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Accession No, " b"^ v"^.:
THE
GRANITE MONTHLY
A New Hampshire Magazine
HEVOTED TO
HISTORY, BIOGRAPHY, LITERATURE,
AND STATE PROGRESS
VOLUME XIX
CONCORD, N. H.
PUBLISHED BY THE (iRAXITE MONTHLY COMPANY
1895
N
974,2
G759
V. /9
Copyright, 1895
bv the (jranite monthly company
Concord, N. H.
Printed, lilust rated, and Electroiyped by
Republican Press Association (Monitor Press)
Concord, New Hampshire, U. S. .4.
The Granite Monthly.
CONTENTS OF VOLUME XIX.
July — Decern ber, i8g^ .
Abbott, Hattie, Witch Hazel
Adams, Ida G., Along the Piscataquog : A Sketch of VVkake
A Dawn Picture, Frank Walcott Hutt .......
Along the Piscataquog: A Sketch of Weark, Ida G. Adams
Along the Saco, George Bancroft Grififiths ......
Among the Islands: A Sketch of Lake Winnipesaukee, Henry B. Colby
An Old Barn And Its Swallows, Henry Whytmere ....
A Sketch of Warner: Historic and Otherwise, Amanda B. Harris
At Lundy's Lane, Mary H. Wheeler ........
August 17, 1755: A Tale of the Early Settlement of New Hampshire
F. Hodgman . . . . . . . .
Autumn Among the Hills. Charles Henry Chesley .....
Barnabee. Henry Clay, H. C. Pearson .......
Bartlett, John H., The Dying Leaf . . .,
Benedict, Milo, Bring Back the Old People ......
Bring Back the Old People, Iviilo Benedict ......
I'AGE
353
329
314
329
189
152
395
411
169
42
394
451
398
187
187
Call, Zaida, Faithful Unto death: A Sketch from Life .... 473
Love .............. 476
Campbell, M. J., Dethroned 360
Chandler, Agatha B. E.,Wild Reutlingen : A Ro.mance of the Time of the
Gre.\t King 46, 129. 251, 294, 361, 458
Chesley, Charles Henry, Autu.mn A.mong the Hills ...... 394
The Bobolink ............ 82
CoiT, Rev. Henry Augustus, LL. D. ; First Rector of S. Paul's School,
Concord, N. H., Rev. Daniel C. Roberts, D. D i
Colby, Henry B., Among the Islands: A Sketch of Winnipesaukee . . 152
Copy of Record of Marriages by Rev. Samuel Hidden, from i 792-1 837 . 217
Currier, Mary M., Pardon 122
IV
CONTENTS.
Davis, Franklin Ware, In the Chocorua Country
Dethroned, M. J. Campbell ....
Educational Department, Fred Gowing .
Can School Children be Healthy?
^77
360
89, 170, 251, 321, 399, 478
321
251
Desirable Educational Legislation, Channing Folsom
Report of the New Hampshire Committee of Five on the Report of
the "Committee of Fifteen," John Henry Bartlett
The Curriculum of a Small High School, Edward J. Goodwin
The Relation of the Agricultural College to the Common Schools
Pres. C. S. Murkland
477
89, 170
399
Faithful Unto Death : A Sketch from Life, Zaida Call
Farmington, Mrs. Adelaide Cilley Waldron . . . .
From the Piazza : Mt. Washington from the Mt. Pleasant
A. Jenks ..........
Hou
SE, Edward
Gems of the New Hampshire Shore, L. K. H. Lane
Gowing, Fred, Educational Department
Granite Monthly, The .....
Griffiths, George Bancroft, Along the Saco
Home ........
The Granite Statp: .....
Grover, Edwin Osgood, Mount Chocorua .
"Over the Mounting:" A Hate Story
8
89. 170, 251, 321, 399, 478
489
189
375
306
186
227
Hanson, H. H., The Partridge
Two Pictures .....
Harris, Amanda B., A Sketch of Warner: Historic and Otherwise
Hodgman, F., August 17, 1755: A Tale of the Early Settle.ment of New
Hampshire .....
The Cricket .....
Holbrook, Chlce P.. Mt. Caesar Seminary and Swanzey Academy
Home, George Bancroft Griffiths
Hutt, Frank Walcott, A Dawn Picturk
In a Curious Twist, Edward A. Jenks
In the Chocorua Country, Franklin Ware Davis
Jenks, Edward A., From the Piazza, Mt. Washington from Mt
House ........
In a Curious Twist ......
Under the Old Elm .....
Ye Balade of Ye Fretful Lytel Robin .
John Danforth and Camp Caribou, George H. Moses
Lan-", L. K. H., Gems of the New Hampshire Shore
Linehan, John C, War Pictures .... 83, 143, 2
Lord, Myra B., The Dividing Line: A Sketch of New London
Love, Zaida Call .........
473
259
355
Pleasant
306
207
4ir
42
455
193
375
314
291
177
355
291
128
6
315
8
d8, 307, 356, 456
• 93
. 476
CONTENTS.
V
Mason, Mrs. Ellen M., North Conway Among the Mountains
Metcalf, H. B., John B. Peaslee, Ph. D.
Moonlight on the Uncanoonucs, Moses Gage Shirley
Moses, George H., Phillips Exeter's New Principal
John Danforth and Camp Caribou .
Mount Chocorua, Edwin Osgood Grover .
Mt. Caesar Seminary and Swanzey Academy
Mt Willard in September, Emilie Reade
New Hampshire Necrology
Adams, Mrs. :\Iary E.
Ayer, Nathan .
Blaxchard, Edwin D
Brown, Oran
Burge, Samuel .
Butler, Jerome C.
Campbell, Charles H.
Callaghan, William J.
Cheney, Benjamin Pierce
Chesley, Lieut. J. A.
Chesley, William P.
Clough, Lucien B.
Cogswell, Hon. P. B.
Colony, Ormaxd E.
Currier, Orim
UlXSMORE, AlONZO R.
Dole, Edith S.
Drew, Nicholas
Duncan, Samuel A. .
Eaton, Edmund .
Eaton, George C.
Elkins, Dr. John P. .
Fernald, James E.
Gliddex, C. W.
Goffe, Col. George W.
GoocH, William L, .
Goodrich, Hiram M.
Gordon. William
Harvey, D. L. .
Haven, Dr. A. H.
Haven,. George W.
Hill, Job W. .
Jackson, Rev. W. C.
Kexdrick, H. p.
Kexxett, Frank R. .
Kimball, Deacon Charles
Kimball, J.a.son J.
Kimball, John G.
Laxe, Albert F.
Laxe, Samuel D.
Chloe P. Holbrook
64
391
168
215
315
186
193
320
92, 176, 256, 326, 407, 485
176
328
407
486
487
326
326
328
256
410
409
258
485
92
409
176
176
328
487
408
327
327
257
327
257
408
407
487
486
327
258
408
410
487
410
92
408
258
92
327
VI
CONTENTS.
New Hampshire Necrology [Continued^ :
Little, Sherman
McAlpine. C. G.
Miner, Rev. A. A., D. D.
Miner, Mrs. Maria S. P.
Morgan, Gerry .
Morse, Dearborn
Nason, Richard
Paige, Horace T.
Parker, Charles
Pe.arl, Isaac E.
Perkins, Robert H. .
Perkins, Washington
Pierce, Samuel .
Pike, Rev. James K., D. D.
Piper, S. H.
Pollens, Louis .
Putnam, S. B. .
Reid, Rev. Lewis H.
Reynolds, Charles H.
Savage, Joseph .
Simons, Lewis
Sinclair, Albert G.
Sleeper, Mrs. Martha G.
Spalding, Dr. Edward
Stearns, Mrs. Mary A.
Stevens, A. j. .
Stuart, Thomas
Taft, Mrs. Lucinda Knight
Taylor, James C.
Thompson, Robert C.
Thorpe, Elliott G. .
TowLE, Frank C.
True, William C.
Upham, Dr. F. W. .
Wadleigh, Capt. John S,
Waite, O. F. R.
Webster, Prof. Warren T.
Wetherbee, W. W. .
Whidden, a. G.
Wood, Capt. H. G. .
Woodbury, Rev. Augustus
Nichols, Laura D., The Sentinels
North Conway Among the Mountains, Mrs. Ellen M. Mason
Our National Flower: A Suggestion and a Plea, Rev. Daniel C. Roberts, D.D
"Over the Mounting:" A Hate Story, Edwin Osgood Grover
Pardon, Mary M. Currier ......
Pearson, Clarence Henry, Why Didst Thou Doubt? .
409
327
92
257
258
328
487
488
326
326
408
176
407
257
410
407
487
176
409
407
409
408
488
92
257
486
258
410
408
257
488
409
408
410
488
409
258
486
486
410
488
406
64
142
227
122
450
CONTENTS.
Vll
Pearson, H. C, Henry Clay Baknabee .....
The Waitek Girl
Peaslee, John B., H. B. Metcalf
Phalen, Frank L., Sunrise on Monadnock ....
Phillips E.xeter's New Principal, George H. Moses
Reade, Emilie, Mr. Willard in September ....
Roberts, Rev. Daniel C., D. D., Rev. Henry Augustus Coit, LL
Rector of S. Paul's School, Concord, N. H.
Our National Flower : A Suggestion and a Plea
Sanborn, Franklin Benjamin .......
Sanborn, F. B., The Charities of New Hampshire
Sanborn, \'ictor Channing, The American and English Sambornes
Selden, G. C, The White Angel
Sliirley, Moses Gage, Moonlight on the Uncanoonucs
Stewart, Helen Soule, The Two Paths .....
Sunrise on Monadnock, Frank L. Phalen ....
The American and English Sambornes. Victor Channing Sanborn
The Bobolink, Charles Henry Chesley
The Charities of New Hampshire. F. B. Sanborn
The Cricket, F. Hodgman ....
The Dividing Line: A Sketch of New London, iMyra B. Lord
The Dying Leaf, John H. Bartlett
The Granite State, George Bancroft Grififiths .
The Old Folks at Home, M. P.. Lawrence
The Partridge, H. H. Hanson ....
The Sentinels, Laura D. Nichols
The Two Paths, Helen Soule Stewart
The Waiter Girl, H. C. Pearson
The White Angel, G. C. Selden
Two Pictures, H. H. Han.son ....
D.,
Under The Old Elm, Edward A. Jenks .
War Pictures, John C. Linehan
Wheeler, Mary H., At Lundy's Lank
Why Didst Thou Dotnn? Clarence Henry Pearson
Whytmere, Henry, An Old Barn and Its Swallows
Wild Reutlingen: A Romance of the Time of
B. E. Chandler
Witch Hazel, Hattie Abbott ....
First
451
38
391
439
215
320
I
142
389
376
441
123
168
292
439
441
82
376
455
93
398
306
191
306
406
292
38
123
207
128
83, 143, 208, 307, 356, 456
1 69
45^
395
THE Great King, Agatha
46, 129, 235, 294. 361, 458
3S2,
Ye Balade of Ye Fretful Lytel Robin, Edward A. Jenks
o
o
W
u
m
m
W
W
The Granite Monthly.
V^OL. XIX.
JULY, 1895.
No.
THE REV. HENRY AUGUSTUS COIT, D. D., LL. D.
FIRST RECTOR OF S. PAUL S SCHOOL, CONCORD, N. H.
By Rev. Daniel C. Roberts, D. D.
^HERE is a mystery
of power in a great
and representative
man which is de-
veloped, in various
ways in various
individuals of our
race. These men do great things,
and we look on and see them do it,
and it all seems simple and natural
enough. And j'et other men, who to
all appearances are as well equipped,
using the same tools and apparently
like methods, wutli energy and ambi-
tion, fail to achieve greatness. One
cannot tell why, in any helpful way,
nor point out the article of failure,
nor clearly indicate a remedy. No
amount of any other quality or en-
erg5^ wull take the place of genius.
]Most of us must be contented with
our average of success. Most of the
world's work is done by average
men. And so it comes about that
we make a great background of me-
diocrity against which genius appears
in a sort of high relief. The great-
ness would not be so conspicuous but
for the foil of common-place.
And this mysterious power is not
shut up to any one vocation in life
which happens to afford facilities for
display. Talent is favored by oppor-
tunity. Genius creates opportunity.
Talent does well with materials.
Genius discovers materials. Tal-
ent, with strenuous endeavor, accom-
plishes great things. Genius does
great things easih'.
The subject of this sketch did
great things easih*. That does not
mean an}- magic in indolence. It
means that with the same endeavor
which other earnest and industrious
men use in doing their part, he did
his, and it was great.
Possibly it is a greater thing to
achieve greatness in one thing than
in another. If there are degrees of
greatness, surely tho.se are greatest
wdiose lines of thought and work are
least conspicuous, and ' are brought
into notice by the personality of him
whose greatness is illustrated by
achievement in them. \Ve under-
stand all about a man's being a great
soldier, a great statesman, a great
poet or artist, — we feel that it is less
THE REW HENRY AUGUSTUS CO IT, D. D., EL. D.
easy to think of a great schoolmaster.
This is Ijecause there is a certain
reserve in a schoohnaster's Hfe, and
because we in onr fancy set a Hmit
to what can be done in that depart-
ment of the world's work. We have
a sort of mental reluctance to classify
greatness in that with greatness in
things more wideh' exploited, more
clamorously advertised. But, as a
matter of fact, the greatness is in the
man. And the list of such men is
not large in any generation.
The earl}- historj- of Dr. Coit is
like that of other young men of good
ancestry and average opportunities.
He was born in 1S30 in the state of
Delaware. The men who had the
training and moulding of the young
mind and spirit were men who had
a decided and well understood part
in the "making" of our country,
intellectually and spiritually. The
Rev. Dr. Muhlenberg was a striking
and unique figure in the Episcopal
church and in practical philanthropy.
He was the founder of S. Luke's
hospital in New York city, and the
organizer of the free Church of the
Holy Communion, with its wide ex-
tended works in behalf of the poor
and the outcast. He was a man of
strong convictions and resolute in
carrying his purposes into effect, but
his methods were conservative and
his personal manners sweet and gen-
tle. The enterprise known as " S.
