Rensselaer Standard, Volume 1, Number 8, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 9 August 1879 — THE MAIN BRIDGE. [ARTICLE]

THE MAIN BRIDGE.

It was - ' post midnight—the lights on - the atone bridge which crosses the riser Main at Frankfort were atlll burning, though the footsteps of passengers hud died away for aome time on its pavement, when a young man approached the bridge from the town with hasty stride. At the name time another man, advanced in years, was coining toward* him trotn Bachsen hausen, the well known suburb on the opposite side of the rjver. The two had not yet met, wlun the latter tamed from his path ami went toward the parapet from the.lyidge into, the Main. The young man followed him quickly and Inid head of him. “Kir,” said be, “I think you want to drown yourself.” "Whatis that to you?” ‘•I was only going to ask you to do me the favor to waitu few minutes and allow me lo join you, Let us draw close to each other, and, arm-in-arm. take the leap together. The idea of making the journey with a perfect stronger, who lias chanced to come for the same purpose, is really rather interesting. For many yeais I have not made a request to aiiy human being; do not refuse *ne this one; which must be my last.” The young man held out bis hand. His coinranion took it. He continued, with enthusiasm: “So be it; arm-in-arin. I do not ask who yon are, good or bad—come, let us drown.” The el«!fr of the two, who lmd at first been in so great a hurry to end his existence, now restrained the impetuosity of the younger. “Btop, gir,” said lie, while his weary eyes tried to examine the features of his companion. “Btop, sir. You seem to me to be too young to leave life in this way; for a man of your years life must have still bright prospects.” “Bright prospects!—in the midst of rottenness and decay, vice and corruption! Come, let us end it.” “And so young! Let me go alone, and do vdu remain here. JJelieve me, there are { many good and honest people who could render life charming for < youT Seek them, and you are sure to find them.” “Well, if life presents itself to you in hues so bright, I am surprised you should wish to leave It.” "Oh, I am only a poor, old, sickly -man, unable to earn anything, and who endure no longer tliat his only ohild, an angel of a daughter, should work day ami night to maintain him. To allow this kmgerl must be a tyrant, a Itarbarian." “What, sir!” exclaimed the other, “you have an only daughter sacrificing herself for your sake?” “And with what patience,' what sweetness and love, what perseverance! I see her sinking under her toil and her deprivations, and not a word of complaint escapes her pallid lips. She works and starves, and still has a word of love for iier father.” “And you commit suicide! Are you mad?” “Dare I murder that angel? Tli? thought jifest-vs-iny heart like a dagger,” sabl tfee rn-.tii, sobbing. “Bir, you hiust have sup|>er with me; I s«s «, tavern oi*sn yonder. Come, you ihdsit tdl me your history, and 1 will tell you mine. There is no occasion for you to leap into the river. I am a rich man; your daughter will no longer have to work, and’you shall not starve.”

The oW man allowed himself to be dragged - along by hfscompauion. Inn few minutes they .were seated at a table in the tavern, with refreshments before them, and each examining curiously die features of the other. Refreshed by the viands, the old man 'began thus: 7 “My history is soon told. I was a mercantile man; but fortune never favored me. I had no money myself, and loved and married a pour girl. I could never begin business on my own account. I took a situation as bookkeeper, which I held until I became useless from age, and younger men were preferred to me. Thus my circumstances were always circumscribed, hut my domestic happiness was complete. My wife, an angel ofldve, kindness; and fondness, was good and pious, active and affectionate; and my daughter is a true image of her mother. But age and illness have brought me to the last extremity, and my conscience revolts against the idea of the beet child in the world sacrificing her life for an old and useless fellow. I can not have much longer to live, and I hope the Lord will pardon me forestting oft a few days or weeks from my life, in order to preserve that of my dear Bertha.” i “You are a fortunate man, my friend,” exclaimed the young man, “ what you call misfortune is sheer nonsense, and can be cured. To-morrow I shall make my will, »nd you shall be the heir of tny possessions, and to- * morrow night I will take the leap from "Main bridge alone. But before 1 leave this world 1 must see this .Bertha, for I am anxious to look upon one who is worthy of the name of a human being.” “Sir, what can have made you so unhappy at this early age?” said the old man, tnoyed with compassion. “I am the only son of one of the richest bankers of Frankfort. My father died five years ago. and left me the heir to an immense fortune. From that moment, every one that has come Incontact with me has endeavored to deceive and defraud me. I was a child in Innocence, and confiding. My education had not been neglected, and I possessed ipy mother’s loviug. heart. My friends, and to whom I opened my heart, betrayed me, and then laughed at my simplicity; in lime I gathered experience, and my heart was filled with distrust. I was betrothed to a rich heiress, possessed of all fashionable accomplishments; I adored her with enthusiasm and love, I thought I would repay me for every disappointment

