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VOL. XII.
NEW BLOOMFIELD, 1J., TUESDAY, JULY a, 1878.
NO. 27.
J wH iok f7 77 171 i nil ( f 21
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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