D . M 1, MM 1 W I llu. mm r k$fc4Sm Pl$ li.iHiliiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiitiiiyiiii ffi VOL. XII. NEW BLOOMFIELD, 1J., TUESDAY, JULY a, 1878. NO. 27. J wH iok f7 77 171 i nil ( f 21 'itafcr UV, 1 If I It M Ml liKl 111 toX us rah i i ws, 1 'Cn I 0 I i7 (Mil llltll tl 111 ill V" x- J ( 1 I31CV II 1! El If I f 8 1 H if IL'S" THE TIMES. An Independent Family Kenspnper, IS PUBLISHED BVKRY TUESDAY BT F. MORTIMER & CO. B V B S C U I r X 1 O Hi 1 11 ICE. (WITHIH TUB COUNTY. One Year '. Jl 2 8U Months, 75 (OUT Ot -THH COUNTY. Ons Year. (Postage Included) II SO Six Mouths, (Postage Included) 85 Invariably In Advance I W Advertising rates furnished upon appli cation. $eledt Poeti'y. THE BEAUTY OF OLD AGE. I often think each tottering form That limps along in life's decline Once bore a heart as young, as warm, As full of idle faults as mine I And each has had Its dream of Joy, Its own unequaled, pure romance, Commencing when the blushing boy First thrilled at lovely woman's glance. And each could tell his tale of youth, Would think its scenes of love evince 'More passion, more unearthly truth Ihan any tale before or since. Tes ! they could tell of tender lays, At midnight penned in classic shade?, Of days more bright than modern days And maids more fair than modern maids. Of whispers In a willing ear j Of kissess on a blushing cheek, Each kiss, each whisper far too dear Our modern lips to give or speak. Of passions too untimely crossed Of passions slighted or betrayed Of kindred spirits early lost, And buds that blossomed but to fade. Of beaming eyes and tressess gay, Elastic form and noble brow, And forms that have all passed away, And left them what we see them now. And it Is thus is human love So very light and frail a thing 1 And must youth's brightest vision move Forever on Time's restless wing 1 Must all the eyes that still are bright, And all the lips that talk of bliss, And all the forms so fair to sight, Hereafter only come to this? Then what are all earth's treasures worth, If we must at length loose them thus If all we value most on earth Ere long must fade away from us 7 A WOMAN'S ADVENTURES. s HPHERE is a destiny which shapes X our end ;" and I ani a firm believ er in it, for how else can I explain my adventures and their results while trav eling in Austria in the year of the Welt Aussetellung at Vienna t 1 As is usual with a novice in European travel, I received during the week prior to sailing the ordinary amount of advice .as to what I should and should not do. Meantime, my aunt Edith, who had spent a year in Europe ten or twelve years before, rather surprised me by her reticence in regard to my proposed voy age. However, the night before I was to sail I suggested to her that she might be able to give me some valuable advice as she had probably not ''forgotten how one should behave in Paris." " Forgotten 1" she exclaimed with a start, and then, raven-like, " nothing more." I played with the tassel of the window curtain and wondered how I should ever get on without this aunt,the dearest, bravest and handsomest woman in all the world to me. She was thirty-six years old, just ten years older than myself, for by a happy coincidence rour birthdays fell in the same month, .and upon the same day of the month, 'the twenty-fifth of August. Aunt Edith was a great comfort to the i maiden sisterhood. Spinsters referred to Edith Mack with a sense of triumph whenever any disrespectful allusions were cast npon "old maids." She was . always bright, charming and witty, and people wondered, like so many idiots, why she had never married, instead of wondering why most other women did. When questioned about it, which was rarely, she usually replied that she nev- . er "bad the time," or that she awaited her "kind over the seas" some such . betUe, But to me the fact that she had never married was never a matter for wonder; -she had never loved, I suppos ed, which was reason enough. She had her work in life had written two very delightful books, made occasional illus trations for publishers, and played Ger man music a ravtr. At length she Spoke, this Aunt Edith. " Yea," my dear niece, I have some advice to give you," she said in a low voice; " don't fall in love with a Euro pean." "Do' you think there is any dan ger?" I asked with mock seriousness. " Not with a Frenchman or German," she quickly replied. " But let me tell you my experience. I was not far from your age when I went to Rurope with Cousin Helen. I had just refused an offer of marriage from a very noble fel low because I could not love him. He lacked the power to control me ; I felt myself the stronger of the two. Not that women like to be ruled, but that they like that power in ineu which can rule if need be, generously, but never despotically. I had only in my i id ag nation a conception of that love 'which passeth understanding' which lifts a woman out of herself into a willing sac rifice that looks to calmer eyes as the height of folly. I liked men well, but none had ever stirred more than the even surface of my feelings, and I so firmly believed that no one ever could as to re gard my 'falling in