But I soon saw that «*£***» make me her slave, sad yoke all other men besides to her triumphal chariot. I broke off the engagement, and selected a poor but a charming girl— a sweet, innocent being, aa I thought, who should be my life’s own angel. Alas! I found her one day bidding adieu with tears and kisses to a youth whom she lowAa she bad accepted me for my »-etf£?M*y. My peace of mind vanshed, I sought dlvereion in travel. Everywhere I found the same hollowness, the same treachery, the same misery. In short, I become disgusted with life, and resolved ?ttit aii end, this night, to the piUgble farce. "Unfartunatjfyoung man;” said the other, with tAars of sympathy. “I pity you. I counts 1 have been more f.irtuuate than you. I possessed* wife and daughter, who came forth pure aud immaculate from the hpnd of the Creator. The one lias returped to him In the whiteness of her soul, bud so will the other. “Give me your address, old man, and permit me to visit your daughter tomorrow. Also give me your word of honor that you will not inform her, or insinuate in any manner, that lam a rich man.” The old man held out his hand. “I give you my • word.' I am anxious tooouvlnoe you that I have spoken the truth. My name is Wilhelm Bchmidt, and there is my address,” giving him at the same time a bit of paper which he drew- from his pocket. “And my name is Karl Trait. lam the son of Anton Traft. Take these bank notes, but only on condition that you do not leave this house until I fetch you from it. Waiter! a bedroom for this gentleman. You require rest, Herr Schmidt. Good night. To-mor-row you will see me again.