John land," with its modest but
practical Christian socialism, was
instituted by him, and he was a
pioneer in several things of note
and moment. Many youths came
under his care : here was one who
could and did profit by the les.sons
and impressions received from him.
Dr. Coit used to say that the school
of Dr. Muhlenberg was his earliest
model.
While still young he travelled in
the South for the benefit of his
health, and was for a short time a
guest of Bishop Eliot, the pioneer
bishop of Georgia. The organization
of Southern society was of a sort to
develop a strong individuality, and
the example and influence of Bishop
Eliot would emphasize that tendency
in an ardent and earnest tempera-
ment already coming under the dis-
cipline of a lofty principle and un-
wavering resolution.
With new experiences and great
store of observation and study, wdth
much shrewd insight into men and
their ways, and with renewed health,
Mr. Coit returned from the South
prepared for duty.
Associated with the Rev. Dr. Ker-
foot in S. James's college at Hagers-
town, Maryland, the future educator
was himself educated in the best
wa3'S. There were difficulties enough
in the working out of Dr. Kerfoot's
plans to furnish practical training in
methods for the staff and to establish
their resolution.
From Hagerstown Mr. Coit went
to Lancaster, Pennsylvania, and en-
tered upon the charge of the Parish
school in connection with S. James's
church under the Rev. Dr. Bowman,
afterwards assistant bishop of Penn-
sylvania. Serving the parish anct its
missions as well as the school, he
found a field for the cultivation of
his versatile and original powers,
developing the many-sided man who
was always not less a pastor than a
schoolmaster, not less a preacher than
an educator, not less a priest than a
pedagogue.
At Lancaster he met, and subse-
THE REV. HENRY AUGUSTUS CO IT, D. D., LL. D.
quently married, Miss Mary Bowman
Weeeler. INIrs. Coit was a woman of
birth and breeding, accomplished,
sympathetic, and wise, and having
the useful gifts of knack and capa-
bility. In all his enterprises and
endeavors, notably in the founding
and development of S. Paul's school,
she was strength, support, and com-
fort to her distinguished husband, a
constant power, a gracious presence,
an inspiration.
Leaving Lancaster, ]\Ir. Coit en-
tered into missionary work in north-
ern New York, west of Lake Cham-
plain, and there as elsewhere made
the most of himself and his oppor-
tunities. It was a typical rural pop-
ulation. Among such people the
work that is done must be largely
personal, and the pastor is on inti-
mate terms with the quaint intelli-
gences which grow strong and earn-
est and original, with many a twist
awry in their intellectual make-up,
thinking out things for themselves
in their isolated and more or less mo-
notonous lives. They stand sturdily
by the traditions of their region, sect,
or family. It is an education in human
nature to deal intimately with them,
drill for the mind to discuss their moot
questions with them, training for heart
and soul to bring light and love to
bear upon them. One learns the ex-
tent of one's own resources and how
to draw upon them. Shut up in that
environment, men grow narrow and
hard ; but, with one's mind and heart
open to the movements of the great
world of thought and feeling, contact
with such minds and the earnest but
friendly contest which comes of tr}--
ing to lead them in new ways, open
new^ ideas to them, or to make last-
ing and character-forming impression
upon them, develops new powers and
new SNUipathies. The man who
succeeds achieves a certain sweet
and gentle masterfulness, the mastery
which kindles loyalty. Mr. Coit was
being prepared for his life work, al-
though in so different a sphere. He
was developing patience, insight,
readiness, perseverance, reverence for
souls, wise appreciation of the value
of the individual. The subsequent
success came largely of this singular
rapport with the individual. In fact
all effective discipline or true disci-
pleship comes so.
In 1856 George C Shattuck, M.D.,
of Boston, a man of wealth and cult-
ure, and one who is probabh' better
known for his munificence than for
his other great qualities, gave his
country house, a large and well ap-
pointed dwelling in that part of Con-
cord known as "Millville," together
with a sufficient tract of territory sur-
rounding it, for the founding of a
church school for boys. He invited
Mr. Coit to take it in charge, and the
invitation was accepted. From that
time until his lamented death the
biography of the rector is bound up
in the history of the school.
The ideal which the rector of S.
Paul's school set before himself was
a lofty one. And through nearly
fort}^ of the best years of his life
he has steadily pursued that ideal.
He was no dreamer. His was not a
visionary ideal, but a distinct notion
of what might be achieved by perse-
verance and industry guided by wis-
dom, balanced by principle, and ani-
mated by a lofty ambition.
His greatness was of a severely
practical sort, and his success w'as
won by the application of simple and
business-like methods. Other men
THE REV. HENRY AUGUSTUS COIT, D. D., LL. D.
might do the same, one would think,
it looks so sure and eas3\ The work
of genius alwa3\s does. Constantl}'
and patiently, his zeal in harness, he
persevered, until the S. Paul's school
of to-day is his great and fitting mon-
ument, and his fame is secure. It
was secure from the beginning ; be-
cause he was not striving for renown,
but simply and modestly to do his
duty as he saw it. That is a great
point, "As he saw it." He saw
beyond the mere mechanism and
routine of administration, and yet he
never forgot that these are as neces-
sary as inspiration — the very tools
of genius. The completeness of the
mechanism and the exactness of the
routine is a part of the greatness.
There was another element in his
character which gave it singular pow-
er — the element of religion. No man
could carry such an enterprise as
S. Paul's school to such a pitch of
success, without encountering criti-
cism and difference ; but no critic,
no one who differed with him, ever
thought of questioning the genuine-
ness of this man's faith or the depth
of his devotion. To him Christianity
was a real and potent factor in life,
and he had no hesitations. Duty
was something more than the demand
of business or the necessitj^ of doing
the task before him. It was the call
of God. He heard and obeyed with
the simplicit}' of a child and the loy-
alty of a man. It gave a sureness to
his moral and intellectual footing, a
certain directness and pungency to
his teaching, which one could not
fail to observe and to feel. He had
a constitutional shyness to overcome,
which was sometimes mistaken for a
haught}' and cold resen-e, but there
was no mistaking the warmth or the
humility of his Christianity. Simple,
earnest, clear-ej^ed, incisive, his re-
ligious teaching was positive and
helpful. Moreover it had a buoy-
ancy which gave courage and certi-
tude to other and wavering souls,
and a youth who received his reli-
gious impressions and early teaching
from Dr. Coit, would feel through all
his life the strength and realit}^ of it.
Having these great qualities, he
had also a singularly sane and solv-
ent intellect, an exalted spirit, and a
temper capable of sustained enthu-
siasm. With boys from the leading
families in the country growing into
young manhood under his moulding,
he became more and more widel}^
and favorably known as the years
went by, and did not fail to re-
ceive distinguished tokens of appre-
ciation.
In 1S63 Trinity college conferred
upon the rector of S. Paul's school
the degree of doctor of divinity. The
years of patient, untiring, modest la-
bor had begun to make him known
outside the widening circle of the
patrons of the school. In 1SS7 Col-
umbia college claimed the honor of
conferring the same degree, and in
1 89 1 Yale university conferred the
degree of doctor of laws.
Dr. Coit is most widely known as
the creator and rector of S. Paul's
school. It is in that character that
he takes his place among the great
men of his day, and in that character
he will be remembered. But it was
not possible that his powers .should
be confined within one department of
activity, hov/ever great. The world
makes constant and various demands
upon its men of force, and Dr. Coit
was called to various positions of
prominence and responsibility.
THE REV. HENRY AUGUSTUS CO IT, D. D., LL. D.
The "Standing Committee" of a
diocese of the Episcopal church is
the council of the executive, and
represents such interests and powers
of the church, lx)th temporal and
spiritual, as are not wholly confided
to the bishops. As president of the
standino- committee of the diocese
of Xew Hampshire, Dr. Coit ex-
hibited the qualities of a churchman
and a statesman.
x\s a member of the triennial gen-
eral convention, the constituent legis-
lative body of the church in America,
he made his influence widely and
profoundly felt. As chairman of the
important "Committee on Christian
Education," his \vi.sdom and expe-
rience gave weight and momentum
to the work and the recommenda-
tions of that committee.
During the last years of his life
illness and sorro\v added their bur-
den to his cares and manifold labors.
Labor, care, and sorrow are the com-
mon lot of man, and, while we all
are glad of sympathy, no man has a
right to make capital out of it, as
though his experience were singular.
But there is a wonderful difference
between putting up with it sullenly
or stoically, because we have to, and
bearing it cheerfully, with a firm,
elastic vSpirit which comes of faith
undimmed and hope unshadowed.
Bereaved of his beloved wife, with
failing health and diminishing physi-
cal powers, Dr. Coit bore himself so
stronglv, with so much courage and
cheer, that it was difficult to believe
the news that the strong man had
fallen, fallen "full knightly, with all
his armor on."
The day of his burial was so se-
verely inclement that comparatively
few of those who would have joined
in the last tribute could be present.
But the furious, wintry storm added
an element of grandeur to the simple
and impressive service of burial as
he was laid to rest near his beloved
school.
Dr. Coit, as a man, a Christian, a
scholar, a clerg3'man, a citizen, an
educator, left his mark upon the cen-
tury.
The Old Chapel.
Y"^ BAIyADE OF Y'^ FRETFULIv EYTEE ROBIN.
By Eckvard A. Jenks.
A biasing- sumer afternone : —
No breth of aire Avas steringe ;
Y' frogges blynked "neatli y' lilie-paddes ;
No partriches were whurring.
Y' grases wulde nott bend their beds,
Nor whysper to eche other ;
Y'' lambs, in lamb's-wooll sumer suites,
Were sure that they sholde smother.
Y" kow stood kne-deepe in y' pool
Where temptinge schade hadde broghte hir :
Hir nerA'eless taille hung limpe and stille
Above y'' steaminge water.
Y'' bumblenbees, on languid winges.
Went hom, and ceased their humming,
And in their easy-chaires they dremed
Of cool September's coming.
Y'' molten sunne runne downe y' west,
Impacient for y'' shelter
Beyond y" cool grene mountain-toppes —
Y'' daye was suche a nielter !
A panting lytel Robin, perched
Amonge y" rede-cheked cheries.
So overcome hee coude nott pyke
Y'' tantalising beries, —
Scliokk '' his mamma with dreadfuU wordes :
"If thys ' y' kinde of wether
You " hatched mee to, I wisch — I wisch —
I '"'' nott a single fether
"Upon my bak — so there!" — Atte thys
Y'' precious lytel mother
Just gasped — and sobbed ; — shee coude nott chide
Thys childe — shee hadde no other.
y^ BALADE OF ¥'■■ FRETFULL EYTEE ROBIN.
But wheune y'' father homeward came
Acros y" feeldes of clover,
And herde y' sad, sad storie — thenne
Hee sente a lettre over
To Robiu-toun for twenty In-rdes
To sitte in consultation
Upon thys case of mutinie
Within }-' Robin nation.
They sate within y' cherie-tree —
Eche Robin took a cherie —
Whiles on a distant lim y'' childe
Of sinne sate solemne — very.
Y' final verdit was, that eche
And everie single fether
Sholde bee pulled off y' Robin's bak,
Regardless of y" wether, —
And that hee thenne bee turned aloofe
To rome }■' wyde worlde over,
A hatteless, coteless, homeless byrde,
Without a frend or lover.
Atte once they fell upon y" childe —
Thys Sterne, relentless jurie —
And wulde have torn eche fether out
In their ungoverned furie, —
Hadde nott y*" farmer's trustie gunne
Just thenne begunne its cracking :
In fiftene minutes twenty byrdes
In Robin-land were lacking.
Nexte daye y" morn was cool and bright :
V farmer hadde for dinner
A most delicious Robin-pye :
A sweete songe sang y'' sinner
Oute in y" orcherd where 3'' breese
vSwung high y'' mocking beries.
And filled his downie basket fulle
Of rype, rede-brested cheries.
GEMS OF THE NEW HAMPSHIRE SHORE.
By L. K. H. Lane.
'Then I heard the far-off rote resound,
Where the breakers slow and slumberous rolled,
And a subtile sense of thought profound
Touched nie with power untold." — Cclia Tliaxtcr.
EW Hamp-
shire has
but eighteen
miles of sea-
coast, yet it
is eighteen
miles of in-
teresting
picturesqiie -
ness ! Bold,
projecting cliffs and low, rolling,
sandy shores vie in pleasing con-
trast that appeals to the student of
nature, who finds subject for thought
and stud}^ in the formation of the
rocks, in the stratas of earth revealed
by the inroad of storm and sea, and
in the numberless grains of sand over
which the waves tumble one upon
another. Eikewise is the sentiment
of the seeker for pleasure and ro-
mance awakened by the charms held
out to those who are so fortunate as
to journey thither.
Foremost among New Hampshire's
seaside resorts that have become fam-
ous is Rye beach, the natural attrac-
tions of which are so many and varied
that the visitor who has once enjoyed
an outing here is sure to sound their
praises to friends, and they in turn do
likewise, so each succeeding summer
season brings people in augmented
numbers to this elysian retreat. From
the bluffs and elevated points along
the coast the views to be obtained are
Fairagul Rocks, Rye Beach.
GEMS OF THE NEW HAMPSHIRE SHORE.
The Bathers, Rye Beach.
magnificent. To the south, Cape
Ann can be seen stretchinsr lor miles
out into the ocean, forming a back-
ground against which looms ' ' the
grisly Head of the Boar ' ' ; while to
the east, ten miles away, the Isles of
Shoals rise up out of the water, like
sentinels guarding the coast. To the
north,
"Agamenticus lifts its blue
Disk of a cloud the woodlands o'er."
Looking inland, the " Granite hills "
can be seen towering to the sky, and
the inter\'ening landscape that greets
the vision is such as to justify the
appellation so often given to New
Hampshire, "the Switzerland of
America." Is it then surprising that
so man}' seek these shores to enjoy
the beauties that Nature has been so
generous in bestowing upon them?
It is related that the Indians, in the
remote period in which they held
undisputed possession of these lands,
were wont to travel mau}^ miles from
the interior to hunt and fish and hold
high carnival on the promontories
jutting into the Atlantic.
A G'oiip nt Bathers.
lO
GEMS OF THE NEW HAMPSHIRE SHORE.
T ^rm IS Grounds.
