{ title: 'Callicoon local record. (Youngsville, Sullivan Co., N.Y.) 1868-1868, May 15, 1868, Page 1, Image 1', download_links: [ { link: 'http://www.loc.gov/rss/ndnp/ndnp.xml', label: 'application/rss+xml', meta: 'News about NYS Historic Newspapers - RSS Feed', }, { link: '/lccn/sn90066293/1868-05-15/ed-1/seq-1/png/', label: 'image/png', meta: '', }, { link: '/lccn/sn90066293/1868-05-15/ed-1/seq-1.pdf', label: 'application/pdf', meta: '', }, { link: '/lccn/sn90066293/1868-05-15/ed-1/seq-1/ocr.xml', label: 'application/xml', meta: '', }, { link: '/lccn/sn90066293/1868-05-15/ed-1/seq-1/ocr.txt', label: 'text/plain', meta: '', }, ] }
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S ' C A u r y , local Rec fw fsfeiiaifet awpjtw, total to t!nc |ntc»ot of tlw «um, mat the ffejsennttatww of gjw. Vol. I. Younpville, E Y., May 15j 1868. Io.9. (Mlicoon lyocitl | ’«oal, P ublished W eek l y , atk YOUNGSVILLE, SULL. CO., N. Y. •W .T. SIORGAXS, Kill tor a n d P u b lislier. Terms: One Dollar a year in atlvatice. We are pr. pared to Print Pamphlets, Circulars Bill Heads, Letter Heads, Labels, Auction and other Hindi<Uh; Business, Vfcddinr, and Address Cards; Pro rrammes, Election Tic'sets, Envelopes Bulk Clledcs, &o , either with Black, or Col -red Inks, or in Bronze. All work done as directed by the person ordor- ng it, and ready when promised. RATES OP ADVKRTtSISG. lw. 2w. off. lm. 2m. 3m. Cm. ly In.. 50c 75c $100 $12-3 $1 75 $250 $3 50 $3 Business Cards, not exceeding five lines, 50 a year. r ~»# . -» » ?s*y% (r ( wv w ^ v s a u iuwu i • Obituary “ 25 “ “ An inch compli es 11 minion line3. JBSS\ All transient advertisements must irtVA- h i a e i . y be paid in advance. I By t h e S e a . Backward and forward under the moon, IS wings the tide in its old time .sway; .Never to late and never to s ion— And the evening and morning make the day. Bae’ r.vard and fnrw ird over the sards, And over the rocks to fall and flow; And this wave has touched a dead man's hands, And that one has seen a face we know. They have sped the gnnd sh'p on her way, < >r Icrrl' d her deep irom love and light— But here, as they xiufc at our feet to-dav A h ! who shall distinguish the voice aright? For their separate burdens of hope and fear Are l-lw W now i i one -vlemn tone; And only tills song of trie waves I hear— “Forever and ever his will be done.” . Bat h vir.l and forward, to and fro, Swiivs on, lito in its wea-y way; Now at its e'i't and now at its flow, An l the evening and morning make the day, Sorrow and comfort, peace and rtrife, Pain and i<-j..icing its moments know, How trom the di-cords nt such a life fclull the clear mu ie of he.ven flow? Yet to the ear of Oml it swel's. And to the M cs-ed round the throne, Sweeter than chime nf-vesn r bells— “Forever and ever his will he done.” » Why does a dog gnaw a bone? Be cause he can’t swallow it whole. Why is a rooster standing on a fence like a silver half dollar? Because its head is on one side and tail on the other. Eve.—Tho only woman who never threatened to go and live with her . mother. I was HARK! betroibed to Kurt, the very best man in all the world; admired by his own sex for bis intellect, by the other for his beauty; but I loved him for his good, kind heart, his unselfishness and manly courage; but, alas! his na ture was impetuous and impulsive, and prone as he was to yield to his .quick sensibility, no mortal power could bend his stubborn will. It is pow eight years since I was in vited by K u rt’s mother to speud the Christmas holidays nt her country-seat in Marienberg. Many other guests had been invited, and great preparations were in progress for the balls, “ tableaus vivant.,” aud private theatricals, all of which K u rt wrote me I was to be queen. But uufortnnately, my sister had been attaeted with a serious illness just before the letter came, and I was compelled to return for answer that I must defer rnv visit until after the re covery. Although she sooq became convales cent,'I could not find it iu my heart to leave her to the care of strangers alone, and in \return to Kurt’s frequent and urgent letters,-I begged him to have patience with me; but a t length— it was but a week befor Christmas—he wrote in bitterly passionate words, that he knew very well that my sister could now dispense with my services, and he demanded from tue that I should be present at a ball which was to take place the d ly after the receipt of his letter, a thing easily accomplished if I would take the next train to -Marien- burg. lie concluded by «aying if I did not make my appearance on the 18th, he would tV-el certain that I loved my sister more than I did my affimced husband, and he would instantly leave his home, never to see. me more. I shed many tears when I read this cruel letter, yet my sister counseled me, and my heart responded to her words, to conciliate my impetuous lover by yielding to his wishes. So I prepared hastily for my,journey, aud I felt sensi bly relieved in mind when I found my self flying through the fog-covered country iu a first-class car. „ I was alone in the dimly-lighted coupe, and wrapping myself closely in my furs, I listened between waking and sleeping to the monotonous noise of the engine, untihjust after we left Ebers field station, at six o’clock in the eve ning, I fell into a light slumber. Presently I was awakened by that peculiar smothered sound of the train when it first enters a tunnel, and look ing at my watch, I found that we were indeed careering through the subterra nean passage only four miles from Ma rienberg. How my heart bounded at tbe thought of soon making my peace with Kurt. Suddenly there came a shock, which first threw me on the front seat and then hurled me violently back, and when I had recovered from my first paroxysm of terror, I heard the distant rolling of the ears leaving the tunnel Then all was still as death. There was no room for doubt as to my present situation. The ear in which I sat, and which was the last of the train, had become dislodged from -the others, and was now resting quietly in the middle of the tunuel I instantly opeued the window and called to the supposed pas sengers iu the next coupe, and then I saw that but one light was reflected upon the opposite wall, the single one in my compartment; all the rest were dark as night. I was the only passen ger in the car. I screamed loudly and frequently, but it seemed as if the dark ness swallowed up the sound of my voice. Strange as it may appear, my first thoughts were not those of despair I only wondered how long a time would elapse before I should be restored to freedom; but theu came the dread con viction that I was in the middle of the track. W hat if auotber train should come along? Did not tbe guards say the next one would be due ten minutes later? H a rk! Yes, there is that dreadful whistle— the harsh roar that suddenly becomes stifled—aud a train enters the tunuel. I became wild with fright; my brain whirled; I could scarcely breathe as the hollow sound increased to thunder, and the train flew, thank Heaven,, past me on tbe other line of rails. I was now relieved from the spell which had lain upon my senses. I telt that I must in stantly leave the car, and attempted to open first the one and then the other door. They were both fastened. I then tried the window, but it had been so constructed, apparently to prevent madmen from attempting suicide, that no one could possibly creep through. I now seated myself again and tried to reflect, but all my thinking ended in— Hark ! Again a shrill noise breaks the silence of the night. Again the clamorous rush changes all at once into a sullen roar. I sprang involuntarily from my seat. Hearer it comes—still nearer! In a tumult of emotions, which I shudder even to think of—rage at the impotence of human will, anguish, despair—I put my face to the window and screamed with all my might. A t that moment a light flushed iu my eyes and I heard a man’s voice, but I know not what he said. Conscious only that I was saved, I fainted. ' I t was a Jong, long while before ^ I waked from this swoon, as I heard af terward into a delirous fever. When I recovered my senses I fonn<i myself in a room and attended by an old woman whom I had never seen before; through the open window I saw the trees, no longer covered with snow, but budding ■into leaf. I leaned my head upon my hand to try to recall the past events, and as my loosened hair fell down np- on it, I started with affright; it was gray as that of an old woman 1 Had years, theu, flown by since that terrible night? No, it could not be, for she who just then came to my bedside was blooming with the early roses of youth. It was K art’s sister. I threw myself sobbing into her arms, and my first word was “ K urtl” He hau kept his wuiu. YTLcn the train arrived without me he went away, no one knew where, and so I was left desolate, a prematurely gray, forsaken, affianced wife. His sister remained faithful to me. As I was unable to leave the forester’s house near the tunnel, to which I had been removed, she came to me every day from Marienberg, accompanied by her maid. One lonely evening in' June I asked her to read to me from the Book of Books, for my soul was siek with long ing aud sorrow, when, hark I there is that subterranean thunder again ; there is the shrill, piercing whistle I but this time it sounds like a reprieve from the pain of death, like a cry of joy, for it brings back Kurt to me. It was eight years ago. My hair is gray, but my heart is young aud happy. E n c o u r a g i n g t h e Y o u n g . Possibly more than we are aware of will the actual character receive its form and value from some accidental word, spoken with, and somtimes with out, particular attention. The young mind feels their power, aud acts ever after under their influence. A kis3 of approbation, giten by a fond mother, at sight of a juvenile drawing, done at stolen opportunities by West, when a child,' fixed his growing inclinations to the arts.—“That kiss made me a pain ter,5’ he often-said — Isaac Taylor. Lady.— And so you are married, eh ? who did you marry ? Forgetful suob. —Well, I married forty thousand dol lars; I forget her other name.