love' as most improb able. I really desired the experience, feeling that something is lost out of life if every phaze of human feeling and emotion be not awakened. But I went to Europe, and walked straight into my fate. " The day after my arrival in Faris,ln passing through the court of the hotel where I was stopping, I encountered a gentleman who lifted his hat, and who looked at me in a manner that caused me to observe his eyes,which were large, black and exceptionally splendid. In fig ure he was tall and firmly built, an aqui line nose and clearly cut chin giving a high-bred look to his face, and he wore some sort of a decoration which caught Helen's notice. At the table-d'hote that evening I found myself seated next to htm. Our table talk, begun early in the meal, was the beginning of an acquaint ance that developed into that strongest of affection s which makes slaves of us all. I never forgot my proud birthright and well understood the danger of a Eu ropean alliance or mesalliance. The gentleman was quite Oriental, belong ing to that country which has Bucharest for its capital. His family was of high distinction, connected with that of the reigning prince. He possessed a modest fortune, had been educated in Athens and Paris,and spoke four or five lan guages. He was ardent, jealous, passion ate, but possessed a heart at once so lov ing, so full of every tender and winning quality, that it was easy to forgive out bursts of feeling and similar offences. He had spent some time in England, without, however, learning to speak much of the language. The history of his past life, as he related it to us, was quite In keeping with his character as a man. He had been affianced when quite young to a beautiful girl, quarrelled with her broke off the engagement.then join ed the Greek army, fought against the Turks, and was four times wounded. " It was early in June when we arriv ed in Paris, and at the occurrence of my birthday in August we had become very well acquainted, as also with a number of his friends to whom he introduced us. Wishing to observe my fete, he sent me a tiny bouquet a rose and some sprays of fragrant flowers. In the evening he begged for some souvenir of the day, when I declared I had nothing to give. " ' Then I shall take something,' he replied, and clipped from a curl a ring of my hair, which he placed in a locket at tached to his watchguard, in the back of which he previously made a note of the day. " ' That will remain there for ever,' he remarked. " 'Which means six months,at the end of which time you will have forgotten ue,' I replied. Not at the end of six months, six years, nor six ages,' be warmly retorted, "As the autumn months wore away, and he began to talk to me of marriage, the seriousness of his love frightened me, and it was not until I was assured by what seemed unmistakable proofs that all his statements in regard to himself were true that I in any sense considered the question of marriage with him.- To be obliged always to talk French or Italian was not to my liking, and to marry anybody but a compatriot seemed very unpatriotic. But I loved him, and that was the solution of the whole mat ter. Ills kindness to us was without limit, and tendered In the most graceful and grateful manner. He knew some excellent English families who were liv ing in Paris, whose acquaintance we afterward made, and who spoke of him in the highest terms of esteem. "As the winter set in, Helen and I ar ranged to go to Italy. My friend was to take advantage of our departure to go to his 'provincial estates' on business, and afterward to Join us in Italy. He gave us a letter to the Greek consul at Home, a friend of bis, to whose care he he would confide his letters, and who, be thought, might be of real service to us notwithstanding our own ambassadorial corps there. " My separation from him proved to me in a thousand-fold manner how deep and strong was the bond that bound me to him. We had scarcely more than be come well settled in Rome than a letter arrived which he had mailed at Vienna and which the polite .consul came and delivered in person. And what a letter it was 1 only a page or two, but words alive with the love and passion of his heart. And that was the last letter, as it was the first, that I ever received from him. The causeif his silence none of us could tell. He knew that a letter sent to me in care of any one of the Ameri can consuls in Paris or in Italy would reach me. As the mystery of his sllenco deepened the attentions of the consul be came more assiduous. For some reason I did not like the man, although he was very kind and gentlemanly. Once he lightly remarked that doubtless 'our friend had been cpris by Borne fair Aus trian blood ;' and the suggestion filled me with shame. Who knew but it might be true that the man fell in love with every pretty new face for mine was called beautiful then and that after an entertaining season of flirtation he had bid me adieu ? Of course I blam ed myself for having been so confiding as to be deceived by a handsome adven turer without principle or honor. I can not tell you what agony I suffered. I begged Helen to go on to