St. Joseph County Independent, Volume 22, Number 30, Walkerton, St. Joseph County, 13 February 1897 — Page 2

THE SERENADE. 'Sferra o X. s/fe®3btM °4 / ° Or wWwrp&^r^iZw^ c? ci f ■ i* c>^> V ■ r-c^ \?d \ K<22- < ?' St. Valentine! St. Valentine! Be thou my friend this night. I seienade a dainty maid, „->^*‘ That is my 'heart’s delight. Oh. pray she be not cold to me a.3 are the That I may see her turn on-^. J One sweet glance from her eyes. Beneath her window here I stay as still the moments go,‘ Till I divine by some slight sign She hears my voice below. St. Valentine,! St. Valentine! She does not hear me yet— What’s this L see? A sign, dear me! ••THIS VA/JANT’HOUSE TO LET!” A Jbtfe^ When my dear Aunt Maud died she died the very summer I graduated I tv as really too heart-broken to care what became of me. Still, 1 had to be disposed of In Bome # tvay, so it was decided that 1 go to live with suy brother Richard in South Carolina. Dick is a bachelor, an attorney-at-law, and has a very fair practice indeed. Anterior to my advent, ho had lived by hitfself in a pretty cottage on the prettiest street, and was rather a central figure, and ’ W£is quite the most eligible young man about town. We got on famously together, so famously that in all probability the last chapter would .have found us still there, he a grizzly old bachelor. 1 a grizzled old inaid, had not something occurred which brought about a change. It all "grew out of what happened one ’ St. Valentine’s eve. On this day, memorable above otlv days, just about an hour after dinner Dick received a telegram to go up that evenim to A , a city fifty miles away, to meet an important client. He did not haw time to come home, for the train was then in eight,' by t he scribbled me the followin ': note, which I did not get until nearly night, because the office boy neglected to bring it until that time: 3:10 p. m. Dear Girl—Have to leave on next train to meet a man in A— —. Probably won't get home till to-morrow noon. Spend the night with the Ancient (a dear old lady friend of mine). Be sure to put that j money in the bank before it closes at 4. i Don’t fail. DICK. The money—several thousand dollars collected for a client—surely I could not at 7 put money in a bank that closed at 4. I could not very well carry it with me to the Ancient’s, and I certainly could not leave it. I had never heard of any burglaries in the village, so I made up my mind that I would stay at home that night and take the risk. I did not want any tea, so I let the servant girl^jo eauly: and sat before a big oak tire in the sitting room, "thinking up” one of Dick's cases. It was a murder case, that had a great deal of circum- ■ tantial evidence leading in various directions. I soon became deeply absorbed; bo deeply that I presently went to sleep at it. I woke up suddenly/ frightened to find myself enveloped in darkness. Everything was so’stiil. 1 was possessed with a strange, sinking fear. 1 was afraid to move, afraid to turn my head to left or right lest I see something terrifying lurking in the gloomy corners. I was cold, too, and trembling. The room was chilled; I fancied it must be just before dawn. My fear increased rather than diminished as the moments dragged by. I had a kind of instinctive animal fear of impending, danger. I thought of the money. It was locked up in the cabinet at my right hand, not two yards away. I found myself listening painfully, torturously. I endeavored to rally ! my courage, to persuade myself that I had awakened from a nightmare, and was nervous. All to no purpose. Something was going to happen .which would bring me hurt. I could not throw off the notion. Just then it began to rain a regular downfall, as if the bottom had suddenly fallen out of the*clouds. I have never known it to 1 rain jgo .heavily, A perfect deluge, and every^lmp seemed to penetrate my soul. I did not move. I lay back in my cushloned*ehair helpless, and felt that I could not have raised my hand to my face if my life were the forfeit. Such pouring! I found myself listening behind the rain—behind all the putt cringe noise—listening for another sound. I had a grotesque idea that the elements and this something that was coming to me, were colleagued together? the one to screen the approach of the other. I was listening with every fiber of my body drawn taut. Listening for what? I did not know. Something beyond, behind^hd rain. Then I heard it. A sound distinct from the rain patter. A sound emanating from our little drawing room—a scraping*, sawing sound. It came from the front portico. I knew someone was cutting through the Venetian blinds into the house. My faintest doubt vanished soon, when 1 unmistakably heard the blinds dragged back and the sash creak as it was’pushed up. Someone was entering the house! In a twinkling my mind was acutely active, and a thousand ways of escape surged through my brain in a moment. I unlocked the cabinet and grasped the large pocketbook which contained the notes, and thrust it into my