The historj^ of Rye has never been
written, but certain it is that the
early white settlers did not escape
molestation by the Indians, Init were
subjected to murderous attacks, as
were the settlers of other localities
in New England. It is recorded
that in June, 1696, a large number
of Indians, coming from York in ca-
noes, landed on Rye beach and pro-
ceeded to Portsmouth plains, where
they massacred fourteen whites and
took four prisoners. Returning
through "Great swamp," they were
Summer House, Farragut Rocks.
pursued by a compan}- of militia sent
from Portsmouth, and surprised while
at breakfast on a hill, which ever
since has borne the name of " Break-
fast hill." The prisoners were res-
cued, l)ut the Indians escaped by
regaining their canoes and putting
to sea. Two months later Lieut.
John Locke, wdio came from York-
shire, England, in 1^144, was mur-
dered by Indians while at work in
his field on Jocelyn's neck, then a
part of Hampton, afterward annexed
to Rye and called Locke's neck. It
is now known as Straw's
point. Although the set-
tlers continued to be an-
noyed l)y the Indians, and
were forced to remain con-
stantly on their guard
against attack for some
3'ears afterward, it is be-
lieved that the killing of
^- • Lieutenant Locke was the
last murder committed by
them within the present
limits of the town of Rye.
A period of one hundred-
and fifty years elapsed
after the cessation of hos-
GEMS OF THE NEW HAMPSHIRE SHORE.
II
tilities by the savages, dur-
ing which time the popu-
lation and weahh of Rye
increased but slowly, yet
in a ratio proportionate to
that of other farming
towns. Her people were
frugal and industrious, as
their well-tilled farms and
abundant crops afforded
ample evidence. But the
old town was destined to
experience a rejuvenation.
Fame was to perch upon
her banner, and wealth flow
into her coffers. When in
1S40 John Colby Philbrick first be-
gan taking a few summer boarders in
a private house, it was little thought
that that event was the beginning of
a new era in the history of Rye. But
clearly such was the fact, as, witness
the wonderful advance since that
time, in the value of real estate :
witness the imposing structures that
have been erected to accommodate the
rapidly increasing business that had
its inception in that little two-story
house.
Commodious and well appointed
The Casino.
hotels are now to be encountered all
along the six miles of Rye's shore.
A casino and various other public
halls of amusement exist in adequate
numbers, while every objectionable
element that might in any way de-
tract from the social and moral enjoy-
ment of the visitor has been avoided.
A beautiful church, St. Andrew's-by-
the-Sea, constructed of .stone and of
a pleasing style of architecture, is
situated in a shady grove close by the
water front, where religious services
are held each Sunday during the sum-
..
'\^kmJ
I 1
. *, «-*>MF'?tf7^3K!^^£r! •
Mrs. Huse s Cot'ages Straw's Point.
12
GEMS OF THE NEW HAMPSHIRE SHORE.
St. Andrew's-by-;he-5ea.
" My Rfg, Sir.
A Favorite promt '~ade.
mer. There is a notable
absence of that bewilder-
ing whir of excitement
incident to many summer
resorts. Retirement and
restful seclusion are
vouchsafed to those who
seek the shores of Rye,
)^et by means of ample
telephonic and telegraphic
facilities one is kept in
inmiediate touch with the
busy outside world. The
excellence of the bathing
privileges at Rj'e beach
has been an important
factor in establishing the
great reputation of the
place. The bathing beach
is conceded to be the best
on the Atlantic coast. It
is one mile in length, hard
and smooth, with a long,
gradual slope oceanward,
while its freedom from the
dangerous undertow ena-
bles even the young and
inexperienced to bathe in
comparative safetj-. Yet
every precaution is taken
to guard against accident.
There is the raft, and the
life-line, and boatmen are
always in attendance dur-
ing the regular bathing
hours. The details of the
bathing interests are under
the efficient management
of Mr. R. J. IvOcke, who
has done much to further
and improve the same.
The temperature of the
water is taken each day at
eleven o'clock a. m. and
announced by blasts of a
steam whistle, so that all
GEMS OF THE NEW HAMPSHIRE SHORE.
13
are enabled to decide with-
out going to the beach
whether or not they care
to take a phmge in the
briny deep. On a pleas-
ant day hundreds of per-
sons, old and young, can
be seen at one time dis-
porting themselves in the
water. There are among
the fair sex who sojourn
here some expert swim-
mers, who often give evi-
dence of their skill and
power of endurance by
swimming long distances
through the surf, ever and
anon buried from sight by
the huge waves, only to
reappear further out from
shore a mere speck on the
ocean. It is a remarka-
ble fact that no fatality
by drowning ever occurred
to bathers at this beach.
Hot sea-water baths are a
feature introduced here
two years ago, and are
proving very p o p u 1 a r.
They are the only public
hot sea-water baths north
of Newport, and many peo-
ple now come to Rye solel}'
to avail themselves of the
advantages and benefits
that these baths afford.
One of the most interest-
ing points at Rye beach is
the cable station of the
Direct United States Cable
Company, Limited, which
is situated near Straw's
point. Here is the Ameri-
can end of one of the
Atlantic telegraph cables,
which stretches under the
The Marden House.
Cottage of G. G. Lougee.
Locke's Cottage.
14
GEMS OF THE NEW HAMPSHIRE SHORE.
'?£*->'■
^,,,#««i(Sr^
Landing Place of the Ocean Cable.
ocean s,ioo nautical miles, from the
shores of the Granite state to Balin-
skellio-s bay, Ireland, touchincr on the
^
•1 ^ II I i
The Cable Ottice.
way at Halifax, Nova vScotia.
The cable was laid by the fam-
ous steamship, Earaday, assist-
ed by the Aiiihassadoi\ and the
shore end landed at Rye beach
on July 15, 1S74. A view of
the landing place is given here,
showing the huge, snake-like
rope lying over the stumps and
fallen logs of a submerged for-
est. These stumps, which are
rarely visible, have been the
subject of much scientific interest,
and some scientists claim that they
substantiate the theory that the Isles
of Shoals were once a part of the
mainland. When a magazine pub-
lished an article twent}' years ago
describing the mode of
working on the R }• e
Beach cable, the mirror
system of signalling, by
which messages were read
from a moving spot of
light on a scale, was used
from Rye beach to Nova
vScotia, and from Nova
Scotia to Ireland ; but
now, even on the longest
cables, the mirror has been
The Instruments.
abandoned, and the instrument used
lietween Nova Scotia and Ireland
is the syphon recorder, which traces
GEMS OF THE NE W HAMPSHIRE SHORE.
15
Caole Road, looiMng up.
on a strip of paper the telegraphic
impulses received throvigh the cable.
At R3'e beach messages are trans-
mitted automatically through a spe-
cially devised set of translating re-
lays, which repeat Morse signals from
the cable into the Xew York land
line, and vice versa from the land
line into the cable. By the use of
the duplex system, also, messages
can be simultaneously sent
and received between New
York and Nova Scotia and
Nova Scotia and Ireland.
On the " Direct " cable,
as it is familiarly known
among cablers, there are
only two transmissions be-
tween New York or Boston
and London or Liverpool,
and almost incredible rec-
ords for speed have been
made on this route, which
was the first to inaugurate
fast working on Atlantic
cables. Previous to the
opening of the Direct cable, thirty or
fort}- minutes was considered remark-
able time in which to get a reply to
a cablegram, but now New York
and Boston merchants and bankers
in the ordinary course of business
obtain replies from their European
correspondents in ten minutes. The
New York Sun of March 23, 1S93,
states that the result of the Oxford
Cable Road, looking down.
John F. Fraser.
/
i6
GEMS OF THE NEW HAMPSHIRE SHORE.
Residence of Thomas Gothorpe.
and Cambridge boat race
was telegraphed to the
United Press, via Direct
cable, within thirteen sec-
onds of the finish of the
race. Mr. William J.
Fraser is superintendent
of the R3'e beach station,
and also of the Boston
offices of the company in
the Old State-house, and
post-office building. Mr.
John F. Fraser, assistant
superintendent, and Mr.
"Is,
Thomas Gothorpe, mecha-
nician, have been stationed
with Mr. Fraser since the
opening of the line in 1S74.
Other members of the staff
are P. W. Rieb, John
Squire, Joseph Wati, and
Archibald Finlaysen, op-
erators, and Anders S wen-
son, batteryman. Most of
the cable staff are married,
and have built cottages
along the Cable road, add-
ing much to the attr'ac-
1 "Li
ififfiD
Residence of Archibald Finlayscn.
R^<;idence of John Squire.
tiveness of this part of the
beach.
Another interesting fea-
ture, also located near
Straw's point, is the Rye
Beach station of the United
States Life Saving Ser^-ice,
whose crew of hardy sea-
men are trained under the
direction of Capt. Albert
U. Remick in the duty of
protecting and saving the
lives of those "that go
down to the sea in ships."
By day and b}' night, in
GEMS OF THE NEW HAMPSHIRE SHORE.
17
sunshine and storm, these
brave men patrol the
beach, ever on the alert to
render succor to any ill-
starred craft that may be
so unfortunate as to ap-
proach too near this rough
and rocky coast, — it may
be in giving a timely warn-
ing of danger by means of
the rocket, or in firing the
shot-line from the Lj'le-gun
across a fated ship already
upon the rocks, or yet by
launching and m a n n i n g
the life-boat and rowing
through a wild and turbulent sea to a
wreck and taking off a half drowned
crew. Whichever the case, the men
know their dut}', and do not hesitate
at danger. The visitor will find an
inspection of the .station and the
appurtenances used in the ser\nce
an interesting object lesson.
Straw's point, sitviated midwaj^
between South beach and Concord
■.>aa
Capt. A. L. Remick, Life Saving Station.
Rye Beach Life Saving Station and Crew.
point, was named in honor of ex-
Gov. E. A. Straw, who was one of
the first to build a summer residence
there, and during his life was largely
interested in the development of this
beautiful strip of land. Ex-Governor
Chene}' is a cottage owner at Straw's
point, as is also Hon. Dexter Rich-
ards. The Castle Mona, situated on
the ex-Governor Straw estate, affords
accommodation for 100 boarders.
Concord point, Xorth Rye, is
largely populated during the sum-
mer by people from Concord, N. H.,
many of whom are owners of attrac-
tive cottages. Here is located the
Ocean Wave House, owned- and ably
managed by Henry Knox, which is
favored with a large patronage.
Of those who have been promi-
nentlj' identified with the de\-elop-
ment and business interests of Rax
beach, may be mentioned John Col-
by Philbrick, the first to embark in
the boarding business. His venture
proving remunerative, some 3'ears
later he built an hotel, the present
Atlantic House, which he success-
fully conducted, and in 1S66 he built
the Farragut, a much larger house,
i8
GEMS OF THE NEW HAMPSHIRE SHORE.
John Colby Philbrick.
which was burned in 18S2. Mr.
Philbrick died in 1S67, while yet in
the prime of manhood and business
success, at the age of 51 years. His
genial nature and fine business quali-
ties had long before won him laurels
as a model landlord. As illustrating
the rapid and wonderful growth of
the summer boarding biisiness dur-
ing his brief career, it may be said
that he began taking boarders at the
rate of $2.50 per week, and before
his death he received rates of $5 per
day. His hotel business continued
to be ably managed by his widow,
Eliza P. Philbrick, and son, Frank
A. Mrs. Philbrick was a lady of
"^
^
Residence of Austin Jenness.
Hon. Emmons B. Philbrick.
pronounced business ability, and in
addition to their hotel interests at
Rye beach, she was lessee
and manager for five years
of the Wolfe Tavern, at
Newburyport, Mass. Her
death, at the age of sixty-
eight 3'ears, occurred in
1S93. vShe left two daugh-
ters and one son. The lat-
ter, Frank A. Philbrick, is
now sole proprietor of the
Farragut, a magnificent
structure, erected in 1SS3,
on the site of the burned
hotel bearing the same
name.
Another pioneer in the
GEMS OF THE NEW HAMPSHIRE SHORE.
19
^S\^ ■!
hotel business at Rye beach
was Job Jenness, who be-
came the peer of the most
famed landlords of his day.
His experience began in
1S4J, in a small hotel, the
Ocean House, at Jenness
beach. In 1S64, together
with his son, J. Rienzi Jen-
ness, who had become as-
sociated with his father as W
a partner, they built upon *
the site of the old house a -
large and imposing edifice.
The new house was 250
feet in length and cost
upwards of one hundred thousand
dollars. It was largely patronized by
' ' I > 1 1 1 1 1 , 1
aliiilJIILi^
Residence of Hon. David Jenness.
ment of which they had in the mean-
time assumed. For manj^ j-ears this
firm conducted all at one time the
Ocean House at R3'e beach, the
Jenness House at Washington, D. C.,
and the Wauregan Hotel at Norwich,
Conn. The death of J. Rienzi Jen-
ness in 1S72, and the burning of the
Ocean House one year later, resulted
in Job Jenness retiring from the hotel
^
Job Jenness.
people high in public life in Wash-
ington, D. C, meml)ers of congress,
cabinet officials, etc., who came to
Rye beach because of the high rep-
utation sustained by Job Jenness &
Son as proprietors of the Jenness
House in Washington, the manage-
i^H »
Hon. David Jenness.
20
GEMS OF THE NEW HAMPSHIRE SHORE.
In the Surf.
business. The loss of the Ocean
House was a severe blow from which
Rye beach has never fully recovered.
George G. Lougee is a well known
boniface, whose hotel life began in
1852, as clerk for J. C. Philbrick at
the Atlantic House. In 1S65 he
leased the house from Mr. Philbrick
for a term of years and became the
landlord. During the first year of
Mr. L/OUgee's management Admiral
Farragut, the gallant old naval hero,
fresh from the famous engagement in
Mobile Bay, with his family, was a
guest at this house for the entire
summer. In 1869, Mr. lyougee built
the Sea View, which has since been
conducted under his popular manage-
ment. He has held variovis public
offices, being for several 3'ears a
deputy sheriff and jailer at Ports-
mouth, and for three years treasurer
of Rockingham county.
Hon. Emmons B. Philbrick, a
gentleman of enterprise and ability,
was a state senator in iSjS-'So, and
for two years was president of the
Newton National Bank of Newton,
Sea View House.
