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About The frontier. (O'Neill City, Holt County, Neb.) 1880-1965 | View Entire Issue (Nov. 22, 1894)
THE DRUM. Rataplan: Rataplan' In th* forefront of the Tan *Tla a lit tie brant lea* drummer boy that lead* the bearded man See the ltmpfnt veteran Keeping atep a* twvit he ran Vo the little beardle** drummer boy'a com manding rataplan Ritaplan' How old racolle’tioat come At the hcatln r of the drum. Of the battle « mad (untaala, the throbbing and the hum Of the rifle*’ rataplan in the forefront of the van. Where the drum*tick wan a bullet and the parchment wan a man: A Passive Crime. BY ••TIIK IH rn»7»».“ CHAPTER VII— CoxriNi’F.o. “Oh, Mlmi, do not lot him say that! Ho is not dead! lie willcomo back!" says Maui), in an agony of grief ami despair, appealing in a heart-broken manner to lmr friend •u«l mother. "And it wns not all my fault And and I will not be lieve that ho is dead! It would be too cruel!” ••What a gloomy room, and what death?" asks a gay, glad, young voice from the door way, that thrills the listeners to their hearts' core. It is a voice that makes tho old man start and tremble violently, and hold out his arms in expectation, vrith a suppressed but thankful cry. i et for the first time his loving greeting it overlooked. Is cast aside. A slight figure, hulf hidden by the dusk, but discernible to the eyes of a lover, has chained the newcomer’s attention, and. oblivious of his father and of all things, Dick Pen ruddock goes eagerly up to it. At the sound of hU voice Maud has rais.d herself, und, breaking now from Mrs. Neville, goes quickly to him, and, with an impulsive gesture, lavs her hands upon his shoulders. "It is indued you! You have rant Jy come back to ine?” she gasps, in • little, tremulous whisper, that plainly tells her love and uratltudo. "Yes; to you!" responds he gladly. •Thu there was no danger none, lie tired right over my head, and re fused to tiro again. No ono knows why. I really think ho must have had a sneaking kindness for me all through, or elso he had tired of killing . So you sue 1 was bound to <*omc back, like that inevitable bad •coin, you know. Why, what is this? Are those tears, ray love—are they *»hed for roe?" KatupUn' !»he is looking up at him with ■eyes full of tears, and pink lids, and pallid cheeks; yet never has she ap peared to him so beautiful as now, whfen dookod with those sign* of woe that are worn for love of him. ••My dear Dick, what a fright you fcnvo given us!" says Mrs. Neville, with a deep sigh, half of relief, half of annoyance. “Why. we have boon mourning you as past oil help In this world, during the lost hour; and now hero you are. safe and sound! 1 really think you ought to bo ashamed of yourself, and ought also to oiler us a profuse apology. ” ••For being alive," smiled Dick. —Yes—no, I mean, no— Dear me, I hardly kuow what I am saying; but you roally ought to fool sorry For all the trouble you have caused." ••Have you nothing to say to your father?” says Penruddoek. at the far ■end of the room. -That young lady"—pointing to Maud—-If all I hear be true, you saw only two nights ago. me you have not seen for two months. Yet it seems that .you havo nothing to sav to me. though much to her Has '—and this was spoken very bitterly —“has ttn at* tuaiutanceship of weeks oblit erated tbo affection of years?" “My dear father!" says Dick, de precHtingly. Tht-n he kisses , Miss Neville’s hand, and, leaving her, goes up to where his father is stunding. Maud, Jglad oi the chance, slips ftom the room at this moment, and escapes to her own sanctum. ••Why. father, what lucky chance has driven you up to town?” says Dick, affectionately, placing his hand' on i’enruddock’s shoulder. -No lucky chance, but the news •of this duel that you have been tight •'ing," says his fathor gloomilv. “•Into what dangers you have been enticed?” ••Why. how came yon to hear of it in your quiet country homo?” says. Dick, with some amazement. • It matters little. I did hear, that is plaiu. and came up by the iirst train.” •Must have been that incorrigible j Wilding,” mutters Dick, bolow his breath. j ••My time in this great city must ' be short,” says I’enruddock, not j hee.ling him. “and I would speak ! with you seriously before leaving, j When can I find myself alone with you? There is much that I have to .tell.” | “Any time; I am quite at your dis posal loan hour —half an hour,” -says Dick, readily. “First. I must ■see Wilding to explain matters: I had promised to dine with him to night, but shall, of course, resign everything to devoto myself to you. Where shall I meet you in half an hour? Where are you putting up— at the Langham, or Claridge’s?” “t'iaridge’s. 1 shall expect you sit the time you say. Do not disap point me.” ••You have ray word.” says Dick. “•Well. I shall be oft now. (iood by. Mrs. Neville. You must not scold me anv more, you know; I’m not proof against your displeasure, that is a positive fact i shall drop in to morrow, if I may. to tell you nit about my adventure ” ••Yes; do come, if only to see how thoroughly 1 can forgive.” says Mrs. Neville, smiling; her heart is incap nble of harboring anger. And the young man. smiling in Corn, presses her hand, takes up his hat. and quits the room, Penrud I dock, having- miido his adieux in more elaborate form, goes slowly down stairs, and Into the hall. As ; he passes a room the door of which is now open, a woman.tall and dark browed, come* quickly forward, as | though summoned by his footstep, | and confronts him. As his ejes i light upon her, a ghastly change comes over him lie Is white as a sheet, seems to shrink and grow ! smaller, and draws his breath hoav il>. ••Well. Ponruddock." she says, in accents slow and distinct, appearing to onjoy his discomfiture; -‘and so wo meet again. Ifow pleased you look!” ••What has brought you here?” de mands ho, hoarsely,looking nervous ly around. “Fate!" ropties she coldly. ••But here—what has brought you here?" asks he, ns though unable to refrain from idlo questioning. The womuti, bending toward him, lays her bony hand upon his wrist ••To help you to remember,” whis pers she, in a tong that makes him shudder, so much compressed hatred lies within it. “Have yon forgot ten? Fifteen years ago this month, Ponruddock! Fifteen yoars ago!" So saying, she turns abruptly, and enters the room ugaln. Ponruddock follow) her. ••Stay, woman!" ho exclaims. ••Ho not so eager," repilos Ksthor; ••wo shall moot again." Hy this time sho has roachuJ adoor opposito to that by which she had entered that room, opens, and durts through it, closing it quickly bo hind her. Pen uddock would still follow her, but. roaehing the door through wh'ch the woman has gone, ho linds it locked ugalnnt him. CHAPTKK VIII. A True Lover. After a momentary sensation of faintness, that follows cioso on Father's disappearance, Ponruddock rallies, and tells himself that her presence in this particular house is but one of tho coincidences that will occasionally occur In all our lives, and that her wild allusion to objec tionable dates has only arisen from tho morbid qualities that go so far | to make up her character. By the , time his son has arrived, and is ushered Into his private sitting j room, lie is himself again, composed, j calm, and cold, and freer from fool i ish sentiment than ho was an hour ago, reaction having sot in. He opens his subject, which has to do ontirolv with Dick’s misplaced affec tion for Miss Novillo. ••so-called.” without any appearance of excite ment or undue warmth, merely ex pressing in every posslblo way his disapprobation of the young lady to whom his son is so devoted. Whon l ho lias finished, Dick for several | moments remains quite silent. | When rejected by Maud on tho night of the danco, he had given - w»y to despair, but so many littlo i things havo occurred since then to ! encourago new hopos. that ho has. j on reflection, docllnod to bo alto gether disheartened. Her love is not as yot given to another, and therefore shu may bo his in the happy muletined future. ■•I regret that I must go against you in this matter,” he says at length, quietly but decidedly. He is standing on tho hearth-rug, bis arms foldod, and looking frowningly upon the carpet. His father, standing opposite to him. with clouded brow, is regard ing him anxiously. ••You speak like a child who is asked to relinquish a favored but dangerous toy,” he says contemptu- j ousiy. "You. with your fortune and j position, to maryy a giri penniless, nameless,—nay, if reports speak cor rectly. even worse than-" "Inst will do," says the j'oung man, with a sudden gesture sugges tive of passion. "Say nothing more, if you please. It is of no conse quence whatever to me tteit she is poor and nameless, as were she possessed of all the wealth in Christendom, and owner j of the highest titlo in the land. I could not possibly lovo her more than I do now.” "Sentiment In tho young is tidmlr able, says Penruddock. in a sneer- > ing tone. . “It betrays amiability a -U ! good feeling. But even virtues may j be earriod to excess. Do you—par don me—but do you moan to marry ! this young woman?” It would be difficult to say why, j hut who ever knew a man that ■ wasn't annoyed when any one called the girl he loved a "young woman.