bosom. I clutched the money In my bosom and stepped into the empty fireplace. In another moment I was scramI bling up the sooty chimney with the j ability of a finished chimney sweep, and I kept scrambling till 1 had made a stronghold for myself. What went on down below I did not know. In the cessations of the rain I could hear the heavy tread passing to and fro in a search, I knew, for that money. But I, from my lofty vantage ground, could only thank heaven again and again for such a blessed deliverance. I was so benumbed with cold and fright that I think I lost consciousness, and would probably have tumble^ down the chimney but that I was so rigid and so walled in I could not. The next thing I remember was opening my eyes and seeing the square of wan light above me. Then realizing all, my ' strength gave way, and I fell heavily, striking my head against something which left me senseless for hours. When I came to myself, I was in the arms of a young man whom I had never seen before. I don't suppose there was ever a more terrified young man upon this earth of ours. Imagine an inoffensive young man turning up in a town where an intimate friend lived, coming in on the very train this iU*?mate friend out. Im--1 agine the intimate frien'd cordially inviting the newcomer to his house, telling him there was nobody in it, but that ho could put up there, make himself lord and master, find plenty to eat by foraging around, and get a good bed. Then to | make the thing complete, give him the wrong keys by which to let himself in. j Imagine this newcomer booming about : town until 11 o’clock, then striking out for his friend’s abode; overtaken by the rain; at last to arrive at his Intended abiding place to discover he has the wrong keys, which necessitates his climbing into | the house like a burglar. Imagine him piling into the first bed he comes to, very soon sinking off into the untroubled slum- ; oer of the innocent at heart, to be awakened at the peep of day by a something tumbling down the chimney. Not a hobgoblin that were better but a young woman ami one probably more dead than alive. Imagine it nil, if you can, for that is what happened to the misguided young man. who held me across bls knees and wiped the blood from my broken forehead on that memorable St Valentine's morning. When the servant girl came he went for the doctor, and Mary got me to bed. Dick came nt noon, and was horrified nt what had happened. But the doctor had pronounced me more frightened than hurt; and really, but for the dreadful cold I caught, and my wounded forehead, It did not amount to anything, and soon became a tremendous joke. And it turned out that this friend of Dick's, whose n< quamtnme I made In such an unconventional fashion, was the very client whose money 1 defended. And it also came about that that he—that 1 that we have we have grown h> know each other very well. Detroit I'res Press. A Valentine. What would I send y u, < >h, frl>*n<l <>f • 'lusters of blossoms <> Mulle and Rhine. Pansies to gladden. Hoses to bless; Lilies to bend la Their frail loveliness? But snow drifts have hidden A If beauty s way. Not a smile’s In the country. This wintry day. Everything's waiting To smile by and by; When summer's returning With blue sunny sky. Hut, dear, I can never Forget you. you know. When winter Is frowning, And chilly winds blow. So, 1 am sending. I'ear heart, to yon. Wishes most tender And love most true. Womankind. Valentine Making. The lace paper which comes upon toilet soap boxes, raisin boxes am! confectionery —often large squares are used to cover the candies in boxes may be made to play an important part in the valentine making. Strips of this i; c paper may be made to finish the four sides of a card, and pictures, stamps or gilt lettering b« added to the inner space, or two wide strips may be fastened to opposite sides, meeting in the middle; these are to open back and show a picture <r lettering beneath. A square of tlie lace paper will serve to make a valentine quite equal to those in the stores. One edge of the card is turned forward and the edge of the lace square is pasted over this and forms an upper leaf. A verse, picture or butterfiies may decorate the lower leaf and perhaps an embossed picture b, added to the lace front. I mintily colored paper is even prettier with these laces than the white. Ragged Wayside "Why did yer steal dat scientific paper when dere wuz lots wid gals' pictures in dem lyin’ ’round?” ; Wandering Willy—"l like ter read 'bout de invention of labor-savin’ machinery. Dis will be a fine world ter live in when dere’s no more work done by hand.”—. Comic Cuts. .Mr Jones' Valentine. k nß® I 11 \ w w / \ Uli / \ > / I Jones smiles with blissful joy divine, 1 It was no comic valentine, I Nor yet a thing of crimps and laces. Os furbelows and Uupld faces. Ah! Is his ticket one that wins? ’ More, uore, my friend—a pair of twin*.

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< Vwx '•They’re talking nowaday*, right •mart about the great Napoleon* Bald : Unci© l»nn. “but when t’other *T the boys nxke<] me w ho I thought tb«£P>'Atc*t man. I snyn T d u't know I > - w'ji J .? WbIngton, an’ Alexander, an' Nap *gt», nn' lota of others, but. my way a , ■ _ ~ Old Abo Lincoln Is n^end of ’erj Ji" - | "< » ren t new Isn't )»■■« • b<’ln*W^^B •' •olenin Hk©. Now, Uncle Abrnha^B-'mli hoe his row with nny ©f 'em sW^^T. an’ yet some way he had the swing of them old prophet*. That struck me when th* war broke out, an' afore 1 knew it 1 caught the fever, carried coal oil lamps • around with ths rest of the crowd, got i howltn' about John Brown'* body molder Ing in tb.e gr>> md, and 'By Jinks,’ saya I •I'll jfne!' "Os course, Billy must stay at home to plow and sow and make the corn and Lay. He’d just turned fifteen, but as 1 marched away, blest if there wasn't ma cryin' in his arum, an’ Billy yellin' like mad, ‘I want a chance to strike for liberty!' Blest me again! in ess than a year if I didn't hear one day that Billy had enlisted, too. “How I watched that boy! Sometimes praying when he kept by my side in battle, sometimes swearing, too, maybe, when he exposed himself too carelessly. At Vicksburg he fell back, crushed and maimed by the parapet tire, and I took him in my arms ami Imre him back, an', half crazy with fears, dashed at the fort again. Well, he rallied from the Wound, but somehow he never seemed so sound as before. There was a wandering strangeness in his m uner, like he didn’t ’zactly , know b.is min.', and one night, when skir- i ntzJxts were daily, an’ Sherman an* Hood was trying to get the chance for a win- j nlng tight, Billy was placed on picket duty I where danger hovered thick. I told him , to keep his eyes wide open, but after I’d ' got into my blanket in camp I couldn’t ; sleep. I took my gun and hurried silently to the outposts, reached a spot close underneath the hill, and my heart stopped, for there was a scuffle, a cry, and I saw the forms of half a hundred men. It wan't no time to think. 1 raised my gun. The good old musket rang out the alarm, the rebels turned and ran. The boy? There he lay, his form stretched ouflupon the ground, asleep at his nost' - - V “He turned to me an' put ^h. f around me lovingly. ‘T couldn’t tWA *b dad,' he said, smiling his old boyishtsmile, a hW® ■ —^l/-3k m .Jsw ■ I TOOK HIM IN MY ARMS AND BORE DIM BACK.” end marched away between the guards. 1 begged, I plead, I swore that Billy wasn’t like himself. No use. The sentence came. I appealed to the generals. I got only one answer: ‘The death sentence of the court has been approved.’ Then I went to Washington to see the President.

