Rensselaer Union, Volume 1, Number 35, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 27 May 1869 — Selected Miscellany. [ARTICLE]

Selected Miscellany.

THE VOW. A Tate of Life in Switzerland. I was traveling in the Switzer Oberland. The sun was just going down behind the toweling Alps, shedding as it were au avalanche nf variegated . colors over the surrounding landscape—cattle lowing in the distance, seeking their homes; sheep bleating and wandering to their folds ; birds returning to their nests. No human beings in view ; no home where I might rest that night, and pre Sure for further explorations of the won erful country. , My horse began to slacken his pace. At last I saw between the wide spreading firs what seemed to me a chalet. Smoke issuing from a chimney is sure indication of human life existing. I rode on and on My horse, knowing perhaps the locality, certainly better than I, seemed to hurry his pace. A thatched roof came in view. After a while I perceived a gate, and soon dismounted to seek a shelter for the night. It was a secluded spot, certainly. The “chalet" was built with care, heavy stones protecting its roof from being torn up by a passing hurricane. The door was ajar, a faint light glimmering through the opening. I dismounted, fastened my tired horse, approached the door, gently tapping, and with a kind of nervous anxiety waiting for the answer. The door was opened by a sturdy wo man, facing me with the steady look of the real “ mountaineer,” knowing no fear, and withal ready to do any service when needed. “ Can I rest here this night?” I asked, in as good a Berne accent as I could master. “ You can," was the answer. “ Wilhelm, take the gentleman’s horse to the stable;’’ and a boy of some twelve years obeyed the summons, took my horse, and led it to the place of rest, giving it such care u those who know the value of horses learn to bestow. “ Sit down and rest yourself,” said the stately matron, showing me to a large arm chair, curiously carved, and occupy ingone side of the fire-place. “It used to be my Wilhelm’s chair,” she continued. “But hie is g>ne; lam a lonely widow now. and keep it for the stranger who happens to pass this way. You are welcome to it, sir, yery welcome. Rest yourself; after a while I shall have supper ready.” 80 saying, she went away, and while I Indulged in the luxury of a warming tire, seated in “ Wilhelm’s chair," ! heard.the clattering of pans and dishes, tokens of the realization of the promised supper. I was just philosophizing on the b'.e.-sedness of primitive country life, when I heard a groan from an adjoining apartment: “ Karl,. Karl I do come ! do come!" Aud after a whilejtwas again. “ Do come! do cornel” There was an urgency, » pleading earnestness in the words which I cannot express. “ Komme ! oh komme !" was the request. Tuen followed a groan, a pause, and again the pleading voice said : “ Karl, komme ! oh, komme !"

The matron entered with a supper, substantial though simple. While placing the dishes on the table, the groan, and following, “ Komme ! oh, komme /" sounded again. She instantly went through a side door, and then I heard her chiding softly: “ Leibw kind, »ei dech weiu. Dear child, be sensible. Karl is far off, Karl may soon come. Be sensible, dear child.” But the pleading voice repeated : “Karl, do come. Mother, have the room in readi ness Mother, I have waited long. So long! so long! Mother, I cannot wait longer.. Whence comes, mother, all -will be weil. My heart is sick, mother. Come to me, mother; kiss me, mother. Why does Karl not come ?’’ • And so it went on till at last the sufferer seemed to be exhausted and in the arms of sleep. The mother then came out and said : “ Excmo me, sir, ray daughter is ill; very ill. The doctors have given her up. Stoe cannot live. No, she cannot live 1” And then her strong nature gave way, anti she wept bitterly. “ What is the matter ?' said I, when she recovered from her deep emotion. “ Vining away, sir, she answered, 41 pining away. Four years ago her betrothed, a brave and handsome young msn, said to her * Trudchen, I am off for America. There lean make a fortune,and then come b«ck to marry thee. Here it is misery and; mdless labor.’ * Karl,’ said Trud chen, * oetter poor with thee, than rich wi'hout thee. We have cows and goats, and we can mike a living. Why leave me and risk thy life and mine. For, truly, Karl, I love thee, and without thee I cannot live.’ But the young man was stubborn, air, ( as most of our young mountaineers are; he laughed, and said within four years he would be back and marry her. The four years are up this very day. For a month she has been fading and fading away. A slow fever seems to undermine her. and only one thought keeps her alive—* Karl is coining 1 He said four years! Karl is coming!’ •* And it is to day just four years since he left? * 1 asked, touched by the mother’s yyoe. Just four years,” said aha, “The first