Naples, for Rome had become very hateful to me. But at Naples, as you know, Helen fell ill with the Roman fever, and died, and I returned to Rome to bury her body there in the Protestant cemetery. Four months had gone by, and not a word from my friend. Alone as I was, my troubles drove me nearly frantic I re turned to Paris. That I was so sad and changed seemed naturally due to Helen's death ; nobody suspected that I was the victim of a keener sorrow. None of his friends had received news of him. I was too proud to show that my interest in him had been of more than ordinary meaning. Nobody knew of my love for him but Helen, and the secret was bur ied in her grave. " I tarried a month or two in Paris hoping against hope for news of him, without even the consolation of address ing him letters, as I did not know where one would reach him. To know he was dead would have been a relief ; to think he had abandoned me, that be had been false, was insupportable. It was the most probable solution of the mystery, but I have never believed it, and I love him as deeply to-day as ever. I have schooled myself to cheerfulness and gay. ety, but having known him spoiled me for loving again. Here is his portrait," drawing a case from a drawer ; " I wish you to see how handsome and good and noble a man may look to be, and yet" She paused, and I added, " Be a vil lain." "So you see," she smiled, "how apro pos my advice to you is ; have nothing to do with foreigners." I returned her the portrait without comment, kissed her good-night, and next day sailed out to sea, with Aunt Edith waving her handkerchief after me like a flag of warning. We lived in the country, six hours' ride from New York and my oldest brother and Aunt Edith had followed me to the "water's edge," as she playfully expressed it. At Lon don I was to join Cecilia Dayton, a hand some widow of forty-five, an old friend of ours, who was to act the part of "chaperone." We called her "St. Ce cilia,' although she was anything but saintly. Late in the following winter we left Parjs and went to Nice, where "thero mance of a serviette" began ; and I trust the reader will not question my truthful ness when I observe that what I am writing is, without exaggeration, strict ly true. St. Cecilia, from nervousness brought on by drinking strong tea (as I firmly believe,) kept a small night lamp burn ing in her room at night, so she should not be afraid to sleep. For this purpose she used tiny tapers, which float on the top of oil poured in a tumbler half full of water. We breakfasted in our own rooms, and the breakfast napkins of the Grand Hotel, where we were stopping, were decidedly shabby and only about six inches square. On the morning of our leave-taking from Nice, St. Cecilia wanted a "rag" to tie over her bottle of oil, which she carried with her for her nlghMapers, and cast her eyes about for one; she seized upon the raggedestof the serviettes. " I don't consider this stealing, ma chere," she murmured In apology. "My bill is enormous I I feel that I've paid for this rag twice, over." So the serviette went with us by sea to Naples. There we were obliged for a time to occupy the same apartment, and the napkin taken off the bottle was ly ing about the room, for it was warm and there was no fire to throw it in. Tuck ing it away with soiled linen, it came from the laundry clean and white, save one round oil-spot on it, and was thrown into my trunk along with the refreshed linen ; and there it remained untouched until four months later, when I arrived at Vienna. At Venice, Cecilia was obliged to re turn to Paris ; she was to rejoin me a fortnight later at Vienna. Meantime, a young English-woman, Kate Barton, whose acquaintance we had made at Rome, was going to Vienna to join a party of cousins ; and as we were both alone, we arranged to make the journey together. Kate was one of the merriest of English girls (a natlve,how ever, of Cape Town,) a tall, rosy-cheeked blonde, with a half dozen brothers distributed in the British army and pro vincial parliaments. We left Venice at midnight in an Adriatic steamer ,and arrived next morn ing at Trieste, a town which during our forced stay in it of forty-eight hours fill ed my mind with nothing but most dis agreeable souvenirs. Life there was in complete contrast to the quiet, poetic, graceful existence at Venice, and the change from the one to the other had been so sudden as to act like a stunning blow. A detention caused by illness and the loss of a train through the purposed maliciousness of a hotel-waiter led to two results. One was our sending a tel egram to the proprietor of the W Hotel in Vienna to inform him of the delay, as rooms bad been engaged for us by a gentleman who was in the habit of lodging in that hotel when in Vien na, and who before leaving the city had shown the kind thoughtfulness of send ing us a letter of introduction to the pro prietor commending us to his courtesy The other result was to bring about an acquaintance with a Prussian, Herr Schwager, which happened in this wise; Kate, whose wrath was fully aroused at the troubles we encountered in Trieste, was extravagant in her