GEMS OF THE NEW HAMPSHIRE SHORE.
21
Fox Hill Point, Little Boars Head.
Kansas. He is a trustee of the
Piscataqua Savings Bank of Ports-
mouth, N. H., and one of the solid
business men of Rye beach, where
he resides, devoting the greater part
of his time to looking after the board-
ing interests, being the owner of
three houses there.
Hon. David Jenness, a native of
R^-e and a man of sterling worth and
integrity, has been honored at one
time and another by his townsmen
with nearly all the ofhces within their
gift. He was a member of the legis-
lature in iSji-'ja, and a state
senator in 1 887-' 88. He is at pre-
sent a member of the Democratic
state committee.
Horace Sawyer came to Rye beach
in 1873, and built the large private
boarding house known as "Saw-
yer's", which is largely patronized
by wealthy western people. Mr.
Sawyer is wide awake in his efforts
to further the public interests of Rye
beach.
So closely connected with Rye
beach, that the casual observer is not
••Woodbine Cottage."
22
GEMS OF THE NEW HAMPSHIRE SHORE.
" Fishing Rocks," Concord Point.
aware where the one ends and the territor}^ in the town of North Hamp-
other begins, is Little Boar's Head, ton. Within the memory of some
Wallis Sands.
a gem of sea-side resorts, embracing of the older inhabitants of the place,
a small but exceedingly valuable now living, a narrow, crooked path
..- •-!-_,;«..; AiSi&.9i.'S.^
At Concord Point.
GEMS OF THE NEW HAMPSHIRE SHORE.
23
.^,^,^^^.^
II w ei t
Ocean Wave House.
afforded the only means of traversing to pass that wa}', which was a very
this headland, at the end of which unfrequent occurrence. Now the
-ji^^
W. F. Thayer s Cottage.
was a pair of bars that had to be narrow path has become a broad
removed whenever one had occasion avenue, skirted on either side with
^-
Cottage of W. G. C. Kimball.
24
GEMS OF THE NEW HAMPSHIRE SHORE.
Drake's Cottage.
t i J ^ I
il^BWaSHWfiip'j '-m.
;al U
" Sawyer's,' Horace Sawyer, Proprietor.
Washington House.
GEMS OF THE NEW HAMPSHIRE SHORE.
25
D. W. Dalton's Cottage.
^^fl^asi^feSfe-' *^~ ** -
' R";ing Sun Cottage.
Cottage of Joseph 0. Hobbs.
GEMS OF THE NEW HAMPSHIRE SHORE.
Albert Bachelder.
beautiful lawns and handsome cot-
tages.
Gov. John Page of New Hamp-
shire was the first summer boarder
at Little Boar's Head, coming there
in 1840. The first purchase of
real estate here for building pur-
poses was made in 1S45 by Hon.
James Bell of Exeter, United States
senat )r from New Hampshire. Not
until 1862, however, five years after
the death of Hon. James Bell, was
a house built on this lot. His
daughter, Mrs. Nathaniel G. White,
then erected the first summer cot-
tage on the bluff which she has
since occupied, and to which she
aaB9
William J. Fraser.
has made extensive
improvements.
During
additions
the
and
early
' Bachelder's."
GEMS OF THE NEW HAMPSHIRE SHORE.
27
Cottage of Ex-Governor Charles H. Bell.
'50's ex-President Franklin Pierce sisting of some fifty acres of land
came to lyittle Boar's Head with his bordering on the ocean, for which he
wife, who was at that time in ill paid $6,000. All of this purchase
health, hoping that she would be has since become ver}- valuable, a
single acre selling for as much as the
ex-president paid for the whole farm.
As showing the great increase in the
value of real estate on lyittle Boar's
Head, it is onh' necessary to state
that the sum of $10,000 has been
Ex-Governor Charles H. Bell.
benefited b}- the sea air. He was
ver\' quick to discern the natural
beaut}' and possibilities of the place,
and predicted a great future for it,
which prediction has already been
verified. He was so captivated by
the attractiveness of the place that he
purchased the ' ' Brown Farm ' ' , con-
George G. Lougce.
28
GEMS OF THE NEW HAMPSHIRE SHORE.
29
Itl ]
■■''*?JS
Villa of George A. Allen of St. Louis.
The Carter Cottage.
^o
GEMS OF THE NEW HAMPSHIRE SHORE.
^**H. ^f
Hon. F. W. Kittredge.
refused for a very desirable corner lot
containing less than one acre. In
1866, ex-President Pierce built a
house on a commanding site near the
water, which he occupied each sum-
mer until his death, when it was sold
to Col. Cyrus Kastman of Littleton,
and by him sold to Judge Asa Fowler
of Concord, who occupied it until
his decease. This estate is now
owned by Hon. F. W. Kittredge, a
prominent lawyer of Boston. The
summer boarding business here re-
ceived a great impetus in 1S69, when
Albert Bachelder built a large board-
ing house which, with its connecting
cottages, conducted under his able
Horace Sawyer.
nianasrement has since become famed
throughout the countrv. The excel-
iffl.iflll,-'
iw^
Cottage of Hon. F. W. Kittredge. Formerly the President Pierce Place.
GEMS OF THE NEW HAMPSHIRE SHORE.
31
m SW««!-^.«%fflBiJ^. -s-
lSiL^:-;.r->; •V'-- **;'
Cottage of Ex-Mayor C. A. Stott of Lowell.
lence of its sendee, and a high class
patronage ever on the increase, has
Morris H. Smith.
given to " Bachelder's
a prestige en-
joyed by bnt few pnblic houses. In
the palmy days of President Grant's
administration, it was at this house
that Secretar\^ of the Navy George
M. Robeson passed the summers and
dispensed his hospitality with a gen-
erous hand. Many notabilities w^ere
his guests here, and the Tallapoosa
often came in off this shore for the
transportation of the genial secretary
when he felt nauticall}' inclined.
President Arthur while in office was
a guest of Robeson here, as very fre-
quently was the Hon. James G.
Blaine, who, in fact, spent an entire
season at " Bachelder's " while en-
Major Charles A. Stott.
32
GEMS OF THE NEW HAMPSHIRE SHORE.
' Plase Cove.
Union Chapel.
Cottage of Mrs. F. A. Lewis.
GEMS OF THJ-: NFAV HAMPSHIRE SHORE.
33
The Baker Cottage.
^.^S6^^:
-^"-^-:;.
riiiiii
Hon. George R. Fowler's Cottage.
.fcjBiw-' >
^^^
' Comfoit Cottage, ' Misi Clara M. Fowler.
34
GEMS OF THE NEW HAMPSHIRE SHORE.
expert in the construction
of armor plates for ships of
war, who is the owner of
" Miramar Jaques," a mag-
nificent place on " Fox Hill
Point." The recent death
of his wife, Elizabeth Hale
Jaques, a daughter of Hon.
John P. Hale and sister of
the wife of Senator William
E. Chandler, was a serious
loss to the summer colony
here, by whom she was
held in high regard.
The late Gov. Charles
H. Bell was an earnest
gaged in writing his book "Twenty admirer of this place. He loved the
Years in Congress."
Among the prominent
people who own or lease
cottages and come here
year after year may be
mentioned Hon. Robert
T. Lincoln, Hon. Nor- -
man Williams of' Chica- ^
go, Richard Hoffman, the
eminent pianist of New
York, w^ho has spent
odd summers here. Captain
Jaques, naval engineer and
' Stoneleigh.
twenty
W. H
"The Breakers.
Summer Res'dence of Mrs. N. G. White.
rocks, the crags, the beach, and
passed many seasons amid the quiet
surroundings of his attrac-
tive summer home clOvSe by
the breakers.
Amelie Rives Chanlei ,
the distinguished young
Southern authoress, in
1893, on her return from
abroad where for a time
she had been living in
Mme. de Pompadour's
chateau in France, leased
and occupied a cottage
at Little Boar's Head,
and expressed herself as
charmed with the beauty
of the place.
GEMS OF THE NEW HAMPSHIRE SHORE.
35
Miramar Jaques. '
"J*"*^
William P. Fowler, Esq.
Hon. Gaorge R. Fowler.
36
GEMS OF THE NEW HAMPSHIRE SHORE.
■•"-■"ii™
'The Coach.
on the eastern divis-
ion of the Boston &
Maine, is also the
Rye Beach station.
Here the welfare
of the traveller is
under the careful
watch and ward of
the veteran railroad
agent, Morris H.
Smith, whose long
term of service,
covering a period of
thirt3'-six years, has
given him an ac-
quaintance with the
travelling public
tiwrr
iSirf
Hon. Dexter Ki<.haiclo. H. F. S'rav
F. P. Carpenter
Mrs. Huse.
At Union chapel, which
was built through the mu-
nificence of summer guests,
eminent clergymen of dif-
ferent denominations
preach. Among those who
supply the pulpit one Sun-
day at least each summer
may be mentioned Rev.
James De Norman die,
Professor Churchill of
Andover, Rev. Edward A.
Horton, and Rev. Dr.
Edward Everett Hale.
North Hampton station,
Reside'-ce of Albert Bachelder.
GEMS OF THE NEJF HAMPSHIRE SHORE.
37
Gen. Franklin Pierce.
Copyright by //'. G. C. Kz}>ibaU, Co;;cGrcl^ IT. H.
complaint for want of places of inter-
est to visit. A ride through the town
of Rye, with its fine farms, and New-
castle, with its crooked streets and
long bridges, its old fort, and other
places of historic interest, to Ports-
mouth, an ancient city rich in legend-
ar}- lore, of which much has been
charmingly told by her own talented
son, Thomas Bailey Aldrich, in "An
Old Town by the Sea," is hard to
equal. To the south the new ocean
boulevard gives a fine marine view
all the way to Great Boar's Head.
Stratham Hill, some ten miles inland,
is a lovel}^ retreat for picnic parties,
and rarely a daj' in summer passes
without a gay company from some
resort filling the grounds with laugh-
ter and merrymaking. Exeter, with
Ex-Governor Cheney's Cottages, Straw's Point.
that extends from ocean to
ocean. The ride by stage-
coach from the railroad sta-
tion to the beach, a distance
of four miles, is through a
section of rural beauty, dot-
ted with country homes and
shaded by stateh- elms and
pines.
Broad, hard roads afford
unlimited opportunities for
those who derive pleasvire
from driving or riding upon
the wheel, and there is never
Residence of M ss Caroline PhilbricK.
3S
IHE WAITER-GIRL.
its streets shaded with beautiful trees
and its renowned institutions of learn-
ing, is often visited by summer excur-
sionists, who never fail to express their
admiration of the place. Such are
the environments of Rj-e. With these
and many other drives to choose from,
the enticing shade of hotel piazza,
with entrancing music of the orches-
tra, the wxll-kept tennis courts, and,
perchance, a sail to the Isles of Shoals
with skipper David Philbrick, who
for forty years has attended to the
w^ants of the boating public ; the bath-
ing, the dreamy waltz, the attractive
plays at the Casino, a stroll on the
beach or through the tree-embowered
lanes, — the tourist finds the days all
too fleeting, and when at last the
summer draws to an end — as all sum-
mers must — these birds of passage
regretfully hie themselves awaj', some
to the prosaic walks of business, some
to continue a life of social gaiet)- at
other resorts, but whatever the subse-
quent surroundings may be, the mind
often reverts to the happy days spent
at romantic Rye.
THE WAITER-GIRL.
By H. C. Pearson.
\ /i^~pHE long, low
white hotel
clung like a
frightened
rabbit to the
side of the
great hill ; a
hill which would have been a moun-
grand old Eafayette lifted his sturdy
shoulders into the bright blue sky,
still bearing the white cross proudly
upon his breast. On either side
frowning heights stretched aw^ay till,
far in the southwest, stood Moosi-
lauke, lone sentinel at the entrance
to the pass. Behind and above all,
tain anywhere but in the midst of towered in the dim majesty of dis-
the American Alps. Over opposite, tance the Presidential range, as won-
THE WAITER-GIRL.
39
derful a background as the Master
Painter ever drew.
At the foot of the hill, just beneath
the great hotel, the Gale river rippled
and danced along through its green
valley, harnessed for half-hearted ser-
vice at a few little mills, but for the
most part as free and gay as the birds
that circled above it. Along its
banks ran the highway, skirted in
turn by the green and white houses,
.stores, and churches of the little vil-
lage.
Framed in the doorwav of her cot-
pretty picture as she gazed wistfully
up the hill. It was the middle of
May, but spring comes late in the
mountain land and the valley was
just beginning to renew its life and
beauty. There was a rose flush
under the girl's olive skin, and her
brown eyes shone like stars beneath
the curling hair of darker shade.
One little foot tapped nervously on
the doorstone and her slender fingers
drummed impatiently on the casing.
Presently she turned her face toward
the interior.
"Ma," she called, "I want to go
up to the Grand Mew to work this
summer."
The first reply she received was a
masculine grunt indicative of the
deepest disfavor. Then came a shrill
female voice :
"Land sakes, what will 3-ou want
next, Kittie Dearborn, I don't know.
Here you are, well-fed, well-dre.s.sed,
goin' to school, got a beau, aint
denied anythin', .spoildest child in
the village everybod}' says; an' yit
you want to go to work in a hotel
along of nobody knows who from
Boston and everywheres else that has
to do it to live, poor things ! But
that 's no reason why you should be
mixin' up with 'em and you sha' n't,
there ! ' '
' ' O Mother ! ' ' answered the girl
petulantly, " you know there are lots
of good girls working in the hotels.
I want to earn some mone}^ of my
very own, and I want to see some
people besides those in this village
and I want to be where there is some
life."
"'Some life!'
Did you hear
that, John Ren-
tage home, Kittie Dearborn made a ry ?
The
verv
same words Fan-
ny Bruce said,
and she came
back with her
hair cut short
and diamonds
in her ears and died in three months.
Oh ! To lose my one ewe lamb like
that ! ' '
There was a heav}^ ru.stling of boots
and from the back door her father
called: "Guess I'll go down to the
post-ofhce, Kittie. Your ma, she's
got a cryin' spell."