year we received letters. Then he said he was going on a great venture, and We might not hear from him for some time. Nor did we. No tidings from him since our last letter.” And the poor widow broke out in tears. But a deep groan from the inner chamber roused her at once; she went in, and I heard the girl saying: “ Mother, mother! Karl is coming, coming. Er kommt! er kommt?" While the mother was soothing her suffering daughter I beard far away, as it seemed to me, a sound like the tinkling of a cow-bell. But it increased in strength, and going to the door I listened attentively, aud sure enough it was a church bell. The mother’s familiar ear had cau;ht the sound, and rushing to the door she listened awhile. “No alarm! no fire!” said she. “What can it be? It is the church bell of Wettorbrunnerf “ How far from here ?” I asked. “ Two miles,” she answered; “but it takes long to get there through the windings of the mountain passes.” The bell still continued ringing, and through the open door the sound reached the ear of the sufferer. “ Hear! Hear I" she cried, “ the bell rings! Er kommt! er kommt!" The mother and myself were standing in the door listening to the sound, and, as it were, lost in our own thoughts. What were hers Ido not know. Tears streamed down her furrowed cheeks, and at last she said, with the accent of deepest grief: “ Lieber Herr Oott erbarme dich unter." (‘O Lord God have mercy on us.”) But all at once we heard voices singing, shouting, huzzaing; then again, as the road went behind some mountain, these grew faint, and nothing was heard but the distant ringing of the Wetterbrunner bell. “ Hurrah I” it sounded suddenly, where the road came direct upon the chalet " Hurrah for Karl. Long live Karl! Long live Trudchen I” I looked at the mother,- she staggered. I caught her in my arms, but recovering immediately the brave woman said: “Karl, sir; Karl is coming!” and she went to the bed-chamber. Bhe knelt down before the couch when on lay her daughter, seemingly asleep, her eyes closed, her hands clasp <d over her breast. She knelt down and wept. 1 itood in anxious expectation. The voices became louder and louder. I could hear the tramping of horses and footsteps Soon I saw a mass of men approaching the gate. Stopping, they gave a hearty “Hurrah for Karl! Hurrah for Trudchen !” I saw a young man shaking hands, with words of thanks to all, then lifting the gate latch and hastily walking up to the door.

He saw me, greeted politely, went into the house, and said with a voise thisk with ’emotion: “ Mother! mother !”, The mother stood in the door, put her finger on her lips, opened her arms, and what an embrace ! What a long, long embrace I That bronzed face of the young Switzer quivered, tears rolled down; and the mother 1 shall I ever forget the exoression of thankful hope and grateful love! “ Trudchen ?” asked Karl, at last. “All yours, my Karl, my boy; all yours, but ill and weak. Look in.” Thus saying she led him to the bedchamber, w here Trudchen lay seemingly asleep. K. 4 trembled all over with emotion. He apcoached, knelt down, took one of the clasped hands, kissed it, then rose and softly left the room. Though not a physician, I knew enough to see that there was a case which, unless handled with care, might turn into death, or worse even—lunacy. “Be caretai,” said I. “Do not try to awaken your daughter. Watch her. She may sleep on the whole night. Stay with her. When she wakes to consciousness be guarded. Violent emotion might kill her.” The mother thanked me. I went out to the gate, and told the assembled friends the state of affairs. I begged them to leave quietly, and to send up the physician from Wettei brunner. In the meantime Karl told his story. It was that of many others. After a year of toil in the new world, he heard of the Call fornia gold mines, made up his mind, went to work bravely, kept sober and steady, made what in Berne Oberland might be cal ed a “good pile,” and hastened to return so as to keep his word with his betrothed. On his arrival at Wetterbrunner he generously treated his numerous friends, who, in their enthusiasm, began to ring the church bell, and accompanied him to his future home.