denunciations of those "horrid Germans" after we were once fairly seated In the cars bound for Gratz. Neither of us spoke Uerman with any degree of ease or much intelli gibility, and consequently gave vent to our opinions in plain English. A young man of a studious, gentlemanly appear ance, but of unmistakable Teutonic de scent, sat in one corner of the compart ment, and from his frequent smiling at our talk I concluded that he understood English, and made bold to ask him if he did. " Happily ,1 do," he replied, his hand some brown eyes twinkling with in creaed jnerriment, "and I am one of those 'horrid Germans." His reply greatly amused Miss Barton and opened the way to a very animated conversation, in which we learned that he had just come from Italy, had been on the same steamer as ourselves com ing from Venice, and had stopped In the game hotel and suffered the same agonies Then we talked of what we liked best la Italy, and he .spoke of an American friend, Mr. Fanton, with whom he had greatly enjoyed Rome. The fact that he was a friend of John Fanton, whom I had known for years, and who was the last to bid me good-bye in Rome, was recommendation enough for any stran ger, and constituted us friends at once. I forgot all about Aunt Edith's advice to have "nothing to do with foreigners," but placed at once the most unlimited confidence in Herr Schwager, who from the beginning of our acquaintance at tached himself in a most brotherly way to our fortunes, proving himself in ev ery particular a rare honor to his sex. However gross and brusque the German character may be, I must for ever make an exception of our Herr,whose genuine politeness, delicacy of kindness, refine ment and rrymliness I have rarely seen equalled aud never excelled. Kate kept up her banter about the "horrid Germans," for which she had abundant reason in our journey from Gratz to Vienna. We had hoped to have a compartment to ourselves, to which end Herr Schwager, had expend ed a florin; but at the last moment a portly Gratzlan entered and settled him self by one of the windows which would command the Semmering Pass. He too spoke some English, and endeavored to be sociable. As we neared the pass he insisted upon my taking his seat the bet ter to see the marvellous scenery, with which he was already familiar. I had been too long on the Continent not to have become suspicious of a voluntary sacrifice on the part of a European. It Invariably means something; it covers an arriere pensee. He offers you a pa per to read or a peach or a pear to eat,or buys a bouquet of flowers at a station, and if you accept the proffer of either he takes advantage of the obligation under which he has placed you and proceeds generally to smoke.remarklng for form's sake that he "hopes it is not offehsive," while you, under the burden of his kind ness, smile a fashionable lie, and reply, " Not in the least." SoourGratzer with drew to the farther end of the seat and began to smoke a most villainous cigar, and continued to smoke, lighting an other when one was finished. I soon began to succumb to the poisonous effects of the close atmosphere, for, al though we kept our windows open it was the middle of June the Gratzer with true German caution kept his firm ly closed. But the effect upon Kate-was even worse, and her pallid face plainly told how much she was suffering. We cast entreating looks upon Herr Schwager, who never smoked, bnt un derstood our annoyance without know ing just how to ask the Gratzer to cease. We poked our heads out of the window, opened cologne-bottles and indulged in various manifestations of disgust; but to no purpose; the Austrain smoked on. Finally, when he began on the fourth cigar, Kate, whose patience was utterly exhausted, begged me to ask him to stop. I naturally demurred, being under obli gation to him, and replied, "you're the sicker, Kate; you tell him." When suddenly she lifted her pale face and shouted at him, "Oh, you horrid German! we are nearly smoked to deathl For mercy's sake, stop 1" "Ah, pardon I" he replied unconcern edly, taking the cigar from his mouth and putting it in his pocket. Herr Schwager's amusement was boundless, and our satisfaction also, as we had no more smoke on the road to Vienna. , The landlord of the Hotel W- to whom we were recommended, received us with a pleasant cordiality, and at the same time apologized because he could not give us the rooms engaged for us until the next day ; so we were tempo rarily lodged in a large room leading from an ante-room designed for a ser vant an arrangement which is com mon in Austrian hotels. On the follow ing morning, as Kate was waiting half dressed in the ante-room for the kam-mer-madchen to bring her warm water, who should walk in upon her, sans cere monle, but a long, black-gowned priest 1 He stared at her, nonchalantly looked about the room, and walked out with never a word. She might have regarded the intrusion as a mistake if a like visit from the same personage had not been made at the same hour next morning In our own rooms, to , which we were that day transferred. The two successive
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers