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Bridgeton pioneer. (Bridgeton, N.J.) 1884-1919, July 07, 1898, Image 7

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A LIGHT WOMAN.
Bhe had ns ninny loves as she had follies.
And all lier light loves sang her praises,
But now beneath a tangle of sea hollies
And pale sea daisies,
Here nt the limit of the hollow shore,
Folly and praise are covered meetly o’er.
We will not tell her heads of beauty over.
All that we say and all we leave unsaid
Be buried with her now, since there’s no lover
But scatters on her bed
Pansies for thoughts and woodruff white as she
And, for remembrance, quiet rosemary.
Here is the end of laughter, and here wither
Sorrow and mirth, here dancing feet fall still,
Here where the sea pinks flower and fade to
gether,
Even at the wind's wild will.
Ah, lull her softly in her quiet home!
She was your sister, sea, and light as foam.
—Norn Hopper in Black and White.
A CIRCUS ROMANCE.
“Why is Miss Rylaud so indifferent
to man?”
The question was asked by a curious
woman who had just left the dashing
young equestrienne’s apartments at rhe
Riugling Bros.’ circus one evening last
week.
“And why is she so fond of a black
costume?” queried another. “I notice
that she rides in somber colors nearly
every night.”
Behind the answer to these interroga
tories lies a story flavored with ro
mance, but unaccompanied by the usual
denouement that makes the romance
complete. There is sadness at the begin
ning and end of it and just enough in
the middle that is joyful to make the
tale pretty. It is a pathetic narrative,
on the whole, and interesting, though
it does recount the woes of lovers.
Miss Rylaud was not born into her
art. She is not the seventh daughter of
a seventh daughter of circus fame. Her
abundant auburn tresses blossomed into
radiance under the warm rays of a Mis
sissippi sun, and her muscular brawn
was early developed on her father’s
plantation way down south.
Mr. Rylaud was one of the largest
ootton growers in his vicinity. He lived
three miles from his plantation, on the
outskirts of a pretty southern town.
His handsome home was the scene of
numerous fashionable events, and Elena,
his only daughter, was the most admired
woman in the place.
In the later eighties a small circus
visited the town. Mr. Ryland allowed
the management to use part of his spa
cious grounds for show property. Every
body in the village was out to see the
first and only performance given by the
aggregation in the little city, among
others Elena Rylaud.
m tne circus was a young bareback
rider, Alfred Julian by name. He had
been with the company only a few
weeks and was but a mediocre perform
er. By profession he was an artist, but
fame and fortune did not roll his way,
and he gave up the pencil for more lucra
tive employment under the canvas. He
was a good looking, educated fellow ot
20 years and became quite popular with
his fellow performers.
The young man was unfortunate on
his appearance that night. In attempt
ing to leap through a hoop and on to his
horse’s back ho missed his footing and
fell with terrific force on the box curb
ing surrounding the ring. lie was pick
ed up in an unconscious condition, and
it was found that his right arm and leg
were broken.
The accident stopped the show. Tin
spectators left their seats and crowded
about the ring to learn the extent ol
Julian’s injury. Air. Ryland was one of
the first to reach the youth’s side. The
circus doctor was summoned and ad
vised that the young man be taken at
once to a hospital. There was no hos
pital in the place, and the only accom
modation available was the temporary
shelter of the dressing room.
Ryland came to the aid of the man
agement by offering the use of his home
to the injured man. The offer was
gratefully accepted, and Julian was re
moved to the magnificent Ryland resi
dence for treatment. The generous, no
ble hearted planter went further. He
insisted on calling in the family physi
cian to treat Julian, and when the cir
cus left town the next day the bareback
rider was resting easy in the most com
fortable quarters he bad enjoyed since
he quit his eastern home three weeks
before.
Julian required a nurse. Elena Ry
land, sympathetic and loving, gladly
took upon herself the task of minister
ing to the needs of the suffering man.
She would be his nurse, she declared,
and she performed her duty more faith
fully and with greater pleasure than
could be expected of any paid servant.