It was deep in the night when the physician came—an elderly man, not only the physician of the villagers, but their friend and real benefactor. He knew of Trudchen’s faithful love and enduring expectation. During the third year of Karl’s absence she began to be quiet and thoughtful ; then languid and listless; then there would bo now and then a rosy tint on her cheeks—once so full, but now wan; then, when she gave the doctor her little hand, he felt it feverish, and looked serious. “Mother," he said to old Magdalen, “ mother, be very careful. No night air, no dreaming to the stars, no listening to the far-off breeze when it rushes to the big pine forest Take her out, mother; visit neighbor Wortheim, your kinsman; go anywhere, mother, and give her change. Perhaps she may fall in with some of our sturdy mountaineers, who may replace what seems to be lost” And the mpther did as she was told, but Trudcbetggemained thoughtful and listless, and at last seemed unable to help her dear old mother in the household duties. Thus the old doctor knew his patient. Ho approached the couch careftilly, looked awhile on the beautiful sleeper,-*took tenderly her hand, and felt the pulse, • “Nopulse,”said he. “No pulse,” repeated he after a long pause. “ What is this ? Tt seems I hear her breathing,” said he, leaning over her. “ Yes, I hear it distinctly, but slow-; very slow What is this ? and no pulse ?” “Karl,” he said to the anxious lover, “be careful not to be near her, should she awake. Very weak, Very weak. I should say on the brink of eternal sleep. If she awakes from thia, be not there. Break it softly to her. Her life hangs on a thread as fine as spider ever wove. Good mother of 'God, be merciful.be mercifal!” The good doctor was a pious Catholic, and kept up with mass ana confession at least as well as with the current literature of the healing art “ The mother of God,” said Karl, with a deep emphasis, which struck me, listening with anxious s mpathy, “the mother of God, Herr Doctor, can avail us nothing. She is, or wttf, a creature like you and I; but her Eternal Son, yes, He can heal now as he He did when on earth. May he have mercy t”

The doctor looked puzzled; feeling once more the pulse, he said, after a while: “No pulse, no pulse. Karl make a vow, make a vow; perhaps there will be mercy from the mother, or else from the Son.” And the pious, good old doctor crossed himself while saying thia. “ My vow is made long since," said Karl, with the same emphatic tone; “ long before I came. I shall add nothing to it; but keep it I shall," addsd he, the tears breaking forth; “yea, I shall keep it, whatever may happen.” And then there was a long pause. At length said Karl, “ He knows best” I am sure the doctor felt curious about the vow. So did I. But we both kept silence, and watched that long night with intense anxiety. At length the morning came. The breathing had become slower and slower- The hands were clammy cold, the feet were cold, and toward noon the doctor said: “ God’s will be done! Trudchen is in Paradise. For surely, such as she deserve no other place.” It came not unexpectedly. It was fore seen. The mother’s eye had watched so long that she was prepared for the bitter loss. Yet bitter, very bitter, was the cup to drink for mothers love. Very bitter for him whose soul seemed absorbed in the contemplation of what remained of her whom he loved so long, so well; for whom he had toiled and suffered, and whom to make happy was the life of his soul. Long they gazed upon the lovely being, lovely in her sleep, a sweet smile resting on her still rosy lips—an image of calm repose, of blissful expectation. At length the matron was the first to rally from the stupor wherein they both seemed to have fallen. “ Karl,” said she, “ thou earnest in time She went loving thee. She is happy, Karl,” she said, putting her arm with motherly tenderness around his neck; “ thou couldst not have made her happier. Let us ask God to give us strength to bear this stroke,” and then bursting out in tears, she knelt beside the couch. The young man knelt, the doctor knelt, I myself knelt down. Soft and steady rose the voice of the matron. What simplicity of language 1 What real coming to God 1 What subdued praying for strength! What tender remembrance of Trudchen’s love and dutiful piety. And when she ceased the young man in deep gutteral tones, said, “ Thou knowest, Lord, what I vowed Happy she is, for with Thee she is; I thank Thee; even so, for it waa Thy will. I shall do it, Lord, I shall do it.” After a while the neighbors came, adding their mite of consolation; and then they busied themselves with the last affectionate care to be bestowed upon the remains of one whom all seemed to love I remained yet a few hours, and in the afternoon took my leave of the sorrowing mother and the mourning betrothed. I cast one more glance upon the beautiful form which had contained the spirit of Trudchen, and mounting my horse, waved a last auieu to my newlv-made friends. Three years had elapsed, and to re cruit from severe duties, I was again on the road up the Rhine to Basle; thence to Berne. My trusty horse, the very same I had before, trotted nimbly over the steep and rocky pathway that led to the home of my friends of Wetterbrunner. No, I had not forgotten them. Often I had thought of them—thought of the brave matron, of the sturdy Karl, of the angel form laid out for the silent grave And when in sight of the snow-capped mountains, 1 could not help hastening toward the spot where I had left so much sorrow, and so much true, simple-hearted trust in God. ■