• n. % | In one of the narrow and ill-lighted streets of Bachsenhau.Hen, in bn attic of a lofty and unsightly house, sat a blonde, about twenty years of age, busily employed with her needle. The furniture of the room was Clean and tasteful. The girl’s whole dress would not have fetched many kreutzers; but every article fitted her as well as if it had * cost hundreds. Her fair locks shaded a face brightened by a pair of eyes of heavenly blue. The spirit of order, modesty and cleanliness reigned in everything around her. Her features were delicate, like those of one noble born; her eyes betrayed sleepiness and anxiety, and ever and anon a deep sigh rose from the maiden’s breast. Suddenly steps were heard on the staircase, and her face lightened up with joy, she listened and doubt seemed to snaddow her brow. Then came a knock at the door, which made her tremble so much that she almost wanted , the courage to say “Come In.” A young man, shabbily dressed, enteral the room, and made a low and awkward bow. “I beg pardon, miss,” said he; “does Herr Schmidt live here?” “Yes, sir. What is your pleasure?” “Are you his daughter, Bertha?” “I am.” “Then it is you that I seek. I am from your father.” “For heaven’s sake, where is he? Something mast have happened— he has stayed away all nigh*t” “The misfortune is not very great.” “Oh, my poor, poor father J what shall I hear?” fr . The young man seemed to olwerve these visible marks of auxiety with great interest. He said: “Do not be frightened; it Is nothing of great ii»i>ortance. Your father met last night an old acquaintance, who invited him to a tavern. They had supper together, but wlieu the landlord came for his bill, your father’s . friend had decamped, ami left him to pay the score. He bad not sufficient money for this, and now tlie lmst will not let him go until be is paid, and declares that unless lie gets his money lie will send him to prison.” “To prison!” exclaimed the girl. “Can yoil toil %ie how much the bill comes to?” “Three florins and a half.j’ “Ob, God!” sighed the girl; “all I have does not amount to more than one florin, but I will go at once to Ma< lame Berg and beg of her to advance me the money.” “Who is Madame Berg?’” * “The milliner for whom I work.” “But If Madame Berg does not advance the money—wliat then?” The girl burst into tears. “I am afraid she will refuse. I already owe her one florin, and she is very hard.” “For what purpose did you borrow ihe money you owe her?” The girl hesitated to reply. “You may trust me.” “Well, my father is very weak, and requires strengthening. I borrowed the money to get a quarter of a fowl for him.’^ “Under these circumstances I fear Madame Berg will not give you any. I possess nothing. Have you any valuables more? Here is one florin, but that is all upon which we could raise some money.” Bertha considered for a moment VI have nothing,” said sheat length, “but my poor mother’s prayer-book. On her death bed she entreated me not to part with it, and there is nothing in toe world I hold more sacred than her memory and the promise I gave her; but still, for my father’s sake, I must not hesitate.” With trembling hand she took the book down from the shelf, “Oh, sir,” said she, “during many a sleepless night I have been accustomed to enter the secret thoughts of my heart on the blank leaves at the end of the book. I hope ho one will ever know whose writings they are; you will promise me that ?” “Certainly. Bertha. I will take care that your secrets are not profaned. But now get ready that we may go.” While she left the room to putou her bonnet and shawl, Karl Trust (for the young man was no other than oo£ hero) glanced over the writing in the book, and his eyes filled with tears of emotion and delight as he read the outpourings of a pure and pious heart; and when they had left the house together, and she was walking beside him with a dignity of which she seemed entirely unconscious, he cast upon her looks of respect and admiration. They first went to Madame IWrg, who did not give the advance required, but assured the yonng man that Bertha was an angel. Certainly this praise Mr. Traft valued higher than the money he had asked for. They pawned the

book, and the required sum was made up. Bertha was overioyed. “But If you spend all that money today,” remarked the young man, “on what will you live to-morrow?” “I do not know, but I trust in God. I shall work the whole night through.” When they went to the tavern, the young man went In first to prepare old Mr. Bchmidt for the parths wished him to act; then he fetched Bertha. It Is impossible to describe the toy be felt when he saw the young girl throw herself in her father’s arms, and press him to her heart. She paid the bill, and triumphantly led him home. Traft accompanied them, and said he had a few more kreutzere in his pocket; she had better E> and get something to eat. It was te before Traft wenthome that night; but the leap from the Main bridge was no more thought of. He came to the house every evening, in order, as he said, to Bhare with them his scanty earnings. About a fortnight after, as he was going avay one evening, he said to Bertha: “Willyou become my wife? I am only a poor clerk, but I am honest and upright.” Bertha blushed and cast her eyes to the ground. A fe,w days after, the young couple, simply but respectably attired, and accompanied by Herr Schmidt, went to church, where they were married in a quiet way. When they came out, man and wife, an elegant carriage was standing at the door, and a footman in rich Uvery let down the step. “Come,” said the happy husband to his bewildered wife, who looked at him with amazement. Befare she could utter a word the three were seated In the carriage, driving away at a quick pace. The carriage stopped before a spleudid house in the, best part of Frankfort. They were received by a number of domestics, .who conducted them to apartments decorated in the most costly style. “This is your mistress,” said Traft to the servants, “and her commands you have henceforth to obey. My,darling wife,” said he then, turning to Bertha, “I am Karl Traft, one of the wealthiest men of this city.”