The girl was very gentle and ten-
der in soothing her mother's excited
nerves and drying the tears that
flowed profusely. But when the
threatened tempest had at last been
successfully averted she said calmly :
"And so I suppose I may go if I get
a chance, mayn't I, Mother?"
"Deary me, yes, I suppose so.
You always do what you want to.
That is, 3'ou may if Jim's willin',"
catching eagerh- at this straw of hope.
"Jim? Oh, I '11 fix Jim," answered
Kittie with a laugh.
Down across the road by the river
bank was a wooden seat between the
trees, not really quite large enough
40
THE WAITER-GIRL.
for two but just suited to the wants of
Kittie and her lover. There they
met night after night and sat for
hours dreaming happy dreams, while
smoke from his briar pipe kept off the
mosquitoes. This evening he was
more quiet than usual, and, rather to
Kittie's surprise, offered not the
slightest objection to her plan.
' ' It will keep you from being lone-
some while I am away, ' ' he said. ' ' I
am going to New York the first of
next week."
"O Jim! So soon? What for?"
cried Kitty with a suspicion of tears
in her voice.
"Well, you see, dear, I've loafed
round here till my health is as good
as a bulldog's and it is about time for
me to get back to work. I 've a
chance on the Sun which is one not
to let slip, and the sooner I get there
the better. I hate to leave you,
sweetheart, but yovi will enjoy your-
self so much at the hotel that I 'm
afraid you will not miss me as much
as I shall w^ant you to."
And so it came to pass that when
the Grand View opened its doors on
' June 15 there was a new waiter-girl
behind one of the flower-decked tables
in the long dining room ; a very
pretty girl, too, in her neat white cap
and apron, as the head waiter from
Dartmouth noticed with admiration
and the other girls with a bit of envy.
Kittie was a little ner\-ous as she
stood awaiting the first appearance of
the people who had been assigned to
her table. "They 're all from New
York, going to stay the whole season,
just soft snaps," the head waiter had
assvired her, and she had thanked
him with one of her sweetest smiles.
After the first awkwardness had
passed away she found, too, that the
young collegian had been correct in
his estimate.
Mrs. Van Derek's dog was obnox-
ious, for Kitty simply despised pugs
anyw^ay, and this one's temper had
been spoiled by a long course of
pampering and petting. But Mrs.
Van Derek herself did not need to
quote her old Dutch pedigree to show
that she was a true lady, and true
ladies, as Kittie soon learned from
hotel life, are al-
ways kind an d
courteous.
]M r s . Jacobs
wore diamonds at
ever}' meal to be
sure, and simply
THE WAITER-GIRL.
41
i::ur(lered the French on the menu
cards ; but she was generous to a
degree, as gorgeotis as her gowns,
and that atoned not only for her own
faults but also for those of her twin
hopefuls, who have as much regard
for table manners as so many little
pigs.
As for the men, Kittie was soon
assured by every girl in the dining
room that she had the ' ' pick of
the lot." There
was young Carryl
Earle, who, when
properly made up,
looked as pretty
as a mayfiower,
1) u t w h o s e per-
fume, alas, was
cigarettes instead
of arbutus. He fell desperately
in love with Kittie at first sight,
but discovered upon due considera-
tion that it was not good form ; and
so transferred his allegiance to one
of the guests, an hurrah girl from
Cincinnati, who married him, rather
to his surprise, in the fall.
Jack White was a stock broker of
thirty-five, seeking relief for shat-
tered ner\-es in the mountain air,
who chaffed Kittie at meal times,
tipped her handsomel}" afterward,
and wondered cynically over his mid-
night cigar what the future of so
pretty a girl was to be.
And, finally, there was
Hamilton. On the shadv
fifty was the colonel
lively half-century
that he had to look
back upon ; but he
still stood erect as
a pine, his iron-
grey hair was thick
and bush}' and his
and
Colonel
side of
it was a
^*^
heavy mustache curled as dashingly
as ever. His green eyes were usu-
ally half closed, l)ut occasionally they
opened wide for a glance at Kittie.
It did not take the experienced
man of the world long to ingratiate
himself into the confidence of the
prett}^ waiter-girl and soon he knew
all her little histor3\ In return he
told her that he was a leading lawyer
of the New York bar, which was true
enough ; that he had been disap-
pointed in love when a young man,
which was verv far from being true ;
and that she reminded him strongly
of his fair but false one, which was
also, of course, untrue.
Kittie naturalh^ pitied the poor
man, and their intimacy grew so fast
that before long he was proposing to
take her back to New York with him
in the fall to stud}- short-hand and
type-writing at his expense. Kittie
thought this would be "perfectly
lovel)-," but when she mentioned it
at the little home down in the valley
father Dearborn gave one of his deep-
est grunts of negation and said to
himself: " I guess I'll write to Jim,"
which he did.
One evening about a week later
the colonel and Kittie were strolling
along " lyOvers' Lane." The soft
light of the full moon filtered throusrh
the overhanging foliage in little
glints and gleams that merely served
to accentuate the cool summer dark-
ness. The colonel had his arm
around the girl's waist, "in a fatherly
way," he explained to her; and
though Kittie did not remember any
embrace of just that kind from her
own father .she did not see fit to
object. They talked of their plans for
her future and the colonel, after a
particularly glowing picture of the
42
AUGUST /", IJS3.
cit}' life she would see, asked softly :
" And now will not my little girl give
her old friend one kiss for all that he
is going to do for her ? ' '
Innocent Kittie assented readily
enough and her companion's face was
close to her's when there came a
sudden interruption. K dark form
that had been quietly following them
materialized into an athletic 3'oung
man, who laid the colonel prostrate
with one well-directed shove and
with his other arm pressed the girl
clo.se to him.
' ' Who are you ? What are you
here for ? ' ' sputtered the colonel as
soon as he had regained his feet.
" I'll have you arrested, sir."
" You will not," replied the other
man. " My name is James \3.\\
Horn at your service. I am a repor-
ter on the New York Sioi and a
friend of Harry Dumont. Do you
know what that means ?"
"No, nor do I wish to," growled
the colonel.
" I'll tell you what it means then,
you grey haired scoundrel," con-
tinued Jim, warming up a bit. "I
love this girl as my life. Because I
do not wish to see her where Harry
Dumont's wife is to-da}' I am here.
Leave her presence this instant. If
you ever dare speak to her again I'll
whip you like a dog."
Thoroughly cowed and frightened,
the colonel slunk away into the dark-
ness, leaving Jim and Kittie alone.
It was sometime later when Jim said :
" If you are tired of the hotel life
what will you want next, Kittie?"
"Jim I Dear Jiml" said the girl
with a happy sigh, "I don't want
anything any more but just you."
AUGUST 17, 1755.
A TALE OF THE P:ARLY .SETTLEMENT OF NEW HAMPSHIRE.
By F. Hodgiiiau.
The summer sun shone brightly down
Upon Fall mountain's rocky crown.
While at his foot a rushing stream
Dispersed the rays with flash and gleam
Connecticut's swift rolling tide
AUGUST 17. 175s. 43
Swept close along the mountain side,
Till narrowed by the rocky shore
It leaped the falls with sullen roar,
Then, from its narrow bondage freed.
It wandered on by copse and mead
In de\-ious way, with turns and crooks,
And gathered in the babbling brooks
That, down from Walpole's wooded hills,
Brought laughing tribute from the rills.
The sun shone down on peaceful scene
Of valleys broad and forests green ;
Of hill tops clad with spruce and pine ;
Of dells where grew the hardy vine ;
Of terraced plains that stretch away
Where once the river held its sway.
The sun .shone on a land most fair
With not a white man living there.
Save where the lonely cabin stood
That Kilburn made his dwelling good,
And where a mile and more away
The Bellows garrison held sway.
The sun shone bright on peaceful scene,
But even then, the hills between,
A dusky arm}', on its way
Through meadows fair and forests gray.
Were coming down from northern land
With musket shot and fiery brand.
With tomahawks and scalping knives
To take the peaceful settlers' lives.
Ben Bellows and a score of men
Returning homeward from the glen
Were slowh' climbing up the hill
With sacks of forage from the mill.
They had their trust}* guns in hand
To use if they should meet the band.
For news had come from far Quebec
That an}- hour they might expect
An inroad from an Indian band
To drive them from their chosen land.
Before they reached the very crest.
They halted for a moment's rest
And, peeping o'er the other side.
An Indian ambuscade espied.
Each dropped his sack and primed his gun
And when they had the summit won
Thev gave a .shout with all their miarht
44 AUGUST I J, ijsj.
Then mid the ferns dropped out of sight.
As clansmen on the Scottish hill
Responded to the whistle shrill
When it was blown by Roderick Dhu,
So now up sprang the dusky crew.
And every bush, and rock, and tree.
Alive with warriors seemed to be,
For but an instant, — then they fled
Assailed by deadly storm of lead.
They disappeared like phantoms strange
Beyond the .settlers' sight and range,
And soon with yells and musket shot
Were heard a.ssailing Kilburn's cot.
The colonel sought the strong support
And shelter of his little fort,
And there, with all his force arrayed,
He waited for the savage raid.
And there till night had shut them in
They listened to the di.stant din,
Each minute looking for attack
And well prepared to hurl it back.
But not an Indian came in sight.
And silence fell with .shades of night ;
No .sound was heard on wood or hill,
And e'en the night bird's note was .still.
An anxious man was Colonel Ben
As, turning to his troop of men,
He said : ' ' No further noise we hear ;
Now what good man will volunteer
And down to Kilburn's cabin go.
And bring back tidings of the foe? "
The colonel's men were brave and true,
But well each one among them knew
The desperate peril he'd invite
Were he to try to go that night.
Each man drew back and glanced around
And not a single one was found
Who of his own free will and lot
Would go that night to Kilburn's cot.
" I'll try it. Father. Let vie go.
Full well each foot of ground I know
And all the better for the night,
I'm sure to go and come all right."
'Twas Peter spoke, the colonel's son ;
Of all were there, the bravest one
To dare the perils of the night
AUGUST 17. rjs5- ' 45
And bring them tidings of the fight.
The bo3' was onh' jnst sixteen
And for his age was small I ween ;
Bnt he was fleet as any deer
And never knew the slightest fear ;
Had hunted all the country o'er,
And knew it well from hill to shore.
He left the fort at dead of night,
And soon his form was lost from sight
Amid the forest dark and gray
That hid him on his silent way.
His feet with softe.st buckskin shod
Made not a sound upon the sod ;
He careful stepped, lest breaking stick
Should reach the Indians' hearing quick ;
He kept close watch on all around
Where'er a foeman might be found.
And thus with eye and muscle strained
The Kilburn clearing safely gained.
Now if the Kilburns held their ground
And foes were lurking yet around,
A double danger he must dare
From those who watched and waited there ;
And so he sought the deepest shade
That friend and foe he might evade ;
With double care no soul to rouse
At last he safely reached the house ;
With care he searched about the place
And of the foe found not a trace.
As good as new the cabin stood,
No fire had .scorched its solid wood ;
The lad stood still in dire suspense
With beating heart and muscles tense.
Was any one there ali\'e or dead ?
And where had all the Indians fled?
Had they scalped John Kilburn and his men ?
If so, where were the women then ?
With vice-like hold he gripped his knife
And waited for .some signs of life.
They came at last. Low sounds of speech
From well known voice his hearing reached.
When that sound met his grateful ear
He knew full well no foe was near.
He shouted loud : " Good friends within.
Unbar the door and let me in ;
I've just come dowi"" fiom Number Three
46
WILD REUTLINGEN.
And not a soul has troubled me."
The well-known voice and Peter's words
Seemed sweeter far than songs of birds.
They soon unbarred the heav}' door
And let him in where safe once more
And all unhurt, save onlv one,
The^-'d fought from noon till set of sun.
They told him all and on him pressed
Refreshing food and drink and rest ;
They shared with him the best they had
And praj-ed that God would bless the lad
Who through the woods without a fear
Had brought them words of hope and cheer.
Then homeward Peter went his way
And reached the fort by break of day.
His welcome home need not be told.
If your boy did a deed as bold,
On his return, pray, what would you
To welcome him be apt to do ?
WILD REUTLINGEN.
A ROMANCE OF THE TIME OF THE GREAT KING.
[Translated from the German of Hans Werder. J
By Agailia B. E. Chandler.
CHAPTER XVIII.
UvSANNA VON TECHOW
was also out of doors
on that same beautiful
spring afternoon when
Reutlingen met his
wife. The violets
were blooming upon
the green terraced
banks of the lake
near her house, and
drew her to the shore.
She stooped and plucked the lovely
little spring flowers, and with their
scent she seemed to dream of the
past. Years ago, it was now ; she
which lay
their odor
was a child and stood in this same
place looking for violets. At her
feet lay a slender, handsome boy, his
laughing brown eyes gazing up at
her. They were the children of
neighbors and were constantly to-
gether ; he was her dearest playmate.
His parents had died when he was
young and he had been brought to
Steinhovel to be educated with the
young Reutlingens, and soon wild
Jobst and he became inseparable,
except that he seldom brought Jobst
to Zellin.
Once during violet time they came
WILD REUTLINGEN.
47
together across the lake, each in a
cranky little fishing boat, and shouted
greetings to the slender vSusanna as
she stood upon the bank. The}' were
home on leave and had come to show
her their uniforms, Jobst von Reut-
lingen as a sub-lieutenant in the
Baireuth dragoons, antl Wolf von
Eickstadt, the younger and weaker,
as a page to the prince of Prussia, with
the hope of soon entering his friend's
regiment as a sub-lieutenant also.
Both boats reached the shore, and
out stepped two soldierh- oarsmen,
ea^h wishing her to accept his escort
for a boat ride. Her heart drew her
to Wolf, the charming page whose
beautiful brown eyes besought her
so earnestly, but it was much too
good a chance to torment him, and
so she took the wild Reutlingen's
outstretched hand. The young lieu-
tenant showed her his Hohenfried-
burg sabre cut and told her of the
king's precious words, while Wolf
fell into an indescribable rage. He
brought his little skiff so close to
the other and moved about in it so
roughly that finally it capsized and
the page found himself in the water.
The day was cool, and Susanna took
loving care of her unlucky friend,
whose rage against Jobst was not les-
sened by the latter's ridicule.
