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Full text of "The Granite monthly, a New Hampshire magazine, devoted to literature, history, and state progress"

DURHAM 

Library Association. 



Sheir N C^'I\" 
Book r— ^^T^^ 



Volume 



Source 

Received 

Cost 

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