-”’ ! ••What else should 1 mean.” be I asks, with wrotchedly-concealed ire. i “if she will have me?” ••Oh! you need not entertain any anxiety on that point. They always have ono,” says Penruddock, con- j temptuously. “It is generally a complete 'take in’ from start to finish.” Then, changing his tone from one of unpleasant banter to ! that of authority, “Now, look here,” i he says: "let us have no more of i this. You can’t marry her.” Perhaps as he speaks he forgets j how the son inherits his own blood and temper to some degree. •1 shall be quite charihed if noth ing more is said about it.” says Dick, j brushing carelessly some spots of dust from his coat: “but I shall cer tainly-marry Miss Neville if I can in- ! duco her to accept me. ” There is something in the quiet ’ determination of his tone that im- j pi-esses George Penruddock. Going j over to his son. he lays his hand ■ upon his t boulder, and says more i gently—nay. even with entreaty— ! -Think well of what you are going i to da This marriage will mean to ; you ruin.misery, unavailing regret.” j ••It means my one chance ol hap- ' piness.” says Dick, with a deep sigh, throwing up his head, and looking eagerly forward, as though in the distance he could see somo sight that to him was full of sweetness aud light. ••Can nothing raovo you?” asks Penrudtlock, unsteadily. "Not all the years gone by. in which I huve lived, and thought, and speculated for you alone? is this, after all that I havo done, to be ray sole return?” “Dear futhor,” says Dick, turning to him with quick and eager affec tion, “why try to make me misera ble? I lomember all- evory kind word arid kinder action; and I would implore you in this, the most im|jor tant act of my life, to give me your sympathy. When vou know Maud you will bettor understand me, be came you too will love her. To morrow I shall ask her again to be ray wife, and if she consents, which” (and he looked and spoke very mourn fully) “1 strongly doubt, you will gam a daughter as loving as your son.” “Nay," says Penruddocic, an grily turning aside; “l want no daughter picked from the mire. (io. sir!'' pointing to the door. “I shall not again sue to you for cither your love or obedience. Yet stay, and hear my lait words, as you intend to go to-morrow to ask that girl again to marry you. I warn you I shall be there too, to explain to her the terrible injustice she will do you shoulu sho consent to your proposal. ” "And I worn you," says Dick, calmly, but in a very curious tone, “that it will be extremely unwise of you. or anyone, to say anything likely to wound or offend Miss Neville, oven in the very slightest degree.” As the door closos upon his son. floorge Ponruddock sinks heavily into tho nearest chair, covers his face with his hands, and is overcome with emotion. "And for this t havo suffored, and endured, nnd sinned!” he says, with a convulsive shudder. “Oh. that it wero possible to undo my wretched past! llut that can never be. alas! that can never bo.” When Dick leaves his father’s prosonec, it is but to hasten to his room, and send a hasty but tender noto to Miss Novillo, toiling her of his intention to call next day, and again entreat her to iook favorably upon his suit Then ho puts in a few lines about his father, very delicate ly written, saying that ho also in tends putting in an appearance at South Audley street on the morrow; and while assuring her of his own lasting affection for her, implores her—as she feels even a poor senti ment of friendship for him—to pay no heed to aDy disparaging remarks that ignorance of her sweet excel lence may'induce anyone to make. After this follow a few more little sentences, put in rather incoherent ly, but, in all probability, the dearer because of their want of precision to the reador of them, and then ho is hers -most faithfully, and with tho ontiro love of his heart, Dick l’en ruddock. ’’ It is a thorough love-letter; one that might have been written a century ago, .when love was a thing more sacred antf more full of courtesy than it is to-day. Maud, sitting in her own room, weeps bitter tears over it, and kisses it foolishly but very fondly, and tells herself again and again that fato has dealt