It was noon when I reached the little village, a true specimen of ancient Swiss neatness and thrifty industry. I alighted at the only inn, but which bore the impressive sign of Tell’s Hoff. The Hoeller who took charge of my horse seemed preoccupied. It was a week day, yet he bad evidently his Sunday suit, lie was polite ai ever, and said while I got off: “ Ach der Herr kommt turn ferte !" (“ Ah, my Lord comes to the festival I”) A little astonished, 1 asked; What “ festival ?” “ Ach ja !" said he in.a hurry," you are a stranger ? 1 forgotand off he went. I entered the large apartment which served as a common reception-room, in America called a “ bar-room,” but there very different. Clean and well ventilated, the smooth floor slightly sanded, the win dows adorned with pretty flower-pots, here and there a picture of Tell’s memorable performance, the central part occupied by the stately bane wirth, serving wine and beer to the neat and rather pretty-looking waiting-girls, as the guests called for them ; two or three young men, neatly dressed in their Oberland costume, carrying off the plates and glasses, now and then sweeping a Corner clean; men and women, in festival dress, seated here and there at small oaken-wood tables; children running to and fro, and playing hide-and-seek; outside a crowd of young men and women sitting at small tables, and pouring now and then a glass of foaming beer: such were the principal features wnich struck me on entering. It was evidently a gala day, a/s«t tag, as they call it “ What Saint’s day is this ?” I asked of a young damsel who smilingly tripped up to me. with the usual question : “ Hit wan kan er Ich dienen f ’ “ No Saint’s day,” said she, laughing ; “ but a great day, I atsure you, sir stranger.” “ What then ?” said I. “ You must have come from far not to know,” answered she; “from where?" “ From Interlachen,” said I. “ Ah, that is far indeed! Well, this is the Orphans’ festival; Ach, Gott! you come just in time 1 And did not know it?”'- “ No,” ’laid L “ Tell me what is the Orphans’ festival ?” “ Ach' der fremder !" she cried, with amazement. “ Knowest nothing of it? Well! since a month we spoke of nothing else. The Herr Land Amman has built a large and beautiful house, where all the orphans are received who can be found in the Obeftand. A beautiful house it is! And what a crowd of boys and girls, neatly dressed, and fed, and taught by Pfarrer Linden 1 And to-day there is a great feast; it is the birth day of the Am man'e wife. A dear lady she is! And all and every one is invited I Only think.! By three o’clock we shut up house and hoff and go all there. Not a soul will be here, Herr strange?. So thou must go with us." I said I would, and soon perceived, all around me, that the topic or conversation was the festival, the beautiful house, the generous, liberal Ammo*, who became so