The second day after his fall Julian
regained consciousness. He opened his
eyes and looked in wonderment on his
strange surroundings. He did not speak
for several moments. Then he iuquirod
in a soft voice of bis fair attendant,
“Where am I?”
“You aro in a friend’s house,” Miss
Ryland replied. “The circus is gone,
but you need not worry for your safety. ’ ’
He did not worry. He suffered ex
cruciating pain and often would have
murmured over his lot, but the gentle
words of his watchful nurse helped him
to bravely bear his troubles in silence.
Slowly he recovered. As he grew bet
ter he learned to appreciate the service
of his kind attendant. She was more
than a sister to him, and her heart was
filling with more than a sister’s love
for a friend in distress.
He asked all about his accident and
the events following it. He was some
what humiliated at his ill luck and
vowed he would never again enter the
circus ring. Miss Ryland was fascinat
ed with his stories of circus life and lis
tened intently to every word that fell
from his lips.
The patient was interested in his fair
nurse. He fully reciprocated her attach
ment for him. A feeling stronger than
that pf friendship endeared her to him.
He was in love with her, but he dared
not tell her. Her station in life, he
thought, was go far above his that to
dream of such a thing were folly.
The days passed pleasantly for the
pair. For hours and hours they sat talk
ing, or she would read to him. Lovers
could not have been inoro companion
able. Neither could regard the other
more highly, yet neither breathed a
word of love.
Julian remained at the Rylaud house
until ho had completely convalesced,
i When he left, it was as if the son of the
family had said farewell to those near
est and dearest to him. Alfred kissed
Elena good by.
“I am going to study art again,” he
said, ‘‘and I will write you when I get
back to New Jersey. I shall always re
member your kindness. Some day I
may bu able to repay it.”
Three months after he left Georgo
Rylaud, wealthy sugar planter, was a
business wreck. Faithless employees
had robbed him, bis property had been
mortgaged, but there was not enough
money on hand to pay off the debt, and
the family were forced to give up their
elegant home and take quarters in a
poor quarter of tbo village. The blow
was too much for Rylaud. The worry
and strain unnerved him, and ho died a
short while after of sheer physical col
lapse.
Plena Kylaud and tier mother were
in destitute circumstances. The girl re
solved to be the support of the family
and to that end sought employment in
the town. She was not successful and
in despair wrote to her friend Julian
in New Jersey. She begged him to get
her a position in the circus. She was a
fairly good rider and, with a little
practice, thought she could hold her
own in a second rate company.
Julian bad made a good start in the
east and offered the despondent girl an
other way out of her trouble. He pro
posed marriage. He had loved her, ho
said, many months, but hesitated, be
cause of his lowly position, to ask her
to be his wife. Now that they were
both on the same level financially she
might look with more favor on his suit.
Elena accepted the proposal, but she
could not, out of respect to her father’s
memory, marry within a year. So she
asked Alfred if he could not meantime
secure for her a position with the circus
with which he had traveled.
That’s how Elena Hyland came to be
a bareback rider in a big circus. Why
she is not the wife of Alfred Julian is
another story. Alfred concluded to go
to Paris and finish his studies, while
Elena was waiting for the year to elapse
until they could be united in marriage.
Elena was successful as a daring rider,
and within a few months after she
started with the one ring show she re
ceived an offer from the Hinglings. She
has been with them for the last three
years.
Julian never came back from Paris.
He took sick and died of pneumonia.
Miss Hyland did not even know that he
had been ill until she received word of
his death. His body was laid to rest in
Franco.
The news of her lover’s demise was a
terrible shock to Miss Hyland, and for
two weeks after tho information reach
ed her sho was too ill to iill her part.
For a year sho rode in mourning cos
tume, aud even now she wears black
most of tho time. She is quiet and does
not mingle much with the rest of the
performers. Her mother travels with
her. The young woman rarely speaks
of her love affair and its sad ending,
and very few cf her friends know the
story of her life. It is such an unhappy
story, too, that the young folks in the
Lig, jolly aggregation of performers do
not like to hear it.—St. Louis Republic.
Whipped the Four Hundred.
