iiebes Fraulein? Ach, lam sure of it." But Bernardine smiled and shook her head, and went to greet the others who crowded around them: and at last poor Catharina drew near too, holding Bernardine’s hand lovingly within her own. Then Hans, Liza’s lover, came upon the scene, and Liza told the Disagreeable Man that she and Hans were to be married in a month’s time. And the Disagreeable Man, much to Bernardine’s amazement, drew from his pocket a small parcel, which he confided to Liza i s care. Every one pressed round her while she opened it, and found what she had often wished for, a silver watch and chain. “Ach,” she cried, “how heavenly! How all the girls here will envy me! How angry my dear friend Susanna will be!” Then there were photographs to be examined. Liza looked with stubborn disapproval on the pictures of herself in her working-dress. But she did not conceal her admiration of the portraits which showed her to the world in her best finery. *‘Ach!” she cried, “this is something like a photograph!” The Disagreeable Man grunted, but behaved after the fashion of a hero, claiming, however, a little silent sympathy from Bernardine. It was a pleasant, homely scene: and Bernardine, who felt quite at ease amongst these people chattered away with them as though she had known them all her life. Then Frau Steinhart suddenly remembered that her guests needed some food, and Liza was dispatched to her duties as cook; though it was some time before she could be induced to leave off looking at the photographs^— —--— . “Take them with you. Liza," said the Disagreeable Man. “Then we shall get our meal all the quicker.” She ran off laughing, and finally Bernardine found herself alone with Catharina. “Liza is very happy," she said to Bernardine. “She loves and is loved.” “That is the greatest happiness," Bernardine said half to herself. “Fraulein knows?” Catharina asked eagerly. Bernardine looked wistfully at her

companion. 1 — “No, Catherina," she said. “I have only heard and read and seen. " ‘'Then you cannot understand." Catharina said almost proudly. “But I understand.” She spoke no more after that, but took up her knitting, and watched Bernardine playing with the kittens. She was playing with the kittens, and she was thinking: and all the time she felt conscious that this peasant woman, stricken in mind and body, was pitying her because that great happiness of loving and being loved had not come into her life. It had seemed something apart from her; she had never even wanted it. She had wished to stand alone, like a littterock out at sea. And now? In a few minutes the Disagreeable Man and she sat down to their meal. In spite of her excitement, Liza managed to prepare everything nicely; though when she was making the omelette aux fines herbes, she had to be kept guarded lest she might run off to have another look at the silver whtch and the photographs of herself in her finest frock! Then Bernardine and Robert Allitsen drank to the health of Hans and Liza: and then came the time of reckoning. When he was paying the bill, Frau Steinhart, having given him the change, said coaxingly: 1 “Last time you and Fraulein each paid a share: to-day you pay ail. Then perhaps you are betrothed at last, dear Herr Allitsen? Ach, how the old Hausfrau wishes you happiness! Who deserves to be happy, if it is not our dear Herr Allitsen?” “You have given me twenty centimes too much," he said quietly. “You have your head so full of other things that you reckon properly." But seeing that she looked t roubled lest she might have offended him, he added, quickly: “When I am betrothed, good little old house-mother, you shall be the first to know." And she had to be content*, with that. She asked no more questions of either of them; but she was terribly disappointed. There was something a little comical in her disappointment; but Robert Allitsen was not amused at it, as he had been on a former occasion, As he leaned back in the sledge, with the same girl for his companion, he recalled his feelings. He had been astonished and amused, and perhaps a little shy, and a great deal re

BY BEATRICE HARRADEN.