unjustly with her in that it compels her to resign tho writer of this gentle billot doux, and putting him entiiely out of her life, leaves him free to be gained and loved by some more fortunate woman. And that she must so leave him is, per haps, the deepest sting of all. Ksthor, the nurse, coming in. flnds her prone upon a sofa, crying quiet ly, yet bitterly, and. full of sympathy, and a little frightened, comes over to her, and smoothes back tenderly the soft hair from her forehead. To this fond and faithful woman, the girl will always be her child, her nursling. [TO BE COXTISUSa] Flying t tnh. Officers of the steamer Essex re port a school of living fish in the Ka: pahannock river. Virginia. Fly ing fish swim in shoals varying in number from a dozen to a hundred or more. They often leave the water at once, darting through the air in the same direction for got) yards or more, and then descend to the water quickly, rising again, and then renewing their flight Some times the dolphin may be seen in rapid pursuit, taking great leaps out of the water, and guiniug uoon its prey, which take shorter and shorter flights, vainly trying to es cape. until they sink exhausted. Sometimes the larger sea birds catch flying fish in the air. The question, whether the flying fish use their fins at all as wings is not fully decided. The power of flight is limited to the time the fins remain moist. I r*paro<l. It was a murky night. Dark clouds lowered over tho world, and here and there dropped a fringe of fog. A shriek pierced the air. She clutched her husband's nose wildly in her startled frenzy. ■•Heavens." she gasped, in terror, and even as she spoke the awful crv broke again upon her ears, “the par egoric bottle is empty.” There was nothing to do but walk the floor.—Detroit Tribuue. A Know-Nothing. Bobby Bingo, at his mother's din ner party—This is the first dinner mamma would let mo sit at the ta ble with the company. One of the Guests—Then you are not very well acquainted here, are you. Bobbie? Bobbie—No. sir. I don’t even know who all this silver belongs to_ Brooklyn Life. A BARON'S HOME LIFE. HIRSCH IS A ROYAL ENTER TAINER. INDEED. Europe Dotted with HI* Magnificent Cattle*—The Twentieth Century Caatle at Elchorn—Chateau In Franca and Manaion In Hungary. ESIDES BEING lone of the greatest financiers, gener oils philanthropists and richest men of all Europe, Baron Hirsch possesses an additional qualid cation in the eyes of his friends and acquaintances, namely, that of be mg’ the very perfection of a host and successful entertainer. His shooting parties at his Moravian place, the twelfth century castle at Kichom; his modern country seat of St. Johann, in Hungary; his chateau of Beaure gard, in France; his mansion in the Rue de l'Elysee, at I'aris, and his town house in London are famed throughout the length afid breadth of Europe for the perfection of their organization, the abundance of the sport and for the lavish hospi tality of the baron. It is generally in the early part of August that the buron arrives at Eic horn for the autumn, and as soon as the shooting season opens there is a constant succession of guests from every part of the world. Just ut the present moment he has with him the duke and duchess of Devonshire, the earl of Dudley. Lord de Grey and a number of other personages of light and leading. Eichorn is perched on a rocky crag commanding a glorious panorama of the surrounding country. Huron Hirsch, who is but little over 00 years of age and wonderfully well preset ved, rises early in the morning, while the majority of his guests are still sound asleep, and spends an hour in exercising with Indian clubs, dumb bells and aerostats before bathing and dressing. He then drinks a cup of black coffee and eats a slice of dry costume, awaiting them, and driw along a magnificent ten mile road con structed over a sandy stretch of coun try and passing over no fewer than thirty-six bridges to the village of St. Johann. This road was constructed by the baron and has naturally caused him to be looked upon in the district as a national benefactor. The carriages halt beneath the pil lared portico of a huge structure in the rococo style of architecture, and the guests find themselves surrounded by infinitely greater degree of luxury and brilliancy than when at the more somber castle of Eicliorn. The pint BARONESS lltRSCIt. ures are superb and there is an abso lutely priceless “Holy Family” by Van Dyk hanging in the library. The baron's