"It was my last hope. They wouldn't let me in. They even pushed mo back as a carriage drove up. I saw who got out; I trityl to attract his attention. ''Who is this man?' says ho. 'Only a soldier after an Interview,' says the officer. ‘Only a soldier?' says ho, musingly. 'Periling his j life! Only a soldier, fighting the battles I of thia awful war! Thank God! to speak Ito me you need no other name. Only a ; soldier? Come in, my man.' Ami ho led i me up the stairs, while ministers and geu- ’ orals waited outside. "I told him. with sobs half choking me, ; the story of my grief. His face was sad ; and furrowed, and he bowed his head jas be listened. He looked over the pa- ! pom enn ft:"y. Then h« turned, and I smiling gently, said, 'We'll let the other • follows do th" killing. I think the country will get abmg with this young fellow running ’round alive.’ Ami then he wrote: ‘This sentence disapproved. Restored to his company. A. Lincoln.' Just there I | lost my grip. I only cried like a baby, i ‘You tell your boy,’ says he, T count on him tn fight.' "In six months Billy stood upon the roll ns se ond ■- .r; r il. Thon ho !<■ iime color i

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through Georgia until we faced the guns of Fort McAlister. A charge was ordered, but at first the rebels fired at such a rate that the ranks wavered. Billy, with face aflame, carried the flag far up in the advance. ‘Bring back the colors to the regiment" cried the colonel. Amid the crack and crash of the guns, the boy replied, ‘You bring the regiment to the colors!’ Then, with shouts and cheers, the brigade rushed madly on, and before they fairly sensed it. the day was won. ‘•Billy had gone down. They had to pry his fingers loose from the flag. There was a smile on his face a thousand years can’t make me forget. ‘Redeemed at last,’ the general came and said, and placed his name among the heroes. They wrapped the Stars and Stripes around my son. When they put him in his new uniform that night, they found his treasures, and among the rest was a picture of Old Abe, and written on its back were the words, a prophecy, ‘l've fought, great friend, and died for liberty!’ ” LINCOLN'S SWEETHEART. Sho Was a Beautiful Kentucky Girl and Had Many Suitors. Lincoln first met Ann Mayes Rutledge in 1832, when she was 19. She was a beautiful girl and as bright as she was pretty. So fair a maid was not, of course, without suitors. The most determined of those who sought her hand was one John McNeill, a young man who had arrived in New Salem from New York soon after the founding of the town. Ann became engaged to McNeill, but it was decided to put off marriage on account ot Ann’s youth. After a while McNeill left for his home in the East, saying that he would return in time with his parents. Then it came out that McNeill’s real name was McNamar. The New Salem people pronounced him an impostor. A few letters were received from him by Ann, but finally the lover ceased to write to her. In the spring of 1535 Ann agreed to become Lincoln's wife. New Salem took a

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cordial Interest In the two lovers, ^,l 1 ( | presaged a happy life for them, and all i 1 would,undoubtedly have gone well if the young girl c lid have dismissed the haunting memory of her old lover. The possi- ' bility that she had wronged him, that he 1 might reappear, that he loved her still, haunted her so persistently that she took |to her bed. Iler death speedily followed. Lincoln’s grief was intense. He was seen walking alone by the river and through the woods, muttering strange things to i himself. He seemed to his friends to be in the shadow of madness. They kept a close watch over him; and nt last Bowl- - ing Green, one of the most devoted friends Lincoln then had, took him home to his I little log cabin, half a mile north of New Salem, under the brow of a big bluff. Here, under the loving care of Green and his good wife, Nancy, Lincoln remained until he was once more master of himself. > i But though he had regained self-con-I trol, his grief was deep and bitter. Ann . J Rutledge was buried in Concord Cemei i tery, a country burying ground, seven ! miles northwest of New Salem. To this 1 I lonely spot Lincoln frequently journeyed r to weep over her grave. "My heart is I ! hur>'*'«] ho unit! tu vxic v/ his >