Wolf was mortified and cast down,
but she comforted him, gave him her
violets, and later in the evening, when
he and his friend took their leave, she
could not find it in her heart to deny
him the first kiss for which he begged
so earnestl}'.
Wolf was now a lieutenant and she
seldom saw him, but she heard reports
of him that pained her greatly ; not
only that he gambled and won, but
that he paid court to other women.
as though he had forgotten his youth-
ful love.
"He offers incense at ever}- shrine, ' '
said Heinz von Reutlingen to her with
his deep smile. This bearer of evil
tales gathered all the bad news about
Wolf that he could, and told with
nuich pleasure of a certain woman in
Pasewalk by whose side the young
lieutenant was constantl}' found, and
to whom he had given his unsought
love. Susanna saw, however, that
Heinz himself was passionately at-
tached to her, and thought that per-
haps he spoke maliciously to injure
his rival.
Once Wolf had come to Steinhovel,
and thence to Zellin to see her, bring-
ing with him a bunch of violets.
The}' had sat together for a short
time, and she then saw that she had
a great influence over him, and that
he realized and rejoiced in it. Had
he since been untrue to her? She
dared not hear the answer. It seemed
to her that she had then cast from
her that which was her right, for
where Susanna von Techow loved,
there she wished to reign supreme.
They had not .spoken of their fu-
ture, for Wolf was without means, and
Susanna looked upon the life before
them with sensible eyes. So they
had separated and had not met since.
Susanna sighed. How long ago had
it been ? Was not youth passing, the
violet time of life ?
' ' I am not obliged to wait for him, ' '
she murmured unwillingly to herself.
A few days before another had stood
before her with passionate supplica-
tion, begging for her love and her
hand, — Heinz von Reutlingen — but
she did not care for him. vShe had
sent him away, and he had left with
a disagreeable laugh.
48
WILD REUTLINGEN.
" Don't think you can count upon
Wolf von Eickstadt," lie had said,
"for he has a very short memory.
He was desperate in his attentions to
my sister, but he has forgotten her
in even this short time."
She had listened to him disdain-
fvilly, but still she could not forget
his words. Why did she worry over
them ; surely she was not obliged to
wait for him ?
W^ith a frown upon her brow she
heard a light step behind her, and
turning, saw an active, handsome fig-
ure, in the bright blue, silver-trimmed
blouse of the Baireuth dragoons, the
hat with its flowing white plume in
his hand. Thus Wolf von Eickstadt
approached her.
" Susanna," he cried in a low tone,
with deep agitation in his voice.
A treacherous blush appeared be-
neath the soft, wavy lock that fell
over her forehead.
" Herr von Eickstadt, is it you ? "
Never before had she called him Herr
von Eickstadt. He took her hand
and pressed it to his lips with an
expression of unbounded respect.
" Fraulien Susanna, we have not
seen each other for a long time ; have
3^ou entirely forgotten your old play-
mate ? ' '
" Oh, no ! I have had no vicissi-
tudes of war to di.stract my mind.
I have lived quietly all these 3'ears,
but have heard much and forgotten
nothing."
She spoke coldly and stiffly, more
so, perhaps, than .she intended, which
was onlv natural. He misrht have
known it, but he only noticed the re-
pulsion in her tone, and that paint d
his faithful heart.
' ' The war has tossed me about like
a ball." said he, " but through ever}^-
thing the thought of you has been
constantl}' with me, to .see you again
has been the aim of my life."
She laughed him awa}'. " What
non.sen.se 3'ou talk, Wolf. Come and
greet my parents, and tell us what
you have been doing."
They returned to the house, Wolf
talking as they walked.
' ' I came with Jobst von Reutlin-
gen, but he went on to Steinhovel to
visit his wife, while I came here."
Then after a pause : ' ' Did you
.see anything of Fran von Reutlin-
gen ? ' '
" Yes, indeed ; she is charming,
and improves wonderfull}' on closer
acquaintance, for she is a trifle shy at
fir.st."
" A trifle ! I .should say she was
painfully shy. It is her greatest fault,
but she never shows it to me."
" So I have heard."
He felt instinctively that there was
more in her words than appeared on
the surface, so he watched her atten-
tively.
He was not pleased at the pro.spect
of .spending the afternoon with Sus-
anna's parents, but he saw no way of
avoiding it, until at la.st Susanna her-
.self gave way to the silent supplica-
tion of his dark eyes, and led the way
to her own little sitting room, a pro-
ceeding which did not plea.se her
father and mother, although they
never interfered with their daughter's
actions.
Wolf followed her with a beating:
heart, and when she seated herself on
the little sofa in her bright room, he
hastened to her side, and, seizing her
hand, pressed it passionately between
his own.
" Susanna, has anyone been trying
to injure me in your eyes? "
49
*»>" '
r^y,.-^'
i
'They returned to the house, Wolf talking as they walked.
iO
WILD REUTLINGEN.
Her bright ej^es watched him
closel}'.
" Yes, Wolf ; someone has been try-
ing to injure you ; I have been told of
your gambling habits, and of your
light, ever-changing heart." She
stopped and colored deeply, not feel-
ing sure of her voice.
Wolf covered his e^'es with his
hand, rested his arm upon his knee,
and remained silent. The charge of
gambling he could easily refute, but
he was so merry and gay, so warm
hearted and lovable, women of all
classes were so kind and friendl}' to
him, that he felt that she had some
cause for complaint. Had .she l>ut
allowed him to love her, he would
never ha\'e needed to look elsewhere,
but he had been hopelessly separated
from her for years. Should he then
have passed his life in mourning, with
none of the pleasures of the society of
women ? It was too much to ask of
him, and now he must tell her so, a
task for which he had but little cour-
age. She was gazing at him steadily,
however, and her glance was becoming
colder and more determined every mo-
ment, so he at last overcame himself
and .spoke. In simple words he told
of their .separation and of his hopeless-
ness of ever winning her, that it was
true that he had found pleasure in
the friendship of other women, but
that his heart had ever remained true
to her. His honest e^-es, so full of
love, were proof enough to her of his
truth, and she listened to him in great
agitation.
" Then it is not true that you love
Jobst von Reutlingen's wife ? "
' ' Jobst von Reutlingen's wife ! " he
exclaimed. " Have you not an.swered
your question in those four words?
The wife of my dearest friend ? The
woman to Avhom he has gi\'en \\v:>
heart and for whose love he is striv-
ing ? Do you think me a scoundrel,
Susanna ? ' '
He had sprung from his seat l)esidc'
her and was pacing the floor excit-
edly. At last he stopped before her.
" No, Susanna ; you are too quick
to jealous}-. You must see that my
love for you fills wxy whole heart, that
no flirtation has ever touched me,
that upon ni}- every return to Zellin
you have found me as I went awa>- —
no other image, no other thought in
my heart but you ; you my ideal, my
life my only loved. You must believe
me ; and I want your whole love and
faith — may I have them, Susanna? "
She looked at him thoughtfully as
he stood before her, apparently con-
sidering her charges not worth meet-
ing, and still claiming her love and
faith as his right.
" I believe and trust you, Wolf,"
she said at la.st ; "if I did not, we
should have to part, for I cannot give
my lo\-e where there is doubt and
mistrust ; I must ha\-e your whole
heart or nothing."
She wanted all, wanted to love
him and believe in him : this she told
him plainly, and he knelt, glad and
happy, by her side.
Rosy- hued and golden, like a .spring
morning, la}' the future before them,
and the hours of joy and happiness
flew by unnoted. The sun had sunk
and its dying glow la}- spread upon
the smooth surface of the lake when
Wolf finally awoke.
"I must be off;" he exclaimed,
starting up suddenly. "My stern
captain ordered me to leave soon after
sunset, so I must hurry."
"Jobst stern ? " exclaimed Susanna,
with a smile of unbelief.
WILD REUTLINGEN.
"Indeed he is. He is severe in
ni:itters of dnty. He un(l()ul)ledl}'
longs to stay at Steinliovel, but I
wager he'll be with the troop before
I am. Now. Susanna, before I go I
must speak to your parents, and you
must promise me that some da}' you
will l)e my wife."
"I ha\-e alread}' promised, Wolf,
and you are right, you must speak to
my parents," answered Susanna earn-
estly, "but I think I can tell you
what their answer will be. They see
trouble for us in the future, and they
will be slow to give me to ^-ou."
He went, but soon returned with a
shadow of discouragement in his
ej^es that disappeared when he saw
Susanna.
" Your parents will not give you to
a poor subaltern, they have two sons
in the army, and are therefore too
poor. You know the situation, be-
loved ; will you wait for me ? "
Tears filled her eyes as she clung to
his arm and clasped it tenderly.
" I will wait for you forever I "
The twilight was fading, and his
horse was pawing impatiently l)efore
the door.
' ' Give me the violets that you
picked today, Susanna, as a remem-
brance of this sweet hour."
She gave him the flowers, and he
rode away with them upon his heart,
whence they breathed forth their
fragrance, and whispered sweet tales
and songs of love.
CHAPTER XIX.
The Baireuth regiment joined the
corps of Prince Heinrich in the march
against the Russians on the banks of
the Oder, and later into Schlesien
against Laudon. The king remained
for a time in vSaxonj- with his army
and besieged Dresden, but finalh'
gave that up and joined Prince Hein-
rich in time to command at the great
victor}- of Liegnitz. where he shat-
tered Laudon and the Austrian army.
Friedrich's departure from Dresden
left Saxon}- practically cleared of Prus-
sian troops.
During the entire siege Benno von
Trautwitz had been confined in Dres-
den. He had been carried to the
hospital there to be treated for the
wound that he had received at Reut-
lingen's hands, and when the fever
had abated enough for him to leave
his bed, the siege had begun, and the
shadow of death lay over the un-
happy city. Hunger, epidemic,
momentary danger of death from
falling shell, fire, and ever}- misery
that war can bring, all made life a
hell in the beleaguered city, and
Benno von Trautwitz was forced to
suffer with the rest, the unfavorable
conditions rendering his recovery very
slow.
At last the king gave up the siege
and left the half-annihilated city to
its fate, and Benno did not linger
wdthin the battered walls a moment
after the road was clear. Sick and
suffering, he made his way to his
relations at Deitnitz, who took him in
with true ho.spitality and ga\-e him
the care and attention he so sadly
needed. trying by all possible means
to win him back to health and
strength. Herr von Trebenow, who
was a chamberlain at the court of the
king of Poland, was at Warschau,
and Frau von Trebenow and her
daughter were at home alone, so they
52
WILD REUTLINGEN.
had plenty of time to attend to the
comfort and entertainment of their
guest.
The daughter, Maria Ehzabeth,
was a pretty, lovable girl, with a rosy
face and ash blonde hair, who reminded
Benno now and then of Ulrike, thus
becoming doubly dear and agreeable
to him.
Ulrike — she was in his every
thought, the dream of his waking
hours, and there had come to him a
longing to see her again, together
with a burning hatred of the man
who had robbed him of her. He had
thought that he had Reutlingen in
his power in the fight at Coszdorf , but
his enemy had not only escaped but
had felled him to the ground with
terrible wounds, and now a fierce
longing for revenge burned within
the 3^oung hussar's breast.
Benno learned with surprise that
Ulrike had written to the Trebenows,
telling them that she had married
Captain von Reutlingen and was now
living in his home at Steinhovel
during her hu.sband's absence with
his regiment. She had asked for her
relatives' blessings, but nothing in
her letter told why she had taken the
step or whether or not she was happy.
Benno read this letter, and became
greatly excited over it, making up
his mind to see Ulrike again at any
cost .
' ' She is sitting there alone while
her brute of a husband is out in the
world," he growled to Fran von Tre-
benow. "The Prussian army is on
the frontier of Brandenburg between
our forces and those of the Ru,ssians,
and will thus doubtless soon be de-
stroyed. She will have no one to
protect her in the storm>- times that
will follow, lor that brute will cer-
tainly never trouble himself about
her. I am going to see her."
" But you are a soldier and .should
join your regiment at the front," re-
monstrated his aunt, "and besides,
it seems to me that 5-ou are not quite
just to your cousin's husband, dear
Benno."
" Perhaps j^ou are right, ni}- dear
aunt," he replied, with a shrug of his
shoulders, "although I don't quite
see how. At any rate, I will go to
Steinhovel to see Ulrike, and I will
try to persuade her to return with me
to lycitnitz."
His aunt approved of this proposi-
tion, and so Benno wrote to Ulrike
and told her of his intended visit.
He soon received an answer, but he
did not .show his cousin's letter to
any one.
" I will go, of course," was all he
said, and in a few days he was on his
way to Steinhovel. The ride was a
very severe one in his feeble condi-
tion, and he was tired and worn out
when he found himself, at evening,
in the house of his deadly enemy.
Ulrike was not at home, but old Fer-
dinand cared for him as his mistress's
cousin, for such he complacently
announced himself to be, and gave
him a room and something to eat and
drink.
Ulrike was at Zellin with the
Techows, whom she often visited in
her loneliness, but she returned home
before she was expected, and when
she entered the hall heard the soft
tones of a .spinnet touched b}' a
master hand. It did not occur to her
that it might be Benno, but she
thought of Heinz, and terror seized
her heart.
"You have a visitor," said Fer-
dinand, in answer to her silent inter-
WILD REUTLINGEN.
53
rogatory, "a young gentleman, a
relative of yours, my young mistress."
She hurried up stairs and entered
the sitting room. There sat Benno
von Trautwitz at the spinnet. Ulrike
remained standing in the middle of
the room, her dark mantle slipping
from her shoulders and hanging over
her white dress to the floor. She
hastih- removed her veil and held it
in her hand, while she gazed upon
the intruder with a look of dis-
pleasure on her face.
"So you have come, Benno?
Didn't you get my letter? I begged
you to stay away. What do you
want here ? " '
"Just to see you again, Ulrike,
nothing more. You misunderstood
m\' purpose when you told me not to
come, and I felt that I must make
\ou understand me. Have you no
welcome to offer me after we have
been separated so long, after I have
suffered so much for youx sake ? "
' ' I know of nothing that 3'ou have
had to suffer for my sake," she
responded coldly, "and I am not
responsible for anything that you may
have done. This is my husband's
house, and you have entered it against
my will, for I know \o\x would be no
welcome guest to him. He despises
you because you broke your word of
honor. Tell me if that is true before
I give you my hand in greeting."