lieved that she had been sensible enough to be amused too. And now. They had been constantly together for many months; he who had never cared, before for her companion ship had found himself turning more and more to her. Arid now he was going to lose her. He looked up once or twice to make sure that she was still by his side, she sat there so quietly. At last be spoke in his usual gruff way: “Have you exhausted all your ! eloquence in your oration about learned women?" he asked. “No. 1 am reserving it for a better audience." she answered, trying to be bright. But - she was not bright. “I believe you came out to the country to-day Io seek for cheerful ness,” he said after a pause. “Have you found it?" “I do not. know," she said. “It takes me some time to recover from shocks, and Mr. Reffold's death was a sorrow to me. What do you think about death? Have you any theories about life and death and the bridge between them? Can you say anything to help one?" “Nothing.” he answered. “Who could? And by what means?" “Has there been no value in philosophy?" she asked, “and the meditations of learned men?" “Philosophy!” he sneered. “What has it done for us? It has taught us some processes of the mind’s working; taught us a few wonderful things which interest the few; but the centuries have come and gone, and the only thing which the whole human race pants to know remains unknown; ourh’eloved ones, shall we meet them, and how?—the great secret of the universe. We ask for bread and these philosophers give us stone. What help could come from thenu or from any one? Death is sTmpTy ohe of tlfe hard facts of life. ” “And the greatest evil," she said. “We weave our romances about the next world," he continued, “and any one who has a fresh romance to relate, or an old one dressed up in new language, will be listened to and welcomed. That helps some people for a little while; and when the charm of the romance is over then they are ready for another, perhaps more fantastic than the last. But the plot is always the same:outbeloved ones, shall we meet them, and how? Isn't it pitiful? Why can not we be more impersonal? These puny? petty minds of ours! When will they learn to expand?" “Why should we learn to be more impersonal?" she said. “There was a time when I felt like that; but now I have learnt something better; that we need not be ashamed -of being human; above all, of having the best of human instincts, love, and the passionate wish for its continuance, and the unceasing grief at its withdrawal. There is no indignity in this, nor any trace of weak-minded-ness in our restless craving to know about the hereafter and the possibilities of meeting again those who we have loSt here. Ttts right, and natural, and lovely that it should be the most important question. I know that many will say that there are weightier questions(they say so, but do they think so? Do we want to know first and foremost whether we shall do our work better elsewhere: whether we shall be endowed with wisdom; whether, as Mr.Reffoid said, we shall be glad to behave less like curs and more like heroes?These questions come in, but they can be put aside, The other question can never be put on one side. If that were, to become possible, it would only be so because the human heart had lost the best part of itself, its own humanity. We shall goon building our bridge be tween life and death, each one for himself. When we see that it is not strong enough

we shall break it down and build another. We shall watch other people building their bridges. **’We shall imitate, or criticise, or condemn. But as time goes 'on we shall learn not to interfere: we shall know that one bridge is probably as gdod as the other, and that the greatest value of them all has bgpn in the building of them. It does not matter what we build, but build we must: you and I. and every one.” “I have since ceased to build my bridge,” the Disagreeable Man said. “It is almost an unconscious pro cess,” she said. “Perhaps you are still at work, or perhaps you are resting.” He shrugged his shouldersand the two comrades fell into silence again. They were within two miles of Petershof, when he broke the silence; there was something wonderfully gentle,in his voice. “You little thing.*" he said, “we are nearing home, and I have something to ask you. It is easier for me to ask here in the free open country, Where the space seems to give us breathing room for our cramped lungs and minds.” “Well,” she said kindly: she wondered what he could have to say. “I am a little nervous of offending you,” he continued, “and yet I trust you. It is only this: You said you had come to the end of your money, and that you must go home. It seems a pity when you are getting better. I have so much more than I need. 1-don't offer “it to you as a gift, but I. thought if you wished to stay longer a loan from me would not be quite impossible to you. You could repay as quikly or as slowly as was convenient to you, and I should only be grateful and —”

He stopped suddenly. The tears had gathered in Bernard djne's eyes; her hand rested for one moment on his arm. "Mr. "you did weh to trust me. But I could not borrow money of any one, unless I was obliged. If I could of any one, jtywquld have been you. It is not a month ago since I was a little anxious about money: my remittances did not come. I thought then that if obliged to ask for temporary help I should come to you; so you see if you have trusted me, I. too, have trusted you." A smile passed over the Disagreeable Man's face, one of his rare, beautiful smilesyui- ' . = “Supposing that you change your mind.” liesaid quietly, “you will not find that I have changed mine." Then a few imputes brought them bark to Petershof. CHAPTER XVIIi. .. A BETROTHAL. tie had loved her so patiently, and now he felt that he must have her answer. It was only fair to her. and to himself, too. that he should know exactly wh(>rehc stood in her affections. She had certainly given him little signs here and there, which had made him believe that she was not indifferent to his admiration. Little signs were*all very well for a short time: but meanwhile the season was coming to an end; she had told him that she was going back to her work at home. And then perhaps he would lose her altogether. It would not be safe now for him to delay a single day longer. So the little postman armed himself with courage. Warli's brain was muddled all that day. He who prided himself upon knowing the names of all the guests in Petershof, made the most absurd mistakes about people and letters too. and received in acknowledgement of his stupidity a series of scoldings which would have unnerved a stronger person than the little hunchback postman. In fact, he ceased to carp how he gave out the letters: all the envelopes seemed to have same name on them—Marie Truog. Every word which he tried to decipher turned to that ; so finally he tried no more, leaving tlm destination of the letter to be decided by the impulse of the moment. At last he arrived at that quarter of the Kurhaus where Marie held sway. He heard her singing in the, pantry. Suddenly she was summoned down stairs by an impatient bell-ringer, and on her return found AVarti in the passage. “What a goose you are!" she cried, throwing a letter at him: “‘you have left the wrong letter at No. 82." Then some one else rang, and Marie hurried She came back with another letter in her hand and found Warli sitting in her pantry, “The wrong letter left at No. 54. " she said, “and Madame in a horrid temper in consequence. What a nuisance vou are today. Warli! Can't you read? Here, give the remaining letters to me. I'll .sort them." " __ Warli took off his little round hat and wiped his forehead. “I can't read today, Marie,” he .said;., ‘“something has...gone. wrong with me. Every name I look at turns to Maria Truog. I ought to have brought every one of—the letters to you. But I knew they could not be likely to write at the same time, to catch the same post. ' “It would be very dull if they did,” said Marie, who was polishing some water bottles with more diligence than was usual or even necessary. “But 1 am the one who loves you, Mariechen." the little postman said. “I have always loved you ever since I can remember.- I am not much to look at, Mariechen; the binding of the book is not beautiful, but the book itself is not a bad book.” Marie went on polishing the water bottles. Then she held them up- to the light to admire their unwonted

“1 don't plead for myself,’’ continued Warli, “If you don’t love me that is the end of the matter. But if you do love me. Mariechen. and will marry me,‘■you won’t be unhappy. Now I have said all." Marie put down the water bottles and turned to Warli. “You have been a long time in telling me,” she said .poutingly. “Why didn’t you tell me so three months ago? It’s too late now.” “Oh, Mariechen!" seizing her hand and covering |t with kisses; “you love some one else—you are already betrothed? And now it’s too late; and you love some on'e else!” “I never said I loved some one else,” Marie replied; “I only said it was too late. Why, it must be nearly five o’clock, and my lamps are not yet ready. I haven’t a moment tp spare. Dear me, and there is no oil in the can; no, not one little drop!”

“The devil take the oil!” exclaimed Warli, snatching the can out of her hands. “What do I want to know about the oil in the can? I want to know about the love in your heart. Oh, Mariechen, don’t keep me waiting like this! Just tell me if you love me, and make me the merriest soul in all Switzerland.” “Must I tell the truth,” she said, in a most melancholy tone of voice; “the truth and nothing else? Well, Warli, if you must know . . . how I grieve to hurt you— —” Warli’s heart sank, the tears came into his eyes. “But since it must be the Truth, and nothing else," continued the torturer, “well Fritz . . . I.love you!” A few minutes afteward. the Disagreeable Man, having failed to attract iny attention by ringing, descended to Marie’s pantry, to fetch

his lamp. He discovered Warli embracing his betrothed. “1 am sorry to intrude.” he said grimly, and he retreated at once. But directlv afterward he came back. “The matron has just come upstairs;*' he said, and he hurried a wav. ’ -u~

CHAPTER XIX. “ships that speak each other IN PASSING.” Many of the guests in the foreign quarter had made a start downward into the plains: and the Kurhaus itself, though still well filled with visitors. was e veryweek-losingsomeof its invalids. A few of the tables looked desolate, and some were not occupied at all. the lingerers having chosen, now that their party was broken up, to seek the refuge of another table. So that many stragglers found their way to the English din-ing-board, each bringing with him his own national bad manners, and causing much annoyance to the Disagreeable Man. who was a true John Bull in his contempt of all foreigners, The English table was, so he saidl like England herself: the haven, of other nation’s offscourings. There were several other signs, too, that the season was far advanced. The food had fallen off in quality and quantity. The invalids, some- of them better and some of them worse, had become impatient. And plans were being discussed, where formerly temperatures and coughs and general symptoms were the usual subjects of conversation. The caretakers, too, were in a state of agitation; some few keenly anxious to be off to.new pastures; and others, who had perhaps formed attachments. an occurrence not unusual in Petershof, were wishing to hold back time with both hands, and wore therefore delighted that the weather, which had not yet broken up, gave no legitimate excuse for immediate departure. Pretty Fraulein Muller had gone, leaving her Spanish gentleman quite disconsolate for the time being. The French Marchioness had returned to the Parisian circles where she was celebrated for all the domestic virtues from which she had been taking such a prolonged holiday in Petershof. The little French dansuese and her poodle had left for Monte Carlo. M. Liebinsky and his mother passed on to the Tyrol, where Madame would no doubt have plenty of opportunities for quarreling; or not finding them, would certainly make them without any delay, by this means keeping herself in good spirits and her son in bad health. There were some, too, who had hurried off without paying their Doctors; being of course those who had received the greatest attention, and who had expressed the greatest gratitude in their time ol trouble, 'but who were of opinion that thankfulness would very well take the place of franks; an opinion not entirely shared by the Doctors themselves. (to be continued.)

PEOPLE.

Professor Masso, the Italian scientist. is authority for the statement that eel's blood is as poisonous as viper’s venom. The late Chief Justice John W. Slaytor, of Texas, educated himself while serving an apprenticeship in a “blacksmith shop in his native State of Kentucky, pursuing at night a course of private study and reading. Professor Scripture, of Yale, has made it his nightly practice for four years past to plug up his ears on going to bed, thus excluding the voices of the night and insuring sbund sleep. Prince Louisr of Bavaria, heir4o the crown, takes a deep personal interest in the agricultural affairs of his country.. His ideas, however, have been called “childlike.” much to his disgust. Recently he made a speech—protesting against the criticism and asserting his earnestness in all things affecting the public welfare. Some Englishmen now visiting in this country have names quite as unique as those for which Georgia has. become famous* They are Sir Ughtred K. Shuttleworth, Sir Geoffrey Phipps Hornby, Sir Nowell Salmon, Sir Redvers Buller and Sir W, Hunt-Grubbe. —New York Tribune. John I. Blair, the New Jersey millionaire, made the first dollar ol his fortune of $20,000,000 by trapping muskrats and rabbits and selling their skins. He became a clerk in a country store at the age of ten, and at seventeen he had a store ol liis own. with a cash capital of ssot and a good commercial reputation. There died in Glasgow the other day James Gilchrist, who was known as the “Scottish Stradivarius.” Gilchrist. who was sixty-two years old. was a mechanical genius. He madv’ the most difficult and delicate instruments, and was the chief aid ol Professor Pettigrew in making his models for" investigating the laws governing the flight of birds. He died a poor man, his wife often saying, “He can make everything bul money.” Captain Cox, of the schooner Thomas Richards, was reported t< Collector Shaw by the revenue ma rine officers, for not having the num, of his vessel in full on both bows The word Thomas was abbreviated The statute requires that the fui name of the vessel shall appear. Th< penalty for the offense is $lO. This fine will be imposed on the vessel In Collector Shaw when it again reache., this port. —Baltimore -Sun.

A HOOSIER ROMANCE.