rich in foreign lands, and was not proud, but Just as kind and friendly as before. When the appointed time approached I looked around for a conveyance; for my hard-ridden horse I would not-use, as the following day I had a long Journey before me. But not an animal could be had; all were engaged. “ Welcome to a seat in my wagon, stranger,” said an elderly man who perceived my need." “ Welcome, and honor to me.” With these words he reached me his broad and callous hand, smiling with the pleasure it afforded him to take a stranger up to the festival. I Jumped into the proffered seat, and soon wo were winding ottr way through the passes and glens of this magnificent wilderness. Visitors before us, Visitors behind, we formed a long file, and a Joyful party we were. Now and then a song would be started in one conveyance, and the chorus taken up by the whole line. Then there was a distant conversation, such as only mountaineers can hold, accustomed to hail one another a mile’s distance, from mountain side to mountain tide. i And the subject of the conversation ? The Zforr Land-Amman; his riches; his kindness; his Trudchen—how sweet, how careful of the aged and poor— Trudchen ! 1 heard the name but once. For all the while it was the Frau Land Am mannin. But one said: “Oh, how he loves Trudchen! how he would do anything for her I” I cannot express the feeling which tinSled through my whole being, when I eard that name! —Trudchen, the sweet, patient sufferer, whom I had seen stretched out on her last couch—an image of sweet reposing love, sleeping in the arms of eternal rest! “Irudchen I"— I was going to ask my kind conductor; but an exclamation of general, Joytal surprise witheld me. "Ach wie then!” (“Ah, how beautiful !”) And beautiful it was! The narrow mountain pass opened at once upon a soft sloping plain, covered with sweet smelling turf, through which nicely graveled path ways eurved in all directions, enclosing the most lovely groups of evergreens, roses, lilies, anemones and an endless variety of blooming flowers. Far in the distance, slighly elevated, there came in view a large and spacious dwelling—it might be called a villa. Its light colored walls were adorned with climbing plants; its windows with tasteful balconies, surrounded with flowers; while behind the villa loomed a high mountain peak, sheltering it from the northern winds. In front of the dwelling, on a large, neatly-trimmed grass plot, some fifty little boys and girls were playing, shouting, (laughing, running, jumping, and evidently in highest glee. The view was so really magnificent, so sudden, so like fairyland, that I could not help gazing around ; and before I knew it the wagon stopped, my conductor alighted, offered me his strong hand to get out, and having performed the same service to those who were with us, drove off; leaving me surrounded by people coming and c >ming, talking, admiring, exclaiming, and evidently too much engaged with things around them to allow me to ask them any questions concerning that which had pre oecup’ed me since I heard the name of Trudchen. I followed the stream of guests which soon arrived at the villa—for such it seemed—and dispersed in its spacious halls and rooms, with that freedom and gayety, that decorum and respect of persons and things, which characterize the people. In the corner of the large hall, which we would call the reception room, I saw a comfortable seat, inviting enough for one who felt physically and morally fatigued to rest awhile. I did so, and was looking around upon the increasing crowd of joyfu! Switzers, when a gentleman came to me, whom I soon recognized as the good old doctor, whose acquaintance I made under sorrowful circumstances. Ach. eiiul tie da !" be cried, with hearty joy "Sind tie wurklich da ? (Are you truly tiere?) Is it possible! That is herrlich f, herrlich!' .

And he pressed me, Switzer fashion, in his arms.. When I recovered from the confaslon which these hearty and impetuous demonstrations always occasion, to me at least, I said: “ And Karl—how is he ?’’ _J “Karl?”said he, “Karl?”-and as if his memory had received a sudden Jerk—- “ Ah, the Herr Land-Amman, you mean L Ah, he is very well; very well, indeed! Soon be here.” “Tell me,” said I, with an emotion which 1 tried in vain to conceal, “ who is iffs wife ?” “His wife? Well, friend, thou ought to know, to be sure; well—Trudchen, sweet Trudchen.” “ Trudchenl” I exclaimed; “ what Trudchen ?’’ “Well, friend, thou art beside thyself! Thou knowest Trudchen, I think! But, upon my word, perhaps thou knowest nothing of all that happened! True enough—thou art a stranger, though thou speakest our mountain talk almost as well as one born here, Thou must live far away not to have heard of it I” “My good friend,” said I, with a slight tone of impatience, “I know nothing; I live hundreds of miles from here. Tell me, tell me.” “ And so 1 shall,” said the doctor, press ing my hand and drawing a chair near mine. “ You left us when Trudchen was dead,’and laid out to be buried—is it not so? Well, we loved her so much; we went so often to take a look at her I came the day before the one appointed for her funeral, to see her once more. I sat down beside her. I felt her hands; her cheeks, which had yet a blush on them; it was all cold—but not so cold, it seemed to me, as corpses generally are. I put my hand under her back ; tt was warm I I called Magdalen; I felt bewildered. I said: * Magualen, postpone the funeral, if it is but one day.’ “ * Herr doctor,’ said she, * that cannot be; all the people are Invited, and come from afar.’ “ * She must not be buried tomorrow,’ said I: ‘decidedly not Postpone the funeral for two, for three day a’ Magda len looked at me with amazement But as I spoke with great determination, she sent at once a messenger to give due warning of the delay of two days. I rode away, having many visits to make—bat returned that night and resumed my investigations. The<e was no change. I slept that night at Magdalen’s. In the morning, no change. I went out end returned at’evening. No change. Only the hands seemed to me less cold. I watched anxiously. I felt the heart the pulse. I thought I perceived a very slight motion! I called Magdalen; I called Karl. Both came looking at me with a sort of bewilderment *So help me God!’

said I, in a whisper, as if she might hear me, * there is life, life; I tell you, life I’ “ That whole night I watched her. The pulsations, though very slow, seemed to increase in strength; and toward morning, Just when the sun began to rise above the Alps, I thought I could perceive a twitching motion repeated at intervals. “ * Magdalen,’ said I, * stay thou here; Karl, go thou in the next room. When I say, apeak ! say in thy natural voice at the open door: “It Trudchen well ?" and repeat it slowly.’ “When the sunbeams began to dart through the cottage window, the twitching increased, the pulsations increased, the warmth increased. At my warning, Karl said in his deep guttural voice: "I» Trudchen well f” repeating it at intervals some three or four times. There was a sort of a convulsive effort visible in the whole frame, the lips trembled, the hands opened and closed; then a minute of perfect stillness; then I heard, like a faint whisper: • Karl itt kommen, Karl iit frommen, and the whisper died away, succeeded by stillness again. When the voice of Karl repeated : *■ It Trudchen well ?' the eyelids opened a little, the head began to turn in the direction of the voice, and there came a clear utterance; ‘ Mutter, Mutter, Karl itt kommen.' “The mother, pale with anxiety, approached, knelt down, took her hand, kissed it, kissed her half open lips, and sobbed: ‘Trudchen! Trudchen!’ “> Mother,’ she then said, slowly and scarcely audibly, * where is Karl ? Mother —I heard—the bells ring—’ and then she seemed to sleep again. After a few minutes her breathing became louder, stronger ; and opening her eyes tally, she heaved a deep sigh, looked upon her mother, smiled, and said.--‘Not yet to bed, mother? It must be late,* Then perc siring the sunlight, she said : *ls it day, mother; methinks I heard the bell ring ?—How is it, mother ?’ “We had already removed all appearance of the last tokens of love bestowed upon her, and said she had been very ill, but was better now. And by degrees I in formed her that Karl was ooming; then, that he had cpme; then, that be was there and toward noon she begged so hard to see him, that I gave permission. ' “And now, my dear friend, you know all about Trudchen; and if I have been long, forgive the medical man, and the old man"’—

Here he- was interrupted by two strong arms which clasped him tight from be-; hind, while a well-remembered voice said, "Dulieber, Herr Doctor; what a happy day ; what a happy day !” The doctor arose at once, and grasping the speaker’s hand said, pointing to me: “An old friend. Herr Land Amman.” Three years had made some change in Karl’s appearance. Yet I recognised easly in the dignified magistrate the weatherbeaten Karl, conducted home by his numerous friends. He, too, remembered me, and said, with a smile of inward satisfaction: “Welcome, welcome, mein Herr. welcome to the happiest day of my lifel" "Herr Amman, said I, smiling, “was there not one even happier than this >” “ That was a day of God sent bliss, my friend,” said he, with a solemn tone; “ y es, of God-sent blissand he looked up with his dark hazel eyes, as if hu glance went straight to God. “That was ein tegenttag,” (“ a day of blessing,”) continued he “ Happiness does not come up to what I felt then, my friend. Ah, the doctor told thee T” “He did,” said I; “ but left it to you to explain the change I see; the whole of this; all, all my dear friend.” “ Easy enough,” said he, seating himself, ana holding my hand in both of his. “I went to America to make my fortune.” * “ I heard of California ; it was in 1848. I went straight to the mining region; it was easier work then; I accumulated in one week more gold than I had seen in my whole life. One night, half bewildered by my success, I thought of Pastor Etching's parting words: ‘Karl, ehre Gott! (honor God) p and rose from my rough couch, and said : ‘Da lieber Gott, if Thou bleseeth me with gold, and allowest me to see Trudchen alive, a tenth I shall give to build an Orphan Home for the Berner Oberland.’ Month after month I worked and hoarded, and within two years 1 ret .rned to New York, thence to my home. Good friends, more knowing about business than I, had taken charge of my fortune. 1 came; and thou knowest what happened. And when* I received Trudchen again (here his voice beoami thick, and he mastered his emotion with some difficulty), I set to work, bought this land, built the house, gathered the orphans — and there they are;' a small token of thakfulnees to the Almighty Lord of life and death.” He stopped unable to speak; and I was myself not a little moved. After a while I said: And so you are Land-Amman!” He smiled: “ Money does many things, my friend. In this country, among the poof, hard-working mountaineers, 1 am rich. They always liked me, not less since I am rich—and so I am Herr LandAmman. But there I see my Trudchen coming, leading the orphan girls; come, let me introduce you to her. — Overland Monthly for May.