An officer of the steamer Empress of
Japan, recently arrived at Vancouver
from the orient, tells of an exciting
street fight which he witnessed in the
streets of Hongkong prior to the sailing
of his vessel. There are many sailors in
that harbor attached to the war vessels
of various nations, and they imbibe
strong national prejudices as they watch
the international game in the east. The
trouble started in a saloon. The Rus
sian sailors combined with the French
and Germans and formed a double line
down a narrow street and dared any
Johnny Bull or Yankee to pass.
The English and American sailors
joined forces and found they mustered
150 to the enemy's 400. Nothing daunt
ed, they seized a lot of jiurikishas, form
ed a wedge with them and rushed on
the foreigners with a oheer. They broke
tbe line, smashed the jinrikishas and
continued the fight with fists and pieces
of tbe debris until, as the informant
relates, they bad the 400 allies badly
whipped. The din was dreadful, but
above it rose the singing of “America”
and “God Save the Queen,” both, of
course, to the same tune. The authori
ties were powerless and appealed to the
commanders of the warships, who or
dered the men to stop, and the hostili
ties ceased.
Thus has been begun the much talked
of Anglo-Saxon alliance against the
world.—Argonaut.
Sarcastic Novelist.
The people who want—and do not
scruple to ask for—favors from pnblio
men are sometimes so unreasonable as
almost to deserve a rude answer. Such
an answer, for example, as The Golden
Penny quotes:
A oertain novelist, not unknown to
fame, reoeived from a lady an unstamp
ed letter asking the loan of his book, on
the plea that she could not obtain it at
the bookseller’s in her town. His reply
was worded as follows :
Dear Madam—In the town where you re
side there appears to be a lack of all aortB of
things which are easily procurable elsewhere
—not only of my recent work, but alao of post
age stamps for letters. I have In my posses
sion, it Is true, the book you desire to obtain
and also the stamps to pay Its carriage, but,
to my regret, I ani without the necessary
String to mako it into a parcel. If y0u can
supply me ^(h a piece, lam at your service.”
A Brief Lesson In Spanish.
“Commorcio” imd “incommunicado”
still prove that the American editor is
unaware that double m’s do not exist
lu the Spanish language.—Mexioan
Herald.
THE ROADSIDE >€OLIAN.
When winds stream over the rugged knoU
Tlie highway lies along,
Tin? wires stringing from pole to pole
Give tongue to a voice of song.
A-glint with beams of the morning Bun
They carry a Uitheful air,
Humming a burden that seems to run,
“Good news is tlie word we bear."
Tliis Joyous one,
“Good news we bear."
j They swing and sway at the breeze’s will
While the heavens smile above
To hoar the measure they gayly thrill,
"We’re speeding a line of love,"
With v.- lo and trill,
"A line of love."
A cloud and a shadow go sailing by.
To tho breezes’ falling breath
In sinking cadence the wires sigh,
"Respi't for a tale of deathl"
More softly still,
"A tale of deathl”
Oh, the songs are many the wires sing
When the roving wind is sent
To play of gladness or suffering
On its mighty instrument.
—Layton Brewer in Criterion.
MISSING MONEY.
Erastus Twopeny was a lawyer, ex
! pert iu real estate values and an apt
conveyancer, and as he practiced in the
days before the title guarantee hawk
had swooped down, upon the legal barn
yard and captured the geese that laid
the golden eggs he made money. As
soon as he found himself in a condition
to marry he took to himself a wife. She
was energetic and ambitious, and while
she proved herself an excellent house
wife she was at the same time inflamed
by a strong desire to acquire wealth on
her own account.
Her husband was all that a woman
could desire, and she had nothing to
complain of on that score. He was even
generous and showed it by giving refuge
in his comfortable home to his wife’s
brother Charles, who had proved him
self incapable of retaining any position
which his friends had procured for him.
He was a good looking, agreeable young
fellow, but lacked those staying qual
ities which make one a good man of
business. In society he was all right
and a favorite with the families where
he visited. He had no vices so far as
known by bis family, except smoking
can be considered such, and when he
was out of funds his sister always man
aged to supply him with money enough
to enjoy that luxury.
Erastus was devoted to his profession,
and often after quitting his office for
the day continued to transact business
during the evening at his home. The
house was an old fashioned one, with a
back piazza and an alley at one side,
leading from the front to the yard iu
the rear. The front and back parlors
were originally separated by folding
doors, but a dainty curtain, tastefully
festooned, had been substituted for the
doors.
One evening in Augusta client called
to pay Erastus §2,500 on a real estate
transaction, and, as the back parlor was
dark and the front parlor sufficiently
lighted by the setting sun for the work,
Erastus and his client seated themselves
at a table therein, while Airs. Twopeny
sat m ar the window. Though she was
chiefly occupied in watching the pass
ersby and the children at play in the
street, yet sho could not help hearing
j what passed between the two men at
; the table. Presently her brother Charles
came down stairs and glanced in at the
door. His sister arose and spoke to him,
and both at the same time looked to
ward the table on which could be seen a
small parcel of greenbacks, with a thin
slip of white paper around them.
Charles quitted the house and soon
afterward Mrs. Twopeny arose and stood
between the window and the lace cur
tain, looking out. Iu a few minutes the
men at the table arose aud Mr. Twopeny
accompanied his client to the door. Im
mediately afterward Mrs. Twopeny
heard a slight noise and turning saw the
curtains between the front and back par
lors moving. She thought nothing of it
at the time, fancying that it was the re
sult of a draft occasioned by her hus
band closing the front door.
The house was only a flew steps from
the cross street, and as the client came
down the stoop and turned toward the
corner Mrs. Twopeny followed him with
her eyes. To her surprise she saw her
brother just turning the corner and
wondered what could have delayed
him. While still at the window mus
ing, she was startled by her hnsbaud
exclaiming:
“Why, Bertha, what caa have bo
oome of the money I left on the table?”
“Become of it?” she replied. “Why
it must be there, of course, if you left
it there.1 ’
“Well, I can’t find it,” her husband
said. “I left it right here in front of
these papers. They are all right, but
the money is gone. ’ ’
"Oh, that is absurd,” she said.
“Light the gas, and then yon will find
it, no doubt.”
While she pulled down the blinds
Erastus lighted the gas, and then both
set to work to look for the missing
notes. They were not on the table, nor
could they be found anywhere about the
room or in the hallway.
“Look in all your pockots,” said the
wife, “you may have inadvertently
put the money into one of them. ”
“No, no,” was the reply. “I’ve
searohed every one of them already.
It’s gone. No doubt about it. But
where?”
“There’s no one in the house but our
selves, ” the wife said. “I allowed the
cook and Nancy to go out immediately
after supper. Brother Charles went out
while you were at the table with your
client, and there isn’t even a cat in the
house to blame for it.”
Then they made another search, but
it was as vain as the others. And there
each of them stood, looking this way
and that, as one will do when one loses
anything and fondly hopes to discover
it in some unexpected spot.
“You’re sure your client paid you?*’
Mrs. Twopeny said.
“Oh, yes, and I gave him a reoeipt,”
was the answer. “And Simpson Is too
prominent a man to”—
He paused and looked on the ground
thoughtfully. “To what?” his wife
asked.
“Come into the back parlor, ” Air.
Twopeny said.
They went, and Mr. Twopeny light
ed bis cigar and sat down to smoke, as
his custom was when anything disturb
ed b n. Mrs. Twopeny sat down oppo
site to him.
‘‘i'ow then, to what?” she repeated.
“To take the money, ” he said in a
low tone.
“Veil, I don’tknow,” the wife said.
“Th< money was there, and it is gone.
You aaven’t got it, and I haven’t got
it, and it didn’t vanish without hands.”
“h will never do to hint at such a
thing, bertha,” he said. “It is gone
and it’s no use fretting over it.”
“fretting over it. But you’ll bavo
to nuke it good, won’t you?”
“Of course. It was to pay off a mort
gage, and I must do it tomorrow. For
tunately I have the money and a little
more,”
Mr. Twopeny paid off the mortgage
the next day, and business went on as
usual. Years passed and Mrs. Twopeny’s
family increased so that her three boys
and three girls occupied much of her
time. Two of the boys were at college,
and the expenses of the family were
larga. The girls were at first rate
schools, and one of them was preparing
for Vassar. Still by close attention to
business Mr. Twopeny was able to earn
enough to get along.
■Later on, however, the title guaran
tee companies came into existence, and
in a very short time Mr. Twopeny’s
practice began to fall off. It dwindled
away until it scarcely paid office ex
penses. On the top of this, a corpora
tion in which Mr. Twopeny had invest
ed a very large sum failed, and he lost
it all. This was a terrible blow, and it
soon became evident that he would have
to reduce the family expenses. At this
juncture he was taken ill, and the doc
tor pronounced him the victim of con
sumption.
The feelings of the unfortunate hus
band and father may be imagined, but
not described. In fact, an eminent phy
sician whom his wife called in gave it
as his opinion that it was his pecuniary
troubles that were wearing him away
and not a chronic malady.
Mrs. Twopeny now comes forward as
the prominent character in this drama.
She took her husband away to a pleasant
spot by the seaside and did all she could
to keep up his spirits. He visibly im
proved in health, and then Bertha en
tered upon the task which awaited her
and which she had long expected to un
dertake.
“My dear husband,” she said as they
sat looking over the placid ocean, “you
must promise me not to be angry or to
blame me in any way.”
“Why, my dear, how could I?” he
answered. “Even if I had the disposi
tion I haven’t the strength.”
V.ow, sac said, I am going to telj
yon the strangest story you ever heard.
You remember the §2,500 which you
missed nearly 20 years ago?”
“Of course I do. What about it?”
“I am going to tel 1 you. You went to
the door, you remember, to see yourcli
| Hit, Mr. Simpson, off?”
“Yes, I remember it well, and when
I returned to the parlor the money was
gone.”
“Just so. While you wero at the door
I was staudiug looking out of the win
dow. I heard the curtain between' the
front and back parlors rustle. 1 turned
and saw no one. After the money was
missing I lay awake all that night think
ing. 1 remember that while you were
with Sir. Simpson at tho table my
brother Charles came down stairs and
stood at the parlor door, looking in, and
that I spoke with him. I saw the money
cn the table with a white slip around
it. He saw tho money also. He left the
house. As Mr. Simpson went down the
stoop and turned toward the next street
I followed him with my eyes and saw
my brother just turning the corner,
though he had left the house some time
b: fore. I didn’t think much of it then,
but 1 did after I went to bed that night.
I suspected that he had taken the mon
ey ; that, seeing it on the table, he had
returned to the rear of the house by the
alley aud watched in the back parlor for
an opportunity to steal it.
“I ruse early the next morning and
went to his room. I accused him of the
crime aud made him believe I had rec
ognized him as he entered the room
from the back parlor. On my promise
not to disclose the fact to you he admit
ted his guilt aud restored the money.
You know that soon afterward he
went west. I insisted on that as part of
tho bargain. Then the question arose
in my mind as to how I should return
the money. After much deliberation I
determined to keep it and to satisfy my
longing for wealth by speculating with
it. I began by small ventures in stocks.
I was successful every time, aud by de
grees the money accumulated until”—
“Oh, until you made a big specula
tion aud failed!” her husband exclaim
ed.
“No, my dear, though I did make
some pretty big ventures for a woman,
yet I never failed, and at this moment 1
am worth over $200,000.”
“What! Yon, Bertha?”
“Yes—I, your wife. It was your
money I used, and all that I have made
is yours also. Will you forgive me?”
“Forgive you!”—A. Beckwith in
Brooklyn Citizen.
A Smooth One.
“That old Smoother is a fraud,” she
declared, slapping the coffeepot down
so hard that the tablecloth suffered.
“What’s he been doing?”
"Our society,” said she, “is trying to
help a poor family that is in dire dis
tress, and I was among thos* ohoseu to
solioit subscriptions to help them. I
oalled on Smoother, and he was so sym
pathetic that we both got to crying. He
talked beautifully, and I never recalled
till I got home that he hadn’t given me
l cent. The old skinflint!”—Detroit
Free Press.
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