A deathly paleness spread over
Benno "s face.
' Give me ^'our hand on trust, my
cousin," he said with a forced smile;
"it is the hand of an honorable man
that I offer you ; even Reutlingen
cannot deprive me of that glory."
His tone was firm and confident,
and she had been accustomed since
childhood to look up to him as one to
be trusted. She was now undecided
in her opinion and he noticed it.
' ' Why did he not make this accusa-
tion to my face?" he continued with
growing assurance. "He can pro-
duce no proof, can call up no te.sti-
niony against me. But I will have a
reckoning with him for this accusa-
tion. He has known my affection for
you, my dearest relative, and he has
thought to separate us."
Ulrike threw off her cape, sat down
upon the sofa, and leaned her elbow
upon the table.
" You needn't trouble to bring him
to account," she said dejectedly ; "he
is not in the habit of making false
accusations. If he has been misin-
formed about this he will gladly
admit that he is wrong, of that I am
sure."
Benno grasped her hand and kissed
it.
" Thank you, my cousin ; that was
thoroughly wifely, truly, and rightly
spoken, and the pretty Ulrike whom
I have loved and honored through-
out my whole life is a worth}- wife."
Ulrike gave him her hand again.
" I have loved >'ou very dearly, my
cousin, and if I have doubted you it
was because of my husband's mis-
take." She hesitated for a moment
and then continued. " I begged you
for your protection when I was sorely
in need of help, but you went away
and left me to my fate. Captain von
Reutlingen cared for me, and now
that I am in safety you come to me.
You cannot blame me for believing
him."
Benno was ready for this attack.
"I deserve your reproach, dear
Ulrike," he said in a trembling voice.
' ' I will not try to defend m^-self for
leaving 3-ou defenseless, for I know
54
WILD REUTLINGEN.
myself to be guiltless. Was I not
frantic under the torture of leaving
you at Ivangenrode, and did you not
refuvse to go awa}- to a safe place with
me ? But one thing in the world
could have driven me from your side,
and of such a power you know nothing,
you can 't even imagine what it means
— the duty and honor of an officer in
time of war. ' '
She knew nothing of a soldier's
honor and duty — she, the wife of a
Prussian officer, the ' ' comrade ' ' of
the Baireuth dragoons. But she did
not care to contradict him, and the
w^armth wnth which he spoke carried
conviction to her mind. Being con-
vinced against her better judgment,
she sought to change the subject of
conversation.
' ' You have been sick a long time,
she began, "where did you get the
wounds that have giveii you so nuicli
trouble ? ' '
Benno gazed at her in astonish-
ment.
"Don't you know that, \\\\ dear
cousin? Haven't you heard it from
the owner of the kind hand which
s:ave me these wounds ? Your hus-
band was the man, the wild Reut-
lingen ; sad is the day for him who
meets that man. So he has kept it
a secret from you, has he ? It seems
that he doesn't look back upon the
affair with a free conscience, then ? "
Ulrike was silent. It surprised her
that on that last evening when Jobst
had told her so much of the battle, he
had not mentioned his meeting with
her cousin ; still she did not wish
to listen to Benno 's account of the
affair.
"You have been sick," said she,
"and yet I have not once asked if
anyone has arranged a room for you
and offered you something to eat and
drink—' '
" It has all been done," he inter-
rupted. "The old servant is atten-
tive to his duty ; nothing has 1:)een
wanting but a greeting of welcome
from you, Ulrike."
His gentle reproach shamed her.
" Then you shall have that in addi-
tion to my good wishes for a pleasant,
comfortable night : it is late, and you
nuist be tired after your long jour-
ney.' '
Ferdinand was called, and escorted
the guest, who, after a hearty hand-
shake, departed to his room, glad of
the much needed rest.
* * * * .,;■ *
Mignonette and gillyflowers sent
forth their fragrance in the warm sun-
shine of the August morning when
Ulrike stepped into the garden and
saw her guest sauntering slowly along
in the shade of the heavily laden apple
trees. She had sent his breakfast to
his room and so had not seen him
before that morning, and now when he
heard her step he turned and greeted
her with such warmth and tenderness
that she saw it would be necessary
to moderate his feelings. As they
walked backwards and forwards to-
gether he told her of his life during
the siege of Dresden, then of his
convalescence at Leitnitz, and of the
care and attention of his aunt and
cousin, and at last asked her if she
had no desire to see her relatives
once more after such a long separa-
tion. His aunt had directed him to
beg a visit from her, and naturally,
considering the great distance, it
could not be allowed to be a short
one. At his last words Ulrike drew
herself up with a determined air ; the
thought, " He has forbidden it," ran
WILD REUTLINGEN.
55
through her mind al once, and for
the present she dismissed tlie ques-
tion.
Benno's cheerful and pleasing com-
panionship caused the day to pass for
Ulrike as though on wings, and 1)\'
niofht her old innocent love for the
friend of her childhood was restored.
A warm summer evening fell upon
Steinhovel. Clear as a smooth silver
shield hung the moon above the edge
of the forest, while the sighing wind
rustled to and fro amid the tops of
the fragrant trees. Ulrike and Benno
sat together upon the lawn before the
house, she with a white shawl thrown
around her shoulders and her head
leaninu- back against a vine covered
trellis that ran along the side of the
house. vSilvery white Avas her hair
anions: the dark green leaves, and
Benno's eyes never left her, while
her gaze was fixed dreamih' in the
distance so that she could not see her
cousin's face.
" How long is it now," he l^egan
suddenly, "since that mo.st painful
hour of ni}' life when I had to leave
j'ou at L,angenrode ? It seems ages to
ms."
"Still it is not a year," she an-
swered with a sigh.
' ' Did the dragoons come soon after
I left ? " he asked in the same sup-
pressed voice. " Did the abbess live
to see them ? ' "
Then Ulrike told him, and he ques-
tioned her carefully, .skillfull}', and
minutely, until, almost without her
knowledge, she had given him all
the information that he desired :
Reutlingen's arrival at the abbev, his
assistance at the burial of the abbess,
his promise of protection and his
.wooing, and also the agreement un-
der which she had consented to the
marriage. Her loving trust in her
cousin made it easy for Benno to find
out everything, and the little she did
not tell him he readilv iruessed.
A wild, mad joy filled his heart, for
he knew tluit these two looked coldly
upon each other, and the knowledge
aroused anew his deadened hopes.
"And has he kept his word ? " he
asked in a faltering voice.
' ' Has he kept his word ? A Reut-
lingen break his Avord ?' ' cried I'lrike;
and Benno started as though .stung to
the heart.
' ' Of course ; he must have done so
unless he wanted to be called a scoun-
drel by every honorable man," con-
tinued Benno quietl}-. " Upon the
whole, he has treated \o\\ very
honorably, and he appears to be a
good fellow with self-sacrificing im-
pulses, under the influence of which
he married you. But, if you will
pardon my saying it, my dear cousin,
his whole conduct bears witness to an
undoubted coldness on his part ; had
he been moved by passion his actions
would have been very different."
Ulrike was silent. A hand of ice
seemed laid upon her heart. vShe
knew all this herself ; why did he
speak thus ? It was torture to hear
it.
" He wasn't jealous, either," con-
tinued Benno, "for he left you here
alone for .several months \\\\\\ his
young, hot-blooded brother. The
man is trul\- enviable in his uncon-
cern. Now, my cousin, thank God
that your heart has also remained
untouched, that you, who are beau-
tiful and lovely, towards whom the
noblest in the l?nd might well
turn their longing gaze, thank God
that you have not fallen in love with
this cold-hearted cavalr3-man, that }-ou
56
WILD REUTLINGEN.
have conceived no unhappy, unre-
quited passion for this rough soldier,
who is so absorbed in himself that he
cannot see that he has placed 3'ou in a
position that no true woman's soul
could endure."
.Ulrike had risen, overcome b}' a
feeling of horror and aversion that
almost robbed her of breath. How
pale she was as she trembled with
the pain his words had brought.
"I am cold," she said softly.
" The evenings are still cool. I will
go in — good-night."
She went without once looking
back, and so did not see the glance
of mingled triumph, pit}', and fierce
passion that followed her. Benno von
Trauwitz had placed a file on Ulrike' s
fetters, and now he worked with it
carefully, little by little, watching
with hungry eyes the progress that
he had already made, and wondering
how much further he dared go. The
hope of ultimate success never left
him for a moment. With inward ex-
citement he looked forward to the
next morning, and when it came found
his young hostess pale and quiet, the
dark shadows beneath her eyes en-
tirely changing their usual clear and
childlike expression.
It would not have been easy for
Benno to have carried on a harmless
and agreeable conversation that day,
and as the afternoon was beautiful
and sunny he proposed a walk. So
the}' strolled awa}^ together over the
heath and into the forest of firs. How
delicious was the fragrance of the
trees, the breath of the forest !
Their way led them to the bank of
a small pond bordered b>' rushes and
covered by broad leaves, amongst
which glistened a few 3'ellow lilies.
Ulrike's usual resting place, a large
moss-covered rock, lay not far from
the bank, and now she seated herself
upon it, clasped her hands over her
knee, and gazed with dreamy eyes
into the green depths.
" Is this the full extent of nature's
beauties in this vicinit}' ? ' ' asked
Benno jokingly, but she did not an-
swer, so he leaned against the trunk
of a fir and watched her.
" I am worried to see you so sad
and depressed, my pretty cousin," he
began at last. "Have any of my
yesterday's words angered you, or is
it the burden of your fate that weighs
upon your spirits ? ' '
Ulrike took off her straw hat as
though it pressed upon her brain, let
it fall upon the moss, and threw back
her head.
" What good does it do to talk
about it ? " she murmured in an
undertone, as though to herself.
" Fettered hand and foot."
Benno 's eyes glowed.
' ' Thank God that those fetters can
be broken, my dear cousin. Reut-
lingen very nobly promised to give
you up when the war was over ; very
well, we have this Friedrich, this
margrave of Brandenburg, in a tight
place, and I hope we can soon destroy
him ; then you can ask and receive
your freedom. F'or 3'our sake I long
for the time to come, and for Reut-
lingen's I wish that it were long
past."
Ulrike drew herself up. "For
Reutlingen's sake you wish it past ? "
She thought it all over in a flash,
how Heinz had said : "It costs but a
word and he will set you free. ' ' How
did Heinz know that if Reutlingen
himself had not told him, and did not
his assertion agree with what Benno
had just said?
WILD REUTLINGEN.
57
' ' It certainly is not necessary for
me to look any further into it," she
continued hesitatingly. " He de-
ferred the moment for which he longs
until the end of the war, however.
Why did he delay it so when one firm
.step would put an end to all our
misery ? ' '
She raised a fleeting look of pain to
her cousin. "Do you really believe
that it would please him to have his
freedom again ? "
' ' I cannot know that," he answered.
"As far as I have heard, Herr von
Reutlingen has never felt called upon
to limit his freedom on account of his
marriage."
' ' What have you heard ? ' ' she
asked quickly.
He shrugged his shoulders. ' ' Mere
rumors."
" Xo, cousin," she cried with
spirit; "you know and mean .some-
thing definite and you must speak
out. I can bear truth and frankness
when the matter concerns m}- whole
life."
"Yes, indeed j'ou can, dearest
Ulrike," he cried with suppressed
excitement. " Why should I be
silent when perhaps a word from me
will make it easier for you to break
the fetters that are an insult to you ? ' '
He leaned towards her.
"I know this Reutlingen well, as
3'ou know. Ne^•er has a man been
more closely watched than he, for I
felt that I must know the man to
whom Ulrike von Trebenow had con-
fided her life's happiness. The result
of my scrutiny was not pleasant. He
doesn't care to be well known to 3'our
friends, for his heart, his love, as he
calls it, is given to an unworthy
creature upon whom he throws him-
self awav."
Ulrike trembled at his words. "Can
you prove wdaat }-ou say ? ' ' she asked
in a dull, expressionless voice.
' ' Of course I can prove it ! " he
cried. " I know the woman, a black-
eyed gypsy creature ; he knew her
before he first went to Langenrode,
and now she follows the regiment to
lie with him." He stopped, and then
added : " His comrades wouldn't tell
vou of this ; thev don't see anvthing
wrong in it. If you desire the proofs
that are within my reach you may
soon know the truth."
Ulrike said nothing ; a kind of
parah'sis seemed to rob her of .speech
and motion. At last she slowdy rose,
replaced her hat, and walked silently
along the homeward path, careless as
to whether Benno followed or not.
He walked by her side and occasion-
ally spoke to her without receiving
any answer. When she reached the
house .she hurried to her room, locked
the door behind her, and remained
standing.
" Oh, if I were only the dark-eyed
g3'psy creature that he loves 1 ^\'hat
is it to me to be his wife in name
only, what to be 3-oung and well born,
if he does not care to love me ? ' '
She muttered it inaudibly at first,
but again the words came in a whis-
per from her lips and startled her.
She stepped to the mirror, and, with
a quick movement, threw off the
shawl from her shoulders. White as
a lily in face and dress, exquisite and
pure was the picture that she beheld
in the glass. Could he do aught but
laugh at her, this wild Reutlingen ?
" Ah, if I were only that black-e3'ed
g3'pS3' girl ! " — The white face in the
glass turned red with the flush of
shame and anger, and her hand
clutched at her heart.
58
WILD REUTLINGEN.
' ' O God ! what have I been think-
ing ? To throw myself away for his
love ? So I am to love him — this
wild one who loves me not ; that also
is to be my fate ? ' '
Her glance wandered to the writ-
ing desk, to his picture, and she met
the winning smile in his eyes. She
wrung her hands and covered her
eyes.
"God help me; I couldn't bear
to see him again. His laughter, his
careless attentions — to know that in
his heart he exulted over my unre-
turned passion — that would be tor-
ture, not death alone."