A True Story of the. Charley Eon Type.'l • ’ I Osgood : Ind-i Journal- . A romance reaches a denouement in our very midst, which savors much of the Charley Ross type, yet in this case the lost is found, and returns to the mother to receive her blessings. Fourteen years ago an old man. accompanied by a little boy witlj long golden curls, stepped from a train and settled near the little hamlet of Poston, Ind. There was an air of mystery about the ill-mated couple, and wonderment increased when they sought a cabin and made it their home. The child was not allowed the liberty of mingling with the children in the neighborhood, and was even taught his lessons by the old man instead of entering and reciting in the country school house. The ever-watchful old gentleman seemed to have no earthly care other than the boy. and devoted a greater part of his time to his welfare. Soon a shingle posted up told that Dr. S. B. Townsend was ready to practice medicine, and the home was visited, hurriedly, however, by many in the vicinity who had sudden sickness in their households. The little boy grew up virtually under the wing of Sanford B. Townsend, and little was learned of him other than that his name was Reece. Time went on, curiosity wore off, and they became .permanent residents of the little town. The doctor became acquainted with and enamored of a Miss O’Brien and was married to her, when they removed to Holton. Here they lived for a short time, when they went to Napoleon, and about sevep years ago moved to Osgood. In all of these places particular notice was taken of the watchfur care given Reece from boyhobd to man’s estate by the father. Arriving at Osgood the Doctor gain ed quite a practice,and the now young man Reece was as secluded as ever, and yet had acquired a good education, and the old doctor's de sire to further push the young man knew no bounds. He employed every means visible and toiled unceasingly to advance Reece in the profession of medicine. He had been a close student and learned readily. After superhuman effort the doctor was rewarded by starting the young man in the best medical college in Cincinnati. Here he attended until he graduated with high honors and returned to Osgood a full-fledged physician.

Then the Drs. Townsend set up in partnership and their practice increased. c The senior doctor lived happily with his wife and four interesting children are the results of the marriage. The young doctor fell in love with Miss Olive Bevan, daughter of our fellow townsman M. H. Bevan, and they were wed more than a year ago. and a son came to brighten their home. But just at this juncture a letter comes through the mail from Gilson, Illinois, to Reece C. Townsend, from one who proved to be a dear, devoted mother, whom he had been learned in childhood to believe as dead.

And now the myterious appearance of the old man and little golden haired boy is in a way cleared by a eonfesssion from the supposed father which forms a romance in real life that eclipses the richest and most racy fiction ever produced, and, being founded on facts, furnishes a doubly interesting biography of a useful life, showing the power of a promise and the vicissitudes endured by Sanford Townsend to sustain a vow. Dr. Seneca Townsend, some thirty years ago married a well-to-do widow named Locke, at Knoxville. Ills. Two children were born to them, Reece Cary and a daughter Mamie. The father was a drunkard, and a separation occurred. She left him and was granted a divorce and custody of the daughter, and Seneca, the father, got possession of the son. The father being a traveling doctor, the little fellow was taken along and the two went from place to place for about nine years. One day the boy took severelv ill at a hotel in Keokuk, lowa. The father had registered under the name of his brother S. B. Townsend,whom he supposed was dead. But fate seemed to carry them together, and in returning from California the original Sanford B. Townsend went to the same hotel, and noticing his name upon the register, asked the clerk what ~it meant. The two brothers so closely resembled each other that the clerk thought the old man drunk again and showed him to the room. After an affectionate meeting of the brothers, the son was noticed to be in the grasp of a dreadful typhoid fever. They remained some time at the hotel for the son to recover, and strange to say one day Seneca took suddenly sick from heart disease, and what few words he could utter he told Sanford to assume his place with his offspring if the boy ever became conscious and lived, and swearing his brother to the vow, asainan and a Mason to never let the mother have the son, nor tell the secret until he became thirty years of age; to educate and care for the child as his own !son—and then Seneca lay back upoin the pillow and expired. How well this obligation was carried out the people, and the young* man’s prominence testifies. The very soul of the old gentleman seemed to be centered on the boy. The father was burred at Keokuk. Iowa ( and when the boj- got able