friends. Strange to say, McNamar proved to be an honest man and a faithful though careless lover. THE IMMORTAL LINCOLN. , An Apotheosis in His Memorable First Inaugural. , In an epoch of convulsion and cataclysm and chaos Abraham Lincoln was introduced into presidential power. He held to the syllogistic and spurned figurative speech. No fustian found favor in his prejudices. Coming to the end of his first inaugural, Lincoln reached these words: ‘‘lp your hands, my fellow countrymen, and not in mine, is the momentous issue of civil war. The Government will not assail you. You can have no conflict without being yourselves the aggressors. You have no oath registered in heaven to destroy the Government, while I shall have the most solemn one to preserve, protect and defend it.” “I am loath to close. M e are not enemies, but friends. We must not b* enemies. Though passion may have strained, it must not break our bonds of affection. The mystic chords of memory, stretching from every battlefield and patriot grave to every living heart and hearthstone all over this broad land, will yet swell the chorus of the Union when again touched, as surely they will be, by the better Angels of our nature.” Lincoln's Trust in God. ‘‘What I did I did after a very full deliberation and under a very heavy apd solemn sense of responsibility,” said Lincoln with reference to the emancipation proclamation. “I can only trust in G-od I have made no mistake. I shall make no attempt on this occasion to sustain what I have done or said by any comment. It I is now for the country and the world to pass judgment, and may be take action , upon it.” Looking a difficulty square In the face will often kill It dead.

_ % H SAW LINCOLN SHOT. ONE WHO WITNESSED THE GREAT TRAGEDY. Story of the Man Who Was the Fira* to Reach the Side of the Wounded. President —His Clothing Stained by the Blood CTf the Martyr. Our Nation’s Darkest Day. There now lives in Philadelphia a gentleman who saw the whole scene of Lincoln’s assassination, and was the first to reach the witinded man in the prevailing panic. William Flood is the gentleman's name, and he gave the following graphio account, which is taken down in his exact words: “At the tithe the President was shot,” said he in answer to a query, “1 was in the United States navy and was acting ensign and executive officer on board tn* ntcatnship 'ffazer. Captain Silas Otrcu r was the commander^ and the ship was located at the navy yard on April 14. That evening Captain Owen, who had been, over in the city during the day, cam»t to the ship and suggested that we go to the theater that evening, as Laura Keene was to play ‘Our American Cousin,’ and the President kasto be there. We went to the theater and secured seats in the, parquet or orchestra chairs. The President occupied the second box up from the orchestra and second from the stage. Just as the curtain fell on the first act I heard a shot and saw a man jump from, the President’s box to the stage. As he jumped his foot caught in the folds of the flag that draped the box, and he fell sideways on the stage. It was quite a good jump, and he came very near falling back into the orchestra. He got up and limped' away across the stage, brandishing a great long knife tn his right hand, and shouted, ‘Sic semper tyrannis.’ “In less time thrn it t^kes to tell It I' was on the stage. How I got there over the heads of the oPlhestxa I really don't' remember. Just as I reached the stage Mrs. Lincoln looked out of the box. She was crying and wringing her hands and said: ‘They have shot papa; will no one come?' I answered that I would come, and immediately climbed up the side of the boxes to the one the President occupied. “The President was sitting as if he had fallen asleep. He was breathing,

however, and we at once laid him on the floor of the box. I looked for the wound, but at first did not discover it Miss Keene brought a pitcher of water and I bathed his forehead with that so as to revive him. I then discovered the wound in the back of his head, where the ball had entered, and the blood ran out on my arm and down the side of my eoat. Some army officers brought in a stretcher and he was placed on that and carried out I then went to the front of the box and motioned for the audience to remain quiet Every one was talking, and there was a general “ uproar. As soon as It ceased for a minut® I told them that the President was still alive, but had been shot, and was no doubt mortally wounded. Captain Owens and I then went out to the front of the building and found a platoon of police In th® street The sidewalks were so crowded with people that we had to get out in th® middle of the road to get down the street We went to the National Hotel, and by the time we got there the mob was so dense we could get no further, so a couple of police took us through the hotel to O street, at the rear, and we got a cab and were driven to the navy yard. I was so bloody from the wound, my right hand and arm being covered, that i» is a wonder that I was not hanged by that mob. They, sere intensely excited at the time, and It would have taken very little to have driven them Into a frenzy. ‘‘The next day our ship went down the river to head Booth off, and did not return until after he was killed. I was then sent for to go down and identify him. I recognized him very readily as he jumped from the box as J. Wilkes Booth.” Talleyrand never was in love but once, and that was when he was about 16 years old. When Napoleon ordered him to marry and picked out a wife for him, he pleaded this youthful attachment, which was Immediately scoffed at by the great match-maker as a piece of nonsense.