Evetiing came, night passed, and
the dawn broke. Day had also broken
with terrible clearness in Ulrike's
mind. "I am going aw^ay." That
thought was firmly fixed. " His
house must shelter me no longer ;
his noble protection for which I once
thanked him has now become an
insult. His command for me to stay
here has no meaning nor value now,
and if he should kill me in his anarer,
so much the better."
She was troubled as she thought of
their agreement and of the faithful-
ness and honor with which he had
kept it, but still she shrank from the
bitter humiliation of his learning her
unasked love. In the hours of suf-
fering of the night she had made up
her mind, and morning found it still
unchanged.
In the latter part of the afternoon
Benno sent her maid to inquire after
her, for he did not know the effect of
his words, and was beginning to grow
uneasy. Ulrike came down herself
and met him in the living room.
Her determination was fixed, and a
cold quiet had con.sequently settled
vipon her. She greeted her
guest
with a glance but did not offer him
her hand ; it seemed as though she
could not forgive him for the terrible
news he brought.
' ' Thank you, my dear cousin ; how
should I feel ? Well, naturally. I
want to tell you that I have changed
ni}" mind and ha^-e decided to visit
our relatives in I^eitnitz for a time.
If convenient to you we can start
together to-morrow ; I will be thank-
ful for your protection, for it is a long
drive. To-day I will go to Zellin
and say good-bye to the Techows."
Benno forced himself to speak
calmly of his pleasure at her decis-
ion, and she did not see the flash of
triumph in his eyes.
Late in the evening Ulrike entered
Lore's neat little chamber, which was
only separated from her own sleeping
room by that of Annette. The old
woman was sitting up, spinning a
fine thread b}' the light of a tallow
candle, singing a sad song to herself
as she worked, and did not notice
her mistress's entrance until she felt
her arms around her and fovmd her
kneeling by her side and weeping
passionately.
"My dear lady! Oh, what has
happened? Don't cry so, my sweet
child."
Ulrike shook her head. " Let me
alone ; nothing has happened. Ca-
ress me, Lore ; kiss me, show me
that you love me, but let me cry."
They were the first tears that had
come to ease a heart that had been
full to bursting. Lore felt that they
told of some sorrow that was bej^ond
her knowledge, and a deep fear filled
her heart. She said nothing more,
however, kissing the hair and hands
of the sobbing girl in silent sympathy
instead.
WILD REU7LINGEN.
59
"Lore," began Ulrike at last,
recovering her self-command, " I am
going away to-morrow. My relation,s
in Leitnitz — I have doubtless told j'ou
of them before — have begged me to
\isit them, and I have accepted their
invitation. My cousin will accom-
pany me."
The old woman clasped her hands
together in nameless dread.
"How terrible, my dear lady!
You are going away from here ? Our
captain was so light at heart to know
that you were here in safet}'."
vShe felt the slender figure tremble
in her arms and continued rapidly :
' ' Does he allow you to go into the
enemy's country where you will find
dangers on even,- hand ? "'
"How can I ask him when he's
not here?" cried Ulrike. "Who
knows when he will return ? And
I am so lonely here. Lore."
vShe could not say : "I am going
away because I love him, and his
wishes have no more weight with
me."
"You must have good reasons, I
don't doubt, ni}- dear 3'oung mis-
tress," answered Lore with a sigh,
' ' but it seems to me unfortunate for
you to go away. Pardon me for say-
ing it, ni}- dear lad}-, but it seems an
injustice to my young master. Sup-
pose he should come back and not
find you here? ' '
Ulrike had dried her tears and now
looked at the old woman with sad,
moist eyes. An unspeakable anxiety
clutched at her heart. Yes ; suppose
he should come back, and, not find-
ing her here, look for her, perhaps.
She could not shake off the terror of
the thought.
' ' If he comes back and asks for
me," she whispered, " tell him. Lore,
that I leave him my best wishes, and
that he must not be angry with me,
for I have done what is right. And
give him this letter."
The next morning Ulrike and her
maid began their journey to Leitnitz
under Benno's care. Steinhovel
stood empt}' once more, and good old
Lore sighed as she closed the doors
and curtains of her mistress's room.
CHAPTER XX.
In the autumn the Baireuth regi-
ment returned to Saxony with the
reinforcements under General von
Forcade, which Prince Heinrich sent
to his brother, the king. The troops
had much marching and camping
that fall, and very little rest. Reut-
lingen had not seen his wife for half
a year, and his thoughts of her were
full of trouble and fear.
Then in October came terrible
news. The Russians were before
Berlin ; devastation, death, burning
homes, and outrages of every kind
marked the path their army had
taken, and at the break of one
autumn day the inhabitants of the
capital found their enemies around
them. Would their terrible suffering
last long, would the king send aid,
or would these troops go further and
devastate the entire country ?
In great excitement Reutlingen
speculated as to whether the enemy
would reach vSteinhovel, and,
although he did not think it proba-
ble, soon determined on his course of
action. He himself could not leave
his troop, not even for a single day,
so he sent the trusty Ferdinand to
6o
WILD REUTLINGEN.
Steinhovel, with orders to conduct his
young mistress and the old Lore to
Magdeburg, to which place of safety
from the eneni}^ the whole royal
family had retreated. The funds and
archives of Prussia had been secretly
conveyed to the same place some time
before. There Ulrike would un-
doubtedly be safe, and he sent a let-
ter, commending his wife to the kind-
ness of Frau von Vosz, the wife of
the court marshal, who had been a
great friend of his mother's. vSo he
did the best he could for his wife, but
he still felt far from easy about her.
Perhaps something had happened to
her l)efore he could do anything,
news came to Saxony so slowly.
Reutlingen had just returned from
a severe ride upon which his duty
had called him, and, being greatly
angered by some breach of discipline
on the part of one of his under offi-
cers, slammed the door of his room
fiercely behind him, hoping to sit in
quiet before the fire and free his mind
from all worries. It was late in the
evening, and his brother officer who
shared the quarters with him had
long since gone to bed in the next
room. So he sat alone in the fire-
light, and smoked, and dreamed. In
a few moments the door opened
quietly and some one entered.
"Ferdinand! Man! You back
already ? What have you done ? ' '
The captain sprang from his chair
and advanced to meet his servant.
He felt that the next moment would
bring him evil tidings and his ques-
tions stuck in his throat.
"You must pardon me, my dear
sir, but I couldn't take your lady to
Magdeburg ; she had already left
Steinhovel."
"What?"
"Yes; Frau Lore sends many
greetings, and says that her master
need not trouble to send her away.
In August a young gentleman, one of
my lady's relations, came to Stein-
hovel and vStayed two days ; Herr
von Trautnitz or Trautwitz, he was
called. Then my lady went away
with him, taking Annette with her,
and left this letter behind to be given
to the captain."
Reutlingen received the news in
silence, mechanically stretching forth
his hand for the letter.
" That is all, you may go."
He pushed a chair close to the table,
threw himself into it, hastily broke
the seal and read: —
" Do not blame me, Herr von Reut-
lingen, for disobeying you and leav-
ing your house. Never will I forget
your kindness to me, never will my
heart cease to beat in gratitude to
5'OU ; still it is better for you, as well
as for myself that I should go away
now, and I am convinced that you will
agree with me.
"Once more I offer you my thanks
for your kindness and nobility to me,
and give you my best wishes for your
future well-being.
"Ulrike."
Reutlingen ran hurriedly over this
letter and then read it again slowly ;
then he let his head fall upon his
arm, while his hand convulsively
crushed the paper and held it. A
sharp pain, such as he had never
before known, pierced his heart. She
had left him ! Ulrike ! His wife !
His own ! While he was caring for
her safety she had gone away with
his bitter enemy! "I will not trust
you with that scoundrel! " he had
once said to her, when as an utter
WILD REUTLINGEN.
6i
stranger he offered her his soldierly
protection, and now she was his wife
and still had trusted the villain and
had left him ! It was a farewell for
life that he read in the cold, meaning-
less phrases of her letter. He sprang
up and stamped his foot angrily.
"My commands disobejxd ! Our
agreement broken ! My love be-
trayed i You shall explain this or
make amends, my faithless wife ! "
He began to pace the room with heavy
steps, throwing the furniture noisily
from his path.
"Heavens and Hell! It didn't
originate in her child's head ! Carried
off ! That villain has robbed me of
her, dishonorable hound ! You shall
feel mv hand, hing scoundrel, al-
though you are not fit to die an hon-
orable death at the hands of a Prussian
officer ! "
He paused again, smoothed out
the crumpled letter, and re-read the
superficial words of farewell. Then he
tried to picture the look in her eyes
that he loved so well, and the name-
less rapture of that kiss. His heart
was bursting ; it could not, must not,
be true. He again paced to and fro
across the room.
" All the devils in hell can't stop
me ! I'll see her again before I be-
lieve it ; she shall saj^ it to me herself
— shall give me her reasons — and
then for that scoundrel — L,eitnitz is
only a day's ride from here — I can
surely find her there somewhere
among her relatives ! " He suddenly
threw open the door into the next
room where Captain von Zobeltitz was
sleeping in the dark.
" Zobeltitz, are you asleep ? "
"Of course, and have been for a
long time. I shall be soon again if
)^ou'll stop making that awful noise,"
was the answer.
"Oh, never mind that! Do you
suppose Bulow would give me leave
for a couple of days ; I have some-
thing very important to do ? "
' ' lyCave ? Now ? When we are
expecting a fight daily ? Go to bed,
Reutlingen, you must be half asleep
already."
" You are right, I think I must be
myself. Good-night, Zobeltitz."
" Well, good-night at last."
CHAPTER XXI.
The king, to save his cause, must
fight a fierce battle, must win a great
victory, for the Prussian army was
threatened with annihilation. On
one side was the mighty host of Field-
marshal Daun, on another the Rus-
sians, and on a third was General
von Laudon, the king's troops being
thus entirely surrounded, cut off from
all sources of supply, from Berlin,
Breslau, and from Magdeburg.
Friedrich must cut his way through
his enemies, must drive them from
Saxony. Upon one turn of fate
rested the life or death of the army,
of the king, and of Prussia.
Watchful and threatening, in an
almost impregnable position upon the
heights of Suptitz, near Torgau, lay
Daun and his army, and 3'et, on the
third of November, the king was
obliged to advance. General von
Zieten was to attack on the other
side while the king himself led
against Daun, but before Friedrich
could get more than a part of his
infantry into position, the sound of
heav}' guns told him that Zieten had
62
WILD REUTLINGEN.
engaged, and so, without waiting for
his cavalry and artillery, he at once
opened the battle with such of his
troops as were available. A terrible
fire from the artillery on the Domits-
cher heights poured down upon the
brave grenadiers as they advanced
upon the field, and rank after rank,
regiment after regiment, sank down
before it. The king looked on in a
rage.
' ' What a terrible fire ! I have
never seen its like ! " he exclaimed
vehemently to his aides.
The sun flashed a ra}^ through the
heavy banks of clouds that covered
the sky, but it was no ray of hope,
for it fell upon a bloody field of battle
strewn with the dead and d3-ing heroes
of King Friedrich's army.
This terrible work was given up.
The infantry could no longer stand
before the murderous hail, and was
on the point of breaking, when at
four in the afternoon, the hour of
greatest need, the Prussian cavalr}^
reached the field. This column was
led by c Prince of Holstein, and
consists. f the Baireuth dragoons
and the Schmettau and Spaen curas-
siers, names that will ever be immor-
tal wherever the tale of the Battle of
Torgau is told. At a moment of
greatest importance, when victory
seemed to rest upon the Austrian
banners, the troopers charged the
enemy without waiting to form line
of battle. Confident of success, they
rode forward to victory or to death.
lycading the charge, at the head of
tne troop rode Captain von Reutlin-
gen, the wild rage of battle in his
heart. The heath before them was
cut up l^y trenches, and the enemy's
flank was defended by an apparently
impassable ditch, too wide to leap.
too deep to cross. There was no
time for deliberation there, in the
face of the enemy, however, and at
the signal for the charge the bold
leader's horse started forward at a
gallop towards the dangerous obstacle,
and by a mighty effort cleared it at a
bound. The captain's spirit spread
through his troop and thence to the
regiment, and the troopers followed
him with scarcely a mishap. lyike
the wind they whirled down upon the
enemy's unprotected flank, and the
infantry wavered and broke under
the terrible onslaught. The gallant
attack had changed the tide of vic-
tory, although the fight was still to
be won. Daun sent fresh troops to
oppose the Prussians, and the battle
trembled in the balance until evening,
when Friedrich's charges had broken
Daun's line and scattered his regi-
ments in everj' direction.
In the midst of the storm of shot,
wherever the fire was fiercest, there
the king held his position, and at
evening a shot struck him on the
breast and he fell from his horse. His
excited aides gathered around him,
raised him, and loosened his clothing,
and in a few moments he opened his
eyes.
"It is nothing."
Yes ; they saw it. His fur-trimmed
velvet coat had checked the spent
force of the murderous bullet and the
king was safe. God's will had done
it. God's hand lay over the king's
holy head, and covered and protected
it.
The fight continued until after
nightfall, for Daun had yet to be
driven from the field, and as yet
nothing had been heard from Zieten.
The darkness of the grave settled
over the earth. There were no stars
WILD RE Ul LING EN.
63
in the sky ; heavy masses of clouds
overshadowed the heavens ; the storm
swept over the battlefield, and wet,
cold, and shelterless, friend and foe
wandered aimlessly over the field
together, and fought and shot at
random. The groans and cries of the
wounded and dj'ing sounded with
heartrending clearness through the
gruesome night.
Now the village of Suptitz on the
heights was in flames, fired by the
Prussian shot, and there, on the other
side of the mountain, was Zieten,
falling upon his enemy and putting
him to flight. Far away through the
darkness flashed the sea of fire, a
flaming torch to light the Prussians
on to victor}'.
The king had not 3-et heard the
news, and with a troubled heart lie
rode to the village of Elsnig to spend
the night, expecting to return to the
attack in the morning. All the houses
were overflowing with wounded and
there was not a place of refuge for the
royal hero, so he at last sought shelter
in the village church and bound up
his wounds by the light of the altar
candles. It was not enough that for
his country and his people he should
bear the heavy burden of war and
responsibility', he must also carry
this bleeding wound in his breast.
At the same time there wa