Sanford started for the East, settling at Poston, as above stated, in 1880. When young Reece gained consciousness, in a dazed way he asked, childish questions as to the difference in apparel from that worn by his fatheF, and later at several times asked why they had quit traveling, but by evasive answers the boy never recognized the truth. Reece now says he has a faint recollection of seeing two men in the room while he was sick, but supposed it was only a delusion while he was delirious. < While the mother mourned for her son all these long years, she never gave up, and something seemed to, spur her on in seeking his whereabouts. ¥ear after year she advertised, worried and worked for a trace until silver threads were numerous in her silken hair. She could never-shake off the feeling that he was alive, and every evening as the twilight hour threw a solemn stillness about her home, a prayer was offered for his deliverance. Rce mt ly the dear mother reel \ci a medical journal, probably through her husband being a doctor, and in it she beheld the name of Reece Cary Townsend. Her heart gave a great ■ bound, and almost overcome with joy and surprise she saw a clue. She began immediately to write letters, first to the State Board of Health and then to Postmaster Griffin at Osgood, and at last to her long-lost boy. Reece was loth to believe the romantic idea of the affair, but a few more letters passing and the revelation made by the supposed father, S. B. Townsend, unraveled a romance which was astounding. He at once prepared to visit his mother, and left, several weeks ago, for Gilson, HL, taking with him hia wife and babe. Arriving in Illinois it is said the "entirF populatiofr' of "the town were awaiting him. The three-year-old -baby, now grown to manhood, jdtk a wife and six-months-old babe, were welcomed by the gray-haired mother.. She could not speak for jby when! she beheld him: simply overcome. He found his sister Mamie married, and many other relatives, all well fixed and prominent people. That Sanford kept well the oath is demonstrated by Reece’s graduation from the Ohio Medical College. Ho is ex-member of the city Board of Health, and is at present County Coroner. He is a member of several secret societies. Among them being a Mason in good standing. He has a splendid practice as physician. Sanford B. can hardly throw oft the impression that he is other than his son, from so long being a protector. and the feelings of a father will never wear away. The old man seems lonely at his home here without Reece, aud hails with delight the time when he will return, which will be about the middle of nqxt month.

Fortune’s Terrible Death.

San Francisco Chronicle George Fortune, an Austrian, about 45 years of age, met with a horrible death at the tannery on Army street, near the San Bruno road." yesterday afternoot). In the tannery there is an immense wheel’vat into which hides are thrown. Water is poqred on, them,and,by the rapid motion of the wheel they are cleaned. Yesterday the wheel vat, which is some fifteen feet in diameter and about seven, feet deep, got .out of order. The hides in it were removed, the water run off, and then Fortune crawled under the wheel and open a manhole, intending to crawl up into the vat. He had drawn himself through the manhole until his body above the waist . was in the vat, when the engineers uddenly started the wheel. Fortune had time but for one scream of agony and he then was whirled round and round, each revolution of the wheel crushing his ribs and breast. Fortunately his one cry was heat'd and. some of his fellow workmen signalled the engineer to stop the machinery. Fortune was removed from the vat more dead than alive and taken to the City and County Hospital. There his injuries were at,once pronounced fatal, the ribs being broken and splintered and breastbone crushed into fragments. The man lingered in agony for several hours, and after death the body was taken to the Morgue in order that an official investigation may be held. The engineer is not blamed fOF the accident, as Fortune failed to notify him of his intention to enter the vat.

Orders a Plenty.

Courier Journal. Two men, not too well dressed, stood at the corner of Second and Jefferson streets, yesterday morning. The face of neither wore an expression that would betoken feelings of happiness. Each one carried in his hand one of those small, square satchels with which book agents are always-supplied. While waiting for a car this conversation passed: First Agent—Well, Harry, did you get any orders today ? Second Agent —Not an order. Say, I never saw people so crabbed in my life. How did you do? Did you get any orders? “Oh, I did very well. I got an order every place I went into. They ordered me to get out, you know.” A French statistician says that the numberof men and women in France is more nearly equal than in any other country in the world, there be* ing only 1,. 007 women to 1,000 men., In Switzerland there is 1,004 men to 1,000 women, and in Greece only 933. 'The conditions in Hong Kong, according to this authority, is appalling, "there being only* 306 women to 1,000 men.