chateau of Beauregard, near Paris, is likewise somewhat rococo in style, and dates from the reign of Louis XIV. King Louis XV was very fond of staying there and it is on record that on one occasion while in pursuit of a stag he rode through the grand salon on horseback. In 1849 Napoleon, at that time presi dent of the French republic, purchased it from Gen. le Marquis de Galliffet and presented it to that Miss Howard who was not only his Egeria but also his financial backer until he became emperor. On marrying Eugenie de Montijo, Napoleon made this chateau the cause for conferring upon his belle ainie the title of Comtesse de Beaure gard. On her death Miss Howard be ENGLAND’S GRAND OLD MAN AT 83. ' MR AND MRS GLADSTONE AND THEIR FAVORITE GRANDCHILD The above picture is from a photograph taken in August last at Hawarden Castle, the home of the Gladstones. It is of interest just now while the wires are kept hot telling Americans that the Grand Old Man of England is daily nearing the end of his useful life It is not impiokable that there is foundation for these tumors and that any dav we mav learn that the bright light has finally vanished and that William Ewart Gladstone ia no more. bread in a small turret veranda, from I whieh he can see the sun rise in all its ' splendor across the low lying’ plain at1 the foot of the mountain. At ii o'clock ! iu the morning he receives his secre tary, M. Furth, and before the general breakfast bell sounds has got i through a formidable batch of correspondence, interviewed his house steward and set tled with his head gamekeeper the pre- j cise locality of the day's sport. j Dressed, as usual, with scrupulous ! care, his costume is essentially English i and exceedingly quiet. The ‘ baroness ' BAROX HIRSCI?. «nd her two adopted sons usually join the shooting1 party for lnneheon in the middle of the day. wherever it mav happen to be in the forest, and the sportsmen do not return home until 6 in the evening. After tea and a short siesta they sit down at 3 to a dinner rooked by the baron's famons chef, who enjoys a European celebrity and accompanies the barou everywhere. In striking contrast with the medie val castle of Eiehorn is the baron's modern mansion of St. Johann, in the heart of Hungary, about half way be tween Vienna and Pesth, whither the baron and his guests Usually migrate after a couple of months spent in Moravia. On alighting at the station the guests find typical Hungarian car riages, with servants arrayed in Magyar queathed the place to her son bv the emperor, who bore the title of Comte de Rechevet, and the latter sold it in 1STU to the eccentric Duchesse de Beauffremont. Blanche Willis Howard. Blanche \\ illis Howard has written in all nine books since she stepped be fore the public as a story maker, some of them stronger and more elaborate than her first, but none probably quite so affectionately welcomed and de lightedly read as that same initial one —"One Summer." She wrote it to earn money to go abroad, and the only rea son her American readers are sorry they bought it so generously is that she did go abroad on the receipts and has staid there pretty much all the time since. She has lived for years at Stuttgart, where she edits a maga zine, writes books, man’ied woman, Blanche hovtaBd condnets the education of several pnju, at her home. Miss Howard has writ ten some verse, not much, however, as she has wisely recognized that her prose faculty !* many times greater than her metrical powers. A Clerical War Story. Dr Jesse Itowuuin Young, editor of the Central Christian Advocate, has written a book on what he saw as a SrvVf hiarmy' 1Dr-Yonn» tells the of. hls " ar ‘lays under the pre tense of narrating the adventure of a ce.tain factitious person. Jack San ttTi “ame- " h° " as to° vmmno “if f,',8'1- 'ait who went off to U c ^ttlehehls with his uncle, who was an officer in the Union armv U l.ii " th his uncle Dr. Youn™witnl many thrilling episodes which .i ff frighten him, bnt, on the contra " vere spurs which goaded him to Y’L m a lennsylvania regiment i,.,-‘ 1 he was IS years old, the reouir °re of recruits. Dr. Young <f’ d a.f® junction to the close of tkewarfnrf he had an officer s . ar,,nii he returned to private life*8 ^ whe® Kf» JLIm G» Hyanti Hood’s Has Ho Ea As a blood pnrifler and tonic, it anJZ stomach trouble and flattering of the hSi{| Hood’s *■««• A !%%«%%% Pam relieved my wife of waterbrash and That Tired reeling. 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